The Search for the Red Dragon (7 page)

“I hope you’re not expecting me to stand on ceremony. I may have to stand guard over this junk pile, and help you when asked, and all the other shabby things they make me do here, but if you’re hoping for some sort of formal welcome, you can forget it.”

Charles groaned and rubbed his temples.

“What?” said Jack. “Wasn’t he Charles Darnay before?”

“Before, but not now,” said Charles, and with the sound of his voice, the Green Knight recognized him.

“Hey,” he exclaimed, standing straighter now, “you’re not going to let him hit me, are you?”

John sighed. Now he knew who this was. “That’s what Bert was trying to tell us,” he said to the others. “This Green Knight isn’t the one we met before.”

It was Magwich.

“I thought the dragons had eaten you, or at the very least, dismembered you, Maggot,” said Charles.

“I’m a knight now,” Magwich sniffed, “so you have to treat me with more respect.”

“If you’re a knight, I’m Geoffrey Chaucer,” retorted Charles. He turned to Bert, sputtering in anger and amazement. “Magwich? The Green Knight? How did this happen, Bert?”

“I wanted to explain,” Bert said sheepishly. “This is law, part of the old code established by King Arthur centuries ago. The dragons saw it as a fitting punishment for a traitor like Magwich.”

“Punishment?” Jack exclaimed. “He looks as if he’s on holiday.”

“I know, I know,” said Bert. “It isn’t supposed to be an
honor
—it’s supposed to be a
penance
. But Magwich is the only knight in more than two dozen generations of them who actually
rose
in station because of it.”

“Well, I’m not about to trust anything he says,” Charles stated.

“See, now you’ve gone and hurt my feelings,” said Magwich. “Just because I’m a murdering, thieving, cowardly, traitorous sort doesn’t mean I can’t do my job properly.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” said Charles. “Fine. Whatever you say. Just keep him away from me.”

With a gesture, the Green Knight motioned for them to follow. John walked beside him, with Jack, Charles, and Bert trailing along a short distance behind.

“So,” said John, “what’s it like to be made of wood?”

“Not as bad as you’d think,” replied Magwich. “Although you wouldn’t believe the places termites can get to.”

“Sorry I asked,” said John.

The familiar path wound around the edge of the island, the grasses and craggy rocks standing out in sharp relief against the dark,
roiling clouds of the Frontier beyond—the true boundary of the Archipelago. At the path’s end they would find the Morgaine—the witches known as the Three Who Are One. Sometimes they were able to prophesy the future. Other times they were unwilling to try. Still, Bert explained, it was worth asking, as the Morgaine were likely to be the only entities who could shed any light on the events taking place.

Jack suppressed a shudder. “I’m really not looking forward to seeing them again,” he confided to Charles.

“I know what you mean,” Charles replied. “Those strange old women…especially the one—what was her name again?”

“Cul,” Magwich said over his shoulder. “And I can sympathize. I don’t come see them unless I’m compelled, which isn’t often.”

“Didn’t she make you rub her feet once?” recalled Jack, suppressing a wicked smile.

Magwich groaned. “Why else do you think I stay on the far side of the island?”

They came into the small clearing, but there was no one to be seen. The great black cauldron that sat over a usually crackling fire was nestled among cold embers, and there were other cooking implements scattered here and there amidst the sharp grass.

At the far side were three tumbledown cottages in a state of extreme disrepair, around which were piled a number of artifacts of all shapes and sizes. Both John and Charles noticed, but said nothing about, the large iron kettle with the bronze adornments, leather handles, and Greek shield for a lid.

“Hey, ho, looks like no one’s home,” said Magwich, spinning around on his heel. “Time to go.”

“Not so fast, Maggot.” Charles caught Magwich by the collar
of his breastplate. “You’re the Green Knight now. You botch your job, I guarantee you I’ll give a full report, omitting nothing, to Samaranth himself.”

“Bloody hell,” muttered Magwich. “A fellow just can’t catch a break with you people.”

He pointed down the slope. “You’ll probably find them in the cave. That’s where they spend most of their time these days.”

“Excellent,” Charles said, giving the reluctant knight a shove. “Lead the way, Sir Maggot.”

The cave was deeper
than the opening would indicate, and although they all (with the exception of Bert, who simply removed his hat) had to stoop to enter, once inside they were able to stand erect without bumping their heads.

Rather than growing darker, the cave grew lighter the deeper they went. There, at the back, they saw three figures—but it took a moment for them to realize that these were not the figures they had expected to see.

Instead of the weathered old women draped in layers of dresses and beads and various charms, waiting to welcome the companions were three youthful, graceful women of astonishing beauty.

