Trolley to Yesterday (9 page)

"This is a church!" he said in a hushed voice. "But look—the soldiers of the Sultan must have been here and looted it."

By the torch's wavering light the boys saw a stone altar at the far end of the building. It had been broken in two, as if someone had hit it with a huge sledgehammer. Strange symbols had been scrawled on the walls in red paint, and a broken sword and a couple of splintered spears lay on the dusty floor.

"Rotten vandals!" muttered the professor fiercely, and he kicked a piece of stone across the floor. "Can't leave anything alone, can they?" Glumly he pulled a bronze candlestick upright and stuck the torch in it. Then he tossed his sword and valise into a corner and sat down cross-legged on the floor.
 

Johnny slumped to the ground and sat there clutching—his arm. It had begun to throb and ache fiercely now. "Professor?" he asked in a tearful, quavery voice. "What... what the heck are we gonna do? How're we gonna get a boat to take us back to Leander's Tower? My arm hurts like anything. Do you think that doctor on the boat knew what he was doing?"

The professor bit his lip. "That doctor was like most doctors in the year 1453. They didn't know anything but a few potions and salves. As for how we are going to get home, God knows! If Townsend is really dead, we will just have to find some fisherman and get him to take us to the tower. But our chances of finding someone to help us tonight are just about nil, so we'd better stay here where it's dry. Try to get some sleep, if you can.

It was silent. Fergie sat grimly staring at the leaping shadows cast by the torch. He wondered if he could defend himself against a Turkish soldier if one suddenly came leaping through the dark doorway. The professor stirred restlessly and got up. He knew that the wooden torch would not last forever, so he started poking around behind the ruined altar to see if he could find some candles. Johnny was feeling stranger and stranger. He imagined that he saw faces in the torchlight, the faces of ancient warriors. Outside, the wind was hissing through the cypress trees, but the sound was like excited whispering. What were they saying? He could almost make it out... .

"Professor," said Johnny suddenly, "there's... there's somebody outside."

The professor had just stepped back into the circle of light cast by the torch. In one hand he held two broken beeswax candles. Johnny's words startled him, and immediately his nerves were on edge. "How... how do you know?" he asked as he glanced quickly toward the gaping black doorway.

Johnny shook his head dreamily. "I dunno. I... I just know they're there, that's all."

Silently the professor put the candles down. He walked over into a dark corner and picked up the Knights of Columbus sword. Drawing the blade from the sheath, he padded to the doorway and peered out. Rain still swept by in sheets, and beyond the bending trees he could see the waves whipped into a froth by the wind. Moving across the water toward the shore was a long, narrow ship. Two soldiers in chain mail stood in the bow, holding torches aloft, and the light of the torches cast a lurid glare on the water. On glided the ship, noiselessly. Fear clutched at the professor's heart. What sort of creatures were these?

 

 

 

CHAPTER NINE

 

 

The sword dropped from the professor's numb fingers and clattered on the stone floor of the church. He backed away toward the circle of torchlight and stood tensely waiting. After many minutes he heard the sound of a boat's keel grating on the gravelly beach. Torches flared among the trees, but there was n^to jingle of armor or tramp of iron-shod feet. Finally a man appeared in the doorway. He was tall and grim-looking and wore a shirt of chain mail that reached to his knees. Over his armor he wore a sleeveless shirt of coarse white cloth with a large red cross stitched on its front, and a long sword hung from a belt around his waist. Quickly the man stepped over the threshold, and behind him came another, and another, and another... twelve in all. The silent warriors formed a ring around the three travelers. The torches flared yellow and smoky, and the professor could smell the burning pitch that the sticks of wood had been dipped in. As he glanced from one soldier to another, the professor saw that their faces were worn and scarred and blurry—as if the men were statues that had endured the wind and weather of several hundred years.

After a brief pause one of the soldiers stepped forward. He was tall and dignified, and he had a well-trimmed gray beard. Around his neck hung a golden chain from which a jeweled cross dangled. Quickly the man glanced down, and then he turned to the professor.

