The Shadow Dragons (20 page)

“And do not forget,” she said, almost gone.

“Only Madoc may repair Caliburn. Only Madoc.”

“But he’s dead—isn’t he?” asked Shakespeare. “The great Dragon dropped him over the waterfall at the Edge of the World.”

“His Shadow survived, and plagues us still,” said Bert, “so we believe that somehow, somewhere, he must still be alive.”

The war council had been reconvened to decide what to do. They had the sword—but making it whole seemed impossible.

“There’s no way to even find him if he lives,” said Defoe. “No one’s ever gone over the Edge of the World. No one who has returned, that is.”

“That’s not exactly correct,” said Twain, “is it, Professor? It is indeed possible that Mordred—pardon, Madoc—survived, and it’s equally possible to find where he is.”

“What does he mean?” John said, turning to his mentor.

“It’s very simple,” said Professor Sigurdsson. “Rose must find Madoc, and I must accompany Rose as her guide. There is no other alternative.”

The room went silent, as every Caretaker to a man looked over at the professor.

“That makes sense,” John said reasonably, not realizing how much more gravitas was evident in the faces of everyone else. “You certainly have the training, and the experience, and if I were in your place, I wouldn’t want to miss a chance for one last adventure.”

Defoe let out a bark of a laugh and was elbowed in the ribs by Hawthorne. The professor responded only with a smile that was more melancholy than admonishing.

“That’s more true than you realize, John,” he said, clapping his protégé on the shoulder.

“Have we missed something?” Jack asked. Charles shrugged and looked at Twain, who merely observed the three companions and puffed on his cigar.

“Rules of time may be broken,” said Professor Sigurdsson. “Rules of space may be broken. But not together, and not at the same, ah, time, so to speak. Bent, sometimes, in the rarest of circumstances. But not broken.”

“There are limitations,” Bert explained. “It’s one of the reasons that this place has been kept such a secret. Yes, using Verne’s technology it is possible to do as we have done, and summon personages from the past to dine, and discuss, and determine the fate of the world. But the price they pay is that this is all there is—none of them may pass beyond the threshold of Tamerlane House and live.”

John sank back in despair. “Then we’re handicapped before we start.”

“Seven days,” came a voice from the upper floor, ghostlike and ethereal. “One may pass outside this door, but unless he crosses back before the end of seven days, he will vanish back into the ether.”

“Is that true?” said John, looking at Bert, then the professor.

“I’d trust in Poe,” said Bert. “It is his house, after all, and much of what Jules learned was based on his writings. If he says seven days, then you can plan on it.”

“You can’t do it, Professor,” John said, already anticipating his mentor’s decision. “We’ll find some way to communicate your instructions, to transfer the information they need to navigate to them without sending you in person. There must be some other way.”

“It’s a bit odd, isn’t it?” said Charles. “We have the ability to travel around in time, and into alternate dimensions. We can summon people from the dead. And we’re at an impasse to save the world because no one thought to install a telephone system in the Archipelago.”

“Actually, we tried,” Bert replied. “Nemo was keen to do it, but we could never get all the lands to agree to hook it up. And when you add to that the peculiar weather patterns, the temporal shifts, and mermaids who had a tendency to chew up any cables strung underwater, the result was the lostest of lost causes. The badgers have set up a rudimentary version, but it’s not much more advanced than a telegraph, I’m afraid.”

“There is no other way, John,” the professor said. “Other than Bert, I’m the only one who has ever traveled that far west—at least, the only one willing to act as a guide.”

They all knew from the professor’s hangdog expression that he was thinking of his old friend Uruk Ko, the Goblin King.

The Goblins were among the most ancient and noble races in the Archipelago, and Uruk Ko and Stellan Sigurdsson had shared a love of adventure and discovery that had culminated in an unprecedented journey. But when the first war with the Winter King took place, Uruk Ko chose to side with Mordred. And after they were defeated, he closed the borders of the Goblin lands to all outsiders.

“We can persuade the Goblin King to do it, somehow,” John pleaded. “It’s worth trying, and better than you going to a certain death.”

The professor laughed heartily at this. “My boy, I have already suffered a certain death, as you put it. Anything from here on out is just gravy.”

“But you’re
alive
again! It’s such an opportunity!” John cried. “We can’t just waste it!”

The professor took his young study—who was now nearing the age he had been when he died—firmly by the arms and looked into his eyes.

“John,” Professor Sigurdsson said gently, “the reason we were given the chance to come here, now, to this extraordinary place, was to discuss the gravest of crises at the most crucial time in history. Only we Caretakers, gathered here in this way, have the means to decide the future of all that exists. And it seems I am to play a significant role in that. There is nothing wasted in this, John. Not for three days’ sake, or three thousand years. It is not wasted. And you should never think it so.”

