The Search for the Red Dragon (23 page)

The children, Kilroy said, were most likely being taken to the
seventh island in the Underneath. There was a fortress there that had often been used to keep prisoners—sometimes for centuries. And children were not excepted.

On the pebbled shore the boat slid to a halt, and Kilroy bade the companions farewell. Charles thought to ask him something more, but as the ferryman bent to adjust the rudder, Charles got a glimpse behind the dark glasses.

Kilroy had no eyes, and where they were supposed to be were rows of sharp ivory teeth.

Charles stepped quickly away from the boat and did not look back.

Falun, the sixth island, was nothing more than a great rending in the earth; a huge cleft, which glowed with the redness of the mythical Pit it inspired.

“Dante following Beatrice?” said John.

“Just so,” agreed Bert, indicating a series of steps that had been hewn into the walls. “Lead on, Caveo Principia.”

“Thanks a lot,” said John.

As with the crossing from Haven to Centrum Terrae, the opening at the bottom of the rift was connected to the next island by a bridge, although this one was not nearly as trustworthy as the first. It was made of thick, ropy strands of what could have been a spiderweb, and their feet stuck wherever they stepped. As they crossed, it became more and more of an effort to move easily, and they were all relieved when they finally set foot on solid earth once more.

“Remember,” Bert cautioned, “this is also Circe’s island. It
could be more dangerous than all the rest combined.”

The island, which the History said was called Aiaia, looked like any island in the Mediterranean. There were olive trees and short, scrubby bushes, and here and there they could see scorpions lying in the warm sand.

And ahead was a great, foreboding building. It was a fortress, in every sense of the word.

The structure was not ostentatious by any means, but the various battlements and towers gave testament to what lay underneath. The towers were capped with steeply pitched roofs, and the outer wall was ringed with archways of sculpted stone. At the wall nearest the companions were three great metal-reinforced oaken doors, each with a small window inset about ten feet off the ground.

“Do we knock?” Charles asked. “What does it say in the History, John?”

“It doesn’t,” John replied. “So I suppose knocking is as good an idea as any other.”

“Then again,” said Charles, “what if it brings out more hostiles? I’d rather avoid a battle, if we can help it.”

Aven rolled her eyes and rapped her knuckles firmly on the door.

“That settles that,” said Charles.

There was no response, so Aven knocked again. Finally a panel in the window slid back and a meek voice spoke.

“What do you want?”

The companions looked at one another, and Aven gave John a nudge.

“Ah,” John began, “we’re looking for a friend of ours. A small
fellow, called Jack.”

“Hmm,” the doorman said. “No Jack here, I’m afraid. No, all we’ve got here is children. Sorry I couldn’t help you.” And with that, the panel slid shut.

“Hey!” Aven yelled, pounding on the door. “Jack is a child. Let us in!”

The panel slid back again. “Well, why didn’t you say so? I can’t be expected to know a ‘Jack’ is also a child. I’ve got responsibilities, you know. Can’t keep track of everything.”

There was a clomping noise, followed by the sound of several bolts being thrown back. The door creaked open, and instead of the near giant they expected, they saw that the doorman was only four feet tall.

The curious creature had a hunchback, a carapace like a beetle’s, and six arms. There were two disks on his head, which looked as if they’d been horny growths that had been filed down. One eye was rheumy, the other an empty socket, and his face was sullen.

“Where’s Jack?” said John. “Can you take us to him?”

“I’m sorry,” the six-armed creature said plaintively. “There have to be forms. I can’t release anyone until you’ve filled out the proper forms.”

Charles stepped forward and raised a finger. “I can handle that,” he declared. “I’m an editor. I know how to deal with paperwork.”

The odd little creature led them down a series of corridors, talking all the way. Apparently he didn’t get many visitors, and so was taking full advantage of the opportunity to get acquainted.

“I’m called Asterius,” he said without looking back, “and I
assure you, anything you’ve heard about me certainly isn’t true.”

“What would we have heard of you?” Bert asked.

“I can leave whenever I want,” Asterius replied, “I just choose not to. I’m also of noble blood, did you know? Could you tell? Yes,” he continued, answering himself, “noble blood. It’s obvious.”

Charles looked at John and twirled a finger at his temple. John grinned and nodded.

“I don’t usually mix with commoners, not that I have any time to,” Asterius said. “There’s always so much to do here.”

“Where is ‘here,’ exactly?” asked John.

“My house,” Asterius said, surprised. “Didn’t you know? You came to see me, after all.”

“Actually, we came for Jack,” Charles said mildly.

Asterius deflated slightly. “Oh yes, that’s right. Well, paperwork,” he said.

“You have a very large house,” Bert observed.

“As well I should,” the creature replied. “It is as big as Creation, after all.”

“That big?” said Charles.

“Oh yes,” said Asterius. “Maybe bigger.”

“Do you have many visitors?” asked Bert.

“No,” Asterius answered. “Not many. Oh, every nine years or so someone comes along who wants to fight, but that’s about it.”

The corridor opened into a broad room filled with shelves, old bones, and papyrus rolls. The little creature positioned himself on a high stool and began to shuffle through a sheaf of documents.

“Yes,” he continued, somewhat mournfully. “Ever since that brat Theseus put my eye out, I’ve been stuck here at…at…a
desk
job. I should be out wandering the countryside, spreading fear and
terror wherever I roam….”

Asterius sighed. He looked at Charles with a wan eye. “You don’t believe me. You don’t think I’m capable of spreading fear, do you? I never get any respect.”

