Featherlight by Peter Bunzl (debian ebook reader TXT) 📕

I wonder what the bird eats. Tomorrow, when the sun rises, I will show it our garden and try to find out. That’s if I can get it to come with me now.

Making myself brave, I hold out my hands to the bird, hoping it won’t try to peck my fingers off. When it doesn’t flinch, I bend forward slowly and scoop the bird up.

I put the bird in the pocket of my cardigan, where it will be warm and safe, and then I climb back into the lantern room of the lighthouse.

8

A LOST BIRD

Back in the lighthouse keeper’s office, I fold up my blanket to make a little nest for the bird. Huddled in the blanket, it looks tiny and helpless.

I tear off a corner of my bread and offer it to the bird.

The bird doesn’t take any.

I pour some tea from my flask into an empty saucer on Dad’s desk and push that towards the bird instead.

“Go on,” I say. “Try the tea. It’s good. Nice and milky. I put in three teaspoons of sugar. It’s more than I’m allowed when Mum and Dad are here.”

I dip the bread in the saucer of tea, but the bird turns its beak up at that too. I’ve never met such a fussy creature.

“What kind of bird are you?” I wonder aloud. I take Dad’s bird book down off the shelf and flick through the pages to see if I can find out.

It is a beautiful book, full of colourful birds of all kinds: puffins, terns, seagulls, cormorants, crows. Males, females and chicks. But nothing looks like my bird. I can’t find it anywhere.

“If you’re an undiscovered species,” I tell the bird, “they’ll have to name you after me. You’ll be the Deryn Bird, and so will all of your kind!”

The bird looks at me sternly from its nest.

“Never mind,” I tell it. “I shall give you a name that’s just for you.”

I have thought a lot about names recently, because Mum and Dad keep making lists of names for the baby. If it’s a boy, they want to name him Albert, after my grandfather. If it’s a girl, they want to name her Ida, after my great aunt. I suggested Cyrus for a boy and Grace for a girl, but they weren’t sure about either of those. Names are hard. It took me ages to name the chickens.

The bird is pretty small. I think it might be a girl. I shall give it a girl’s name.

“I shall call you Tan,” I tell the bird. “Do you like that?”

She looks concerned.

“Oh, don’t worry,” I say. “It’s not a name I suggested for the baby, so there’s no chance you’ll both have it.”

Tan makes a tiny chirrup at this. She seems happy with her name. I realise I haven’t told her about the baby. Or anyone else, really. There’s been no one to tell. I’ve had to keep my worries and hopes all to myself.

9

AN UNEXPECTED ARRIVAL

Despite how tired I am, I manage to stay up for the whole watch that night. Somehow, having Tan there keeps me awake. I do doze off a couple of times, but when I wake I always remember to check on the lantern.

Twice during the night, I have to fill the oil reserve with the pump and wind the wheel to keep the lenses turning. It’s only when the sun rises that I sit in Dad’s chair and finally fall properly asleep.

I dream I am snoozing in my own bed with Tan beside me on my pillow.

For some reason in my dream the room is on fire. Soon the whole cottage is burning. Flames leap around me until Mum and Dad appear. They are ghostly figures, floating in the grey smoke as if they are underwater.

Dad shakes me, trying to wake me from my slumber, but I’m so tired I can’t get out of bed. “Deryn!” Dad cries. “Wake up! You’re on fire!”

“You’re burning!” Mum adds, flapping her arms in the air like wings as she tries to put out the flames.

Mum and Dad make several loud CAWING noises, like seagulls, and Dad sweeps the lamp from the bedside table with a CRASH!

I wake in the keeper’s office.

It is midday and the CAWS are coming from the seagulls outside the window.

But something is burning … for real! I can smell it!

Part of Tan’s nest is on fire. She has knocked over the oil lamp. The last dribble of burning oil must have flooded on to her blanket and set it alight.

I use my cardigan as a glove and quickly set the oil lamp upright. Luckily its glass chimney isn’t broken. Then I pour the rest of the flask of cold milky tea over the flames to put them out.

A horrible smoky smell fills the room. Tan opens her mouth and gives a low cough. But she is all right. She was tucked up on the other side of the nest, unharmed. The lump of bread is still beside her. Tan hasn’t eaten any of it in the night, which can’t be a good thing. But, anyway, somehow this morning her feathers seem brighter.

With relief I pick Tan up and put her back in my cardigan pocket. She curls up comfortably in there, warming my side.

Now that I am properly awake I climb the stairs to the lantern room and put out the flame of the big lantern also. When I’ve finished, I go down to see Brenda, Bertha and Bella in their hutch and Gertrude in her shed.

Between them, the three hens have laid only one egg