Lewis was worried too, but it was good to be trusted. He untied the boat, sat down beside the engine, and started it just the way the man had showed him. The outboard motor caught with a bla-a-att! and Lewis moved them away from the dock.
It was a calm day, and he did not go very fast. They followed the shoreline to a point where reddish-yellow cliffs rose. Then, ahead and to the left, they could see Ivarhaven, with its white mansion sprawled up the hillside like a set of blocks left behind by an untidy giant. Mrs. Zimmermann, who had clapped a hand onto her head to hold her broad-brimmed floppy hat, made a tutting sound. “Frank Lloyd Wright has a lot to answer for!” she said. “I like a house to look like a house, not a jumble of rectangles and squares. Be careful, Lewis. I’m sure this is deep water.”
Lewis didn’t answer. He concentrated on guiding their boat across the water. To tell the truth, he didn’t feel very well. He had lost lots of sleep, and he had the funny feeling that the boat was moving sideways. The waves caused that, moving from right to left. Behind them the sun was going down, bathing the island in coppery light. As they got closer, Lewis saw the sailboat tied up at the pier, and next to it a fishing boat with its own outboard motor, a little larger than theirs. “That must be the boat that Uncle Jonathan rented,” said Lewis, pointing.
“Keep both hands on the tiller!” said Mrs. Zimmermann. “I’m in no mood to be dunked like a doughnut! Careful!”
Lewis throttled the outboard back. They lost speed. Too much, so that he had to give the motor a little juice to get them back on course. Finally they drifted in, and though the bow of their boat clonked against the pier a little hard, it wasn’t too bad. Mrs. Zimmermann tied the bowline, and then they stepped up onto the pier, where Lewis tied the stern line off. Trooping down from the house to meet them were Grampa Galway, Uncle Jonathan, and a sheepish-looking Rose Rita.
“Hi, all,” Jonathan said, taking Mrs. Zimmermann’s suitcase and Lewis’s duffel bag. “Well, luckily, Albert says we’re welcome to spend a few more days here.”
“Got kind of lonesome without anyone around,” added Grampa Galway with a grin. “But I didn’t know this scamp of a granddaughter of mine had slipped off without letting her friends know.”
“I was worried about you, Grampa,” said Rose Rita. “Out here all by yourself. What if something happened?”
“And the mystery of the disappearing island had nothing to do with it,” put in her grandfather dryly. “Well, well, you’re all here now, and I have a pot roast almost ready to eat, so come on in, get settled, and we’ll have a regular feast.” He led the way back up the path to the house.
It was a good meal, though Lewis could only pick at it. After dinner they played a few hands of cards until Grampa Galway stretched and yawned. “Guess I’ll turn in,” he said. “Night.”
As soon as the old man had gone to his bedroom, Uncle Jonathan summoned them all into the study. “It’s time for a council of war,” he said in a serious voice as he shut the door behind him. “Sit down, everybody.”
The study had a window seat wide enough for Lewis and Rose Rita to share. Mrs. Zimmermann settled into a big green leather armchair. Uncle Jonathan rolled an office chair with wheels from behind the desk. “Now,” he said, putting his hands on his knees, “let’s find out what’s what. Florence?”
Mrs. Zimmermann told about her research and her communication with good witches in different parts of the world. “Whatever it is,” she said hesitantly at last, “it will happen on the fifteenth of this month. It’s supposed to be tied in with an eclipse, but there is no eclipse of the sun or moon on that date, so—”
Uncle Jonathan nodded wearily. “Yes, I’ve heard something about that at this end too. But we know that an eclipse can be staged if you have the right magic.”
Lewis, who was feeling light-headed and shaky because he had not been getting much sleep, understood. His uncle could cause a magical eclipse of the moon when the conditions were right. It wasn’t like a real eclipse because it could be seen only from a very small area, but during the temporary darkness all sorts of strange and magical things began to happen. “Nobody could eclipse the sun with magic, could they?” he asked anxiously.
