Faerie Wars 01 - Faerie Wars

Henry got up early on the day that changed his life. He was making a cardboard sculpture and he'd left it the night before for the glue to dry out. All he had to do now was add a toothpick shaft and some decorations and the flying pig was finished. Three weeks' work, but today he'd turn the handle and the pig would take off, flapping cardboard wings.
Pigs might fly.
That's what it said on the base.

He was out of bed at seven, dressed by three minutes past and testing the set of the glue just one minute after that. It was solid. What else would it be when you left it overnight? That was the secret of cardboard models -never hurry. Take your time with the cutting out. Proceed stage by stage -- which was what it said in the instructions:
proceed stage by stage.
Leave lots of time for the glue to set. Just do those three things and you ended up with cardboard sculptures that were as solid as the Taj Mahal. He had seven in his room already, including one that really
was
the Taj Mahal. But the flying pig was his best yet. It had a mechanism inside, made up from cardboard cogs and shafts. The mechanism raised the pig from its base and caused the wings to flap.

At least that's what it said in the instructions. Henry was about to find out.

Using a small nail, he bored a tight hole and inserted the toothpick. It was the last thing he had to do, if you didn't count the decorations. But it was tricky getting the toothpick seated just right. Trouble was, you couldn't tell until you tried it. And if you tried it and it
wasn't
right, it could wreck the mechanism. There was a red warning about that in the instructions. Get it wrong and you were back to square one. But get it right and you were
king.

He thought he had it right.

Henry looked at his handiwork. The base was a black cube with nothing on it except the handle and the wording
Pigs might fly.
The pig itself crouched on the top, all pink and porky. Its wings were so cleverly folded you couldn't see them. The model was finished except for the last few stupid decorations. But he might even forget about those. The decorations didn't have anything to do with the mechanism. This was the real moment of truth.

Henry held his breath, reached out and turned the handle.

The pig took off smoothly on its pillar, onwards and upwards, unfolding cardboard wings. As it reached the end of the pillar, a hidden cog fell into place so that it stayed aloft, flapping. It would stay there until you turned the handle backwards. But Henry didn't turn the handle backwards. He kept the old pig up there, flapping, flapping.

Pigs might fly.

'Yes!' Henry exclaimed, punching the air.

His mum was in the kitchen, sitting at the table staring into a cup of coffee. She looked wretched.

'Morning, Mum,' Henry said cheerfully. He headed for the cornflakes cupboard. 'Got it working,' he said as he shook cornflakes into his yellow bowl. He carried it back to the table and reached for the milk jug.

His mother dragged her eyes out of the coffee cup and let them settle on him, large, liquid and entirely vacant. 'What?' she asked.

'Got it working,' Henry said again. 'Flying pig. Got it working. Never thought the machinery would hold up -- cardboard machinery, give me a break -- but it's cool. I'll show it to you later, if you like.'

'Oh, yes,' his mum said, but in that dreamy, distant tone that made him wonder if she
still
didn't know what he was talking about. She forced a smile and said, 'That would be nice.'

Martha Atherton was a good-looking woman. Even Henry could see it. Her hair was starting to go grey, but the FBI and the Spanish Inquisition would never get her to admit it. To the world she was brunette with auburn highlights. Her build was curvy -- not exactly plump, but enough to stop her looking starved. Henry liked that, even when she looked like death. Who didn't look like death first thing in the morning?

Henry spooned cornflakes into his face. 'Where's Dad?' he asked. 'Did he come home last night?' Sometimes Dad stayed over when he was working late. He wasn't back last night when Henry crashed. But then Henry crashed early last night. He'd been so tired out by Mr Fogarty that he'd hardly managed to glue the last bit of the flying pig together.

For a second he thought he saw something in Mum's eyes. Then it was gone and so was the vacant look and

she was saying casually, 'Oh yes. I expect he'll be down in a minute.'

Henry expected so as well. His father had his train to catch and hated to rush. 'What you got planned for today, Mum?' She was headmistress of the local girls' school, but it was closed for summer holidays.

'Nothing much,' his mother said.

Henry wondered if he'd turn into a zombie every morning when he was his parents' age. He finished his cornflakes and shook out some more, then reached for a banana from the fruit bowl. He had another busy day with Mr Fogarty. Slow-release carbohydrates were what he needed.

He heard his father's footsteps and looked up in time to see him on the landing headed for the bathroom. 'Hi, Dad!' Henry called and was rewarded with a grunt. As the bathroom door closed, he tilted his chair and reached into the drawer for a knife. He cut his banana into chunky slices -- weird how the size made a difference to the taste -- then cut in an apple as well. 'We got plenty of bananas?' he asked his mother.