The Shadow Dragons (30 page)

“Your apprenticeship program writ large,” Burton said, nodding at Fred. “Just imagine—where you are now three, there could be thousands of Caretakers, sharing the secrets and wonders—”

“And responsibilities,” said Charles.

“That won’t just happen overnight,” said John.

“No,” said Bert. “It may take a generation or three to implement, but we believe it
is
possible.”

Jack slapped his forehead. “And who’s to be in charge of this grand endeavor? We probably shouldn’t set it up at Oxford—that would be pressing our luck, with John and I teaching there, and Charles having joined the Inklings. Too much risk of exposure.”

“It wouldn’t be set up at Oxford,” said Houdini.

“Then where?”

“Uh-oh,” Fred said to Rose. “Here it comes.”

Burton grinned wickedly. “Cambridge.”

“And the other shoe finally drops,” Jack said, leaning on Charles. “I think I’d rather find out when I’ll die.”

“I’m not convinced,” said John, eyeing Burton and the others. “Will this change our future?”

“There will be time enough to explain that as we sup, young John,” said Verne, sitting down. “But in this, you may rest assured: There will be time enough for
everything.”

Epilogue

Madoc stood looking at the door, considering. His daughter had kept her word—but he had fully expected that. It was not in her nature to be deceptive, although he was certain that the others advising her had argued mightily against it. After all, he was indirectly responsible for all of the trouble that had occurred back in the real world—both in the Summer Country and in the Archipelago. And to be honest, he was surprised to find himself still alive.

It had been proven that a Shadow could not persist if its owner was deceased. And he had long known that he and his Shadow could exist, even function, with great capacity, independently of each other. But he was not sure, not until the recent events had taken place, that he could survive the destruction of his Shadow.

Apparently, he could.

He felt it, the moment it happened, as if an imperceptible weight were taken from him. He had long ago cast it away by choice, so he felt strangely mournful to realize it was now gone for good. Even that had been his own doing, since he gave them the means to defeat the Shadow after naming a price he never believed they’d pay.

And now, standing before him, was the means to end his exile. The Dragons were gone. No one would know where or when he might
go if he stepped through the doorway—and they fully knew the kind of consequence that might occur if he changed the past.

The thought gave him pause. They
would
know. He
could
create great chaos, no matter where or when he went. So why would they have allowed Rose to drop the door over the waterfall? What possible argument could she have made, that would have persuaded them ... ?

And then he knew.

Redemption.

She had argued that the chance for his freedom would also be a chance for redemption. And for a moment, the thought made him seethe—but that passed as he considered the door, and his choice.

Even after one has fallen into the abyss, it was once said, redemption still might be found in how one chooses to accept the consequences of one’s actions. To some, even the smallest act of nobility carries within it the seeds of redemption—but was his choice to repair the sword noble, or selfish? Or did Rose hope that the noble act might come in the future?

Whatever the motivations, Madoc reasoned, the door ensured that there would be a future for him, even if it lay somewhere in the past. He took a deep breath and opened the door. Sunlight steamed through from a distant horizon, which framed a seaport and a bustling marketplace. The styles of dress were unfamiliar to him, but he would adjust and adapt, as he always had.

As Madoc stepped through, pulling the door closed behind him, the lingering notes and cheerful lyrics of a song being sung on the other side echoed past him and into the void: “Yankee Doodle went to town, riding on a pony, stuck a feather in his cap and called it...”

Then the door was closed, and the Deep was silent once more.

Author’s Note

Since the release of the first book in the Chronicles of the
Imaginarium Geographica,
the aspect of the story that has drawn more reader interest than anything else is the idea of the atlas having had Caretakers before John, Jack, and Charles.

The previous Caretakers (or Caretakers Emeritis, as they prefer to be known) were what justified my conceit of presenting this particular trio of authors as the guardians of this most valuable book. If H. G. Wells and Jules Verne could be Caretakers, then why not Sir James Barrie? And if he could be a Caretaker, then why not Dickens, Poe, Twain? And from there it was easy to make a list of authors, scientists, thinkers, and creatives who might have been so inclined to take the offer to explore and document an imaginary world.

Some were obvious choices (Shakespeare); others, like Schubert, a bit more oblique. A few, such as William Blake, were good choices creatively, but temperamentally more suitable as comrades-in-principle to Richard Burton. This was the basis for the rival organization, the Imperial Cartological Society, and for a corresponding list of almost-Caretakers, failed Caretakers, and could-have-been Caretakers.

The differences between those who were chosen and those who washed out became the core of this book. It was less often a matter of good versus evil as it was a differing of philosophies— and sometimes it was a difference of degree only. This realization is what prompted me to create a subset of the Caretakers: the apprentices. I wanted to be able to examine more formally the characters who were in that position of deciding what they really believed. I wanted to have them face situations that were morally and ethically cloudy, so that when their choices were made, it would be with full knowledge of the decision, and with full responsibility for the results.

All of this was to help refine what I believe is a Thing That Is True: that it is less important to become a Great man than it is to be a Good man who aspires to serve a Great cause.

This book was also much more complex, due in part to the time travel aspects. The real-life counterparts of John and Jack wrote time-travel stories that are more obscure than their greater fantasy works; and Wells and Twain were well known for theirs. So it was inevitable—and a lot of fun, to boot. But, as was underlined by Charles’s discovery near the end of the book, time does pass; people do grow older (mostly). And my Caretakers are aging. So the next most ardent questions are these: Who are the Caretakers that follow John, Jack, and Charles? And are there Caretakers today who look after the
Geographica?

To these, I can only answer that I’ve already dropped hints about other modern-day Caretakers: men and women with names like Ray, and Madeleine, and Lloyd, and Arthur. The apprentices, and the new status of the ICS, are also markers of where things might go; and the prominence of Rose Dyson in this book should not be underestimated. At some point in every story, real and imagined, the students become the teachers as the torch is passed on to a new generation. In a manner of speaking, everyone who reads these books and shares these stories has become an apprentice Caretaker, in spirit if not yet in fact. And as for the Principal Caretakers themselves, I’ve already written how they can be identified: They carry the silver watches with the red Chinese dragon on the case. . . .

Just like mine.

James A. Owen

Silvertown, USA