The Search for the Red Dragon (27 page)

Stephen turned to his mother. “He was condemned to stay forever in the tower where he murdered his nephew,” the prince said calmly, “but he figured out a way around that.”

“That was the deal I struck with the King of Crickets,” said Daedalus. “If I helped him with his Crusade, he promised to have the prince of the archipelago free me from my imprisonment.”

“You were willing to sacrifice all these children merely to get out of a just punishment?” asked Charles. “What kind of monster are you?”

“I gave them wings!” said Daedalus. “I did more for these children than they deserved. And I deserved something in return. If some of them paid the price for that, it wasn’t my fault!”

Stephen walked over to the inventor and looked at him appraisingly.

“I release you from your bondage,” he said, and he reached out a hand…

…and
pushed
.

Daedalus screamed as he fell away from the stones and burst into flame. In seconds, there was nothing left of him but ash.

Aven looked horrified. Her son had changed in the years he’d been gone. He was no longer under the Piper’s control, but the experience had changed him nonetheless.

With Daedalus’s death, both Hugh and William finally seemed to come to themselves and, realizing they were no longer entirely human, began to weep.

The Piper’s shadow flitted back and forth above their heads, hissing.

“What do we do about him?” asked Charles.

“If you don’t mind,” a voice called from above, “I’d like a word with him myself.”

It was Peter. He and Jack were flying above in the
Indigo Dragon
.

“Now,” Peter said to the shadow, “let’s finish this, shall we?”

The shadow vibrated with hate as the airship landed and Peter climbed out. “You’re an old man now,” it growled. “What harm can you do to me?”

“Why don’t you come down here and we’ll find out?” said Peter. But the shadow stayed where it was, hovering just out of reach.

Aven looked both nervous and relieved to see Peter, who caught her eye and winked.

“We thought it was Orpheus,” John explained, “but it only laughed at us.”

“Of course it isn’t Orpheus,” said Peter. “This Longbeard killed Orpheus and left his head in the cave to taunt me.

“No, this fellow and I have a long history as enemies,” Peter continued, circling the shadow warily. “He may be only a shadow now, but I’d know him anywhere.

“Oh, we’ve had great battles, he and I. We are old adversaries. He’s the original specter of the Archipelago. He’s the Sinner King. He’s the
Hook
. But of all his names, you may know him best…

“…as Mordred.”

“Mordred!” John exclaimed.

The shadow circled them. It seemed to know it had been named—and in the naming, it had lost most of its power over them.

“You have nothing that can harm me,” Mordred said to Peter. “I cannot be defeated!”

“I have what you lack,” said Peter. “I still have my body.”

The shadow growled and suddenly lunged at the old man. But Peter was prepared for the attack and reached into his tunic. He flung a handful of glittering dust at the apparition, and with a scream that rent the air, the shadow spread out, then vanished, leaving only the ringing echo of its cry.

“Is it gone?” said Jack. “Did you kill him, Peter?”

“I doubt it,” Peter replied. “That was powdered silver—fairy dust. It’s enough to dissipate him, for a time. But I don’t think it can destroy him. After all,” he added, winking at Jack, “a shadow is a pretty sturdy thing, if you treat it right. But is is still just that—a shadow.

“That’s why he could never enter the cave. In Plato’s cave, all shadows are cast by real things. But a shadow cannot cast itself. He couldn’t enter the cave without revealing who he really was.”

“Oh no!” John exclaimed. “Look!”

While Peter and the companions had been occupied with Mordred’s shadow, Burton and the Croatoans had quietly commandeered and lifted off in the
Indigo Dragon
.

“Farewell, Caretakers,” Burton called out from the aft deck. “And—thank you.”

“Well, I’ll be damned,” said Bert. “That’s almost as surprising as Mordred.”

“I’m sorry,” said Charles. “One of us should have been watching her.”

“It’s all right,” Bert reassured him. “Burton won’t damage her. He knows her value. And besides, we have all the other Dragonships now.

“For the first time since they were created, all of them are together. And all the children have been saved. All in all, I don’t think we could have asked for a better ending to this adventure.”

“Maybe you spoke too soon,” said John, pointing over the beach. The Time Storm had continued to boil, and one more patch of air was shimmering. Something was coming through.

“Father!” cried William the Pig. “It’s father!”

“Christ above,” said John. “I think that’s Jason.”

From the portal of Time, a group of weary-looking wanderers dressed in ancient Greek attire walked slowly across the sand.

The leader wore a haggard expression, and his face was deeply creased, more with living than with age.

They approached the companions, ignoring the throngs of children who were watching their passage.

“We seek two boys,” Jason said to John. “My sons. Have you seen them?”

“Father, please,” said William the Pig. “We are here! We are right here in front of you!”

Hugh the Iron began to sob. “Will…it’s no use. I—I don’t think he knows we’re here.”

The shade of Jason made no indication that he heard or saw his sons, but merely turned away from John and stared out across the waters, his face racked with sadness and loss.

“He can’t see them!” John said softly. “He can’t see them at all!”

The ghostly procession passed around them, even through them; a parade of spirit that hardly acknowledged them, if indeed they even knew anyone was there.

