Eoin Colfer: Airman

‘It was a low trick, Victor.’

‘I am still alive, so it was a good trick. You, on the other hand, have a ruptured heart.’

Conor retrieved his model from its nesting place, plucking lint from the tail.

‘Oh, don’t sulk, please,’ begged Victor, with much melodrama. ‘You are allowed to love a princess. It is every young man’s duty to fall head over heels with a princess. You are lucky enough to actually have one to hand.’

‘Love… a princess,’ spluttered Conor. ‘What? I really don’t know…’

Victor poured himself a glass of water. ‘What an effective denial, jeune homme . But don’t feel bad; I regularly reduce people to unintelligible stammers. It’s a Gallic gift. The Italians have it also.’

His student was so nonplussed that eventually the Frenchman showed some mercy.

‘I am sorry, Conor jeune homme . I knew you had the glad eye, but I didn’t realize how glad. Arrow in the heart, is it?’

Conor’s only reply was a small nod, the barest dip of his chin. He sat on the divan, straightening his model’s rudder, blowing gently on the wings.

Victor sat beside him. ‘Why, then, do you wear the expression of a man on the gallows steps? You love a princess, and she doesn’t openly despise you. Celebrate, jeune homme . Live your life. Young love is common, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t precious.’

Conor longed to talk on this subject. It was something he had been playing close to his chest for quite a while now. If it had not been for the gliders, he would have gone insane thinking about it.

Victor read his pupil’s mood and kept silent. He noticed, not for the first time, that Conor was more man than boy now physically. He was tall for his age and strong, his countenance was generally serious and his co-ordination was excellent thanks to the fencing. Combined, these traits gave him the appearance of an older youth. Emotionally, though, Conor was very much a boy. He was a well of feelings, full to the brim, ready to spill over.

‘Isabella is my oldest friend,’ Conor began slowly. ‘I have only three friends my own age. And she is the oldest. Mother says I met her before I was even a week old.’

‘That’s young, vraiment, ’ said Victor. ‘I remember the hour of your birth well. We all had a lucky escape.’

‘Have you seen the photograph? From the French newspaper. I look like an old man searching for his teeth.’

‘I hate to be the bearer of bad news, jeune homme, but your looks have not improved much.’

The banter relaxed Conor and he continued to air thoughts that he had never shared before. ‘I don’t know if she is beautiful or not – I suppose she is. I like her face, that’s all I know. Sometimes I don’t need to see her; I just hear her behind me and I forget every thought in my head. For God’s sake, Victor, I am fourteen now, not twelve. I have no time for babbling foolishness.’

‘Don’t be so hasty,’ said Victor. ‘There’s always time for babbling.’

‘It happened at her last birthday. So, I gave her a present, as usual. And when she unwrapped it, I could see she was disappointed. She had hoped for something different.’

‘What did you give the princess? I don’t recall.’

‘A spring-loaded glider. You remember? The single-wing design.’

‘Ah, yes. Just what every princess hopes for.’

Conor was desolate. ‘I know. She hated it. No doubt she flew it straight into Saint George’s Channel. I began to think about it. About Isabella. And what could be wrong. I realized that a glider was not a good present for a young lady. Isabella has become a young lady, and I cannot stop thinking about her.’

Victor stretched until his shoulders cracked. ‘You are lucky, jeune homme, to have me here this day. For I am an expert in all areas of instruction, including the women folk.’

Conor was doubtful. ‘Which explains why you are a bachelor in his forties.’

‘I choose to be a bachelor,’ said the Frenchman, wagging a finger. ‘There are plenty of ladies who would gladly tether Victor Vigny to their gatepost given the chance. If I had a drop of champagne for every heart I’ve broken, I would have had a full magnum before now.’

‘Can you, then, offer any sincere advice with no mention of a flying monkey?’

‘Very well, Conor Broekhart. Listen and be amazed.’ Victor leaned forward, elbows on knees as though about to present a great academic treatise. ‘The reason, I suspect, why Isabella was disappointed with the glider was that she expected something special.’

‘Is that the best you can do?’ said Conor.

‘She expected something special from you,’ continued Victor unabated, ‘because you have become a young man, and she a young woman.’

Conor did not understand what exactly was being said. ‘This is all biology, Victor. I know this.’

‘No, imbecile . She noticed you as a young man before you noticed her as a young lady. She had hoped for your enlightenment in time for her birthday; the glider said otherwise.’

‘And so she thought…’

‘Isabella thought that you still saw her as a childhood friend.’

‘But I don’t, not any more.’

‘She doesn’t know that. How would she know it, through mental projection?’

Conor cradled his head. ‘This is so confusing. Flying machines are easier.’

‘Welcome to the rest of your life, jeune homme . This is how things are. But let me conclude my lecture on an optimistic note. If Isabella had not wanted something special from you, specifically you, she would not have been disappointed. Do you see?’

Confusion was writ large on Conor’s features. ‘No. It’s as clear as mud.’

‘I myself gave her a very dull book, and she was delighted. But from you she wanted more than a present, she wanted a token.’

‘Mud, mud. Barrels of mud.’

Victor slapped his own forehead. ‘The boy is a dunderhead. She wished a token of affection from you, because she has affection for you.’

A smile spread across Conor’s face.

‘Do you think so?’

‘Good God! I see ivory. The first today. Where is the royal photographer?’

The smile winked out like a capped lamp. ‘You’re right, I think. It makes sense.’

‘So if it makes sense, why once more the face of doom?’

‘The original reason, which I had forgotten for a moment. Prince Christian of Denmark has requested tea with Isabella. It is the first stage of a royal courtship. Isabella has agreed to receive him today. This very afternoon.’

‘Oh. Not to worry. I doubt this Prince Christian can overturn fourteen years of friendship in an afternoon.’

‘Yes, but he is a prince. ’

‘And you, sir, are a Sir. Anyway, Nicholas is a thoroughly modern king. Isabella will marry the man, or flying monkey, that she loves.’

‘Do you really think so?’

‘I do. It is like the old fairy tale. The boy saves the princess, they fall in love. He invents a flying machine along with his dashing teacher of course. They get married and name their firstborn after the aforementioned dashing teacher.’

Conor frowned. ‘I don’t recall that fairy tale from nursery.’

‘Trust me, it’s a classic. Let Isabella have her tea. I doubt very much that an engagement will be announced. Next week we begin work on a plan of action. Perhaps it’s time for Shakespeare.’

Conor thumped his knee. This was progress.

‘Damn next week. We can work now. I could have a sonnet ready by this evening.’

Victor stood, pacing the length of his study, which also served as a lounge and classroom.

‘First, mind your language. You are fourteen and inside the walls of a palace, not to mention in the company of a genius. Second, I have work to do this afternoon. Important work. There is a man I must visit. And tomorrow morning, I have some imports to check in our new laboratory.’