“So,” Fred observed as he dropped more straw into the pit where Quixote, Laura Glue, and Edmund were stomping it into the mud with their feet, “if the stones that Will used to make the Zanzibar Gate came from the original keep, but now we’re back here helping t’ build the original keep, then where did the original stones come from the first time? Isn’t that one of those . . . conundrum things Scowler Jules is always going on about?”
“A pair of ducks,” Uncas said as he dumped his own armload of straw in, taking great care not to get wet. “That’s what Mr. Telemachus said it was called.”
“A paradox, you mean,” said Edmund, “and no, I don’t think so. Rose and I have learned that time only seems to move in two directions—but it really just moves forward, along with the events you perceive. So this is still the original keep, because we’re building it for the first time. It’s never been built before.”
“But it’ll still be there when we get back to our own time, because it’s been rebuilt, right?”
“Yes.”
“So,” Fred repeated, “if the keep never fell in our timeline, then where did Will get the stone to make the Zanzibar Gate?”
Edmund frowned, and bit his lip. “Uh, hmm,” he said. “I see your point. I’ll tell you what. If it works, we’ll never bring it up again. And if it doesn’t, we’ll have plenty of time to debate it. Agreed?”
“Gotcha,” said Fred. “You don’t know the answer either, do you?”
“Not the faintest clue,” said Edmund.
♦ ♦ ♦
“Oh, dear Lord in heaven,” Shakespeare said, grabbing Hawthorne by the arm. “Look, Nathaniel!”
The small island where the Zanzibar Gate had been built was empty. The rickety bridge was still there, as was the path that had led to the gate. But the gate itself had vanished. It was simply gone.
Hawthorne waved over several of the other Caretakers and pointed to the now empty island, and they quickly realized that something terrible had happened.
“It’s supposed to continue to exist here, in the same way that the keep had duration, wasn’t it, Will?” Dumas asked. “So how can a stationary object like that have simply disappeared?”
“I really cannot say,” a bewildered Shakespeare answered. “The only way it could have disappeared is if it had been completely disassembled, but I don’t know why anyone would even consider doing that, especially if it was their only means of coming home!”
“That’s it, then,” Verne said to himself quietly. “It’s time to go.”
As the other Caretakers debated what to do with the Cabal, and wondered what had happened to the Zanzibar Gate, none of them had noticed Verne slip away into the house—none, that is, except for one. Verne made his way to the lower stairs that led down to the basement and closed the door firmly behind him.
“What in heaven’s name is he doing?” Bert murmured to himself. “There’s no way out of that basement, and there’s nothing down there except for”—he slapped himself on the forehead—“time-travel devices.”
Bert dashed for the stairs and threw open the door. “Curse you, Jules,” he muttered under his breath. “What are you up to now?”
Bert got his answer when he reached the bottom of the stairs. Verne was sitting in the time machine Bert had used himself so long ago to travel into the far future.
“Are you mad?” Bert exclaimed, rushing over to stop his colleague. “I can’t believe you’re just running away from this! You’ve never avoided a fight, Jules! And besides, this is not the way! You’ve used this machine before, so you can’t use it again!”
“Oh, but I can,” Verne said as he flipped the switches to line them up with the dials on his watch. “There’s just a price to pay for doing so, and my bill is long, long overdue.”
“It’s suicide!” Bert cried, backing away as the wheel behind the plush chair on the device began to spin.
“No,” said Verne, “it’s the endgame, at least for me. And that means it is redemption.”
“What do you mean?”
“The watches have all been reset,” Verne replied, “but the keep has not yet reappeared, nor has the Archipelago been restored. Something is amiss. I think I know what is lacking—and none of our friends should have to sacrifice themselves. Not after all they have been through.”
Bert stared at him, puzzled, and then he realized—somehow, this had been in Verne’s plans all along.
“Yes, old friend,” Verne said, nodding as tears began to well in his eyes. “I always knew. They have found the true zero point, and at long last, I get to be the hero of the story instead of . . . well, whatever I’ve been. Tell John . . .” He paused. The lights were spinning faster and faster now, and the edges of the machine were beginning to blur. “Tell him I said I’m very proud of him. It may not mean much now. But someday . . .” He flipped the last switch, adjusted the last dial. “That’s it, then,” he said with finality. “Time to go.”
“Jules!” Bert cried, shielding his eyes from the light.
“Be seeing you,” said Verne. And then, in a trice, he and the time machine were gone.
♦ ♦ ♦
“All right,” Madoc said, dusting off his hands. “I think we have it.”
There, constructed around the stone circle and the stone table, were the first two levels of the Keep of Time. There had been just enough stones in the Zanzibar Gate for a structure that was tall enough to permit a doorway to be included, as well as the first floor of interlocking stairs, and a landing and framework for the first door up above.
“I’m afraid I don’t know enough about how it functions,” Madoc admitted. “Is there something we have to do to turn it on?”
“One last thing,” Telemachus replied. “One last stone. That, and that alone, is what makes the tower a living thing.”
Madoc looked around, puzzled. “We’ve used all the stones from the gate,” he said, “and I don’t see any more cavorite around.”
