Sky of Paper: An Asian Steam-Driven Fantasy Tale

by Matthew Seaver

  We flew ships of every kind, some not much larger than a fishing boat, others as large as a castle. Because every airship was built from the hulls of sea going vessels, there were some voyages where we would ride the ocean for a time, then take to the skies afterwards, only to return to the ocean again the next day. For many poorer captains it was often cheaper to contract fewer children and sail the ocean for a certain distance instead, rather than ride the sky permanently the whole trip. Much to Kassashimei's delight, she learned that I was easily prone to sea sickness. And so, to my dismay, I found myself listening to her relentless teasing throughout many of our ocean-going trips.

  Most of the time, we were contracted to carry cargo from one place to another. Although, sometimes, we flew in passenger vessels. There was even a time when we were fortunate enough to be contracted by a rich governor from a neighboring province. We were to serve aboard his personal ship where he was having a fireworks viewing party in celebration of his birthday. Dignitaries from all over the city as well as Miss Nishio were invited to attend.

  The ship itself was as long as the tallest pagoda at the Imperial Temple, and as it floated regally in the bay, moored to one of the docks, I found myself captivated by how pristine and luxurious it was. The fine, black lacquer that colored the rims of the decks were without a single scratch and the red wooden hull boasted an unblemished polished sheen against the warm, red glow of the evening festival lanterns that hung across its length.

  I wondered if the ship had ever sailed at all.

  Kassashimei and I arrived with Ren Tzu and Miss Nishio, dressed in the finest clothing I had ever worn. With the money we were earning, Miss Nishio was no longer hesitant to decorate us with more presentable clothes, and for this occasion, she made sure that Kassashimei and I stood out, not only among the aristocratic crowd, but also among the other chienkuu ko as well. To Miss Nishio, everyone at the party was a potential customer.

  I felt awkward at first. I had never worn a male kimono before. The thick cloth seemed to smother my body and weigh down my shoulders. When Ren Tzu dressed me, he said that this was the reason why the emperor had such broad shoulders. If I wore such things long enough, I too, would have a proud stature similar to his. Even though it was heavy underneath its many layers, the silk felt smooth and cool against my skin. All throughout my robe were various shades of bright and dark blue, while Kasshimei’s clothing glimmered with threads of gold. Our approach was difficult to ignore as the metallic-looking thread in our clothing caught the lantern lights in such a way that we must have glowed like fire bugs. Even the wide-brimmed hats we wore were of the same material, emblazoned across the top with the tiger lily symbol of our house. The hats were much larger than I was used to, and the fact that they hid our faces made us all the more mysterious in the eyes of curious onlookers.

  I felt that it was all too much. But I remembered Miss Nishio mentioning that gatherings such as these were nothing more than a means to show off one's status.

  We reverently strolled up the ramp towards the ship as if we were at the head of a royal procession. Many of the guests were sipping tea and sake, admiring the layout of the deck or peering casually up at the night sky. Meeting my hidden gaze through the hazy, transparent screen woven into the top of my hat, were a myriad pairs of eyes watching us or glancing with some scrutiny in our direction. Some were gathered in pleasant conversation, every now then, gesturing or pointing at the curious boy with the strange hat. I could only imagine how odd I must have seemed to them, but then I realized that there were other chienkuu ko walking about, huddled together with their own partners, as if tied to each other by some sort of invisible thread. Like us, they too were here to represent their houses. Along with the geisha, with their elegance and beauty, and the gentle notes of the fue and shamisen musicians, we were here for the sake of atmosphere, to create a tiny, exotic world; one which both entertained and captivated the guests.

  The governor was standing on a make-shift stage at the very bow of the ship. He was laughing with a few of his closest guests when we approached. We all exchanged a few pleasant bows.

  "Governor." Miss Nishio said "It is an honor to meet you. And quite the extravagant birthday party you have. May it be a sign of more prosperous things to come."

