Changeling (Illustrated) Read Online Free PDF Page A

out of his hidden shed, heading down toward the roadway along the path he had smoothed.
    Birds, rabbits and squirrels fled before him, and he smiled at the power beneath his hands. He took a corner sharply, enjoying the response to the controls. This was the sixth trial of his self-propelled wagon and everything seemed to be functioning perfectly. The first five expeditions had been secret things. But now . . . 
    He laughed aloud. Yes, now was the time to surprise the villagers, to show them what could be wrought with thinking and ingenuity. He checked the pressure gauge at his side. Fine . . . 
    And it was a beautiful morning for such an expedition—sunny, breezy, the spring flowers in bloom at either hand . . . His heart leaped within him as the hardwood seat pounded his backside and thoughts of suspension systems danced through his mind. It was indeed a day for great undertakings.
    He chugged along, occasionally feeding the flames, trying to imagine the expressions on the people’s faces when they got their first sight of the contraption. A farmer in a distant field let up his plowing and stared, but he was too far removed for his reaction to be visible. Mark wished suddenly that he had thought to install some sort of whistle or bell.
    As he neared the village, he drew back on the brake, slowing. He planned to halt right in the middle of town, stand on the seat and give a little talk. “Get rid of your horses,” it would begin. “A new day is dawning . . . ”
    He heard the cries of children from a nearby field. Soon they were racing along beside him, screaming questions. He tried to answer them, but the noises of the machine destroyed his words.
    As he turned onto the only street through the village, slowing even more, a horse bolted and ran off between two houses, dragging a small cart. He saw people running and heard doors slamming. Dogs snarled, barked and backed away. The children kept pace.
    Reaching the town’s center, he braked to a complete halt and looked about.
    “Can we ride on it?” the children shouted.
    “Maybe later,” he replied, turning to check that everything was still in good order.
    Doors began to open. People emerged from homes and stables to stand staring at him. Their expressions were not at all what he had imagined they would be. Some were blank-faced, many seemed fearful, a few looked angry.
    “What is it?” a man shouted from across the way.
    “A steam wagon,” he yelled back. “It—”
    “Get it out of here!” someone else called. “We’ll all be cursed!”
    “It’s not bad magic—” he began.
    “Get it out!”
    “Out with it!”
    “Bringing that damned thing into town . . . ”
    A clod of earth struck the side of the boiler.
    “You don’t understand!”
    “Out! Out! Out!”
    Stones began to fly. A number of men began moving toward him. He singled out the one he knew best.
    “Jed!” he shouted. “It’s not bad magic! It’s just like boiling water to make tea!”
    Jed did not reply, but reached out with the others to seize hold of the wagon’s quivering side.
    “Well boil you, you bastard!” one of the others shouted, and they began to rock the vehicle.
    “Stop! Stop! You’ll damage it!” Mark cried.
    Top-heavy, it quickly responded to their pressures with a swaying motion. When he realized that it was beginning to tip, it was too late to jump.
    “Damn you!” he cried, and he fell.
    He landed rolling and struck his head but did not pass out. Dazed, he saw the boiler burst and the firebox come open, scattering embers. Several droplets of hot spray struck him, and he continued to roll. The waters streamed off toward the main ditch, missing him.
    “Damn you, damn you, damn you, damn you,” he heard himself repeating, and then he blacked out.
    He smelled the smoke and heard the flames when he came around again. The wagon had taken fire from the embers. People stood about watching it burn. No one made an attempt to extinguish