Find the Feathered Serpent (Winston Science Fiction)

by Evan Hunter

  The Norsemen froze, and Olaf turned his head slightly toward the bow of the ship. For an instant, Neil had the ridiculous idea that he was watching a movie and that the projector had suddenly stopped, freezing one frame of film on the screen. None of the Norsemen moved. The circle stopped moving, became an alert, inquisitive wall of listening humans.

  And then again, clearer in the silence this time, the voice shouted, “Land ho! Land on the starboard bow!”

  Silence for an instant.

  And then, an ear-shattering outburst that rose from happy throats. Colored shields flew into the air, clattered to the deck with a joyous ring. Laughter sprang into the charged air, like rain on parched earth. The circle crumbled, and men rushed to the sides of the ship, leaping into each other’s arms, shouting, jumping, scrambling like ants from an upturned ant mound. For the first time, Neil noticed that Erik had broken from the circle before it started to close on Dave and him.

  He was standing in the bow now, his eyes squinting over the sides of the ship, his voice raised along with the voices of his men.

  Dave and Neil held their ground, Dave with his fists poised, Neil with the shield in front of their bodies. Olaf stared at them sullenly. Then he spit on the deck, rammed the dagger into its sheath, and turned his back. He rushed to the side of the ship and joined the men there.

  Neil dropped the shield to the deck then. It rolled at his feet, as he wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. Dave lowered his fists and grinned at Neil.

  “Well,” he said. “Looks as if we found land.”

  Neil took Dave’s battered right hand in his own hands and turned it over. “Is it bad?” he asked.

  “Not very,” Dave answered. “I couldn’t very well smash it against Shorty’s hard head, though.”

  Neil gently lowered Dave’s hand. Then he clasped his friend’s shoulder, and a bright grin covered his face.

  “Hey, pal,” he said. “We found land!”

  Erik was the first man to step ashore. He dropped over the side of the ship and waded in, his powerful legs pushing against the water. The beach was a small one, with coarse sand and finely rounded pebbles. Behind the beach, several hundred feet from the water’s edge, was a dense forest.

  “Is it Yucatan?” Neil asked Dave. They were leaning over the side of the ship, as the Norsemen pulled gently on the oars.

  “Could be,” Dave said, shrugging. “Could be Pakistan, too, for all I know.”

  “Or Hindustan,” Neil joked.

  Dave countered, “Or even Frankenstein.”

  “Ouch!” Neil said, his face twisted in a grimace.

  Several Norse sailors dropped over the sides of the ship and pitted their shoulders against the solid bark. Slowly, the ship eased onto the beach.

  The crew shouldered their shields, picked up their axes, and began dropping over the sides into the low water.

  “Might as well join them,” Dave suggested.

  They dropped into the water, Dave first, and Neil following. They held their boots high, their dungarees rolled to the knees. When they reached the beach, they sat down, brushed the sand from their feet, and slipped into their boots again.

  Erik walked to where they were sitting and smiled at Neil.

  “You led us to land,” he said. “I want to thank you.”

  “That’s all right,” Neil said.

  “And your friend is a powerful warrior. Tell him I admire his strength.”

  Neil translated for Dave.

  Dave grinned and said, “Thank the captain for me.”

  “My friend wants to thank you,” Neil said.

  “I should really have him killed for what he did to my second officer,” Erik said. “But between us, I think Olaf’s face has been greatly improved.” He began to chuckle and when Neil translated, Dave laughed loudly.

  Squatting at the water’s edge, Olaf dipped a rag to wet it. Cautiously, he applied the rag to his face, screwing up his features as the salt stung into the cuts.

  “What Shorty needs,” Dave observed, “is a good beefsteak.” He suddenly remembered something. “Neil, ask Erik if his crew will help us beach the time machine.”

  When Neil explained to Erik, the captain immediately selected ten sailors to help Dave and Neil with the injured machine. Together, the men waded into the water and helped the Americans cut the lashings that held the timber to the machine.

