Mr Bushwick filtered through the students and climbed up onto the platform, his bushy brown beard bustling about with the high breeze. The line of students closed, each one awkwardly glancing between themselves, those next to them, as well as back towards Mr Bushwick. He now faced out into the empty sky; his brown longcoat ruffled as if they were feathers. Stacey held her magus tome close to her chest as the wind picked up. Mr Bushwick turned around and cast his right hand out over the crowd. “Today is the day you will all learn how to fly—Like the birds once did.”
Mr Bushwick lowered his arm as murmurs scatted over the flight deck. “He’s gone insane,” someone to Stacey’s left said, “we can’t fly.”
Mr Bushwick frowned. “And why not Clark?”
The crowd split, leaving Clark on his own in the centre. “Because we do not have wings, sir.”
Mr Bushwick closed his eyes and laughed. “That we do not Clark, that we do not.” His eyes opened. “But we also do not have access to many other things, yet we perform such feats regardless now don’t we class?” A silence fell upon the students. Mr Bushwick turned his ear and cupped it with his left hand. “I said we perform such feats regardless now don’t we class.”
“Yes,” a few students including Stacey said.
Mr Bushwick placed his knuckles on his hips. “Magic is a wonderful tool children, remember that. I’ve likely said it before, but I’ll repeat it for good measure.” He began to walk up and down the breadth of the platform. “Learning to fly uses the same principles each, and every one of you already knows and understands. Marvellous that. It also makes my job much easier.” Mr Bushwick stopped still. “In fact, I’d argue learning to fly is the easiest of such magics—Albeit one of the most dangerous for obvious reasons.” The students collectively groaned. “Now, now, this is all quite simple really. Falling will naturally create the rush that is needed for the incantation to work. All you need to do is speak the phrase as you fall and then you shall soar like an eagle.”
A girl with red hair and blue eyes to Stacey’s left raised her left hand. “Sir?”
“Yes, Jessica?”
Jessica lowered her hand. “What’s an eagle?”
Mr Bushwick blinked, his eyes grew soft. “Oh, I forgot. You’re all too young to remember.” Mr Bushwick crossed his arms and scratched his beard. “It’s a type of bird—Well it was. Anyway, it doesn’t matter now.” Mr Bushwick unfurled his arms and stepped back towards the open air behind him. “What matters is you will all be able to fly.”
The door behind the students opened, everyone bar Mr Bushwick turned around as Mrs Peters strode into the hall and slammed the door shut. “Mr Bushwick!” she shouted, her eyes scanning the faces of the children. Stacey held her tome over her face just under her eyes. “This is no place to be taking the first years. It is simply too dangerous.”
Mr Bushwick chuckled. “Nonsense, this is perfect for them. Look, come watch.”
“What’re saying, you—” Mrs Peters grew wide as Mr Bushwick fell out into the sky and waved goodbye.
“Is he dead Miss?” Robert said as the children gathered around Mrs Peters.
Mrs Peters held her head and sighed. “Not yet but he soon will be if he keeps this up.” Stacey ran up the stairs to the platform, her feet tapping against the woodwork. She gazed outside to see Mr Bushwick doing circles in the air.
Stacey turned to the class. “He’s not dead; he’s flying! Come look.” Numerous small footfalls scrambled up the steps and held onto the frame.
“Don’t jump!” Mrs Peters shouted, her shoes stamping up to the platform. “For the love of all that is standing, don’t jump.” She peered outside. “That stupid man,” she looked back and glanced over the children, “I bet he didn’t even tell you the word did he?” The class shook their heads in almost complete unison. Mrs Peters sighed. “Dear oh dear.” She drummed the edge of the framework with her fingers as she watched Mr Bushwick perform a loop and then dive through a cloud. “The word is Astrea—Make sure you say it now before jumping outside.”