Bird (9 page)

If indeed the captain was a creative genius, a man of riddles, as the doctor had said, he must have had a plan for the kites. If nothing else, he would not have left without documenting his ideas. He had made detailed notes about the intricate underpinnings of his vessels. Surely he would have left behind some sketch or diagram, though I had never come upon any rendering in his records. The attic, too, was entirely devoted to the kites; there was neither a desk there nor documents of any kind.

Suddenly, a vivid image of the captain as a young boy came to my mind. I had never thought of the captain in this way before, but, of course, he had once been the same age as me. He had grown up in Bourne Manor, as I had. Alone, as I had. His days had been spent, I was sure, in much the same ways as my own. He was a clever boy and imaginative. The doctor had described him as a dreamer and unlike ordinary men.

In a house of moving walls and secret passages, of rooms filled with kites and skeleton keys, was it not possible that he had written his ideas in some sort of code or hidden them, as a young boy might? Hidden them first from his family and then from Wysteria, believing that perhaps both would have destroyed his hopes and belittled his vision?

Where would a boy hide something of value? I opened drawers, pulled books from their shelves, searched for secret compartments in the floorboards, but to no avail.

I sat down in the captain’s chair at his desk and stared at the walls of his study, until it occurred to me that I was staring at the very answer itself. The small pieces of paper wedged into the cracks beneath the window casements! Those seemingly useless scraps of yellowing parchment I had taken to be Wysteria’s primitive form of insulation against the cold.

I stood up and walked to the window, knelt down and pried one carefully from its crevice. It was tightly wound like a miniature scroll. I unrolled it gently, for it was amazingly fragile. It was made from the same type of paper as the kites. Written upon it were calculations of some kind. I pried out another, which revealed a tiny sketch of a pair of wings.

I pulled out several more scrolls and unrolled these as well. Upon each were various renditions of a man with wings strapped to his shoulders, standing on a mountaintop. Some sketches were clearly done by the hand of a child and were so old they almost disintegrated at my touch. Others were newer, finely drawn, with streams of notes written around them. There were, too, long entries of dates and weather predictions. I pulled out all the scrolls I could find, more than fifty in all, gently placed them in the pockets of my coat and hurried downstairs.

I packed apples, a bag of dried plums and a piece of meat from the larder, enough for two days. I stuffed all of it into a net bag and slung it over my shoulder. I walked to the front door and reached for the large brass knob, turning it with my free hand, but could not grasp it. I tried then with my other hand but found the door firmly locked. I could not remember locking it behind me. I took out key after key, but none would work. With each key, the door remained locked. I next tried the windows, but they too refused to open. I could feel fear quickly rising within me, threatening to take hold.

I ran up the stairs, trying every door and every window, but all refused to give way. For one brief, terrible moment, I imagined that I would be trapped inside the Manor forever, with the knowledge of my freedom stuffed in my coat pockets. But to my immense relief, this hopeless image faded as I pushed my way into the glass room, which had no lock upon it, and out onto the widow’s walk.

Far below me on the beach, I could see Farley and the Hounds, though they could not see or hear me. In my panic, I thought to leap the impossible gap to the elm tree, a good two yards, but fortunately I quickly came to my senses and realized that I could, with the help of the anchor line, make my way down the side of the house.

I tied the net bag tightly at the top and dropped it down the four stories to the ground. Returning to the glass room, I lit the lantern, putting it on low and filling its reservoir with oil, enough to last two days, to allay any suspicions on the doctor’s part. I then took up the anchor line and tied it about my waist. It was long and it was strong and able to hold my weight. I secured the other end of the line to the railing, climbed over and slowly let myself down the side of the Manor, being careful not to let the tiny scrolls leave my pockets.

I could go only as far as the rope hung, but at that point I was close enough to jump without fear of injury. Firmly on the ground, I grabbed the net bag and looked up at the Manor. Its vacant and menacing windows glared down upon me, and I knew, perhaps for the first time, its real intentions. It would try to destroy me before it ever let me go. I knew with certainty that this was true, and I vowed that never again would I be caught inside its walls.

13

O
ur time of freedom was drawing to a close. Dr. Mead would return with Wysteria in two days. Farley and I pored over the captain’s scrolls, a cryptic yet revealing account of Lawrence Barrows’s life that included detailed sketches of his amazing creation, the Flying Heron.