Suddenly a wild idea crossed John’s mind. “Hallward!” he exclaimed excitedly. “If the journey takes longer than seven days, can’t he just paint another portrait of the professor?”

Bert and Stellan looked at each other, then at their protégé. “No,” Bert said after a long pause. “He can’t. Didn’t you notice, among the Elder Caretakers, that one significant member was missing?”

John chewed on his knuckle and thought, and suddenly realized that there had been one more canvas in the gallery—but one that was only a pastoral background, with no portrait.

“Dante,” he said at length. “It can only be Dante Alighieri. His is the missing portrait, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” said Bert.

“I just assumed he’d been liberated earlier for some reason. What are you telling me, Bert?”

“He was one of the earliest portraits Jules arranged for Basil to paint,” Bert explained, “mostly so that we could glean from him more details regarding the Underneath at Chamenos Liber. Dante decided he wanted to actually go there, and he was with the Lost Boys when the time limitation had passed. They reported back to us that he simply faded away into bits of light and dust.

“The others who were here promptly reentered their paintings and only ventured out again after much cajoling. But when they remained as they were, we realized the confines of Tamerlane House were the only limitation to their existing in perpetuity.”

“Hang on a minute,” said Charles. “If the Caretakers Emeritis can’t leave without risking disintegration, then hasn’t Kipling just cut his own throat? He certainly won’t come back, but if he doesn’t, he’s doomed.”

Bert screwed up his face a moment, considering. “I don’t know,” he said finally. “We’ve never tried sending any deceased Caretakers through a Trump. Not because it hadn’t occurred to us, but because to have persons who should be dead running around in the open could change too many things. Plus, it scares the horses.”

“Can’t you go, Bert?” said John. “You wouldn’t be at risk the way the professor would be, and you said yourself that you were the only other one who’d ventured that far.”

“He might,” said the professor, “but he’s needed here, more so than I. And I cannot captain the
White Dragon.”

“But—but there has to be some way,” John began.

The professor shushed him with a gesture. “Our forces are few, and those of our enemy are many,” he said, smiling. “We must use the resources we have to the fullest capacity—and when it comes down to it, I can be the most helpful by doing this.”

“But you’d be risking your life!” said John.

“We’re all risking our lives, John,” the professor reminded him. “And anyway, all I’m risking is my second go-round. I’m willing.”

The rest of the Caretakers murmured their agreement and thumped the table for emphasis, and John resigned himself to the fact that this course was indeed the most practical. “All right,” he said. “That sounds like a plan.”

PART FIVE

Beyond the Edge of the

World

The old knight . . . moved the
Scarlet Dragon . . .
over
the edge . . .

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Strategies of War

“
We have to destroy it,”
said Artus. “We have to destroy it now.”

The rest of the collective at Tamerlane House were in agreement. The new Tower of Time in Abaton needed to be destroyed.

“He can’t reach the dragons without the tower,” said Bert, “and until we have the means to fight the spear, this is our best means of attacking him.”

“I agree,” said John. “There’s no way of knowing how many Dragons he’s gotten to already—so we should be prepared for anything.”

A stealth team was assembled to go back through the Trump into Abaton. No Caretakers were included other than Jack and Charles—it was too great a risk to send them through to an unknown region. If a mishap occurred, it was possible for the still living to find a way to return. The lives of any Caretakers who had come through one of the portraits would be limited to a week if they could not get back.

Charles and Fred were the guides, and Jack was the commander of the small group, which included Stephen, Nemo, three of the Elves, and Laura Glue, along with five of her Valkyries. The latter six were included in the event the witches were still hovering near the entrance to Abaton.

The Elves were coming along specifically to guard Magwich. Charles suspected that his involvement might be necessary at some point, and as reluctant as he was to include the traitorous Green Knight, he couldn’t discount the possibility that he’d be needed.

At first John objected to Laura Glue’s inclusion—until Aven diplomatically reminded him that she was a veteran warrior and was already older than he had been the first time he went to war.

Artus, Aven, Charys, and the other ship captains set about deploying their small armada along the inner borders of the ring of islands in preparation for the pending attack. There was no way to know how large an army to expect, nor did anyone know what they might do if the Dragon shadows arrived. There was no way to defeat the Dragons themselves—and to combat the shadows was unthinkably terrible.

“That’s why we have to repair Caliburn,” reiterated Professor Sigurdsson. “It’s the only possible way.”

“Do you think it will restore the Dragons?” asked John. “Basically reverse the effects of the spear?”

