Page 31 of The Falconer

‘Nothing of consequence.’ I nod to Dona. ‘Don’t you think people will notice that Dona is a wee bit young for a proper chaperone?’

Catherine assesses my maid with careful scrutiny. Dona gulps and clutches her shawl tighter around her shoulders.

Catherine sighs. ‘May I?’ She plucks the shawl off Dona’s shoulders. ‘You know, this would be much easier if one of us had invited a female relative for the season.’

I lean against the ornithopter and close my eyes. By no means is it warm, but the sun feels so lovely on my skin. ‘She would have to be one of yours, then. My family has generations of single children, and my grandparents are dead.’

‘I have a distant aunt,’ Catherine says. ‘She claims the pigeons on her property wait to watch her undress.’

‘Oh? Well, that’s not surprising. Pigeons are quite dastardly creatures.’

Catherine plops the shawl on Dona’s head and wraps it around so the lass’s features are mostly obscured. ‘There. That might be enough to fool people from a distance.’

‘Let us hope we are not approached, then,’ I say.

‘I can’t see, miss,’ Dona mutters.

‘All the better. You only need to be able to see your feet, so you don’t trip over anything,’ Catherine replies and pats Dona’s shoulder reassuringly.

‘Perfect.’ I open the ornithopter door. ‘We’ve rendered Dona mostly blind and partially disguised her as an old woman for the sake of a bloody walk in a public park.’

Catherine nods, not at all fazed by my horrid use of the English language. ‘The things we do for sunshine.’

I step back to let Catherine and Dona inside, then stroll around to the driver’s side and hoist myself in. Our skirts take up most of the free space in the cabin. Dona is squeezed in the middle, her tiny frame huddled even smaller.

‘There now,’ I say. ‘Is everyone ready?’

Dona gulps. ‘Lady Aileana, are you certain this is safe? I’ve heard stories—’

‘Safe as houses,’ I interrupt cheerfully. ‘I built it myself, remember?’

Dona sinks back with a weak, ‘Aye, my lady.’

I smile and flip the switches to turn the machine on. Steam rises from the front vent and Dona jumps. I bite back a laugh and settle into my seat. At least she isn’t aware that she’s sitting on the hidden weapon cache.

I rest my hands on the helm, salvaged from a schooner ship just like the one in my bedroom. The wings extend outward from their resting position to their full length, flapping in loud, smoothwhooshes. We begin to hover just above the ground as the wings beat faster and faster. Then I shift the gear lever next to me and push my foot down on a second pedal. The machine rises smoothly and flies over the houses in Charlotte Square.

‘Would either of you like some tea?’ I ask. Both ladies shake their heads. I turn the ornithopter in the direction of the castle. ‘Well, I would. Could you get me a teacup from the compartment beside you, Catherine?’

Catherine opens a wooden panel and removes a porcelain teacup. She passes it to me and I place it under the steel spout in front of Dona. I press another button and warm, already steeped tea pours into the cup. The scent of heather fills the cabin.

I pick up the cup and sip. Perfect.

‘Oh my,’ Catherine breathes. ‘Look there.’

She points just over my shoulder. I turn and gasp softly. From the skies, we can see every bit of the destruction of North Bridge. Half of it has fallen into the valley below, with a broken portion still left hanging.

A large throng has gathered, lining the streets to view the bridge. Steam-powered carriages crowd the road, hardly any room between them. On the Old Town end, just beyond the bridge, traffic is being redirected to New Town via Lothian Road – no small detour, that. The whole city is a mess of traffic and pedestrians. All because of me.

‘What do you think could have caused that?’ Catherine asks.

We pass an automatic flying machine with a banner advertisement waving behind it. I focus on the words, to concentrate on something other than my destruction.Bass’s East-India Pale Ale . . . This season’s ale is in excellent condition, both in bottle and cask. . .

‘I have no idea.’ I hope they don’t notice how my voice shakes, how intently I’m staring at the sign rather than at the sight below.

‘Do you think it could happen again?’ Catherine asks.

I return my attention to Catherine. ‘Of course not.’ I sound false, the way Kiaran does when he pretends to be concerned. ‘Perhaps it has something to do with a malfunctioning carriage. Combustion is a tricky thing.’ I smile at her. ‘Fear not. We won’t be blown to bits.’

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