The First Dragon (Chronicles of the Imaginarium Geographica, The) (5 page)

“Ordo Maas,” Uncas finished for him. “All th’ Children of th’ Earth knows Ordo Maas.”

Argus reached out and scratched Uncas on top of the head, which Quixote thought would offend his little friend, but oddly, the badger didn’t seem to mind. “Yes, your kind would know of him, wouldn’t they, small one?” he said gently. “Ordo Maas—that’s who you want.”

“ ’Cept we can’t ask him,” Uncas replied. “He’s not findable. Not anymore.”

Argus frowned. “How is he not findable? The last I knew, he had his own island in the Archipelago.”

“That’s exactly the problem,” said Quixote. “The Archipelago is no more.”

The shipbuilder’s eyes narrowed. “You lie.”

“Knights never lie,” said Uncas. “What happened was this, see, there was a fire—”

“I don’t want to know,” Argus said flatly. “It’s none of my business. Not anymore.” He stood up as if to indicate that the discussion was over. “I’m sorry. You’ll have to find someone else to build you your Dragonship.”

“But, that’s just the thing,” Uncas protested. “We don’t want’cha t’
build
a ship—we need ya t’ unbuild one.”

Argus turned and looked at the badger, who was all frizzy with earnestness, then up at Quixote. “I’m sorry—as I said, my master was the true creator of such things. I cannot help you.”

Quixote looked at Aristophanes, who had been quiet throughout the entire encounter. The Zen Detective shrugged. “You hired me to find him, not to compel him to do anything for you,” he said brusquely as he turned for the door. “If he doesn’t want to help you, that’s no business of mine.”

Quixote sighed heavily and put his arm around Uncas. “Come along, my squire. Let’s go explain to the Caretakers that their ship the
Black Dragon
is going to remain just that—a ship. And nothing more.”

The sound of a glass jug shattering against the stone floor stopped the companions in their tracks. They turned back to see Argus kneeling amid the shards of glass and spilled water, gently trying to lift a Monarch ship out of the mess without damaging the wings.

“The
Black Dragon
,” the shipbuilder said as he delicately installed the tiny ship in another jug. “You told me a ship—you didn’t say which.”

“Well, now you know,” said Aristophanes. “And if you’re willing to help, I’m sure you’ll be well compensated.”

Argus folded his arms and considered them carefully for a moment. Then he pursed his lips. “A boon,” he said at last. “Your masters will owe me a boon, whatever I ask. That is my price.”

“Are we authorized to agree to those terms?” Uncas asked Quixote, obviously worried. “Scowler John never said anything about offering
him
an open ticket.”

“Well, it did work out the last time,” Quixote whispered back, “except for, you know, the betrayal and all that.”

“The Caretakers have always known
my
terms,” the Zen Detective remarked, winking at Uncas, as the shipbuilder gathered his tools together in anticipation of an agreement. “I get my fee, plus expenses. And if the expenses mean agreeing to pay whatever the mark asks for, then that’s the client’s problem, not mine.”

“I think I like your job,” Uncas said. “Not much seems t’ bother you. It’s a very Animal way t’ live.”

“We need him,” Quixote said simply. He turned to Argus. “I think your terms will be acceptable. We can go now, if you like.”

♦  ♦  ♦

“For a moment there,” the Zen Detective said to the shipbuilder as the foursome clambered into the car, “I thought you weren’t going to come with us.”

“For a moment there,” Argus said as he took the seat behind Quixote, “I wasn’t.”

“What changed your mind, if I might ask?” said Quixote.

Argus paused a moment, as if the question had violated some invisible boundary of etiquette, then realized that it was, in fact, an entirely appropriate question under the circumstances. “It was the ship,” he answered. “The
Black Dragon
. Any of the others would have been made by Utna—by Ordo Maas. But that one’s the exception—the only one he never touched.”

“How did you know that?” Uncas asked as he started the car.

“Because,” Argus answered over the roar of the engine, “I’m the one who built it, as payment for a promise made . . . long, long ago. I made the
Black Dragon
, at the request of Mordred, the Winter King.”

♦  ♦  ♦

It took a few hours for the excitement surrounding the
Black Dragon
to fade away, and soon things were humming away as usual at Tamerlane House, with one exception: Nathaniel Hawthorne had doubled the patrols along the islands and the guards at the bridge, just in case the appearance of the Dragonship was somehow a precursor to another attack.