The old man shook his head. “Not cavorite. The keystone of the keep must be a living heart, willingly given. Only then can the tower come to life, and grow. Only then will time be restored.”
“Oh, fewmets,” said Fred. “I knew there was going to be a catch in all this.”
♦ ♦ ♦
“If I must,” said Madoc, before any of the others could speak. “It seems, dear Rose, that I am always sacrificing something for you. My younger self would never have believed it possible to love another person as I do you. But it’s true.”
“It’s also the reason this is not your sacrifice to make, Madoc,” said Telemachus. “You have already given her your heart, and she gave it to another.”
“Curses,” said Charles. “I knew Burton would find some way to give me a headache. Well,” he added resignedly, “I suppose it falls to me.”
Telemachus shook his head. “Your Prime Time has passed, and you now exist in Spare Time. You cannot give your heart to this, Caretaker.”
Fred stepped forward, whiskers twitching nervously. “I c’n do this,” he said, trying his best to control the quavering in his voice. “I’ll give my heart, t’ rebuild th’ keep.”
For the first time, the companions saw Telemachus’s features soften. He knelt and put his hand on the little badger’s shoulder. “Your heart is big enough to contain a thousand towers,” he said gently, “but it was not meant for this, little Child of the Earth.”
Rose swallowed hard and gripped Edmund’s hand tighter. She knew that he was about to volunteer, but Telemachus held up a hand. “Nor you, my young Cartographer. You have a great destiny ahead of you, and this is not it.”
“Then who?” Quixote said, swallowing hard.
In just that moment, a blinding flash appeared on the hill just behind them, and an object appeared, throwing off sparks and belching smoke.
“I have always wanted to ride to the rescue,” said a figure emerging from the smoke, “but I always entertained a vision of being able to enjoy having done so, afterwar
d.”
“Hah!” said Charles. “That may be literally the most timely entrance I have witnessed in my life—either of them.”
“Well met, Caretaker,” Jules Verne said as he extended his hand to Charles. “It seems as if I’ve arrived in the nick.”
“Look,” Telemachus said. . . . “See what your efforts have wrought.”
Chapter TWENTY
Restoration
“Jules!” Rose exclaimed, throwing herself at him with a giant hug. “How did you find us?”
“You made this a zero point when you came here, Rose,” Verne said, smiling broadly. “All I had to do was set the dials and throw a switch. It seems as if everything that needed fixing has been fixed . . .
“. . . almost.”
Charles shook his head sorrowfully. “You came here for nothing, Jules,” he said. “People like you and I don’t fit the billing.”
Verne’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”
Charles walked Verne around the nearly completed keep. “It needs a keystone—a living heart, to make the keep a living tower,” he explained. “Tulpas exist in what this old fellow calls ‘Spare Time,’ and as such we aren’t suitable candidates to—”
He stopped when he recognized the carefully neutral expression on Verne’s face—and grew visibly angry when he realized what it meant. “You sorry son of a—”
“What?” Rose exclaimed, glancing anxiously from one Caretaker to the other. “Uncle Charles, what is it?”
“He’s not a tulpa,” Charles said, still glaring at Verne. “He never was.”
“It’s too high a price, Telemachus,” Madoc said. “I won’t allow another to sacrifice himself just for the sake of this keep.”
“Telemachus?” Verne said, eyes widening in surprise. “Well, lad, you’ve, ah, aged a bit, since I saw you last.”
“The sacrifice has already been made,” Telemachus said softly, answering Madoc but looking at Verne. “All that remains is for you to make use of the gift that has been offered to you.”
The companions turned as one to look at Verne, and gasped at what they saw. His hands were already the distinctive silver-gray of cavorite; tendrils of stone were already forming on his neck and were slowly moving upward.
“It’s the price that must be paid for reusing a time-travel device,” said Verne. “The universe can be fooled only so many times before she claims you, and pulls you to her bosom, and makes you one with eternity.”
“You must decide quickly,” said Telemachus, “before the process is completed. His heart will be cavorite soon, but it must be taken while it is still beating.”
“Take his heart?” Fred gasped. “Out of his chest?”
“You must do it, Madoc,” Telemachus said, with a trace of both sternness and finality in his voice. “You are the Architect, and so the placement of the keystone is for you to do.”
Madoc nodded and turned to his daughter. “It’s a fortunate thing that I repaired your blade,” he said, reaching for her bag, “because it seems I’m going to need to use it.”
Holding Caliburn in front of him with his right hand, Madoc strode to Verne and placed his left hand on the Caretaker’s shoulder. “I cannot say whether I consider you an adversary or an ally,” Madoc said, “but I do understand the value of this sacrifice. And I honor you.”
“Believe it or not,” Verne said with tears in his eyes, “that is all I needed to hear.”
Madoc put his hand over the Caretaker’s eyes and with a few swift strokes of the sword removed Verne’s still-beating heart.
“Put it there,” Telemachus instructed, “where the two stairways meet.”
Madoc did as he was told, then covered the heart with one of the standing stones they had found when they arrived. “Blood for blood,” he said to the keep. “May it be worth the price we have paid this day.”
