Little bird
Fly away
Dream of somewhere
far away
Just come-
We'll. save. you. for. a. Price
O' Share-my-wi—ings
See.
the stars fall through the sky.
Share my wi—ings
Little sun birds. shoot and die.
Typical.
He loved Bell's singing, even if it was for the audience. Sliding down onto the flat of the fin that elongated from the ship like a whale, it rested just above the sea of white, and he felt so powerful just staring off to the endless array of clouds. But Hugo couldn't stay, he knew that, it was an arrangement of the contract, he had to get the thing done.
Eventually hauling himself back up, he leapt onto another fin, then another, before reaching the black railings of the performer's tent, and flipping over onto the small terrace. Kicking off his boots and rubbing on their sores, he handed his cape and costume over to the costume department and waited. Inside, it stank of sweat and curdling heat: Performers laughed and hugged each other, tripping through the floor, littered with props, relieved that it was all over, even if they knew they'd have to do it all over again in a few days.
Typical.
Peeking out, his hands fingering at the curtain: the circus lights had dimmed, and its mouth let out a heavy exhale as the guest trickled out: Everyone was still in abuzz, even with the sky leeching black and pooling its colours onto the clouds that now were a soft pink- How did he do that? The strangest thing I ever saw! Godbelow! I want to sing like her!
The more senior crew and performers had recalled how they once docked on cities, a vast spread of buildings in a unearthly basket, suspended by a balloon of hydrogen, it had to be, the spirits didn't have enough strength to hold a structure larger than a ship, but there was a backlash- it was flammable, very. And the constant pirates didn't help. Instead, small boats that were sustained by family business swarmed the Hermes to catch the weekly Sunday show.
Hugo's sister sat on the other side of the tent, where everyone wanted to catch what the Lyrebird had to say. She was the picture of the circus, through a pretty rotten picture. He heard the crunch of dried tailgrass behind him, and he shivered. Hugo wanted to whip around and choke Bell until she threw up. That drug, the smell, he wanted to go after it too, but then he'd be addicted, just like her. The public didn't know, of course, that their dainty pretty Lyrebird was crumbling on the inside.
The crowd began to part, sloping down the main deck, oohing and aahing at the unique wing sails of the ship, then Hugo heard the slight creaks of gangplanks, as they crossed back, to their own ships, sailing off into the night.
But there was always someone who stayed behind.
Someone running away from someone.
Someone seeking something.
Bell began to yank silk ties from her hair that Arwin, the designer, had painstakingly fixed on, and began to ruffle her thick hazel hair. Then, she unbuttoned her corset and talked, her voice lulled and drunk, full of fuzz. Her skirt- illuminated like the north lights, shifting so much it made Hugo dizzy, clicking her boots in a way parallel to kicking a beggar.
Hugo turned back to watch the boy.
Outside, alone, in the dark and all. With freckles the colour of Bell's bangs in the light, and floppy black hair that dropped downwards like a stray dog's, and sunburst eyes, round, young and innocent eyes.
Just go away! He wanted to shout: Too many deaths had happened on the ship. Bernadette, the nameless carpenter boy, and tonight, Haza, the magician. He didn't want to do it, he could see the blood on his hands, and no matter how much he rubbed his palms, they were still red.
But Hugo couldn't falter now, someone was watching, the captain's spy was watching, testing to see what his first mate would do. The captain was playing with him, cruelly noting down his weaknesses to put them in use, to make him do things he shouldn't.
He pushed away the curtains and let the cold air rush onto him: Hugo slowly materialised from the mist, treading towards the boy, he watched as the moist fog made the bright brazen paint on his face bleed, colours streaking down his face.
He stopped, and waited.
The boy wore a black ruana that was far too big for him, the drapes swathed around him like a cocoon. Hugo eyed as the boy pulled out the crumpled 'help wanted' flyer of the circus, smoothing out the edges carefully, and handing it to Hugo.
"This is from months ago." he lied, and tossed it back.
"I can work," he says. "Please! I need a passage to the North."
"We're not going to the North this year."
His voice heavy with disappointment, "But you go every year."
