1. What genre would you label Nick of lime? Why? Could it belong to more than one genre?
2. Why do you think author Ted Bell uses multiple points-of-view to tell Nick’s story? What storytelling advantages does an author gain by using more than one viewpoint?
3. Why might Nick’s father have decided to disobey government rules and report on German activity? Should he have been punished for his actions? Why, or why not? Under what circumstances might disobeying government rules be acceptable?
4. During difficult times, Nick and Kate often use instinct, rather than academic learning or logic, to survive. How effective is this survival approach? If you were in the same situations, what approaches would you use and why?
5. From your understanding of time, how accurate arc Hobbes and Lord Hawke’s explanations of it? In what ways might their explanations be inaccurate? What aspects of time do you think we now know most about and least about?
6. Lord Hawke tells Nick and Gunner ”We are about to venture into the past, gentlemen. In so doing, we incur an enormous responsibility to history.” (p. 175) What does he mean by this? What might happen if someone traveled through time irresponsibly? What might happen if someone responsible, and with the best intentions, drastically changed history?
7. Are evil people like Nazi U-boat captain Von Kreig and pirate Billy Blood always crazy? Why, or why not? How do you define ”evil”? How does someone become evil?
8. In what ways is spying, like that done by the Nazis and by Angus Mclntire, moral, and how might it be immoral? What distinguishes a moral spy from an immoral one? Under what circumstances is spying the right thing to do?
9. Winston Churchill and Lord Nelson are characters in Nick of Time, but they also are two historically important men. How do people like them become historically important? Have these people truly shaped history more than others, or are they simply more well-known?
10. Considering the book’s descriptions of ship boys’ tasks during Lord Nelson’s time, how have children’s roles during warfare changed since then? In what ways has this change been beneficial to our society, and in what ways has it been detrimental? What do you think children’s proper roles during war should be?
11. Do you think Nick of Time’s sea warfare depictions are realistic or idealized? Why? What do you imagine present-day sea warfare is like? Would you ever choose to become a sailor on a military ship? Why, or why not?
12. What is your definition of a hero? How is your definition similar to and different from Nick’s? Who are your heroes? What traits do they have or what actions have they taken that make them heroic?
QUESTIONS FOR THE AUTHOR
TED BELL
What did you want to be when you grew up?
First an architect, then a writer.
When did you realize you wanted to be a writer?
When I read Dick and Jane in the first grade.
What’s your first childhood memory?
Falling out of a second-story window after climbing out of my crib and landing in a rosebush.
What’s your most embarrassing childhood memory?
Getting kicked out of the Cub Scouts because I threw my den mother’s kid in the pool. (He was chasing me with a knife.)
What’s your favorite childhood memory?
Dinners at the 21 Club in New York City with my grandfather and my honorary godfather, Captain Eddie Rickenbacker, the World War I ace.
As a young person, who did you look up to most?
My father, who was my first hero, a bomber pilot in World War II who won the distinguished flying cross.
What was your worst subject in school?
Mathematics. Hated it.
What was your best subject in school?
English, loved it.
What was your first job?
Working in a bank. I lasted one year, then I moved to Italy to write a novel. Very F. Scott Fitzgerald.
How did you celebrate publishing your first book?
My wife, Page Lee, and I took the first copy, still wrapped, to lunch at our favorite restaurant and opened it for champagne and dessert.
Where do you write your books?
In my office in Florida, looking at a small cove where fish jump and blue herons fly. In Colorado, looking up Independence Pass in the Rockies.
Where do you find inspiration for your writing?
In a lifetime of reading every kind of literature and in my daily observations of how things work.
Which of your characters is most like you?
The best ones.
When you finish a book, who reads it first?
My wife, who is a great editor. Also a great source of ideas when I’m stuck.
Are you a morning person or a night owl?
Up and writing by the crack of ten.
What’s your idea of the best meal ever?
Roast beef and Yorkshire pudding on Christmas Eve.
Which do you like better: cats or dogs?
The one that barks.
What do you value most in your friends?
A sense of irony and humor.
Where do you go for peace and quiet?
A swim in the ocean.
What makes you laugh out loud?
Anything written by P. G. Wodehouse.
What’s your favorite song?
“What a Wonderful World” sung by Louis Armstrong.
Who is your favorite fictional character?
Huckleberry Finn.
What are you most afraid of?
Fear itself.
What time of year do you like best?
Springtime.
What’s your favorite TV show?
The Lone Ranger.
If you were stranded on a desert island, who would you want for company?
Groucho Marx, Mark Twain, and Anita Ekberg.
If you could travel in time, where would you go?