Madoc stepped out of the keep to where Quixote, Fred, and Uncas were covering Verne’s body. “We’ll bury him here,” he said. “If something goes wrong, we shouldn’t be carrying around his body.”
Reluctantly, and with great sorrow, the companions agreed. Verne had been such a presence in all of their lives that it was almost too much to bear that his own had ended so abruptly.
“Look,” Telemachus said as they were finishing the burial. “See what your efforts have wrought.”
Laura Glue was the first to see it and could barely contain her expression of delight, even though the sadness she felt at Verne’s death was still visible on her face.
The tower had grown by several feet as they worked. And now, as they watched, it grew taller still.
“It’s done, Father,” Rose said, her voice barely audible. “You have come full circle at last, and restored what was broken.”
♦ ♦ ♦
“The keep has been restored,” said Madoc, “but the question still remains—how do we get back?”
“It’s the Keep of Time, and there’s only one door,” Telemachus said simply. “That means when you go through it, you’ll be going into the future.”
“In the old keep, only the uppermost door went into the future,” said Charles, “and this one has a doorway, not an actual door. How do we know it will go to the future?”
“That’s just it,” said Edmund. “From here, there isn’t anything but future. It’s all future. So we simply have to focus on the point in the future we want to arrive at, and we should go directly then.” He stopped and swallowed hard. “I hope.”
“You’re entirely right, young Cartographer,” said the old man. “It’s just as if you were standing at the South Pole—the only direction you could go would be north.
“When you walk through the doorway,” Telemachus explained, “it will give significance to the moment, but also duration. You will have begun the process that links the beginning of all things to the future. Here, in this place, it will begin to grow, and it will anchor Chronos time and Kairos time once more—and by connecting this moment to your own future, you will ensure that the connection between the Archipelago and the Summer Country will be restored.”
“So theoretically speaking,” said Rose, “after accounting for the actual days we’ve been gone, we should end up right about the time we left, right?”
Telemachus consulted his watch and his face paled. “Oh dear,” he said softly. “I didn’t realize . . .”
“What is it?” Madoc demanded. “What kind of game are you trying to play now?”
Telemachus held up a hand in supplication and shook his head. “You misunderstand. It’s the avoidance of game playing that has become my purpose, and many years ago . . .” He paused, looking at Edmund. “Many years ago, in my own timeline, I made a promise not to manipulate events if it was in my power to do so. I have helped, encouraged, and prodded at times, but I have never deliberately tried to shape a particular outcome, nor will I do so now.”
“Are you saying that going through the doorway won’t take us home?” asked Rose.
“Not at all,” Telemachus answered mysteriously. “I’m absolutely certain that it will. But it will not be the end of your challenges. There is still one trial to come, and you may have to pay your way through it with dearest blood.”
She looked at him curiously. “You say that we have to pay, but you are coming with us . . . aren’t you?”
He shook his head. “I cannot come with you, I’m afraid,” he said. “This is the only place in time where the two of us can exist together, at least in the Summer Country—and that’s where you’re going. There can only ever be one Imago and one Archimago on earth at the same time—and until now, I have been the Imago. But when you step through the doorway, that burden will shift over to you, and someday you will be the Imago, Rose.”
“Not to argue,” said Edmund, “but isn’t she the Imago already? Or at least, since she’s the best candidate, won’t that simply just make her the Imago by default?”
Telemachus’s response was unexpected. His eyes welled up with tears, and sile
ntly, he began to weep.
“Here, Mr. Telemachus,” Fred said, offering him a handkerchief. “Take a minute, why don’tcha.”
When he had regained his composure, he took Rose by the hands. “No,” he said, answering Edmund’s question. “It is not as simple as being Named. It is not even as simple as taking the responsibility by choice. It is something that must be hard fought for, and hard earned. And there will be times when you want to cast it off, but you won’t. Because you know it is your purpose to one day be the Imago, and purpose is invincible.
“One day you will have done enough, and learned enough. It grieves me that there is still so much living that you must do before that day. But it will be worth it, my dear Rose. . . .” This last he said as he transformed once more from the ancient sage into the young man wearing the Ruby Armor. “It will be worth it. Because the Imago protects life. And as long as there is life . . .
“. . . it is such a wonderful world we live in, after all.
“And Rose,” he added as they waved farewell, “if things go well for all of you, you may see me again, after.”
Madoc had deliberately made certain the entrance of the keep was wide enough to accommodate the Indigo Dragon, but he had neglected to do the same for the door inside. They were debating whether to leave the airship behind when Fred suddenly noticed that the inside of the tower had expanded. Suddenly there was more than enough room to maneuver the ship inside and through the doorway.
The little badger stroked the stones on the outside of the keep. “Thanks, Scowler Jules,” he said with earnest humility. “We appreciate it a lot.”
“All right,” Rose said to the others. “Let’s see if we can go home one more time.”
Together, the companions climbed into the airship, and Fred guided it through the doorway.
♦ ♦ ♦
The Indigo Dragon entered the doorway of the keep, which disappeared as they passed through. On the other side, it was night, and the airship slid quietly onto the East Lawn of Tamerlane House.
The First Dragon (Chronicles of the Imaginarium Geographica, The) Page 18
