“Don’t you know me, Effra?” There was almost a sob in his voice.
“I never saw you before in my life.”
* * * *
Parker turned, moved to a window slot, stood looking out. The trees below him, the island, the sea, the PT boat lying at anchor off shore, he saw all of these things, but yet he did not see them.
He had found Effra and she did not remember him, did not know him. Inside of him was agony, such pain as he had never known. He felt a touch on his arm. Rozeno stood there, his face troubled. “Do you know our Effra, my son?”
“Yes.”
“Do you, perhaps, love her?”
“Yes.”
“And you are very unhappy because she does not respond?”
“Yes.”
The old priest’s face grew a little more sad. “When she landed here, the last time, she made an awkward landing. She was thrown forward and she hit her head. She does not remember anything that happened before that.” Rozeno’s finger bit deeply into Parker’s arm. “Come now, and I will introduce you to her, as a stranger.”
Bill Parker found himself being introduced to the woman he loved. “I’m sorry about my actions of a minute ago,” he said. “I thought you were someone else.”
The smile she gave him was forgiving but it was also cool and distant. “That’s all right, Mr. Parker. I understand.” Her voice went into silence as another sound came into the room. The sound of rapid gunfire.
Parker had thought he had in his pocket the only two modern weapons on the island, but somewhere in the growth of trees far below the window slot, someone was firing a sub-machine gun.
Parker raced to the slot. Below him the island lay quiet. He turned. Mercedes, her face working, was staring at him.
“Beel—Beel—I have not told you everything! That Johnny Retch, he hire you to fly him here in ’copter, to find thees island. He also have men in boat coming. Your job, which you did not know, was to find island, then lead men in boat to it. Johnny means to take all thees.” The gesture of her hand included all the treasure of Montezuma. “He have men in boat to help him take it. He does not mean to let anything stop him. Not anything!”
Parker saw what he had not seen before, that Johnny Retch was a man who would always have two strings for his bow. Too late, he saw that the boat lying at anchor was not an accident.
“I should have killed that dog when I had the chance!” he snarled.
Shambling feet sounded in the corridor outside. Pedro burst into the room. He grunted words at Ulnar.
“Pedro says men come up the ledge,” Rozeno said. “They must be from the boat. We must go to meet them. It will be a great pleasure to them. Come, Ulnar. Come, Bill.” He moved toward the door.
Parker was across the room in quick strides, catching Rozeno’s arm. “You can’t do it, Father Rozeno. Those men who are coming up the ledge mean to kill.”
“My son!” Hurt showed on the priest’s face. “Surely you do not know what you are talking about!”
“But I do know!” Parker almost shouted the words. Quickly, desperately he tried to explain the situation to Rozeno. To his growing horror, he saw no comprehension in the old priest’s eyes. Slowly Parker began to realize that this old man was so gentle and so kind himself that he could not comprehend even the thought of anyone else being—evil!
“You may stay here, if you wish, my son, but Ulnar and I will go speak to these people who are coming up the ledge. Come, Ulnar.”
His face glowing at the thought of meeting new people, the priest moved from the room. Ulnar grunted once, a hot, savage sound, then followed Rozeno like a dog following its master.
Effra started to follow them.
Parker caught her arm. “Please, at least you stay here. Understand me now if you never understood me before. Is there a window slot from which the ledge can be seen?”
“Yes.”
“Then take me to it. Quickly!”
* * * *
From the slot, Parker could see a section of the ledge. Two men were crawling along it, advancing as cautiously as scouts trying to surprise an outpost. Parker had never seen either of them before but their faces confirmed everything Mercedes had said—they were thugs, killers. Thrusting the pistol through the slot, the pilot took careful aim, pulled the trigger.
The thunder of the gun rang through the room, echoed across the island. The bullet knocked rock chips into the face of the lead man. He recoiled as if he had been stung. The Tommy-gun in his hand spouted lead blindly at the face of the cliff. The second man spun around—began shooting blindly.
