Читать книгу The Night Flyer's Handbook 2-Book Bundle - Philippa Dowding - Страница 26

I call Jez, but she’s going to a family barbecue. Jez comes from a huge family. Not at home — there it’s just her and her mom. But her mom has eight brothers and sisters, and Jez has twenty-nine first cousins or something. Enough people that someone is always having a barbecue or a family picnic or some get-together, every Saturday.

“Do you want to come?” she asks me, but I say no, I’ll see her later. Sometimes I go along, but I just don’t feel like it today. I just don’t feel like being with a lot of people who don’t know I’m a Night Flyer.

I really just want to talk to Mrs. Forest. And then there’s the handbook, which is beginning to nag at me, like a chore I have to do.

So after I help Mom with the groceries, and I put everything on the shelf, and I wash up the Chrissies (who are sticky and completely covered in ice cream), I ask my mom if I can go out. I tell her I want to go to the library and maybe the Float Boat.

“The library? Okay, sure. But you just had a big ice cream, so no candy at the Float Boat.”

My mom helps me find my library card (which is hidden behind the Chrissies’ book shelf, since they were playing “let’s go to the library” with it some time ago). I go into my room and stick my head under my bed: there’s a Hershey’s Kiss sitting on top of the handbook. Nice touch, Mrs. Forest, but candy-coating isn’t going to help me digest this gigantic book any easier. Or faster.

I unwrap the Kiss and pop it in my mouth, then shove the handbook into my backpack. It’s surprisingly light. Mom tells me to be home in time for dinner and I leave.

She’s right to be surprised about the library.

I’m not exactly the most academic person in the world. But I do go to the library sometimes. We don’t have a computer, so if I need one, I use one at the library. I have to admit, that’s usually the only reason I go there. But this time I want to go to the library because if I’m caught reading a book in my bedroom, everyone will be so ecstatic that I’ll have to show them what I’m reading. I really don’t want my mom to catch me reading Your First Flight: A Night Flyer’s Handbook.

The library just seems safer.

It’s late in the afternoon, and I walk slowly along the quiet streets. There’s no one around, probably because it’s suddenly so hot and people aren’t used to it yet. I walk by the Float Boat and stick my head in the front door, but there’s no sign of Mrs. Forest, just Mr. Forest. And he’s busy with a huge mass of kids who all want floats.

“Hi, Mr. Forest!” I call out.

“Hi, Gwen!” he calls back over the kids’ heads.

“Is Mrs. Forest here?” I call out again.

“No, sorry, Gwen, she had to leave on an emergency visit to see her sister in Napanee until tomorrow. She told me to tell you she’ll see you then,” he calls, then gets lost in a sea of children all yelling out their float orders. I see him reach beneath the counter, though, and he pulls out an envelope. He raises it above his head. “She left this for you,” he says. I can see that he can’t possibly get through all those kids, so I wade in and grab it from him.

“Thanks, Mr. Forest,” I say, pushing little children aside, but those kids are so loud I don’t think he hears me. The envelope says, GWENDOLYN G. on the outside, in very neat capital letters.

Outside, I tear it open, and it says, Dear Gwen, I’m called out of town for a day or two, sorry. Look at the handbook, tell your body what to do, remember to breathe, stay safe. If anything happens, find Mr. McGillies. I’ll see you as soon as I get back. And it’s probably best if you don’t go out flying alone, at least for now. Yours, Emmeline Forest.

I’m thinking two things. The first is: Emmeline? What a pretty name.

The second is: Mrs. Forest has gone out of town! What the heck am I going to do without her?

I try to stay calm. It’s okay. I’ll be okay. I know a thing or two now about controlling my breathing, telling my body what to do.

So I continue to the library. For a spring day, it’s way too hot.

At the library (which is nice and cool), I find a computer far away from everyone else. I know I should start reading the handbook, but I don’t. I just wonder what I’ll find on the computer, so I check there first. I’m lazy, it’s true. I flop into the chair and I type in: “Night Flyers.”

I’m not sure what I’m going to find.

There’s some stuff on bats, sure that makes sense. “Nature’s Night Fliers.” Interesting that there seem to be two spellings for the word “flyers.”

There’s some stuff on World War II fighter pilots and warplanes. They were night flyers too, I guess.

There is a bad-looking vampire movie called Monster Night Flier, and then a mystery about birds with the same name.

Nothing about humans flying at night, though, at least not without being a vampire or having an airplane underneath them.

Not really surprising.

So then I type in “night walker,” and a bunch of stuff pops up. It’s all about sleepwalking. There’s a lot on sleepwalking, that’s for sure. Pages of it. I find out that sleepwalking was first written about two thousand years ago. That it has another name that I can’t pronounce, which is spelled “s-o-m-n-a-m-b-u-l-i-s-m,” and that it affects up to fifteen people in one hundred.