The professor shrugged. “I’ve no clue. We simply have to trust in the Prophecy and do the best that we can.”

“I’ll take Rose, the professor, and Quixote to Terminus in the
White Dragon”
said Bert, “where they will be able to continue on using the
Scarlet Dragon.
I’ll return as quickly as I can.”

John didn’t say it, but he knew what they were all thinking: In the coming conflict, one more Dragonship might make little difference, if any.

“Let’s go to it, then,” said John. “There’s no time to waste.”

“How many poets does it take to change a lightbulb?” asked Twain.

“I give up,” said Swift. “How many?”

“Three,” Twain replied, cackling. “One to curse the darkness, one to light a candle, and one to change the bulb.”

“What’s a lightbulb?” asked Shakespeare, scratching his head.

“Samuel, Jonny, leave William be,” said Bert. “We’re trying to save the world here, remember?”

“Sorry,” said Twain. “I’m just trying to keep ourselves distracted while everyone else is being productive.”

“Pardon,” said Hawthorne, “but has anyone seen Jakob? I can’t find him anywhere.”

“That’s not a good sign,” said Defoe. “I’m starting to wonder if we haven’t discovered who the traitor is who stole the Last Book.”

“Jakob is a good man,” said Bert, “and I trust him.”

“Well enough and fine,” Defoe said, rising. “I’m going to go look for him just the same.”

The passage into Abaton went as easily as before.

The skies were clear—wherever the witches had gone, they weren’t waiting about for a scholar and his dog.

They passed through the gatekeeper by signing with the names of members of the Imperial Cartological Society.

“As a precaution,” Charles had advised them, “just in case anyone’s checking.”

In short order they reached the vantage point where they could observe the tower without being seen—but unlike before, there were no workers milling about.

“This doesn’t bode well,” said Charles.

There were several dozen Yoricks congregating at points all along the base of the tower, and among them, dressed as he had been at Tamerlane House, was Kipling.

“So he really is a traitor,” Jack said, his temper rising. “He’s mine.”

“Agreed,” said Stephen, “if we can get there at all. We don’t have enough warriors with us to take on all of those Un-Men.”

“I wonder,” said Fred. “Would you call them a flock of Yoricks, like birds? Or something else?”

“They knew,” Stephen whispered. “They knew we were coming. It’s a trap.”

“How could they know?” said Charles. “No one saw us! And Kipling didn’t know we’d been here!”

“Maybe they realized I went missing,” Magwich sniffed. “I’m very vital to their plans, you know.”

“There’s how they knew,” Laura Glue said, pointing.

The tattooed gatekeeper was standing in front of Kipling. His arms were raised, and he was turning around, giving the rebel Caretaker a full view of the fraudulent signatures.

“Drat,” Charles exclaimed. “I thought it was a clever idea.”

“So what should we do?” said Stephen. “If we leave to bring reinforcements, they might do the same.”

“I say we simply attack,” said Nemo, rising. “We’re all warriors here, are we not? Then let’s have a battle!”

“Sit down!” Jack whispered, pulling the young captain off his feet. “You’ll get us all killed!”

“Are you afraid to fight?” Nemo scoffed. “Perhaps you ought to stick to your books.”

“I’m not afraid,” said Jack calmly, “but I’m not stupid, either. You should learn that a good plan beats a swift attack.”

“So what do you propose?” said Stephen.

“We brought the Valkyries along as defense against the witches,” Jack said. “I think they’ll serve us better as a distraction.”

“But the bird-men,” Nemo began.

“Are flightless,” said Jack. “They can’t fight what they cannot reach.”

Torches were lit, and Jack’s plan was put into motion. The Valkyries were sent aloft, and almost instantly they caught the attention of the Un-Men.

Laura Glue, Sadie Pepperpot, Abby Tornado, and Norah Kiffensdottir each took a compass point above the tower and hurled the torches into the scaffolding. Then, as one, they flew to the north.

As Jack had hoped, Kipling sent half the Yoricks up into the tower to douse the flames, while he led the other half in pursuit of the cackling Valkyries.

“Nonny, nonny, nonny!” Norah called down. “Stupid birds!”

“Discipline, Norah,” said Laura Glue. “If you’re going to taunt them, remember to stick out your tongue.”

“Sorry,” said Norah. “I forgot.”

“Aren’t you worried about the Valkyries?” asked Nemo. “What about the witches?”

“They’ll be fine,” said Stephen. “Laura Glue can outmaneuver any bicycle ever made, flying or not.”

“Now,” said Jack, “we finish the job.”

