Gary winks at Jennifer, who blushes like a ripe plum and looks back out the window. The tui is back, head down in the orange sepals.
Putting the chicory whistle to her lips, Genevieve blows two short notes. With the clattering of shod hooves on wood and a welcoming neigh, Nimbus arrives at her side. In seconds she is in the saddle and making her escape. Behind her, the sounds of ribald laughter die away and she leans forward over the mare's flowing mane, dark locks mingling with the grey, urging her faster, faster. In the gathering dusk they become one, flying over fields and through woods, over walls and gates until at last they reached Astor Castle where her parents Elizabeth and Harold wait to greet her.
“Please, dear Lord, make my child normal. Help her talk right and keep her nose out of books. Keep her safe from randy boys, make-up and tarty clothes. We done our best, but keep her close to you, Lord. Amen.” Liz tumbles into bed and Harry's arms.
“She'd be better off with a job, Liz, I've told you. It isn't good for a girl, give'n her all this learnin' and stuff. Won't help her get a man, I can tell you. One whiff of all that learnin' and most men'd crack a piston to get away.”
“But she's brainy, Harry. Don't she deserve a chance?”
“Look, face it Liz. She's good at remembering, useless stuff that is. But talking or getting on with other kids? Well she's as good as retarded, 'sides been as plain as a plucked chook. Half the time she's with the fairies. No, Liz, best chance we can give our Jen is to keep a close eye on her. Then when she's old enough, try and find her a man what isn't too choosy.”
Small snuffling sounds come from Liz. “God, you're not blubbering now are you?” Harry sits up. “Here look, Darl, at least you've got one kid, which is better'in some. No blame on you she's weird.” He held the corner of the sheet up to her nose. “Now, blow.”
"You mean to say that Dorian has asked you to be an apprentice falconer now?" Elizabeth is radiant. "And the King has approved? Amazing!" She leaps to her feet and paces the room like a deer hound, her long, blue gown clinging to her body. Coal black hair is tied in a braid around her head and her milky white skin is as flawless as Genevieve's.
"Mother, they want me to go and live at the palace while I'm training." Genevieve holds her breath.
"But how absolutely marvellous! What a wonderful opportunity for you to get ahead, experience a different lifestyle, meet new people...I think your father will agree that this is simply wonderful news!" Genevieve rushes to her mother and hugs her tight.
"Oh thanks, mother," she whispers.
"What do you want for your birthday, Jen?" her father calls out to her as she bikes down the drive. She puts one foot down and turns to look back. Harry is sitting on the doorstep doing up his work boots.
"I th, th, th, think I'd like a pppppet thanks, Dddad."
Harry frowns, thinking cat, dog. "Are you sure? A pet costs a bit to feed and isn't a hell of a lot of use.”
"Yyyyes Dad, I'm ssssure," Jenny insists.
Harry throws up eyes and hands. "Okay, okay, what sort then?"
"A fffalcon." She holds her breath, watching him as intently as a mouse watching a cat.
Harry bursts out laughing. "Strewth, that's a beaut! Ha, ha. Unreal. You read too much, kid. Outer this world!” He pauses, notices she's close to tears. In a kinder tone he continues. “We'll find you a little pet, lovey. And a job. They need an extra cleaner down the timber yard. I'll put in a good word." He pats her on the head. "Have a nice day love and just try not to strain the old noggin, eh?"
"This is a peregrine,” Dorian tells her, “called a tiercel because it is a male." Genevieve studies the bird with interest. Newly arrived, it is a 'passager', an immature young bird caught in the wild. She admires its striking plummage; the soft blue-gray feathers on its back and the white on its chest and belly, coloured with black-brown bars.
"He's a long-winged falcon suitable for hunting in the open fields. He'll grow about 18 inches long with a wingspan of about 43." He turns to his pupil, eyes sparkling with sky and falcons. "They say this is the fastest bird alive. It can easily overtake pheasant, duck, grouse and pigeons, so he'll be a beauty when we've got him trained. Up until now, you've been working with eyas - the young falcons taken from the nest. This fellow will be more of a challenge for you."
Genevieve can't wait to begin. "What do we do first?" she asks eagerly.