I do some quick math: our town has about two thousand people in it, so that would mean about three hundred sleepwalkers, give or take a few.

How many Night Flyers are there? I suddenly wonder. Somehow I don’t think we have three hundred Night Flyers in town. The sky would have been full of people floating all over the place and bumping into each other last night, if there were that many of us. So far as I know, it’s just Mrs. Forest and me. I’ll have to ask her about that when I see her tomorrow. The list of questions I want to ask that woman is just getting longer and longer.

The library is getting quieter and emptier as people leave for home. I really have to open my handbook, so I go find a lonesome reading chair, as far from everyone as I can get. I take the clumsy book out of my pack and just stare at it. It’s really dusty. The family on the front cover is so old-

fashioned it’s almost laughable. They’re from the 1950s or something, the little boy with shorts and a shirt with a bow tie, the dad in a dark business suit and shiny shoes, the mom in a pretty flowered dress and high heels and pearls around her neck.

And they’re all flying so happily along.

I just know I’m never going to read this book. I’ve never read anything longer than a pamphlet about summer camp. But I should at least open the front cover, because I know that even if I don’t read a word, the first thing Mrs. Forest is going to ask me the next time I see her is if I’ve opened it yet.

I open the front cover. And stare.

The book is cut away on the inside so it’s really a box that just looks like a book from the outside. It’s not a book at all.

And inside the box are three items.

The first item is a creamy yellow envelope with “Gwendolyn Golden, N.F.” typed on it.

The second is a small, colourful brochure with the headline Your Life as a Night Flyer Starts Today. It has a subhead: Your 10 Most Pressing Questions Answered. There is a red slash across the side of the brochure cover that reads Micro-Edition for the Less-than-Willing Reader.

I smile at this. Someone has me figured out. I feel a tiny bit reassured. I’m less-than-willing, all right, about most things in life.

The third item in the box is a beautiful golden feather, made of bright, light metal. It reminds me of the aluminum foil that Mom sometimes uses for wrapping up baked potatoes, except it’s gold and shaped like a feather.

I open the envelope with my name on it first. It’s made of heavy paper and feels old and expensive. The typed letter inside is short:

Dear Ms. Gwendolyn I. Golden,

Congratulations on the successful completion of your First Flight. You are now a Night Flyer with full privileges (see Appendix D, details attached). Your Mentor, Mrs. Emmeline Beatrice Forest, and your Watcher, Mr. McGovern Everett McGillies the Third, have been notified.

Best regards from the Flight Crew, Local 749

That’s it.

I read this letter probably fifty times (since it’s so short). All I really get from it though is that Mrs. Forest has a great name, and Mr. McGillies has a terrible one. And what on earth is Local 749?

So I turn my attention to the little brochure, Your Life as a Night Flyer Starts Today. I am ridiculously relieved, and a little ashamed, to be honest. A three-page brochure that answers my 10 Most Pressing Questions is something I can probably read from beginning to end without too much trouble. Although now I’m slightly annoyed at being pegged as a Less-than-Willing Reader. Why do other kids get an eight-hundred-page book and I just get this little brochure?

Honestly, I’m never satisfied.

The picture on the front cover of the brochure is interesting. It’s a girl about my age flying beside a huge old tree. It’s night, and there is a hint of something glowing behind her, but you can’t see what. And she looks happy. Like really, really happy. Full of joyousness, if that’s a word.

I open the cover. The ten questions are neatly laid out:

1. What is happening to me?

2. What is a Night Flyer?

3. Is Night Flying dangerous?

4. How do I control my flying?

5. How do I tell my friends?

6. What is a Watcher?

7. What is a Mentor?

8. What Ceremonies and Parties do I attend?

9. Can I lead a normal life?

10. How many Night Flyers are there?

I read the first question:

#1: What is happening to me?

You are in all probability a young teenager from a family of Night Flyers (except in very rare circumstances), and you have recently flown without mechanical assistance, which means that you have had your First Flight. You have therefore been identified by local authorities (see Mentor and Watcher entries, below) as a Night Flyer. Rest assured that you are normal in every way, except now you have the added ability of unaided flight.

This is going to be helpful, obviously. “Normal in every way,” sounds good to me, except I can already see that it’s going to lead to a lot more questions. I’m not from a family of Night Flyers, so apparently I’m a rare specimen right from the first sentence.

I scan a little. The answer to question five would have been useful a few days ago:

#5: How do I tell my friends?

In most cases, the Night Flyer need not tell anyone except family members and other Flyers about his or her new ability. The decision to tell non-flying friends and community members must be made very carefully, and often is not recommended. This is because in many, many unfortunate cases, non-flying prejudice has occurred. Extreme caution and restraint is advised, although there are no rules which forbid revealing the truth. Seek advice and wisdom from your Mentor.