Jonathan sighed. “I don’t know. My magic wouldn’t be nearly strong enough. But someone else who had studied sky magic for years and years—well, that might be a different kettle of fish. Now, Rose Rita. Explain what you’re doing here.”
Rose Rita’s eyes were wide and solemn behind her black-rimmed glasses. “My grampa is pretty old. I worried about him being up here all alone. What if he got hurt on the island and couldn’t get to a phone? So I thought I’d come along and—and . . .” Unable to continue, she looked down into her lap.
In a kindly voice Mrs. Zimmermann said, “And snoop around a little bit while you were up here, eh? Well, if you’ve learned anything, now’s the time to spill it!”
“I haven’t learned very much,” admitted Rose Rita. She told about Marta and her brother and the strange clouds in the sky.
When she had finished speaking, Jonathan tugged thoughtfully at his beard. “There you are. Old Isaac Izard studied cloud formations, hoping to bring the world to an end. His nastier son is conjuring up cloud formations, probably trying to find just the right combination to open the gates to his nefarious magic.”
“There’s one other thing,” said Lewis timidly. He sniffled. “I—I didn’t really mean to do it, Mrs. Zimmermann. Honest, I wasn’t just snooping around. B-but I found a letter that Professor Athanasius w-wrote to you, and he said I would d-die on the fifteenth of, of this month.”
“Oh, dear,” said Mrs. Zimmermann. She got out of her chair and patted Lewis on his shoulder. “No wonder you’ve been losing so much sleep! I should have put that stupid letter in the locked drawer of my desk! Lewis, there must be ways of dealing with evil magic. We have lots and lots of people working on the problem, and I’ve cast quite a few protective spells over you. The only reason I didn’t say anything to you is that, to be honest, I know how much you tend to worry.”
“Well,” said Jonathan, “now here we are, and here we should stay until this thing is finished. I found a fishing cabin on a point overlooking that blasted island, only it’s never in sight. I haven’t even seen the shimmering that we first noticed, and I’ve been puttering around on the water up there for days. My theory, in case you’re interested, is that the concealing spell lifts when Ishmael Izard or his assistant, this Clusko, has to go to or leave the island. After one of them passes through, the spell is unstable for a few minutes or a few hours. Those are the times when we could get onto Izard’s home territory.”
“Clusko,” repeated Mrs. Zimmermann. “I wonder if it can be the same man. I knew a Clusko once, Jonathan, and so did you. Remember him? His full name was Ladislav Clusko, and he came poking around New Zebedee a few months after Isaac Izard died.”
Jonathan frowned. “That’s right! What a memory you have, Florence! I’d been trying to remember where I’d heard that name before. He wanted to put in a bid for Izard’s house, but I’d already bought it by then.” He turned to Lewis. “You see, Lewis, old Isaac had avoided paying the taxes on his place for years. He thought he’d end the world and not have to worry about it, I suppose. Anyway, when he died, the place was sold to settle the taxes, and I made the high bid. Ladislav Clusko came to town about three weeks too late. It might be the same man, Florence. I don’t know if I’d even recognize him if I saw him, though. I met him only once, for about ten minutes, and that was years and years ago.”
“He turned up again,” said Mrs. Zimmermann. “According to what I have learned, he tried to put together a group of evil magicians in Europe about five years ago. There was some kind of magical duel on Walpurgis Night in the Hartz Mountains, and his little gang scattered to the winds. I have the feeling it must be the same man, but why or how he hooked up with Ishmael Izard, I couldn’t even guess.”
Jonathan stood up and began to pace. “Well, we know that Mr
. Clusko visits the general store about twice a week for ice and groceries. Now that we’ve got enough of us here to split up and watch the store as well as the place where that weird island is supposed to be, maybe we can finally get a lead. Florence, there’s an Army surplus store over in Marquette. I’ll drive there first thing in the morning and see if I can pick up some walkie-talkies. The main thing for us to do is to find a way back to this Gnome Island, or whatever it’s called.”
