Escape To Witch Mountain-Alexander Key Che G, Literatura, Gazety, Magazyny
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Escape To Witch Mountain
by Alexander Key
1968
To All Orphans, Of All Worlds
1
STAR BOX
TONY, carrying their bags, followed his sister, Tia, and the welfare worker down the
tenement steps to the sidewalk. While the welfare worker unlocked her car, Tony
looked unhappily around at the ugly world of South Water Street, knowing he was
seeing it for the last time. He and Tia had never loved it—it wasnʼt the world they
belonged to—but at least it had been home.
For a moment, as he stood there, he wondered again about the world they had come
from, and if they would ever find it. In what direction it lay, or how one got there, he
hadnʼt the slightest idea.
"Maybe,” Tia had once said, "all we have to do is climb a certain stairway, or go around
a strange comer—and there itʻll be."
"Just like that," heʼd said, laughing.
“Why not?" sheʼd insisted. "We know the kind of place it is. Itʼs full of magic and music
—for thatʼs the only kind of place we could have come from. So why wouldnʼt we have
to find it sort of magically?"
Maybe it didnʼt exactly make sense, the way Tia had put it, but he was sure of one
thing. Considering how unlike other people they were, it was the only kind of world
they could have come from—so it must be somewhere.
The welfare worker said irritably, "We havenʼt got all day. Put your things in the car."
“Where—where are we g0ing?" Tony asked uneasily.
“To Hackett House, of course."
***
On the other side of the city, Tony stared in dismay at the gaunt old brick building, with
its high iron fence surrounding the bare play yard. The place seemed almost like a jail.
Then he remembered that Hackett House was more of a detention home than an
orphanage, for orphans in good standing were never sent here.
Inside. Miss Trask, the welfare worker, presented them to Mrs. Grindley, the matron,
who had once been a policewoman. From the expressionless way Mrs. Grindley
looked them over—as if she were viewing a pair of strange and doubtful fish that had
been dredged up from the harbor depths-Tony knew that the days ahead were not
going to be overflowing with sweetness and light. At that moment he was extremely
conscious of the differences that set Tia and himself apart from others: their pale hair
and olive skins, their slenderness, and their dark-blue eyes that were almost black.
Mrs. Grindley gave a baffled shake of her head. "I canʼt place these two, Miss Trask.
Where did they come from?"
"That South Water Street area near the docks,” replied the welfare worker a little
wearily. "They lived there with an old woman. No known relatives. Exact ages
unknown. Nationality doubtful. My office hasnʼt had time to check their school records,
but the police say the boy has a bad reputation for fighting. The girl has been accused
of theft—”
"The police were wrong!" Tony interrupted. "Tia went into that building to take a kitten
out of a trap. She's a softie for cats. She never—"
"Shut up," the matron told him in her fiat voice. "And donʼt ever let me catch you fighting
here, or youʼll learn what trouble is. Go on, Miss Trask."
"Well. for the past ten years, theyʼve been living with this old woman they called their
grandmother—a Mrs. Nellie Malone. She was struck by a taxi yesterday and died. The
children have been using her name, but weʼve discovered they are just unknown
orphans Mrs. Malone took in."
"I see.” Mrs. Grindley glanced at Tia, whose thin elfin face was pinched with misery,
then at Tony, who stood half a head taller. "l·lave you any idea what your real name is,
or where you came from?"
The questions had become the most important ones in Tonyʼs life, but at the moment
he could only look at her bleakly and give a mumbled "No, ma'am.” The shock of
losing Granny Malone was still with him. She was the only person who cared for Tia
and himself, and the hurt went deep.
“Very well," Mrs. Grindley said. "Now, I want it understood that we have strict rules here
—much stricter than in most juvenile homes. You will find them posted in the main hall.
Read them carefully. If you disobey them, or cause any trouble, you will be punished.
You might even be sent to a correctional institution. Is that clear?"
"Yes, maʼam,” said Tony, and Tia nodded.
Mrs. Grindley frowned at Tia. “Answer when youʼre spoken to.”
Tony's mouth tightened. “Tia canʼt talk, maʼam.”
Miss Trask raised her eyebrows. “Iʻm surprised to hear that. The investigating officer
didnʼt mention it. Weren't you two whispering together on the way over here?"
