The Search for the Red Dragon (22 page)

“Be ye friend or be ye foe?” the sentry called out. “Old Pew, he would rather you were friend, for I’m afeared that my fighting days be numbered, they be.”

Unlike with the wolves, Laura Glue was frightened, and she kept hidden behind Bert and Aven. Jack eyed the pirate with a curious expression, though, and Charles and John both realized that a direct answer would be best.

“We are, ah, we be friends, yes,” Charles stammered. “Aren’t we, John?”

John stepped forward and handed the pirate a folded piece of parchment Daedalus had placed in his bag. “Yes, friends,” he said.

Pew unfolded the parchment and gasped, then switched the patch to the other eye and looked at it more closely.

“You have Hook’s Mark,” he said with awe. “Ye may not be friends, I thinks, but ye be not enemy, either.”

On the parchment was a black spot. But it was apparently enough of a passport to allow them to move through unhindered.

Pew took off his hat, exposing a nearly bald pate covered in the thinnest of gray hair, and bowed deeply, pointing.

Just past the end of the dock was a large, flat stone, rising almost a foot above the water. Through the fog, they could see that it was only the first of a line of stones, arranged as if to facilitate crossing, and heading west.

“Cross if ye be inclined,” said Pew, “but best be a’hurried, afore the tide return and cover the Devil’s Spine.”

The companions murmured their thanks and quickly moved down the dock. Charles stepped over first, and, finding the footing to be solid, helped the children, Aven, and Bert to the stone.

Only John paused on the dock.

“Might I ask a question?” he said to Pew, who shrugged.

John took that as assent. “How many of you are there on Hooloomooloo?”

“What, pirates?” Pew said, a note of surprise in his voice. “Why, not long ago, we be thousands. But now, only old Pew watches the ships. Old Pew, and his cats.”

“Where did the others go?” asked John.

“Take’d,” Pew replied. “Take’d, and used up, and kilt. The Crusade, men say. The Crusade of the King of Tears, takes a man and uses him up. They left on the ships with the eyes of fire, they did. Left old Pew, and none returned, nor will they.”

“Why not?”

“Because plunder and pillage, that’s what men do. And God
permits. But a Crusade be like Babel, and an offense to God. And they be struck down, and lost.

“Seek those whom ye may, but do not pursue a Crusade—only death will follow after.”

The stones were evenly spaced, and they led the companions to the next district and the next island in little more than an hour.

The mist was thinning and the sky was brightening as they moved farther from Hooloomooloo. Not far from landfall, Bert noticed that the water level was rising against the stones—the tide was returning.

“It’s too early,” Charles said. “It shouldn’t be coming in again until tomorrow.”

“Different district, different rules,” said Bert. “I don’t think we can count on anything being as we expect it to be from here on in.”

They stepped off the last stone onto a granite shore just as the incoming waters covered it over with a rush of sea and foam.

“Just so,” said Aven. “Heaven is with us.”

“We can hope, daughter,” Bert called over his shoulder, as he followed Jack and Laura Glue, who began playing a game along the shore. They were skipping stones across the surface of the water, and in a moment Aven had joined them. John and Charles sat on the ground and took stock of their bundles.

“You’re so worried about something that I think your eyes are going to cross,” Charles said to John, squeezing his shoulder supportively. “What’s got you in such a bother, old friend?”

John rubbed at his temples and grinned wryly at Charles. “I’m not certain it’s anything at all. But some of the things Daedalus told us don’t ring true.”

“Really?” Charles exclaimed, surprised. “I thought he was very forthcoming.”

“That’s part of what worries me,” said John. “He was very prepared for us. He wasn’t surprised when we arrived, and he even knew which History we would need to take to traverse the different districts of the Underneath.”

“If I may interject,” said Bert, who had moved closer to the two men, “I’d thought the same thing. But wouldn’t he have been expecting, or at least hoping, that Laura Glue would return with Jamie? Or a Caretaker, as she did?”

“How would he have known to expect that?” said John. “He claimed he wasn’t nearby when the children were taken, and Laura Glue told us Peter sent her on the mission as the Clockwork Men were attacking. How would Daedalus have known?”

“This makes no sense,” Charles said flatly. “I think you’re worried about a dilemma that doesn’t exist.”

“Don’t be so sure,” said Bert, who had grown more and more worried as John talked. “I think he’s right.”

“So do I,” said John. And with that, he explained what he and the inventor had discussed in private before the companions had left Haven.

“So Daedalus isn’t Daedalus the younger after all?” said Charles.

“No,” said John. “Daedalus is the original Daedalus, not his son pretending to be Daedalus.”

“If he can’t leave Haven,” Bert pointed out, “then he had to have been present when the Clockworks attacked.”

“Which means he did know about Peter sending Laura Glue to find us,” said John. “So then when we came, why did he lie to us about not being there when it happened?”

