Praise for Witch Mountain
“Action, mood, and characterization never falter in this superior science fiction novel.”
—Library Journal
“Fantasy, science fiction, mystery, adventure—the story is all of these, with enough suspense and thrills to keep young readers glued to its pages from first to last.”
—Book World
“A tantalizing and perceptive…book for boys and girls.”
—America
“Fascinating science fiction.”
—Elementary School Library Collection,
Brodart Foundation
Copyright © 1968, 2009 by Alexander Key
Cover and internal design © 2009 by Sourcebooks, Inc.
Cover design and illustration by Kirk DouPonce/DogEared Design
Cover image © jeriveraf/iStockphoto.com
Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks, Inc.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks, Inc.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
Published by Jabberwocky, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc.
P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567-4410
(630) 961-3900
Fax: (630) 961-2168
www.jabberwockykids.com
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file with the publisher.
Printed and bound in the United States of America
VP 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
To All Orphans, Of All Worlds
Contents
1. Star Box
2. Out of Yesterday
3. Flight
4. Mission
5. Journey
6. Jail Break
7. The Bears
8. Apple Orchard
9. Witch Trap
10. Camp
11. Stony Creek
12. Witch Mountain
About the Author
STAR BOX
Tony, carrying their bags, followed his sister, Tia, and the welfare worker down the tenement steps to the sidewalk. While the welfare worker unlocked her car, Tony looked unhappily around at the ugly world of South Water Street, knowing he was seeing it for the last time. He and Tia had never loved it—it wasn't the world they belonged to—but at least it had been home.
For a moment, as he stood there, he wondered again about the world they had come from, and if they would ever find it. In what direction it lay, or how one got there, he hadn't the slightest idea.
“Maybe,” Tia had once said, “all we have to do is climb a certain stairway, or go around a strange corner—and there it'll be.”
“Just like that,” he'd said, laughing.
“Why not?” she'd insisted. “We know the kind of place it is. It's full of magic and music—for that's the only kind of place we could have come from. So why wouldn't we have to find it sort of magically?”
Maybe it didn't exactly make sense, the way Tia had put it, but he was sure of one thing. Considering how unlike other people they were, it was the only kind of world they could have come from—so it must be somewhere.
The welfare worker said irritably, “We haven't got all day. Put your things in the car.”
“Where—where are we going?” Tony asked un easily.
“To Hackett House, of course.”
“Well, for the past ten years, they've been living with this old woman they called their grandmother—a Mrs. Nellie Malone. She was struck by a taxi yesterday and died. The children have been using her name, but we've discovered they are just unknown orphans Mrs. Malone took in.”
“I see.” Mrs. Grindley glanced at Tia, whose thin elfin face was pinched with misery, then at Tony, who stood half a head taller. “Have you any idea what your real name is, or where you came from?”
The questions had become the most important ones in Tony's life, but at the moment he could only look at her bleakly and give a mumbled “No, ma'am.” The shock of losing Granny Malone was still with him. She was the only person who cared for Tia and himself, and the hurt went deep.
“Very well,” Mrs. Grindley said. “Now, I want it understood that we have strict rules here—much stricter than in most juvenile homes. You will find them posted in the main hall. Read them carefully. If you disobey them, or cause any trouble, you will be punished. You might even be sent to a correctional institution. Is that clear?”
“Yes, ma'am,” said Tony, and Tia nodded.
Mrs. Grindley frowned at Tia. “Answer when you're spoken to.”
Tony's mouth tightened. “Tia can't talk, ma'am.”
Miss Trask raised her eyebrows. “I'm surprised to hear that. The investigating officer didn't mention it. Weren't you two whispering together on the way over here?”
“It was my voice you heard, not Tia's,” Tony said. “They'll tell you about her when you check at our school.” He thought it wiser not to mention that Tia could talk, at least to him, though it wasn't the sort of speech that anyone else could hear. The world, he had learned, didn't like people who were different, and the less others knew about the two of them, the better. Even Granny Malone hadn't known very much.
“We'll let the doctor worry about her,” said Mrs. Grindley. Shrugging, she looked at the welfare woman. “Did you search them, Miss Trask?”
“I looked only at the things that were packed. They've nothing they're not allowed to have, unless it's on their persons.”
“I'll see to that. Come here, boy.”
Tony stood in front of her. The matron's big hands went swiftly through his clothing. She missed nothing, not even the three ten-dollar bills he had taken from his billfold and pinned in the waistband of his trousers for greater safety. She seemed disappointed that the search produced nothing more deadly than a harmonica, a tiny doll carved from a finger-sized bit of wood, and a small pocketknife.
“Knives,” she said, not unkindly, “are strictly forbidden here.” She prodded the doll, which had jointed legs and feet. “What are you doing with this thing?”
“I—I made it. Tia has one like it.”
