Mordred chuckled and turned around, his hands clasped behind his back. “That was it, and that was all, and it was enough … ah, what did you say your name was again, child?”
“That be Scowler John y’ be addressin’!” Uncas exclaimed.
“Uncas, no!” Jack shouted before realizing he’d just made the same unwitting mistake by blurting out the badger’s name. “Oh, damnation,” he muttered. “Sorry, John, Uncas.”
Mordred chuckled again and raised his left hand to his mouth. He bit into his thumb, hard. Blood welled into the torn flesh and he turned around, eyes glittering.
“Don’t apologize t’ me,” said Uncas, who clearly was the only one in the room who did not realize what was transpiring. “A king might talk t’ Fred an’ I like that, but he should respect men like you, Scowler Jack.”
John slapped his forehead in resignation. The Winter King now had all their names. And the hapless Caretaker already anticipated what was coming next.
Before any of them could react, Mordred moved, almost faster than they could follow, first to Jack, then, surprisingly, to Chaz, then John, then the others. He marked them each on the forehead with the blood from his thumb, and as he did so, he called them by name: “Jack and Chaz, John and Bert, Uncas and Fred—I am Mordred the First, thy king.”
Then, he began to recite words John did not realize Mordred knew:
By right and rule
For need of might
I thus bind thee
I thus bind thee
By blood bound
By honor given
I thus bind thee
I thus bind thee
For strength and speed and heaven’s power
By ancient claim in this dark hour
I thus bind thee
I thus bind thee.
The instant Mordred began speaking, all the companions found themselves unable to move; their arms felt bolted to their sides, their jaws fixed and unmoving. All, that is, save for one.
Mordred finished the Binding and once more looked at each of them in turn. He was triumphant, but there was a trace—the merest trace, John thought—of melancholy in his expression.
Of regret.
“Long ago there was a prophecy,” Mordred began, “that mentioned someone called the Winter King. It was said that he would bring darkness to two worlds, and that …” He paused, considering, then continued. “It said that three scholars, three men of imagination and learning from this world, would bring about his downfall.
“It was more than a thousand years before some among my people began to call me by that name—and only then did I remember the old prophecy.
“The prophet never mentioned the Far Traveler, but when he and his companion first came here fourteen years ago, it rekindled the possibility that the prophecy was true. And so since then I have waited patiently for the three scholars it spoke of to arrive: John, Jack, and Charles.”
This last he said with a wink at Chaz. “Not precisely what had been prophesied, but when the Far Traveler sought you out, I saw a possible connection and decided not to take chances. And when you sent word that you’d found these two, your own fate was sealed.
“My Shadow-Born will attend to you all shortly. We shall not meet again.”
Mordred spun about as if to leave, then thought better of it and stepped slowly back to where Jack was standing.
“I was not always as you see me, child,” he whispered. “I was different, once.…”
Frozen in place, Jack could not respond, and after a moment Mordred took a step backward, turned, and opened the door. They heard him striding across the bridge, then nothing. He was gone.
The Binding was absolute. There was no way to move or speak. But it was not so complete that it did not allow tears to flow, and Bert wept. So did Jack, but more from frustration than sorrow. Chaz was still too stunned to weep; and John’s mind was racing too fast to stop and worry over the desperate situation they were in. Even without the Binding, Fred would have been petrified by fear. A blood marking was a potent thing, and even more so among animals than men. Combined with the Binding spell, it was impossible to overcome. And so none of them were able to turn around to see what was making the crunching noises under the table.
“Oh, bother,” Uncas said. “That’s all the crackers, gone. If I’d known we were going to become prisoners, I’d have saved some of the soup, so as not t’ die on an empty stummick.”
Uncas was unfrozen. The Binding had not affected him at all. He continued complaining, all the while rubbing worriedly at the small silver coin he’d had in his pocket.
Of course, John thought. Bindings may be broken by silver! Uncas must have been touching the coin, and so he wasn’t frozen. There might still be a way out of this after all!
