For Jimmy
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people,
or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are
products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events
or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2010 by James A. Owen
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Book design by Tom Daly and James A. Owen
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2 4 6 8 10 9 7 5 3 1
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Owen, James A.
The dragon’s apprentice / written and illustrated by James A. Owen. — 1st ed.
p. cm.— (The Chronicles of the Imaginarium Geographica; [5])
Summary: Seven years after facing the Dragon Shadows, John, Jack, and Charles
return to the Archipelago of Dreams but their reunion with old friends is spoiled by the threat of primordial Shadow Echthroi and the apparent splintering of Time itself, and they set
out on a new quest in which success and failure each carry a high cost.
ISBN 978-1-4169-5897-0 (hardcover)
[1. Time travel—Fiction. 2. Characters in literature—Fiction. 3. Fantasy.] I. Title.
PZ7.O97124Dr 2010
[Fic]—dc22
2009038674
ISBN 978-1-4424-0964-4 (eBook)
Contents
List of Illustrations
Acknowledgments
Prologue
Part One: Independence Day
Chapter One:
The Ghost of Magdalen College
Chapter Two:
Ariadne’s Thread
Chapter Three:
Chronos & Kairos
Chapter Four:
The Bridge
Part Two: The Discontinuity
Chapter Five:
The Pirate
Chapter Six:
Strange Devices
Chapter Seven:
The Watchmaker
Chapter Eight:
The Black Dragon
Part Three: The Shadowed World
Chapter Nine:
The Waste Land
Chapter Ten:
Fallen Idols
Chapter Eleven:
The Little Prince
Chapter Twelve:
The Regency
Part Four: The Family Trade
Chapter Thirteen:
The Passage
Chapter Fourteen:
Craven Street
Chapter Fifteen:
The Reluctant Mapmaker
Chapter Sixteen:
The Pirate’s Biographer
Part Five: The Dragon’s Apprentice
Chapter Seventeen:
Namers and Un-Namers
Chapter Eighteen:
The Heir
Chapter Nineteen:
The Maps of Elijah McGee
Chapter Twenty:
The False Caretaker
Part Six: “All of Eternity in a Speck of Dust”
Chapter Twenty-one:
The Summer King
Chapter Twenty-two:
The Choice
Chapter Twenty-three:
The Revolution
Chapter Twenty-four:
The Third Alternative
Epilogue
Author’s Note
List of Illustrations
… the light that emanated from the ghost filled the courtyard
… the moon wore a frock coat, fingerless gloves, and sensible shoes.
… a massive clock of stone, wood, and silver …
Rose caught him by the arm before he could disappear …
From the garden, all that could be seen was half of a stone bridge …
All the various time travel devices … were stored in the repository …
The Watchmaker … had a prominent nose … and small, close-set eyes.
The second enclosure … housed the Black Dragon.
There, on a protrusion of rock, stood a man.
It was an immense statue, half broken … it was a centaur.
There, peeking from behind the timeworn throne, was a child.
There on a pedestal … stood a very familiar looking device.
In another chamber … there lay a deep cradle of crystal and silk …
One … was having a lot of difficulty getting his kite out of an elm.
The room resembled an Aladdin’s cave …
“What do you think, Arthur? Is this a rational plan of action …?”
“Hello, Moonchild,” the old woman said.
“I’m sorry,” Lauren said … “but Master McGee isn’t in right now.”
… the Echthros … began to shimmer and change, growing larger and darker …
Briefly Edmund explained about the book …
Defoe had retrieved the portrait of Charles Johnson and was holding it …
… a sleek, massive creature erupted out of the Thames and into the sky.
Burton stood … watching the small craft as it became consumed by the flames.
… a tall, lanky man was just stepping through.
Acknowledgments
In many ways, The Dragon’s Apprentice was the most difficult book to write so far, for a lot of reasons. Complexities abound, as the story progressed and evolved, and it would have been impossible to finish sequestered in my garret, in solitude.
David Gale was, and continues to be, the first champion of these books. From the very beginning, he had a natural grasp of the kind of story I wanted to tell, and has allowed me to keep the accelerator floored ever since. Under another editor, I truly believe these would have been lesser books. And Navah Wolfe, whom I knew casually as an online friend before her employ at Simon & Schuster, is without a doubt my most exacting reader. The questions she poses, whether regarding subtle nuances of character, or overarching plot threads, are the ones that shape and reshape my stories into their final form. That she is so caring about the work, while at the same time looks after the well-being of her author is a combination for which I am most grateful. Jenica Nasworthy and Valerie Shea are my seasoned coveterans of the editorial battle, who pull everything together into a cohesive whole, invented words and all. Without these people this series would not work.
