The Incredible Tide (17 page)

Lanna stood trembling. How did Teacher know what she'd once been able to do? She had never told anyone. Then she remembered that Teacher always seemed to know her thoughts without being told.

“I'll try,” she whispered. “I'll do my best. But it's been so long…” She added, “I've just talked to Jimsy. They're going to elect Orlo this evening, and Orlo and the commissioner are going to take over the house.” She repeated all that Jimsy had told her.

Mazal suddenly looked like an angry tigress. “Why, that filthy pair of toads!” she hissed. “I've never told Shann—you know how he hates weapons—but I've got a laser hidden away. Believe me, I'll use it. If they get in this place, it'll be over my dead body.”

“And over mine,” said Lanna, remembering the ax and making a grim decision about it. “Now I'm going to my room. Don't let anybody bother me.”

In her room she lay down on the cot and closed her eyes. Tikki, she thought. Tikki, I will try and reach you. Please don't be afraid.…

But the terrible part was her own fear. For a long time she was unable even to visualize Tikki because of the dreadful expanse that lay between them. Always she saw the monstrous and forever-threatening face of her enemy, stretching through the haunted miles that she must somehow manage to cross.

She cried out once and sprang from the cot, shaking, knowing her enemy had her beaten. By will alone she forced herself back upon the cot and drove her quaking thoughts outward.

It happened so quickly, so easily, that she was not even aware of the sea. One moment she was in High Harbor, and in the next she was looking out at the shrouding mist through Tikki's eyes.

She had an awareness of many things in that instant—of Tikki's wonder at her presence, and the rapid beating of the bird heart, the wild, free feeling of riding the air on outstretched wings as she sped past the strange craft with its three dim figures. She felt surprise at the woman, whom she had nearly forgotten, and a rush of warmth and happiness at Teacher, followed by a sudden great joy, greater than any she had ever known, as she swept close to Conan. She cried out her joy with Tikki's voice and flew around and around him, brushing his lean face and tawny hair with Tikki's wings. Then she hovered before him, a living compass pointing in the direction that the bird instinct told her was right.

She heard Conan say, “Tikki, what's happened? What's come over you?”

And Teacher answered, “It isn't Tikki you're speaking to now. It is Lanna. She has come to guide us home.”

The mist began to thin the next day, and by the middle of the afternoon there were only creeping veils of it ahead. These suddenly parted, and Conan saw the harbor entrance directly in front of him. Beyond, anchored in the lee of the headland, lay the trade ship.

He saw Dr. Manski stare at the trade ship, then say to Teacher, “You warned them? You got the message through?”

“Yes,” said Teacher. “I got through to Mazal again this morning, right after it happened. She said she had sent word immediately to everyone around the harbor, but she doubted that Dyce would believe it. Obviously he didn't.”

“The fool!” she said harshly. “The stupid fool!”

Teacher shrugged. “I'm afraid it's too late now,” he said, with a shake of his white head. “We'll be lucky to get out of the way of it ourselves. There can't be much time left.”

As they swept through the entrance, Tikki left them for the first time and flew shoreward. Conan took a quick glance at the mist-shrouded sea far astern, then put the helm over and prayed the wind would hold man's wake, spreading out now to block the path, were half a dozen sailors of the New Order.

Conan paused, swaying on unsteady feet, while his eyes took in the line of youths circling swiftly on his left. Were they trying to get below him and cut off retreat? He was surprised to see another group, a compact bunch of boys and girls carrying sticks and bows, approaching warily on his right. This was an angry group, but mixed with their anger he could see much uncertainty among them, and even fright. One of the boys cried, “Watch it, Conan! That dirty bunch is out to get you! That's Orlo behind you!”

It seemed incredible that something like this could be happening in the face of what was coming. Didn't they have any idea what was in store for them?

Suddenly Conan began shouting warnings in an effort to clear the slope. He glimpsed a worried Teacher on the path below, vainly trying to do the same. But no one seemed to comprehend, and in the next instant the commissioner was upon him and had seized his arm.

“You're my prisoner!” Dyce rumbled. “Believe me, you'll pay for helping Patch escape. Take him, boys, and take Patch yonder. Out to the ship with them, and lock them up!”

Conan swept the restraining hands aside and sent Dyce tumbling backward. “Put a finger on Teacher and I'll break your head!” he shouted. “Have you all lost your minds? Don't you know you're in danger here? Get up on higher ground! All of you!
Hurry!
”

The sailors, shaken as much by his strength as by the urgency in his voice, retreated. But Dyce scrambled up, infuriated.

“Danger from what?” he demanded. “You need a lesson—” Then his eyes widened at the sight of Dr. Manski scrambling frantically up the curving path.