An English country house in the 1930s or Paris and the south of France in the 1920s.
What’s the best advice you have ever received about writing?
Robert Downey, Sr. told me, “Put someone in a great big hurry and put a lot of interesting obstacles in their way.”
What do you want readers to remember about your books?
The time spent lost inside the story.
What would you do if you ever stopped writing?
Read more.
What do you like best about yourself?
That I never grew up.
What is your worst habit?
I’m sorry, what was the question again?
What do you consider to be your greatest accomplishment?
Fulfilling my childhood dream.
Where in the world do you feel most at home?
At home.
What do you wish you could do better?
Play the “Moonlight” Sonata on the piano.
What would your readers be most surprised to learn about you?
That I’ve yet to be nominated for the Nobel Prize in literature.
Keep reading for an excerpt from
Ted Bell’s The Time Pirate,
coming soon in hardcover from St. Martin’s Griffin.
Greybeard Island, 1939
A DREAMLIKE NIGHT, Nick McIver felt, pulling up the soaking sheepskin collar on his father’s leather bomber jacket. A cold, wet wind carried mist in from the dark and restless sea as he made his way along the coast road that defined the small coastal town of Pennywhistle.
The multi-colored lights at Pennywhistle Park, a tiny amusement center, were shrouded in ghostly halos. The lights of the park’s rides looked, the boy thought, the way a Christmas tree looked when you squinted your eyes, peeking at it one last time before sleepily climbing the stairs on Christmas Eve.
Strolling the empty streets, young Nicholas McIver vaguely recognized the town. His mother had a sister who lived in a village that very much resembled this one, but he’d only visited once, years earlier, and he was a bit foggy on the details.
He did recall that Pennywhistle Park was located on a rocky point sticking out into the sea. It was nearly deserted at this hour, he saw, passing under the lighted entrance. The sun was long down and the night was growing cold. Most children were home having supper or climbing into their warm beds. Why wasn’t he?
He couldn’t say, really, but here he was.
The Ferris Wheel, his original destination, came to a creaky stop and a few strangely silent children climbed out of the cars and rushed into their parents’ arms, all of them soon disappearing into the mist. Now, it seemed as if he had the entire park to himself. He stepped up to the ticket window. The ticket-taker, with his green eyeshade, looked an awful lot like Nick’s best friend in the world, a man named Gunner. A dead ringer, as his dad would say, down to his full white beard and gold-rimmed glasses!
“Sorry, son, park’s shutting down for the night,” the bearded man said when the lad approached, his money tightly clenched in his fist.
“Are all the rides closed, sir?” Nick asked, marveling at the man’s voice. He even sounded like Gunner!
“Well, there is one ride still open, lad. The Whirl-O-Drome.”
“The spinning airplanes, do you mean? That’s the one I’ve come for, sir.”
“Not just any old airplanes, son, but miniature Spitfires. Super-marines, just like the real thing our boys will be flying when the shooting war with Germany begins. Only without the working engines and machine guns, of course,” the man laughed.
“Which way is the Whirl-O-Drome, sir?”
“Farthest ride out there. Follow the Midway here all the way to the end of the point. See that big flashing red propeller sign spinning round out there? Bit foggy to make out, but there she is, all right. Still catch a ride, looks like, if you hurry.”
“Thank you very much, sir. If I can’t ride the Ferris Wheel, that looks a good one.”
“Fancy yourself a pilot, do you?”
“Some day I will be one, sir. My father, you see, was a hero in the Great War. Shot down over the Ardennes, but he took more than a few German Fokkers with him. I plan to sign up with the Royal Flying Corps soon as I’m old enough. You can count on that!”
“Good lad. England will need thousands of brave boys like you before this coming war is over. I just heard over the wireless that German armies have marched into Belgium and Holland. And that Chamberlain has resigned and Churchill is to be Prime Minister.”
“I’ve had the pleasure of meeting the great man, sir. And if anyone can bring us safely through this war it is Winston Churchill.”
Nick McIver bade the man farewell and followed the darkened Midway out to the Whirl-O-Drome. It was very windy and chilly but he was wearing his father’s old leather flying jacket and leather helmet and both gave him a good deal of warmth.
The ride was like a big wheel set on its side, with a slowly revolving beacon light at its hub and eight tiny silver Spitfire airplanes at end of each spoke. He noticed that all the little planes were empty. As the great wheel turned, the propellers at the nose of each plane spun rapidly in the stiff breeze off the sea.