  They guided it to the low water, waiting for further instructions. With Dave shouting in English, and Neil rapidly translating into Swedish, the men swung the machine around so that it was parallel to the beach. Then, with five men behind each of the bubbles, they began to roll it onto the sand. The twisted rotor curled back into the air like a wisp of smoke, and the other rotor, its gears disconnected, rested parallel to the ground as the machine rolled.

  When it was well beyond the high-tide mark, Dave sent the men for the timber that had been lashed to it. Heavy ropes were wrapped tightly about the upper bubble. These were placed in the hands of three strong sailors who played the ropes out past the control room and the lower bubble. Two men stood by with the stout timber, ready to prop it under the control room as soon as the machine began to rise.

  The remaining five Norsemen, and Neil and Dave, put their shoulders under the upper bubble and started to lift. Slowly, with the rim of the lower bubble wedged firmly in the sand, the machine began to rise, The three men on the ropes pulled, and the men under the bubble slowly lifted the machine. When they were standing erect, the machine resting on their shoulders and held by the firm ropes, the two men standing by the control room wedged their lumber into the sand, and slid it under the aluminum. They stood bracing the lumber against the machine, as the five Norsemen moved out from the upper bubble.

  Dave and Neil stepped back then and considered the rest of their task.

  “We’ve got to get her standing up again,” Dave said.

  “How are we going to do that?” Neil asked.

  “It’s really simple,” Dave answered. “We keep moving the lumber under the control room, a little at a time. We’ll get some longer pieces of wood and start shoving on the bubble end too.”

  When the men had chopped some long branches from the forest, they turned to the job of righting the machine again. Three men put their weight against the lumber under the control room. Slowly, they forced the end that was wedged in the sand a few feet forward. The machine rose slightly.

  With infinite patience, they repeated the process again.

  Then, with the long branches they’d cut in the forest, the rest of the men pushed up against the bubble, while the men with the ropes pulled back.

  “Careful now,” Dave ordered. “All right now, push. Let’s push, all together now. Watch those ropes, men. Don’t get them snarled. Here we go, now. Together. Push. Pu-u-u-u-u-ssssh!”

  As Neil struggled against his branch, he smiled inwardly at Dave, who was shouting English orders at men who understood Swedish only.

  And then, finally, the machine stood almost erect. It quivered for an instant, as if deciding whether to get on its feet or fall back to the sand on its side.

  “Pull on those ropes!” Dave shouted.

  The Norsemen put their back muscles into the strenuous pull, and the machine settled down, the floor of the lower bubble resting firmly in the sand.

  “Whew,” Dave said, letting out his breath. “Some job.”

  He automatically reached into his shirt pocket for a cigarette. Neil put his hand on Dave’s arm and whispered, “I wouldn’t smoke, Dave.”

  Dave remembered the recent trouble over the cigarette, and let his hand drop to his side. “Darn it,” he complained. “I sure feel like a smoke.” Suddenly he had an inspiration. “Here, Neil,” he said, “you take my lighter. I’ll pretend I’ve lost it. I certainly won’t rub two sticks together to light a cigarette.”

  Neil took the cigarette lighter and stuffed it into his pocket.

  “I’ll ask you for that back as soon as
I can sneak off somewhere and have a lonely smoke,” Dave said. “I feel the way I did when I was sixteen and smoking corn shocks behind the barn.”

  Neil laughed a little at this. He had many friends who did the same thing.

  Erik strode over and looked up at the machine, his eyes calmly examining it, his beard pointing skyward.

  “Is this the position in which you sail it?” he asked in a surprised voice.

  “Yes,” Neil said.

  Erik examined the machine again, walking completely around its base. When he joined the Americans again, he shook his head in wonder and said, “A strange vessel. Very strange.”

  Then, completely dismissing the subject, he turned to Neil. “Olaf and I are going into the forest in search of water,” he said. “Would you and Dave like to come along?”

  “Why, sure,” Neil answered. All at once, he remembered the fight Dave had just finished. “Dave, Erik would like us to look for water in the forest with him. Olaf is going along too.”