"We've got to fit the jesses on him," Dorian replies. He takes a thick, dark cloth, deftly wraps it around the struggling bird and lifts him from the cage. Genevieve holds the falcon still, while he shows her how to fit the soft leather straps to its legs.
"If you make them too loose, the bird will slip put of them and get away. Too tight and you'll cut off the circulation and make the feet swell. "Now," says Dorian, rising to his feet, "put on a gauntlet and I will show you how to man the bird, or in your case 'girl' it." They chuckle together at his small joke.
At the pet shop, Gary and Jenny debate the possiblities.
"I would get the parrot," Gary says, pointing to a sulphur crested cockatoo. "He can say 'bugger' already and just imagine what else you can teach him!"
"Bbbbut he's nnnnot a bbbbird of pprey, bbbesides he cccosts wwway tttoo much," Jenny argues.
"Well, these parakeets aren't so expensive," Gary points to a cage next door, but Jenny is already peering into a dimly lit box in the back of the shop with an infra-red light over it. Gary peeps over her shoulder. The light throws a red mantle over a seething mass of pecking, peeping, cheeping, fluffy, yellow cotton wool balls. Jenny notes the tiny, hooked beaks and the dark, hooded eyes. She reads; 'ROOSTER CHICKS' - 50c each. A slow smile spreads.
Jenny pays the shopkeeper, shakes her head at the offer of a box and puts the chick inside her jersey, next to her heart. He seems happy to sit there quietly as she climbs aboard her bike. "Sssee you tttomorrow, Gary! Hhhome, Nimbus." she murmurs.
"What!" her mother screams. "A rooster! Get that filthy thing out of my kitchen."
"Hhhe's just a ddday old chick, Mum. Dddad dddid say I ccccould have a pppet for my bbbbirthday and he only cccost 50c." The tiny head peeps out of her pocket, his beak pointing towards the food on the table. Jenny slips him a few grains of rice.
"And how's he going to earn his keep?" Her father comes out from behind his newspaper. "Ppperhaps he cccould eat the ssslugs in your vvvege garden?" Jenny begs.
"But chooks are so dirty," her mother grimaces. "You're not keeping it inside!"
"I suppose it could clean up the scraps," her father concedes.
Dorian attaches a leather lead to the swivel on the jesses and, placing the falcon on her left fist, gently draws away the cloth. At once the bird bates, fluttering wildly until it's hanging upside down. Dorian lifts him carefully back up and shows Genevieve how to soothe him by using a gentle voice and stroking him softly with a feather.
"But why a feather?" she asks. "He feels so soft to touch with my hands."
"True, my dear, but the oils in our skin take away the water proofing that protects the bird's feathers, and we must always think of the welfare of the bird first. If we are going to rob an animal of its freedom, the least we can do is look after him the best we possibly can."
Genevieve smiles fondly. He is a philosopher as well as a good teacher. No wonder his success with falcons is legendary.
“You'll be in charge of manning this bird every day,” Dorian continues. “Once he's settled inside, take him out so he gets used to all the other sights and sounds of the castle, then we'll be ready for the next step. Now, what shall we call him?"
Genevieve studies the bird carefully.
"Aeolus," says a voice. Genevieve jumps and the startled bird bates again. This time, Gareth helps settle the bird once more on her fist.
"Sorry," Gareth apologises to Dorian, but his eyes barely leave the girl, standing with the falcon on her gauntlet, speaking softly to it and stroking its back with the wing feather of a hawk. Dorian smiles to himself.
"And what made you think of the name, Aeolus, young master?"
"He'll be as swift as the wind," Gareth predicts.
In short time, Aeolus grows from a gawky chick to a handsome Rhode Island Red rooster. Jennifer makes soft leather jesses for his legs and every day after school spends time teaching him to sit on her gardening-glove gauntlet and ride on the handle-bars of her bike. He learns to glide to the ground and flap hard to get back up. He responds to both his name and Jen's whistle. In the weekends Gary meets her in the park and they teach Aeolus to fly between them. Liz is pleased that her daughter seems so happy and Harry even sneaks the bird extra scraps when he thinks no one is watching. Aeolus becomes too plump to fly. Then the rooster hits puberty.
“The neighbours are complainin about that bloody chook, Liz,” Harry announces at breakfast.
