Skyhigh continued toward his waiting ship. Moth hurried after him. “No maneuvers for me tonight,” said Skyhigh. “I’ll be at your party.”
“Great.” Moth was barely listening. The gleaming metal of the dragonfly entranced him. Only Skyknights flew in the crafts, and sometimes so did their lucky squires. Moth thought the ships beautiful, long and slender like the insect they were named for, with four glassy wings. They were still a new invention, though, and only Lord Rendor—now Governor of Calio—really understood them.
“I’ve got something for you,” said Skyhigh.
Moth broke from his trance. “Huh?”
“A present for your birthday. You listening?”
“Yeah.” Moth smiled. “You know what I really want for my birthday?”
“Yup.” Skyhigh glanced over at the crowd. Hark was already walking back to the aerodrome. “Get in fast. Don’t let the others see you.”
Excitement propelled Moth up the fuselage, Skyhigh blocking him from view as he scrambled into the cockpit. There were two seats in a dragonfly—one for the pilot and one for a passenger. The passenger seat was smaller and more cramped than the pilot’s, but Moth didn’t care. He ducked down into it, feeling only a little guilty.
Diggy’ll be fine, he told himself.
Skyhigh climbed in after Moth, pulling the canopy down over them. Moth peered over his shoulder to watch him work the controls. He tossed some switches and the wings began to flutter. A hum went through the vessel as its strange engine warmed the cockpit.
“What about Fiona?” Skyhigh said loudly.
Why was he asking about her now? “What do you mean?” said Moth.
“Will she be there?”
“If she can.” Moth hoped Fiona would come to his party, but admitting that would only make things worse. He could just make out Skyhigh’s grin. “We’re friends.”
“Uh-huh.” Skyhigh’s leathered fingers wrapped around the control sticks. The whine of the engine grew as the wings speeded up, almost disappearing. “Hold on.”
Moth held tightly to his seat. Skyhigh tugged the sticks and the dragonfly leaped skyward. It was only a league or two to the hangars, but Moth didn’t care. The ride would be short but astonishing.
THE KNIGHT AND THE KESTREL
MOTH LEFT THE AERODROME grinning with excitement. A flight in a dragonfly was the best birthday gift Skyhigh could have given him, and his ears still rang from the racket of wings and whirring engine. As he walked dizzily along the avenue to his home, his legs wobbled a bit from the ride. Skyknights got used to the sensation, he knew, but young riders like Moth usually threw up. Moth hadn’t thrown up and was proud of himself for that. One day, if he was really lucky, he might be a Skyknight himself.
The apartment he shared with Leroux was far from the aerodrome, in a tall building of orange stone overlooking the city square. It was a building full of poor folks and pensioners like Leroux, crammed into the oldest section of Calio. A hundred coats of paint flaked from the building into the street, and above his head Moth could see some of the place’s occupants out on their tiny balconies. After three years with Leroux, Moth knew almost all of them. He waved up at old Mrs. Jilla.
“Moth,” she called down to him, happy to see him. “I made your birthday cake.” She gestured with her hand. “This thick, with berry cream on top!”
Mrs. Jilla always shouted, even when she was standing next to you. “Thanks a lot,” Moth hollered back. “See you later!”
He began climbing the stone steps to Leroux’s apartment. Decades of wind and rain had worn the stairs dangerously smooth. Moth kept a grip on the rusty metal railing to keep from falling. The perilous trek down to the square had kept Leroux indoors lately. The old knight looked frailer than usual too, unable to shake a cough that had lodged itself in his lungs. Worried, Moth forgot about his lost kite and his ride in the dragonfly. Maybe a party wasn’t a good idea.
When he reached the door to the apartment, a gas light flickered to life over the threshold. Their apartment had one of the few lights that still worked, always coming on at dusk. Moth pushed open the unlocked door and cheerfully announced himself.
“Leroux, I’m home,” he called, stepping inside.
There were only two rooms in the apartment, and Leroux wasn’t in the main living space. Moth supposed he might be napping in his bed, then noticed the top of his white head out on the balcony. Most of the building’s apartments loomed over the square, but Leroux’s had what the landlord called a “mountain view.” They were in the harshest, ugliest part of the country, and having a view of the mountains wasn’t something to be envied.
To Moth’s delight Leroux had decorated the apartment for his party. The old knight had cleaned up Moth’s usual mess of books and papers and had laid out the plates and glasses. Mrs. Jilla’s cake took center stage on the table, a fluffy, pink confection with roses made of frosting.
“Flowers?” grumbled Moth. He thought of sticking a finger in the berry cream but stopped himself. Paper streamers hung from the cracked ceiling and bowls filled with Moth’s favorite snacks were placed around the room. Leroux had spent money he really didn’t have on the party, making Moth feel worse.
“I’ll tell him about the kite tomorrow,” Moth decided, then slid open the grimy glass door of the balcony. “Everything looks great, Leroux. Thanks a…”
Moth stopped talking at once. Old Leroux was sitting in his chair, staring out over the hills. His pet, an old kestrel he called Lady Esme, perched on the balcony’s shaky railing. She had been with Leroux since anyone could remember, much longer than a bird should live, but her feathers looked as bright as an eagle’s. But time had been less kind to Leroux. Gaunt from lack of appetite, his once clear eyes were misty with cataracts. His hair, snowy white, was combed lifelessly to the side.
“You’re home?” said Leroux, struggling to his feet. “I didn’t hear you.”
Moth tried to hide his distress. “Why are you dressed like that?”
Instead of his usual clothes, Leroux had dug out his old uniform. A worn-out gray coat hung down to his knees. On it was emblazoned the crest of his old order, the long-dead Eldrin Knights. He wore the boots as well, scuffed and faded. A great buckle of tarnished silver cinched a wide belt around his pencil-like waist. Leroux stood as straight as he could.
“Like it?” he asked Moth. “It still fits—see?”
The truth was that it barely fit at all. In his younger days Leroux had been quite muscular. “Yeah, it does,” Moth lied. “But why?”
“You turning thirteen put me in mind of it,” said Leroux. But Moth’s reaction had embarrassed him. “I won’t wear it tonight, don’t worry. I just wanted you to see what I looked like once.”
Living with Leroux had never been dull. The old man was full of surprises, and not all of them good. He had always been strange, ever since Moth had met him. Back then he used to spend all day in the square with his kestrel, telling stories about his days as an Eldrin Knight and watching the new breed of warriors sail overhead in their airships. At ten years old, Moth had been enamored of the old man’s tales. Especially the ones about the Skylords.
“Leroux, you should rest,” said Moth. Now that the sun was going down the chill had picked up. “Come inside with me.”
“You sit with me here,” said Leroux. There was room enough for only two chairs on the balcony. The better, less rusted one was Moth’s. Leroux gestured toward it. “Tell me about the kite. Did it fly well?”
“Great,” said Moth as he took a seat. On the floor between their chairs sat a bowl of gumdrops. Moth watched as Leroux picked up the bowl and tossed one of the treats to Lady Esme.