The Indigo King (9 page)

“Where can we go that he won’t find us?” John said. “We have nothing to fight him with—not even his true name.”

“Yes, you do have something,” said Bert. “You have the prophecy. And you have this.” He took the rolled parchment from the mantel. “This is what Jules was given when he opened the Serendipity Box. It was then that he said I must give him to Mordred, and then wait for you. He died so that you could have this chance.”

“Well, let’s have a look at it,” Jack began.

“No time, no time,” Bert said. “Just know this: It’s a map, to the last island in the Archipelago. The only map left, which has been hidden from Mordred all these years. The only one that was made by the Cartographer, but by covenant, never bound into the
Geographica
.”

Hearing this, Uncas and Fred exchanged questioning glances, but said nothing.

“Here,” Bert said, stuffing the parchment, the box, and Jules Verne’s skull into a bag. “Take these, and let’s get you on your way.”

“How does y’ plan t’ do that?” said Chaz.

For the first time, John and Jack saw the old familiar glitter in Bert’s eyes. “Easy,” he said as he opened the back door. “I’m going to use what the Serendipity Box gave to
me
.”

The old man hobbled his way out to the far end of the dock. Looking westward, the companions could see nothing but dust. It was, in all ways, a desert.

“Are we going to walk to this island?” Jack asked. “I’ve already got a blister going.”

“Shush,” said John. “I think Bert’s got better than that in mind.”

“Oh yes.” Bert nodded. “I do have something good up my, er, sleeve, as it were.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a brooch. It was an Egyptian scarab beetle, set in a bronze fitting, and the shell of the beetle was translucent blue. It also seemed to be in motion. Bert turned it over. “Recognize the writings, John?”

“Egyptian, obviously, and …” He peered closer. “Is that Hebrew and …” John’s eyes grew wide. “Is this what I think it is?”

Bert nodded. “From Aaron’s hand to mine. His brother didn’t part anything. The Red Sea was taken up, whole, and put away for safekeeping. And since the Good Lord saw fit to give it to me, I’m sure he won’t mind that I’ve moved it a few thousand miles west.”

Bert drew back his arm, and with surprising strength hurled the brooch high into the sky.

It arced high, higher, then plunged downward, hitting the ground some hundred yards away.

“Now what?” asked Chaz.

Suddenly the earth underneath the brooch fissured and split, and it fell into the ground, out of view. A low rumbling sound shook the air, and the pier began to tremble. Then, where the brooch had fallen, a fountain burst into the sky from the center of the fissure, then another, and another.

In seconds it was as if a reverse thunderstorm had exploded out of the dry earth, filling the sky with water, which fell back to ground and began pooling in greater and greater volume.

As the flood gushed up, rain clouds began to form, and almost immediately a downpour started. The water met in the middle with such force that the winds nearly swept the small group off the dock. And then, as quickly as it had started, the storm subsided, and the clouds began to settle, and the companions found themselves looking out upon an ocean restored.

That was not the end of the surprises: In the distance, perhaps a few miles out, they saw a ship.

A
Dragonship
.

“I thought Mordred would have destroyed them all,” said John, “all the Dragonships, along with all the lands in the Archipelago.”

“Not this ship, and not this island,” said Bert. “There
were
no other Dragonships when this timeline changed. And there were reasons this island was never included in the original
Geographica
. This is one of them.”

And so it was with mingled wonder and awe, and no small surprise, that the companions watched as the
Red Dragon
glided smoothly through the water and alongside the dock.

“But why, Bert?” John asked as the companions climbed aboard the ship. “If you had the brooch and could do this at any time, why did you wait so long?”

“For you,” Bert said simply. “We had faith in you. Jules trusted in your destiny, and so did I. It was hard, terribly so at times. And I regret to say I am not the same, in many ways. I’m worn thin, John. But I’m heartened by your arrival. And overall, considering what Jules sacrificed, I really shouldn’t complain.”

“Well, you waited long enough,” said Jack, offering a hand. “Step aboard, and let’s get the hell away from here.”