The question, more an accusation, hung in the air. But no one had an answer.

John began reading through the History and what it said about the island, which Daedalus had called Lixus. It was the color of cobalt, and nearly barren. In contrast to the heavily wooded islands they had come from, there was no visible foliage, and only great towers of stone ahead.

“Occupied by automatons, Daedalus claimed,” said Charles. “Do you think it’s possible this is where the children were taken?”

Bert scanned the island and shook his head. “I can’t see why. The Clockworks must have been under Orpheus’s direction, and so I’m clueless as to what could have brought them here, of all places. John?”

John frowned and bit his lip in frustration. “It has a great deal here about Lixus, and some notations made by Pliny the Elder around the first century, but it isn’t making sense.”

“Did you feel that?” said Jack. “My stomach jumped.”

“Not now, Jack,” Charles told him. “We’re trying to decide how to move forward.”

“Isn’t that my decision too?” said Jack. “There,” he added. “There it was again.” He crouched and placed his hands flat to the ground. “Don’t tell me you can’t feel that.”

But this time they had. There was a tremor. Then another, and another.

A worried look came over Aven’s face, and Bert and Charles each took a step backward toward the water. John was too absorbed in the History to notice that anything was amiss.

“Yes,” he murmured, pacing. “It’s starting to become clearer.
There’s only one tree left on this island, and it’s in the center of those towers of stone. It may even have been the tree where the Golden Fleece once hung.”

“The one guarded by the dragon?” Charles asked as another tremor, stronger now, shook the ground. “Fine by me. I’d love to see Samaranth right about now. Or even a little dragon. Really, any dragon would do.”

Another tremor struck, this time strong enough that Laura Glue was nearly knocked off her feet.

“Hmm,” said John. “The automatons are Clockworks. It’s they who guard the tree, but there’s still an inconsistency here….”

Another tremor struck, and this time there was thunder with it.

“I think I have it!” John cried. “The problem isn’t in the translation…”

The ground shook, and the island echoed with the boom that followed almost instantly.

“It’s a misunderstanding of scale,” John finished.

Laura Glue’s scream interrupted any reply that was forthcoming from the others, as a towering figure moved into view.

A great bronze statue, nearly a hundred feet high, stepped over the companions and bestrode them like the colossus it was.

“Talos, the Bronze automaton of Crete!” Bert said breathlessly. “I’d never believed he really existed.”

“In the stories, Medea helped the Argonauts defeat him,” John exclaimed, “but it looks like he’s recovered.”

“I hate to tell you this, old boy,” Charles stammered, his voice shaking with sudden terror, “but he’s not alone.”

In the distance, several more gleaming giants moved into view. It was an army—an army of golden mechanical giants. The shaking of the ground was constant now, as was the thunderous din of their footfalls.

“Run!” Aven yelled, pointing at an opening between the towers. “We can’t stay here in the open! We need cover!”

A great bronze sandal crashed down in front of them, throwing the companions to the ground, and one of the giants seized their bundles before the companions could reach them. There was no offense they could mount, but the giants were slow. Escape was possible.

John, Charles, and the others dashed between the giant’s legs and headed for the stone towers. The other giants had closed in and encircled them, but they were too ponderous to move with any speed, and their stature was so great that there were huge gaps between their feet.

The first giant, which Bert had called Talos, reached down with a massive hand, fingers grasping, and nearly had Laura Glue—but she was nimble and slipped through.

The towers of stone were close enough to delay the pursuit of the giants, and the companions ran between them, not pausing for a breath, or for more than a passing glance at the great, solitary tree that stood in their center.

The island was small, and they ran until they reached the far side. By then the tremors had stopped, and there was no sign of pursuit.

Laura Glue, however, was frantic and sobbing.

“It’s all right,” John said, reassuring her. “We’ve escaped. They don’t seem to be following us now.”

“They don’t need to follow us now!” Laura Glue cried.

“What do you mean?” John asked. “They got our bundles, but we managed to keep the History and the
Geographica
.”

“John, you don’t understand,” said Aven. “It’s Jack. They took
Jack
.”

In his dreams
there had been giants. But they were not golden, and they had not taken notice of him, as had Talos and his fellows. The fingers of the giant automaton had formed a cage from which he could not escape, and the crashing footfalls had made it impossible for Jack’s friends to hear his cries.

He was a prisoner. He was alone. And he was only a child. But he still had his mind. He was still himself, still Jack. And he still had his scholarly training. Passive observation, not panicked action, was what was called for here. And so he waited, and kept quiet.

Once Talos realized that his small captive was not going to struggle or try to flee, he relaxed his grasp enough for light and air. Jack looked between the giant’s fingers at the ground below—which was a mistake. His stomach twisted and turned, and finally he retched, spilling his last meal from Haven across the broad golden palm. The giant never noticed.

