Windblowne by Stephen Messer

Author:Stephen Messer
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Fiction:Young Adult
ISBN: 9780375893476
Publisher: Random House Children's Books
Published: 2010-01-02T00:00:00+00:00

11

Oliver climbed carefully, carefully, placing each foot delicately on the next step as he inched upstairs, quiet as a ghost. In his own treehouse, there would have been cacophonous creaks and groans no matter how gingerly he went. Here, in Lord Gilbert’s flawless treehouse, the stairs were silent.

In the dark bedroom, Two’s breathing was slow and raspy. Oliver listened for a minute, making sure Two was really asleep. No chances, Oliver, he warned himself. No mistakes.

He crawled to the workbench, thinking quiet thoughts. He felt for the mechanism that opened the secret drawer. His groping fingers found it—

CLICK!

Oliver cringed. Was that the same click as before? Had it sounded quite as much like an explosion the first time? It seemed to echo through the room—CLICKCLICKCLICK!

With stern orders to stop imagining things, he held his breath and reached daintily into the drawer. There was a slight clatter, and then he had all of the spars in his hand. He stole ghostily downstairs to the laboratory, tremendously pleased at how well the plan was going.

He stumbled around in the dark until his hand found a lamp. Remembering what he’d seen Lord Gilbert do, he felt for a switch and pressed it. The room flooded with soft light. Well done, he thought smugly. He was learning his way around this strange world.

The moment the light came on, the caged hawk in the corner began chittering fearfully. “Shhh!” Oliver hissed. He stepped back, and the hawk quieted. On a workbench near the cage was the broken hunter. The thing lay on its side, glass eyes dull and empty, one wing stuck awkwardly straight up, exposing a puzzle of wires beneath. It was no wonder the caged hawk was upset.

“I’ll take you with me when I leave,” Oliver whispered. “I won’t let them do that to you.” He thought of releasing it right away, but turning a panicked hawk loose in the laboratory seemed like a superb way to blow his cover. No more mistakes.

He turned his attention to the poor crimson kite, pinned to a workbench, looking discouragingly dead.

Carefully, Oliver removed the pins and clasps restraining the kite, despairing at the damage, feeling inept. Under the artificial light, the bright crimson silk looked wan and sickly. His fumbling hands seemed to cause even more damage and more rips. Tears sprang to his eyes—could the kite feel pain?

At last the kite was free. Tenderly, Oliver smoothed the silk. His heart pounded. This was where things would get tricky.

Trying not to clatter, he arranged the sticky spars on the workbench. He chose one that looked to be spine length. Taking a deep breath, he tried to fix the spar in place. Too long. He tried another. Too short. He held his breath. Would the third one be just right? No, it didn’t fit either. He felt warm tears on his cheeks as he pushed and pulled, trying to fit at least one of the spars, feeling the last of his confidence draining away.

At last he found a spar that looked exactly right.

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