"It was my voice you heard, not Tiaʼs,” Tony said. "Theyʼll tell you about her when you
check at our school.” He thought it wiser not to mention that Tia could talk, at least to
him, though it wasnʼt the sort of speech that anyone else could hear. The world, he had
learned, didnʼt like people who were different, and the less others knew about the two
of them, the better. Even Granny Malone hadnʼt known very much.
“Weʼll let the doctor worry about her,” said Mrs. Grindley, shrugging. She looked at the
welfare woman. “Did you search them, Miss Trask?”
"I looked only at the things that were packed.
Theyʼve nothing theyʼre not allowed to have, unless itʼs on their persons.”
"Iʼll see to that. Come here, boy."
Tony stood in front of her. The matronʼs big hands went swiftly through his clothing.
She missed nothing, not even the three ten-dollar bills he had taken from his billfold
and pinned in the waistband of his trousers for greater safety. She seemed
disappointed that the search produced nothing more deadly than a harmonica, a tiny
doll carved from a finger-sized bit of wood, and a small pocketknife.
"Knives," she said, not unkindly, "are strictly forbidden here." She prodded the doll,
which had jointed legs and feet. "What are you doing with this thing?"
"I—I made it. Tia has one like it."
She grunted and thrust everything back at him | except the knife and the three ten-
dollar bills. “You may keep the small change, but I'd better lock up the tens, or theyʼll
be stolen from you. Where did you get so much money?”
"I worked for it."
“Tell me a better one. Schoolʼs hardly out for the summer. You havenʼt had time to earn
anything."
"Iʼve been doing odd jobs after school for several years." He could have told her it was
to help pay for his clothes and Tiaʼs, for Grannyʼs pension had been stretched to the
limit. "Would you like the names and telephone numbers of the people I worked for?
"On South Water Street? Donʼt bother.” Mrs. Grindleyʼs world-weary eyes went to Tia,
and fastened on the box dangling by its strap from Tiaʼs small wrist. It was a curious
box with rounded corners, made of a dark leather that had been beautifully tooled. On
either side, done in gold leaf, was a striking design in the form of a double star, with
each star having eight points. Mrs. Grindley pulled the box from Tiaʼs wrist, pawed
through its contents, then closed it and sat frowning at it.
"Miss Trask, did you ever see anything like this?"
The welfare worker shook her head. "The thing's a work of art. I've been wondering
how this girl acquired it.”
"I can guess," the matron said dryly.
Tiaʼs pointed chin trembled. Tony fought down his temper. You couldnʼt argue with
authority, especially when it had already made up its mind about you. “The star box is
rightfully Tiaʼs," he managed to say quietly. “Sheʼs had it all her life. Please give it
back. She needs it to carry her notebook and pencils in—without them she canʼt write
answers to people."
The matron shrugged and tossed the box to Tia. “If you want to keep it here, youʼd
better put it in your locker at night."
***
'The star box, which had always attracted some attention, was to take them away from
Hackett House in time. But in the beginning it was almost their undoing.
The day after their arrival it was snatched from Tia as she was leaving the dining room,
and done so cleverly that no one saw it happen. Only Tony was able to hear her cry,
and he raced into the main hall in time to glimpse the snatcher, a small frightened
youth half his size, vanishing up the stairway that led to the boysʻ dormitory. When he
reached the dormitory the star box had changed hands, and Tony found himself facing
the dormitory leader, a big fellow the others called Truck.
It was immediately evident that the box had been taken at Truckʻs order. No matter
what happened, Truck would have to be deposed.
Tony felt a cold prickling as he realized the corner he was in. Last night up here, just
before lights out, Truck had confronted him, saying, "All new guys gotta divvy up their
dough. Thatʼs my rule. And no ratting to old Grindstone; anybody rats, I cut my initials
on ʻem with this." Truck had produced a thin, sharpened piece of steel—a homemade
dagger known as a shiv—and thrust the point of it against Tonyʼs chest.
Last night, with the point of the shiv bringing a spot of blood to his shirt, and Mrs.
Grindley's warning against lighting still ringing in his ears, he had submitted to the
indignity of being robbed. But today it was different. The star box was the only clue he
and Tia had to the strange world of their past.
To lose it was unthinkable. Nor could he expect any help from Mrs. Grindley or her staff
—by the time he could get help, he knew the box would be gone and every boy here
would deny having seen it.
