Chapter VII

They went down a flight of stone steps to the ground. Alan found that the tower now was set in the midst of a garden of gloriously vivid blossoms. The air was redolent with their perfume.A brook of sunlit water flowed nearby. There were cool bushes and shade trees, green and brown; cool green lawns of sward; little winding paths.

A garden of a few acres. It was all enclosed by a wall of masonry—a wall some twenty or thirty feet high, looped and turreted. The figure of a man was on the top of the wall, over a gateway fairly near at hand. As they stepped from the tower his arm went up with a gesture of recognition. Realization swept Alan. This garden, this wall, this pacing sentry—all this we had seen on the television. We had witnessed then the tower’s departure; by some vagary of Nature’s law the etheric waves carrying the image had come to us of 1962.

They passed through the gateway of the wall. The guard on its top called down something and stared at Alan curiously as they passed through.

Beyond the wall a sylvan landscape spread to Alan’s gaze. The Space of Manhattan Island. He could still recognize it. A river behind him. Another river ahead a mile or so. The Hudson shimmering in its valley. He could see the cliffs of its further bank.

Near at hand the open country was dotted with trees, checkered with round patches of cultivated fields. There were figures working in the fields. And occasional habitations—low, oval houses of green thatch. A road of dull smooth white wound from this gateway over the countryside toward the river. Animals, strange of aspect, were slowly dragging carts.

A city was off there, along this nearer bank of the river—a stretch of houses more closely set. City! It seemed some primitive village. All this—primitive, as though here might be some lost Indian tribe of our early ages. The field workers, garbed in vivid colors. Their squat little carts, slow-moving with broad-horned oxen. The quiet village strung along the calm flowing river. All picturesque and primitive. But Alan knew it was not barbarism, but decadence. Civilization had reached its summit, and declined. Fallen back, to this.

Lea was in advance of Alan and San. She turned into a small gateway. They passed through a garden profuse with flowers. A low house stood here, half hiddenbythe verdure.Anold man was at the doorway—a stalwart old fellow with a furious white beard, a shaggy white mane of hair, a robe of sober gray, monk-like with its rope about his bulging middle.

He greeted Lea and San with a gesture of affection. He stared open-mouthed at Alan. Lea explained to him swiftly. And then came relief to Alan. This old patriarch spoke what he doubtless called English. He said slowly, with a meticulous, careful intonation:

“I thank you for saving Lea from Wolf Turber.”

“But we’ve got to locate them,” Alan insisted. “How can we? With this cloak? Yes, it belongs to my sister.”

“I will take you shortly to my instrument room,” said the old man. “I have had Lentz, my assistant, preparing the Time-vision— we cannot do it more quickly.”

They had talked now for perhaps half an hour—old Powl, as he was called, interpreting for Lea and San. He was their grandfather. It was he who had discovered the secret of this Time-traveling tower. He had built it, and had constructed also a series of instruments which he called Time-vision. He was, in this age of decadence, one of the few living scientists. And he was a language student as well—he had trained himself in many of the dead languages of the past.

“My son,” Powl said, “the father of Lea and San took my tower and once stoppedinthe year you call about 1925. He paused for just a moment, but when he returned here there he found a young man with him. A stowaway, as you would call it. That man was Wolf Turber.”

It was all presently clear to Alan. Turber had come here, had stolen the secret of the tower and the Time-vision, and getting followers had built himself his Time-vehicle—and departed.

“He saidhe was in love with Lea. But she was afraid of him—his attentions were unwelcomed. We told him so.”

Like Nanette! “I understand,” said Alan bitterly. “My sister—”

“He has her now, you tell me. That is bad. You must get her back. And kill him.”

The old man’s mild blue eyes suddenly flashed. Lea spoke. He interrupted.

“She says, I must tell you—we have sworn to kill Turber. He murdered my son—father of Lea and San. Stole our platinum trea-sure—and murdered my son, who was defending it.”

Alan thought he had never heard such intensity as came into the old man’s voice. “We are careful with our tower—wedonothing evil with it. Turber’s vehicle is all for evil. My son died—and there as he died we swore—myself and Lea and San—that some time we would kill Turber and destroy his vehicle.”

Lea and San understood what he was saying. They stood beside him, with faces white and solemn. He added: “But there seems little that we can do. There are no weapons here. We have no need in this age for any scientific weapons. I cannot travel in the tower—I am too old to stand the shock. San must always stay with it—to guard it. And so it all falls to Lea. She has passed through the different ages in the tower. There are weapons in the Past, of course. But I have not wanted Lea to stop. And Turber is very powerful, very elusive.”

Lea interrupted again. Powl said: “We know that Turber has a stronghold in the year 2445 A.D.”

“Five hundred years in the future of my Time-world,” said Alan.

“Yes. Your city of New York is then about at its height. Turber is powerful there—impregnable. There is only one other Time in which Turber habitually stops. The year 1962. Lea went there. But it was foolish, we all realize now. Asyou know—she could accomplish nothing. And but for you, Turber would have had her!”

