Take Back The Skies

Chapter Two

Catherine braced herself against a metal bar protruding from the Loor of the carriage as the tram jerked to a noisy halt in the station at the heart of the city. Once sleek and near-soundless, years of neglect had made the trams rusty and unsteady. People tried to avoid using them if they could help it, but for some journeys there was no alternative. Apparently, with the war going on, the government had better things to spend money on than maintaining public transport. Her father was mostly to blame; he was the one in charge of domestic issues.

Nathaniel herded her out on to the platform, where they were immediately assaulted with the sounds and smells of the city. The rain had stopped, but it was still cold enough for Catherine to feel a chill through the layers of her dress, and she found herself wishing she’d brought a coat.

The streets of Breningarth were alive with people, bustling past the rundown buildings and avoiding the large puddles that spanned the roads. This close to the outer city, half the shops had gone out of business years ago due to lack of both interest and stock. On street corners poorly dressed men sold government-produced newspapers or food from small carts, women aired laundry and sold clothes, and a few children darted like lightning from one stall to the next, slipping goods into their pockets on the way. Catherine, always on the alert, hid a grin as one boy stole the expensive pocket watch from her father’s coat. His indigo-smudged face showed surprise when he realised she’d seen what he’d done. She winked at him rather than telling her father, and he sprinted away before she could change her mind.

Her boots clicked against the dirty cobbled street, and she couldn’t help but notice how people backed away as she and Nathaniel approached, crossing to the other side of the street to avoid them. Catherine’s dress immediately set her out as government, and most people would recognise Nathaniel Hunter from the public newscasts that were constantly shown on the screens in pubs and squares; he wasn’t a popular man. Catherine followed her father past an entrance to the shipyard. The busiest place in the city, its noise was almost deafening, and the smell of burning tyrium was heavy in the air, a faint purple tinge tainting the clouds above. Catherine loved it.

The dockland government building was still several streets away, towering over the buildings around it, and Catherine hung back, heart pounding, as her father proceeded. It was now or never. If she could just get to the bustling shipyard, she would be free. She crouched as if refastening her bootlace, looking up through her fringe to make sure her father had carried on walking. In fact, he had quickened his pace; he hated being close to the shipyard as it was full of commoners. He often complained to Catherine that people of government status should not have to inter- act with the lower levels of society.

Seizing her moment, she straightened up and slipped down a narrow, empty side street between a pub and a bakery. Glancing both ways, Catherine opened her hand- bag, pulling out the breeches and tugging them on hastily under her dress. Struggling slightly to unlace the back of her bodice, her fingers shaking with exhilaration, she managed to wriggle her way out of the dress and pull her shirt over her head. She stuffed her money purse into the crotch of her breeches, knowing it would be safest there.

The only thing left in her bag was the pair of scissors she’d packed. She held them up, sliding her plait between the blades, and nearly cut her finger off as she heard footsteps nearby. She spun round with her heart in her throat. No one was there that she could see, but she had to get a move on.

Taking a steadying breath, she tried again, feeling little resistance as the sharp steel cut through the top of the thick brown braid. Her neck itched as short strands brushed the nape. She threw the plait down a nearby drain and left the dress and scissors in the bag, dumping it against the wall. She hoped that some lucky soul would find the contents and sell them. Running her hands through her unevenly cropped hair, she prayed it looked boyish enough that no one would comment. Her chest was easily hidden under the baggy grey blouse.