By Eoin Colfer
Conor Broekhart was once born to fly.
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Extra info for Airman
Try something, Conor. Use that big brain your mother is always talking about. Build your flying machine. Not a machine, Papa. There is no mechanism. This is a kite. Flame was climbing the parapet wall, blackening the stone with its fiery licks. Crossbeams, carpets, files and furniture tumbled into the hungry fire, feeding it. Conor lifted the princess, dragging his friend upright. ’ she said grumpily. Then the smoke filled her windpipe and any words dissolved into a coughing fit. Conor stood straight, feeling the massive flag flap and crackle in the wind.
Yes, Your Majesty. ’ Victor pointed at the ladder. ’ ‘It won’t reach,’ said the fireman, eager to say something intelligent. ‘Just do it, monsieur. ’ The fireman grabbed a comrade and together they propped the ladder against the tower. Victor Vigny was halfway up before the stiles hit the wall. The tower transmitted its vibrations into the rungs, and Victor knew that it wouldn’t be long before it blew its top, like a plugged cannon. The king’s apartment and everything above it would soon be no more than dust and memories.
That’s a sea creature and those are its guts,’ said Conor, with relish. ‘Oh, you foul pirate,’ said Isabella. ‘Stop your smiling then if I’m a foul pirate. ’ In the fireplace itself were jars of mercury and experimental fuels. Nicholas refused to allow his staff to move them downstairs. Too volatile, he explained. Anyway, the fire would only go up the chimney. Conor pointed to the jars. ‘Bottles of poison. Squeezed from a dragon’s bum. ’ This sounded very possible, and Isabella wasn’t sure whether to believe it or not.
Airman by Eoin Colfer