That night Lewis went to bed in the same room he had used on their visit in June. He wasn’t very sleepy, and he took a book to bed with him. It was A Guide to the Upper Peninsula, which he had found in the study, a tall, thin book crammed with color photos of wildlife and landscapes. Lewis turned the pages, staring at the colorful Painted Cliffs, at snow-covered winter forests, at lakes and hills and waterfalls. He began to yawn.
He found a photo of the woods near Porcupine Bay in the autumn. Maples and birches and smoke trees blazed in yellows, oranges, and scarlets. The camera gazed through the trunks, which receded into the distance. Tangles of undergrowth ran through the photo. It was a peaceful scene. Lewis was about to turn the page when something caught his eye. It was a patch of white away in the distance, half hidden by two slender tree trunks.
Lewis idly wondered what it was. An animal of some kind? But it was too big to be a rabbit or anything like that. He yawned again, closing his eyes for a moment.
Then he glanced back at the page. The white thing had moved. He was sure of it. Now it peeked from behind a tree that was a bit closer. Lewis stared at it until his eyes ached. He had the frightening feeling that he had fallen into the photograph. He wanted to tear his gaze away, but he found that he couldn’t do it.
His eyes burned from strain. They watered, and the white shape became wavery. It moved! Or was that a trick of his tired eyes? Had it flopped from one tree to the next with a horrible, broken-limbed lurching movement? Lewis was almost sure it had!
He wanted to slip out of bed and yell for help, but he felt paralyzed. The flopping, flapping thing was coming closer. He wanted to see what it was, though he dreaded the very thought of what it might look like. Maybe if he stared very hard—
Lewis had a sudden uncanny sense that something was wrong. He forced his eyes off the book. Across the room from the foot of his bed was a tall window looking out over the lake. Beneath the window was a pool of shadow, unreachable by the light from Lewis’s reading lamp. Faintly glowing in the darkness were two spots of yellowish light, as round as eggs. They did not move. Lewis reached a trembling hand out to his lamp. It had a slim base, like a candlestick. He grabbed it, and with a sudden movement he held it high, flooding the dark recess below the window and between the curtains with light.
A shaggy dark thing hissed, leaped, and climbed the wall! It was the night creature from the engraving of King Solomon! Lewis screamed, a dry, thin, high screech as the monstrous form swarmed up the wall, then across the ceiling, clinging like some loathsome fly, its round head twisting on a spindly neck so the yellow eyes were always fixed on him—
Something ice-cold touched his hand!
Lewis looked down. The book had fallen to the bed and was cracked open. And from the crack a skeletal hand had reached out, clenching, trying to grab his own hand—
With a convulsive movement, Lewis dropped the lamp and kicked the book from the bed. He ran to the door and threw it open—
Facing him was something in the shape of a woman. Her face was like a skull, with a fiery light blazing in the hollow eye sockets. And from the creature came a piercing wail, a rising and falling cry that froze the blood in Lewis’s veins. From beyond the apparition he heard Mrs. Zimmermann’s voice: “Lewis! What in heaven’s name is wrong?”
With another shriek, Lewis threw himself at the ghostly figure. For a second he felt as if he were passing through a cold mist. Then he was falling into Mrs. Zimmermann’s arms and was babbling out the story of what had happened.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“A banshee,” said Uncle Jonathan. “Another of friend Izard’s little calling cards. He seems to be telling us that he has traveled all over the world and can summon spirits from all kinds of belief, from Japan to Ireland.”
It was morning, and Lewis was feeling less terrified, though he still wondered if he were losing his mind. “Was it real?” he asked.
Jonathan looked at Mrs. Zimmermann. “Let’s ask the expert. Florence?”
Mrs. Zimmermann shook her head and prodded an untidy strand of hair back into place. “I think not. Lewis, I think these things, the banshee and the Kuchisake Onna, are like your uncle’s illusions. They look and even feel real, but they exist only in your mind. I think old creepy Izard is just trying to keep you terrified by sending these things. The more off balance you are, the harder it is for you to fight back.”
