ISOF Read Free Page B

pocket and withdrew a pair of glasses, which had seen better days. Perching the glasses on his nose, Briel focussed on the object he’d recently unearthed.
    â€˜Hmm,’ he said to himself. ‘It’s not much to look at.’ He turned the object over and over in his hand. ‘Ah, hum, ‘ he coughed. ‘Well, it doesn’t belong to me, that’s for sure. And,’ he said, inhaling deeply. ‘What have I found exactly?’ He tapped the side of his head in thought. ‘Need a spot of help on the matter,’ he grinned.
    While Briel whistled noisily through his teeth, his hands began to rummage through the pockets of his flying jacket. Within minutes, a small pile of assorted odds and ends littered the sand. Briel looked down at the collection of the items.
    â€˜Bike pump, string, bacon sandwich, torch, marbles and a mousetrap,’ he mumbled. ‘Not what I want, try another pocket,’ he instructed his hands.
    His hands obeyed as fingers probed, prodded and pulled out a huge assortment of odds and ends.
    â€˜Ho hum,’ said Briel, cheerily. ‘Not there, try again.’ This time his hand emerged from the jacket clutching a large tatty picture book. ‘Eureka, as my old friend Archie would say. Got it.’
    Briel placed the book on the sand. Carefully dusting the front cover, he gazed at the faded illustration of an owl.
    â€˜I knew you were in there somewhere,’ he said to the picture, and with that he opened the book and walked inside.
    It was pitch black inside the book and the air smelled of over-ripe bananas. With a loud sniff, Briel carefully felt along the wall for the gnarled rope that drooped along the wall, parallel with the stairs. The rope felt cold beneath his fingers with a dampness that seemed to thrive in darkness. After grazing a couple of knuckles against the rugged cool stone, Briel slowly shuffled one foot in front of the other and made his way down the stairs into the library.
    Turning firstly to the left and then with a sharp right, the stairs descended into the depths of the book. Gradually, Briel became aware of a welcoming orange glow appearing in the distance. He nodded in satisfaction.
    â€˜You could have shut the cover behind you,’ moaned a thin, weedy voice. ‘There’s a terrible draught ruffling my feathers.
    â€˜And a good morning to you, Owl,’ called Briel, finally standing on a level surface. He blinked his eyes as they adjusted to subdued lighting of the subterranean library. Owl smoothed his feathers and ruffled some papers on his desk.
    â€˜Interest rates are up again, the price of haddock is a scandal and your books are overdue.’
    Briel walked over to the desk where Owl was perched.
    â€˜That’s what I like about you Owl, such wonderful company and sparkling conversation.’ Briel brushed at his sleeves. ‘And you always make a person feel so welcome,’ he chuckled.
    â€˜There’s no need to get sarcastic,’ replied Owl. ‘You don’t know what it’s like cooped up in here every day, dusting, filing, sorting, dusting, stamping, dusting and sticking books all day. It can get to you, you know. Drive you mental. Aaark!’
    Owl waved his wings about in a large arc over his head as he squawked his annoyance.
    â€˜I thought you were supposed to say “twit-twoo”,’ asked Briel, with a mischievous grin.
    â€˜Fat lot you know then,’ grumbled Owl, not noticing the broad grin forming on Briel’s face. ‘If you must know, it takes two to “twit-twoo”. One owl calls “twit” and the other responds “twoo”. And, as I’m the only owl here, I can’t very well go around calling “twit...twit...twit” can I? People might think I was crazy.’
    Briel put his hand over his mouth and coughed loudly.
    â€˜All right, I get the message,’ he soothed. ‘Now, can you help me identify this device,