  The governor was quite tall, perhaps the tallest man I had ever met. But he was wiry and looked as though his body had been fashioned out of wooden planks. He wore a very modern-looking suit, complete with a black jacket over a white blouse and black tie. He even wore a cylindrical gentleman's top hat, which looked a bit awkward to me, because I had never seen such a thing atop anyone's head before. The clothes seemed to hang off his thin frame, like covering a pole with a potato sack.

  He gave a broad, sincere smile, as if this was one of the few occasions he was fortunate enough to be allowed to enjoy himself.

  "The pleasure is mine, Miss Nishio," the governor replied, taking her hand and lowering his head to kiss it. "No party is complete without the Nine-Tailed Lady."

  Miss Nishio quickly pulled her hand away before it reach his lips. She smiled apologetically, making sure not to embarrass him in front of his guests.

  "As polite and formal as you are governor, I'm afraid I prefer not use that name anymore."

  "Of course, of course. If you would forgive me, perhaps I was being a bit too careless with my words. But I‘m sure you can understand that this is a party, and I think we all can afford to be a little frivolous."

  Both he and what seemed to be his friends, chuckled. Miss Nishio continued to smile, but she was acutely careful not to look at him directly for too long.

  "So, it seems the most ambitious lady in all of Rui Nan has taken in another form of business."

  He sipped from his wine glass, motioning some of his friends towards Kassahimei and I. The both of us were like statues, careful not to fidget. I imagine I would have been much more nervous, had it not been for Ren Tzu, who remained close beside us, like a silent, imposing sentinel.

  At first they did not know what to make of us. Then after a moment of quiet thought, one of the women spoke bodly.

  "Are they your children? Because if they are, they do seem a bit over-dressed."

  The governor's shrill laugh was loud enough to be heard all over the ship. He bent over with stark amusement, dropping his wine glass, then wiped the tears from his eyes.

  "It's true," he said, still laughing. "They are a bit over-dressed, but that’s beside the point. Please excuse her Miss Nishio. She's a foreigner from the western coast of Kin Ju and this is her first visit to our country. She still has much to learn about our culture."

  "And they both still have a lot to learn about manners," Kassashimei whispered to me.

  "Certainly you have air vessels where you are from?" the governor asked.

  "I'm afraid not." A man that must have been the woman’s husband or fiancé interjected. "As astounding as they are, my country never had any use for them. When it comes to matters of air transport, we use airplanes."

  "Then you would be surprised at the unique methods with which Rui Nan tames the sky.""

  "Governor," Miss Nishio said, "if you'll excuse me, I must take them below decks and prepare them for the evening's events."

  "Of course, by all means."

  "Miss Nishio, do you know him?" I asked as we stepped away.

  "The governor paid us a lot of money for tonight, and that's all that matters." The smiling, tolerant expression on her face was gone now, replaced with one of serious conviction. Still, I wondered if it was yet another mask, hiding certain feelings that no one was worthy of seeing.

  She led us to the ritual room where two monks waited studiously for us. Our formal robes were only for use in public. So inside the sacred privacy of the ship, the monks took our hats and removed our excess clothing until Kassashimei and I were stripped to our traditional shirts and trousers. In order to properly perform my tasks, ease of movement was important and it would have been impossible for me t
o perform in such heavy clothing.

  Wrapped around my wrist were the Buddhist prayer beads Kassashimei had given me. Since that first moment aboard the other airship so many months ago, she had insisted that I wear the beads whenever we took to the air. Whenever I mentioned taking them off, she gave a look, much like Miss Nishio's when she sometimes lost a contract to another house. At times, she even made sure to inspect my wrist whenever we left the tea house. As I placed my tamma on the pedestal and took my place in the center of the room, she watched me carefully, once again making sure that I had the beads with me.

