Dragon's Island and Other Stories by Jack Williamson

Author:Jack Williamson [Williamson, Jack]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Sci-Fi Collection
Publisher: Five Star
Published: 2002-01-11T00:00:00+00:00

Fourteen

She slowed the car at last, to turn from the highway into a broad drive which curved between massive masonry pillars toward a long mansion which loomed massive as a fortress in the rain.

“Mr. Messenger’s place,” she said. “We’re to pick him up. His private plane is waiting at the airport.” He heard the tremor of urgency in her voice. “We must get off the ground before the police broadcast your description. That gives us not quite an hour.”

He wondered how she knew, but a faint alarm whispered in his mind, warning him not to ask. He turned restlessly to study that dark building, dimly awed by its frowning bulk.

“Mr. Messenger must be sad about giving up the place,” she said. “But he had to sell it, to help save Cadmus.”

“Cadmus?”

“I’d forgotten.” She smiled apologetically. “That’s Mr. Messenger’s company. It operates plantations in New Guinea. It used to be enormously successful, but production has fallen to nothing. Your job now is to help us breed new plants, to get the company back on its feet.”

She parked at a side door of the mansion and slipped out of the car, nodding for him to follow. Unlocking the door, she hurried him up a wide stair tp a huge bedroom, where an enormous man sat waiting.

“Nan, I thought you’d never come!” The big man tried to rise from his chair, and sprawled back helplessly. “What made you so long?”

“I went to that detective agency, trying to help Dr. Fallon.” The girl moved quickly as she spoke to lift the fat man’s wrist, and paused to take his pulse. “I did destroy that Christmas tree and several other damaging exhibits, but I was almost trapped. Dr. Fallon’s place was already surrounded before I could get back there, but he had wandered outside. I found him on the street—and he wants to go with us.”

“Glad you’re going, Fallon!” A genial smile swept all the scarred ugliness and the mottled illness from the huge man’s sagging face, and he held out his hand.- “My name’s Messenger.”

Wondering how a Christmas tree could be a damaging exhibit, he took Messenger’s flabby yellow hand. The girl gave him no time to ask about anything.

“Your heart’s worse.” She bent over the swollen wrist, frowning in concern as she counted the pulse again. “I’m afraid you shouldn’t risk the flight.”

“I’m tough as a mule,” Messenger wheezed. “And I’ve already burned our bridges behind.” Grasping a silverwood cane, he leaned laboriously to stir ashes and charred papers in a metal wastebasket. A scuffed brief case lay open and empty on the floor beside it. “Our baggage is already on the plane.” His pale, small eyes lifted uneasily. “Can we still make it?”

The girl glanced at her watch. “We’ve forty minutes,” she said. “Before the airport authorities receive Dr. Fallon’s description.”

“Then help me get up.”

They both helped. He came ponderously upright, gasping alarmingly, yet moving with a surprising ease and dignity once his feet were under him. At the car, he heaved himself into the rear seat, and seemed to fall asleep.

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