Coal murmured in agreement as he untangled the kite’s tail from his legs. “It is. A bargain.”
“Excellent!” said Franklin as they tossed the kite into the wind. “I’ll start. I came here from a land far, far away, called America. Where did you come from?”
“Once upon a time,” Coal began, oblivious to the intense scrutiny being fixed on him by the Doctor, “I came here from a land far, far away. It was called Paralon.”
The Caretakers were so intent on getting a look at Franklin’s mysterious book that they didn’t notice Edmund and Laura Glue slip away and out the back door. They ran through a maze of alleys and ended up at an old barn that was mostly used to store grain. It was spacious, and best of all, private.
“They were going to go look at the Doctor’s book,” Laura Glue said as they climbed up to sit on a high crossbeam. “Didn’t you want to see his secret maps?”
“I draw maps all the time,” said Edmund, “and when I’m not drawing them, I’m reading about them. I spend most of my life buried in maps. And I do love them—but I want to do other things too, and spend time with …” He blushed. “Well, do other things. Otherwise, I’d be no better off than if I was an old hermit, stuck in a tower, doing nothing but drawing maps. And what kind of a way to live is that?”
Smoothly, he leaned in to kiss her, and she shied away. “You don’t kiss boys where you come from?”
“It’s never really come up,” Laura Glue said matter-of-factly. “There were always kissing games when we were children—girls chasing the boys, and all that—but the point of it was that the girls chased the boys, who didn’t want to be kissed.”
“Didn’t they?” asked Edmund with a lopsided grin. “Weren’t the boys faster than you were?”
“Mostly,” Laura Glue admitted, “except for maybe Abby Tornado. She could outrun everyone.”
“Mmm-hmm. But somehow you always managed to catch them, didn’t you?”
Laura Glue’s brow furrowed, then her eyes widened. “I never really thought of that. I suppose they must have wanted to be caught.”
“That’s my point,” Edmund said as he moved closer. “Boys liked kissing as much as the girls did. They were just too young to admit it.”
Laura Glue sighed. “We shouldn’t, you know. Not because I don’t want to, but …” She hesitated. “I may be going away soon. To a place a long … a long ways away. A place it would be impossible to visit.”
“All the more reason to spend as much time with you as I possibly can,” said Edmund. “Besides, sometimes things don’t go as we plan them to. I wouldn’t mind if you had to stay here.”
“I wouldn’t either.”
She unhooked the harness that held her wings and let them drop to the barn floor below, then moved closer to Edmund until their knees touched.
“Aren’t you afraid you’ll fall?” asked Edmund, peering down at the wings.
“I’m sure if I do, you’ll do your best to hold on to me,” Laura Glue said, her voice barely a whisper.
“And if I fall?”
“Then I’ll catch you,” she said, and then she leaned in and kissed him. Neither of them ran away.
It took Harry only a few seconds to open the lock on Franklin’s desk, which was disappointing to Fred, who was ready to jimmy it with an awl.
“It doesn’t hurt to have a backup plan,” said the badger.
“He’s quite a smart fellow for a badger, isn’t he?” asked Ernest.
“You don’t know the half of it,” said Jack as Houdini handed him the book.
“That book,” Fred said wonderingly. “It’s almost like the Little Whatsit. Almost exactly like it, ’cept maybe a little older.”
“Yes,” said John. “Strange. It’s very like the Little Whatsit.”
“Not the Little Whatsit,” said Jack. “One of the Histories. Just look at it!”
Jack held it up and pointed to the cover. He was right—it was identical to one of the Caretakers’ Histories.
“I’m right, aren’t I?” asked Jack.
“I’m afraid you are,” John said, gritting his teeth in frustration. “It’s the only explanation that fits. He is an apprentice of Daniel Defoe.”
Just then there was a knock at the front door. Fred peered out the window. “It’s that blind magistrate,” he said.
“Uh-oh,” said John. “I’d better go see what he wants.”