My stellar attorney Craig Emanuel, and especially my management team at The Gotham Group—including Julie, Ellen, and Lindsay—have done wonderful work with the contracts, and handling my business relationship with my publisher. And Gotham’s Julie Nelson has made other weights I’ve had to shoulder far, far easier to bear this year, and deserves much gratitude.
The rest of the team at Simon & Schuster has been equally supportive, from my publisher, Justin Chanda, to our Executive Vice Pre
sident Jon Anderson, and the most attentive CEO I’ve ever known, Carolyn Reidy. They make it clear that we are partners in this endeavor, and my work is easier because of their trust and support.
My art director, Laurent Linn, continues to do extraordinary work. My publicists, Paul Crichton and Andrea Kempfer, have taken excellent care of me during my signing tours, and have always encouraged me through a very demanding process. And I want to also thank the other staff at Simon & Schuster for doing so much good work to package, promote, and sell these books. It is genuinely a team effort.
Without my team at Coppervale Studio, Jeremy Owen and Mary McCray, I would not have time to write or draw, and the whole process would be much, much more difficult. And my new partners in Hollywood crime, Rick Porras and Travis Wright, have helped restore my faith in both creative collaboration and the magic of Tinseltown. I’m still not moving there, though.
My friends are my rock, without whom I would have floundered long before: Daanon DeCock, who not only handles my websites, but also looks after my general well-being; the collective Book Babes, especially Faith, who have been so wonderful to know; Bill and Peggy Wu, for reminding me that magic is real; Brett and Shawn, who have believed in me from the beginning; and Shannon, who has helped me remember that I became just who I wanted to be.
And most of all, I want to thank my family: Cindy, Sophie, and Nathaniel, for being the reasons that I do what I do, better than I would have done it without them. You all have my profound thanks.
Prologue
Until it has been mapped, no thing truly exists. Not even time. To create maps is to be a Namer, and Naming makes things that are real more themselves, and things that are imaginary, real.
But even as there are Namers, there are also Un-Namers in the world. And these seek to undo all that the Namers have mapped, in both time and space.
Safeguard the maps within this atlas from such Shadows. Give to it your Names. And believe.
This simple inscription, written on the first page of the Imaginarium Geographica, bore no signature. It was possibly written by its maker, the Cartographer of Lost Places, but no Caretaker had ever asked, nor was the information ever volunteered. But someone had written it, and someday, someone would ask, and perhaps be answered.
From the foredeck of the White Dragon, the Far Traveler watched as the three new young Caretakers of the Geographica disappeared down the cobblestone streets to resume their lives. Not all that long before on that very spot, they had boarded another ship, the Indigo Dragon, as they fled from a terrible horde of creatures and their dark master, the Winter King. The days that passed between that moment and this, a scant few weeks, had changed the fates of two worlds and irrevocably altered their lives. He wondered if they knew how much. No matter—they would learn soon enough.
“They are the three, aren’t they?” said a voice from somewhere on the docks. “The three Caretakers of the Prophecy. You would not have succeeded otherwise.”
With a lively step that belied his girth, the Frenchman stepped from the fog and shadows enclosing the pier and onto the Dragonship.
“Master Wells,” he said with a smile and a bow.
The Far Traveler returned the bow, if not the smile. “Master Verne. Well met.”
The two men stood for a long moment, looking not at each other but at the city where the three young men had been swallowed by the winding streets.
“It was a close call, Jules.”
“It was, Bert.” Verne nodded. “Too close. But they handled themselves well, especially that young Jack.”
“Everyone thinks that John is the fulcrum,” said Bert, “but he’s not. He’s just the most adept at fulfilling the duties of a Caretaker. Jack may yet prove to be his equal.”
“Of that I have no doubt,” Verne said in agreement, “but Charles may outshine them both. He has the potential—he just doesn’t know it himself yet. Did you give them any inkling that this was only the first conflict of several to come with the Winter King?”