“Remember,” he warned them, “discovering the Architect of the keep and rescuing our friends is not our sole concern. The Echthroi have other agents, and this ship spent a thousand years crossing from a Shadowed Archipelago. I simply want to be cautious—you never know who might also be lurking about.”

John knew without asking that Hawthorne was referring to Dr. Dee and his Cabal. Dee had enlisted the Zen Detective as a double agent to locate the Ruby Armor of T’ai Shan, which was said to give the wearer almost unlimited control over time and space. But not just anyone could wear the armor—it had to be an adept; someone like Rose. Someone the Histories referred to . . .

 . . . as the
Imago
.

The problem was, Dee had just such a personage: a boy, a distant descendant of Rose, who had been rescued from the Archipelago and taken into the past, where he was then kidnapped by Dee’s agent, the traitor Daniel Defoe.

Defoe put the boy prince, called Coal, into a might-have-been, a possible future, for safekeeping. But he made one mistake: Defoe gave the boy a watch—an Anabasis Machine, the time-traveling device all the Caretakers carried. And, being an adept, the boy figured out how to use it on his own and spent a lifetime learning how the world worked. And finally, when Dee pulled him out of the future and gave him the Ruby Armor, the boy Coal, now grown, revealed he had been hiding in plain sight as one of Verne’s Messengers, calling himself Dr. Raven.

Then, in the crucial moment when the adept could have turned the tide against either the Caretakers or the Cabal, he instead gave himself a new name and disappeared. Moments later Dee, his house, and the entire Cabal also vanished. Ever since, the Caretakers had been on guard, waiting, watching for the attack they believed was inevitable.

“Understood,” John said to Hawthorne. “Keep me posted, and keep your silver sledgehammer at the ready.”

♦  ♦  ♦

As they waited for news from Uncas and Quixote, John, Jack, and a few of the Caretakers Emeriti accompanied Shakespeare back to the smaller island, to assist him with some minor adjustments he wanted to make to the Zanzibar Gate. As the poet-inventor worked, the Prime Caretaker examined the still impressive stone structure.

“You’ve become quite the creator, Will,” John said in honest admiration. “I think you missed your calling in life. You ought to have been an architect.”

“Thank you,” Shakespeare said gravely, bowing to the younger Caretaker, “but I think I am responsible for too much stress and strife already, and all I’ve built was that cursed bridge.”

“If it wasn’t for that bridge, sirrah,” said Twain as he stepped across the path and joined the others near the gate, “none of us might be here now.”

“That somewhat resembles my point,” said Shakespeare. “So much of this is my fault.”

“Responsibility, you mean,” said Twain.

Shakespeare shrugged. “What’s the difference?”

“That answer,” said Twain, “is what makes you a good Caretaker.”

“No,” said Jack. “That answer is what makes him a good man.”

Shakespeare blushed, and bowed his head to acknowledge the compliment. “That is exceeding gracious of you to say, Jack,” he said, “but my responsibilities now are less than those of others. I cannot fathom how, as the current Caretakers, you grapple with the care of the world. It is so much larger than in my time.”

“I’m just happy that we aren’t expected to do even more than we are,” said Jack. “I have enough trouble just running the Kilns—”

“Ahem-hem,” said John.

“Ah, that is, Warnie and I have enough trouble running the Kilns,” added Jack.

“And Mrs., uh, Whatsit,” John said helpfully.

“Her too,” Jack admitted, “or rather, her mostly. My point is, I could never run a university, much less a city. And heaven forbid that I’m ever given my own country. I think I’d go mad—probably just lock myself in a tower and shut out the whole world while I stay in my room and read.”

“And that’s different from what you do now, how?” asked John with a smirk and a wink at Twain.

“Oh, shut up,” said Jack.

At that moment, they all turned to see Dickens walking purposefully across the path toward them. “Blast it all, Samuel,” he said as he drew near. “Are you going to tell them or not? Time’s a-wasting.”

“I was getting to it, Charles,” Twain said. “Nothing is as urgent as exchanging pleasantries as gentlemen ought, before going to business.”

“What business?” said John.

“The major has summoned us to the Kilns,” Dickens replied, looking at Jack. “Your brother says that our agents have returned and are bringing a guest.”