Parker moved away from the slot, listened to the rattle of the guns outside. He could distinguish the heavy thud of the Tommy-gun, the sharper crack of the carbine, but other weapons were also firing. “They’ve got men with high-powered rifles posted in the tree down below.”
He glanced from the slot. The men had disappeared from the ledge. As he moved back, a slug whined into the room. Mercedes cowered against the wall. Effra remained cool and poised. She was looking at Parker. “Haven’t I met you somewhere before?” She seemed completely unaware of the rifle bullet that had just screamed through the slot.
“I—” Parker caught himself. There was agony in him. What good would it do if she did, finally, remember who he was, who she was? What they had once been to each other? He had three old men, and two women, and himself, with which to defend Montezuma’s treasure against Johnny Retch, who had a small army of trained killers at his back.
What chance did they have? Johnny Retch, even if given Mon tezuma’s gold, would not leave anyone alive except possibly Mercedes and Effra.
“Do—do you know anything we can do to stop those men?” Parker said.
Light seemed to come into Effra’s eyes.
“We might—we might use the Jezbro!”
From the shelter of the trees, Johnny Retch operated like a general in charge of a force of Commandos engaged in attacking a miniature Gibralter. He was a very deliberate general. When the first shot from a slot in the cliff had driven the two men downward, he met them at the bottom of the ledge, a cigarette dangling from his lips, a sub-machine gun in his hands. “Okay, boys, go back on up.”
“There’s a guy in there with a gun,” one of the two protested. “He’s inside and we’re outside. We’re sittin’ ducks for him.”
“We’re covering the slots with rifles in the trees.”
“But—” Neither of the men wanted to go up that ledge again. They might be hardened killers but they did not like the idea of facing a gun they could not see.
“Go on back up, boys,” Retch said. He lifted the muzzle of the gun he held.
“But—”
“Either go back up or you’ll stay down here a long time!”
They went back up the ledge. Retch retired to the shelter of the trees and watched.
No shots came until they reached the mouth of the tunnel leading into the cliff. There, one of the men was killed. He fell backward from the ledge, screaming as he turned over and over.
The falling man broke his way through the top of a tree and sprawled thudding on the ground. He did not move after he hit. Retch did not waste a second glance on him.
Muffled but clearly audible, the blasting roar of the machine gun came from the tunnel.
“He got in,” Retch said. “Okay. Two more of you go up.”
Two more men went up the ledge.
The entire population of the village had gathered to watch this storming of the cliff. They regarded Retch with wonder and with awe. Some of these men had been pirates in their day, they had known how to loot a tall ship, to kill its crew, to take over any wealth and any women it happened to carry.
Watching Retch, they discovered they had been amateurs in the fine art of attacking and killing. They had needed a man from the modern world to sho
w them how the job ought to be done. They were greatly impressed, Gotch most of all.
Waving his sword, Gotch explained what he would do to that black priest, Rozeno, and to that cowardly Indian, Ulnar. Of all the listening group, only Peg-leg protested.
“Yeah, you’ll get them all right—if the Jezbro don’t get you first!” Peg-leg said.
Retch overheard the words. “Come here, Peg-leg, I want to talk to you.”
The old sailor stumped his way to where Retch stood.
“Aye, Cap’n.” He saluted. A look of surprise appeared on the old sailor’s face as the first heavy slug hit him. As the second, third, and fourth slugs hit him, the expression of surprise became one of agony. He fell without a sound.
* * * *
Retch stood looking down at him.
The group was silent. Gotch hastily lowered his sword.
“I don’t want to hear any more superstitious talk,” Retch said. “There are a lot of funny things here on this island but there is nothing to be afraid of—except this!” He patted the stock of the stumpy little gun he held. “And there’s enough stuff up there to make all of us rich; we’ll have everything we can ever want.” A glow crept into Retch’s eyes as he spoke. They glowed with a yellow color and the yellow seemed to come out of his eyes and spread over his face. He glanced down at Peg-leg.
