"Ladies and gentlemen, feast your eyes on the marvelous, the stupendous, the world-famous FLYING MAN!"
The spotlights focused on the other wooden tower at the far end of the field, revealing Seth strapped to a giant wing constructed of wood and cloth. The audience gasped when the gas lamps on the ground activated, illuminating a steam-powered prop made from foam and cloth which created the convincing illusion of spinning saw blades. Quinn's hands shook as he grasped the release lever, waiting for his brother to give the signal.
Seth secured the clasp on his fur-lined leather helmet, lowered brass-rimmed glass goggles over his eyes, and reached out to grasp the grips on the leading edges of the wings. Finally, he stomped one foot three times.
Quinn suppressed his fear just long enough to pull the lever. The sack of stones, which had previously been secured at the end of a wooden crane, began to plummet down from Quinn's tower. The cable attached to the apex of Seth's craft snapped taught and yanked him away. The wings caught the air and billowed slightly as Seth leapt off the platform and took flight.
At first he flew straight forward along the path of the cable, but with practiced timing Seth released the cable just before the weight struck the field. In that instant, he was moving without any force pulling him. Please don't nose dive, Quinn thought. Don't nose dive! Don't nose dive! Don't nose dive!
The kite featured weights fixed to the tail of the central boom. This had the effect of causing the tail to sink, which in turn caused the nose to rise just above the horizon. Seth's arms shook violently as the wooden frame buckled, causing the kite to rock gently. Quinn could see the strain etched on his brother's face. Ladies in the crowd screamed as Seth just barely cleared the fake saw blades. He pitched up to slow down before his legs impacted the ground.
"For the first time in history," the showman proclaimed, "Man has conquered the sky at the risk of certain doom! History has been made, and you are all witnesses!"
The crowd cheered.
Quinn breathed a sigh of relief. Strictly speaking, the showman's claims were untrue. Seth frequently practiced the act during the day. He had also performed the act on several nights as the circus straddled the small towns on the north coast of the Theocracy. Neither Quinn nor Seth could explain why the kite sometimes decided to dive straight into the ground. The weights on the tail seemed to help, but it was something that Quinn could never quite feel comfortable with. We need to ask an engineer, he thought.
He removed the cloth cover from his lantern and began to descend his tower's ladder. Below, the spotlights followed Seth as he trotted across the field toward the stadium bleachers. The men in the crowd poured over the barrier and dropped into the field. They sized Seth and raised him over their heads, cheering and singing, offering small bills in the local currency.
Quinn avoided the mob and escaped backstage. It was much darker, lit only by flickering lamps at the top of small wooden towers. Gantries, ropes, props and cages were scattered haphazardly. Men and even a few women walked around mostly in their smallclothes, some of them hastily preparing their costumes for the next act.
He lingered until the circus staff carried the giant wooden wing backstage. He inspected it, carefully tracing every rope and piece of cloth under the lamplight, looking for damage. The cloth was attached to the wooden frame with sailor's knots, each ending in a loop and a spiral around itself, slathered in dry glue. The rigging held fast as Quinn tugged at it.
Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.
Quinn was still inspecting the craft when Seth arrived, puffing on his pipe. "Hey Quinn, guess what?" he said dryly.
"Yeah?"
"The ladies are going to line up for us tonight! Haha!"
"For you maybe," Quinn said. "You were the one everyone saw risking your neck up on that thing. How was it? Was it easier to control tonight?"
"I'm afraid not," Seth replied. He sat down on a bench by a spool of rope and took a flask out of his jacket. "It required all my strength to control it. The nose tends to want to sink. For now, we should celebrate, yeah?" He took a swig and handed it to Quinn.
The stuff tasted like vanilla and oak. They passed the flask back and forth a few times before the showman arrived. As always, the pot-bellied man was wearing an expensive suit and a wide-brimmed black hat.
"Good show my boy!" he said. "Brilliant! Brilliant!"
"Do you need something?" Seth asked.
"Quinn, my boy, that was an excellent performance tonight, but we need to think bigger. Audiences are not going to line up to see this act forever. We need twists, turns, loops, maybe even a ship's propeller attached to the thing."
Seth grunted but said nothing.
"Right now that is impossible," Quinn said. "There is something fundamental that needs to change. I think we will need more resources. Academic resources, specifically."
"Nonsense," the showman said.
"Hear me out," Quinn insisted. "Maybe it would be possible to attach a propeller to the thing, but under no circumstance could we attach a steam engine and still remain in control. Sir, have you heard about the University up in White Chasm? I hear it's the only school in the world that trains commoners like me and my brother. If we enrolled there..."
"You don't have auras," the showman observed.
"We can lease them from the bank," Quinn offered.
"That would cost a fortune every month," the showman said. "What the entire circus earns in a year, a hundred times over, every month, just to lease the smallest aura the banks offer."
"Maybe we can go to one of the Heritors."
The showman snatched the flask from Seth and drank deeply, then stalked off without returning it. "I don't want to hear either of you mention the Heritors ever again."
For a moment it looked like Seth was going to lose control. When the showman was out of earshot, he said: "I don't know about White Chasm, but I'm ready to leave this circus. That bastard isn't willing to risk his own skin, but he's happy to risk ours. He doesn't deserve us."
"I agree," Quinn said. "Maybe we could get involved with the military? I heard that some Heritor kidnapped some other Heritor."
"The Blue Wolf," Seth said.
"Right, that Blue Wolf woman," Quinn agreed. "Some Heritor family marches through the Theocracy, trying to get her back. It's only a matter of time before the Theocracy sends an army to contest their advance. Armies need information. Enemy army movements, supply line locations. If we could just demonstrate the potential of a flying machine for scouting, it could completely change warfare as we know it."
Seth nodded. "I like the idea. Military men are real risk takers, gambling with their lives. And girls want more than words, they want real sacrifices. Speaking of girls, let's head into town and try to pick up girlfriends, yeah?"
Quinn sighed. "Even if we do manage to slip away, there is no way we would be able to bring the kite with us. I'm going to head to the workshop and make copies of our diagrams."
"Suit yourself," Seth said as he turned and walked away.
Quinn hoisted the kite off the ground and began to walk back to the workshop. As he was making his first step he realized the lamplight was casting a shadow.
A human shadow.
He looked up. The silhouette of a female figure stood above him on the wooden scaffolding. Her body was shrouded in total darkness, but her eyes were glowing purple, and her face was scarred by glowing teal fractures radiating away from those purple eyes. She rotated slightly and he saw her face reflecting the light. She had a knowing smirk on a youthful face framed by dark blue hair.
"Excuse me, can I help you?" he asked, loud enough for her to hear. But she did not reply. She turned away and vanished into the darkness beyond the lamps.
Who was that? he wondered. And those eyes... An oculomancer, he realized. Quinn frowned. How did she get backstage? The showman didn't have any oculomancers on staff. Why was that woman here? And how much had she heard?