“The shipbuilder?” asked Jack. “I hope.”

“This is Quixote and Uncas we’re talking about, remember,” John said as the group followed Dickens back to the small ferryboat that Twain piloted. “For all we know, they’ve brought back the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.”

“Don’t,” said Jack, “even
joke
about that.”

♦  ♦  ♦

The Caretakers crossed over Shakespeare’s Bridge fully armed, and prepared for any contingency. Warnie, Jack’s brother, was already
waiting for them, as were Quixote and Uncas. The detective and the new arrival were still in the Duesenberg, but as the Caretakers approached, Aristophanes climbed out, tipped his hat at John, and moved over to join Warnie, who kept glancing at the detective’s skin tone as if it were a trick of the light.

A smaller, wizened man stepped from the other side of the car and placed his hand on the hood, taking in the heat radiating from the engine. “It’s warm,” he said admiringly, “almost like a living thing. I should not be surprised if one day someone chose to become one with a machine such as this.”

“We brung, uh, bringed . . . ah, we got the shipbuilder,” Uncas said, gesturing at Argus, who nodded his head in acknowledgment. His expression was grave, but a bemused smile played at the corners of his mouth.

John sized up the shipbuilder. “I must beg your pardon, but you don’t appear to be several thousand years old.”

“You have it,” Argus replied, “but considering you sent a purple humanoid unicorn, a talking badger, and a Spaniard who can’t drive to fetch me, I’m surprised you place such an emphasis on one’s appearance.”

“He’s smarter than the average mariner,” Warnie commented to Aristophanes.

The detective nodded. “You have no idea.”

“How far can we trust him?” Hawthorne asked. “After all, we have only the detective’s word he is who he says he is.”

“Why would I lie to you now?” Aristophanes sputtered. “I live at Tamerlane House!”

“You did betray us to Dee,” said Hawthorne. “You were a double agent.”

“Triple agent,” said Warnie. “He betrayed Dee and joined you lot after all.”

“Thanks,” said Aristophanes.

“Don’t mention it,” said Warnie.

“But,” Hawthorne argued, “we still lost the Ruby Armor.”

“We would have lost it anyway,” Dickens interjected, “so that really isn’t Steve’s fault.”

“Who is Steve?” Argus asked Uncas.

“Th’ detective,” the badger replied. “It’s his preference.”

“If I had known,” Argus said slowly from the relaxed position where he was leaning against the Duesenberg, “that you people would be this entertaining, I would have agreed to come far more easily.”

“It’s him,” said a voice from the back of the group. “I only met him a couple of months ago, remember? And I know his face. This is Argus.”

The Caretakers parted to allow Bert to move to the front, where he peered more closely at the shipbuilder. “Do you remember me, Argus?”

“I remember,” Argus replied, “that when we last met, you and your companions saved my life. But also that you were much more accepting of who I was and what I claimed to be able to do. After all, you are the ones who sought me out, and not the other way around.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Jack said, taking the role of host and rushing around the others to shake the shipbuilder’s hand. “We’ve had some security issues around here lately and need to be careful.”

“I understand,” Argus replied. “Thankfully, however, tolerance and patience can be bought.”

Warnie cleared his throat and looked pointedly at Jack and John, then tipped his head at Argus.

John sighed and frowned at the other Caretakers. “I suppose since we’ve already made one deal with the de—”

“Hey, now,” said Aristophanes.

“The detective, I was going to say,” John continued, scowling, “then I suppose we must take this fellow at his word that he is whom he says he is.”

“Not at all,” Argus replied before any of the Caretakers could comment further. He smiled down at Uncas. “Child of the Earth,” he said gently, “do you have a scrap of paper I might borrow?”

“Soitenly!” Uncas exclaimed. He popped open his Little Whatsit, deftly removed a small blank sheet from the pages at the back, and handed it to the shipbuilder.

Argus made no comment but simply began folding the paper over and over, his fingers moving too swiftly to follow, until he had fashioned a small paper dragon. Then he knelt and looked at the ground around him until he finally spied what he was looking for in a patch of grass.

Carefully he reached out and picked up the small black wasp by the body, and again, his fingers swiftly manipulated the folded paper.

When he had finished, he held out his creation. There in his outstretched hand was a miniature Dragonship, with wings and, somehow, the living body and head of the wasp.