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Escape To Witch Mountain
by Alexander Key
1968
To All Orphans, Of All Worlds
1
STAR BOX
TONY, carrying their bags, followed his sister, Tia, and the welfare worker down the
tenement steps to the sidewalk. While the welfare worker unlocked her car, Tony
looked unhappily around at the ugly world of South Water Street, knowing he was
seeing it for the last time. He and Tia had never loved it—it wasnʼt the world they
belonged to—but at least it had been home.
For a moment, as he stood there, he wondered again about the world they had come
from, and if they would ever find it. In what direction it lay, or how one got there, he
hadnʼt the slightest idea.
"Maybe,” Tia had once said, "all we have to do is climb a certain stairway, or go around
a strange comer—and there itʻll be."
"Just like that," heʼd said, laughing.
“Why not?" sheʼd insisted. "We know the kind of place it is. Itʼs full of magic and music
—for thatʼs the only kind of place we could have come from. So why wouldnʼt we have
to find it sort of magically?"
Maybe it didnʼt exactly make sense, the way Tia had put it, but he was sure of one
thing. Considering how unlike other people they were, it was the only kind of world
they could have come from—so it must be somewhere.
The welfare worker said irritably, "We havenʼt got all day. Put your things in the car."
“Where—where are we g0ing?" Tony asked uneasily.
“To Hackett House, of course."
***
On the other side of the city, Tony stared in dismay at the gaunt old brick building, with
its high iron fence surrounding the bare play yard. The place seemed almost like a jail.
Then he remembered that Hackett House was more of a detention home than an
orphanage, for orphans in good standing were never sent here.
Inside. Miss Trask, the welfare worker, presented them to Mrs. Grindley, the matron,
who had once been a policewoman. From the expressionless way Mrs. Grindley
looked them over—as if she were viewing a pair of strange and doubtful fish that had
been dredged up from the harbor depths-Tony knew that the days ahead were not
going to be overflowing with sweetness and light. At that moment he was extremely
conscious of the differences that set Tia and himself apart from others: their pale hair
and olive skins, their slenderness, and their dark-blue eyes that were almost black.
Mrs. Grindley gave a baffled shake of her head. "I canʼt place these two, Miss Trask.
Where did they come from?"
"That South Water Street area near the docks,” replied the welfare worker a little
wearily. "They lived there with an old woman. No known relatives. Exact ages
unknown. Nationality doubtful. My office hasnʼt had time to check their school records,
but the police say the boy has a bad reputation for fighting. The girl has been accused
of theft—”
"The police were wrong!" Tony interrupted. "Tia went into that building to take a kitten
out of a trap. She's a softie for cats. She never—"
"Shut up," the matron told him in her fiat voice. "And donʼt ever let me catch you fighting
here, or youʼll learn what trouble is. Go on, Miss Trask."
"Well. for the past ten years, theyʼve been living with this old woman they called their
grandmother—a Mrs. Nellie Malone. She was struck by a taxi yesterday and died. The
children have been using her name, but weʼve discovered they are just unknown
orphans Mrs. Malone took in."
"I see.” Mrs. Grindley glanced at Tia, whose thin elfin face was pinched with misery,
then at Tony, who stood half a head taller. "l·lave you any idea what your real name is,
or where you came from?"
The questions had become the most important ones in Tonyʼs life, but at the moment
he could only look at her bleakly and give a mumbled "No, ma'am.” The shock of
losing Granny Malone was still with him. She was the only person who cared for Tia
and himself, and the hurt went deep.
“Very well," Mrs. Grindley said. "Now, I want it understood that we have strict rules here
—much stricter than in most juvenile homes. You will find them posted in the main hall.
Read them carefully. If you disobey them, or cause any trouble, you will be punished.
You might even be sent to a correctional institution. Is that clear?"
"Yes, maʼam,” said Tony, and Tia nodded.
Mrs. Grindley frowned at Tia. “Answer when youʼre spoken to.”
Tony's mouth tightened. “Tia canʼt talk, maʼam.”
Miss Trask raised her eyebrows. “Iʻm surprised to hear that. The investigating officer
didnʼt mention it. Weren't you two whispering together on the way over here?"
