David and the Phoenix, Edward Ormondroyd [top 10 non fiction books of all time TXT] 📗
- Author: Edward Ormondroyd
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They gathered up the tools and walked along the hedge to the telephone pole, which was in one corner of the yard. The Phoenix began to uncoil the wire, while David gazed up doubtfully at the shadowy maze of lines and insulators on the cross-arms.
"Electricity," said the Phoenix thoughtfully, "is a complicated and profound subject. There are amperes, and there are volts, and there are kilowatt hours. I might also mention positive and negative and—ah—all that sort of thing. Most profound. Perhaps I had better investigate up there. Screw driver, please."
The Phoenix took the screw driver in one claw and flew up to the top of the pole. David could hear the creak of the lines under the Phoenix's weight and the rattling of the screw driver against the porcelain insulators. For some minutes the Phoenix investigated, clicking and scraping about, and muttering "Quite so" and "There we are." Then it fluttered down again and rubbed its wings together.
"The whole situation up there is a lot simpler than I thought it would be, my boy. The power lines merely come up to the pole on one side, pass through the insulators, and go away from the pole on the other side. Child's play! The covering on the lines is rather tough, however. We shall have to use the wire-cutters."
The Phoenix returned to the top of the pole with the cutters, and worked on the wires for five more minutes. Bits of debris began to shower down on the hedge. One of the wires vibrated on a low note like a slack guitar string.
"We must not forget the difference between alternating and direct current, my boy," said the Phoenix as it flew down again. "An important problem, that. Where is our wire? Ah, there we are. The pliers, please."
"Do you need any help up there?" David asked.
"No, everything is coming along beautifully, thank you. I shall have everything finished in a flash."
Trailing one end of the wire in its beak, the Phoenix flew up into the darkness once more. The tinkering sounds began again, and a spurt of falling debris rattled in the leaves of the hedge.
Suddenly it happened. There was a terrific burst of blue light, a sharp squawk from the Phoenix, and a shower of sparks. Another blue flash blazed up. The lights in the house, and down the whole street, flickered and went out. In the blackness which followed, each stage of the Phoenix's descent could be heard as clearly as cannon shots: the twanging and snapping as it tumbled through the wires, a drawn-out squawk and the flop of wings in the air below, the crash into the hedge, the jarring thud against the ground. Broken wires began to sputter ominously and fire out sparks. A smell of singed feathers and burning rubber filled the air.
By the light of the sparks David saw the Phoenix staggering to its feet. He jumped to the bird's side, but the Phoenix waved him away with its wing.
"Quick, my boy," it gasped. "We must make a strategic retreat! Meet me on the ledge in the morning. Ouch!" The Phoenix beat at the smoldering sparks in its tail and flew off, leaving a trail of acrid smoke hanging in the air.
David had the presence of mind to gather up all the tools, the wire, bell, and pushbutton, and one of the Phoenix's feathers, which had been torn out during the fall. He slipped through a cellar window, hid the equipment under a stack of old boxes, and ran noisily up the stairs into the kitchen.
"Hey!" he shouted. "The lights are out!"
"Is that you, dear?" came Mother's anxious voice from the dining room.
"The telephone's dead!" Dad shouted from the hall.
Aunt Amy came bumping down the stairs with a candle. "It's that burglar!" she cried. "Turning out all the lights so he can murder us in our beds!"
"Look!" David shouted, "the line's broken in our back yard!"
They could hear the wailing of sirens now. Fire trucks, repair trucks, and police cars pulled up in front of the house. Everyone in the block turned out to see what had happened. It took the repair men an hour to untangle the wires and fix them. And all the time policemen were going through the crowd, asking questions and writing things down in their notebooks. They were looking rather haggard, David thought.
8: In Which David and the
Phoenix Visit a Banshee,
and a Surprise Is Planted
in the Enemy's Camp
Next day Mother asked David to help her straighten out the garden, which had been trampled by the repair men; so he could not go to see the Phoenix until after lunch. But when that was finished, he rushed up the mountainside as fast as he could, wondering all the way what he and the Phoenix were going to do now.
The ledge was empty when he got there. He shouted, "Phoenix!" and listened.
"Hel-l-lp!" came a faint answering cry from the other end of the ledge.
David jumped through the thicket. A pitiful sight met his eyes. There was the Phoenix, dangling by one foot from the snare, its wings feebly struggling and its free foot clawing the air. The feathers of its wings and tail were singed. Great beads of sweat rolled from its forehead into a puddle on the ground below. The snared foot was blue and swollen.
"Get me down," gasped the Phoenix weakly.
David took a running leap at the sapling, which broke under the sudden increase of weight, and the two of them crashed to the ground. He unfastened the noose and dragged the Phoenix to the shadiest, softest spot on the ledge.
"Hoist with my own petard," said the Phoenix bitterly. "Rub my foot, will you? Oh dear oh dear oh dear! Hurts."
"What happened?" David asked as he rubbed the swollen foot. "How long have you been caught?"
