The Dragons of Winter (10 page)

“Hmm,” said Charles. “I take it that’s where the third-place award came from?”

“The judge cheated,” Verne replied. “He put a foot out of place when I wasn’t looking.”

Jack looked at John and shrugged. “Jules Verne showing goats descended from the herds of Genghis Khan in a county fair in an Indian nation in America,” he said. “Now I think I
have
heard everything.”

“I would have thought you would raise goats from the Archipelago,” said Charles, “if you really wanted to make a showing, that is.”

“Considered it,” said Verne, “but for one thing, they’re harder to breed, and for another, they kept insisting on driving the car themselves.”

“And,” Byron added, “there is no Archipelago anymore. It’s all Shadow.”

Hawthorne cuffed Byron across the back of his head. “You see?” he huffed. “This is why we don’t take you anywhere.”

More quickly than any of them had expected, including himself, Edmund finished the chronal map. It was almost three feet across, mostly to allow for the symbols that ringed its border, which were necessary to accurately pinpoint the date to which they would travel.

In celebration, the Elder Caretakers called for a dinner in honor of the mission. John and Jack exchanged silent glances of frustration with Twain, knowing that every second that passed was another one lost to Bert, but nothing could be done. To the Caretakers Emeriti, who were largely confined to Tamerlane House, ceremony was everything. 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.

“So,” said Twain when they had all eaten their fill, “who’s up for an adventure?”

Burton let out a loud belch. “What you’re really asking is, ‘Who gets to go?’”

The Caretakers and their associates all looked up from their plates. It was not an academic question—the group selected to go on the mission had to be carefully chosen, if for no other reason than if they ran into trouble, they would not be able to draw on the Caretakers’ resources for help. Those chosen would be on their own.

“Rose and Edmund, as per usual,” said Verne. “And of course, Bert will go,” he added, clapping his colleague on the shoulder.

“Th’ three Scowlers should go,” said Fred. “For something this important,
they
should make the trip, if anyone.”

Verne hesitated and looked at the other Caretakers. Until this moment, none of them had considered whether—or if—they wanted to actually make this trip. But now, faced with the possibility, they realized that all of them wanted to, badly.

“I’m sorry,” Verne said before any of them could volunteer, “but of the three of you, only Charles should be allowed to go.”

John and Jack were immediately crestfallen—but they also understood right away what Verne meant. They were still living Caretakers, in the Prime Time of their actual life spans—but Charles was a tulpa, like Verne, Kipling, and a few others. He could withstand stresses and injuries that they could not—but more importantly, if he were lost, it would not affect the natural timeline.

“But Scowler Verne,” Fred started to protest, clutching his paws in sympathetic anguish. “Scowler John an’ Scowler Jack . . .”

“No, no, it’s all right,” John said, chuckling softly. He bowed his head for a moment, then looked up at his friends. His eyes were shining with tears. “I suppose in a way, I was looking forward to one last, great adventure, just like we had when all this began. That’s how we all met, remember? When Bert came to the club at Baker Street?”

“Impossible to forget it, old friend,” Charles said, giving in to his impulses and hugging his friend. “I’m, ah, sorry you’re still alive and can’t come along.”

“I’ve had my adventures,” Jack said, putting his arms around both Edmund and Rose. “It’s time for a younger generation to earn their teeth.”

“To, uh,
what
?” asked Edmund.

“It’s a rite of passage,” Jack replied, “for every crewman aboard a Dragonship.”

“Do you remember, Jack?” Bert asked. “Do you remember the day you earned your dragon’s tooth from Aven?”

Involuntarily Jack put a hand to his chest and felt the small bump where the tooth hung around his neck underneath his shirt. “I remember,” he said, smiling wistfully. “I’ve never taken it off.”

During their first adventure together, when a younger Jack was infatuated with the older captain of the
Indigo Dragon
, he had performed many feats of bravery, and more than once had saved the ship and its crew. And so during a quieter moment, she had presented him with a dragon’s tooth—the mark that he had earned his place among the crew. It was more than decorative—it was one of the original dragon’s teeth sown by Jason of the
Argo
, in his quest for the Golden Fleece, and thus it had several magical properties that came in handy onboard a ship. It could be turned into a stave for fighting, or a grappling hook. But mostly it was a symbol to other sailors—a statement that his place among them had been earned, not given.