  “I think I’d better stay here,” Dave said. “I don’t think Shorty would appreciate my company. And besides, I’d like to keep an eye on the machine. You go ahead, Neil.”

  “You won’t mind?”

  “Not a bit. Go ahead.”

  “I’ll see you later,” Neil called as he started walking toward the forest with Erik, Olaf joined them at the forest’s edge. He was no longer bleeding, but his lips were puffed, and his face was covered with cuts. Both eyes were discolored, and he glanced at Neil sullenly, his eyes dark beneath their puffed, swollen fids.

  The forest was not as dense as it had appeared. Rather, it was somewhat sparse at the outskirts, and they walked easily for the first ten minutes. After that, the growth seemed to be a little thicker, and Erik and Olaf used their axes freely as they hacked their way through the tangled trees and bushes.

  Overhead, monkeys chattered noisily, like old wives leaning over their backyard fences and exchanging gossip about their visitors.

  Brightly colored birds swooped low, cawing and screeching as they darted through the foliage.

  It was hot. The sun beat down with an intolerable intensity that abated only when they passed under the sheltering leaves of a tree.

  Wild fruit spread overhead in lush abundance.

  “I would like to find water,” Erik said at last.

  “There must be water,” Neil said. “All this growth . . .”

  A faint rustling ahead brought the trio to a dead stop. Olaf’s hand tightened on his ax, as Erik raised his over his head, ready to deliver a blow. Cautiously, they tiptoed forward.

  With a loud cracking of twigs and branches, the leaves ahead of them parted violently. A startled deer, its eyes wild in fright, burst into view, turned a hurried glance on his visitors, and then darted away into the forest.

  Erik stood looking after the deer, his ax poised overhead. Suddenly, Neil began laughing.

  “Only a deer,” he choked. “Only a little deer.”

  Erik became gruff all at once. “Quiet, boy,” he barked, sliding his ax into his belt. And then, as the foolishness of the situation became clear to him, a smile broke over his face. White teeth gleamed against the brown ruggedness of his face, against the blazing, reddish-blond of his beard. The smile burst into a slight laugh which immediately erupted into an uncontrollable bellow.

  He put his arm around Neil’s shoulder and, laughing wildly, they stumbled ahead through the undergrowth.

  Only Olaf was sullen, his mouth grim.

  They traveled for a half-hour with the sun beating down on their heads, and still they found no water.

  “Can it be there are no rivers in this land?” Erik asked.

  “There are rivers,” Olaf said. “But we will find none while the Devil follows in our tracks.” He looked meaningfully at Neil.

  “Was not one Devil enough for you today?” Erik asked.

  “Let’s go a little farther,” Neil suggested, tactfully.

  They chopped their way through more light growth, seeing a jaguar leap to the ground once and rush away between the trees.

  “Plenty of meat,” Erik commented. “We need not worry about that.”

  They rested, then, on a broad, flat, yellow rock between two low bushes. Neil glanced at his wrist watch. They’d left the beach more than forty-five minutes ago. We’d better get started again, he thought. Either find water or get back to the beach.

  Neil got to his feet, not fully rested yet, and feeling a little lazy. “We’d better move on,” he said.

  Erik and Olaf followed Neil as he took the lead into the forest. They moved on, slowly, relentlessly, the insects buzzing around them, and the monkeys raising an infernal din.

  After fifteen minutes of back-breaking marching, they broke into a little clearing.

  At the far end of the clearing, between two low bushes, was a broad, flat, yellow rock. Neil looked at the rock, and his eyes clouded. Erik had noticed it, too, and Olaf s eyes widened now in recognition.

  “That rock,” he said. “It is the very one we rested on. We have been walking in a circle. The Devil has led us in a circle.”

  “Quiet,” Erik said tensely. He was serious as he spoke to Neil. “We should have marked a trail.”

  “Yes. But we didn’t.”

  “What now?” Olaf demanded. “What do we do now?”

  Neil thought of the jaguar they’d seen, and wondered how many other dangerous animals were in the forest.

  “We shall have to find our way back to the beach,” Erik said. His voice softened. “Would you like to lead, Neil?”