If the body of the End of Time had lain in any other district in that part of London, it might have been discovered sooner. As it was, his body had already gone cold and rigid when the match girl found him. She told the potato vendor at the corner, who told one of the newly commissioned police force, who, in an effort to demonstrate his worth to his employer, told the magistrate. And it was he who realized who the victim was, and who needed to be told about the murder.
It was a good day for flying kites. Warm and overcast, the cloud-filtered sunlight cast no shadows. And so the boy was unafraid when he was led away from the park by his friend who had no shadow at all.
On days such as this, the trees ate many kites—and so no one questioned, or even noticed, when two kites were left unattended, to flutter in the breeze.
Under the circumstance, Jack felt compelled to tell his companions about the private discussions he had been having with Theo since the crossing of the Frontier.
“He wanted to wait to say anything,” Jack explained, “until he’d gotten a better handle on what our enemy might be planning. I trusted him entirely.”
“As you should have!” Burton roared. “I’ll not have you talking about him like he was some laggardly half-wit. It would have taken someone—something—truly inhuman to have killed him like this.”
Burton’s words were brash and full of anger, but more than one of the companions noticed that as he paced back and forth his hands were trembling.
“You said Theo told you the Echthros had followed us through the door,” said Doyle. “Do you think it’s possible … I mean, the boy—”
“No!” Burton roared. He grabbed Doyle and threw him roughly to the floor.
“It’s worth considering,” said Houdini as he helped his companion back to his feet. “If you were not so upset, you’d see that, Richard. And the End of Time would say the same if he were here.”
Burton stared at them, breathing hard, his eyes crazy with rage. But then the mood passed as he slowly realized the wisdom of Houdini’s words. It was true—if it had been Theo speaking, he’d have at least considered the possibility. The boy, Coal, might be the very Echthros they were fighting against.
“Theo said that he had a way to control it,” said Jack, “and I think I know what that way is.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a bloodstained piece of paper. “The magistrate said that Theo had this in his hand. They had to pry his fingers open to get it loose. It’s a Binding. An Old Magic Binding.”
Burton stared. “Why would the End of Time have such a thing?”
“Never mind why,” said John. “How would he be able to speak it and make it work? I didn’t think it was possible for just anyone to speak a Binding.”
“It must have been possible,” Jack replied, “or else he wouldn’t have meant to try it. Poe did send him with us, after all. And as one of Verne’s Messengers, he certainly would have known what it was.”
“Not that it did him a lot of good,” said Doyle. “Either it didn’t work, or he didn’t have time to speak it. Which means that the Echthros either caught him unawares …”
“Impossible,” said Burton.
“Or,” Doyle went on, “it appeared to him as someone he trusted and would not think to question.”
“It may not be the boy,” said John. “There’s another possibility, remember?”
“That’s almost as bad,” said Burton. “If it is Defoe, then it’s my fault the End of Time is dead, because I’m the one who recruited him to the Society.”
“There’s one way to find out,” Doyle said, taking the paper fro
m Jack. “We can bind him ourselves, and we’ll ask.”
“We can’t,” said John. “If we interfere with Defoe too much here, we’ll risk derailing everything we’ve already accomplished back in 1945.”
“And what do we do about Coal?” said John. “It’s an unanswered question. What if he is our enemy?”
“Maybe he’s the Fiction,” Jack suggested. “He’s certainly unique, given where he came from. He might not be an Echthros—he might just be a cypher. Something that shouldn’t exist, but does.”
None of them saw the shadowy figure that had been listening outside the cracked door, and none of them saw it leave. But it had heard everything it had to hear to know what it needed to do next.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The Summer King
The bookbinder sat in darkness, watching the dying light of the embers in his fireplace as he removed the hook from the stump of his arm. He rubbed at it gently, as if it was still raw, even though it had healed over long before.