"Your friend is very ill," he said in a deep, grave voice. "He will have to come with us. You may come too if you wish."

The professor looked down, and with a shock he realized that Johnny was lying stiff and still on the floor of the church. What had happened? Was the cut infected, or...?

As if in answer to the professor's thoughts, the bearded man spoke again. "The sword that cut him was annointed with a poison. We may be able to help, but we must go away from here."

Again the professor was stunned. How did this man know that Johnny had been cut by a sword? But before he could say anything, two soldiers stepped forward and gently picked Johnny up. Carrying him between them, they moved out through the doorway of the church. The leader motioned with his hand, and the professor and Fergie followed as if they were hypnotized. Out the door and down to the beach they went, to the place where the long ship stood waiting. As before, it was surrounded by a halo of gray moonlight, though the sky was overcast and rain still fell. The two soldiers who carried Johnny laid him on a bed of fir boughs in the stern of the ship. The professor and Fergie clambered aboard with the others. Then the men shoved at the prow, and the ship slid back out into the water. The furled sail was raised, and instantly a wind started to blow, and the ship began to glide through the dark water. One man held the tiller at the stern, while the others stood still as statues along the sides of the vessel. Fergie and the professor made their way to the prow. They squatted on the damp boards and watched the high, carved prow of the ship rise and fall with the waves. Finally the professor spoke in a hoarse whisper.

"This is all very strange, Byron," he said as he glanced furtively over his shoulder. "These men are dressed like soldiers who lived two hundred years before the time we are in. They look like crusaders. To be more specific, they look like Templars."

Fergie's eyes opened wide. He knew the Templars were an order of monks who were also knights and warriors. "Templars, huh?" he muttered. "Well, what are they doing here? And where are they taking us?"

The professor shrugged. He was afraid of these strange, silent men, but he had a feeling that they would not harm him or his friends. And if Johnny was as ill as he looked, they would need all the help they could get to make him better. I wonder if I brought any gauze bandages along, thought the professor. With a jolt he realized that he had left his valise and sword back in the church. He sighed helplessly. Things really were out of his hands now, and he and the others would just have to go along and see what happened.

The ship drove on through the dark night. The trip seemed to take forever, and the professor wound up reciting all that he could remember of the
Iliad
in classical Greek. Fergie was silent, but he kept glancing anxiously toward the back of the boat, where Johnny lay. At last the darkness lightened to gray, and a yellowish dawn grew in the eastern sky. Up ahead rose a tall, humped island. At first it was just a purplish shadow rising from the sea, but as they drew closer, Fergie and the professor found that they were staring up at a high hill covered with dark, gloomy cypress trees. Between the clumps of trees stood white stone buildings that looked like tombs and rose up the sides of the hill, their dark doorways staring down like the eyes of skulls. At the top of the hill stood a circular stone fortress with battlements and narrow loophole windows. The whole place looked very forbidding, and there was no sign of any living person anywhere. In silence the ship sailed partway around the island, and then it plunged into a deep, rocky crevice. The sail was furled, and the ship coasted into a small, still lagoon that was sheltered by towering walls of limestone. Sand grated under the ship's keel, and the leader of the knights motioned for everyone to get out. Two soldiers carried Johnny up a winding staircase that was cut into the rock, and the others followed in single file. Last came the professor and Fergie, who felt more than ever that
they
had wandered into some very strange dream from which they might never awake.

At the top of the stairs rose the walls of the fortress, and the line of silent soldiers marched ‘into the building through an open doorway. Fergie and the professor found that they were in a cavernous high-ceilinged chamber with a large fireplace at one end. A bright fire fought against the chill of early morning, and—to their surprise—they saw that a bed had already been prepared for Johnny. With great care the soldiers placed Johnny on the bed and drew a fur coverlet over him. Then, as the soldiers stood by like an honor guard, the leader of the knights knelt by Johnny's side and placed his hand on his forehead. He began to pray, and the words rose and fell like an incantation. Awkwardly the professor and Fergie looked on. They felt out of place here, and they also felt very hungry, since they had not eaten since early the night before. But it did not seem right to ask for food while these men were trying to save Johnny's life, so they said nothing. A soldier approached and laid his hand on the professor's arm. The professor shuddered because the hand was as cold as ice.