  “I’ll try,” Neil replied. He thought again of the jaguar.

  They started off between the trees again, Erik following Neil, and Olaf bringing up a quiet, scowling rear.

  Overhead, the monkeys chattered foolishly.

  Chapter 7 — Captured!

  HEAT, intolerable, blazing down through the treetops, scorching the forest. Sound. A medley of sounds that rose in cacaphony to greet the eardrums. The ceaseless shrieking of the monkeys, the droning of the insects, the chirrup, chirrup, chirrup of an industrious cricket in the tall grass.

  And over all this, a wearisome fatigue that pulled at the leg muscles and worked its way across your back and your shoulders. Sweat oozed from every pore in your body, and your shirt clung to your back, hugging your skin. You felt hot and thirsty and you wanted to lie down and rest — but you had to find your way back to the beach and back to the machine that would take you home one day.

  And so you pushed the tall grass aside, pulling your hand back occasionally when you ripped the skin on a jagged, saw- toothed blade. And you tripped every now and then, scraping your elbows, your head buried in the tall grass, with the smell of the earth deep in your nostrils, and the animal smell, and the smell of green things growing in a vast wilderness, a wilderness a little too awesome to comprehend.

  You struggled onward, because it seemed the only thing to do, and because two Norsemen were following you: one who believed in you and another who hated your guts.

  You struggled onward.

  Neil’s breath came in hurried gasps. He pushed the grass aside and stepped forward again. A branch slashed across his face, and he stepped to one side in a vain effort to dodge it. Ahead, a monkey sat on a low limb, raising his eyes foolishly, his mouth babbling incoherent nonsense. Neil swatted at an insect that buzzed unmercifully about his head. He glanced at his watch.

  Fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes since they’d left the flat rock, and they hadn’t come across it again. At least, he reassured himself, they weren’t now going in a circle. But were they headed back for the beach or were they only penetrating deeper into the forest?

  Back in America, back in the University ball park, the kids were playing baseball now. It was the twentieth century there, and somewhere there was probably a kid dreaming of a Norseman or a forest adventure. Neil’s mother would be preparing supper, or was it still a little too early; yes, probably it was. And his father wou
ld be reading a book perhaps, propped up in his bed, his leg stretched out ahead of him, his head resting on the pillows.

  Neil suddenly felt terribly alone, terribly Jar from the people he loved and the places he knew. Irritably, he swatted at a fly and doggedly pushed against the growth again.

  He stopped, raising his head like a bird dog sniffing the wind. His eyes squinted through the trees, and every muscle in his body went stiff.

  “What is it?” Erik asked behind him.

  Neil didn’t answer. His eyes kept staring straight ahead. Perhaps it was only a trick his vision was playing. Perhaps the sunlight and the trees and the insects and the noise of the forest . . .

  “Do you see something?” Erik asked.

  “Yes. Yes. That is, I think so. I think I see something.”

  He was vaguely aware that his speech was hesitant and a little incoherent. With a trembling finger, he pointed through the trees, through the leaves that formed a natural arch of green.

  “It is a house,” Erik said, a little surprised. “A stone house.”

  Neil let out his breath. “You see it too?”

  “Yes. Not all of it. Just the top. But it is a house of some sort.”

  Olaf pushed forward, his eyes flashing behind their puffed lids like the worried eyes of an English bulldog. “Where?” he demanded, his voice rising expectantly.

  Erik pointed. “See there? Beyond the trees. The stone dwelling? Do you see it?”

  “No.”

  “Use the eyes the gods gave you,” Erik said in anger, relieved at finding signs of life and annoyed because Olaf could not, or would not, see it. “There, ahead there.” He looked at Olafs face and found blankness there. He seized Olaf by the shoulder and pointed again. “Follow this branch, do you see? Follow my finger along the branch.”

  Olafs eyes followed Erik’s finger as it moved along the line of the branch. “Now. Do you see where the branch forks at the tip? Near that cluster of leaves? There. Do you see, or are you truly blind?”