“Dump him into the sea,” he said, walking away.
The two men climbing the ledge reached the opening. They stopped there and apparently held a conference with the man who was already inside. They went inside. A few minutes later, one appeared at the opening.
“You can come on up now,” he yelled, waving his gun. “All secure here.”
“Gotch!”
“Yes, Cap’n.”
“Come on.”
Gotch went up the ledge with Retch. He went in shivering fear which he tried desperately to conceal.
“What the hell are you scared of?” Retch snarled at him.
“Nuthin’, nuthin’, Cap’n. Nuthin’.”
“You yellow-livered—” Retch stopped in midsentence. A sound was in the air, the cheeping of a sleepy bird. It was a tiny sound, fragile, distant, far-away, almost too weak to register on the ears. Hearing it, Retch jerked his eyes to the sky, seeking the source.
Gotch threw himself flat on the ledge.
“The Jezbro!” Gotch gasped. “God—God—”
Looking at the sky, Retch caught a glimpse of something moving there. It looked like a bird, but it was like no bird he had ever seen in his life. It was more like shadow—a darkness that had a darting elusive silver color about it.
Like a swooping hawk, it was diving toward the ground, aiming at the group clustered in the trees at the spot where the ledge began to rise up the face of the cliff. As it dived, the cheeping sound of a sleeping bird was becoming a flooding blast of wild harp notes.
“The Jezbro!” Gotch wailed.
The Jezbro dived at the men on the ground. They heard it, saw it; they scattered through the trees like frightened chickens fleeing from a hawk.
The Jezbro selected a victim. Retch caught a glimpse of long, cruel talons extended; saw the man grasped in them. The man screamed as the talons touched him, tried to throw himself flat, tried to jerk away from them. Huge wings flut tered, beating the air. The man did not escape. The talons held. The beating wings lifted him.
Wild notes flooded outward. There was triumph in the music now. Huge wings beat the air. The Jezbro climbed up above the trees. Held firmly in the extended talons was a fully grown man.
Watching, Johnny Retch felt panic tumble through him, panic that was like a sudden touch of an ice cold hand. They had warned him about the Jezbro. Old Peg-leg had tried to tell him. Gotch had trembled in fear. They had all insisted that there was something here that did not belong in the world as he knew it.
He had laughed at them, he had called them superstitious fools. To him, there was nothing that was not of this world.
Nor was there now, when the moment of wild panic had passed. As the Jezbro swept upward through the air, rising along the face of the cliff, Retch jerked up the Tommy gun.
Smoke and lead blasted from the muzzle. The Jezbro was unharmed. Taking careful aim this time, Retch fired again, a furious blast of rattling sound.
The Jezbro swerved, the harp notes missed a beat.
From the suddenly loosened talons a figure plummeted downward, screamed as it fell, stopped screaming as it crunched against the ground.
The Jezbro circled in the air. It rose upward, swooped. Huge wings flapped, a tail structure was extended. From the gaping, extended mouth, a scream arose. The Jezbro seemed to leap toward the summit of the sky.
A flash of light as brilliant as the explosion of a miniature atom bomb flared for a brief second. Thunder clapped, rolled around the horizon; echoed back. In the distance the veil that circled the island shimmered and twisted as if it was about to collapse. It righted itself.
Except for a puff of swiftly dissipating white vapor, the air was clear. Where wild harp notes had once flooded now was silence. Where a creature that had once looked like a giant bird had flapped through the air now there was nothing.
* * * *
On the ledge, Johnny Retch wiped sweat from his face. From his pockets, he methodically refilled the almost empty clip of the gun. He looked down at Gotch, who was sitting up.
“You killed the Jezbro!” Gotch was whispering. His eyes were searching the sky as if he still did not believe what he had seen happen.
“Sure,” Retch answered. “I don’t know what the hell it was, but it could be killed. Anything can be killed, Gotch. Remember that.” The sting of acid crept into his voice. “Get up. We’re going on up the ledge.”