But Bert didn’t move. Instead he simply looked at them all with sorrowful eyes, then patted the
Red Dragon
’s hull. “I’m sorry, lads. I won’t be going.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” Chaz called from the far side of the deck, “someone’s got t’ stay behind, t’ make sure we in’t followed.”

“I nominate you, traitor,” said Jack. “Better you than Bert.”

“No,” Bert said. “My time is past. This is your destiny to fulfill, the three of you—not mine.”

“But he’s not Charles!” exclaimed Jack. “Don’t do this, Bert!”

The old man was not swayed. “Whatever’s going on, Jack, is for you to work through. All things happen for a reason. You have to find out what the reason is, and fix what’s been broken.”

He tapped the hull again, and, as if a signal had been given, the
Red Dragon
came about and headed for open waters.

Sadly, the companions gathered at the aft railing to wave good-bye to their friend and mentor, but he had already left the dock and returned to the shack, closing the door behind him.

For the first few hours, John and Jack had kept watch, fearing pursuit.

Chaz sat at the fore of the ship, sulking. The badgers busied themselves with examining the ship itself and basically trying not to get in the way.

“That’s really some book you have, that Little Whatsit,” John said to Fred. “It’s been pretty handy so far, anyway.”

“Sure,” said Jack, “except we had only the one silver coin. What happens when we need more?”

“Not everything in th’ Whatsit involves silver,” Uncas explained. “Some got t’ do with gold, f’r instance.”

“Hey,” Jack said brightly. “We might have a use for your watch, John.”

“Funny scowler,” said John. “Here now, let’s have a look at this map, shall we?”

The map had been drawn on the same parchment and was of the same dimensions as most of the maps they were accustomed to seeing in the
Imaginarium Geographica
, and it had been created by the familiar hand of the Cartographer of Lost Places.

“‘Noble’s Isle,’ it says it’s called,” said John. “It’s a volcanic island, and looks to be in the south. The markings are clear, though, and in classical Latin, so we shouldn’t have any problem navigating there.”

“The animals have another name for it,” said Fred, peering underneath John’s arm. “We call it Sanctuary.”

“Sanctuary?” asked Jack. “From what?”

“From the world,” said Fred. “Both literal and otherwise.

“When Ordo Maas took us into the Archipelago, he gave us many gifts—but they were things unearned. We wanted to grow up, to have a place that was ours, and no others. A place to do our own work, and to learn to be better than we are. And so the animals went sailing through the Archipelago with Nemo’s great-great-great-umpteen-grandfather, Sinbad, and he found this uncharted island. He named it Noble’s Isle, but we called it Sanctuary. And when the map was made, we asked that it be kept secret, private-like. Only the High King ever had a copy of it.”

“And it was the one thing Jules Verne most needed when he opened the Serendipity Box,” John mused. “Interesting. Let’s hope that when we get there, more of these mysteries become clear.”

* * *

Bert had spoken true—all the other islands, everywhere, were gone. There was no frontier to cross, no boundary. And the
Red Dragon
never wavered in its course. The only island left in the natural world, or in the Archipelago itself, was Noble’s Isle.

“Impossible,” said John. “He can’t have destroyed them all. He’s not that powerful, is he?”

“The king may not be,” Chaz said from the rear, “but she is.” He was pointing to the deepening sky, where the moon was beginning to rise. “Before the seas went dry, there was a great flood.…”

“Of Biblical proportions?” Jack said wryly, leaning over the rail and dipping his hand into the waves. “What the good Lord giveth, he also taketh away. Then he puts it back again.”

It took only a few hours for the ship to reach Noble’s Isle. “Land ho!” Uncas called out from his perch high atop the mast. “Sanctuary, straight ahead!”

The island was covered with palm trees that thinned out closer to the center as more cultivated gardens took over. The beaches were shallow, of dull gray sand, and offered no easy access for the
Red Dragon
.

Here Uncas took charge and steered the ship (in a more expert fashion than even Fred was expecting) to a narrow inlet on the southernmost tip. The waterway led to a deepwater dock that was both well lit in the approaching twilight, and well cared for.

