The First Dragon (Chronicles of the Imaginarium Geographica, The)
Page 5
“Before you became the Winter King.”
Again, he blushed. “Or at least before I became Mordred, at any rate.” He stopped and looked away, out the window. “I still remember those things too, girl. I still remember the choices I made. And . . . I don’t regret them. I’m sorry, but it’s true.”
“You must have been capable of making some good choices,” Jack offered from the doorway, where he, John, and Fred had crowded past the other Caretakers. “Otherwise, you’d never have become the Dragon’s apprentice.”
“Mmm,” Madoc answered noncommittally. “There have been times I almost regretted that particular choice too,” he said, “but when I was in the presence of my daughter, it all seemed to have happened for a reason. It seemed necessary.”
“Everyone makes mistakes, Madoc,” said Jack.
“Not everyone was the son of Odysseus and was offered the whole world as his kingdom,” Madoc replied. “But I was, and I still made many mistakes.”
“So was your brother,” Jack suggested, “and he had more opportunities than you did to choose a direction for his life, but for my money, he didn’t turn out any better than you did. Uh, I mean worse,” he corrected quickly, after a poke in the ribs from John. “Uh, sorry.”
Madoc shook his head and grimaced. “I don’t know. Perhaps if I had chosen a better teacher . . .”
“Better than Samaranth?” asked John.
Madoc’s face darkened. “No,” he said. “A . . . different teacher. Samaranth, I should have heeded more. But then again,” he added, looking around the room, “Myrddyn is nowhere to be seen, and I am here—again. So that should say something, I think.”
“It does,” said Jack. “Truly.”
“We know you’ve made many sacrifices,” John said, “but we need your help once more—as a Dragon. As the only one left.”
Madoc exhaled heavily and swung his legs to the side of the bed. “All right,” he said. “Tell me what . . .” He paused, finally noticing he carried considerably more bulk than before.
He flexed his wings, which filled the small bedroom. “Well, these are new.”
“Yes,” Laura Glue said. “And your eyes,” she added, moving closer and turning his head to the light. “They’re silver.”
“Silver is nothing but dragon’s blood,” Madoc said. “It has healing properties, and sometimes manifests itself during a transformation.” He flexed his wings again, and the Caretakers could see that the leathery black was shot through with veins of silver. “I suppose I didn’t expect it to leave a permanent marker.”
“I like them,” she said, looking at his eyes. “I liked them when they were violet, and I like them now. The wings, too. They make you look . . . imposing.”
“Yes,” Jack whispered behind his hand to his friends, “because he was such a shrinking violet before the wings.”
“And I like that you are a good and compassionate person, and very forgiving, much like my daughter,” Madoc said, glancing past Laura Glue to the others crowded into the room. “Is Rose here? I was hoping to see her.”
Before John could respond, Fred moved closer to the bed, whiskers twitching. “That’s why we done this,” he said nervously. “That’s why we brung, uh, brought you back, ah, sir. We need your help. Rose needs your help.”
Madoc looked at the small mammal a moment, then stood up. “All right, Caretakers,” he said, addressing all of them at once. “I haven’t eaten in more than a thousand years, so what say you find us something to fill our bellies while you tell me why my daughter needs an old apprentice Dragon’s help.”
Part Two
The Last Flight of the Indigo Dragon
The path was well lit with lanterns . . .
Chapter FIVE
The Zanzibar Gate
The part of the garden at the Kilns where the bridge was located was not visible to passersby, but the driveway where the Duesenberg had been parked was. Precautions had been taken to ensure that no one passing through Oxford would notice anything out of the ordinary, but then again, usually no one was looking—it was what made the Kilns a perfect entry point to Tamerlane House.
No one, that is, except for the two men sitting in the black Bentley across the street. They were looking, and they saw a great deal. Warnie had noticed the car parked there earlier, but thought little of it—the enemies he had been warned to watch out for didn’t drive automobiles.