"You may eat now," said the soldier, and he gestured toward a table at the far end of the room. Like a pair of clumsy children, the professor and Fergie followed the man to the table and sat down. The food was very plain—just cheese and bread—but the two of them felt that it was the best meal they had had in a long while. For the first time in many hours they began to feel optimistic. Suddenly they felt incredibly drowsy, and it occurred to them that they had not had much sleep. They slumped forward with their heads on the rough wooden table.

Many hours later Fergie and the professor awoke. The reddish light of late afternoon streamed in through a high window and hovered on the rough stone walls. The soldiers were gone. At the far end of the room Johnny lay motionless on his bed by the fire. Alarmed, the professor shook himself awake and got up. Had all this kindness and hospitality been a trick to put them off their guard? Had the leader of the knights been working for Johnny's death instead of helping him? As he rushed to the bedside, the professor saw that Johnny lay very still, and his face was deathly pale. Then—to his very great relief—he heard Johnny groan in his sleep, and he saw his chest rise and fall.

"He's alive, isn't he?" said Fergie, who was right beside the professor.

The professor nodded and tears trickled down his cheeks. Inside his head he heard a voice that said
You can do no good here,
and then he looked up and saw the leader of the knights standing near him. The man's eyes were kindly, but his mouth was curled into an amused smile.

"Go out and enjoy the island," he said softly. "Evening is drawing on, and this place is beautiful at night. The night air will do you good."

The professor was awed and a bit frightened by this man, but he had to ask a question. "Is... is Johnny going to live?"

The knight looked grave. He stared for a long time at the pale form that lay on the bed. "Ask me in an hour's time," he said. "In the meantime please go outside. You are not helping him by kneeling here."

Reluctantly the professor and Fergie turned and walked out through the stone archway and down a short flight of cracked, weathered steps. The sun was setting, and shadows deepened under the cypress trees that grew everywhere on the island. A night wind began to blow. It stirred the trees and made an eerie whispering sound, and Fergie and the professor imagined that they heard voices talking of sorrows long past and bitter griefs that still stung the heart. They walked on and finally stopped outside one of the strange, white, tomblike buildings that they had seen from the ship. Up close the gaping black doorway seemed even more forbidding than it had seemed from a distance. Fergie and the professor hurried on past another white tomb and another and another. Finally, out of breath, they stopped at a place where the path looked out across the darkening sea.

"Prof?" Fergie asked anxiously. "What... what is this place, anyway?"

"It is the Isle of the Dead," said the professor grimly. He didn't know why he said this—the words just came floating into his brain. "As for those strange, silent knights," he went on, "they are ghosts. Long ago when they were alive, they were part of the Crusader army that in 1204 looted and burned Constantinople out of pure greed. Now they are being punished, it seems: Their spirits haunt this place."

Fergie was thoroughly frightened by now. "Are... are they gonna kill us?" he asked in a faltering voice.

The professor shook his head. "No. I'm pretty sure that they are trying to help us. Perhaps if they perform enough good acts, their spirits can rest. I certainly hope they can help us. By God, I
hope
so!" The professor swallowed hard, and he tried to choke down a sob. He was thinking of Johnny.

After a few minutes they turned and walked back up the path. They did not know if an hour had passed, but they did not want to wander about anymore on this weird island. Far above, at the top of the path, they saw the arch lit by flickering firelight. When they finally got to the entrance, they saw a strange scene. All the knights were standing in a circle around Johnny's bed, and the leader was kneeling by him with a small bronze bowl in his hand. He dipped his fingers in the bowl and smeared something—it looked like ointment—on Johnny's forehead. Again the sound of praying rose into the high roof of the chamber. Fergie and the professor stood in the doorway a long time, as if they were stone statues. They did not move as they watched the strange, solemn ritual go on. At last the chanting stopped, and the leader of the knights rose and walked to the doorway. Fergie and professor could see that his face was sad. They braced themselves for the bad news that was probably coming.