A smaller, wizened man stepped from the other side of the car and placed his hand on the hood, taking in the heat radiating from the engine. “It’s warm,” he said admiringly, “almost like a living thing. I should not be surprised if one day someone chose to become one with a machine such as this.”
“We brung, uh, bringed . . . ah, we got the shipbuilder,” Uncas said, gesturing at Argus, who nodded his head in acknowledgment. His expression was grave, but a bemused smile played at the corners of his mouth.
John sized up the shipbuilder. “I must beg your pardon, but you don’t appear to be several thousand years old.”
“You have it,” Argus replied, “but considering you sent a purple humanoid unicorn, a talking badger, and a Spaniard who can’t drive to fetch me, I’m surprised you place such an emphasis on one’s appearance.”
“He’s smarter than the average mariner,” Warnie commented to Aristophanes.
The detective nodded. “You have no idea.”
“How far can we trust him?” Hawthorne asked. “After all, we have only the detective’s word he is who he says he is.”
“Why would I lie to you now?” Aristophanes sputtered. “I live at Tamerlane House!”
“You did betray us to Dee,” said Hawthorne. “You were a double agent.”
“Triple agent,” said Warnie. “He betrayed Dee and joined you lot after all.”
“Thanks,” said Aristophanes.
“Don’t mention it,” said Warnie.
“But,” Hawthorne argued, “we still lost the Ruby Armor.”
“We would have lost it anyway,” Dickens interjected, “so that really isn’t Steve’s fault.”
“Who is Steve?” Argus asked Uncas.
“Th’ detective,” the badger replied. “It’s his preference.”
“If I had known,” Argus said slowly from the relaxed position where he was leaning against the Duesenberg, “that you people would be this entertaining, I would have agreed to come far more easily.”
“It’s him,” said a voice from the back of the group. “I only met him a couple of months ago, remember? And I know his face. This is Argus.”
The Caretakers parted to allow Bert to move to the front, where he peered more closely at the shipbuilder. “Do you remember me, Argus?”
“I remember,” Argus replied, “that when we last met, you and your companions saved my life. But also that you were much more accepting of who I was and what I claimed to be able to do. After all, you are the ones who sought me out, and not the other way around.”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Jack said, taking the role of host and rushing around the others to shake the shipbuilder’s hand. “We’ve had some security issues around here lately and need to be careful.”
“I understand,” Argus replied. “Thankfully, however, tolerance and patience can be bought.”
Warnie cleared his throat and looked pointedly at Jack and John, then tipped his head at Argus.
John sighed and frowned at the other Caretakers. “I suppose since we’ve already made one deal with the de—”
“Hey, now,” said Aristophanes.
“The detective, I was going to say,” John continued, scowling, “then I suppose we must take this fellow at his word that he is whom he says he is.”
“Not at all,” Argus replied before any of the Caretakers could comment further. He smiled down at Uncas. “Child of the Earth,” he said gently, “do you have a scrap of paper I might borrow?”
“Soitenly!” Uncas exclaimed. He popped open his Little Whatsit, deftly removed a small blank sheet from the pages at the back, and handed it to the shipbuilder.
Argus made no comment but simply began folding the paper over and over, his fingers moving too swiftly to follow, until he had fashioned a small paper dragon. Then he knelt and looked at the ground around him until he finally spied what he was looking for in a patch of grass.
Carefully he reached out and picked up the small black wasp by the body, and again, his fingers swiftly manipulated the folded paper.
When he had finished, he held out his creation. There in his outstretched hand was a miniature Dragonship, with wings and, somehow, the living body and head of the wasp.
The wings fluttered and caught air, and the tiny Wasp-Dragon took flight and disappeared into the trees.
Argus turned to the astonished Caretakers. “Any questions?”
No one moved, or spoke a word.
“Good,” Argus said. “Can we go see the real Dragonship now? We’re old friends, and I’d like to say hello.”
. . . not all the aspects of the Dragon had been shed . . .
Chapter FOUR
Arête
Verne led the group to the large south boathouse, where the Black Dragon had been housed—or rather, imprisoned—for many years, and was once more, but without the locks, chains, and magic wards that had made it a prison.
The ship sat in the berth, rocking gently with the swells of water that rose and fell from the bay outside.
“I never had quite the same knack for it that my master had,” Argus said as he examined the Black Dragon, perhaps rushing forward a little more eagerly than he’d wished to do in front of the Caretakers. “I could build the vessels, but he had the greater affinity for binding them with the beasts. And I just never cared as much as he about the Children of the Earth. No offense,” he added, looking down at Uncas.
“None taken,” said the badger. “If you ever smelled what one of us is like when we gets wet, you’d have given up on th’ idea of letting us on boats altogether.”
The Black Dragon seemed to rise up in the water at the shipbuilder’s touch, almost as if in recognition. This was an encouraging sign to the Caretakers, since, as a ship, only Burton had ever really been able to handle it. But that was also before they learned who the Dragon had actually been before it became merged with the ship.
“The wing plates were my favorite innovation,” Argus said as he ran his hands along the hull. “It was something I discussed with my friend Pelias back during our quest for the fleece, but I never quite worked out how to do it properly. Not until I put my hands on her.”