“Oh, I assure you, you’re considerably fearsome,” Charles said, elbowing John.

“Oh, yes,” agreed John. “Fearful. Terrifying. I wouldn’t sleep for nights if I even got a glimpse of you on the horizon.”

“Really?” the little creature said, eyes brightening. He sat slightly taller (as much taller as the carapace would allow) and seemed to puff out his chest. “Well then, now that’s been established, what can I do for you?”

“Jack,” Aven said, exasperated. “We’re here for Jack.”

“Hmm,” said Asterius. “All I have here is unsuitables. Is Jack unsuitable?”

“Unsuitable for what?” said John.

“To fight,” said Asterius. “To fight in the Great Crusade. Those who were suitable went with the king, and those who were unsuitable came here. You really are rather unlearned, aren’t you?”

Having found whatever documentation it was he needed, Asterius led the companions back into the great labyrinth of halls and corridors, still talking all the way.

“Here we are,” he announced, hefting the lamp to a short pedestal to better light the spacious room they had entered. “The Aedificium.”

It was a great octagon, but, their strange guide explained, it appeared from a distance as a tetragon.

“Why is that significant?” asked John.

“It’s a Christian conceit,” said Charles. “The tetragon is supposed to be the perfect physical expression of the permanence and solidity of the Kingdom of God.”

“The Abbey of the Rose!” Bert exclaimed, snapping his fingers. “Stellan knew of it. He once said that the design of this place was based on the original plans for the library of Babel, although whether he meant before or after the Great Confusion, I’m not sure.”

All the shelves in the Aedificium, or sacred library, were heavily laden with Bibles. There were incunabula from centuries past; leatherbound Bibles from recent decades; and hand-bound, illuminated manuscripts that had been lovingly, carefully illustrated by the monks who had once resided in the abbey.

In his conservative estimate, John calculated that the room contained twelve thousand Bibles.

“The other papers are in order, so if you’ll just choose the Bible that opens the gate,” said Asterius, pointing to an impassably solid wrought-iron door, “then we can go retrieve your ‘Jack.’”

“Which one do we choose?” asked John.

“I’m not doing this for my health, you know,” Asterius complained. “There are covenants, and there are bindings, and I’ve already extended courtesies to you regarding the discrepancies in the paperwork, but if you don’t even know how to get in…” The little creature let the words trail off into silence, as the companions looked around in despair at all the books.

“Here,” said Bert, pointing to letters engraved above the gate. “Perhaps this will give us a clue.”

“Could it be a riddle, like the one outside Samaranth’s lair?” asked Aven. “Or a magic word?”

Bert shook his head. “The monks of the abbey would have
eschewed any use of magic words. A riddle is possible, though. Can you read what it says?”

“I can,” said Charles, taking the lamp from Asterius and holding it high to illuminate the lettering. “It’s Hebrew.”

He looked over the letters for a moment, lips moving silently, then turned to the others. “I think it
is
a riddle,” he told them, “but I don’t know what it means, because the phrase itself is no mystery at all.”

He turned back to the riddle and began to recite: “The wolf also shall dwell with the lamb, and the leopard shall lie down with the kid; and the calf and the young lion and the fatling together; and a little child shall lead them.”

John looked startled. “You know it?” Bert asked him.

“Yes,” John said. “It’s from the Old Testament. Isaiah, unless I miss my guess.”

“You didn’t,” said Charles, “but what does it mean?”

“All along,” mused John, “we’ve made mistakes and missteps because we were thinking like adults instead of like children. We haven’t even paid enough attention when we knew it would be important to do so.

“I think this means exactly what it says. We must be led by a little child.”

They all turned to Laura Glue, and Charles knelt in front of her. “Laura Glue,” he said gently, “our good-luck charm. Can you help us?”

“I’ll try,” she replied cautiously.

She looked at the books, then slowly began to circle the room. She passed the illuminated Bibles John would have chosen, and the incunabula that would have been Charles’s preference.

Finally she stopped and withdrew a small, battered Bible from the shelf. It was an old German Bible, and it was small enough to easily fit in her hands. A child’s Bible.

Inside was an aged slip of paper, with the outline of two tiny hands.

“Albert’s hands,” Asterius said, taking it from her and nodding. “The ghost tracings of a child long gone are still totemic and still bear power. You have found what you need.”

Nimbly Asterius folded the paper into a key and inserted it into the lock on the gate, which instantly popped open.

The companions stepped inside a dark hallway lined with doors and lifted the lantern. From the darkness beyond, they could hear children’s voices, and among them a familiar voice calling out “Olly Olly Oxen-Free.”

It was Jack.

When he heard the voices of his friends, Jack called out with joy, and it was only a few twists and turns down the corridors to the cell where he was being held.

There were happy hugs and handshakes all around, and the light of the lantern showed that not only was he unharmed for his experience, but the second shadow was intact as well.

Hurriedly Jack told them what he had learned from Abby Tornado and the others.

“Well,” said Aven, “now we know what happened to the ships in the Archipelago.”

“We aren’t going to leave the children here, are we?” said Jack.

“Of course we aren’t,” John said firmly. “They’ll be coming with us. All of them.”

“No!” Asterius protested, wringing his hands. “There’s been
no paperwork to allow it! It simply can’t be permitted!”

The companions’ only answer came from Aven, who drew her long knife and pointed it at the small creature.

Asterius sighed.

“You see?” he said to Charles. “No respect.”

In moments the rest of the cell doors had been opened, and the corridors that had been black and silent were ablaze with torchlight and the joyful laughter of children.

Something else was coming through one of the rifts in Time.