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دانلود اپلیکیشن «زیبوک»

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دانلود اپلیکیشن «زیبوک»

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متن انگلیسی فصل

CHAPTER 18

“NO BEES AT SEA”

SEAMAN CONRAD DILLINGER, agile as a monkey in a tree, climbed the rigging that ran down from the mizzenmast. Even though the ship rode the sea in constant motion—up-and-down, forward-and-back, side-to-side—Conrad easily kept his balance. He didn’t mind being sent up to check the sails, because he enjoyed the view so much. The ocean spread out before him like a vast blue tablecloth, interrupted by the occasional white stitch of foam on a wave.

He glanced down to the ship’s deck, now far below. A few crew members mopped the decks, their heads down. Most were below, eating breakfast. Conrad could smell the biscuits and bacon from here. He glanced up at the sails; they looked fine to him, but he’d been ordered to check them, and check them he would.

Peter awoke to the sound of urgent bells in his ear. He yawned and was about to ask Tink what the clamor was about when she placed her tiny hand across his lips to silence him.

What? Peter asked with his eyes.

Tink answered with a soft flurry of bells. A boy is coming!

Peter, instantly wide awake, sneaked a peek over the fold of the weathered canvas. Sure enough, a young sailor—not much older than he was—was quickly climbing the rigging toward the reefed topsail where Peter hid.

Where to hide? Peter wondered.

Tink pointed forward. The topmost sail on the next mast was reefed, just like the one Peter was hiding in.

There, said Tink’s bells.

Peter looked at the deck; the few crew members he saw on deck had their heads aimed down at their work as they mopped. On the main mast was a lookout in the crow’s nest, but he was facing forward. But what about the sailor climbing toward him? Wouldn’t he see Peter fly across?

I’ll deal with the boy, chimed Tink. You be ready.

“Be ready for what?” whispered Peter.

But Tink was gone.

Conrad had almost reached the second yardarm when he heard it.

Bells.

But not the ship’s bells, which were as familiar to Conrad as his own heartbeat. These sounded like tiny bells. Tiny…beautiful bells, coming from the furled sail above him. He looked up, and…

WHOOSH!

…something shot past his left ear. A bird? It was about the size of a bird, but…but it was glowing. And it moved far too fast for a bird; far too fast for Conrad to get a good view of it. He looked down, and…

WHOOSH!

…it shot past his head again, this time going up, and then around behind him. Trying to follow it, he twisted his head violently and swung around on the shroud one-handed, and…

WHOOSH!

…it shot past him again, and then…

WHOOSH!

…again, and this time, in his frantic, twisting effort to get a glimpse of this thing that was tormenting him, Conrad did something that he never would have thought was possible for a rigging rat like himself.

He lost his grip.

And then, gravity being what it is, he fell.

Peter saw the boy fall. He’d been watching as Tink swooped around the young seaman. When he was sure the boy was distracted, Peter had launched himself across the space between the masts, toward his new hiding place. But he kept his eyes on the action below him as the boy fell. For an instant the boy appeared doomed, but then he hit a rigging line and grabbed hold, stopping himself just before he crashed onto the deck.

Peter shot toward the sail, diving into its folds just as the sound of the boy’s strangled shout reached the crow’s-nest lookout and the men on deck. All eyes turned to the young seaman, white-faced and wobbly, clinging to the rigging. None saw the golden blur streaking toward the sail where Peter now hid.

“Thanks, Tink,” he whispered as she nestled in next to him.

Tink tinkled modestly.

“I am very, very glad you came,” said Peter.

You should be, said the bells.

Safely back on deck, his legs still shaky, Conrad Dillinger looked back into the rigging, an expression of puzzlement on his face. Watching him with some amusement was a leather-faced older hand who’d been swabbing the deck onto which Conrad had very nearly fallen.

“Wakes you up, don’t it?” he said. “Almost fell myself once. Wakes you right up. Good thing you caught yourself, or I’d have had quite a mess to mop down here, ha-ha.”