Jack decided that whatever else he was in for, he ought to at least not make himself ill on top of being terrified. So he closed his eyes, sat back, and tried to think of more pleasant things.

Thus calmed, it was only minutes before the boy professor fell asleep.

“I’m sorry,” the six-armed creature said plaintively. “There have to be forms…”

Despair.

That was all the companions could feel. A dull, throbbing ache of despair.

Despite all they had come through, all they had endured, they seemed no closer to discovering what had happened to the children of the Archipelago, or the missing Dragonships, or Aven’s own son. And now they had lost their friend to an incomprehensible foe.

“I can’t bear this anymore,” John said miserably. “Every time we’ve come to the Archipelago, it’s to fail. To come up short. Every time, we run as fast as our legs may carry us, and fight with every last breath in our lungs, and it’s never enough.”

“But it is enough,” countered Bert. “Don’t you see, John? It is enough. Remember what Stellan told you, in the tower?”

As if in answer, an enormous granite block fell from the sky and crashed into the water, close enough to drench them all with the spray. A moment later it was followed by an oaken door, which slapped the surface like a stone, skipping once, twice, then stopping.

It was one of the doors from the Keep of Time.

“You mean
that
tower?” Charles said gloomily. “The one I wrecked, that’s literally falling down around our ears?”

A closer examination of the shallows near the beach revealed that a number of the large blocks had fallen there, and lazily spinning in the water were several of the doors.

“Look,” Charles said, pointing to one of the doors. “A rising sun is carved into that one. I think it’s Hittite.”

“That means the tower is still crumbling,” said Bert. “The effects of scattered Time may be worse here. We must be on our guard.”

“You mean on our guard enough so we don’t lose any more
children?” John asked bitterly.

“Quiet, all of you!” Aven said, her tone making it clear that she wasn’t asking for debate. “Don’t you see you’re scaring her to death?”

Sitting nearby, huddled into a ball on the sand, was Laura Glue. She hadn’t said a word, but tears were welling in her eyes, and it was obvious she was very, very frightened.

John and Charles felt like idiots.

Both men knelt and consoled the small girl. “We’re sorry, Laura Glue,” said John. “Sometimes adults get scared too. And we say things we don’t really mean.”

Laura Glue looked up and sniffed. “So…so you’re not ascared after all?”

“Scared out of our wits,” Charles admitted, “but that doesn’t mean we can’t keep our wits about us. And it doesn’t mean we’re going to leave Jack to the mercy of those awful machines.”

“It doesn’t?” she exclaimed, eyes shining. She reached up and took each of their hands. “Are we going to rescue Jacks?”

“We are indeed,” stated Charles, with a furtive look at Bert and Aven. “How can we fail, with our good-luck girl Laura Glue guiding us?”

John examined the History to discover the next steps they needed to take, while the others scouted the beach. It was decided that building a fire would be too risky, since it might draw attention to them, and at the moment they had no idea where the army of golden giants was.

Laura Glue told them that the giants were not the same as the Clockworks her grandfather had warned her about, the ones they
believed had taken the Lost Boys. This was both reassuring and troubling at once. It meant that there was an additional mystery to be solved, but also that there might be another adversary to be dealt with.

Bert calculated that a stone from the keep was falling about every hour, which meant that every three days or so another intersection crumbled, and another door fell too. So every three days, another entry point into the past became unfocused, uncontrolled, and loosed upon the world.

“Stay close,” Bert cautioned. “Jules and I have had no small experience with Time, and if there are any ‘soft places’ about, I don’t want any of us to step into them by accident.”

“Look for a horn,” John said suddenly. “Somewhere here on the shore should be a horn to summon a ferryman.”

In short order, Aven called out to them from an outcropping just to the north. There, on a tripod of ash, bound with a silver cord, was a conch shell.

“I think this is it,” said John. “Do any of you know how to use it?”

Without replying, Aven lifted the conch to her lips and sounded a long, clear note that echoed across the water.

In moments, as if from nowhere, a long, flat boat appeared, propelled by a ferryman using a tall black pole.

He was dressed in a black leather coat and wore his hair cropped short. His skin was pale and his hair so white it was devoid of color, but he seemed no older than John, and his face was expressionless. He wore round black glasses that hid his eyes, but as the boat approached he raised a hand in greeting.

Charles gulped. “Are…are you Charon?” he said hesitantly.

The man nodded once. “I was called as such, long ago. Charon, Methos, Morpheus…These were all my names, once upon a time. But now I am simply called Kilroy. Have you a coin for the passage?”

John looked at Aven in alarm. Talos had taken the bundles, and with them anything else Daedalus had included to aid in their passage between the islands.

“What kind of coin?” Charles asked suddenly.

