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42 pages

English

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Informations
Extrait

Description

When Jason agrees to go camping with his cousin Sean, he doesn’t picture two weeks at a War of 1812 reenactment camp. But that’s where he ends up. The historically accurate camp bans all trappings of modern life, like cell phones and electricity. Jason is not impressed, but they do get to fire muskets, and he secretly likes that, despite the general dorkiness of the camp. And then there’s the cute girl who works in the mess tent. And the sneaking around at night getting into trouble, which is fun—until Jason and his friends keep running into a camp counselor who is clearly up to no good. They resolve to find out exactly what the counselor is up to, but they may have taken on more than they can handle.

Sujets

Jeunesse Aventure

Action

Estonian Air

Electronic Sports League

EAL

Adventure

War of 1812

English as a foreign or second language

ELL

Juvenilee Fiction

Informations

Publié par	Orca Book Publishers
Date de parution	01 octobre 2014
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781459807532
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0470€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

Siege

Jacqueline Pearce

O R C A B O O K P U B L I S H E R S
Copyright 2014 Jacqueline Pearce
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Pearce, Jacqueline, 1962-, author Siege / Jacqueline Pearce. (Orca currents)
Issued in print and electronic formats. ISBN 978-1-4598-0751-8 (pbk.).- ISBN 978-1-4598-0754-9 (bound).- ISBN 978-1-4598-0752-5 (pdf).- ISBN 978-1-4598-0753-2 (epub)
I. Title. II. Series: Orca currents PS 8581. E 26 S 53 2014 j C 813 .6 C 2014-901588-7 C 2014-901589-5
First published in the United States, 2014 Library of Congress Control Number: 2014935395
Summary: Fourteen-year-old Jason and his friends witness a crime at a War of 1812 reenactment camp.
Orca Book Publishers gratefully acknowledges the support for its publishing programs provided by the following agencies: the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund and the Canada Council for the Arts, and the Province of British Columbia through the BC Arts Council and the Book Publishing Tax Credit.
Cover photography by Getty Images Author photo by Danielle Naherniak ORCA BOOK PUBLISHERS PO Box 5626, Stn. B Victoria, BC Canada V 8 R 6 S 4 ORCA BOOK PUBLISHERS PO Box 468 Custer, WA USA 98240-0468
www.orcabook.com
17 16 15 14 4 3 2 1
For my nieces and nephews
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Author s note
Chapter One
Gunfire rings in my ears.
Second line Fire! Major Helston, our commanding officer, yells above the noise.
I squeeze the trigger of my musket and nothing happens. I try again.
Poof. Gunpowder bursts in my face. A rotten-egg smell stings my nose.
Flash in the pan, my cousin Sean says near my ear. Trust him to know the 1812 name for a gun misfire.
According to the rules for this phony battle, a soldier whose gun doesn t fire is a dead soldier. I glance behind me, hoping Major Helston hasn t noticed my firing fail. But there he is, stepping out of the smoke like a devil in his red British officer s uniform. His rust-colored cheek whiskers flare out like flames on either side of his face.
Soldier! He lifts a beefy finger and points right at me. You re dead!
I clutch at my chest as if I ve been shot and drop to the ground. This is so lame. Sean steps over my body as his line advances. I groan as if I m not quite dead yet and shift position, trying to trip him. Instead, I snag his foot, and he kicks me in the ribs.
Serves you right, he says as he marches on without me.
I lie on the field as the rest of my battalion marches forward. Musket smoke rises around me, and I can t see if there s anyone else on the ground. I m sweating in this hot uniform. There s no shade, and it s got to be ninety degrees out here. The grass under my cheek is dry and prickly, and a rock jabs into my hip. I think an ant is crawling up my pant leg. Why did I let Sean talk me into this?
When Sean invited me camping with him in Canada this summer, reenactment camp was not what I had in mind. His family has an RV , so I thought we d be at one of those big campgrounds with a swimming pool and miniature golf and girls. And showers. And Internet access and electricity for recharging my phone. Although it doesn t matter that we have no electricity and no Internet, since Major Hell Storm confiscated all our phones and devices. Because, of course, soldiers in 1812 did not have electronics.
There wasn t much I could do once I got to my aunt and uncle s place in Toronto and found out where Sean planned to drag me. I couldn t turn around and go back to Syracuse. My parents had already left for Switzerland and their big European cruise.
It ll be fun, Jason, Sean had said. Like laser tag, but with muskets.
Right. At least with laser tag the guns work. And I ve never had to spend the whole game lying on the ground dressed like an idiot and sweating like a pig. Sean didn t mention the War of 1812 soldier uniforms until after his dad dropped us off at Old Fort Erie, and it was too late for me to back out. We don t even get to wear the proper red coats (for the British and Canadian soldiers) or blue coats (for the Americans) until the big battle at the end of the week. Instead, we ve all got baggy white shirts and white pants with suspenders. They call the pants breeches , and instead of a zipper, they have a flap with buttons. Kind of like the style pirates wore, I guess. But without the cool factor.