There was a kindly old man in the ticket booth, with snow-white hair, and big blue eyes like a baby. He, too, reminded the boy of someone. His grandfather. Yes, he looked exactly like Nick’s grandfather! He smiled at Nick. This was indeed the strangest place—everyone here reminded him of someone else!
“Sir, may I have just one ride? I’m sure you’re closing down for the night and I don’t want to be a bother.”
“This ride never closes, Nick. I keep it open all the time. Just for young boys like you.”
“But, but, sir, you called me ‘Nick’. How on earth do you know my name?”
“Oh, I’ve seen you about, here and there. My name’s Captain Orion, but you just call me ‘Cap’n’. Want to be a pilot some day, don’t you, Nick? I’ve seen that look in a boy’s eyes before, y’know.”
“I’d do anything to become one, sir. My father, whose name is Angus, flew a Sopwith Camel with C Flight, Number 40 Squadron, the very same squadron as Mick Mannock, the famous ace who shot down sixty-one German planes.”
“Your dad was an ace, too, before he got shot down by Baron Manfred von Richtofen over the Ardennes Forest. Lost the use of one of his legs, I believe. Walks with a cane.”
“That’s correct, sir. The Red Baron ended my father’s service to his country. But how on earth did you know about all this?”
“Why, Angus McIver is famous, too, Nick. A real hero.”
“Thank you, sir. He’d be pleased. Here’s my money. I’ll take five rides, please.”
“Your money’s no good on this ride. Future knights of the air like yerself ride the Whirl-O-Drome for free. Our patriotic duty, y’see. Step inside the gate here and I’ll have you airborne before you know it.”
Cap’n Orion brought the spinning ride gradually to a stop, let Nick pick the Spitfire he wanted to fly (they were all identical save the big red numbers painted on the stubby wings), and then helped him climb up inside the bare metal cockpit. He’d chosen Seven, his lucky number. The seat was like a small bucket, with leather padding. It had a realistic-looking instrument panel but when he reached out to touch it, he saw that the dials were all peeling and painted on wood.
“Does the joystick really work?” Nick asked, pulling back on it.
“Sure does. Pull back to bring her nose up, push forward and she’ll go into a dive.”
“What about these two pedals?” he asked, pushing them with his feet.
“Your rudder. She’ll change course a couple of feet left or right, depending on which pedal you push, Nick. You ready for take off, Captain?”
“I am, sir.”
“Let me go crank her up then.”
Cap’n Orion disappeared back inside the ticket booth and sure enough, the great wheel began to revolve, round and round. The sea mist made it like flying through clouds and Nick quickly made use of the stick, climbing and diving, using the foot pedals to turn side-to-side.
Orion stepped outside to watch the boy.
“Can’t this thing go any faster?” Nick cried out through cupped hands as he whirled by.
The man gave him a thumbs up and ran back inside the booth. Nick could see him through the window, turning a large wheel mounted on the wall.
Suddenly, the little Spitfire was going so fast Nick could hardly believe it. He was amazed the toy airplane didn’t just fly right off the end of the long pole. Everything was a blur. He had to pull the old leather goggles down over his eyes as they were tearing up so badly.
He looked around. He could no longer see the dark town or Penny-whistle Park or even Cap’n Orion inside the ticket booth. It was a little frightening but Nick supposed he’d better get used to real speed if he was ever going to fly a real Spitfire.
Then the strangest thing of all happened.
The painted-on instruments on the wooden panel began to light up one-by-one. He leaned forward and looked at them, tapping his finger on the rev counter. The needles were spinning behind real glass! And his altimeter was working! His altitude was six feet. His speed, however, was almost sixty miles per hour, and climbing! And now there were tiny red lights flashing out on his wingtips.
He heard a strange squawking noise behind the instrument panel and reached up under it to see what it was. There was a hook under there, and on it hung an old pair of headphones, just like the real ones his dad had brought home from the war. There were small ear-holes in his leather flying helmet and he put the headphones on over it.
“Captain McIver! Captain McIver! This is Pennywhistle Control. Do you read me? Over.”
It sounded like Captain Orion who sounded a lot like Nick’s grandfather.
“What’s going on?” Nick cried, “Is everything all right? Is the ride broken? I think it’s going too fast!”
“Roger, Captain, I read you loud and clear. Everything under control. You are cleared for take-off, skipper.”
“Take-off?”
“See that flashing red button on top of the joystick?”
“Yes, sir, I do,” he said, and suddenly there really was a flashing red button.
“Just push that button, skipper, and you’ll be on your merry way. Happy flying, sir!”
Push the button? On your way? Happy flying?
Being a naturally curious boy, Nick McIver had no choice but to push the red button.
What happened next took his breath away.