Again Lea interrupted. Powl translated: “She wants me to say that now she will learn your Ancient English. There are so many dead languages—but she is very quick to learn—when interested.”

“Interested?” said Alan. His gaze went to Lea’s eager face. A wave of color swept her, but her eyes remained level and she held out her hand. Its touch thrilled Alan. As though the clasp were sealing a compact, unspoken, but he could read her eyes and feel, surprisingly, the sudden anger in his own heart. San, too, held out his hand. Powl said: “My children find in you a friend—sorely needed.” Again the old man’s eyes flashed. “We have sworn that Turber will die. He has your sister, and your friend. Your own purpose—”

“To get them back,” said Alan. “But whereis he?I don’t think he will return to 1962. You say he is impregnable in 2445—”

“Yes. But heisnot there now. Ifhestops—in some earlier age, as we hope—then will be your opportunity.”

A man came to the doorway of the room, spoke to Powl, and disappeared. Powl stood up. He said, with brisk energy:

“The instruments are ready. Turber, we think, is still traveling in time. We will try, with your sister’s cloak, to locate him as soon as he stops anywhere.”

They left the house, crossing the gardens towardanoutbuilding in which was the instrument room. Alan’s mind was tumultuous with his thoughts. This incredible catastrophe into which so unex-pectedlyhe and those heloved had fallen! Alan had always been one to walk alone in life. He made few friends, his friendship for me, his love for Nanette—to these he could now add an emotion, as yet barely understood, his feeling for Lea.

Into this, his world, Turber had suddenly thrust himself, abducting Nanette, capturing, perhaps killing me. What could Alan do about it? Suppose they located the Time-world to which Turber had gone? Alan could go there—with this girl Lea tohelp him and San to guard the tower. Hopeless adventure! He had one small weapon, his revolver. And a frail girl for companion. There seemed no one else from whom he could get help. No one in this Time-world of Lea’s.

His mind roved the possibility of getting help elsewhere. His own world of 1962. Who could he get there to do more than smile incredulously at his fantastic tale? He envisaged all the other centuries. But to go to any one of them for help—for weapons and men—was hardly practical. He would be a stranger, he would fall into a strange civilization with only this same incredible story to aid him. He would be imprisoned perhaps—or, at best, be disregarded as a lunatic.

Lea had faced all this. She had tried in 1962. It was not feasible. Alan saw now that he would have to depend upon himself. The tower would transport him. The rest lay with himself, his own wits. He felt that very probably I was dead. He would rescue Nanette from Turber’s clutches if he could. For the rest—this oath of vengeance sworn by Lea and her brother against Turber—Alan gritted his teeth, and as he thought of Nanette’s gentle beauty and Turber’s grinning, satanic visage, he swore to himself a similar oath. He would kill Turber if he could!

“This way,” said Powl. “Stoop down—you are so tall for our door openings.”

It was a low-vaulted room, dimly illumined.

“My assistant,” said Powl. “He is called Lentz—he speaks a little of your ancient language.”

A man of about thirty rose from a seat before one of the instruments. He offered his hand. Powl added to Alan:

“You may speak openly before Lentz. He is my trusted helper— the only person besides ourselves who knows the secrets of my Time-vision and of the tower.”

He was an undersized, heavy-set fellow, garbed in a short robe like San’s. His black hair was clipped close on a bullet head. He wore goggles which now were pushed up on his forehead.

“I speak very little,” he said as we shook hands. “I am ready if it is you have the cloak.”

The tubes of this instrument might have been Neon lamps by their aspect. There were coils, a multiplicity of wires, a tiny series of amplifiers, a system of prisms and mirrors, beams of light, whirling from tiny mirrors swiftly rotating. There was a metal tube like a small microscope, a rack beneath it, upon which a dull red light was focused. There were rows of dials—turning dials, and indicators; and a large fluorescent screen which seemed under electronic bombardment from the rear. The whole apparatus occupied a table some six feet long, with the dials to one side and the screen upright at its end. Lentz placed Nanette’s cloak upon the rack, he focused the red light upon it, then stood gazing into the eyepiece of the tube as one might gaze into a microscope.

Lea and San stood by Alan. Lea gestured toward the screen; it was empty of image. Then she pointed to one of the dials. Alan saw it bore figures he could understand—figures ranging over thousands of centuries. Some of it B.C.; the rest A.D. There was a point on it marked zero. The indicator stood there at rest.

“Your ancient calendar,” said Powl. “With this garment belonging toyour sisterwe may be able totune our receivers and make connection. The image of her is here in the ether—if we can adjust it.”

Lentz was twirling the tuning knobs. The pointers on all the dials stirred a little; images seemed trying to form on the fluorescent screen.

A minute. Ten minutes. Then Lentz relaxed.

“Not now,“he said. “It will not come. Presently we try again.”