The companions tied down the ship and stepped onto the sturdy dock, where they were greeted very smartly by a large fox, who bowed deeply at their approach.

He was walking on his hind legs, as the badgers did, and was dressed similarly in a waistcoat, blazer with tails, and trousers.

“I am Reynard,” he said in greeting. “Welcome to Noble’s Isle, Children of the Earth and Sons of Adam.”

The companions returned the bow and, at Reynard’s prompting, followed him off the dock to an awaiting principle. It was large and elegant and hummed like a cat. They clambered aboard, and Reynard pulled onto a paved lane that led directly to the center of the island.

The inlet had lain between two ridges, which flattened out as they passed upward along the road. To one side was a foul-smelling swamp, and to the other, they saw various cultivated gardens, which were punctuated here and there with greenhouses and outbuildings.

As they drove, Reynard kept up an amiable chatter with Uncas, who talked with the fox as if they were long-lost war veterans who’d been separated for a lifetime and had only an hour to catch up. In less than ten minutes, however, the road widened into a circular drive, which was surrounded by a cluster of buildings. These, Reynard explained, were the main dwellings of Sanctuary, and he’d been instructed to bring the visitors there.

“Instructed by whom?” John asked as they climbed out of the principle.

“By the Prime Caretaker, of course,” said Reynard, gesturing toward the main house, “and at the request of Ordo Maas himself. Otherwise you would not have been allowed to set foot on this island.”

Reynard bowed again as he spoke, but the companions realized that as respectful as he was, he was not altogether pleased that they were there.

“Please, come inside,” said Reynard. “The show is about to begin.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

The Infernal Device

The main houses of Sanctuary were familiar in an unfamiliar way. It was as if Oxford had been built for use by scholars three to four feet tall, who may or may not have had prehensile tails. The construction, decor, and layout were practically Edwardian, but allowances were made for those who were actually in residence.

The hallways were lined with doorways far too small for the companions to use. Possums, groundhogs, hedgehogs, and squirrels, all dressed nattily, were scurrying back and forth, seemingly absorbed in the business of the evening. Few if any gave more than a single startled glance to the strange visitors before going on about their business.

There were other doorways, much larger, that would have easily admitted John, Jack, or Chaz, but Reynard discreetly closed these as they passed.

Uncas and Fred were right at home, quite literally, and strode along behind Reynard with an assurance Jack and John had seldom seen in the badgers. It occurred to them that this might be how they had appeared to their students at the colleges. They were all permitted to be there; but some were more permitted than others.

Jack was abuzz with a thousand questions, all of which Reynard answered patiently. Despite the flashes of reluctance he showed at having them on Sanctuary, he was an exceptional and gracious host.

John asked fewer questions, if only because he was still trying to process everything that was happening.

Only Chaz had remained completely silent since their arrival on the island, which everyone else attributed to sulking. Only after they’d passed a number of animals in the corridors did John realize the truth: The man was terrified.

Another creature, a ferret wearing a pince-nez, paused and squinted at the companions before snorting huffily and scampering off in the other direction.

“It’s odd that we aren’t attracting more attention,” noted Jack, “seeing as there are seldom any humans admitted on the island.”

“It’s not a matter of inattention,” Reynard said blithely. “More an excess of it. We’ve been preparing for you a long while.”

“That’s our understanding,” said John, who was carrying the bag Bert had given them and could feel the slight pressure of Verne’s skull against his hip. “What can you tell us about Jules Verne, Reynard?”

“The Prime Caretaker?” said Reynard. “What would you like to know?”

“For one thing,” Jack answered, “why he’s called the Prime Caretaker.”

The fox stopped and looked at Jack as if he’d asked why water was wet. “Because that is what he is,” Reynard said. “He is the Caretaker of us all. Is he not, even now, guiding your path to do what must be done?”

“Guiding or manipulating,” said John. “I can’t decide which.”

Reynard nodded. “We had similar concerns, when he first came to us. Had it not been for the blessing of Ordo Maas, his coming here would not have been allowed.”