John’s initial rise of hope quickly dropped as he realized that Uncas being free might not be such a big advantage. The badger still had not realized that the rest of them could not move.
“Y’think he’s gone?” Uncas asked, peering over the bottom of the windowsill. “What d’you think that blood-marking business was about, anyhow?”
When no one replied, Uncas scurried over to his son, finally realizing that something was amiss. “Fred? What is it? What is it, son?” he asked. “Fred? Can’t you answer?”
Fred couldn’t, and didn’t, and the reality of what had occurred finally dawned on Uncas. And then he did the only thing he could think of, and consulted the Little Whatsit.
“Hmmm hm hm hm hmm,” Uncas hummed as he flipped through the pages. John had just enough range in his field of vision to see the pages below. The badger seemed to be following some arcane indexing system based on keywords.
“Spells, curses,” Uncas murmured, chewing absently on the coin, “also see: Bindings, counterspells, blood-oaths, and … ah, yes, here we go. It’s under the section on blood. You know, it be a fascinatin’ thing … I never would have made th’ connection to lycanthropy, but …”
Uncas blinked, then looked at the coin. “Well, pluck my feathers,” he said. “Silver’s good for lots o’ stuff.”
He repeated the process Fred had performed earlier, grinding the coin to a fine powder. Then, apologizing for the presumption, he sliced five shards of wood from the ash staff, moistened them with his tongue, then rolled them in the silver dust.
“Let’s try this with you first, Fred,” he said to his son. “If it works, y’ can help with th’ others.”
Uncas closed his eyes and murmured a badger’s prayer under his breath, then plunged the ash and silver dart into Fred’s forearm.
It worked.
“Ow!” Fred yelped, rubbing at his arm. “Good show! The Royal Animal Rescue Squad, trained an’ true!”
The remedy worked equally well on the men. “Sort of a reverse Balder, eh, Jack?” John asked, examining the dart. But Jack wasn’t listening. The second he was freed, he had Chaz pinned to the wall.
“Why did you do it, Chaz?” Jack shouted, livid. “Was it really worth selling out your friends for a few lights?”
“You in’t my friends!” Chaz howled in reply. “Besides, he froze me the same as you!”
“No time! There’s no time for this!” Bert exclaimed. “Mordred’s minions are everywhere, and the news we’ve escaped may reach him any moment—and then we’ll all be lost!”
“Where can we go that he won’t find us?” John said. “We have nothing to fight him with—not even his true name.”
“Yes, you do have something,” said Bert. “You have the prophecy. And you have this.” He took the rolled parchment from the mantel. “This is what Jules was given when he opened the Serendipity Box. It was then that he said I must give him to Mordred, and then wait for you. He died so that you could have this chance.”
“Well, let’s have a look at it,” Jack began.
“No time, no time,” Bert said. “Just know this: It’s a map, to the last island in the Archipelago. The only map left, which has been hidden from Mordred all these y
ears. The only one that was made by the Cartographer, but by covenant, never bound into the Geographica.”
Hearing this, Uncas and Fred exchanged questioning glances, but said nothing.
“Here,” Bert said, stuffing the parchment, the box, and Jules Verne’s skull into a bag. “Take these, and let’s get you on your way.”
“How does y’ plan t’ do that?” said Chaz.
For the first time, John and Jack saw the old familiar glitter in Bert’s eyes. “Easy,” he said as he opened the back door. “I’m going to use what the Serendipity Box gave to me.”
The old man hobbled his way out to the far end of the dock. Looking westward, the companions could see nothing but dust. It was, in all ways, a desert.
“Are we going to walk to this island?” Jack asked. “I’ve already got a blister going.”
“Shush,” said John. “I think Bert’s got better than that in mind.”
“Oh yes.” Bert nodded. “I do have something good up my, er, sleeve, as it were.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a brooch. It was an Egyptian scarab beetle, set in a bronze fitting, and the shell of the beetle was translucent blue. It also seemed to be in motion. Bert turned it over. “Recognize the writings, John?”