"Missed my way in the dark," said the Phoenix, wiping its brow. "Thought I was on the other side of the ledge, and landed right on that fool trap. Hung there all night and all morning. Thought you would never come, my boy. Oh dear, oh dear, what a horrible experience! My tail was still on fire when I landed, too. I fully expected to be burned to a crisp." A large tear rolled down the Phoenix's beak.
David murmured soothing words and continued to chafe the Phoenix's foot. "Does it feel any better now?"
"The feeling is coming back, my boy," said the Phoenix, gritting its beak. "Ouch! All pins and needles." It flexed its toes gingerly. "Rub a bit more, please. Gently."
The swelling began to go down. With a handful of damp grass David soothed the marks left by the noose.
"That stupid Electric Company!" the Phoenix suddenly burst out. "Putting everyone in danger with a short-circuited power line! Let this be a lesson to you, my boy. Anything worth doing is worth doing well. They will hear from us, believe me! We shall write them a stiff complaint!"
"Well, Phoenix," said David hopefully, "we can set the snare again if we can find another good sapling; and we still have the other one, so we're pretty well protected. And why couldn't we meet every night by the hedge, the way we did last night? The bell was a good idea, but we could get along without it."
The Phoenix sighed. "I suppose you are right, my boy. There is no use crying over spilt milk. One must set one's jaw and—good heavens, my boy! Duck!"
The Phoenix threw itself to the ground and wildly motioned to David to do the same. He flattened himself out beside the bird and said, "What is it, Phoenix?"
"Down the mountainside," whispered the Phoenix. "Look! Do not stick your head over too far."
David wormed his way to the edge, peered down, and gasped. Below him, on the grassy slope at the foot of the scarp, was a figure clad in khaki. It was the Scientist.
"Do you think he saw us?" the Phoenix whispered.
"I don't think so," David whispered back. "He's looking off to the left. Oh, Phoenix, what if he comes up here? What'll we do?"
"Listen," hissed the Phoenix, "run down there. Talk to him, lead him away, distract his attention, anything. Only be quick!"
"All right!"
The Phoenix melted into the thicket, and David jumped to his feet. As he dashed down the trail his brain whirled with questions. What should he do? What could he say? How could he lead the Scientist away? Where would the Phoenix go?
In his haste he forgot one important thing. His foot tripped over the pile of grass and leaves on the trail. The released sapling sprang upward, the noose tightened with a cruel jerk around his ankle, and he was snatched into the air. As the blood rushed to his head he lost control of himself and began to struggle wildly and shout at the top of his voice.
The flat dry voice of the Scientist drifted to him as if through a long tunnel. "What's all this? What are you doing here? Who set this snare?"
"Get me down," David choked. "Please!"
A hand seized him by the scruff of the neck. A knife flashed through the air and cut the rope. David landed on his feet, but his legs gave way and he dropped to his knees. He felt dizzy as the blood rushed away from his head again.
The Scientist tilted his sun helmet back and said, "Well, well—David," in a disagreeable tone. His eyes narrowed behind the spectacles. "What is this snare doing here?"
David struggled to his feet and clutched a bush for support. "Thank you for cutting me down," he said.
The cold blue eyes found David's and held them in a hypnotic stare. "What is this trap doing here? Who set it?"
"I—I was coming down the trail and—and—I was caught in it," David stammered.
"You are avoiding my question, young man," said the Scientist. "Who—set—this—snare? Answer me!"
There was a brilliant flash of gold and blue in the sunlight, the whistle of feathers cleaving the air, the sharp thwock! of fisted talons striking. The Scientist pitched forward with a surprised grunt and lay still across the trail—and the Phoenix, executing a flip in the air to check its speed, settled down beside David.
"View halloo!" it shouted excitedly. "Yoicks and Tallyho! Did you see that stoop, my boy? By Jove, the best-trained falcon could not have done better! Believe me, I have been saving that blow for a long time! By Jove, what a magnificent stoop! I think I shall take up Scientist-hunting as a regular thing!"
"Thank goodness, Phoenix!" David exclaimed. "Another minute and you would've been too late! But I hope you haven't—hurt him very much."
"Nonsense, my boy," said the Phoenix. "A head so stuffed with scientific fact cannot be injured. He will come to in a short while." The Phoenix lifted the Scientist's sun helmet and examined the back of his head. "A large lump is developing, my boy. A most pleasant sight! I fear the sun helmet is now useless—crushed like an eggshell." And the Phoenix smiled proudly.
"Well, I hope it isn't serious," David said doubtfully. "Anyway, we'll have to do something."
"Precisely, my boy. But I think we should have a drink first." The Phoenix detached a canteen from the Scientist's belt and took a deep swig. "Ah, delicious! Our friend is well prepared, my boy." And indeed, the Scientist had all sorts of things with him: a hand-ax, a sheath knife, a compass, a camera, binoculars, a stop watch, notebooks and pencils, a coil of rope, maps. There was also a packet of sandwiches, which the Phoenix opened and began to eat.
"Now, listen, Phoenix, we
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