The Dragons of Winter (5 page)

“Yes,” Chaucer agreed, “the way is open. And we do not know enough about our enemies’ capabilities to rule out some sort of espionage effort to find and use it.”

“It would seem to me,” Twain said, lighting another cigar, “that the
what
of it is no longer in question, because it has already
taken place. The
how
of it is, and may remain, a mystery. But what concerns me at the moment is the
why
of the thing. Why was it necessary to burgle our abode?”

“Edmund said that they tried—and failed—to steal old Elijah’s maps,” said John, “but if that was a failure, then what was taken?”

“A portrait,” a loud voice boomed from the entry doors. “A few trinkets, a few baubles, and one of Basil’s portraits. That’s what was taken—and that’s how we know, without doubt, that Dee’s Cabal is responsible.”

Jules Verne strode into the room and took his seat at the head of the table opposite Chaucer.

“How?” John exclaimed, too surprised to even offer a greeting to the Prime Caretaker. “Which portrait?”

“The only one,” Verne replied, “dangerous enough to be sealed up behind a brick wall.”

“Oh, dear,” said Jack. “You mean . . .”

“Daniel Defoe has escaped,” said Chaucer, “and to where, we have no idea.”

“We had opened up the wall,” Chaucer explained, “in order to interrogate Defoe about the lost prince—but he was reluctant to offer any information that could be deemed as helpful, even under extreme coercion.”

“What he means,” said Burton, “is that we tried our level best to torture it out of him, even to the point of setting fire to the portrait. But he held his tongue. Apparently, he’s made of sterner stuff than others among us.”

“Rude,” Byron sniffed.

“We know that whoever broke out Defoe’s portrait also wanted Elijah McGee’s maps,” said Chaucer, “although they failed to claim those.”

“So other than Defoe, what was stolen?” asked John.

“A key, which was important but not irreplaceable,” said Verne, “a statue of Jason’s wife, Medea, which is irreplaceable but not important, and,” he added with a slightly puzzled look on his face, “every pair of eyeglasses in Tamerlane House.”

“That’s a very strange laundry list for a burglar,” said Jack. “Any idea why those things were taken?”

“Not particularly,” Verne said, giving Bert an odd look, “but it’s the escape of Defoe that we’ve focused on—because it’s the only theft that includes a timetable.”

“How do you mean?” asked John.

“Defoe’s a portrait,” said Verne. “He can leave the frame outside of Tamerlane House, but only for seven days.”

“Yes,” Bert said, nodding. “And we believe that the Cabal is planning some sort of initiative in that time, which is why I called for this council. We have spent a year reestablishing the zero points in time to allow our watches to function, but if we are truly to be able to defeat our enemies, we must resolve once and for all the question of how to rebuild the Keep of Time. And we must do it now.”

“I understood that such a leap in time as that would require is not yet possible,” said da Vinci.

“Rose believes that it is,” Bert said, gesturing to the girl, “and I believe her. She
is
ready. It’s time.”

“It’s time to pursue your personal agenda, you mean,” said Burton. “Going to the past means going to the future first. And
only an idiot couldn’t guess when you want to go to, and why.”

“It’s not just for personal interests of my own that we’re doing this,” Bert shot back. “Ask Poe. He knows.”

The reclusive leader of the Caretakers Emeriti nodded impassively from his post at the landing high above the room. “He is correct. In order to attempt a crossing of Deep Time into the past, to discover the identity of the Architect of the keep, a journey into the future must be made. It is the only way to balance out the chronal energies. And to go to a point that has been traveled to before only increases the odds that it will become a zero point. What Bert suggests is the only wise course of action.”

“Crossing back to the present from eighteenth-century London is one thing,” said Jack. “This seems like it will take more than a map and a piece of string.”

“Machines have always been required to go into the future,” said Verne. “That was one aspect of the Keep of Time that we realized from the start: It was recording time as much as anything else. The fact that it continued to grow, but somehow also continued to keep its connections to the past, was forever a mystery to us. As a means of travel into the past, however, it was both consistent and reliable. That ended once it fell.”

“It had its own link to the future, though,” said Charles. “The last door, up at the top.”

“The door the stairs couldn’t reach,” said Bert, “but it did exist. The future was tangible, behind that door. That’s how we knew traveling to it was possible.”

“Anything within recorded history was reachable,” said Verne, “through the means we developed here at Tamerlane House. Backward and forward within around twenty-five hundred years
could be done with reasonable fidelity and accuracy. But that was when the tower still stood, and the doorway to the future still existed.”

“Hah!” Burton laughed. “If we’d thought about this sooner, perhaps we could have salvaged that door. But it’s a little late for that now. All the doors are gone.”

“It wasn’t the doors that were important,” said one of the other Caretakers, who had been silent until now. “It was the
stone
.”

