فصل 13

CHAPTER 13

UNCLE NEVILLE

ORDINARILLY, WENDY WOULD HAVE BEEN thrilled to visit her uncle Neville, a magistrate with a large estate in Cambridgeshire. He was often described as an eccentric, but to Wendy and her two brothers he was the only grown-up they knew who acted more like them than like a grown-up.

Uncle Neville, whose full name was Neville Plonk-Fenster, considered himself an amateur scientist. He was always conducting experiments, some of which blew up buildings. Fortunately he was rich and had plenty of buildings.

He also had a passion for aviation, and had built many flying machines, although so far none had actually flown. His latest effort was an ornithopter, which was a strange contraption consisting of a wooden frame some ten feet tall, on which was mounted a pair of huge wings made from silk and feathers.

The pilot stood on a small platform behind the wings, which were connected to a small gasoline-powered engine. The engine caused the wings to flap up and down rapidly; this, in turn, was supposed to cause the ornithopter to take gracefully to the air. So far, all it had done was fall over and flop around like a fish out of water. But Uncle Neville was sure that, with a few minor adjustments, it would soar like an eagle. Or at least a pigeon.

John and Michael worshipped Uncle Neville, and were thrilled when their father told them they would be going to visit him for a while. Of course, John and Michael didn’t know that their mother had disappeared; they’d been told she was visiting an ailing great-aunt in Scotland. Wendy knew better, and despite the many diverting activities to be found at Uncle Neville’s estate, she couldn’t stop worrying about her mother.

Her father had promised to let her know as soon as he heard anything, good or bad. But the hours had stretched into days, and there was still no word from London. Wendy could picture her father, frantic, making every effort to find his wife, but she also knew he would not mention anything to anyone about the Starcatchers. She was convinced mother’s disappearance had to do with her past; with her old friend James, who had visited their home; with the Starcatchers. And the one person who knew the most about the Starcatchers was the man her mother had been going to see that miserable day: her father, Wendy’s grandfather, Leonard Aster.

After a near-sleepless night, Wendy could stand it no longer. She came down to breakfast, which Uncle Neville had already started. He was sitting at the head of the table, with John and Michael on either side. In the middle of the table was an odd-looking contraption, with many gears and pulleys. It was connected to a wire, which ran to the wall.

“What on earth is that!” said Wendy.

“That,” said Uncle Neville, “is an automatic toast-butterer.”

“It runs on ’tricity,” said Michael.

“Electricity, you ninny,” said John.

“That’s what I said,” said Michael.

“But,” said Wendy, “why do you need a machine to—”

“It saves labor!” said Uncle Neville. “Do you have any idea how many hours the British public spends every year buttering its toast?”

“No,” said Wendy. “How many?”

“I have no idea,” said Uncle Neville. “But I suspect it’s a lot.”

“Ah,” said Wendy. “Well, I was wondering if I could ask you something.”

“Yes, of course,” said Uncle Neville. “Would you like to see how it works?”

“I, ah, certainly,” said Wendy. “What I wondered was—”

“The butter goes here,” said Uncle Neville, dumping the butter dish into a hole at the top of the machine. “And then the toast goes here.” He put a slice of bread into a slot on the side. “Then you turn it on with this switch.” He flipped a switch. The machine started to clank and whirr, its gears and pulleys turning.

“I was wondering if I could take the train to London today,” said Wendy.

“What’s that?” said Uncle Neville, eyeing the machine, which was clanking louder now and starting to smoke.

“I was wondering if I could take the train to London today, to…to visit someone. I’ll be back this evening, and I promise to—”

BANG

The automatic toast-butterer belched a smoke cloud and ejected a piece of toast burned to the consistency of charcoal, which flew straight up with such force that it hit the ceiling and shattered into a small black cloud of particles, which floated gently down onto the table. The machine then emitted a geyser of melted butter, which spurted up, then fell back, causing the machine to emit a shower of sparks, and then, with a loud POP, to stop running altogether. It now sat silent, a smoking ruin.

“Brilliant!” said John.

“Is the ’tricity gone?” said Michael.

“It needs a bit of adjustment,” said Uncle Neville.

“So,” said Wendy, “is it all right, Uncle Neville?”

“What?” said Uncle Neville.

“What I asked. Is it all right?” said Wendy, deciding not to mention the train trip again.

“I suppose so,” said Uncle Neville, looking at his machine. “Why not?”

“Thank you,” said Wendy.

She hurried out of the room before Uncle Neville thought to ask exactly what he’d given her his permission to do.