Fortunately, tea calmed things. The girls asked shy questions about the house while Mr. Needham listened and stroked his chin. He was in his sixties,retired from serving in both the cavalry and the engineers, and originally answered our advertisement for “liberal teachers” with an account of training his sole child, a daughter, in tack and harness. His blunt outlook reminded me of Mr. Rabb, a dear lost friend who taught me of draca and life in equal parts.
“I have a project,” I announced when the teacups emptied. The room became quiet. “If you agree to help, you must be perfectly discreet. That is for the privacy of our household and to protect the security of England.”
The girls’ eyes were wide again. Mr. Needham rubbed his jaw. “Would this be harnessing steam to carts?”
“I have not heard of that,” I said. “To pull the carts, you mean?”
“Yes, ma’am. Coal carts, on rails. They’re working on it in Newcastle, and it’s secret, but I heard about it in the pub.”
“That is intriguing, but it is not that.” I hesitated, disturbed by how easily secrets spread.
Mr. Needham’s lips twitched. “I don’t gab in pubs, ma’am.”
That made me smile. I asked the girls, “Can you keep this secret? Even from your friends at school?”
They answered promptly, “Yes, ma’am” and “Yes, Mrs. Darcy.” The pair were fierce friends who had survived as young orphans in London, something perhaps one in ten children managed. They were deeply suspicious of strangers and had attended the school’s classes—and meals—for two months before abandoning whatever filthy nook they shared to board at the school. Then their sharp loyalty embraced the school, where they flourished in practical studies but were shy about their childish reading and writing.
I led everyone outside, explaining, “I wish a secure seat on an unusual steed. I know it has been done before, but no example survives. You shall have to invent.”
“Is it a cow?” asked one of the girls.
I smiled and swung open the boathouse door.
Thirty minutes later,the boathouse was festooned with chalked strips of leather. The girls were draping pieces around Yuánchi’s neck while debating buckles. Yuánchi observed with interest, doubling his neck up like a swan to compare perspectives.
Mr. Needham suggested reversing a buckle, then came to stand with me,thrusting his hands deep in his pockets. He grumbled, “Were you not worried the girls would be frightened by this beast?”
“Thus far, every girl who has met Yuánchi has been in raptures. I was more worried about you.” It helped that Lucy was comfortable with Yuánchi. The girls had not wanted to appear timid.
Mr. Needham gave a short laugh. “I admit I was taken aback. He’s a wonder for the ages.” He sucked at his teeth. “He’s well made for a rider. The base of the neck is the girth of a horse, and the shoulders make it a saddle. Easy to sit astride.” He eyed me. “That is,I’dsit astride. Were you wanting to fly sidesaddle?”
“I think astride. Balance will be that much more important in the air.” I frowned, realizing a complication. “I suppose that means trousers.”
Mr. Needham’s eyebrows soared. “Trousers?”
“Perhaps not. Was there a horsewoman who altered her dresses to ride astride?”
“Rings a bell. Pleats, or some such. I’m no dressmaker.”
“Of course not. I shall inquire.” Mary must know an adventurous seamstress.
“You’re sure no reins?” Mr. Needham continued.
“Definitely not. We will agree on our destination through polite discourse.”
“The harness needs a rear anchor. Could we wrap straps around the wing joints?”
“Let me ask…” To Yuánchi, I thought,The harness maker suggests tying straps around your wing joints.
Yuánchi swung his neck around to examine his own back, then shrugged his wings until they brushed the walls. Huge flight muscles flexed in his breast, and the room filled with glinting scarlet. The girls squealed excitedly.
Yuánchi swung his head back to look down at them.They are friendly, he thought affectionately.
Straps?I reminded him.
It was not done before. My wings flex when I fly. A strap would break. I remember rope lashed to my back ridge.
The back of Yuánchi’s neck had a series of rounded, bright-red knobby protrusions. They conveniently ended above the natural saddle Mr. Needham had noted, then resumed as larger ridges along his back. They were pretty, smooth as painted porcelain, and very solid.