“Wwwwhy?” asks Jennifer, looking up from her book. A jaunty cock-a-doodle-doo from outside the window answers her question.
Genevieve places the hood back over the head of Aeolus and strokes his sleek back, waiting for the judges' call. He has executed three quick, perfect kills in a row, returning to her each time at the first whistle. The fourth try was a little messy, with a protracted chase before he brought down his quarry. Still, he had returned to her immediately. She glances at the stands, hoping Gareth is watching. Her mouth feels dry and her armpits prickle. Her name is being called! Gathering her reins and holding Aeolus aloft, she urges Nimbus towards the King's dais. All around her, the crowd cheers while Genevieve smiles and nods.
“What? Leave home and go to University? Absolutely not, my girl. Dad would take the hide off you!” Liz's lipstick shoots out of orbit. Unaware, she grabs her handbag and keys and shoos Jennifer out the door. “And I hope that wasn't a boy ringing you last night. We won't have any of that nonsense, I can tell you!” She slams the door, locks it and Jennifer sees her goose-stepping down the path.
Have you decided which Uni you're going to next year?” Gary pushes his bike alongside hers.
“I'm nnnot. Mmmum and Dddad say no,” she mumbles.
“What?” Gary halts, his mouth gaping like a trout. “But, but you're the smartest girl at school!”
Jennifer flushes. “Th,th,thanks.” They walk on, the early morning traffic from a different planet.
“Do you actually need their permission? When are you 18?” Gary breaks the silence.
“Nnnovember.”
“There you are then! I downloaded an application form last night.” He stops and opens his bag. “Here, you have my copy. I can get another one. And hey, apply for Otago, it's got the best science department and the coolest parties, I hear.” He hands her the papers with a wink.
She hesitates, flashes him a smile and tucks the papers away carefully in her bag. “I wwant to ssstudy hhistory,” she says.
From this day,” says the King, “I appoint you, Lady Genevieve Astor, chief falconer. Dorian is retiring and has recommended you. You will oversee the training of all my falcons. If you need any assistance, Gareth will arrange it. I'm sure he won't find the task too onerous…” He chuckles his approval…
“Mmmum, I can't find Aeolus!” Jennifer stands in the doorway, distraught. She has arrived home late after a dental appointment and it is already dark.
“Don't worry, Jen. I fed him when I got home. He's probably flown out of his pen again. Come and have your dinner and have another look for him later.”
“Bbut...” she begins.
“Don't argue,” growls Harry.
Jennifer picks at her food. She crosses and uncrosses her legs and fidgets with her knife and fork. She thinks she'll explode if she can't go soon.
“Come on, Jen,” says Harry. “Eat up. Its not often Mum cooks us a lovely roast chicken with all the trimmins.”
“I'm just wwworried about Aoleus!” she blurts. She glances at her father, expecting a rebuke. Instead, she catches him sending eye-messages to her mother. “Mmmum?” she looks into her mother's face. Liz glances down at her plate. “Ddddad?” Her father too, glances down then away. She stares at her own plate in disbelief. She pokes the meat with her fork. She picks up a wing in her hands and stares at it… sees the remains of a few tiny quills of red…
“NOOOOOOOO!!!” she screams. Sobbing, she runs from the room and vomits in the hallway. She wipes her mouth, grabs a torch and scours the garden. She rummages in the rubbish tin and finds the feathers and gut wrapped in newspaper.
A fire starts inside her and from the ashes rises the Phoenix. Like that giant, indestructible bird, she blasts into the kitchen with the remains. She spreads the paper out on the floor and, grabbing the dinner plates one by one, scrapes away the leftovers, while her parents sit stunned, singed by her presence. The parcel wrapped, she picks up the phone and calls Gary.
Gary discards the spade and places the buckets upside down in a semi-circle around the hole. He lights candles and props them in jars on the buckets. Jennifer pulls the pins out of her hair and takes her glasses off. She sweeps a blanket around his shoulders like a cloak. He turns and wraps her in her blanket-cloak from behind, holding her for a moment in his arms. Then she stoops and picks up the shoebox and holds it to her heart. Her face is strong and bold, tears like prisms in the flickering candlelight and her voice cuts the night air as clear and melodious as an owl.
“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here tonight to farewell our precious friend Aeolus….”