The nearest of them wore a dress of shimmering blue and had long, golden hair, pulled back into a bun at her neck. She sat at a large spinning wheel, which was idle. A pile of unspun wool was behind her, the topmost fibers of which were pulled together in the threads hanging from the wheel.

The second woman had hair like flame, tied in looping ringlets that fell onto a cream-colored dress with elaborate patterns embroidered across the chest. Her arms rested on an enormous loom, which seemed to be as unused as the spinning wheel,
wrapped as it was in cobwebs. Hundreds and hundreds of threads grew together in a tangle underneath a giant comb, but she made no effort to unbind them.

…three youthful, graceful women of astonishing beauty.

And the third, near the back of the cave, was raven-haired and wore a blue dress of extraordinary richness. Of the three, only she seemed to be engaged in active work: She was slowly and methodically unraveling the threads of a great tapestry that hung across the entire rear wall of the cave.

John couldn’t be sure, but it seemed as if the images depicted in the great weaving were in motion. It was too indistinct for his eyes to focus on any portion of it for more than an instant, however.

The companions and the three women regarded each other silently, until the quiet was broken by a loud wail—which was coming from the Green Knight.

“Nine years,” whimpered Magwich. “All that time I’ve been dealing with those three hags outside, and I never knew these beauties were waiting in the cave.”

“Quiet, you nit,” said Charles. “I think these three are the old…ah, that is, I think they’re the same women.”

“Just so,” concurred the fair-haired woman, bowing her head.

“Are you here for the spindle?” the dark-haired woman asked, without looking at them or pausing in her labors. “Because if you are, you’re too late. We already gave it to that princess…what was her name again? Dawn?”

“Aurora,” said the red-haired woman. “And you’re forgetting the order of things. These young men aren’t here for the spindle. They’ve come to ask us questions, haven’t you?”

John looked askance at Bert, who nodded almost imperceptibly. “Yes,” said John. “We have.”

“One each, then,” said the first woman. “Three questions asked, three answered. A question for Ceridwen, to set the stage. A question for Celedriel, to begin the play. And a question for Cul, to draw the curtain.”

“I’ll be drawn and quartered,” Magwich moaned. “They are the same women. And I’ve been avoiding them all this time!”

He threw up his hands and wailed, “Why is life so unfair?”

“That is your first question, which I shall answer,” said Ceridwen.

“That’s done it!” Charles shouted at the former steward. “Out! Out!” He grabbed Magwich by the shoulders and all but threw him to the front of the cave.

“I’ll keep him occupied,” he called back to his friends. “Do what you can with the other two questions.”

Ceridwen was already beginning to answer the first question—which, John thought to himself, was not really a terrible question to have asked. It just didn’t have much to do with their current situation.

“Life is so unfair,” Ceridwen was saying, “because it is you whose vision is too small. Mistakes may become opportunities; accidents may become a chance for redemption. What seems unbalanced in a moment may become level over time, if only the canvas upon which your lives are painted is large enough.”

John and Jack looked at each other in puzzlement. It was certainly the answer of a prophetess.

“My question is next,” said Celedriel. “Ask of me what you will, and I shall answer.”

John nodded at Jack, indicating that it was his turn. And as uncomfortable as that made him, Jack was somewhat relieved that
he wouldn’t have to talk to Cul—no matter how beautiful her present form was.

He considered his options. His first impulse was to ask about his dreams, and Aven’s son—but that would be too limited a use of the question. It stood to reason that there were only two questions that needed to be asked: the location of the missing Dragonships, and the location of the missing children. Jack chose the former, expecting—silently hoping—that John mirrored his train of thought and would ask the latter.

“The ships you seek,” Celedriel began in response, “are not in the Archipelago, nor are they in the world of men. They have been taken into the Underneath. The Chamenos Liber are what guard them. Find them, and find the Dragonships you seek.”

“Short and sweet,” John muttered under his breath. “I hope Bert understood what that meant.”

“I suppose I have to answer you now,” said Cul, “so go ahead and ask your question, Son of Adam.”

John thought for a moment, biting his lip in concentration. What to choose? What to ask? Then, suddenly, it came to him.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

Jack stared at John in amazement. That was not what he had expected his friend to ask. And judging by the expression on Bert’s face, he didn’t expect it either.

The reaction of the Morgaine was different. They looked at one another and nodded, as if confirming something they had suspected but not known until that moment. Even Cul’s features softened as she began to answer, although she never stopped unraveling the tapestry.

“Well asked, young Caretaker John,” she said, her voice a soft
purr. “You understand that all that happens is not mere cause and effect, but that there are causes underlying causes, and it is those that truly shape the events of history.

“The world is unraveling. Someone has changed Time itself, and a new event has taken place that was not in the Tapestry before. Thus, we must unweave all that has happened since, for a new weaving must be created. You may ask another question.”

“Do you have to unweave the entire Tapestry?”

