The Indigo King (15 page)

Jack noticed Chaz hanging back, moving more slowly. He seemed to be worrying over something.

“Chaz, what’s up?” Jack asked him quietly. “Did you see something that’s amiss?”

Chaz glanced ahead at John and Meridian, then gestured for Jack to slow down with him. “It’s a couple o’ things, really,” he said. “F’r one thing, that seemed too easy. Too quick-like.”

“I get where you’re coming from,” Jack retorted, “but I’m not going to complain about something going our way for a change.”

“I’m not tryin’ t’ quiet y’r kettle, Jack, but did that look like a cell to you? Or he, like a man about t’ be killed?”

“It was an unusual setting, sure,” said Jack, “but Ptolemy wasn’t operating on all cylinders either.”

“There’s summat else, though,” Chaz continued. “If he—Meridian—if he does this now, won’t it change history even worse?”

“How do you mean worse?”

“If we Bind Madoc now,” Chaz said bluntly, “then he might not become the Winter King at all. Ever.”

“And that would be a bad thing?”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Chaz admitted, “but a lot of good things that happened because of him might never happen either.”

Jack realized what Chaz meant. If it hadn’t been for the Winter King, John, Jack, and Charles—
their
Charles—might never have met. And if it hadn’t been for the events that created Albion, Chaz himself might never have come to be.

“I don’t know,” Jack said slowly. “It’s a risk, certainly. But Jules Verne and Bert both gave their lives so that we could try to do … something to stop him. And we’re running out of options.”

Chaz stared at him for a moment, then nodded grimly and quickened his step to catch up to the others.

Meridian altered the course they took so as not to pass by Ptolemy’s workshop. A confrontation with the geographer would only delay them, and might warn Madoc.

“He’s here?” John said, startled. “At the library?”

Meridian nodded, his features inscrutable. “He’s the other Caretaker of the Sangreal. The only one these past weeks since I was arrested for trying to steal it. It’s a fine irony. The one entrusted to the care of the Grail is the very one who tried to take it.”

“Madoc tried to steal the Grail?” said Jack. “Then why were you arrested?”

“The three of you are well-educated and seem to know much about my brother and me,” Meridian said wryly, “and even you have trouble telling us apart. How much harder is it for that fool Ptolemy?”

“Fool?” John said, furrowing his brow. “I thought he was helping you with your work.”

“He’s a genius geographer,” Meridian replied quickly, “and as an astronomer, he’s had some astonishingly astute insights. But as a king, he’s a half-full pitcher of stale water.”

“So Madoc blamed you for the crime?”

Meridian nodded.

Chaz shook his head in disbelief. “And you were going to just let yourself be executed? For what he did?”

“Hardly,” Meridian said with a droll chuckle. “It served my purposes not to disrupt the library more than necessary, and losing him would have done that. And as for myself, I was never in danger.”

Jack and John traded skeptical glances, and Meridian laughed and looked at them with a trace of smugness.

“I’m a millennium old,” he said. “Don’t you suppose that room would only have held me for as long as I wished to be held?”

“Right,” Chaz muttered under his breath. He knew bravado when he saw it. And he knew when a truth was whole, and when it was in pieces.

“We’re here,” Meridian declared. “Hello, Archimedes.”

The owl squawked and looked up from his calculations. “Aren’t you dead yet, Meridian?”

“I’m not Meridian, I’m Madoc.”

“Then who’s in there with the Sangreal?” Archimedes asked. “You’re not supposed to leave your post.”

“That’s why my friends and I need to get in,” Meridian said. “To do my job.”

The bird peered at him with one eye. “How do I know you’re not lying?” he asked.

“I always lie,” answered Meridian, “except when I tell the truth.”

The great bird considered this for a moment, then nodded and walked over to a small opening set in the side wall. He inserted one clawed foot, and the companions heard a lever inside release with a clicking sound. To the bird’s right, the door that bore the image of the Grail swung open on mechanized hinges and the companions stepped inside.