“By God, Johnny, you can do anything!” Gotch spoke. He rose with suddenly renewed confidence. “Wait’ll we get to them—” He looked up the ledge toward the mouth of the tunnel.
Effra was seated in the operator’s chair in front of the complex control panel that resembled the key board of a strange organ. She had been watching an image move in the screen directly in front of her eyes.
This image—it had been that of a great bird—had suddenly vanished.
“The Jezbro was destroyed!” she whispered. “The core of it was struck. When that happens, the complete projection is torn to pieces!” Her face was white with strain.
Parker took his eyes off the screen where he had been watching something that he did not pretend to understand.
“Sometimes they are very difficult to control,” Effra continued, her voice a whisper. “Once set in motion, they seem almost to achieve life of their own. I did not send the Jezbro against the men on the ground, I sent it against the man on the ledge, against this Retch. But—” her voice faltered.
“I saw it get away,” Parker said. There was turmoil in his mind, confusion. He was in a place where miracles came to life. The secret of the ability to walk on the water lay here in this room. Effra, in swift sentences had explained to him that the men who walked on the water carried little pieces of metal in their pockets; pieces of metal which increased tremendously the surface tension of the water where they stepped on it. She had also told him that Ulnar, working this equipment, had vondeled his helicopter, had sent out a tiny Jezbro that had struck at the ship, wrecking it. The Jezbro, the secret of the men walking on the water, had come from this room. The striking of the Jezbro was to Ulnar the act of vondel. Even the veil that surrounded the island was generated here; in the power being generated in the slowly circling pool of mercury; power that was changed and modified by the other equipment.
Here was the heart and the secret of the magic of this island; here even time was set aside.
Ulnar poked at Effra, grunted harshly. “I know,” the girl said quickly. “In just a minute.”
Ulnar grunted again. He hovere
d over her like some massive brooding spirit. He was eager to get his hands on the control board but his old fingers were no longer sufficiently flexible to play on that key board the tune that had to be played.
“Pater noster—Our Father—” In the silence came Rozeno’s voice as he knelt in prayer. Bewildered and hurt and horrified, Rozeno and Ulnar had come back into the room to find Parker and Effra and Mercedes already there. Mercedes knelt beside him.
Pedro thrust his head through the opening behind them. “Him two more men, him man that kill Jezbro, him still coming up ledge.”
“That’s Johnny Retch,” Parker said. “He’s still coming. And there are probably others already inside here, looking for us in the rooms and corridors. We’ve got to move, Effra.”
“I know, Bill.” Her fingers started toward the control board, drew back. “I called you Bill. Is that your name?”
“Yes.”
“It’s a nice name.”
“But now we must hurry,” Parker said. As he spoke, Ulnar grunted a single sound that set the girl into motion.
Her fingers went to one of the little statuettes, an eagle, a perfect thing in its way, a marvelous representation of the bird of prey. Effra had told Parker, in hasty sentences, how these images were made, deep down in the mountain, of a particular kind of metal that was almost weightless. He watched her slip the eagle into a slot, held his breath as her fingers darted across the key board.
A soft hum sounded—currents moving—a glow sprang into existence surrounding the little image. Slowly, the statuette began to glow with a silver light. The glow played over it, it shifted, changed, was one thing this instant, was something else the next instant. It looked like a moth emerging from a cocoon and becoming a butterfly. The tiny wings came free, the head moved.
The cheeping of a sleepy bird was in the room.
At the sound, a wave of cold from the deepest depths of space seemed to sweep over Parker. Here was magic beyond the comprehension of the mind. Only it wasn’t magic, it was a scientific achievement of the highest caliber.
* * * *
At the cheeping sound, Effra’s fingers moved swiftly on the control board, playing a symphony that only she understood. The little eagle moved out of the slot, it spread its wings, they fluttered, it moved upward into the air of the room.
The 22nd Golden Age of Science Fiction Page 11