Suddenly Magwich let out a howl and threw himself over the bushes, past his surprised guards. “Chancellor!” he cried out. “Wait for me! I’m coming!”

“Nothing to do now but follow that idiot,” said Charles as he grabbed a torch. “Let’s go.”

The small group ran after the Green Knight, who was losing sand with every footfall. They caught up to him just as he reached the tower.

“Magwich, you fool,” Charles exclaimed as the knight started to climb the steps. “We’re going to burn it down! Come back here!”

“I’m not coming down!” yelled Magwich. “One of these will open for me! I know it!” But every door he tried was locked.

“What do we do?” asked Jack.

“He made his choice,” said Charles, “and we have none.” He thrust the torch into the lumber at the base of the tower.

Once the flames caught the first planks, the rest of the base burst into flame in a matter of minutes. In no time at all the entire tower was a raging inferno of blue flame.

“Look at that thing burn,” said Fred. “You’re really good at setting fires, Charles.”

“Thanks,” said Charles. “It seems I have a special knack for destroying Keeps of Time.”

The Valkyries circled back around just as the others reached the Trump portal. By now, the flames from the burning tower could be seen from many miles away.

“We lost them,” said Laura Glue. “They’ll not catch us before we’re long gone.”

“Excellent,” Charles said as he stepped through the portal. “With the exception of Magwich, this couldn’t have gone better.”

Jack felt the same way—but as he was preparing to step through the portal himself, he glanced back to where the gatekeeper had been . . .

. . . and he saw Kipling, who waved, then stepped through a Trump of his own.

The war council cheered at the news of the successful raid against the tower, then despaired as Jack told them what he had seen.

“They have been a step ahead of us the entire time,” Defoe complained. “They knew about the raid, and after it was carried out, Kipling waves at you?”

“It could simply be an act of chivalry,” said Spenser. “Acknowledging the victory of a superior opponent.”

“I’m not feeling all that superior,” said Jack. “Just a bit weary.”

The Caretakers were left to debate the next course of action, while Jack and Charles joined Artus on the large island to the south to help prepare their defenses.

“There are a number of people on the ships I don’t recognize,” said Charles. “Are these all vetted allies?”

“Each and all,” said Artus. “The reason some are a bit unfamiliar is because some of them came through in Time Storms just like young Nemo. The person who conceived of and trained the Valkyries came through to the Underneath, actually, during our battle with the King of Crickets. Amazing woman.”

“Would her name be Earhart?”

“Yes,” Artus said, surprised. “Do you know her?”

“By reputation only,” said Jack, “but she’s a good match for Laura Glue.”

“That explains why Falladay Finn has been ignoring us, then,” said Charles. “He must have come through from a point before we met.”

“Mmm, no,” Artus said, shaking his head. “That’s the same Falladay Finn—he’s just in a particularly bad mood. We found we can’t just summon armies and allies willy-nilly, like picking fruit from a bowl. We’ve had to be much more precise than that.”

“Precise how?” asked Jack.

Artus grinned. “If Mordred can pull allies from out of the past, then so can we. Come and take a look.”

He opened the hold of the
Blue Dragon
and revealed a giant clockwork man. It was covered in silver and carried a great ax.

“We call him the Tin Man,” said Artus, “but really, his name’s Roger.”

“I thought you were done with clockworks,” said Charles, “after the Parliament fiasco.”

“Shh,” said Artus, closing the doors. “He’s sleeping, and I don’t want him to hear you.

“This fellow’s not exactly a clockwork,” Artus continued. “He’s more of an old friend who’s managed to, ah, enhance his physicality.”

“Fair enough,” said Charles. “We’ll take all the allies we can get.”

“I heard how things went on the raid,” Aven said to Jack as Charles and Artus continued to check the ships. “Stephen told me. I think you handled Nemo well.”

“He’s headstrong, and he just won’t listen,” said Jack, exasperated. “I’m not really sure what to do with him.”

“He sounds very much like a young man I once knew,” Aven said, raising an eyebrow. “He didn’t listen much either.”

“That’s an angle Charys already tried,” said Jack. “I’m certainly not the same person I was, and neither is Nemo.”

“That’s right,” Aven replied. “You aren’t. You’re an experienced, mature teacher—and he’s a spoiled youngest son of royalty, who thinks he’s invincible.”

“I just don’t know how to talk to him, Aven,” Jack said. “How can I, when I’m the reason he ends up dying?”

“Maybe because you must, if for no other reason,” she said. “It hasn’t been any easier for me. Nemo will one day become Stephen’s father, and I know he will die. And Stephen knows it too, having never known his father at all. But now, here, we all three have the chance to say things unsaid, and to help this spoiled boy fulfill his own potential.