“Him,” said Fred. “The Black Dragon is a he.”
The shipbuilder chuckled. “I suppose it could be, little Child of the Earth,” he said, not taking his eyes or hands off the ship. “I never asked Mordred, and he never offered details. Although how he managed to tame such a fierce Dragon into willingly being bonded to a ship is beyond my understanding. I wasn’t given much choice in the matter myself.”
John raised his eyebrows in surprise and looked at the other Caretakers. “He doesn’t know? He really doesn’t know who the Dragon is, or rather, was?” he whispered behind his hand. “Don’t you think we ought to tell him?”
“Let it be, for the nonce,” said Bert. “We don’t even know if he can do as he says he can. I certainly never saw any proof of it when we met—we simply took him at his word. No need to complicate matters by bringing up old grudges. And besides,” he added, “if it does work, he’ll know the way the cows ate the cabbage soon enough.”
“So,” Argus said, straightening himself and turning to look at the Caretakers. “What is it you ask of me?”
“You told Quixote and Uncas that you built the Black Dragon,” said Bert. “Now we need you to, uh, undo that which you hath done.”
Houdini rolled his eyes. “We need the Dragon,” he said matter-of-factly, “separated from the ship. Can you do that?”
Argus shrugged. “Of course.”
“It seemed a simple enough thing to do with a wasp,” Houdini said, drawing up alongside the shipbuilder, “but this is a serious matter. Don’t say you can do something you cannot.”
Argus looked at John. “This is a Caretaker? They’re more skeptical than they used to be.”
“Not really,” said John. “He’s just very results-oriented, and skeptical by nature.”
“Building the ship itself was the hard part,�
� Argus said as he gestured for the others to give him room to work. “Binding something living to it was much easier.”
“Even with Dragons?” asked Fred.
Argus chuckled. “Especially with them, little Child of the Earth. Because binding with a ship is about choosing one’s arête—which means to achieve excellence, to reach one’s highest potential. I simply help guide them in the process.”
“Then how is it reversed?” asked John.
“It’s just as easy,” Argus said, turning to face the masthead. “I simply have to persuade the Dragon that its arête as a ship is done, and now its arête is to once more be a Dragon.”
The shipbuilder bowed his head and placed his hands on the Dragon’s chest, where it merged with the wood and iron of the ship. Murmuring ancient words of power, or perhaps, simply a prayer, he flexed his arms, and suddenly a glow began to emanate from the Dragon.
The hull began to crack and splinter apart. For the first time, the Caretakers could see some of the manner in which the living Dragon had been merged with the structure of the ship. It was almost more of a spiritual blending than a physical one. The head, neck, and arms were only semi-attached, as if they were part of a sculpted masthead; but the wings were attached to part of the structure of the hull, and seemed to separate from it with more force.
Argus’s murmuring became more fervent, and his arms and neck were dripping with sweat. The process was generating a great deal of heat, and so much light that the others had to shield their eyes.
Suddenly the light flared, and a thunderclap echoed deafeningly through the boathouse as Argus flew backward, hitting one of the pilings. Several of the Caretakers rushed to his side, concerned that he had been injured.
“Are you all right?” Jack asked as he and John reached under the shipbuilder’s arms to help him to his feet. “Did you—”
“Look,” Argus said, pointing. “It is done.”
The two Caretakers turned to see what had already rendered the rest of their companions utterly speechless. There, where the shipbuilder had been working, standing amid the splintered remains that had been the fore of the Dragonship, was Madoc.
His beard and hair were overgrown and tangled, but there was no question it was he. Instead of emerging from the binding with the ship as the Black Dragon, as everyone had fully expected, he had emerged as the man he had been before he had accepted the calling, and risen from apprentice to full Dragon, and thence to Dragonship.
However, he was not entirely unchanged from the experience: his right hand, once severed and replaced with a hook, was now whole again. And while he was once again in the form of a man, not all the aspects of the Dragon had been shed with the ship—two great, black wings rose from his shoulder blades and stretched out behind him like sails.
No one spoke, or moved, until Madoc’s eyes fluttered closed, and he started to fall. Then John, Jack, Houdini, and Hawthorne all rushed forward to catch him—but it was the Valkyrie Laura Glue and the badger Caretaker Fred who moved the fastest, and caught their friend’s father before he fell.
“It’s all right,” Laura Glue whispered through the tears streaming down her face. “Rose wouldn’t let you fall, and neither will we.”
♦ ♦ ♦
As the rest of the group at the boathouse gathered around the newly reborn Madoc, Verne, Bert, and Twain simply watched—because they were also watching the reactions of two others: Argus and Aristophanes.
The shipbuilder’s response was easier to parse—it was that of near-total surprise. Short of just being told beforehand—something he might not have believed—there was no way for him to have known that the Black Dragon he had bonded with the ship, at the request of Mordred, the Winter King, was in fact Mordred himself, in his true persona of Madoc. The dragon already existed, and at the time, not even Mordred knew that the Black Dragon was a future version of himself, who went back in time to become the Black Dragon. So in a way, even as the act of releasing Madoc closed a great circle, it was understandable for the old Greek to be surprised.
