The First Dragon (Chronicles of the Imaginarium Geographica, The) (8 page)

“Ah,” Houdini said as he raised his hand to speak, then cleared his throat, “that may be in large part because most of those creatures were in the Archipelago when it was cut off, and thus our adversaries lost access to them. They were not, however, the only creatures at their disposal. Of that, you can be sure.”

“How sure?” asked John.

“Sure enough,” Houdini said, reddening slightly. “I cataloged most of them myself at Burton’s request.”

“I will surely burn for recruiting that man,” Dickens lamented. “Burn, I tell you.”

♦  ♦  ♦

The sun had set fully by the time the company of Caretakers made their way to the Zanzibar Gate. The path was well lit with lanterns, which John noticed seemed to give the whole area an unearthly glow. He mentioned this to the others, and Jack shook his head.

“I don’t think it’s just the lanterns,” he said, pointing at
Shakespeare’s construct. It was radiating with a pulsing light that grew stronger the closer they got.

“Is it working somehow?” John asked Shakespeare. “Did you manage to—”

“Not my workings,” the Bard replied, cutting him off. “His.”

He was pointing at Madoc, and suddenly the others realized Shakespeare’s guess was correct—the mere presence of Madoc was powering the Zanzibar Gate.

“How does it work?” Madoc asked. “It looks as if it was made of the same kind of stone as the keep was.”

“The very same, in fact,” said Shakespeare, “minus the wooden structures that made the keep, ah, well . . . burnable.”

Madoc’s expression darkened a bit at that, but he said nothing.

Shakespeare stepped forward and indicated the series of markings engraved on the inner ring of the gate’s aperture. “These runes represent numbers in Chronos time, and can be set for up to seven different decimal places,” he explained, “giving the gate a possible range of a million years or more. For this trip, we only need to set six.”

He showed them a display of crystals on a pedestal that had a mirror-image duplicate on the other side. “This is the mechanism that controls the settings,” he said. “Each crystal corresponds to a rune carved into the gate. As you enter, the inner ring will shift and lock into place. When all seven are locked, as they are now, all that remains”—he turned to Madoc—“is for a Dragon to step through and pass from this time into that one.”

“I’d like to point out that just this sort of thing was attempted once before,” Houdini harrumphed, “by the Imperial Cartological Society, and as I recall, you were so put out by our efforts that you burned it to the ground.”

“Your efforts were commendable,” said Twain, “but your motives were suspect, my dear magician. You, or more specifically, Burton and Dr. Dee, were trying to re-create the keep in the service of, and for the purposes of, the Shadow of the Winter King. Now, however, you serve a higher purpose.”

Houdini rolled his eyes and looked at Madoc.

“I understand,” Madoc replied. “That sounded like so many fewmets to me, too.”

“The gate should exist in both times,” Shakespeare explained, “and much like the keep did, it will persist into the future, and carry you forward. The portal will close once you’ve all passed through, but you should be able to open it again from the other side.”

He gestured at a rectangular indentation at the top of the control panel. “This is where the plate with the destination should be inset,” he explained. “The exact location, as well as the specific time you arrive, are largely intuitive, much like going through the doorways of the keep. This is important,” he cautioned. “If you aren’t focused, if you allow your minds to wander and drift as you enter, it might override the settings and place you somewhere you didn’t plan to be.

“If there is some need to go elsewhere, or, ah, elsewhen, rather,” Shakespeare continued, “Edmund should be able to create a new destination plate to use. After that, simply repeat the process as I’ve explained it to you, lock the settings, activate the gate, step through, and then you’ll be home.”

Madoc stepped toward the gate, which brightened visibly at his approach. Impulsively, he reached out and put his hands on the stone.

The world seemed to shift out of focus for a moment, before coming back to clarity in a wave that spread outward from the gate.
The air underneath the arch shimmered as if it was heated, and it took on a nearly reflective quality.

“It’s quite an accomplishment,” John said, smiling broadly. “With this gate, and Edmund’s natural talents, we practically have a replacement for the keep right here at our doorstep.”

At this, Shakespeare stepped back from the other Caretakers and wrung his hands in frustration. “I’m not the Architect who built the keep,” he lamented. “I’m sorry, but as adept as I have proven myself to be, I simply don’t have the skills to re-create something with the . . . ah, duration of the keep.”

“What are you saying, Will?” John asked. “Will it work, or won’t it?”

“Oh, it shall, I’m certain of that,” Shakespeare replied, glancing over at Madoc, “now that we have a viable power source. But only thrice. That, and no more.”

“Thrice?”
Jack exclaimed. “Three times? That’s not ideal, but it isn’t terrible, either. If we don’t find them the first go-round, we’ll have two more tries to get it right.”

The Bard shook his head and strode purposefully to the gate, where he motioned for Madoc to step away. Immediately the light from the gate dimmed.

“That’s what I’m trying to explain to you,” Shakespeare said, wringing his hands in frustration. “The gate will allow three trips, in toto. Once out in any direction, past or future; once back; and then . . .”

“Once out, with no return trip,” Verne said heavily.

“Or two trips out, and then one home,” Jack offered, trying to be helpful. “If we find our friends—”

“Ahem-hem,” said Twain.

“Uh, that is,
when
we find our friends,” Jack corrected, blushing slightly,
“if they haven’t yet found the Architect, we can pool our resources and try one more time before coming back.”