Conrad looked at him.

“Best thing is to get right back up there,” said the old swabbie.

“Did you see it?” said Conrad.

“Did I see what?” the swabbie inquired. He spat a brown glob over the rail.

“There was this yellow thing. Like a bird, only too fast for a bird. More like a…bee. Did you see a yellow bee?”

“You’re talking like you hit your head,” said the swabbie. “Ain’t no bees out at sea.” He smiled at the sound of that, revealing a mouth nearly devoid of teeth. “No bees at sea,” he repeated, and then he turned it into a song:

“Ain’t no bees out to sea if you please.

If you please, when you sneeze mind the breeze…”

Off the old man went, mopping and singing. His song had a catchy tune; in a few moments the other swabbies were singing along with him. Conrad found himself humming along as he looked back up at the rigging. There had been something flying around him up there; he was sure of that. What he wasn’t sure about was whether he should report this to an officer. He was worried that he’d be ridiculed, especially if he mentioned the strange feeling he’d had just before he’d managed to catch himself—the feeling of floating. And what about the bells? He had definitely heard bells. Should he report that? But who would believe him?

Conrad decided he would think about it later. Right now, it was time for breakfast. Following the smell of biscuits and bacon, he headed below.

Hiding in the sail far above, Peter smelled the biscuits and bacon, too.

“I’m hungry, Tink,” he said. “And thirsty.”

Tinker Bell responded with a stern burst of bells.

“No, I won’t go down there during the day,” he said. “But tonight I have to find water and something to eat, or I’ll never make it to England.”

More bells, softer now.

“You’re right,” said Peter. “Right now I need to sleep. Wake me when it’s dark, would you?”

A nod from Tink, and in a minute’s time Peter was fast asleep. CHAPTER 19

ANYTHING UNUSUAL

“WHAT DID HE FIND?” said Ombra.

He and Captain Nerezza were taking lunch, seated across from each other at a heavy table in the captain’s darkened quarters. Nerezza detested these meals, because of Ombra’s bizarre dining habits.

Ombra ate only one thing: octopus. He ate it raw, and preferably live, out of a wooden bucket, placed on the table by a nervous cook’s mate, who quickly fled the cabin. Ombra would settle at the table and lean his black-cloaked form over the bucket, making hideous sucking and slurping sounds; occasionally black ink would squirt onto the table and floor. Nerezza found it difficult to eat his own food, sitting across from this grotesque spectacle.

“What did who find?” said Nerezza.

Ombra made a sucking sound, and Nerezza saw a tentacle, still writhing, disappear into the shadow beneath the hood.

“The boy you sent up to check the mizzen sails,” said Ombra. “What did he find?”

“Oh, him,” said Nerezza a bit smugly. “Nothing. As I expected.”

“Nothing? Nothing at all?”

“Not in the sails, no.”

The hooded head lifted from the bucket, and although Nerezza could not see Ombra’s eyes, he felt the chill of his gaze.

“But he saw something?”

“He thought he saw something,” corrected Nerezza. “He lost his balance and blamed it on a bee.”

“A bee.”

“It’s ridiculous, of course,” said Nerezza. “There’s no bees out here. A gull is what he saw, if he saw anything. I took him off his ration of grog. He’s too young for grog if he’s seeing bees.”

Ombra slurped down another piece of octopus. Then his hood came up again.

“You will double the watch tonight,” he said, sliding his chair back and standing.

Nerezza wanted to object. He didn’t appreciate doubling the watch; it would disrupt the shifts. But all he said was: “As you wish, Lord Ombra.”

“If any man sees anything unusual,” groaned Ombra, “I want to be told immediately.” He slid toward the door, passing uncomfortably close to Nerezza, who had to fight the urge to recoil.

“Yes, my lord,” said Nerezza, though what he thought was, What are the men supposed to see? Bees?

Ombra stopped, and Nerezza felt his gaze. “Possibly,” he said. And then he was gone.

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