“Egyptian, obviously, and …” He peered closer. “Is that Hebrew and …” John’s eyes grew wide. “Is this what I think it is?”
Bert nodded. “From Aaron’s hand to mine. His brother didn’t part anything. The Red Sea was taken up, whole, and put away for safekeeping. And since the Good Lord saw fit to give it to me, I’m sure he won’t mind that I’ve moved it a few thousand miles west.”
Bert drew back his arm, and with surprising strength hurled the brooch high into the sky.
It arced high, higher, then plunged downward, hitting the ground some hundred yards away.
“Now what?” asked Chaz.
Suddenly the earth underneath the brooch fissured and split, and it fell into the ground, out of view. A low rumbling sound shook the air, and the pier began to tremble. Then, where the brooch had fallen, a fountain burst into the sky from the center of the fissure, then another, and another.
In seconds it was as if a reverse thunderstorm had exploded out of the dry earth, filling the sky with water, which fell back to ground and began pooling in greater and greater volume.
As the flood gushed up, rain clouds began to form, and almost immediately a downpour started. The water met in the middle with such force that the winds nearly swept the small group off the dock. And then, as quickly as it had started, the storm subsided, and the clouds began to settle, and the companions found themselves looking out upon an ocean restored.
That was not the end of the surprises: In the distance, perhaps a few miles out, they saw a ship.
A Dragonship.
“I thought Mordred would have destroyed them all,” said John, “all the Dragonships, along with all the lands in the Archipelago.”
“Not this ship, and not this island,” said Bert. “There were no other Dragonships when this timeline changed. And there were reasons this island was never included in the original Geographica. This is one of them.”
And so it was with mingled wonder and awe, and no small surprise, that the companions watched as the Red Dragon glided smoothly through the water and alongside the dock.
“But why, Bert?” John asked as the companions climbed aboard the ship. “If you had the brooch and could do this at any time, why did you wait so long?”
“For you,” Bert said simply. “We had faith in you. Jules trusted in your destiny, and so did I. It was hard, terribly so at times. And I regret to say I am not the same, in many ways. I’m worn thin, John. But I’m heartened by your arrival. And overall, considering what Jules sacrificed, I really shouldn’t complain.”
“Well, you waited long enough,” said Jack, offering a hand. “Step aboard, and let’s get the hell away from here.”
But Bert didn’t move. Instead he simply looked at them all with sorrowful eyes, then patted the Red Dragon’s hull. “I’m sorry, lads. I won’t be going.”
“Why not?”
“Because,” Chaz called from the far side of the deck, “someone’s got t’ stay behind, t’ make sure we in’t followed.”
“I nominate you, traitor,” said Jack. “Better you than Bert.”
“No,” Bert said. “My time is past. This is your destiny to fulfill, the three of you—not mine.”
“But he’s not Charles!” exclaimed Jack. “Don’t do this, Bert!”
The old man was not swayed. “Whatever’s going on, Jack, is for you to work through. All things happen for a reason. You have to find out what the reason is, and fix what’s been broken.”
He tapped the hull again, and, as if a signal had been given, the Red Dragon came about and headed for open waters.
Sadly, the companions gathered at the aft railing to wave good-bye to their friend and mentor, but he had already left the dock and returned to the shack, closing the door behind him.
For the first few hours, John and Jack had kept watch, fearing pursuit.
Chaz sat at the fore of the ship, sulking. The badgers busied themselves with examining the ship itself and basically trying not to get in the way.
“That’s really some book you have, that Little Whatsit,” John said to Fred. “It’s been pretty handy so far, anyway.”
“Sure,” said Jack, “except we had only the one silver coin. What happens when we need more?”
“Not everything in th’ Whatsit involves silver,” Uncas explained. “Some got t’ do with gold, f’r instance.”
“Hey,” Jack said brightly. “We might have a use for your watch, John.”
“Funny scowler,” said John. “Here now, let’s have a look at this map, shall we?”