"Something has changed. The captain has changed route." Hugo says, forcing his voice to be calm. Why does the captain want to go to Mothumb? Something bad is going to happen, or at least, worse than usual. "We're going East."
"Thats fine too," the boy says quickly.
He narrowed his eyes. "Why did your family leave you on this ship?"
"Not my family," he shrinks back, "I worked in their restaurant briefly but they plan to stay in the West side of the White Sea, but I need to go somewhere different."
"You won't find a job here." Hugo says, "Leave."
"I can't." he says, "They're gone, unless you want me to jump overboard, into the clouds and drown?" The fire in his eyes seemed to dance, challenging for Hugo to rebuff him.
Hugo thought for a moment: drowning was a much better death than the fate that awaited the boy aboard the Hermes. "Sure." He shrugs, twisting around.
"Wait! Stop!"
He did. "What is it?"
"Is it money that you want? I will give you a sack of diamonds for five weeks onboard."
The side of Hugo's mouth twitched to one side, he may not have been as famous, bold, and beautiful as the Lyrebird, but he certainly had his talents as the face-changer: The boy is lying. "Lier." he says.
"Fight me," the boy demanded.
Hugo let out a laugh, soaking with mirth: This boy, though probably the same age as him, but inches shorter, and punier than the most pathetic of dying rats, wants to fight him? "Me? You wouldn't beat a daffodil if your life depended on it."
He cocked his head to the side, "Maybe," he said with honest sincerity, "so what about a chase?"
"A chase?"
"If you catch me, you win, and I leave, end of story, but if I outrun you for a full five minutes, I stay," he says quietly.
"Deal." Hugo says he would do anything to get this soul off this hell of a ship. "Your name?"
"Ulysse." he grins, "But the only things you could catch would be the flu."
Hugo had only visited the Mothumb once, when he was young, he barely remembered anything, only the swooping and screeching of birds around him: a hawk, then faster, an eagle, then fastest, the falcon: a feathered tuckered bullet cutting through the sky: Ulysse was a falcon, slamming forward, and Hugo, feeling the rush of exhilaration in him, the world became sharper, the colours searing, popping out from the pungent mix of old wood, the pounding in his chest that grew louder and louder, while he felt his lungs burn like dry shrivelled prunes gasping for air.
He leapt up to the upper deck, his eyes dementedly racing after a black cloth that flitted- there!
He was alive.
It felt like playing hide and seek back at his father's mansion, though Bell would always cheat and eventually win. Letting his pace relax, he circled the captain's tent, like a hound closing in on the kill. Ulysse was right there, around the corner. And it felt good to forget, even for the smallest of moments.
The captain's tent had long been his dread, the stink of bodies seemed to hang around it, and every sunset Hugo went crazy trying to differentiate the red and orange light of the dying sun, from what looked like blood pooling around its edges. But here, in the dark, where the only light came from the dimming performer's tent, he felt surprisingly safe. But the spy was watching, always.
Hugo pitched in, his hand grappling in the air, inches from Ulysse, who let out a whoop, which broke off into a yelp, as he stumbled, and plummeted over the edge.
"No!" he gritted his teeth and looked down, but there Ulysse was, sprawling supine and skywards on the wings of the boat, sinking into the folds of the horizontal sail. Hugo began to laugh, an uncontrollable raw laugh, and the boy began chuckling too, and they stayed there like that for a while, a wild mess.
"It's been five minutes!" Ulysse finally called back as their laughter died down.
It has? The fun spun through in a blur and Hugo checked his watch reluctantly: "Yes it has."
"I win?"
He sighed. "You win."
"Should I see the captain of the ship?"
"You don't really see the captain." Bell's voice muttered.
Hugo glanced over to see his sister, peering at him from a few steps away, clearly amused. "Never come out of his cabin." he agrees.
"Very unnecessarily mysterious." she says.
"Only I really meet him," Hugo says, "But all he does is send me envelopes with instructions."
"Does he even exist?" Ulysse
"He exists alright." Hugo scowls, "And he's on the ship."
Bell dropped her voice. "The boy's joining?"
"Yeah."
"Stupid kid." Bell says under her breath. "He has no idea what he just did."
Stupid indeed.