"You never know when you might need a screwdriver." He tucked the leather case away and she shook her head. Cassi and her lip paints, Cristof and his tools.
"You really are a gearhead, aren't you?"
"We gearheads consider that term a compliment, icarus."
Amused, Taya buttoned up his collar until it rested under his chin. He tugged at it, frowning.
"Leave it alone," she instructed. "It may feel tight now, but you don't want a breeze down your suit while you're flying."
"It's no more uncomfortable than robes and a mask," he said, dropping his hand and cinching his belt tighter. "But the suit's heavier than I expected. Especially the boots. You don't look big enough to carry around so much weight every day."
"I'm stronger than I look," Taya said, with a trace of pride. "And the ondium makes make it feel lighter. The boots are heavy because of the metal toes and thick soles. Even so, we have to replace them pretty often. Which reminds me…. "She grabbed a pair of jointed metal-and-leather knee pads. Kneeling in front of him, she attached them to the harness straps that circled his legs, bracing a hand against his shin as she pulled the buckles tight. "We're not going to try an upright landing today. You're going to land on your knees and skid to a halt."
He shifted uneasily while she worked and finally cleared his throat.
"I've seen little icarii doing that. I thought they were playing."
"It's the first landing we learn. It isn't elegant, but sometimes it's the best you can do, especially when the winds are high or the approach is awkward." She slapped his calves and straightened. "This job is tough on the joints."
"I feel like I'm wearing armor." He took a few steps. "Excuse me." He turned and readjusted the straps around his thighs.
"Make sure they don't chafe," she said, smirking at his back. "Remember, the straps will pull up once the armature is strapped on."
"Wonderful," he muttered, his back still turned.
"I'll go get you some wings and weights while you fix that," she said, chuckling. "How much do you weigh?"
"About one hundred and seventy."
"Heavy."
He glanced over his shoulder.
"People have called me scrawny all my life."
"Heavy for an icarus," she amended. "But you're tall for an icarus, too. I'll be back in about ten minutes."
She found a pair of visitor wings and grabbed a wire cage of ondium counterweights. By the time she returned, Cristof was pacing the room, testing the straps. She led him outside, locking the door behind them.
"Paolo's on watch, but he usually dozes off at dawn," she said. "Still, let's move quickly." The sky was lighter now, although the sun hadn't risen above the mountains. The air was crisp and cold. She took Cristof to the docks, which jutted out over the city. The peaks of the surrounding mountains were starting to glow with the imminent dawn. The city of Ondinium stretched out below them, still in shadow, crammed with buildings, tenements, and factories.
Cristof glanced down and shuddered.
"Oh, Lady," he breathed, fixing his eyes on his hands as he pulled on his leather gloves.
"Don't worry. You'll be fine." Taya clipped the floating wire cage to a ring in the ground and helped him buckle the icarus armature onto his harness. "Snap the keel around your chest and run the straps through the rings."
"Exactly how is this going to work?" he asked, his voice strained.
"I'm going to put so much ondium on you that even if you lose control and stall, you'll just drift to the ground," she said, adjusting the padding around his shoulders and over his chest. His heart was pounding so hard she could feel it through her gloves. "Breathe, exalted."
He nodded and drew in a deep breath. She gave him a reassuring smile and tousled his hair. Then she paused and plucked at several strands of it.
"Who cuts this, anyway?"
"I do." He brushed her hand away.
"I guess that explains it." She stepped away and opened the hatch at the bottom of the ondium cage. "You do a lousy job."
"Didn't I just see you wearing red flannel pajamas and slippers with holes? I don't think you have any right to lecture me about what looks fashionable," he retorted. His voice seemed steadier.
Taya pulled out a five-pound counterweight, pleased with herself. Her diversion had worked.
"I like those slippers. They're broken in." She slid the buoyant ondium bar into a pocket on his belt and buttoned it. "Anyway, nobody sees them except me."
"Nobody?"
She pulled out another five-pound counterweight.
"Well, my best friends."
"So seeing them should be construed as a privilege, not a punishment?"
"Watch it, clockwright." She slid another counterweight into his belt. "How do you feel?"
"Light." He stepped away from her a moment. "Strange."
"We don't usually counterweight ourselves this much. It makes wind hard to handle. But I'm going to be doing most of the flying, so I want you to be as maneuverable as possible." She slipped out two more five-pound counterweights and added them to the others. "Are you floating away yet?"
"Almost." He eyed the edge of the cliff and took a step back toward her again. "What would happen if I got too light?"
"Well, in theory, you'd float up until you hit the moon. But in practice, you'd slide one of the counterweights out of your belt and release it into the air." She eyed him. "And then you'd reimburse me, because each of these weights is worth about a year of my salary."
"As long as you keep me alive, I'll handle the expenses," he promised.
"Deal. It's time to practice." She stood in front of him, her own wings locked high, and showed him how to slide his arms into the straps and bars. He had no trouble mastering the release and engage mechanisms, locking his wings into high, glide, and close positions.
"The mistake most beginners make is to flap too much," she said as he spread his wings and practiced an up and downstroke, feathers closing and opening. The downstroke lifted him and she reached up to grab the metal keel over his chest, pulling him back down to earth. "But birds glide as often as they can because it's less effort than flapping. What I'll want you to do most of the time is lock your wings into glide position and let me guide us."
"How are you going to do that?" he asked. His heart was pounding again, thumping against her fingers and the harness.
"We're going to be connected by a safety line. Are you remembering to breathe?"
He took another deep breath, his grey eyes fixed on her face. They were wide behind his glasses.
"There are only two dangers up there," she lectured. "The biggest one is that you panic and tangle your wings with mine. If that happens, we're going to stall and fall. We don't want to do that."
"I never panic." His coppery skin was going pale again.
"Good. The second danger is that we get caught off-balance in a wind and I have to unhook from you until I can regain control. You're so light right now that you don't have to worry about falling. Even if you folded your wings into a dive position, you'd just float down. So let the wind blow you and do your best to keep your wings spread wide. I'll come get you. All you have to do is stay calm and make yourself visible. I'll find you even if you end up floating over another mountain. Okay? Just don't panic."
He swallowed and nodded.
"Hey!"
Taya turned and saw the dispatch office door open. Paulo had seen them.
She turned back to Cristof, shoving a flight cap into his hands.
"Lesson over. Time to go."
"Wait! I don't have any idea what I'm doing yet!" Cristof protested, pulling on his cap.
"No time. Buckle the chin strap. That's Paulo." She pushed him by the harness to the edge of the dock as he fumbled his goggles into place over his glasses. "Stand still."
"Oh, Lady," he groaned, looking down. His fingers yanked on the cap strap.