I’m just not sure how much extreme caution I can manage. And Jez knows the truth, so that’s one strongly worded caution from the Flight Crew that I’ve already ignored. Not a great start, really.

I skip down to the entries about the Watcher and the Mentor.

#6: What is a Watcher?

One who watches, keeps watch, or is especially vigilant as a sentry or night guard. S/he is someone who is well-known to the Flyer, and who is constantly on the lookout for his or her First Flight, and continued welfare. The Watcher is generally a Flyer themselves, but this is not essential. The Watcher and Mentor must work together well. The Watcher must take an oath to Watch faithfully.

Is Mr. McGovern Everett McGillies the Third up to this job? An oath? The only oath that comes to mind when I think of Mr. McGillies is a not-very-nice swear word, which he tends to use a lot.

And watch faithfully? I suddenly wonder if the people in charge here have ever actually met Mr. McGillies?

The Mentor entry is a little more reassuring:

#7: What is a Mentor?

A Mentor is steadfast, honourable, courageous. S/he is there to teach, guide, and help the young Night Flyer in every facet of his or her learning. The Mentor is not, in most cases, a family member, but is instead a member of the young Flyer’s community. The Mentor/First Flyer relationship is usually one of great respect which often lasts into adulthood and beyond. The Mentor must take an oath to teach and guide faithfully. It is a sacred trust.

I think of all the times Mrs. Emmeline Beatrice Forest has smiled at me in The Float Boat over the years. Where her smile found me in a pile of squealing kids and made me feel like she knew I was there, regardless of whether we spoke to each other or not. I think about her finding me on the roof last night.

I somehow know she won’t fail me.

I turn the brochure over, and there on the back is Appendix D (what happened to A, B, and C, I wonder?).

Here is what it says:

Your Life as a Night Flyer Starts Today:

Appendix D

5 Full Privileges of a Night Flyer:

1 You may now fly unrestricted, day* or night, at your discretion. (*Daytime flight is generally not recommended in populated areas)

2 You have received your golden feather. You will receive only one. Keep it safe.

3 You now have a Watcher and Mentor who have each taken an oath on your behalf.

4 You may attend all Night Flying ceremonies as a Member with Full Privileges (see Question #8, reverse).

5 You must choose.

Numbers one through four are reasonably clear, or I figure I can piece them together with the ten questions and help from Mrs. Forest. But number five throws me.

You must choose.

Choose what? I feel fairly certain that this is going to come up again, soon.

I put the brochure back into the handbook for later and pick up the golden feather. It’s a really special thing, light to the touch, but you can tell it’s strong, too, strong as metal. It’s tough and beautiful. I’m looking at it up close when I hear someone come up behind me. I spin around.

It’s Martin Evells. I stow the golden feather, slam the handbook shut, and stuff it into my backpack.

“Hi, Gwen,” he says and smiles at me. It’s a great smile. It’s always been a favourite of mine. “What are you reading?” he asks politely.

“Hi, Martin. Um, just an old book about night … flying … creatures,” I manage to spit out. I’m clearly not too quick on the uptake.

I stand up and sling my backpack over my shoulder. My body literally leaps up and gets all trembly. My arms and legs start prickling like they are on fire. Uh-oh.

“Um, we’re having an end-of-year party tonight at my house,” he says. He says it really quickly, all running together, so I can hardly make out what he’s saying.

“My mom is setting up a food table and we’re playing music. I hope you can come.” He says this like it would be really nice if I showed up.

My finger starts to float, just a little. I snap my hand shut. My foot starts to lift off the floor, just a tiny bit. I slam it down, hard. I remember what Mrs. Forest said to me last night, “Just tell your body what to do, Gwen. It’ll listen, it has to.”

I tell my body, Just quit it. No one wants to see you flying around the library ceiling like a bat or a World War II fighting airplane. Just get a grip.

I say to Martin, “That sounds really nice, Martin. Can I bring a friend?”

He says sure, please do. He tells me where he lives (like I don’t remember from all those play dates we had when we were little), and says he’ll see me later.

I nod. I tell him I’ll see him later, too.

Apparently I’m going to a party at Martin Evells’ house tonight. And I’m a Night Flyer. And Mrs. Emmeline Beatrice Forest, my Mentor, is out of town. Mr. McGovern Everett McGillies the Third, my Watcher, is probably around somewhere, but he’s not exactly the most reliable person in the world.

Still, I should probably be grateful for whatever help I can get.

I’m not entirely sure how this is going to work out. I seem to have more control of myself in the daytime, which is a huge relief and I’m not complaining about that.

But what about at night? Last night wasn’t exactly a great start to this whole Night Flying thing.

I know two things for sure, though.

One: I am not going to miss out on Martin’s party.

Two: I really am not sure what’s going to happen tonight, or if I am ready to fly solo, if it comes to that.