She grunted and thrust everything back at him except the knife and the three ten-dollar bills. “You may keep the small change, but I'd better lock up the tens, or they'll be stolen from you. Where did you get so much money?”
“I worked for it.”
“Tell me a better one. School's hardly out for the summer. You haven't had time to earn anything.”
“I've been doing odd jobs after school for several years.” He could have told her it was to help pay for his clothes and Tia's, for Granny's pension had been stretched to the limit. “Would you like the names and telephone numbers of the people I worked for?”
“On South Water Street? Don't bother.” Mrs. Grindley's worldweary eyes went to Tia, and fastened on the box dangling by its strap from Tia's small wrist. It was a curious box with rounded corners, made of a dark leather that had been beautifully tooled. On either side, done in gold leaf, was a striking design in the form of a double star, with each star having eight points. Mrs. Grindley pulled the box from Tia's wrist, pawed through its contents, then closed it and sat frowning at it.
“Miss Trask, did you ever see anything like this?”
The welfare worker shook her head. “The thing's a work of art. I've been wondering how this girl acquired it.”
“I can guess,
” the matron said dryly.
Tia's pointed chin trembled. Tony fought down his temper. You couldn't argue with authority, especially when it had already made up its mind about you. “The star box is rightfully Tia's,” he managed to say quietly. “She's had it all her life. Please give it back. She needs it to carry her notebook and pencils in—without them she can't write answers to people.”
The matron shrugged and tossed the box to Tia. “If you want to keep it here, you'd better put it in your locker at night.”
The star box, which had always attracted some attention, was to take them away from Hackett House in time. But in the beginning it was almost their undoing.
The day after their arrival it was snatched from Tia as she was leaving the dining room, and done so cleverly that no one saw it happen. Only Tony was able to hear her cry, and he raced into the main hall in time to glimpse the snatcher, a small frightened youth half his size, vanishing up the stairway that led to the boys' dormitory. When he reached the dormitory the star box had changed hands, and Tony found himself facing the dormitory leader, a big fellow the others called Truck.
It was immediately evident that the box had been taken at Truck's order. No matter what happened, Truck would have to be deposed.
Tony felt a cold prickling as he realized the corner he was in. Last night up here, just before lights out, Truck had confronted him, saying, “All new guys gotta divvy up their dough. That's my rule. And no ratting to old Grindstone; anybody rats, I cut my initials on 'em with this.” Truck had produced a thin, sharpened piece of steel—a homemade dagger known as a shiv—and thrust the point of it against Tony's chest.
Last night, with the point of the shiv bringing a spot of blood to his shirt, and Mrs. Grindley's warning against fighting still ringing in his ears, he had submitted to the indignity of being robbed. But today it was different. The star box was the only clue he and Tia had to the strange world of their past. To lose it was unthinkable. Nor could he expect any help from Mrs. Grindley or her staff—by the time he could get help, he knew the box would be gone and every boy here would deny having seen it.
Truck swung the box tauntingly in his face. “Looking for something, Pretty Boy?”
With a movement too swift for any of the watching eyes to follow, Tony caught up the box and tossed it under a cot for safety. Then, evading a vicious kick and a jab, he went grimly to work, using every trick he knew.
Tony's tricks included most of the old ones, plus a few odd ones of his own, for he had been forced into many fights before the incredulous gangs of his neighborhood had learned to avoid him. But he was not yet adept at taking a sharp weapon away from a suddenly frenzied opponent the size of Truck. A pillow he snatched up for protection was quickly slashed, and he received two bad cuts before he was able to send the shiv flying mysteriously across the room. After that it was easy. The gaping group of boys in the dormitory saw Truck whirled about and slammed into the wall with a sound that was heard all over the building. Truck was still lying there, dazed, when Mrs. Grindley charged into the room.
Tony was spattered with blood and feathers. He felt a little sick. Fighting was distasteful enough, but it was all the more hateful because it drew attention to himself. Now he chilled as he saw the implacable face of the matron.
He expected to be punished. That alone did not worry him—but suppose he was separated from Tia and sent away to reform school? How could poor Tia ever manage alone? It was a frightening thought.
A doctor stitched up his arm. Later, Mrs. Grindley put him on the mat. She had already disposed of Truck by turning him over to the police.
It did no good for Tony to protest that he hadn't started the fight. Why, if the star box had been taken, hadn't he asked for help instead of trying to settle matters himself ? To his obvious answer, Mrs. Grindley shook her head. “That's no excuse. I warned you about fighting. Now you'll have to take the consequences.”
She paused a moment and looked at him strangely. “Tony, I would have said it was physically impossible for anyone like you to do what you did to Truck. How did you manage it?”
It was the sort of question that was always asked, and he dreaded it. “I—I'm just quicker than most people, I suppose.” He swallowed. “Are you going to send me away?”
“Not this time. But all your privileges are canceled, and you will be restricted to the dormitory for the next two weeks.”
He managed to look glum, but he felt like shouting.
