The Dragons of Winter (14 page)

Verne shrugged. “We aren’t really sure. He just . . . goes to wherever he is needed. We tried to press him about it once, and he vanished for six months. When he returned, he acted as if nothing had happened, so we never addressed it again.”

“No place,” the cat repeated as it started to vanish again. “We will be watching, Caretakers.”

“Can we really trust him then, Jules?” John said as Verne indicated a rather plain green door at the end of the last hallway. “He sounds more like someone we should be worried about than entrusting with our future.”

“The best assessment we were able to make is that he is a fiction, like Herman Melville, or Hank Morgan,” said Verne. “Or possibly an anomaly, like Bert himself. But he has never acted against us, and in this war, we may be less able to choose our friends than we are our enemies.”

He rapped sharply on the door, which swung open immediately. The room was small, obviously an antechamber to a larger warren of living spaces, but it was utilized fully. There were desks and shelves filled with antiquities and relics of the distant past—and, John observed, some from possible futures. Toward the right side, sitting in a tall, straight-backed chair, was a slender, slightly hawkish man who immediately rose to greet them.

“You assess correctly, Caveo Principia,” Dr. Raven said, noting John’s interest in the items of the collection that were not antiques. “We once kept most of these items at the Cartographer’s room in Solitude, but for obvious reasons, they had to be relocated.”

John gave a slightly formal nod and handshake to the other, still chewing over what Verne had been telling him in the hallways. “I recognize a few things,” he said, moving over to a shelf filled with record albums. “Merlin was very fond of his Marx Brothers collection.”

“He also enjoyed the films of Clint Eastwood,” said Dr. Raven, “although you’d never have gotten him to admit it.” He spoke in a
friendly and courteous manner, but his eyes never left John’s face, and John had also noticed that Dr. Raven addressed him using his most formal title.

The Messenger was hooded, but enough of his face was visible that John could see the honest smile of greeting, and the well-earned wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. The other Messengers had been roughly John’s contemporaries, but this Dr. Raven was somewhat older, perhaps closer to Bert in age. Regardless, John understood some of what Verne saw in the man—he seemed immediately trustworthy, which bothered John, because nothing else he knew about him was.

“So,” Dr. Raven said, rubbing his hands together. “What may I do for the Caveo Principia?”

“Harrumph.” Verne cleared his throat and stepped slightly in front of John. He was used to being deferred to, and Dr. Raven’s seeming interest in John was off-putting. “We need you to be a chaperone, basically. No time travel will be involved, simply spatial travel—to the Soft Places.”

“Ah,” Dr. Raven said, as if he understood more than Verne was saying aloud. “The badger and the knight. You’ve sent them on another quest, I take it? Are they after another Sphinx?“

“Not quite,” said Verne. “They’re looking for the Ruby Armor. And Aristophanes is guiding them.”

For the briefest instant, John thought he saw the Messenger’s expression darken, as if this was a disturbing surprise.

“The Zen Detective,” said Dr. Raven. “I see. And that’s all you need? For them to be chaperoned?”

“Shadowed,” Verne corrected. “No assistance, unless their lives are in imminent danger. If they succeed, we’ll have won a
major victory against the enemy. But if they fail, then the armor remains out of reach to our enemy as well.”

“Understood.” The Messenger bowed to Verne, but he kept his eyes firmly locked on John, as if they shared some sort of secret. “I serve at the will of the Caretakers. It shall be done.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Verne said as he opened the door and ushered John outside. “We’ll expect a report soon, then.” He closed the door, and the Messenger was alone.

The room shimmered, as if it were slightly out of focus with the rest of the world; then it clarified again, and the room was just as it had been—with one exception. Dr. Raven was younger. The wrinkles at his eyes were fewer, and he stood just a bit straighter, with just a little more vigor. It was as if several years of his life had suddenly fallen away.

“Be seeing you,” Dr. Raven said to no one in particular, before he removed the watch from his pocket, twirled the dials, and disappeared.

. . . in the middle sat a beautiful woman in a blue silk dress . . .

C
HAPTER
E
IGHT
The Last Caretaker

Vanamonde’s last word
hung in the air and echoed in the companions’ minds so strongly that it took a few seconds for them to realize that they might actually be prisoners, and not merely guests.

Burton got to the door first. It was locked.

“Fools,” he muttered, eyes downcast. “We are all fools. Especially”—he turned, pointing at Bert—“
you
.”

“We were all taken in,” Charles said mildly. “We can’t blame Bert for trusting in a familiar face.”

“We all chose to follow him,” said Edmund, “and he did offer to help Archie.”

“It isn’t that stout a door,” Burton said, flexing his muscles. “I think I can take it down.” He threw his weight against the door—which didn’t move. Charles joined him, but even together, they couldn’t budge the door.