  "I’m returning to the party now," Miss Nishio said. "I leave the both of you with Ren Tzu. Do not make any trouble for us. There’s too much money at stake here. When the departure bell sounds be sure not to rock the ship. Keep it steady and smooth. The governor has made it clear that if any guest complains of the slightest bump or tilt, he will make a deduction from our contract. And if that happens, you won't be eating tonight or tomorrow."

  As soon as Miss Nishio left, Kassashimei and I found ourselves amidst the silent and stark emptiness of the room. Ren Tzu was outside, diligently guarding the door. It felt strange to be left alone. Now and then, a few muffled laughs or the hum of excited voices could be heard from the decks above.

  Through the large, glass canopy was a full moon reflecting off the bay through a cloudless night sky.

  "Do you see it?" Kassashimei asked.

  "See what?" I replied.

  "The moon silly. It looks so smug tonight."

  "What are you talking about? There is nothing wrong with a proud moon."

  "Oh?" She chortled. "Just wait and see. When the sun spirit claims the sky she will shame the moon again, like she does every morning."

  "Is nonsense the only thing you talk about? And I thought you respected the spirits."

  She sat silently for a moment, peering unceasingly up at the sky through the canopy.

  "I do. But the moon spirit is my least favorite of them all."

  The monks reverently entered the room to serve us a special sort of tea that would keep the both of us awake throughout the evening. When the signal bell rang, Kassashimei and I slowly steered the ship away from the docks and out into the bay.

  Our voyage was among the simplest that we had ever done. We took the ship no more than ten paces above the water, skimming the tiny waves, and with hardly any effort at all, steered the vessel in one grand circle around the bay. We coasted along slow enough to allow the guests to admire the fireworks as they began piercing the night air with ember glows.

  The grand spectacle of fire and light seemed so much further away when seen from behind the glass canopy, and yet, even further still, were the memories of the summer festivals I had spent with my sister so long ago. I even convinced myself that they were the same fireworks I’d seen with her the night of the last festival we shared. And for a moment, in the quiet recesses of the ritual room, I could almost feel that she was there with me.

  When we pulled back into port, we were given a certain amount of time to rest, before preparing to go out again for another tour of the bay. The monks dressed us in our formal attire and allowed us to go back above decks. Escorted by Ren Tzu, Kassashimei and I stood at the railing, taking in the brisk, night air and watching the guests mingle.

  A pleasant surprise came when I noticed a group of people coming up the boarding ramp. It was Madame Quoli and Meng, as well as Lai and Mai. They too, were dressed in the same style of clothing as Kassashimei and I, but they seemed so much more punctual and mature in the way they presented themselves.

  At the bow, the makeshift stage was being cleared and instruments were mounted. I hadn’t realized it when we first came onboard, but the other chienkuu ko were not here for the same reason as Kassashimei and I. They had been invited, along with Lai and Mai, to present their talents as entertainment.

  I scurried to the top of the ramp, anxious to greet them. Tasked with flying airships non-stop over the past couple of months had left me with little chance to see them. They too had their own contracts to follow, which left them just as busy, and the four of us arduously separated, like two ships passing in the night.

  I was worried that we were starting to grow distant.

  I greeted them with a smile, but felt awkward when I realized that they probably couldn’t see my expression from underneath my hat.

  "Terr, hello," Lai said in a cheery tone. "Quite a party isn't it?"

  Madame Quoli ushered them on impatiently.

  "We don't have time for pointless chatting," she said. “Move along, we have much to do."

  Lai sighed.

  "I'm sure we'll have a chance to talk after the performance." He nodded to me reassuringly before walking on.

  Mai seemed especially, quiet. She walked solemnly with her gaze planted to the ground. I could not see her expression, but the aura she gave off, made it seem like the life had been drained from her, or that she had fallen ill.

  Just before the performance began, a great, riotous cheer came from the guests as a dozen shyo mu and shyo mah gathered onto the stage. Some took their places behind the instruments while the others stood upfront, taking their positions just as they would if they were in the ritual room of some ship. The monks stepped from performer to performer, bowing as they took each of their hats, revealing their radiant, green eyes to the audience.