Later, after having made some terrible mistakes, Jack had tried to give it back, but Aven refused. “No,” she had told him firmly, “it’s not an honor you lose. You earned this. But you’re learning some hard lessons—and that’s part of the deal too.” So he kept it. And in that moment at Tamerlane House, he was glad he had. It was one of the connections he had had with Aven that neither of his friends had been given, and for that reason, he treasured the memories it brought.

“Yes,” Bert said as he looked at Jack and wiped away the tears that were welling in his eyes at the memory of his daughter. “I can see that you do.”

None of the Caretakers Emeriti could go, because of the limitations of the portraits—they could survive for one week outside the bounds of Tamerlane House, and no more. This was a guideline that had been underscored by the terrible loss of John’s mentor, Professor Sigurdsson.

For the same reasons that John and Jack couldn’t go, a petulant Laura Glue was also denied the chance to join the others, as was Fred. Burton, however, insisted on going, and stated it flatly, as if the matter was not open to debate.

“Technically speaking,” he said, “I still represent what’s left of the official ICS, and I’m not really a Caretaker. So I have a right to go. Also,” he added, “like our friend Charles, I’m a tulpa, so there will be less risk.”

“We don’t have other tulpas who can go?” Jack asked Verne. “Like Kipling? Or maybe . . .” He stopped and looked around at the gathering. “Where are Houdini and Conan Doyle, anyway, Jules?”

“Er, ah,” Verne sputtered, caught off guard by the question. “Kipling is on other business, and Houdini and Conan Doyle are, ah . . .”

“Tell them,” said Dickens.

“They’re tending my goats,” Verne admitted sheepishly. “I’ve taken them on as apprentice shepherds.”

“Good Lord,” Burton said, slapping his forehead. “I weep for this and all future generations.”

The discussion continued as the Caretakers left the banquet hall and repaired to the lawn outside, where Shakespeare had constructed a simple stone platform to mark the point where the company of travelers would cross into the future.

“It’s cavorite,” he explained to the others. “Edmund and I realized it would give him and Rose a stronger point to link to for the return trip.”

“Brilliant,” said Jack. “Marlowe would never have come close to anything this clever.”

Shakespeare tried not to beam with pleasure at the compliment, but failed miserably. “My thanks, Jack.”

Fred was quite put out at not being allowed to accompany his friends on their journey into the future, particularly since Charles was going.

“It’s my job,” the little badger protested. “I’m the fourth Caretaker, after you, an’ I should be going along to watch your back.”

“I understand,” Charles said with sincere sympathy, “but it’s precisely because of that that I need you to stay here at Tamerlane House. John and Jack are going to need you here—no one else is as skilled a researcher as you are, Fred. That’s part of your job too.”

The little badger tried not to pout, but wasn’t very successful. “Th’
bird
is going, though.”

“Archie is the best reconnaissance agent we have,” Bert said, winking at the clockwork owl perched on Rose’s shoulder. “Taking him along is a safety precaution.”

“Also,” Burton interjected, “there’s very little danger of the Morlocks accidentally eating the bird.”

“Well, all right,” Fred said with obvious reluctance. “But at least take along my copy of the Little Whatsit. I won’t need it here, since I’ll have th’ whole library at my disposal. But you never know when it might just save your lives with some tidbit or another you didn’t know you needed to know until you needed to know it.”

Charles took the book and scratched Fred’s head. “Of course, my friend. Thank you.” He stored the book in his duffel alongside the
Imaginarium Geographica
and a few of the Histories that Verne and Bert had selected.

“Humph,” Byron snorted. “He scratches the badger and the animal preens, but I try to do it as a friendly gesture, and the little beast bites me.”

“Badgers are excellent judges of character,” said Twain.

“Oh—right,” said Byron.

Charles shouldered the duffel bag and moved to stand alongside Bert, Rose, Burton, and Edmund. Archie hopped to Charles’s shoulder and beamed at Fred, as Rose tucked her sword, Caliburn, under one arm.

“We have our company then,” said Bert, “and all of you have my gratitude.”

“Close your eyes and think of Weena,” Rose whispered, taking Bert by the hand. “You’re going to see her, very soon.”

Edmund and Rose held the map in front of them and concentrated on it. Instantly it began to glow, then expand, and in seconds was large enough to cross through. It was dark on the
other side, but the sun was setting behind Tamerlane House as well, so that meant little.

“Farewell, my friends,” said Verne, “and safe return.”

The Chronic Argonauts, as Archie had dubbed them, in honor of one of Bert’s stories, stepped through the portal and into darkness.

. . . a hunched, shabby-looking man was muttering
to himself and cradling a rock . . .