Читать книгу The Night Flyer's Handbook 2-Book Bundle - Philippa Dowding - Страница 21

What is Mr. McGillies doing outside my window at four o’clock in the morning, or whatever time it is?

“Hell … hello?” I stammer.

“It’s me, missy. McGovern McGillies.”

His first name is McGovern? Who on earth would give their child a first name that started with “Mc” if that was what their last name started with? It was like calling a kid Willie Williams or Robbie Roberts or something. I shake my head.

“Mr. McGillies, what are you doing outside my window?” I call quietly.

“Keeping watch,” he says. His voice is coming from below me, on the ground.

Keeping watch? Over what? Are there bad guys out there or something?

“Excuse me, Mr. McGillies, but what are you keeping watch for?” I speak a little louder this time, matching his voice.

“I’ve been asked by the local authorities to keep watch.”

Local authorities? Now, Mr. McGillies isn’t exactly a friend to the police. They were always chasing him away from people’s garbage and escorting him out of the local restaurants when he got too cranky. They were never mean to him, but not everybody wanted Mr. McGillies and his bottles around, if you know what I mean.

So I ask, “By local authorities, do you mean the police, Mr. McGillies?”

He actually hoots with laughter. “No! My word, missy! Not the police! You know me better than that! Have you ever seen me cozy up to the police in this town?”

My body is actually forcing its way into the window screen now, which is starting to bulge outward. My head feels like it is being squished. It hurts. I’m breathing funny.

I hear Mr. McGillies say, “Relax, missy. Tell your body to act casual. Just think free and easy.”

“Okay,” I say. “I’m trying to relax. I’m trying to remain calm. But can you please just tell me why are you waiting outside my window?”

“I’m watching for a skylark.”

“What’s a … what’s a skylark?” I ask.

“Oh, I guess that’s my special name for a Night Flyer.”

Night Flyer?

I shout, desperate: “What’s that? What’s a Night Flyer, Mr. McGillies?”

But there’s no answer.

I begin to wonder if I’m actually asleep and this is some weird, very strange dream. I pinch myself. Nope, not sleeping.

Then I start to wonder if I’m just really crazy.

I call out the window, “Mr. McGillies? Am I crazy?”

But again it’s all quiet out there.

This really worries me, now. A moment before I was speaking to Mr. McGillies the old bottle man outside my window. He was talking about Night Flyers. And now he’s not there ...

… not good.

I try to think rationally. I’m definitely floating in my bedroom and my head is bulging against the screen. I’m “night flying” right now. It may seem crazy, but I was with Jez and it happened at school today, too, which I guess technically would be “day flying,” and Jez is not crazy. These things are true. I’m not asleep.

And if I am crazy, why would I imagine an old man I’ve known forever outside my window? Wouldn’t I pick George Washington, or the Queen, or Luke Skywalker or somebody?

Skywalker. Skylark. Sky. Sky. Sky.

I don’t know how long I hang here, thinking about Night Flyers, and why Mr. McGillies vanished and whether my mind is just not quite what it should be. I may even fall asleep with these thoughts as my head bumps gently against the window screen.

However long I hang in space drifting in and out of consciousness, in my half-wakeful moments I slowly notice something in front of my nose, something that I’ve been staring at practically all night ...

… my window screen has a tiny brass hook on it. It’s on hinges.

My heart skips a beat. Who put a hook on the inside of my window screen? Only someone who wanted to get out of my room!

Before I can stop myself, my hand floats down to the hook and starts playing with it. All I have to do is slip the hook out of the little circle, and the screen will swing open.

My body and I will be free.

I hesitate. My body wants out of this room in the worst way. My head says maybe that isn’t such a great idea, but my body is just shaking all over. I’m just trembling with excitement from top to bottom. Now I know that I can get out of my room, I’m feeling a kind of full-body desire that I can’t say is all that great. My palms are sweaty. My arms and legs are on fire. My heart is pounding. Every ounce of my body wants out. My old head is very concerned, though.

Will I be safe out there?

It’s a little like when you stand on the edge of a cliff, and a tiny, crazy voice in your head whispers, “What would happen if you jump?” You really don’t want to jump, and some louder, saner voice says, “Don’t be stupid, not a great idea.” But because that little voice went and spoke up, you’re stuck listening to it, and it gets louder.

I think for a few more moments. Then what do I do?

I jump.

Before I can stop myself, I unlatch the hook and the screen squeaks open gently. The next moment, my body takes off.

It just takes off. That’s the pure truth. My body just zooms out that window, and I can’t stop it even if I want to.

But I don’t want to.

I’m soaring, and there is nothing but midnight sky, beautiful sky, between me and the stars.