During his stay in the dormitory, the other boys gladly took turns bringing up his meals. With their help, Tia smuggled books to him from the small library she had discovered in the front of the building. No one suspected that he talked with Tia daily.
He accomplished it by standing at a rear window in the boys' wing, and peering out over the kitchen roof until Tia appeared in the far comer of the playground. It was the only part of the playground he could see, and ordinarily, with all the noises of the city about them, it would have taken much shouting to be heard from such a distance. But between Tia and himself shouting was unnecessary, and their lips barely moved. It was, he had once reasoned out, a sort of ultrasonic speech that could be heard by no one who was not blessed with the most acute sense of hearing. Only, he had often wondered, why couldn't Tia speak normally?
Tia began smuggling books to him during his first week upstairs. The library, he learned later, was a musty little room crammed with old cast-off volumes that almost no one ever bothered to read. Even so, Mrs. Grindley, who seemed to have a hatred of books, insisted upon keeping the place locked most of the time. Tia, however, was able to enter it. To her, it was a shining gold mine—as all libraries were.
“It's got seven sets of encyclopedias!” she called to him from the comer of the play yard. “Seven! Isn't that perfectly wonderful?”
Tony agreed that it was wonderful, and groaned when she said she was sending him a book on botany, and another on woodcraft.
Tia said, “I want you to read all about genus Toxicodendron— that's poison ivy.”
“What for?” he asked curiously. Woodcraft was great, even though he had never been in the woods; but botany was for the birds.
“Because there's all kinds of Toxicodendron up at Heron Lake— and that's where everybody's going soon. On vacation. The city is sending us to Heron Lake Camp for a whole week! Don't say anything about it because we aren't supposed to know it yet.”
Tony didn't ask how she'd heard. Often, Tia seemed to know things without being told. Part of it, of course, was her memory. Tia never forgot anything.
Suddenly excited at the prospect of being able to leave the city, if only for a week, Tony closed his eyes and tried to visualize Heron Lake Camp. It wasn't always possible to visualize places he had never seen, but sometimes he could manage it. He heard Tia, who was just as excited, call wistfully, “Can you see it, Tony?”
“I think so.”
“What's it like?”
The picture that came into focus behind his closed eyes, as real as a movie film, was a little disappointing. Heron Lake—if that was what he saw—was hardly more than a man-made pond; it was surrounded by a few scrawny pines, with some barrackslike buildings on one side. It was just the sort of place, he thought, that poor city kids were always being sent to in droves. He could see them swarming around it now, and crowding a muddy strip of beach till there was hardly standing room.
“Oh, it's O.K.,” he told her. “Anyway, I'd sure rather be there than here, and I'll take the poison ivy.”
“So will I. Tony, something's going to happen at Heron Lake.”
“What?”
“I don't know. But it's going to happen. I feel it.”
* * *
A chartered bus took them away from the hot city one July morning, and dropped them at slightly cooler Heron Lake Camp a few hours later. The place looked exactly as he had seen it in his mind except for one important detail, which had been hidden by the barrackslike buildings. There were mountains on the horizon.
Mountains, misty blue and mysterious in the distance.
Tony stared at them, entranced. He had often visualized mountains, but these were the first real ones he had ever seen. He felt Tia clutch his arm, and knew the sight affected her the same way. There was a curious appeal in mountains. Somehow, he was certain, they were going to be very important in their lives.
It was a feeling that did not leave him during their entire week at Heron Lake. But it was not until their final day—their final minute, in fact—that anything unusual happened.
There was much confusion that morning. The incoming buses, jammed with new children, were arriving before the outgoing buses were ready to leave. While they waited in line to get aboard, a car stopped near them and two gray-robed nuns got out. The smaller one, who seemed much older than the other, glanced at Tia and saw the star box dangling from her wrist.
“What an unusual box,” the nun exclaimed softly, as she came over and stooped beside Tia. “My dear child, where did you get it?”
“Tia's always had it,” said Tony. “We don't know where it came from. I—I wish we did.”
The nun touched the gold design with a delicate finger. She was a frail little person, with deeply sunken eyes. “A double star!” she whispered. “And done in gold leaf. That's very uncommon. I teach design, and I've seen this particular one used only once before in my life. It was on a letter.”
“A letter?” Tony repeated wonderingly. “Would—would you mind telling us about it?”
“It was several years ago,” the little nun said. “A man wrote to me, asking for information about certain unusual aptitudes in my pupils. Apparently it was for some research he was doing. Anyway, I remember his letter had a double star at the top of it. It was exactly like this one, with the same number of points. And it was even printed in gold.”
Tony was speechless for a moment. The confusion and the rumbling bus being loaded beside him were forgotten. That curious, unknown world seemed just around the comer.
Suddenly he begged, “Please, can you give us the man's name? We don't know who our people are, and he may be a relation.”
Escape to Witch Mountain Page 1