“Fourteen years ago?” asked Jack.

Reynard gave him another look. “Fourteen centuries ago, give or take. As I said, we’ve been preparing for you a long time.”

“It is a remarkable place you have here,” John said. “Very civilized. More so than the rest of Albion, that’s for sure.”

Reynard shuddered. “The Winterland, yes. When he who calls himself the king began to sweep across the world, we closed ourselves off, even from the Archipelago. And when we again ventured outside, we realized we were all that was left.”

“The animals?” John asked.

“The Children of the Earth, yes, but we here on Sanctuary were also all who were left to oppose him,” said Reynard. “The king had either slaughtered or enslaved the Sons of Adam and the Daughters of Eve, and when they ran in short supply, he turned his attention to us.

“There was a great rebellion, and there were many terrible battles. All the larger creatures were slain. Many more of us smaller animals were lost as well. Some, to our great sorrow, chose to side with him—and in doing so, became truly beasts. These he shaped through his dark arts into terrible, terrible creatures.”

Reynard shuddered with the thought, then went on. “Those who could escape him, even temporarily, fled to the edges of the Earth. But even there, in those havens, they will eventually be found, and used—although it took him centuries to realize our fiercest warriors were those closest to the earth.”

“The houses,” Jack said, snapping his fingers. “That’s why most of the houses were on stilts, to raise them up off the ground.”

“Human arrogance,” Reynard said, nodding, “to think that we are limited to crawling on our bellies in the dirt. To do otherwise was among the first things taught to us by Ordo Maas.”

In unison, the fox and two badgers stood at attention and began to recite:

“Not to go on all fours, not to suck up drink; not to eat flesh or fish; not to claw the bark of trees; not to chase other creatures, to willingly cause them harm. For all those of the earth are bright and beautiful; all creatures, great and small; all beasts are wise and wonderful; for the Lord God made them all.”

“Coleridge?” Jack asked.

“Cecil Alexander,” said John. “Mostly, anyway. Coleridge may have been a Caretaker, but he was never that sentimental, or poetic.”

“Pardon,” said Reynard. “A Caretaker of what?”

“The
Imaginarium Geographica
, of course,” said Uncas. “The great book, with all the maps of …”

He stopped, and his eyes widened in realization as the fox looked at them all with a blank expression. The rest of them realized it too.

In this place, in this timeline, there
was
no
Geographica
. There had been no Caretakers, no Coleridge. All that existed was a single map, one that had never been a part of the atlas to begin with—and the sole Caretaker who had been known by that name was only a skull in John’s bag.

“Never mind,” said John, patting Uncas comfortingly. “We’ll fix that soon enough.”

Reynard led them to an ornate hallway, which ended in a great carved door. It was elaborately decorated with sculpted cherubs and angels and, reassuringly, dragons. Inset at the center of the door, on a shield held within a dragon’s claws, was the symbol π—the mark of the Caretaker Principia. John’s mark.

Jack caressed the surface of the door and exhaled heavily. “As happy as I was to see the Dragonship,” he said with a broad grin, “I’m almost happier to see this. It tells me we’re on the right path. I don’t recognize the dragon, though.”

This was the first remark any of them had made that seemed to rattle Reynard. “You actually know a dragon?” the fox said, mouth agape. “Really and truly?”

“We know many dragons,” said Jack. “I’m surprised you don’t know them yourself.”

The fox shook his head. “Not in many, many centuries. They were the guardians of the Archipelago, but something happened to them when the Winter King ascended. After that, there was no one left who could appoint them.”

“Appoint them?” John said in surprise. “Isn’t a dragon simply a dragon?”

Reynard looked puzzled for a moment, then brightened. “Oh, I see. You misunderstand. No, a dragon isn’t the name of the creature—although most of them were the great sky-serpents you’re thinking of. ‘Dragon’ is the name of the office they hold, and it is a title given only by appointment.

“Now,” he said, turning back to the door before the companions could ask more questions, “which among you has the Golden Ticket?”

“The what?” said John.