As a boy, Lawrence Barrows had been fascinated with birds and flight. He had designed kites and flown them on the beach. He later dreamed of a life at sea and voyages to places far away from his desolate boyhood home. He signed on to a merchant sailing vessel and traveled to Burma and the islands of Indonesia, where he heard for the first time the ancient stories of man-bearing kites. He collected fine silk fabric and bamboo and brought them home to reconstruct the creations that had captured his imagination. He studied the wind, the motion of birds and the art of papermaking. Though there was no evidence that he planned to fly away himself, it was clear that he found great joy in his kites, for they could do the thing that he could not.

It was all there in the scrolls: his sketches of herons and ospreys, his desire to leave the Manor with Wysteria and set himself and Dr. Mead free at last from the Manor’s curse.

“I still do not understand what fortune Dr. Mead thinks the captain left him,” I said to Farley, for I had told him of Dr. Mead’s alarming behavior.

“It must be something that one does not directly see when looking at it, like the wings. It must require a different kind of seeing.”

“The doctor accused me of hiding a secret, and I thought perhaps the kites were the thing of great value that he sought, but what possible value could the kites have for a man like Dr. Mead? Their only value was to the captain, who simply loved to build them, and to me.”

“Perhaps the silk kites are valuable. Perhaps the silk is rare.”

“But there are not that many silk kites and only a few bolts of silk. The rest are all paper.”

“Yes. The paper kites. They were made with great care.”

“And they are unusual, but I do not think—”

“The paper!” Farley said suddenly. “The captain made his own paper, did he not?”

“Yes. But paper is of no great value.”

Farley picked up one of the paper kites and held it in the sunlight, studying it closely. He smiled, then laughed and began dancing around with the kite in his hands.

“Farley? What is it?”

“Your captain was not only an excellent maker of kites, but a genius as well. Though perhaps a little eccentric, indeed.”

“Farley!”

“This paper has always seemed familiar to me and yet strange. It is not what it seems.”

“It is just paper.”

“It is paper money, miss. Paper bills. These kites are made of hundreds or thousands of bills, perhaps some of large denominations, reconstituted and refined to make this exquisite paper. Here. See for yourself.” I held the kite close and Farley pointed out to me the particular grain, the distinctive fibers, the now unmistakably green hue and the texture.

“The fortune is in the kites!” I exclaimed.

“Yes. It was a noble act. He knew a fortune would only bring further suffering upon his wife and friend, for the captain was a true friend.”

“Unlike Dr. Mead, who searches for something that does not exist.”

“It is only of value to you. It has fallen into the hands of the one person who truly knows how to use it.”

Farley and I talked for a long time about the paper fortune. We talked of the wings and diligently studied the captain’s scrolls, for we both knew that we must understand his plans for the Heron if I were to make my escape in time.

Interpreting the captain’s notes, Farley explained to me that to cross the distance to the mountains, one had to replicate the actions of a bird by catching the warm thermal updrafts above the earth, then letting these drafts spin one up and out across the lake. The flier must also launch from the greatest height possible, which the captain identified as the roof of the glass house, a space of two yards with no railing about it, enough for three or four large steps.

“This clearly will be your way out, miss. Me boat is leaving tomorrow and if I am not on it, I will have forfeited a stable livelihood. You cannot be here when your mistress returns, and you cannot come with me. I will help you to launch the Heron and I will watch you sail over the lake to the other side.”

“But I do not know how to operate the wings. I will not know which strings to pull, or how to negotiate the currents and thermals of which you speak.”

“We will practice until you do. Until you feel strong with the levers and the pulleys. You are a natural creature of the air, miss, and the wind draws you where it wants you. All you must do is let it take you to your destination. It will feel as natural to you as it would to any bird.”

I knew Farley was right. There was no other way for me.

“Your only chance is to fly across the lake in hopes that you will find more of your own kind.”

I nodded.

“We have much in our favor, miss,” he said to encourage me. “We are nearing the end of June and there are warmer currents. You will glide over the mowed fields to the north and then ride the thermals out over the water. You are as light as a feather and easily lifted by the wind.”