Rose Rita said, “So why don’t we fight back? Couldn’t you blast him with a purple lightning bolt or something? I don’t like sitting around while he does this spooky stuff to my friends!”
Mrs. Zimmermann smiled. “Because we are not evil wizards,” she said. “That’s the short answer. It’s one thing to use magic in self-defense. It’s another to go around looking for people to zap. Besides, from what we have learned already, we know that Izard has quite a few wizardly friends in his plot. We can’t afford to take a chance in attacking him until, first, we know exactly what he’s up to and, second, we can find him. But don’t worry. We’re working on it.”
That day both Mrs. Zimmermann and Uncle Jonathan left Ivarhaven Island. Despite Rose Rita’s pleas, she and Lewis had to stay behind. They stood watching the motorboat skim toward Porcupine Bay, and Rose Rita flopped down to sit on a rock with her chin in her hands. “It’s not fair,” she complained. “Somebody needs to look after them. They’re not as young as they used to be.”
“But it might be dangerous,” objected Lewis. He immediately wished he hadn’t said that. It made him sound like the world’s biggest chicken.
Rose Rita’s eyes snapped. “That’s exactly why we should be with them! Look, Lewis, we’ve got to make a pact.”
“Why?” asked Lewis.
Patiently Rose Rita said, “We’ve got to agree that we can’t let Mrs. Zimmermann run around without one of us along.”
“But she’s a sorceress,” Lewis pointed out. “And she wouldn’t like us poking our noses into her business.”
“She’s my friend,” shot back Rose Rita. “I won’t have her getting into trouble all by herself. The next time Mrs. Zimmermann gets ready to go off on some kind of expedition, one of us has to go. Even if we have to sneak to do it!”
She was staring at Lewis so hard that he didn’t have the heart to disagree. So he said, “Okay,” although he didn’t feel very brave or even comfortable with the idea. All the rest of the day Lewis was jumpy and fearful. Then, as the sun sank low in the west, he heard the putter of an outboard motor. He and Rose Rita hurried down to the dock once more. To his surprise Lewis saw the boat that his uncle had rented moving across the water with three passengers inside. His heart pounded. The third passenger was Clusko, huddled in the bow and looking angry.
As soon as the boat was tied, Uncle Jonathan stepped onto the pier. He was holding a heavy paper bag in the crook of his left arm. With his right hand he helped Clusko out, and then Mrs. Zimmermann. “You’d never have beaten me,” whined Clusko, “if I had my full power!”
Rose Rita looked from him to Mrs. Zimmermann. “Zap?” she asked.
“Zap,” replied Mrs. Zimmermann firmly. “This man saw me in town and tried to cast a spell on me. I felt the magic building and turned it away just in time. It wasn’t very strong, and I don’t think he has enough moxie really to hurt me, but I counteracted his spell. Then I hit him back with a whammy that makes him have to do my bidding, at least until sunset. Let’s go to the house, Mr. Clusko. March!”
Like a puppet worked by strings, Clusko did march in a jerky, lurching way toward the house. He was silent in the
presence of Grampa Galway when Jonathan explained that they were going to ask him a few questions about the islands. “I’ll start dinner, then,” Grampa Galway said. He went inside.
“It’s a warm afternoon,” Mrs. Zimmermann said. “Let’s stay out here for a few minutes. All right, Mr. Clusko. You are going to answer Jonathan Barnavelt’s questions truthfully. Understand?”
The small man nodded, though his face writhed in an expression of hatred. Lewis looked at Rose Rita, who was staring at Mrs. Zimmermann with wide eyes. He knew what she was thinking. Mrs. Zimmermann was never harsh. But now her voice was as cold and as hard as iron.
“How do we get to Gnomon Island?” Jonathan asked.
The Tower at the End of the World (Action Packs) Page 9