"It was my voice you heard, not Tiaʼs,” Tony said. "Theyʼll tell you about her when you
check at our school.” He thought it wiser not to mention that Tia could talk, at least to
him, though it wasnʼt the sort of speech that anyone else could hear. The world, he had
learned, didnʼt like people who were different, and the less others knew about the two
of them, the better. Even Granny Malone hadnʼt known very much.
“Weʼll let the doctor worry about her,” said Mrs. Grindley, shrugging. She looked at the
welfare woman. “Did you search them, Miss Trask?”
"I looked only at the things that were packed.
Theyʼve nothing theyʼre not allowed to have, unless itʼs on their persons.”
"Iʼll see to that. Come here, boy."
Tony stood in front of her. The matronʼs big hands went swiftly through his clothing.
She missed nothing, not even the three ten-dollar bills he had taken from his billfold
and pinned in the waistband of his trousers for greater safety. She seemed
disappointed that the search produced nothing more deadly than a harmonica, a tiny
doll carved from a finger-sized bit of wood, and a small pocketknife.
"Knives," she said, not unkindly, "are strictly forbidden here." She prodded the doll,
which had jointed legs and feet. "What are you doing with this thing?"
"I—I made it. Tia has one like it."
She grunted and thrust everything back at him | except the knife and the three ten-
dollar bills. “You may keep the small change, but I'd better lock up the tens, or theyʼll
be stolen from you. Where did you get so much money?”
"I worked for it."
“Tell me a better one. Schoolʼs hardly out for the summer. You havenʼt had time to earn
anything."
"Iʼve been doing odd jobs after school for several years." He could have told her it was
to help pay for his clothes and Tiaʼs, for Grannyʼs pension had been stretched to the
limit. "Would you like the names and telephone numbers of the people I worked for?
"On South Water Street? Donʼt bother.” Mrs. Grindleyʼs world-weary eyes went to Tia,
and fastened on the box dangling by its strap from Tiaʼs small wrist. It was a curious
box with rounded corners, made of a dark leather that had been beautifully tooled. On
either side, done in gold leaf, was a striking design in the form of a double star, with
each star having eight points. Mrs. Grindley pulled the box from Tiaʼs wrist, pawed
through its contents, then closed it and sat frowning at it.
"Miss Trask, did you ever see anything like this?"
The welfare worker shook her head. "The thing's a work of art. I've been wondering
how this girl acquired it.”
"I can guess," the matron said dryly.
Tiaʼs pointed chin trembled. Tony fought down his temper. You couldnʼt argue with
authority, especially when it had already made up its mind about you. “The star box is
rightfully Tiaʼs," he managed to say quietly. “Sheʼs had it all her life. Please give it
back. She needs it to carry her notebook and pencils in—without them she canʼt write
answers to people."
The matron shrugged and tossed the box to Tia. “If you want to keep it here, youʼd
better put it in your locker at night."
***
'The star box, which had always attracted some attention, was to take them away from
Hackett House in time. But in the beginning it was almost their undoing.
The day after their arrival it was snatched from Tia as she was leaving the dining room,
and done so cleverly that no one saw it happen. Only Tony was able to hear her cry,
and he raced into the main hall in time to glimpse the snatcher, a small frightened
youth half his size, vanishing up the stairway that led to the boysʻ dormitory. When he
reached the dormitory the star box had changed hands, and Tony found himself facing
the dormitory leader, a big fellow the others called Truck.
It was immediately evident that the box had been taken at Truckʻs order. No matter
what happened, Truck would have to be deposed.
Tony felt a cold prickling as he realized the corner he was in. Last night up here, just
before lights out, Truck had confronted him, saying, "All new guys gotta divvy up their
dough. Thatʼs my rule. And no ratting to old Grindstone; anybody rats, I cut my initials
on ʻem with this." Truck had produced a thin, sharpened piece of steel—a homemade
dagger known as a shiv—and thrust the point of it against Tonyʼs chest.
Last night, with the point of the shiv bringing a spot of blood to his shirt, and Mrs.
Grindley's warning against lighting still ringing in his ears, he had submitted to the
indignity of being robbed. But today it was different. The star box was the only clue he
and Tia had to the strange world of their past.
To lose it was unthinkable. Nor could he expect any help from Mrs. Grindley or her staff
—by the time he could get help, he knew the box would be gone and every boy here
would deny having seen it.
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