We spent the remainder of that day and the next following the captain’s directions for the Heron. We had all the pieces required, except for a few wooden braces, which Farley carved out of driftwood and attached with twine. Although it first appeared complex, Farley showed me that the design for the Heron was in reality quite simple. Seven kites fastened perfectly together made up one wing, and two wings connected to a braided harness. A hinge at midwing bent at the pull of a cord to allow it to flap. Farley demonstrated it to me, showing how, if kept at a constant rhythm, the wings, in fact, replicated the motion of a heron’s. There were, as well, intricate and subtle curves and details built into the design of the kites that mimicked the exact arch of a bird’s wing, a tail that tilted upward and the ability to collapse the giant wings in order to carry them.

“I am surprised that we could not see it earlier,” Farley remarked. “If we had only turned the kites over to fit them as if into a puzzle, we could have known its rightful shape.”

Farley altered the apparatus as best he could to fit my small frame, but it sagged at my shoulders, and I was so light that when we practiced working with it along the beach, it tilted and threw me into a somersault, almost crushing the wings. Still, I was determined to succeed, for I knew that I had no other choice.

The apparatus fit Farley well enough and he was sufficiently heavy to stabilize it, but that did us little good. We practiced adding weight to my pockets and tying the straps down tighter, but still the wings were unwieldy.

“I will have to adjust it once again,” Farley said, taking the wings from my back.

“We don’t have much time,” I reminded him. “Dr. Mead will return with Wysteria tomorrow.”

“Yes, I know.” Farley sat by the fire and began restringing the harness. All day, I had felt that a heavy decision lay upon his mind, though he would not speak of it. As the light began to fade and every possible angle had been considered to fit the harness to me, Farley quietly unlaced it and laid it on the ground. Then the burden suddenly seemed to lift from him and his eyes lit up. The Hounds came up to him and licked his face. He did not push them away, as he had in the past. Deep in thought, he hardly noticed them. Absentmindedly he put his arm around one of their giant heads and smiled.

“I know,” he said. “I know what I must do. Do not worry, miss. We will find a way.”

14

T
he day of the flight dawned overcast with the threat of rain, but by noon the sky had cleared and promised to remain bright.

Farley left shortly after breakfast. He said he had important matters to see to in town and would return by early evening.

“I will be as quick as I can. The wind will be best after sunset. We’ll launch then.” I nodded, hoping that he would return before Wysteria did.

“You must promise me that you will not go inside the Manor. While I am gone you will stay here on the beach far away from its doors. Promise me?”

“I promise. I do not wish to go near it.”

“That may not be possible, for we will have to make our way to the top of the house to launch the Heron.”

“I cannot face it.”

“We will face it together. You will by no means venture near the Manor alone until I return?” I assured him again that I would not.

With that, Farley departed. The Hounds left for a morning of roaming, and I stayed on the beach, occupying myself by cutting several pieces of twine and weaving them into six strong cords. Farley assured me we would need these during the launch, though I did not know their purpose.

As the afternoon wore on and my weaving was almost complete, my thoughts began to wander to the Manor: my fear of it, the captain’s desire to be rid of it, and how Dr. Mead and Wysteria, too, had been taken fully under its spell. I could see quite clearly how all of us and generations of Barrowses and Meads had been bound to it in an inexplicable way, as had the spirits of all that still dwelt there.

Looking up at its looming silhouette, I felt a strange sympathy for the Manor. It had not asked to be built upon the cliffs, nor had it anything to do with its crooked design. It had been a victim of circumstance. It suffered from the isolation of its placement, as did its inhabitants. From the distance of the beach, I could see that it was only a house. It had taken me in. Surely I must not repay it by leaving in this way. Surely I should show my respect and bid it a proper farewell.

In the light of day, the Manor appeared almost harmless, and I found my pity for it growing with each passing minute. I was pulled toward it not only in thought, but also physically, and I wanted nothing more than to be once again within its protective embrace. My resolution to stay close to the wind faded from my mind. Something drew me beyond my normal senses. Though I knew I should not even let myself think of the Manor, I found that I could think of nothing else. The Manor needed me, I was sure of it. It would cease to exist if I did not return to the safety of its walls.