“Have a nice day, Madoc,” Archimedes said as he returned to his figures.

“See what I mean?” Meridian said. “We used to do that to Anaximander all the time.”

“That’s an impressive door,” John said as it swung closed. “Those mechanisms are remarkable.”

“It’s a design built by the owl’s creator,” Meridian said as he pushed open an inner door and ushered them through. “Both were based on a curious device that I sold to him a few centuries ago. That’s why it may look familiar to you. I think you called it a ‘watch.’”

Grinning, Meridian and John stepped into the inner chamber and stopped. Jack and Chaz were already inside, and at a loss as to what they should do next.

It was a large dome, with a massive fireplace opposite the doors, which provided both heat and light. Pillars placed through the room supported high arches, and there were two sets of stairs that presumably led to other rooms. All along the walls were pictographs showing points of recent history, a story in pictures of the Christian myth, and below them, various objects that were likely other talismans related to the Grail.

As to the Grail itself, there were several cups and saucers on the low wall that ringed the room. It wasn’t readily apparent which, if any, was the true Grail. But none of the companions were focused on any of that. Instead they were transfixed by the sight of the couple sleeping on the blankets and mats that lay in the middle of the floor, as if the Grail room was nothing more than an elaborate bedchamber.

“Brother,” Meridian said softly. “What … have … you …
done
?”

At once Madoc was awake. He was startled to see his brother—and the entourage he’d brought with him.

“Meridian!” he exclaimed. “What are you—”

His sentence remained unfinished as the girl, perhaps twenty years old, if that, suddenly awoke and pulled the cloak they’d used as a blanket over herself in fear. She had dark hair, skin that glistened, and eyes that were clear and focused.

“I can explain,” Madoc began, rising.

“No need,” Meridian said, taking a spear from the wall closest to him. “I now know all that I need to.”

“Jack!” John exclaimed, realizing the Cartographer’s intentions. “We can’t let him kill Madoc!”

Before any of them could move, Meridian lunged at his brother with the spear. He missed, but only just.

The girl leaped to her feet, crying out in fear, and Madoc placed himself between her and Meridian. “Don’t do this!” he implored. “You don’t realize what you’re doing!”

“Wrong,” Meridian answered. “I know exactly what I must do.”

Jack and John grabbed him, and they were surprised to realize that they could barely hold him. His strength was astonishing. “Meridian!” John shouted. “We can’t risk killing him! Bind him! Then we can decide what to do!”

The Cartographer nodded and cast aside the spear.

Madoc turned to the girl, who was pulling away from him, screaming in terror now. He clutched at her robe, which tore in his hands as she ran from him, tears streaming.

“Please!” Madoc cried to her, imploring. “I’m sorry! Forgive me! Please!”

But no answer was forthcoming, and she disappeared through a second doorway at the other end of the chamber. Voices and footsteps could be heard coming from the other rooms. Her screams had alerted the library that something was amiss.

“We’re about to have company,” Chaz said grimly. “We got t’ hurry.”

Meridian leaped forward and knocked his twin to the floor, then spun him about. He held Madoc down, pinning his brother’s shoulders with his knees. Meridian bit down hard on his thumb, then marked Madoc’s forehead with his blood. And then he began to speak the words:

Madoc, son of Odysseus

By right and rule

For need of might

I thus bind thee

I thus bind thee

By blood bound

By honor given

I thus bind thee

I thus bind thee

For strength and speed and heaven’s power

By ancient claim in this dark hour

I thus bind thee

I thus bind thee.

As Meridian finished speaking, both brothers screamed and convulsed, spines arching, as if they’d received a tremendous shock. Panting, Meridian rolled away from his brother and staggered to his feet.

“You are thus Bound, Madoc,” he rasped. “By blood, and by the Old Magic, I have Bound you. And I command you …” He stopped and looked hesitatingly at John. It was the question none of them had any answer to. How, even Bound, could Madoc be stopped without simply killing him?

