“Hello!” I whisper to it. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m here to help.”

The bird licks its pale-grey beak with a darting tongue. It watches me with intelligent eyes that are as dark as wet pebbles. It seems to know exactly what I am thinking. The bird flaps its wings again and a warm breeze wafts off them like a ray of desert sunshine.

Close now, I notice some of the bird’s feathers are damaged. Maybe it has been in a fire? It needs my help to get better. I can see that. Gulls scream above us in the evening sky. If I don’t take the bird inside soon, they will be down here to eat it.

I wonder what the bird eats. Tomorrow, when the sun rises, I will show it our garden and try to find out. That’s if I can get it to come with me now.

Making myself brave, I hold out my hands to the bird, hoping it won’t try to peck my fingers off. When it doesn’t flinch, I bend forward slowly and scoop the bird up.

I put the bird in the pocket of my cardigan, where it will be warm and safe, and then I climb back into the lantern room of the lighthouse.

Chapter 8

8

A LOST BIRD

Back in the lighthouse keeper’s office, I fold up my blanket to make a little nest for the bird. Huddled in the blanket, it looks tiny and helpless.

I tear off a corner of my bread and offer it to the bird.

The bird doesn’t take any.

I pour some tea from my flask into an empty saucer on Dad’s desk and push that towards the bird instead.

“Go on,” I say. “Try the tea. It’s good. Nice and milky. I put in three teaspoons of sugar. It’s more than I’m allowed when Mum and Dad are here.”

I dip the bread in the saucer of tea, but the bird turns its beak up at that too. I’ve never met such a fussy creature.

“What kind of bird are you?” I wonder aloud. I take Dad’s bird book down off the shelf and flick through the pages to see if I can find out.

It is a beautiful book, full of colourful birds of all kinds: puffins, terns, seagulls, cormorants, crows. Males, females and chicks. But nothing looks like my bird. I can’t find it anywhere.

“If you’re an undiscovered species,” I tell the bird, “they’ll have to name you after me. You’ll be the Deryn Bird, and so will all of your kind!”

The bird looks at me sternly from its nest.

“Never mind,” I tell it. “I shall give you a name that’s just for you.”