“You stupid fool!” she screamed at him. “You've been told about the wave! Don't you know that everybody this close to the harbor can be killed?”

“What kind of talk is this?” the commissioner roared back. “You had no orders to come here, Doctor! Where is your vessel?”

“Sunk!” she cried harshly. “And that's where yours will be soon! I tell you, there's a tidal wave coming—a tsunami—”

Dyce slapped her angrily aside and shouted, “There's no wave coming! That tale's just a trick. You'd better be locked up with the rest of them. Boys, come here! Orlo, give me a hand!”

Conan had time for only a quick glance in Orio's direction. He recognized the rangy figure in the dirty goatskin jacket, then he began shouting again, trying to turn the crowd and drive them up to safety. But in their present mood they were totally uncomprehending. They hated Orlo, but they feared him. In a sort of horror, he realized that he had only to lead them against Orlo and the slope would be turned into a battleground.

And in minutes, seconds even, a raging wall of water could be sweeping this entire area.

Behind him he heard Orlo laugh. “All that crazy sweat about a wave. Phooey, we've had waves before! C'mon, you guys. Let's help Papa Dyce.”

Conan whirled on him. “For God's sake, Orlo, you and all these people will be killed if you stay here! Get going Everybody! Get up to high ground!”

“Aw, shut up,” Orlo told him lazily. “Or d'you want me to pull you apart and take you out to the ship in pieces?” Then a grin suddenly twisted his dark face as he stared at someone racing down the path. “Hold it, you guys. Here comes my little bird tamer.”

Conan heard a familiar voice cry his name. For an instant out of time he forgot everything as he saw Lanna hurrying toward him, pale hair flying, dark eyes enormous in her thin face. He sprang toward her, but before he could reach her a grinning Orlo had jumped between them and grabbed her arm.

She gasped with pain, and Conan said hoarsely, “Let her go before I break your neck!”

Still grinning, Orlo flung her aside, snatched a heavy stick from one of his gang, and swung it viciously.

As he leaped in and seized the stick before it touched him, Conan wondered how quickly he could settle this insanity. He twisted the stick away, dropped it, and hit Orlo once with his fist. He caught up the sagging figure, swung it over his head, and flung it down the slope.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw the trade commissioner gape at him incredulously, then tug almost frantically at the weapon hanging from his belt. Conan picked up Orlo's stick, swung it, and sent the weapon flying.

“Run, Lanna!” he yelled. “Run for the cottage!”

Swinging the stick, he charged the line of slack-jawed boys. “Move, you dumb idiots!” he roared. “Or do I have to beat you all to save your necks?”

They fled from him as they would have fled a raging madman. And it was as a madman that he turned the rest of the crowd and drove them to safety.

He was more than halfway up the slope when someone screamed, and he turned at a curious sound behind him. He saw the phenomenon of water being sucked out of the harbor by the unseen thing approaching beyond the headland. As he stared at it, he became aware of the figure in the goatskin jacket trying feebly to crawl up the path.

Conan swallowed and dropped his stick. Suddenly he raced down the slope, caught up Orlo in both arms, and began pounding his way upward again as fast as he could drive his all-but-exhausted body.

He reached the halfway mark and glimpsed the trade commissioner, who stood clinging to a tree, looking with a sort of blank disbelief down at his ship which now lay on its side in the nearly empty harbor. He shouted a warning to the man and struggled on, but he had climbed only a few more yards when the world suddenly exploded behind him.

Conan did not see the towering cliff of water that smashed entirely across the headland, instantly drowning the harbor in a raging flood. But he heard the mighty thunder of it and felt the earth shake under the blow—then the world was obliterated in flying spray, and a swirling tide raced around the slope, tearing at him and sweeping his feet from under him.

Somehow he managed to cling to his burden and hook one arm around a tree. It was over in seconds, the racing water retreating down the slope as quickly as it had come. He got to his knees and tried to lift Orlo and rise. This time his strength failed.

But from all around, hurrying, came willing hands to help.

About the Author

Alexander Key (1904–1979) started out as an illustrator before he began writing science fiction novels for young readers. He has published many titles, including
Sprockets
:
A Little Robot, Mystery of the Sassafras Chair
, and
The Forgotten Door
, winner of the Lewis Carroll Shelf Award. Key's novel
Escape to Witch Mountain
was adapted for film in 1975, 1995, and 2009.

All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 1970 by Alexander Key

Cover design by Jesse Hayes

ISBN: 978-1-4976-5249-1

This edition published in 2014 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.

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New York, NY 10014

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EBOOKS BY ALEXANDER KEY

FROM OPEN ROAD MEDIA