Again came the nods, as if this question also met with their approval. “No,” said Cul. “We must unravel it only to the moment of the change—seven centuries past. You may ask another question.”

“What caused the change?” asked John.

“Caretakers of the
Imaginarium Geographica
,” Cul replied, turning fully to stare at them. “
You
did.”

Jack snorted. “Of course,” he said flippantly. “We just went backward in time seven hundred years and accidentally killed Genghis Khan, or stepped on a butterfly, or something equally catastrophic.”

“That can’t be,” Bert protested, with no hint of irony or mockery. “If that had happened, we would have a historical record of some sort….”

“That’s why you’re unraveling the tapestry now—because the event that changed things didn’t happen seven centuries ago, did it?” John asked the Morgaine.

“No,” said Ceridwen, “it happened
nine years ago
.”

“We have answered all the questions agreed upon,” said Celedriel, “and more, because you have shown yourself to be wise.”

“And because of the wisdom of your questions, we will offer you one further answer to do with as you will,” Cul intoned. “The
unraveling began when history was changed, but the thread was first loosened when two brothers made a
choice
.

“Both of them believed his choice may have been wrong. One of them was. When you determine which, and in what way, you may yet have a chance to save the children of this world, and your own.”

As a group, the companions exited the cave, shielding their eyes from the glare of daylight. They went across the clearing and sat to discuss what the Morgaine had said.

Over near the cottages, Charles had cornered Magwich by brandishing a pair of hedge shears and making suggestive threats about what might get pruned if he didn’t keep his distance and stay quiet.

Jack waved for Charles to come over and join them. He left the Green Knight muttering to himself and kicking stones, and trotted over to the others, where Jack quickly filled him in on what had transpired in the cave.

“John’s a deeper thinker than I’ve given him credit for,” said Charles. “I react too much in the moment, I’m afraid. I wouldn’t have had the sense to ask what he did.”

“Nor did I,” said Jack. “What made you think of it, John?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. It just seemed to me, in that moment, that if these women were as important and powerful as Bert has always claimed they are, then perhaps what they were doing had a larger purpose. I simply got lucky that it did.”

“Not luck,” said Bert. “Intuition. The best skill of a Caretaker, and you have it in spades. By the way—what do you make of their answer to Jack?”

“That the Dragonships are guarded by the Chamenos Liber?”
John asked. “I’m not sure. It sounds familiar.
Liber
is Latin. It means ‘book.’
Chamenos
I’m not entirely certain of—it sounds Greek, maybe.”

“So we’ll find the missing ships in a book?” said Charles. “I’m not sure that helps, as clues go.”

“I’m afraid the rest of what they’ve told us only makes things worse,” observed Bert.

“Not sure how it can get worse,” said Charles.

“The story they told,” Bert said, “about Time itself being broken—I can’t think of anything more dangerous.”

“We haven’t noticed so far,” reasoned Charles. “So I don’t know why it would bother you so.”

“Two reasons,” Bert said, his face darkening. “One—you’re correct. We wouldn’t notice if history had been changed, because everything that follows will change accordingly, including our own memories. But the second reason is worse.”

“Why?” asked John.

“Because,” Bert explained, lifting his head, “if the change was indeed our fault, caused by something that happened nine years ago, then it’s possible our memories of that event have also been altered.”

John slapped his forehead. “Meaning there might be no way to know what caused the damage to begin with.”

“Exactly,” said Bert. “We must battle the effect, even though we may never know the cause—because in our ‘Time,’ it may never have happened at all.”

It took less than a half hour for the companions to make their way back to where the
Indigo Dragon
was anchored, and there was no
further discussion of what had transpired in the cave. This was in part because each of them was turning the revelations over and over in his head, thinking; and in part because the Green Knight never stopped complaining.

“But why?” Magwich whined. “Just tell me what they said. It was my question, after all.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Charles said, rolling his eyes. He turned and took the shabby knight by the shoulders. “Do you want to know why life is so unfair? Well, I’ll tell you. It’s because you are a bitter, twisted, heartless villain with a lump of coal for a heart, who has never done a damned thing except for the most selfish reasons, no matter the suffering it has caused those around you.

“What’s more, you never learn from your mistakes. You just keep doing the same stupid things over and over and over, and will probably end up spending the rest of eternity all alone on this island, until you finally crumble away to dust, having perished alone, unmourned, and unloved.”

Magwich stared at Charles, who was breathing hard from his extended rant, before he finally blinked, then blinked again. Then, without warning, Magwich burst into tears and collapsed against Charles, sobbing.

“Oh, good job, Charles,” declared Jack. “You’ve completely destroyed the poor fellow.”

“Arrgghh,” said Charles, as he dragged the whimpering, slobbering knight over to a rock, where he sat him down.