Suddenly Meridian’s eyes glittered, and he turned back to his brother, who was still struggling to rise to his feet.

“Madoc, duly Bound,” said Meridian, “I command you to go to the very ends of the known world, there to stay until you are summoned again, by blood.”

Madoc looked stricken. For a brief instant, John actually felt compassion for him. This man still had no realization of what was happening to him, of what had been done to him—and of what fate his own twin brother had just sentenced him to.

Madoc stood shakily and reached a hand out to his brother. “I’m to be exiled?” he said pleadingly. “Again? But I don’t … I don’t … When?” he asked. “When will you summon me back?”

But Meridian didn’t answer. He turned his back on Madoc and gave a grim smile and a brief nod to the companions. Then, without another word, he ran from the room and disappeared.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The Sword of Aeneas

Madoc simply stood
there, looking at John, Jack, and Chaz with a stricken expression.

“I know you,” he said in wonderment. “We have met before.”

“Yes,” John said, feeling a strong twinge of compassion that he had to fight to keep down. “And for what it’s worth … we’re … I—I’m sorry, Madoc.”

Jack’s mouth dropped open, and Chaz just looked at the others as if they were all insane. But Madoc stared back at John with that same plaintive expression. He really didn’t understand what had happened.

“Why?” he asked.

“Because of who you will become,” Jack said bluntly. “You needed to be Bound.”

“That’s not what I was asking,” Madoc replied, looking over his shoulder. “Why did Meridian do that? Why did he use Old Magic on me?”

“To protect the Grail,” Jack said, “and the rest of the world.”

Madoc’s demeanor was so confusing to them that Jack, and even Chaz, were beginning to soften.

“Protect the Grail?” Madoc said, clearly perplexed. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

Before they could press the matter further, a group of librarians, armed with swords and daggers, swarmed down one of the stairways. There were obviously other entrances than the one the companions had come through.

The foremost of them scanned the room, barely noticing the companions, then fixed his glare on Madoc. “The Grail is taken!” he shouted. “Hold them! Hold them all!”

With no warning, a flame exploded in the center of the room, dividing it neatly between the companions and Madoc on one side, and the librarians on the other.

Madoc took one step, then spun about as if he were on a tether. The Binding was good, and he’d be compelled to do as he was commanded. He bent and scooped up the spear, then ran from the room. As he went, his eyes locked with John’s, and the Caretaker was stunned to see there was no anger in his expression—only hurt and sorrow.

The fire had caught several floor coverings alight and was threatening the pillars as well.

“This way!” Jack shouted to the others. He led them up another stairway and out of the Grail chamber. The passageway curved around and brought them back to the entrance, where Archimedes was already sounding an alarm.

Jack didn’t even pause as he exited, but rounded the corner at full speed and headed back to the main chambers of the library.

“That was lucky for us,” John panted as they ran. “Talk about an opportune moment for spontaneous combustion!”

“It weren’t luck,” Chaz said, opening his jacket to reveal a small cache of cylinders. “I brought my flash-bangs with me in case they were needed, and it seems they were!”

John stopped, aghast, as did Jack still ahead of them.

“You did that on
purpose
?” Jack said, sputtering in anger and confusion. “Why, Chaz?”

“A distraction,” Chaz said, completely baffled as to why they weren’t delighted that he’d sidetracked their pursuers. “I thought you’d be happy!”

“Happy!” exclaimed Jack. “You fool—you’ve just set fire to the Library of Alexandria!”

Chaz scowled, still uncertain why escaping with their lives was a bad thing. John swore silently, and they all started to run again.

“Never mind,” John said to Chaz. “We did what we needed to. That’s what matters most.”

“You know,” Jack remarked, considering, “Charles is going to be mortified.”

Chaz reared back. “Charles? Why would he be mortified? This is my fault.”