Twice in his exceedingly long life he had been an apprentice—once to his brother, whom he had believed to be wiser than he, and once to a Dragon, who actually was. The first time, he was betrayed—and the second, he was the betrayer. Samaranth had never been anything but patient with him, showing faith and fortitude as he tried to teach the young man called Madoc how to make his way in the world.
But somehow he changed. The betrayals of his brother, and his nephew, Arthur, and especially the woman he loved, Gwynhfar, had taken their toll, and Madoc became Mordred, and all he knew was anger, and hatred.
But through all the years from that time to this, one thing still haunted him: Arthur’s belief that Madoc was still Madoc, and that he was a good man.
The Dragon, Samaranth, had believed in him too. As had Gwynhfar. And in the end, it was he who had walked away from them, determined never to look back.
It was he who had killed Arthur once, and then again, for the final time. And he who cast aside the mother of his child, and rejected all that Samaranth had offered to him.
You are strong enough to bear this, Arthur had said to him once. But that was before Mordred had become the Winter King—before he surrendered his Shadow, and made his choice about what kind of man he would be.
He never expected a second chance to live his life, free and unfettered by the choices of the past; but it seemed the past had come calling for him, and once more he had to make a choice. All that remained for him was to decide who would do the choosing….
Madoc, or Mordred?
None of the humans in Doctor Franklin’s house had ears sharp enough to hear it, especially while they were having a vigorous discussion. But the badger’s ears were sharp, and he would have heard the sound right away, even if the mechanical owl hadn’t been calling him by name.
At Fred’s urging, the companions raced to the front door, where they found a bruised and battered Archimedes, dragging one wing behind him.
“I had to bust through a window to get here,” the bird exclaimed, seeming nearly exhausted, “and methinks I have a screw loose. No jokes, please.”
“What’s happened, Archie?” John asked as he picked up the injured bird. “Fred, go find some tools.”
“Trouble, right here on Craven Street,” Archie replied as Fred ran to the shop. “Daniel Defoe—he’s here, in London!”
“We know that, Archie,” said Jack. “We just figured it out ourselves.”
“No!” the bird exclaimed, growing more frantic by the second. “You don’t understand! He’s got Rose at the McGees’ house!”
“Defoe is at my house?” Ernest said, frowning. “I have to get back there.”
“We’re all going,” said John. “I think a lot of our questions are about to be answered.”
His wing repaired, Archie flew ahead to keep an eye on the McGee house while the companions ran along below him. At the corner, they nearly collided with Edmund and Laura Glue.
“What’s happened?” Laura Glue asked when she saw the alarm etched on all their faces.
“No time to explain,” John said without slowing. “Come with us!”
Edmund and Laura Glue fell into step behind the Caretakers. “We’ve got to leave him be,” John was saying in a tone that said he’d brook no resistance. “I’m pulling rank here, Jack. I mean it. Don’t touch Defoe.”
“I’ll do my best,” Jack replied, “but if he’s hurt Rose, no promises.”
“Are you up for a fight?” Doyle asked. “He was our ally once, you know.”
“That was then, this is now,” Houdini responded with a distracted expression. “We’ll do what we have to do.”
“Good enough,” said Doyle, peering down the darkening street. “And if we find that—” He stopped and looked at his companion, frowning. “I don’t bloody believe it. You’re thinking about that cursed box again, aren’t you?”
Houdini started to protest, then sighed in resignation. “I can’t help it, Arthur,” he said, shrugging. “It eats at me. There was no displacement of air, and no evidence of kinetic energy expended….”
Doyle closed his eyes and thumped his forehead with his fist. “The. Box. Is. GONE,” he said through clenched teeth. “Will you just drop it already?”
“Shut up, you idiots,” said Burton. “Look—there he is.”
The companions turned the corner just as Defoe was exiting the house, carrying something with a sheet draped over it. He started when he saw them, then took a menacing stance. They stopped on the other side of the street, unsure of what to do, while Archimedes circled overhead. It was a standoff.
“You have your business and I have mine,” Defoe said, just loud enough for them to hear. “I don’t know what denizens of the Archipelago are doing in London, but this need not go in a bad direction for any of us.”