“They may still be traveling,” said Powl. “It would be difficult to get the image—”

They waited, then tried again but failed. Where was Nanette? Despair flooded Alan. Over all these diversified centuries, how could they ever find her? She seemed so hopelessly faraway. And yet he realized not far in Space. A few miles from her probably, no more.

“We will never find her,” said Lentz.

Alan gazed at him sharply. “You think not?”

“No.” The fellow seemed confused under Alan’s eyes. “That I mean—I hope so, but it seems not.”

“We must keep trying,” said Powl. “The other instrument is more sensitive. Have you the tubes for it connected?”

“No,” said Lentz.

The tubes were in an adjoining room. Lentz went in to prepare them. The connecting door was open; Alan heard Lentz moving about, and heard presently the hiss and snap of a current as he charged the tubes.

San and Lea sat murmuring together in low tones. They addressed Powl. He listened. He said to Alan:

“Lea wants meto explain—if Turber takes your sister directly to the great city of 2445, still it is not quite hopeless. We think we have located a weapon—a single very powerful weapon—”

The old man’s voice lowered. Lea and San bent forward intently. There was a weapon—a projector, Powl called it—which was mentioned in history. It had been built as an historical curiosity. It stood in a museum of Greater New York. The contemporary history of that Time—when weapons of such a kind were long since abandoned—said that this specimen in the museum was in perfect working order. Its operation was described. It was scientifically preserved in the museum against the ravages of time. Lea and San—traveling in their tower—had seen the Time-world when the city was crumbling into ruins. The museum was abandoned; there would be no one there to stop Lea if she went and searched in the ruins of the museum for the projector.

Powl was talking very softly. A tenseness was on him.

“This we have told no one.”

“What Time-world?” Alan asked.

“We think the best year to try for it would be about 5000 A.D.”

It chanced that of the four of them, only Alan was facing the doorway of the connecting room. The sound of Lentz moving about was suddenly stilled. The realization of that struck Alan. A segmentofthe other room was visible through the open door; Lentz was not in sight, but it seemed as though a shadow of him lay on the floor near the doorway.

Alan whispered sharply. “Quiet.” He leaped to his feet, he darted noiselessly across the room with the startled glances of his companions upon him. Beyond the doorway he came upon Lentz standing close against the wall. A tube was in his hand; he was polishing it with a piece of cloth.

“Oh,” said Alan. “I didn’t know you were here.”

“The instrument willbe ready quite shortly.” Lentz moved back to his work. Alan returned to his seat. He murmured to Powl: “Let’s talk about that later—not now.”

Lea touched his arm. She whispered: “Yes—yes, understand— not now.”

The thing startled them all. There was a brief silence; they could hear Lentz moving normally about the other room.

Alan asked Powl at last: “Can you operate your instrument here? Without Lentz doing it?”

“Lea and San can,” said Powl. “Though not so well as Lentz.”

“Let’s try it again, but wait a minute.”

Alan went to the door. “Lentz, how soon will you be ready?”

Lentz looked up from his work. “Quite shortly.”

“Good. I’ll close this door. Knock when you’re ready.” He ignored the fellow’s surprise, and dropped the door closed with a bang.

“Now,” said Alan. “Try it.”

With Nanette’s cloak again, Lea and San tried the instrument. Almost at once results came. The screen showed an image. A starlit night. Figures were moving about the glade. Strangely garbed, burly figures of men; and a group of half-naked feathered savages stood nearby, upon the shore of a river. A canoe lay there. To one side, a campfire showed its dull yellow light through the forest underbrush. There was an air of inactivity about the scene. Turber came presently and stood in the cabin doorway of the ship. His familiar hunched figure, with the starlight on him and a yellow-red glow from the campfire. Turber, waiting here for something!

The dial marked 1664 A.D. Powl was trembling with eagerness. Lea and San snapped off the instrument. San had recognized the location of the scene. It was the Hudson River shore of Manhattan Island, no more than a mile from the tower-space. Powl said hurriedly: “San has the exact reading—the year, month, and day. Tur-ber will not expect you, that night there in the forest. If you can creep up on him with your revolver—”

It might be possible, in the gloom of the forest, to get up to the ship unobserved. They made a few hurried preparations. San and Lea would not be able to talk with Alan; they made their plans now, with Powl for interpreter. Back at the tower, Powl stood by its steps.

“Goodbye. Do your best.” He gripped Alan’s hand.

The tower door closed upon Alan, Lea and San.A moment, and they had started. The room reeled, but this time Alan was prepared for it. He recovered in a moment. He stood by Lea and smiled. He said:

“Not so bad this time.”

“No,” said Lea. “All right.”

There was a sound in the humming, vibrating room. A rustling behind them. From behind them. From a shadowed corner a figure rose up.

Lentz! His swart face was smiling. He was by the door. He had followed them in. He said to Alan: “I thought better I come, so I can talk for you and them. We must plan carefully what we do. I want to help you.”