“Golden Ticket,” Reynard replied. “This room has been locked for almost fifteen hundred years. Only my distant ancestors, who helped to build it, and the Prime Caretaker himself have ever been inside. And the door can only be opened here,” he said, indicating a slit beneath the mark on the shield, “by inserting a Golden Ticket.”

John sighed. “I’m sorry, Reynard, we don’t—”

“But we might,” Jack interrupted. “You’ve forgotten the box.”

They opened the bag John had been carrying and removed the Serendipity Box, careful to keep it out of Uncas’s reach.

“Could it be that simple?” John said, turning the box over and over in his hands.

“It can’t hurt to find out,” said Jack. “At worst, we’ll end up with more crackers.”

“I only get to open it once,” said John. “Do we really want to risk it to gain a ticket? What if we need something more pressing in the future? What if someone’s life may depend on when we choose to use it?”

“I think someone’s does,” Chaz blurted out. He glanced meaningfully down at Verne’s skull and gulped hard.

“Good enough,” John said. He closed his eyes and lifted the lid.

“Darn,” said Uncas. “I was really hopin’ f’r crackers.”

* * *

The ticket slid smoothly into the slot and engaged a mechanism inside the door that whirred and clicked and hummed like one of the principles the animals drove. Finally a series of bolts slid back inside the door frame, and the door slowly swung open.

Inside was a postcard-perfect Victorian theater in miniature. There were two dozen lushly appointed chairs upholstered in red velvet, and elegant gas lamps placed artfully along walls embroidered with elaborate patterns. The ceiling was pressed tin and reflected the light evenly throughout the room. At the front, a curtained stage extended from one side to the other, and in the rear was a small booth, also curtained, and a table.

The table was the only anomaly in the room. It was metallic and round and slightly concave. On it was a golden ring four inches or so in diameter, and a note written on the cream-colored paper that seemed to be favored by all the Caretakers. It read, simply,
Spin me
.

“You’re the Caretaker Principia,” Jack said, gently shoving John toward the table. “
You
spin it.”

John picked up the ring and examined it, then chuckled and gave it a twirl on top of the table.

The ring spun about in a blur—but instead of slowing down and losing momentum, it began to spin faster, circling the rim of the table in increasingly smaller circuits. When it reached the center, a voice projected from the ring, loud enough for all of them to hear it clearly.

“This is Jules Verne speaking.

“If you three—John, Jack, and Charles—are hearing this recording, then I am in all likelihood dead, or worse.”

“Worse than dead?” Chaz snorted. “He’s loopy, he is.”

“Shush,” said John. “We need to hear this.”

“What has been closed, may be opened again,” the voice continued. “What has been written, may be rewritten. You have already been given warning of your adversary—now I give you the means to defeat him.

“I have become learned in many means of travel through time and space. And I have found that certain boundaries must not be crossed—not if we are to emerge victorious against our enemies.”

“Enemies, plural?” Jack groaned. “Great. Just great.”

“I have left you the means to the end you must reach,” Verne’s voice went on, “through the use of what our friend Bert called the ‘Infernal Device.’ It is the most specific of the devices I use, and also the most fragile.

“You must discover our adversary’s name. His
true
name.

“I have left you five slides for use in the Lanterna Magica. Each corresponds to a key moment in his history, and each will afford the three of you the chance to find him. Each slide may be used only once, and the portals they create will remain open for only twenty-four hours, and no more. If you do not return to Noble’s Isle within that time, you will be trapped there, and all our efforts will be for naught.

“Only thus, by seeking him out, naming him, and Binding him, may he be defeated. But remember: Our adversary may not be whom you expect. Be wary. Be watchful. And remember your training. All things come about, in time.

“Answer the question unanswered for more than two millennia, and perhaps you may yet restore the world.”

The golden ring began to slow, and with a soft clattering, it fell still and silent on the table.

* * *

The companions tried to spin the ring again, to see if there was any further information to be gleaned, but it simply repeated what they had heard the first time.

“Let’s have a look at this lantern, then,” Jack said. “In for a penny, in for fifty pounds.”