The Rescue. Kathryn Lasky

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СКАЧАТЬ What a Blow!

      “Meatballs! Good and juicy.” Poot swivelled his head and flung off a glob of weed, dead minnows and assorted slop from the Sea of Hoolemere that had landed between his ear tufts.

      “Storm residue. He has a very coarse way of speaking,” Otulissa murmured primly to Nut Beam and Silver. She was flying between the two young owlets, and Soren was in their wake making sure that they didn’t go into a bounce spiral caused by sudden updrafts, which could be dangerous.

      “See? That’s what you get,” Poot was saying. “You don’t have to go swimming to feel the water below getting warmer do you? You can feel it now, can’t you?”

      Soren could feel warm wet gusts coming off the waves that crashed below. It was odd, for although they were on the brink of winter, the Sea of Hoolemere in this region of the bight and beyond held the summer heat longer than any other. “That’s what causes a hurricane, young’uns, when the cooler air meets up with warm water. Now, I’ve sent Ruby out to the edges of this mess to reconnoitre wind speeds and such.”

      Poot paused and looked back at his chaw members. “All right now – a little in-flight quiz.”

      “Oh, goody,” Otulissa said. “I just love quizzes.” Soren gave her a withering look despite the remnants of a meatball that were splattered around the rims of his eyes.

      Poot continued, “Now, Martin. Which way does the wind spiral in a hurricane?”

      “Oh, I know! I know!” Otulissa started waving her wings excitedly.

      “Shut your beak, Otulissa,” Poot snapped. “I asked Martin.”

      But then Nut Beam piped up, “My grandma did a special kind of dive called the spiral.”

      “My grandpa had a kind of twisty talon like a spiral,” Silver said loudly.

      “Great Glaux.” Soren sighed. He had forgotten how young owlets could be. It was clear that Poot did not know how to deal with such young ones. But Otulissa interrupted what was about to turn into a free-for-all bragging match about grandparents.

      “Silver, Nut Beam,” she said sharply, and flew out in front of the two little owls. “Attention. All eyes on my tail, please. Now does anybody here have anything to say that is not about their grandparents, parents or any other relatives or spirals?” There was silence. Then Silver waggled his wings. Otulissa sighed. “I feel a wing waggle from behind.” She flipped her head back. “What is it, Silver?”

      “My great-grandma was named for a cloud too. Her name was Alto Cumulus.”

      “Thank you for that information,” Otulissa said curtly. “Now may we proceed? Martin, will you please answer the question?”

      “The wind spirals inwards and this way.” The little Northern Saw-whet spun his head almost completely around in an anticlockwise motion.

      “Very good, considering you’ve never flown in a hurricane,” Poot replied. None of them had as yet, except for Poot.

      “We might not have flown in one yet but we’ve read all about them, Poot,” Otulissa said. “Strix Emerilla devotes three chapters to hurricanes in her book, Atmospheric Pressures and Turbulations: An Interpreter’s Guide.”

      “The most boring book in the world,” Martin muttered as he flew up on Soren’s starboard wing.

      “I’ve read every word of it,” Otulissa said.

      “Now, next question,” Poot continued. “And all you older owls shut your beaks. Which is your port wing and which is your starboard?”

      There was silence. “All right. Wiggle the one you think is port.” Nut Beam and Silver hesitated a bit, stole a look at each other and then both waggled their right wing.

      “Wrong!” Poot said. “Now, you two have to remember the difference. Because when I say strike off to port, or angle starboard, you’re going to fly off in the wrong direction if you don’t know.”

      Soren remembered that this was difficult for him to learn when he first started flying in the weather chaw. It took Ruby, the best flier, forever to learn port from starboard, but they all did – finally.

      “All right, now,” Poot said. “I’m going out for a short reconnaissance in the opposite direction of Ruby. I want to cover everything. Soren and Martin, you’re in charge here. Keep flying in this direction. I’ll be back soon.”

      Poot had not been gone long when a definite whiff seemed to wash over the small band of owls.

      “I think I smell gulls nearby.” Otulissa turned her beak upwind. “Oh Great Glaux, here they come. The stench is appalling,” Otulissa muttered. “Those seagulls! Scum of the avian world.”

      “Are they really that bad?” Nut Beam asked.

      “You can smell them, can’t you? And they’re wet poopers on top of it all!”

      “Wet poopers!” Silver and Nut Beam said at once.

      “I’ve never met a wet pooper. I can’t imagine,” Nut Beam said.

      “Well then, don’t try,” Otulissa snapped testily.

      “It’s hard to believe that they never yarp pellets at all,” Nut Beam continued to muse.

      “My sister actually had a friend who was a wet pooper, but they wouldn’t let her bring him home. I think he was a warbler,” Silver announced.

      “Oh Glaux, here we go again,” said Martin.

      “I think maybe I’ve met one once,” said Nut Beam.

      “Well, it’s not something to be proud of. It’s disgusting,” Otulissa replied.

      “You’re starting to sound like a nest-maid snake, Otulissa,” said Soren, and laughed. Nest-maid snakes were notoriously disdainful of all birds except owls because of what they considered their inferior and less noble digestive systems due to their inability to yarp pellets. All of their waste was splatted out from the other end, which nest-maids considered vile and disgusting.

      “They give us a lot of good information about weather, Otulissa,” Soren said.

      “You mean a lot of dirty jokes. You can find good information in books.”

      Poot was soon back with the seagulls in his wake.

      “What’s the report?” Martin asked.

      “Storm surge moderate,” Poot said, “but building. The gulls say the leading edge of this thing is at least fifty leagues off to the southeast.”

      “Yeah, but I got news for you.” At that moment, Ruby skidded in on a tumultuous draft and a mess of flying spume. She was accompanied by two gulls. It was as if she had come out of nowhere. And suddenly Soren felt an immense pull on his downwind wings. “You’ve been talking to the wrong gulls. It’s not just a storm with a leading edge. It’s a hurricane with an eye!”

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