“No one is going anywhere,” a voice stern with authority rang out. “Not using the gate, anyroad. Not now, and maybe not ever.”

Almost by reflex, the Caretakers turned to look at Verne, but he was already looking at the man who had spoken . . .

 . . . John.

“We can’t use it,” he said, stepping around Will to stand in front of the gate, as if to emphasize his point. “It’s a great idea, and may be the first step on the right road, but with a limited number of uses, it’s simply too dangerous. I don’t want to risk losing any among our number. One would be too great a loss.”

“How is it any more risky than anything else we’ve tried?” asked Jack.

“You’re forgetting one of the rules of time travel,” John said, casting a rueful glance at Bert and Verne. “Every trip into the past must be balanced by one into the future. There won’t be two trips out and then one home. At most, it would be one trip out and one back, because to go out again . . .” He let his voice trail off when he realized he couldn’t speak the words. But Madoc could.

“. . . means those travelers will not be returning,” the Dragon said simply. “Ever.”

“Yes,” John said, this time looking at Jack. “It’s too high a price to pay, when we don’t know how the story will end.”

“We tell stories for a living, John,” Jack said testily, “and I believe we write the endings we choose.”

“Not this time, Jack. I’m sorry.”

Madoc and the other Caretakers simply watched as Jack struggled to contain what he really wanted to say to his longtime friend. This
was not merely an argument, but evidence of a deeper division, one that had perhaps been growing longer than any of them realized.

“We’ve made our lives here ones of risk taking,” Jack said, his fists clenched but his voice measured and even, “and I don’t see why this is any different.”

“It’s different,” John replied, “because every other decision was made by a different Prime Caretaker.” His eyes flickered over to Verne, who was standing resolute, watching. “I’m not so willing to be reckless with the lives of our friends.”

“And what about Rose and Edmund and Charles?” Jack replied, a bit less measured. “Who is looking out for them?”

“We will,” John replied. “Somehow we’ll find a way. But for now, we simply need to make certain the option we choose is the best one. And this one,” he added, glancing apologetically at Will, “is not that option. Yet.”

He started to say something to Jack, but his friend had already spun on his heel and was striding back to the ferryboat. A hand on John’s shoulder stopped him from following after.

“No,” Madoc said. “Not now. I’ll talk with him later, but don’t buckle. If you are indeed the Prime Caretaker now, you did exactly as you were supposed to do.”

“Betray my friends?” John said bitterly.

“No,” Madoc said again, looking at Verne. “Make the hard decisions—and then stand by them.”

John cast one more rueful glance at his departing friend, then turned to Shakespeare. “That’s my final word, then,” he said, his voice firm but laced with sadness.

“No one will be using the Zanzibar Gate to go anywhere. We’ll simply have to find another way.”

“We’re going to be using
the Zanzibar Gate,” Laura Glue said in a whisper as she and Fred walked along the docks at Tamerlane House. “There simply is no other way.”

The Caretakers and their companions had adjourned back to the main island to discuss what options they might have for creating an alternative to Shakespeare’s gate, but the young Valkyrie was having none of it.

“We’ve been looking through every library in the house,” she muttered, as much to herself as to the badger, “including every nook and cranny of the Repository. We’ve considered every device that has ever been used to travel in time, including a few completely imaginary ones. I tell you, Fred, Will’s gate is the best chance we have—and time is running out.”

“Not that I disagree with most of that,” Fred replied, “but isn’t time exactly what we have the most of?”

She shook her head and pulled him to one side of the grand porch at the main entrance. “If they were simply lost in time, then yes,” she whispered, “but we are also trying to outmaneuver an enemy who is better at time travel than we are. They know more than we do. And I don’t think they’ve spent the last couple of months just waiting on us. I think they’ve been busy. And that means we have no time to waste.”

Shakespeare . . . looked at the small company.

“So what d’ you want t’ do?”

She looked around to make sure no one else was in earshot, then leaned in close. “Tonight, meet me at that place where we hid that thing that one time,” she said as she pushed open the door. “We’re going to sort it out.”

♦  ♦  ♦

“So, how are we going to sort it out?” Houdini asked John as he diplomatically maneuvered the Prime Caretaker away from the front door and toward one of the side yards.

John realized the magician was simply trying to make sure he didn’t stride right into another confrontation with Jack, and he felt more relieved by the gesture than manipulated. “I don’t know,” he answered honestly, “but I simply can’t risk trying something that leaves us worse off than we already are. Rose and Edmund together could travel into Deep Time, and now, with Madoc, we may be able to as well. But if we lose him, we’re two steps behind again.”

“Two steps behind Dr. Dee, you mean,” said Houdini, “but I would dare to disagree. The boy prince could have chosen sides at the battle on Easter Island, and he didn’t. I think that’s why Dee hasn’t acted yet—his trump card is still an indecisive child.”

“An indecisive child with the power over time and space,” John replied, “who may yet take John Dee’s side.”

“Maybe,” a voice said from just ahead of them on one of the paths from the west end of the house, “but we have Will Shakespeare on our side. And,” Kipling added as he reached to shake John’s hand, “they don’t.”

Twain, Dickens, Verne, and Byron were just behind Hawthorne and nodded in agreement. “That’s one security we have,” said Verne. “They can’t duplicate what Will is able to do with his constructs. As far as I know, their watches have no greater range than ours do.”