Fledged

Chapter Three: Maxwell Makes Friends

Maxwell Bouvier strolled through the town, feeling as if he owned the world.

The exact opposite was true, however. Max owned nothing but the shirt on his back and a few treasured possessions in a worn leather suitcase. He just had a little loose change in his pockets.

He slid his big hands into those pockets now, whistling merrily as he took in the sights of Bridges. He saw towering buildings, creaking steam machines, and all manner of finery in both clothes and the way with which the owners of those clothes wore them. The very air seemed to shimmer with wealth and prosperity, and Max took a good sniff of it, hoping to coax some luck into his bones.

He stared around him cheerfully, determined to make this place better than the last. A woman looked at him strangely, and he grinned at her. Maxwell chuckled to himself as she shook her head and bustled off.

One thing was for sure, happiness in general was a strange concept to Bridges. At least, if you looked as poor as Maxwell, maybe being happy was frowned upon. But Maxwell Charles Bouvier was much more than he seemed to be, and underneath his tattered cap, he carried something inside of him that was much more valuable than anything the people of Bridges had ever seen. And he hoped the Royal Air Service would appreciate it.

            It was getting darker and the sun was setting in the distance. The clouds were streaked with red and orange, so that it looked like the very sky was on fire.

            Although it was getting later, the streets of Bridges still bustled and jostled, teeming with bodies of both man and machine. Something in this town was always beeping or whistling, bumping or running. There was never a still moment. And Maxwell liked it.

            It was quite different from what he was used to. He’d gotten accustomed to the gentle whispers and hums of machinery in the last town that he’d visited. It had been called Turnwell, and the entire town had been made of machines. It was a new town, which is why it was small, but all of the technology and machinery was very new, straight out of the inventor’s brain and into the city. There were always construction and improvement projects, and it had been unbelievably easy for Max to find work there.

            But he missed the gentle thrum of engines and motors always in the background. It had actually helped him to fall asleep the first night he’d visited, and it had been the best night of rest he’d had in a long time.

            However, the machines and chimneys of this city glowed all around him, twinkling prettily in the dying sunlight. In contrast with Turnwell, Bridges’ machines were more elegant, and less efficient.

            The city of Bridges had to keep up appearances, after all. It was the capitol of Finchale, and it had been named Bridges and made the capitol for both physical and psychological reasons. The main attractions of the city were the gorgeous bridges that spanned the waters. Some cut over the ocean, while others crossed the many inlets that wound in and out of the land like thread through a cross-stitched pillow. Each bridge was made of a different metal or stone, and designed by a different architect.

            Each individual bridge looked unique. There were a total of six major bridges in all, but hundreds of smaller versions also graced the city. Foot bridges and bridges for trains and other vehicles could be found throughout. The people were extremely proud of their bridges, and the fact that their city was named after them.

            But the name “Bridges” also symbolized something else—something fundamental. If there is an obstacle in the way of a good goal—a struggle which could be overcome—then the people would come up with a solution. Rather than wading through the rivers or charging fare for a ferry, they decided to build bridges.