Thus it was that no one, not even Warnie, seemed to take note when the two men emerged and crossed the road. Focused as they had been on taking Argus to see the Black Dragon, the Caretakers had simply crossed over the bridge, sealing the portal behind them without ever looking back. There were guards posted, and magic runes protecting the entry to Tamerlane House and the Nameless Isles . . . on that side of the bridge. But no one considered that if both sides were not protected equally, then both sides were equally vulnerable to their enemies. But no one was looking for enemies in Oxford.
If someone had been looking, he might have noticed the near-identical black coats and bowler hats the two men wore, and the round black glasses that hid the dark orbs that occupied the places where their eyes should have been.
If someone had been looking, he might have noticed the identical black pocket watches both men carried, which chimed at the same moment.
“It is time, Mr. Kirke,” said one.
“Indeed it is, Mr. Bangs,” said the other.
In hindsight, John thought, that was the Caretakers’ greatest mistake. They should have been more cautious. They should have taken better care. If they had, then perhaps things would have gone differently when the two men knocked on the door at the Kilns.
♦ ♦ ♦
In the dining hall, Alexandre Dumas and the Feast Beasts quickly put together what Dumas referred to as “a light dinner,” which nevertheless consisted of enough food to have stocked the Kilns for a year. Madoc kept refilling his plate and eating as the various Caretakers took turns explaining what had been happening in the Archipelago. He made no comment, only nodding occasionally and grunting. Shakespeare was last to speak, and he explained how he believed the Zanzibar Gate would work, and why it required a Dragon.
“The question is,” Madoc said as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and belched as a courtesy to Dumas, “am I still in fact a Dragon? I still have the wings, but I feel more like a man again.”
“It is an office, not merely a descriptive term,” said Bert. “One is not a Dragon until a Dragon calls you to be one. And once you have become a Dragon, a Dragon you shall remain until a Dragon says otherwise. And,” he added, “seeing as you’re the only one left, I don’t anticipate that happening anytime soon.”
“And if we do this, and somehow find the Architect and convince him to rebuild the keep, the Archipelago will be restored?”
“There’s no way to know for certain,” said Verne, “but this is the first necessary step to finding out.”
“And the Imaginarium Geographica is of no help to you in this? Or the Histories?”
“The Histories that record the future are little more than unfulfilled prophecies,” said Twain, “and the Imaginarium Geographica was unmatched as a travel guide, but, I’m sorry to say, sorely lacking as a time travel aid. Anyroad, Rose, Edmund, and Charles have it with them, whenever they are.”
“We know the Archipelago itself can be restored,” John said, indicating the open facsimile Geographica on the table in front of them, “because all the maps were still there in the original. When the Winter King . . .” He looked at Madoc and swallowed hard. “Sorry. When, um, you first tried to conquer the Archipelago,” John continued, “and the lands were covered in Shadow, they vanished from the Imaginarium Geographica. But they’re all still here, so there must be some way to restore them.”
“Not all,” Fred said quietly. Laura Glue moved closer to him and put a reassuring arm around the little mammal’s shoulders. “Avalon in’t there, and neither is Paralon.”
“I’m s
orry, Fred,” said John. “I didn’t forget.”
“Some of the lands are missing?” Madoc asked in surprise. “I thought they weren’t Shadowed.”
“Not Shadowed, as you remember it,” Jack said quietly. “Destroyed, by the Echthroi. The rest, according to what Aven told us before she . . .” He swallowed hard. “The rest were somehow removed, and taken elsewhere by Samaranth. Where he went, I cannot say. But it’s a moot point if we can’t reestablish the connection between worlds by restoring the keep.”
“Well,” Madoc said, standing, “either it’ll work, or it won’t. So let’s go see what Master Shaksberd hath wrought.”