“This door has a Binding,” Bert mused, rubbing his chin. “Rose, try using Caliburn.”

As her mentor suggested, Rose swung the great sword at the door. It struck with an explosion of sparks—but made no mark at all where the sword hit.

“Deep Magic, then,” said Bert. “We’re in this room until Vanamonde—or his Master—say otherwise.”

There was nothing the companions could do but wait for Vanamonde to return and hope for the best. But hope was in short supply, after the reversals they’d experienced in the last few hours. They paired off into different corners of the room, to commiserate, and try to rest, and prepare themselves for whatever might come next.

“All Lloigor,” Charles said bleakly. “That’s a bad, bad circumstance, I think.”

“Not all,” Burton corrected. “Pym certainly was no Lloigor—I think.”

“Perhaps, but then again, he’s the one who attacked you and nearly demolished poor Archie,” Charles replied. “At this point, I’m feeling less threatened by the Lloigor than by Verne’s own lieutenant.”

“Been there, done that,” said Burton.

Across the room in the far corner, Rose and Edmund were sprawled out on their coats, using their duffels for pillows and trying to rest. Sleep was unlikely, but Burton had taught them both how to meditate, so they decided it was as good a time as any to balance their minds. Mostly, though, they were just talking about the friends they’d left behind at Tamerlane—particularly Laura Glue.

There had been a curious sort of dance among the three of them, since Rose and Laura Glue first met Edmund in Revolutionary War–era London. There had been flirtations—after all, Edmund was the only available male at Tamerlane House
who was not a portrait, tulpa, or small forest creature—but Rose, for the most part, kept a discreet distance whenever an opportunity arose to be alone with the young Cartographer. An innocent romance had developed between Edmund and Laura Glue, and she didn’t know whether—or if—she should complicate several friendships by seeing if there was anything deeper between herself and Edmund.

In terms of education, all three were equally balanced, with expertise in different areas—but in terms of life experience, Edmund and Laura Glue were closer. Rose simply had been through too many experiences that they could not relate to for them to be true equals. So, while the interest had been there, she had never so much as flirted with Edmund.

But now, in impossible circumstances, and facing the very real possibility that they had been caught in an Echthroi trap, she wasn’t thinking about anything except the handsome young man drifting in and out of a meditative trance, who lay just inches away from her.

He was, she thought as her shadow curled up and around her like a scarf, right next to her.

And Laura Glue was very, very far away.

“Do you ever regret coming back with us from London?” she asked abruptly, taking him out of his trance.

Edmund blinked as he thought about the question and wondered what kind of an answer she was asking for. Sure, there were times when he missed his father, and the life he had led as a student of Dr. Franklin’s. But there had always been that deeper yearning, the inner conviction that he was destined for greater things. Of course, that could also be his pirate blood
speaking to him—not that that would be such a bad thing.

“Regret, no,” he said finally, taking her hand in his as he spoke. “But there are days when I do wonder if I was crazy to have followed you.”

“I don’t think we could have gotten back without your help,” said Rose.

Edmund smiled. “Yes, you could have. Once I made the chronal trump, you just needed to step through. And the connection was yours, anyroad.”

“If you hadn’t come back with us then, you wouldn’t be stuck here with me now.”

He sat up so that he could look at her more directly, and he squeezed her hand just a bit more tightly.

“I’m happy that I did follow you, though, whatever else may come, Rose. I am. Even ending up here has already turned into an adventure. Traveling with you is just too much fun to be had.”

Her eyes flashed with anger for just a moment, until she realized that he was teasing her, and she moved closer to him and lifted her chin. “I’m glad you came with us too. Whatever may come.”

He smiled at her briefly, but with an expression in his eyes that said he was worried. And afraid. So she clutched his hand a little more tightly against the darkness, and they were afraid together. And that made it more bearable. A little, at least.

From the other side of the chamber Charles watched the shadows shift and move where Rose sat with the young Cartographer. Bert moved alongside him, where he could speak without being overheard by the others.

“They’re a good team,” the Far Traveler said softly. “She complements him, and he, her.”

“I know,” Charles agreed. “His abilities to make maps may actually rival Merlin’s, although I’d never have confessed that to him. And combined with her understanding of time . . . Well. It’s an impressive combination, even if it did result in our getting stuck here in the far future.”

Suddenly the room was shaken by a loud rumbling from outside—a tremendous noise that made the tower sway to and fro as if it were caught up in an earthquake. The sound and motion brought everyone to their feet, concerned that something awful was happening.

Bert took Charles by the arm. “That was no earthquake,” he said, a spark of fear in his eyes. “I’ve felt that before, in another tower.”

“The Keep of Time,” Charles said flatly. “When it grew.”

“Shades,” muttered Burton. “That would explain the Deep Magic that’s sealed us here in the room, too.”