I peer through the smoke, trying to make out the lines of play soldiers. Something bumps my foot. I look up past a pair of black officer s boots and see a long tanned hand reach down through the smoke.
On your feet, soldier, orders Lieutenant Gunner, our second in command.
Chapter Two
I take Lieutenant Gunner s hand, and he pulls me up in one swift, strong movement. He s tall, lean and way younger than Major Helston. He actually looks good in his tight-fitting red jacket and tall black hat with its shiny plate and white plume. He looks like an officer in a movie about the War of 1812.
You ve recovered, he says. It s a miracle!
He grins at me like we re both in on the joke, and I smile back. Could it be that easy? I glance around for Major Helston.
Don t worry about Helston, Gunner says, as if he s read my mind. He won t see us until the smoke s cleared, and by then the battle will be over. He nods toward my musket. So what s the problem?
I explain about my musket misfiring. He s going to think I m a real loser. Instead, he nods.
Pretty common with nineteenth-century muskets, he says. Make sure you clean it before you load it again. He holds his own gun out to me. Give this one a try. It s primed and loaded.
I exchange my musket for his and take aim across the field. Through the rising smoke and bright orange blasts of musket fire, I see the white uniforms of the other soldiers. I can t tell which side is which. I hesitate for a second, reminding myself that there are no bullets in the gun. Then I squeeze the trigger.
Bang!
I feel the gun kick back in my hands as flame and smoke burst from the end of the barrel. Cool.
Reload, soldier, Gunner orders. There is a note of amusement in his voice-like he s not taking this stuff half as seriously as everyone else seems to be.
I grin, thumb open the priming pan and take a paper cartridge from the cartridge box hanging at my side. I bite off the top of the cartridge, tap a bit of powder into the pan and then close the pan. I glance at Gunner to check that I ve done it right, and he nods. Then I lower the musket butt to the ground and pour the rest of the powder down the barrel. I raise the gun, get in position and fire.
Bang!
Another perfect fire.
Well done, says Gunner.
I thank him and hand back the musket.
Not much point to being here if you don t get to shoot, he says.
After the battle ends, I catch up to Sean outside the mess hall. It s actually a big white tent set up outside the walls of the fort. Our sleeping tents are lined up at this end of the field too. And when I say field , I mean it. That s all there is. There s a dry ditch around the fort walls, and then a big, flat grassy area with some trees at one end. No swimming pool. No miniature golf. No junk-food store. No anything.
Sean s face is pink from sun and exertion. I notice his breeches are still white, while mine are stained with dirt and grass. He grins when he sees me.
That was cool, hey? he says.
I lift one eyebrow and don t smile. I wouldn t know. I spent it lying on the ground. For some reason, I don t tell him about Lieutenant Gunner. Maybe I don t want to admit that shooting a musket actually was pretty cool.
Sean s eyes drop to my musket, which I m kind of leaning on like a crutch, with the muzzle pointed to the sky.
You re supposed to hold it like this when you re at rest, he says, jiggling the gun on his shoulder. If that was primed, it could discharge and shoot you in the face.
I scowl at him, and then I remember that I haven t cleaned the gun yet. Quickly, I shift the musket to my shoulder. Sean is way too into this. He s lucky he s my favorite cousin.
We leave our muskets propped next to an empty table and join the food line. The food laid out on a long table smells good. But they served us a few weird things last night when we arrived, so my expectations are not high. Behind the table is an older woman and a teenage girl who might be mother and daughter. They re both wearing old-fashioned cloth caps and long dresses with aprons over top. We definitely will not be getting hamburgers or hot dogs.
When I finally get to the table, I grab a plate and hold it up. Ahead of me, the woman serves Sean something that looks like beef stew.
Cock-a-leekie soup? asks the girl. She holds a big wooden ladle over a large pot.
What? I raise an eyebrow.
She laughs, and I notice she has a dimple in one cheek. Strands of curly black hair escape from under her white cap.
I know, she says. Sounds rude, but it s chicken soup. She lifts the lid off the pot, and a delicious smell escapes with the steam.
Sure, I say. I ll risk it.
I watch her ladle soup into a bowl. How does a cute girl like her end up in the middle of a bunch of nerds like this?
So, is this a summer job? I ask as she hands me the bowl.
Job? she echoes. Again, that cute dimple appears in her cheek. My da s stationed at the fort, she says. He s in the King s 8th Regiment. Ma and I stay in the barracks with him. She nods toward the older woman.
For a second I wonder if the g