♦ ♦ ♦
Most of the company at Tamerlane House left to walk to the ferryboat Twain would pilot over to the island where the gate stood. Washington Irving and the half-clockwork men they called Jason’s sons stayed behind with Dumas to guard the bridge, and the Elder Caretakers, having wished Madoc and the others good luck, stayed in the house.
Also remaining behind at Verne’s insistence were the Zen Detective, Aristophanes, and his escorts, Uncas and Don Quixote. The detective protested, claiming foul play, until Twain judiciously let slip what they had originally done with Daniel Defoe after he had defied the Caretakers. After that, Aristophanes was more than content to wait things out in the comfort of the house.
As the companions walked across the expanse of sand and stone to the boathouse, Poe watched from seclusion high above. John caught sight of him out of the corner of his eye and gave a plaintive wave, which, after a moment, Poe returned before closing the drapes.
♦ ♦ ♦
“So, this enemy, the Echthroi,” Madoc said as they clambered into the ferryboat. “They are a constant threat?”
“Mostly through their agents,” Bert said with a sigh. “The shadow-possessed servants called Lloigor.”
The Caretakers were almost relieved when mention of the Lloigor caused Madoc to shudder. He had, after all, been one of them—the one the Echthroi once considered their greatest weapon.
“I’m sorry,” said Madoc. “Sometimes, when you live long enough, you don’t realize what kind of life your choices have culminated in. It is a path of a thousand steps—but the first step in the wrong direction can change it all. I let my bitterness determine my choices, and I was swayed by having followed the wrong teacher. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry for my part in it all.”
“You’ve more than made amends, Madoc,” Laura Glue said, looking not at him, but to John, for reassurance. “You have already done more than we could have hoped.”
“At least there haven’t been any more incidents with some of the fouler creatures who used to serve the purposes of, ah, the man you were,” Jack said, shuddering at the memory of their first encounter, long ago, with the creatures called Wendigo.
“Ah,” Houdini said as he raised his hand to speak, then cleared his throat, “that may be in large part because most of those creatures were in the Archipelago when it was cut off, and thus our adversaries lost access to them. They were not, however, the only creatures at their disposal. Of that, you can be sure.”
“How sure?” asked John.
“Sure enough,” Houdini said, reddening slightly. “I cataloged most of them myself at Burton’s request.”
“I will surely burn for recruiting that man,” Dickens lamented. “Burn, I tell you.”
♦ ♦ ♦
The sun had set fully by the time the company of Caretakers made their way to the Zanzibar Gate. The path was well lit with lanterns, which John noticed seemed to give the whole area an unearthly glow. He mentioned this to the others, and Jack shook his head.
“I don’t think it’s just the lanterns,” he said, pointing at Shakespeare’s construct. It was radiating with a pulsing light that grew stronger the closer they got.
“Is it working somehow?” John asked Shakespeare. “Did you manage to—”
“Not my workings,” the Bard replied, cutting him off. “His.”
He was pointing at Madoc, and suddenly the others realized Shakespeare’s guess was correct—the mere presence of Madoc was powering the Zanzibar Gate.
“How does it work?” Madoc asked. “It looks as if it was made of the same kind of stone as the keep was.”
“The very same, in fact,” said Shakespeare, “minus the wooden structures that made the keep, ah, well . . . burnable.”
Madoc’s expression darkened a bit at that, but he said nothing.
Shakespeare stepped forward and indicated the series of markings engraved on the inner ring of the gate’s aperture. “These runes represent numbers in Chronos time, and can be set for up to seven different decimal places,” he explained, “giving the gate a possible range of a million years or more. For this trip, we only need to set six.”
He showed them a display of crystals on a pedestal that had a mirror-image duplicate on the other side. “This is the mechanism that controls the settings,” he said. “Each crystal corresponds to a rune carved into the gate. As you enter, the inner ring will shift and lock into place. When all seven are locked, as they are now, all that remains”—he turned to Madoc—“is for a Dragon to step through and pass from this time into that one.”