Memories of my days within its many rooms, looking out the windows and standing on the walk, filled my mind. Nostalgia overtook me and, like a strong perfume, drew me ever closer, until I found myself standing before the gates leading to the entrance. Mesmerized, I started for the front door, ready to lose myself inside, when a flock of starlings alighted from a nearby ash tree and awoke me from my stupor. I heard quite distinctly in the flapping of their wings Farley’s voice, which was stronger even than the pull of the Manor.

“We will face it together,” the voice said. And with that, I snapped fully awake, as if rescued from a very bad dream, and could not imagine how I had come to stand so close to the Manor’s doors. The Hounds appeared at my side and gently guided me back to the beach, where I remained, watching the sun sink behind the mountains, turning the sky orange and crimson until all color eventually faded, leaving the horizon the deep azure of the lake itself at twilight.

I added wood to the fire and made the final adjustments to the cords I had completed. The Hounds settled in beside me, their gangly legs occasionally getting caught up in the harness strings, requiring me to free them. They stayed close, and whenever a thought of the Manor came to me I called them to my side. I dismissed all thoughts of the Manor with a firm, audible “No,” until the thoughts began to fade and lose their hold on me.

Farley was true to his word and at eight o’clock returned, carrying a satchel on his back.

“Were you fine, then?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“I worried.”

“No need.”

“Come, now. We cannot delay. The wind is right.” Together we picked up the Heron, collapsed it, and carried it to the top of the cliffs. The Hounds tried to follow us, but Farley pushed them away from the fragile wings.

“Miss, please keep them at bay. They will destroy all of our hard work.”

I called the Hounds to my side and knew what I must tell them. I knelt down to look into their giant faces. They were huge and smelly and wild, but they had been my protectors, even before I knew I needed their protection.

“You must listen to me now,” I said, gathering them around me. “It is time for us to leave this place. When Wysteria returns tonight, you need to be very far away. Do you understand?” They cocked their heads. “You must leave when I leave. You no longer need a mistress to govern you. You are free, as I am.” One Hound began to whine, and the rest joined in. “Hush! Look there,” I said, pointing across the lake to the mountains. “That is where I am going. That is where you will find me. You can find me. I know you can.”

“Miss. Come along!” Farley called.

“I’m coming,” I said.

“You must stay outside,” I said to the Hounds. They whimpered and sat on their haunches. I bent down and kissed the top of each of their heads, then turned away from their sorrowful faces. I ran to catch up with Farley, trying not to weep, for I had grown to love the beasts and hoped with all my heart that they would find me.

Together, Farley and I slowly approached the Manor and pushed open the massive front door. All was quiet and dark within. I had forgotten how deep the gloom was inside the house at that time of the day with the heavy curtains drawn over the windows.

“Farley,” I whispered.

“Hold me hand,” he said calmly. I took hold. How strange that he had no fear of the place at all and that my own legs shook so badly I could barely stand upon them.

“It is not real,” he whispered. “This place is only a thought that has grabbed hold of you. It cannot harm you. You are not of this place, and it has no power over you. You do not need it, nor do you owe it your allegiance.” I nodded, listening only to his words and not to the rattling of the windows, which had begun as soon as we had stepped inside.

“Pull back the draperies,” Farley whispered. We carefully placed the Heron on the floor. He took one side of the great room and I took the other, and silently we pulled the heavy drapes back from the frames, though the windows shook and groaned in their casements.

“Now open the windows,” he said.

“They’re locked,” I whispered back.

“Take the keys and open them.”

“I’m not sure they will work.”

“Try.” I fumbled with the keys, trying to remember which one opened the windows.
“Long and thin,”
I murmured,
“long and thin.”
My hands shook with fear, but finally I found the right key and freed each window. Against their rattling, Farley and I pushed them open wide.

“Open all the doors,” Farley said then.

“No!”

“Yes. We’ll open all the doors and move quickly to the next floor and do the same there,” he insisted.

“But what if it won’t let us?”

“The house senses your fear and plays upon it. That is the only thing that will stop us. When the fear presses upon you, remember that it is not real. Remember the feeling of the wind. That is real.”

I nodded, for I knew this to be true. I held my thoughts firm, and, keeping the Heron from catching beneath our feet, we moved to the next floor.

Along the staircase, I passed the portraits of the captain and his ancestors, all those who had not escaped the ravages of the Manor, all those who had been ruled by something they could not see. And I knew in that moment that I would not be like them.

