The Terrible Thing That Happened to Barnaby Brocket
Page 18
“I’m sorry,” said Barnaby, starting to rise now, his legs appearing from under the covers, his feet slipping out into the cold air. “I’ll never forget you. I promise.”
The dog barked once more, but it was too late. Barnaby was already out of the bed and starting to rise toward the ceiling. But before he could reach the skylight, the dog gave one last leap and wrapped himself around the boy’s legs. They hovered in the air for a moment, the weight settling, but he was not a fat dog, and within a few seconds they started to rise again.
“What are you doing?” shouted Barnaby. “Get down! You can’t come with me!”
But Captain W. E. Johns had lost his master once before; there was no way he was going to lose him again.
Barnaby felt a surge of panic; a part of him wanted to kick his feet back and forth until the dog had no choice but to let go and fall back onto the hospital bed. Another part of him, however, the stronger part, didn’t want to move a fraction.
“All right, then,” he said finally as they slipped through the skylight and into the outside world. “But you’d better hold on tight!”
Chapter 26
The Most Magnificent City in the World
The sky at night is a magical place.
There are so many things moving to and fro, leaving here, going there, that the human eye can barely discern the movement and the civilizations that are changing the universe in extraordinary ways, offering a burst of starlight over one city, an outbreak of thunder over another, a flash of lightning over a third.
But anyone staring into the sky over Sydney on that particular night, anyone who was prepared to open their eyes and see not just the darkness of the night or the whiteness of the moon, would have seen something extraordinary, something that—if they were willing to look—might have taken their breath away and made them realize that not everything in the world is open to a simple explanation.
On that night, looking out over the Kirribilli shoreline, they would have seen a police helicopter shining its bright searchlight across the bridge, the wonderful Sydney Harbour Bridge, with its steely crossbeams and proud flags waving in the night air, assisting the cars that drove to and fro—for a light on the bridge had blown out earlier that evening and no one wanted an accident.
They would have seen a star flickering and flashing on and off for a few minutes before disappearing entirely as it vanished forever, almost twenty million years after it had first blinked its way into existence—just a blaze of light at first, then a mass of fire, then a glowing burst of luminosity, then nothing, just a memory, just a hint of what had once provided a sparkle in the darkness.
And they would also have seen—if they had looked very closely—an eight-year-old boy rising through the clouds, a small loyal dog of indeterminate breed and parentage holding tightly on to his legs, disappearing into the darkness of a fine Australian night, heading who knew where, uncertain when his feet would touch the ground again.
A boy who was ready to meet new people.
A boy who wanted to have new adventures.
And above all else, a boy who was proud to be different.