The map had been drawn on the same parchment and was of the same dimensions as most of the maps they were accustomed to seeing in the Imaginarium Geographica, and it had been created by the familiar hand of the Cartographer of Lost Places.
“‘Noble’s Isle,’ it says it’s called,” said John. “It’s a volcanic island, and looks to be in the south. The markings are clear, though, and in classical Latin, so we shouldn’t have any problem navigating there.”
“The animals have another name for it,” said Fred, peering underneath John’s arm. “We call it Sanctuary.”
“Sanctuary?” asked Jack. “From what?”
“From the world,” said Fred. “Both literal and otherwise.
“When Ordo Maas took us into the Archipelago, he gave us many gifts—but they were things unearned. We wanted to grow up, to have a place that was ours, and no others. A place to do our own work, and to learn to be better than we are. And so the animals went sailing through the Archipelago with Nemo’s great-great-great-umpteen-grandfather, Sinbad, and he found this uncharted island. He named it Noble’s Isle, but we called it Sanctuary. And when the map was made, we asked that it be kept secret, private-like. Only the High King ever had a copy of it.”
“And it was the one thing Jules Verne most needed when he opened the Serendipity Box,” John mused. “Interesting. Let’s hope that when we get there, more of these mysteries become clear.”
* * *
Bert had spoken true—all the other islands, everywhere, were gone. There was no frontier to cross, no boundary. And the Red Dragon never wavered in its course. The only island left in the natural world, or in the Archipelago itself, was Noble’s Isle.
“Impossible,” said John. “He can’t have destroyed them all. He’s not that powerful, is he?”
“The king may not be,” Chaz said from the rear, “but she is.” He was pointing to the deepening sky, where the moon was beginning to rise. “Before the seas went dry, there was a great flood.…”
“Of Biblical proportions?” Jack said wryly, leaning over the rail and dipping his hand into the waves. “What the good Lord giveth, he also taketh away. Then he puts it back again.”
&nbs
p; It took only a few hours for the ship to reach Noble’s Isle. “Land ho!” Uncas called out from his perch high atop the mast. “Sanctuary, straight ahead!”
The island was covered with palm trees that thinned out closer to the center as more cultivated gardens took over. The beaches were shallow, of dull gray sand, and offered no easy access for the Red Dragon.
Here Uncas took charge and steered the ship (in a more expert fashion than even Fred was expecting) to a narrow inlet on the southernmost tip. The waterway led to a deepwater dock that was both well lit in the approaching twilight, and well cared for.
The companions tied down the ship and stepped onto the sturdy dock, where they were greeted very smartly by a large fox, who bowed deeply at their approach.
He was walking on his hind legs, as the badgers did, and was dressed similarly in a waistcoat, blazer with tails, and trousers.
“I am Reynard,” he said in greeting. “Welcome to Noble’s Isle, Children of the Earth and Sons of Adam.”
The companions returned the bow and, at Reynard’s prompting, followed him off the dock to an awaiting principle. It was large and elegant and hummed like a cat. They clambered aboard, and Reynard pulled onto a paved lane that led directly to the center of the island.
The inlet had lain between two ridges, which flattened out as they passed upward along the road. To one side was a foul-smelling swamp, and to the other, they saw various cultivated gardens, which were punctuated here and there with greenhouses and outbuildings.
As they drove, Reynard kept up an amiable chatter with Uncas, who talked with the fox as if they were long-lost war veterans who’d been separated for a lifetime and had only an hour to catch up. In less than ten minutes, however, the road widened into a circular drive, which was surrounded by a cluster of buildings. These, Reynard explained, were the main dwellings of Sanctuary, and he’d been instructed to bring the visitors there.
“Instructed by whom?” John asked as they climbed out of the principle.
“By the Prime Caretaker, of course,” said Reynard, gesturing toward the main house, “and at the request of Ordo Maas himself. Otherwise you would not have been allowed to set foot on this island.”
The Indigo King Page 8