  The crowd murmured in anticipation, while the governor pointed to the stage, explaining the details of the event in quiet earnest to the foreign dignitaries standing next to him.

  Lai was standing on the far side of the stage. Even from the back of the crowd I could easily make him out, as he was easily the tallest amongst all the performers.

  The drums beat softly, echoing the rhythm of their motions. As the music began, the story of their performance became immediately familiar. With swift motions of their hands and arms, stone butterflies, the size of my mother's water-carrying pots, took to the air. As if caught in a growing and ebbing tide, the butterflies flew effortlessly over the crowd, then receded back to the stage. They hovered over stone-carved fish, which bounded upwards as if seeking to make a meal of the butterflies.

  "The Carp and the Butterfly" was a story told to me by my mother, and later was told to me again at school. It was about a hungry carp, that caught a butterfly in its clutches. Pleading for its life, the butterfly pretended to be a spirit and agreed to grant the fish, the gift of flight if it was set free. The fish let go, but wept when it found that it had been lied to. Saddened and humbled by the fish's sadness, the butterfly asked the wind spirits to grant its wish to fly.

  The wind spirits did as was requested. But as the fish took to the sky, it was consumed by greed and soared through the meadows and forests swallowing every butterfly in its path, until there were no more to be found. The moral, I’ve been told, is that every creature is granted certain gifts that defines their place in the world. To go beyond that, would destroy the sacred balance of things.

  Though I knew the story all too well, I’d never seen it performed or presented in the grand manner I’d witnessed that night. The steady whistling of the flutes seemed to dance through the air, representing the fish, while the gentle strum of the various stringed instruments represented the butterflies. The drums pounded harder as the stone fish, now gifted with flight, bounded from one butterfly to another. As if attached to a rubber string, the butterflies shook wildly in the air and then slowly fell to the ground.

  After the show ended, no one clapped louder, or cheered more vibrantly than the governor. He laughed like a child with a new toy, then climbed atop one of the tables and held his wine glass out to the crowd.

  "A magnificent performance," the man said proudly. "Let us give a toast to our illustrious performers. May the nation of Rui Nan and its future shine just as brightly as they do now."

  After they had all sipped from their glasses, he summoned the captain to his side.

  "Take us up again," he commanded. "T
his time higher; and let loose more fireworks. We must have a show the Emperor himself would be proud of. Come now, let’s have more music, and have ourselves another performance. I‘m sure we‘d all like to see more of these stone animals dancing and prancing about."

  The captain bowed, then ushered Kassashimei and I back to the ritual room. But just before we made our way below deck, a scream was heard from the stage.

  "No, I won't go." It was Mai.

  She stood up suddenly and shoved her way through the performers until she was at her brother‘s side and clutched his arm tightly, begging for his help. "Please, don't let them take me up there. I don't want to go. I won't go. I won't."

  The governor did not seem to notice the disturbance at first, but when he realized the confused murmurs from his beloved guests, he turned his attention to the stage. A great frown filled his face when he saw Mai screaming like a misbehaving child.

  "What’s happening? Why is that girl ruining my party?" The governor looked to his captain, then to his fellow officials for answers. But they all remained in silent bewilderment.

  Madame Quoli came out from the stage.

  She took Mai by the shoulders and shook some sense into her. It was difficult to make out what she was saying, but judging by the frustrated look on her face, I supposed she was telling her the same frank words she would be telling me if I had become just as unruly.

  The governor was still standing on the table when Miss Nishio approached him. She gave a deep, apologetic bow. Even with Quoli doing all she could to bring calm to the girl, Mai was still crying out, as if she were in pain. After a few moments, her brother snagged her away from Quoli and held her close, allowing her to sob in his arms.

  "Honestly, screaming like that for no reason," Kassashimei whispered. "And at a party no less. Do you think she's crazy?"

  "I don't know," I answered. "But I‘d never seen her so terrified. Something must be wrong."