“I’d like to point out that just this sort of thing was attempted once before,” Houdini harrumphed, “by the Imperial Cartological Society, and as I recall, you were so put out by our efforts that you burned it to the ground.”
“Your efforts were commendable,” said Twain, “but your motives were suspect, my dear magician. You, or more specifically, Burton and Dr. Dee, were trying to re-create the keep in the service of, and for the purposes of, the Shadow of the Winter King. Now, however, you serve a higher purpose.”
Houdini rolled his eyes and looked at Madoc.
“I understand,” Madoc replied. “That sounded like so many fewmets to me, too.”
“The gate should exist in both times,” Shakespeare explained, “and much like the keep did, it will persist into the future, and carry you forward. The portal will close once you’ve all passed through, but you should be able to open it again from the other side.”
He gestured at a rectangular indentation at the top of the control panel. “This is where the plate with the destination should be inset,” he explained. “The exact location, as well as the specific time you arrive, are largely intuitive, much like going through the doorways of the keep. This is important,” he cautioned. “If you aren’t focused, if you allow your minds to wander and drift as you enter, it might override the settings and place you somewhere you didn’t plan to be.
“If there is some need to go elsewhere, or, ah, elsewhen, rather,” Shakespeare continued, “Edmund should be able to create a new destination plate to use. After that, simply repeat the process as I’ve explained it to you, lock the settings, activate the gate, step through, and then you’ll be home.”
Madoc stepped toward the gate, which brightened visibly at his approach. Impulsively, he reached out and put his hands on the stone.
The world seemed to shift out of focus for a moment, before coming back to clarity in a wave that spread outward from the gate. The air underneath the arch shimmered as if it was heated, and it took on a nearly reflective quality.
“It’s quite an accomplishment,” John said, smiling broadly. “With this gate, and Edmund’s natural talents, we practically have a replacement for the keep right here at our doorstep.”
At this, Shakespeare stepped back from the other Caretakers and wrung his hands in frustration. “I’m not the Architect who built the keep,” he lamented. “I’m sorry, but as adept as I have proven myself to be, I simply don’t have the skills to re-create something with the . . . ah, duration of the keep.”
“What are you saying, Will?” John asked. “Will it work, or won’t it?”
“Oh, it shall, I’m certain of that,” Shakespeare replied, glancing over at Madoc, “now that we have a viable power source. But only thrice. That, and no more.”
The Bard shook his head and strode purposefully to the gate, where he motioned for Madoc to step away. Immediately the light from the gate dimmed.
“That’s what I’m trying to explain to you,” Shakespeare said, wringing his hands in frustration. “The gate will allow three trips, in toto. Once out in any direction, past or future; once back; and then . . .”
“Once out, with no return trip,” Verne said heavily.
“Or two trips out, and then one home,” Jack offered, trying to be helpful. “If we find our friends—”
“Ahem-hem,” said Twain.
“Uh, that is, when we find our friends,” Jack corrected, blushing slightly, “if they haven’t yet found the Architect, we can pool our resources and try one more time before coming back.”
“No one is going anywhere,” a voice stern with authority rang out. “Not using the gate, anyroad. Not now, and maybe not ever.”
Almost by reflex, the Caretakers turned to look at Verne, but he was already looking at the man who had spoken . . .
. . . John.
“We can’t use it,” he said, stepping around Will to stand in front of the gate, as if to emphasize his point. “It’s a great idea, and may be the first step on the right road, but with a limited number of uses, it’s simply too dangerous. I don’t want to risk losing any among our number. One would be too great a loss.”
“How is it any more risky than anything else we’ve tried?” asked Jack.
“You’re forgetting one of the rules of time travel,” John said, casting a rueful glance at Bert and Verne. “Every trip into the past must be balanced by one into the future. There won’t be two trips out and then one home. At most, it would be one trip out and one back, because to go out again . . .” He let his voice trail off when he realized he couldn’t speak the words. But Madoc could.