“Trust me?”

“I do.”

“Go.” I knew which keys opened the doors on each floor and quickly released them, running up stairs and down corridors until all the doors and windows were free and Farley and I were safely inside the glass house.

Farley prepared the Heron, spreading its wings wide on the floor and adjusting the harness.

“How will you get out?” I asked him. “Once I’m gone, how will you leave? By the tree?”

“Don’t worry yourself about that,” he said, winking at me.

All the doors open now, the house began to shake furiously. Floorboards groaned beneath us as an enormous wave of turmoil and grief rose up from its depths. But the more the Manor raged, the more I held to Farley’s words that it was not real and that it could not harm me.

“We don’t have much time,” Farley said. I followed him out to the walk and began to strap on the harness, but he stopped me and shook his head.

“I
will wear the wings,” he announced. “They fit me and I can operate them.” He took them gently from me and spread them open again. “Hand me the cords you made.” I did as he asked, and he secured himself to the frame.

“I don’t understand. What will
I
do?”

“You, miss,” he said, putting his hand on my shoulder, “are a friend of the wind. You will hold me hand.”

“You’re coming with me?”

He pointed to his satchel. “All me belongings are inside. I’ll be taking me freedom, as you are. I have all me wages and we have a plan, do we not?”

I smiled. “We do.”

“Come, now. We can talk of it later.” Farley put the wings on, stood up on the railing and began climbing to the roof. “Take off your boots and when I am settled, you come up,” he instructed.

I unlaced my boots and took them off, leaving them forever at the top of the Manor. I filled the lantern one last time and lit the wick, for it had burned down and the light was barely visible. I did not wish for Dr. Mead to suspect anything, though I knew he would soon enough when he arrived with Wysteria and only my boots were to be found.

“Now!” Farley yelled. I climbed up on the railing as I had seen him do and onto the roof, which was sturdy, but not broad. The two of us barely fit upon it.

“Wait,” I said. In my haste, I had forgotten to close the door to the glass house, and the lantern stood vulnerable and exposed to the wind. “I must see to the lantern. The wind is strong.”

“There is no time,” Farley said. “Leave it.” As he spoke, we heard a rumbling rise from within the house and the whole structure swayed violently toward the lake. A strong gust whipped about us, and as I grabbed Farley’s arm, we heard the definite crash of the lantern as the wind knocked it to the floor. After all my years as its keeper, on this day of all days, I could not believe that I had abandoned my post.

“Farley, please!”

“Give me your hand!” he yelled.

“Please. The house will burn! It will burn to the ground.”

“We cannot go back! Your hand! Give me your hand!” I thought of the Manor beneath us and of all that would be destroyed if I did not see to the lantern, all that would be lost. But then I looked up at Farley, at his hand reaching for mine, and I grabbed it, my heart beating in my throat. Before I could catch my breath or think another thought, Farley pulled the harness strings tight, the wings opened and we ran together off the roof, gliding out over the great elm, heading north above the fields until the warm currents buoyed us high enough and pushed us toward the lake. The wind lifted under the Heron’s wings, and beneath my frame, carrying me along as naturally as any bird. I leaned into it, giving myself completely to its embrace.

“Don’t look back,” Farley yelled. But of all the things he had asked of me, this was the one thing I could not do. I was unable to take my eyes from the Manor as it was slowly consumed, the flames spreading first to the roof and then working down to the third-floor balconies, the turrets and the tower that held my room, taking the captain’s study along with them.

Far out on the plains, I could see a carriage hurrying down the road to the Manor. Nearing the front gate, it pulled to a stop, and a tall, willowy figure in black descended the steps and ran headlong toward the burning structure. A man in a top hat and dark cape stepped out behind her, staring at the blaze before him. Just as I was about to turn away, I saw him lift his eyes to the sky and fix his gaze upon the Heron.

High on the cliffs, the Hounds raced northward after us, howling wildly, their long strides carrying them safely away from the destruction.

“Run! I whispered. “Run until you find us.”

As the wind pushed us across the lake, I heard a faint but definite roar as the Manor collapsed upon itself. In our wake, the entire hillside above the cliffs was awash in light. And far below, on the crimson sand, I saw, to my surprise, a distinct but smaller fire extinguishing itself on the beach.