“I know,” Jack replied. “But all he’s going to care about is that he seems to keep setting fire to places, whichever timeline he’s in.”

As they turned a corner in the main corridor, the companions passed Ptolemy, who was dashing in the other direction. He paused slightly, looking at them through narrowed eyes, as if he suspected that they’d been the instigators of the inferno, but then he turned away and kept running. John, to his great relief, had noted that the geographer had been carrying both
Geographicas
—his own as well as Meridian’s.

Another one of the librarians, who had been first in the Grail chamber, stopped the king.

“It’s too late!” he exclaimed, mouth agape with fear and astonishment. “The Sangreal is lost!”

“What are you talking about, Pelles?” Ptolemy answered. “Lost how?”

“A great winged beast!” Pelles cried. “It took the Sangreal into the air and away from the library!”

“No time for stories,” Ptolemy said, “just because you’ve failed in your duties! Send word to the son of Arimathea, and take what you can to Glastonbury.

“The library,” the geographer went on, “is finished.”

Reaching one of the main repositories, the two Caretakers and the hapless former thief grabbed some large wicker baskets in both hands and began to shovel scrolls of parchment into them.

“Hurry!” Jack implored the others. “We have to save as many as we can!”

“It’s going up too quickly,” John said, scanning the rafters of the room, which were already pouring with smoke. “We can’t do enough. The Histories said that the most essential works were saved. We’ll just have to trust that they will be.”

Reluctantly the others agreed. They dropped the baskets and headed for the portal.

All the librarians and various scholars were running in every direction, mostly away from the flames. As the companions passed the doorway to the Grail chamber, they noticed that Archimedes was no longer at his post.

“Smart old owl,” Chaz remarked drolly as they turned the corner and headed for the projection.

Chaz passed through first, with Jack close on his heels. John paused at the wall and turned to look at the Grail on the door, now cracked.

Meridian was gone, to who knew where. Madoc was Bound, and banished. It had not even occurred to John that banishment could be done. If he was truly exiled to the ends of the Earth, then perhaps that was enough. Perhaps.

He tried not to think about the fact that at the moment Meridian had spoken the Binding, he had considered just killing Madoc. And he tried not to think about how relieved he’d felt when, with the banishment, he realized he might not have to.

And all it had taken was convincing the brother they trusted that he had to betray the one they didn’t.

He hoped they had done enough.

John closed his eyes to the flames as they enveloped the image of the Grail, and he turned and stepped through the portal.

After receiving much more attention than he was comfortable getting, Hugo decided to camouflage himself as best as he could by donning Hank Morgan’s helmet and gauntlets. After five minutes of wearing the incredibly heavy, stiflingly hot, and impossibly ill-fitting pieces of armor, he took them off and was immediately accosted by a small band of lithe, well-armed men. Or at least, he assumed they were men—they cursed like men and were dressed like others he’d seen on the field. But when he looked closely, he noticed that their ears were pointed, and they had only four fingers. And while they knocked him about, more for sport than anything else, he thought he heard them refer to each other as “elves.”

He quickly replaced the helmet and gauntlets, and the elves, laughing, moved on. Hugo sighed heavily and looked around for Hank, who had at least seemed to be genial, if not a friend. Even Pellinor would be a welcome sight.

Still, Hugo had time to think. Hank had mentioned having been sent here by a Caretaker of the
Imaginarium Geographica
… Samuel Clemens. It took a moment for Hugo to remember why that name was familiar, and then he recalled it. The American writer. The one who wrote of riverboats, and slavery, and Adam and Eve … That fellow had been a Caretaker, as John and Jack claimed to be?

But wasn’t Clemens also dead?

“Sam says hello,” Hank said as he dropped down to sit next to Hugo. “Aren’t those hot?” he asked, indicating the helmet and gauntlets.

“Terribly so, yes,” Hugo replied, removing the armor. “But it seems unless I look a bit more the part of the knight-at-arms, I’m a target for mischief and harassment.”