William Shakespeare rose to his feet and continued. “If we can’t yet rebuild the keep of the past, we might still be able to build a gate to the future,” he said placidly. “If the council would just permit me—”

“And the time may yet come to put your plans into motion, Master Shaksberd,” Chaucer said, dismissing the Bard’s request with a wave, “but now is not that, uh, time.” He turned to Edmund. “What does our young Cartographer say? Can you truly do this?”

Edmund swallowed hard and stood. “I believe we can, sir,” he said, glancing at Rose. “It will take me most of the day to prepare the chronal map, but once that’s done, we can go as soon as you give the word.”

Chaucer glanced at the other Caretakers, then at Verne, who nodded, and Poe, who simply arched an eyebrow. “The word is given,” Chaucer said finally. “May the light be with us all.”

C
HAPTER
T
HREE
The Rings of Jules Verne

The next order of business
was the security of Tamerlane House, to prevent any further intrusions while Edmund prepared the new map. Shakespeare’s Bridge was the only substantial access point from the Summer Country, and Hawthorne and Laura Glue were both stationed there as guards, rotating in shifts with Byron and Washington Irving. There were others among the Caretakers who were willing to serve as guards—but who hadn’t the physical prowess or inclination to really be any good at it. However, there were other means of entry, and those were not so easily guarded against. The most obvious were the trumps—the illustrated cards carried by Verne’s Messengers and several of the Caretakers, which allowed them to communicate with one another, and to travel between places depicted on the cards.

“There’s no way of knowing what trumps the Cabal has use of,” Verne said once the Caretakers had reassembled in the meeting hall, “so we must be prepared for any eventuality.”

“They couldn’t come here anyway,” John said pointedly, “since except for the one Kipling uses, there aren’t any trumps that lead directly to the Nameless Isles or to Tamerlane.”

“None they’d have had access to, anyway,” Verne said, frowning. “But they might have access soon. Dee knows the process, and Defoe spent a lot of time here. So the whole place could be an entry point, if they create a new trump for it.”

. . . the vehicle roared away, scattering gravel as the tires spun.

“How do we defend against that?” asked Charles. “If they can make a card for any spot Defoe’s seen?”

“With these,” said Verne. He took a small pouch from his vest pocket and emptied the contents onto the table. A scattering of silver rings spread across the surface, glittering in the light.

Charles picked up one of the small circlets and examined it. “Rings?” he said curiously. “How will these help protect Tamerlane House?”

“Hold it close to the candle flame,” Verne instructed. Charles did so, and as the silver touched the flame, runes began to appear on the surface of the ring.

“Deep Magic,” said Chaucer. “We had them made by the Watchmaker, after the method he used for the watches. But the runes are linked to those carved on standing stones, which Shakespeare is placing around the perimeter of the main island, and on either side of the bridge.”

He pointed to the
Imaginarium Geographica
, which sat on a pedestal where it had rested, unused, since the fall of the Archipelago. “There is an incantation in the earliest pages, which will activate the stones, and the rings. And when it is spoken, no one without a ring can set foot on this island.”

“How many rings are there?” asked John. “Enough for all of us?”

Verne nodded. “They were modeled after the one that Poe wears,” he said, tipping his head up at the alcove above. “There are rings for everyone at Tamerlane, and all our apprentices and associates in the world beyond these doors, some of whom already
have theirs. In short, there will be a ring for every agent of the Caretakers, given by my own hand. That’s how we’ll know who is to be trusted, and who isn’t.”

“It sounds complicated,” Jack murmured. “How do you make sure all our allies are given rings? Can more be made if we need them? And if so, what’s to stop the Cabal from having their own rings made?”

“Hell’s bells, Jack,” Verne snorted. “To be frank, I really can’t answer most of that. I’m making this up as I go along, and just trying to do the best I can to serve the needs of whatever crisis is before us. Some of my Messengers, like the knight and his squire, have them already. Others are waiting. But in any case, I don’t think it’s wise to have an excess over what we actually need, and the fewer people who have access to Tamerlane House, the better.”

“So this was your idea, Jules?” John asked.

“Mine, actually,” a voice purred above John’s right shoulder. He turned his head just in time to see the Cheshire smile appear, followed by the eyes and whiskers of his cat, Grimalkin. “Easier to say who can come and go, if those coming and going have a Binding to protect them.”

“So will th’ Caretakers still need th’ watches, then?” Fred said glumly, looking down at his own watch. “I haven’t even had mine all that long!”

“The pocket watches have long been the sole means of identifying fellow Caretakers and our agents, but in truth, they had never been intended as such,” said Chaucer. “It was more in the spirit of camaraderie to approach one of our number and realize, with both joy and no small relief, that he carried a watch. He was of one’s tribe.”

“The rings just mark someone as an ally,” Charles said to his apprentice, “but the watch still says you’re a Caretaker. And you are, Fred,” he added. “One of us.”