Aristophanes’s reaction was more enigmatic: He showed fear. Of the three Caretakers watching him, only Verne really knew the detective to any degree, but he was certain that Madoc and Aristophanes had never crossed paths. So why was his response a fearful one? It was, Verne decided, something worth investigating, but later. For now, there was a more important agenda to focus on.
Fred and Uncas were helpfully offering a drink of water to the weakened shipbuilder. The retransformation process he claimed would be “easy” was anything but, and the effort had taken a toll.
“Thank you,” Argus said, handing the tin cup back to the badgers as John approached. “Well, Caretaker? Are you satisfied with my work?”
John nodded, smiling. “What was your price?” he asked. “Quixote was authorized to bargain in good faith.”
“I told the knight I wished a boon.”
“Whatever we owe you, then,” John said to the shipbuilder, “has been more than earned. Name your price.”
Argus responded by turning to look at the newly released Madoc, who was being borne up in blankets by the Caretakers for rest and recovery at Tamerlane House. The shipbuilder’s face twitched as he watched, and his eyes went glassy, as if he were immersed in a long-buried memory. Finally he turned to John and extended his hand.
“There is no cost,” he said. “Long ago, I myself promised to grant a boon, and that debt has now been paid—twice over, I think. No more need be said about it. I’d just like to return to my work.”
John took his hand and shook it firmly, then again. “Fair enough,” the Caretaker said, not certain whether he ought to question the old man further. “Even all, then.”
“I would make one request,” the shipbuilder said, “not as payment, but simply a favor, if it is one you’d be willing to grant.”
John spread his arms. “You have returned to us dearest blood, and given us the only chance to find our lost friends,” he said in reply. “Ask what you will.”
“As I said, I’d like to continue my work—but I would like to do so here.”
“Here?” John answered, surprised. “At Tamerlane House?” He stroked his chin in thought, before replying further.
“You must understand,” he said slowly, “that save for the connection to Jack’s house, those residing here are all but prisoners. The Archipelago . . .”
“I’m not as naive or as uninformed as your agents seemed to think,” said Argus, “and the detective keeps secrets less well than he believes. I know—a little—of what’s happened. But I have been a virtual prisoner myself on Lemnos for a very long time.”
John frowned and fingered his lip. “A prisoner? I had understood that you were a free man.”
“A private one,” said Argus, “and those conditions do not always mesh.” He made a broad gesture with his hand. “I saw the rune stones as we crossed the bridge—I kept myself hidden in Lemnos in a similar manner. I could even be of use to you in assisting with your security, beyond what work I can do in the boathouse.”
“But,” John said, puzzled, “it seems as if you’re merely trading one jailhouse for another. What can you do here that you could not do on Lemnos?”
“Be myself,” said Argus. “The easiest and hardest thing a man can do.”
The Prime Caretaker considered this a moment, then nodded his head. “As you wish.” He turned to the badgers. “Uncas, will you see to it that Master Swift arranges for a suite of rooms at the house?”
Argus placed a hand on John’s arm and shook his head. “That won’t be necessary,” he said, gesturing with his other hand at the fractured hull of the Black Dragon. “I will be more than comfortable here. This is where I belong—and where I think I shall be content.”
John agreed, and with another handshake to bind the deal, he and the badgers left Argus, who was already stroking the ship and whispering words of quiet power as a smile spread slowly across his face.
“Indeed,” Argus
said to no one in particular. “My conscience is finally clear, and I have at last come home.”
♦ ♦ ♦
The elder members of the Caretakers Emeriti crowded at the open door to look in on Laura Glue’s patient. It was startling to see Madoc as he must have been in his youth, unbearded and unscarred by the world. But it was equally startling to see, there on top of the quilt, his right hand, whole and unblemished. That alone was unusual enough to them that they could nearly overlook the great, leathery wings that were folded along the headboard behind him.
“So,” Twain said softly, “he is the Hook no longer, but fully a man again, our Mordred is.”
“He is more Madoc than Mordred, I think,” said Dickens. “He is, at last, perhaps once more the man that he set out to be.”
Laura Glue sat next to the bed, facing this strange young man whom she had met only once before, when he was older, and weathered by the events of his long life. In a way, it felt like another first meeting to her. She wiped his forehead with a damp cloth, watching as his breathing became more regular, until he finally opened his eyes.
“Hello there,” she said.
“Rose?” he asked, propping himself up with the pillows. Then his vision cleared, and he realized his nurse was not his daughter. After a moment he added, “I’m, ah, Madoc.”
She giggled. “I know that. We have met, you know.”
He reddened. “I remember. It’s just . . . more like a dream now. It’s been so, so long.”
“Only a year for me, since we saw you in London.”
“Which was a century before I gave myself over to my other self to become the Black Dragon, and then over a thousand years since that,” he said, more awed by the reality of it than anything else. “And now here I sit, in this body that I remember having centuries earlier, before I . . .” He paused.
The First Dragon (Chronicles of the Imaginarium Geographica, The) Page 4
