The Time Pirate by Ted Bell Page B

around in there. Once she’s fully lubricated, we’ll put some petrol in that tank and give it a shot.”
    â€œToday?” Nick asked, his heart pounding.
    â€œGive that prop a few more spins, and we’ll see how she feels.”
    Gunner took two jerricans of petrol and poured them into the Camel’s fuel tank.
    â€œNow you’re talking, Gunner,” Nick said, a flash of excitement in his bright blue eyes. He spun the prop three more times in a clockwise direction and three more times counterclockwise.
    â€œGetting a little easier?” Gunner asked.
    â€œA lot easier,” Nick said, relieved. It was tiring work.
    â€œAll right, then,” Gunner said, mounting the ladder and climbing into the cockpit, “let’s say our prayers and light her up!”
    Gunner settled down inside the new wicker chair. The nose-up angle at which the aircraft sat on the ground meant he could see nothing in front of him except the blue sky through the barn doors. He had to lean out over the side to see Nick.
    â€œGive me a minute, boy,” he said, putting his feet on the rudder pedals and his right hand on the control stick. He moved the stick from side to side and saw the ailerons move up and down at his command. With his left hand, he touched the throttle control and the trim lever. He tried something called the blip switch, which instantly killed the motor, and everything seemed in good working order.
    â€œReady, Nick? Stand to the left side where I can see you.”
    â€œAye-aye, sir!” Nick said, repositioning himself.
    â€œYou remember the starting drill we rehearsed.”
    â€œRemember it? I can say it in my sleep.”
    And then a dialogue began, with Nick asking questions and Gunner answering.
    â€œReady to start, sir?” Nick shouted.
    â€œReady to start.”
    â€œFuel on, switches off, throttle closed?”
    â€œFuel is on, switches are off, throttle is closed.”
    â€œSucking in, sir,” Nick said. He reached up and pulled the propeller blade down, repeating the action three times. This drew fuel into the cylinders.
    â€œThrottle set?” Nick cried out. His excitement was building so fast he could barely contain himself.
    Gunner moved the throttle lever forward half an inch and said, “Throttle set.”
    â€œContact!” Nick cried.
    Gunner reached out and flicked the two magneto switches.
    â€œContact!”
    Once again, Nick swung the propeller, pulling down with all his might but this time jumping back with alacrity immediately afterward.
    The engine fired and the propeller began turning. There was an explosive sound from the big Bentley engine, a roar and a snort, and the propeller quickly gained speed until it was a blur. The sputtering, barking, roaring engine filled the barn with various noises, all of them deafening. The smell of burning castor oil was sweet perfume.
    Nick, who’d tripped over a rake jumping backward, had landed on his bum on the hay-strewn dirt floor. He looked up to see Gunner leaning out over the cockpit and smiling down at him, giving him the thumbs up. Laughing, Nick jumped upand ran to the ladder. He climbed up and put his arms round his old friend and hugged him tightly.
    â€œYou’re a genius, is what you are, sir! An absolute, bona fide genius! Nobody else could have done what you’ve done in the last two weeks, Gunner, nobody!”
    â€œWe’ll let her warm up a bit. You’ll need to do that every time.”
    The engine note rose and fell as Gunner eased the throttle forward a few times, causing masses of smoke to pour forth from the exhaust ports, and then he reached forward and turned the magneto switches off and on again in turn as a safety check. Then, a few minutes later, he hit the kill switch.
    The sudden silence was startling.
    â€œIt’s late, Nick, and your mum will be wondering where you are. I’d get along back to the lighthouse, I was you.”
    Nick