“He thinks we’re from the Archipelago,” Jack whispered. “He doesn’t have any idea who we are!”
“We’re running around with a badger and a mechanical owl,” said Houdini. “It’s not a bad guess.”
Burton took a step forward. “I know you, Caretaker,” he called out. “We can discuss this amicably.”
Defoe’s eyes narrowed. “You know nothing about me.”
“In point of fact,” Burton said, eyes glittering, “I know you died in 1731, and I know that you’re only here now through the good graces of John Dee.”
That took the stuffing out of him. Defoe suddenly looked more confused than menacing.
“My name is Burton,” he continued, “and I can give you access to the treasures you seek.”
“Is he insane?” asked Jack. “We can’t barter with Daniel Defoe!”
“All right. Perhaps we can do some business, Burton,” Defoe said. “Let us talk of this further.”
“Excellent,” Burton replied. “But first, where is the girl?”
Defoe paused. “She’s upstairs. She has her own role to play tonight—which is more than you ever allowed her to do.”
“You dung heap!” Ernest shouted as he suddenly flew across the street. “You’ll pay for what you’ve done to my family!”
“Drat!” John exclaimed. “Grab him! Quick!”
Before Ernest could reach Defoe, Doyle and Houdini caught him by the arms and held him fast. “You don’t know!” Ernest bellowed. “You don’t know what he’s done!”
“I’m a Caretaker,” Defoe exclaimed, his temper rising, “and I’ll do as I please, boy!”
“You’re evil, is what you are!” said Fred. “Even if you still have your shadow!”
“Hah!” Defoe said, smirking. “Maybe. But it isn’t my shadow.”
“Defoe, listen to me,” John began, trying to contain the situation. “We’ve no wish to hurt you.”
“I’m immortal!” Defoe proclaimed. “What can you possibly do that can hurt me?”
Fred’s well-aimed muffin struck Defoe squarely between the eyes. He was unconscious before he hit the street. The parcel fell out of his hands, and the sheet dropped a
way from the portrait of Charles Johnson.
“Sorry,” Fred said to John. “He was giving me a headache with all that hot air.”
“Help me!” Johnson called out. “I’m being abducted! And oppressed!”
“And now the other shoe drops,” said Burton, pointing away. “Look, John!”
Behind them, coming around the opposite corner past the park, Franklin and Coal were running toward Defoe. They hadn’t yet seen the Caretakers, but Franklin had a firm grip on the boy, who was obviously terrified.
“Not on my watch,” Jack murmured. “Doyle? Harry?” The men nodded, and as one they took off at a run, tackling Franklin as he rounded the corner. He fell roughly to the ground under the three men’s assault, and the boy went sprawling into the grass.
By the time the others ran over, Jack had Franklin pinned to the ground.
“We know who you are, and we know what you are!” Jack said, his voice shrill with anger. “We’re done being played by you!”
“Played?” Franklin exclaimed with genuine surprise. In an instant, his face turned stern. “You have completely misunderstood me, Jack,” he said in a clear, direct tone they had never heard from him before. “Coal and I were flying kites in the square, and something led him away. I was more than an hour finding him again.”
“What have we misunderstood?” said John. “We found the History, Doctor. We know you’re an apprentice Caretaker to Daniel Defoe.”
“Oh, do you now?” Franklin said, eyes flashing. “And what, pray tell, is your proof of this? The fact that I knew about the Caretakers before you arrived? The fact that walking, talking beasts are no surprise to me? Or the fact that the heir to the Cartographer’s mantle has been training as an apprentice in mine own house?”
Jack looked up in shock and surprise. Franklin had just named all the things they meant to accuse him of, and he really wasn’t sure what to say next.
“Proclaim your own sins publicly,” said Franklin, “and you take away the naming as a weapon in your foe’s arsenal. Even if what you name aren’t really sins.”
The Dragon’s Apprentice Page 25