“Of course not!” Bert shot back. “We have disagreed on a number of things, Jules, but not that. They were unprepared enough as it was for the conflict with the Winter King. What would it do to them to know it isn’t over?”
“Not much worse than being thrown in headfirst to what they’ve already come through,” said Verne. “They are, after all, the Caretakers of the Prophecy.”
“Set aside your condescension, Jules,” Bert said, irritated. “I know you don’t believe in prophecies. Especially that one.”
“I believe enough to help you, Bert. And them. And they show great promise. That’s why we must keep their path as clear as we can, using all the allies we can recruit who will join our cause.”
Bert raised an eyebrow and leaned against the railing. “You’re still moving forward with the splinter group, then? These ‘Mystorians,’ as you call them?”
“Pshaw.” Verne snorted. “Hardly a splinter group—Poe himself endorsed it. Hell’s bells, Bert—he suggested it!”
“Yes, I know,” Bert replied evenly, “but still not Caretakers, or even really apprentices.” He took a breath. “They think I’m retiring, you know. They don’t realize the process has just begun, and they won’t comprehend it until it’s all over.”
“I understand,” Verne said with sincere sympathy. “I know you want to tell them how quickly all of this is going to happen.”
“Quickly for us, you mean,” said Bert, “but not for them. To us, events will transpire over less than a year. But to them, it will seem to be decades. How do you explain to someone that all the years of service, and learning, and effort are all to prepare them for their truly important work, which may not begin until after they are dead?”
“That’s as it must be, Bert,” Verne said, gently chiding his colleague. “If Stellan had not been killed by the Winter King, it would not be necessary. But he was, and there it is. They had to be recruited now. He’ll tell you that himself tonight back at Tamerlane House.”
“Stellan …,” Bert said sorrowfully, shaking his head. “What were the odds of that happening?”
The Frenchman shrugged and smiled. “The same as everything, my friend. Zero, until it actually happens. Then it’s a hundred percent.”
“Is this going to work, Jules?”
“Yes,” Verne answered firmly. “As long as the will persists to change events, everything is possible. Everything.”
CHAPTER ONE
The Ghost of Magdalen College
Twilight had just fallen across the sky when the ghost pirate appeared at the base of Magdalen Tower. At first it seemed as if the ghost was on fire, but that was only a trick of the light. It was already quite dark along the cobblestone walk that crossed beneath the tower, so the light that emanated from the ghost filled the courtyard with an unearthly brilliance.
Eleven people were passing the tower in the moment that the apparition appeared. Three were professors who had seen many ghosts in Oxford, and so gave it no notice. Two more, also faculty at Magdalen, felt similarly about pirate costumes, and merely sniffed their annoyance as they passed, assuming as they did that it was some sort of student mischief. Four more were actual students, who reacted with surprise, awe, and no small amount of fear, and they scattered into corridors adjacent to the tower.
The last two people who witnessed the ghost’s appearance were Caretakers of the Imaginarium Geographica, and a ghost pirate was at least as interesting as some of the other fantastic things they had seen, so they moved closer to have a better look.
John had arranged to meet his friend Charles at the base of Magdalen Tower so that they might walk together to their friend Jack’s private rooms there at the college, and they met just as the sun was setting. It was in that moment that the apparition had appeared.
Even if they hadn’t been Caretakers, a ghost would have been nothing to cause them alarm—Oxford had long had a reputation of being a haven to spectres and spirits of all kinds, and as long as they didn’t disrupt
the business of the university, no one made a fuss. Even in the midst of the Second World War, it was also good for tourism.
“I didn’t think I’d ever actually see this fellow,” John whispered to Charles. “I’ve heard about the Old Pirate for years but never had the pleasure of seeing him in person, uh, so to speak.”
“How many other ghosts have you met here?” asked Charles.
“Ah, none, I’m afraid,” John admitted, “although I haven’t exactly sought them out, either.”
“Well, why not?” Charles retorted as he approached the ghost, hand outstretched. “They could prove to be really helpful to my writing, you know. Worth asking, anyroad.”
The ghost simply stood there, hunched over, staring into the darkness as the Caretaker introduced himself. “Well met, old fellow. My name is Charles.”
Suddenly the ghost began to move, jerking about awkwardly, as if it were a puppet in a penny nickelodeon. It seemed as if speaking to it had engaged it in some way. Charles dropped his hand. “Are you in distress?” he asked the ghost. “Why are you here?”
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