“The elves, I’ll bet,” Hank guessed, looking over the helmet. “There’s a compact not to engage in any fighting until the actual start of the tournament, but that only applies to the champions here to compete—mostly knights and would-be kings. The elves are notorious for skirting the rules. They think they’re better than everyone else, mostly because they live impossibly long lives. I think they’re a bunch of pansies, myself.”

“But you said you weren’t here to compete,” said Hugo. “So why did you come dressed as a knight?”

“Simple,” Hank answered as he put on the helmet. “So I wouldn’t be kicked around by a bunch of pansy elves.”

* * *

Hank led Hugo around the outskirts of the field to a small campsite, where they could talk undisturbed. Like all the other arrivals to the tournament, Hank had erected a banner in front. It was a long, tapering pennant with a blue and red circular design in the center and the words GO CUBS! on both sides.

“Interesting,” said Hugo. “What does it mean?”

“It was a gift from Sam,” Hank explained as they entered the tent. “He said it used to represent Triumph over Adversity, but now better represents Impossible Quests and Lost Causes.”

“I think I preferred not knowing that,” said Hugo.

Hank grinned. “You’re a Sox fan too, hey?”

In the relative privacy of Hank’s camp, they were able to talk more freely, so Hugo related everything that had happened since the walk at Magdalen, and also about the dinner, and the mysterious Grail book. And he asked a torrent of questions along the way.

“I don’t know that much about it myself,” Hank said in response to Hugo’s inquiry about the
Imaginarium Geographica
. “I know a little, thanks to Sam. But there’s a fellow here who might be helpful. All the maps in here are his, as a matter of fact.” He swept his arm across the interior of the tent.

Hugo had at first assumed that the stacks were fabric of some kind, or bundles of supplies for the tournament. But looking at them more closely, he could see that they were dozens of carefully drawn maps.

“I daresay he might be able to help, at that,” said Hugo. “Did he make these all himself?”

“I haven’t asked,” Hank replied. “Didn’t feel it was my business. But they are the first thing unpacked at every stop, and he handles them as if they’re gold. After what you’ve explained to me, I half wonder if they aren’t part of the reason I was sent here to watch him.”

“Is he a knight or a king?” asked Hugo.

“Both and neither,” Hank said, “but you know of him by reputation alone, if nothing else.”

“That is either a charitable description of me, Sir Henry,” a stolid, commanding voice said, “or a condemnation. And today I cannot say which I deserve more.” A gloved hand parted the opening of the tent, flooding it with light, and a man, shorter than Hank but stouter than Hugo, stepped inside.

“Hugo Dyson,” Hank said, rising and bowing deferentially to the new arrival, “I’d like you to meet Merlin, Lord of Albion.”

Merlin was dressed formally but practically. His breeches and tunic were elegantly made, but of leather, studded throughout with iron. Not clothes for court, but for combat. He wore a headband, and his hair draped to his shoulders, flowing over the top of a cape that was fastened at his shoulders.

It occurred to Hugo that Merlin’s eyes showed a flash of recognition when he entered, but on reflection, that was probably more of a reaction to Hugo’s strange clothes.

“So,” Merlin said. “You know who I am?”

“I know what I’ve read of you, ah, sir,” Hugo stammered. “You’re a very great man.”

Merlin didn’t react to the compliment, except to frown and raise an eyebrow.

“What I mean is that you are a legend,” Hugo said quickly. “Everyone knows you.”

“Really,” Merlin replied, still unsure what Hugo was complimenting him for. “Would you say I’m a myth, then?”

It was Hugo’s turn to look confused. “I might have yesterday,” he said, “but I hadn’t met you then.”

Merlin burst into laughter. “Well met, then, Hugo Dyson,” he said, handing a parcel to Hank. “You should find the rest of the day’s events very enlightening.”

With that, he turned and left the tent.