13
Our 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.”