“A silver talent is traditional,” replied Kilroy, “but any silver coin will do.”

Charles fumbled around in his pockets for a moment, pulling them all inside out until finally he found what he was looking for. “Aha!” he said triumphantly. “Will this do the trick?”

“An Irish punt?” John said in surprise.

“It’s my lucky coin,” said Charles.

“I’m not so sure it works,” John said wryly.

“That’s why I hadn’t mentioned it before,” Charles admitted, “but on the other hand, I’ve got it now, and that’s lucky enough, isn’t it?”

He handed the coin to the ferryman, who didn’t so much as glance at it before putting it inside the black coat. Kilroy moved back and motioned for them to step onto the boat.

The companions took their seats, and with no apparent effort, the ferryman pushed off with the pole and the boat slid smoothly into open water.

Jack woke in darkness.

Feeling his way around, he discovered he was in a small stone room, approximately ten feet wide and twelve feet long. The ceiling was high, and the walls had brackets for candles,
but there was no other decoration in the room, which was obviously a cell of some sort.

The door was stout, and near the top, higher than Jack could jump, was a small window inset with iron bars.

There was just enough ambient light out in the corridor for him to see once his eyes had adjusted, but only just. And it was far too little to tell if he still retained his second shadow.

“Hello?” Jack called, hesitant. “Is anyone there?”

An unexpected answer came drifting through the small window.

It was a song. A child’s rhyme, sung by a child’s voice.

Ring a ring o’roses,

A pocket full of posies,

A-tishoo! A-tishoo!

We all fall down.

Jack shuddered. It was the song made up by children during the time of the plague in London. It was an older version than the one he himself had known as a child—the first time he was a child—but authentic. “A-tishoo! A-tishoo!” told him so. Sneezing was a common symptom of plague victims—before they fell down dead by the thousands.

He called out again. “I’m Jack. Who are you? Who’s there?”

The singing stopped abruptly. Then, hesitantly, a girl’s voice answered. “Abby. Abby Tornado. Why be you here, Jack?”

“A giant golden Clockwork captured me,” Jack replied. “And when I woke up, I was in this room.”

“A golden Clockwork?” said another voice, a boy this time. “I
should have liked to seen that, I should. I were only taken by a common-variety Clockwork, neh?”

“Are you the Lost Boys?” Jack asked. “Is this where you were taken?”

“Some of us are, and some of us aren’t,” said Abby Tornado. “There be lots an’ lots o’ children here. Some of us be from Haven, and some from elsewheres.”

“I’m from a place called Prydain,” said the boy. “An’ I want to go home.”

Prydain. In the Archipelago of Dreams. Jack had found some of the missing children, at least.

“Why were you brought here?” said Jack. “What is this place?”

“It was supposed to be a great game,” the boy explained. “That’s all it was—just a game.

“A boy like us, but who wore a golden coat and the head and horns of a ram, came to us and told us that if we played a game with him, we would be taken to a place called Pleasure Island, where we’d never have to go to bed, and we could eat cakes and sweets, and no one would tell us what to do, because there are no grown-ups on Pleasure Island, none at all.”

“What was the game he asked you to play?”

“We were to sneak out of our beds after dark,” said the boy, “and were to go to the docks. Then, as the clocks struck midnight, we set the ships on fire.”

“Why would you do that?” Jack exclaimed.

The boy hesitated, then answered in a voice that said he was uncertain himself. “I—I don’t know. The music told us to, so we did. And after we set the fires, we waited for the King of Crickets
to pick us up in his Dragonships, and they were supposed to take us to Pleasure Island, but they brung us here instead.”

A chill settled over Jack. The King of Crickets. Orpheus. That explained a great deal.

“Did the ships bring all the children here?”

“No,” said the boy. “Some of us he kept on the ships, and some of us he left here.”

“No one has been back for days,” Abby Tornado said. “We’re all hungry. You didn’t bring any food, did you?” she asked hopefully.

“I’m sorry,” said Jack. “I didn’t.”

“Oh,” said Abby. “Well, do you want to play a game?”

“I don’t know many games,” Jack admitted.

“I want to play Olly Olly Oxen-Free,” said the boy. Then, in a smaller voice, he added, “I want to go home.”

“Be brave,” said Abby Tornado. “Olly Olly Oxen-Free.”

“Olly Olly Oxen-Free,” the boy replied, as did another, and another girl, then another boy, and more, until the sound was a quiet hum of children that echoed throughout the corridors of their dark, dank prison.

It began as a game
, Jack said to himself,
but it’s become a means of survival for them, hasn’t it? And for me, too, it seems.

Olly Olly Oxen-Free.

Kilroy the ferryman took the companions to the next island, called Falun, which stood in the fourth district.

The ferryman was not verbose, but he answered any questions they asked, simply and without hesitation.