William and Hugh fell to the sand in sorrow and grief. And after a few more moments, Jason and the others who followed him
walked past the companions and vanished back into Time, still searching for Jason’s lost sons.

“This is what Dante was warning mankind of in his writings,” mused Bert. “He said that the hottest places in Hell are reserved for those who in time of great moral crises maintain their neutrality. I think what we just witnessed happening with Jason is precisely that.”

“Remember Milton’s caution also,” Charles whispered. “‘The mind is its own place, and in itself, can make a heaven of Hell, and a hell of Heaven.’”

It was an organizational nightmare,
but within a day, the companions were able to get all the children aboard the seven Dragonships for the journey home. They had planned to go directly to Haven, but William and Hugh made a curious request, which Peter and the Caretakers chose to grant. And so their first stop was Aiaia.

They moored all the ships and accompanied William and Hugh to the labyrinth, where John explained to Asterius that the brothers had requested to live there with him in the Abbey of the Rose.

For his part, the odd creature protested mightily, but the broad smile on his face told them that he was very pleased to accommodate their request.

“They didn’t want to come back to Haven,” Peter explained to the companions. “They felt they were deformed. I tried to convince them otherwise, but they wished for this—and actually, they may find their calling here.”

“Find a good place for it, won’t you?”

“Interesting children you’ve chosen to succeed you, Herb,” Peter said when they returned to the ships. “Especially that one, John.”

“He has the talent to make connections where none are evident, Peter,” said Bert. “He has the rarest of abilities—to retain
a practical head about him without losing the ability to imagine. He’s really quite extraordinary. Do you know that as a child, he invented his own languages? And more, he invented etymologies, and histories, and even mythologies to accompany them?”

“Impressive,” Peter commented, scratching himself. “His Histories will make for interesting reading.”

“Oh, I don’t think that’s John’s path,” said Bert. “He’s not built to write straight accounts, as Bacon did, or even to really fictionalize his adventures the way Jamie and I have. No, John’s an inventor, pure and simple. It’s what first attracted Stellan’s attention. John has within himself entire realities that he’s going to create and share with the world. And to be honest, I think his legacy is going to eclipse us all.”

“See?” said Peter. “That’s the advantage of having never learned to write. I don’t have to worry about things like legacies.”

“Hah!” Bert said. “This from the great Pan? Your legacy is already carved in stone.” He paused. “Actually,” he added, reconsidering, “it’s in bronze. In Kensington Gardens.”

“Yes,” said Peter. “I’ve seen it. It’s awful. Makes me look like a prat. I told Jamie that if they were going to put up a statue, it should at least be one of the ones that pees on people.”

Bert chuckled. “Like the one in Bruxelles?”

“Who, Christoph?” said Peter. “He isn’t a statue. At least he didn’t start out as one. He was one of the first Lost Boys, who learned a valuable lesson from Medea.

“Don’t piss on a witch’s front door.”

On Haven, with a sense of responsibility and no small regret, the Caretakers claimed the Histories that had for so long been part of
Daedalus’s collection in his workshop.

“He did do a lot of good things over the centuries,” said Peter as he passed through to check on their progress. “If nothing else, try to think well of him for that.”

“He’s a very forgiving sort, isn’t he?” said Charles. “I don’t know that I could have felt the same way about someone who’d betrayed me so greatly, if I were in his position.”

“I think I understand why,” John said. “I’ve been reading in the other Histories, and I’ve come across a story that explains a great deal about the Pan. You both know the story, and quite well. We just never knew the full extent of it until now.

“There was an old tale, about a European village that was overrun with rats. The village elders held a meeting to decide what to do, and a stranger stood up and declared that he could lead the rats away to the river to be drowned by playing a tune on his magic pipes. The town agreed to pay whatever price he named if he could indeed do this thing, and so that very night, he did.

“He told the villagers to shut their doors and windows tightly, and to stuff rags in the cracks and crevices so that they could not hear the tune he played. And sometime in the night he performed his task, for when they awoke the next morning, all the rats were gone.”

“I know this tale,” said Charles. “
The Pied Piper of Hamelin
. Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm wrote the story in one of their books. As it went, Hamelin refused to pay the Piper’s fee, and so the next night he played a tune that entranced the children in the same way he did the rats. But instead of leading them to the river to drown, he led them to the sheer face of a mountain, which split open to receive them, and they were never seen again.”

“Jacob learned of it from travelers in the Archipelago of Dreams,” said Bert, “although I’m certain he never came here to the Underneath, or else he’d have learned the truth of it.”

“The children
were
seen again,” John continued, “just not in Europe. They were brought here, to the Underneath, where they were sorted out by Mordred posing as the Piper.”

“The Time Storm,” said Bert. “He was using the openings in time caused by the crumbling Keep to cross back and forth in history and recruit his ‘soldiers.’”

“Wasn’t there one child who was unable to follow?” put in Jack. “One who was lame, and couldn’t reach the opening in the mountain quickly enough?”

“Exactly so,” said John. “That boy, who had a crippled leg, was tormented by the enchanted melody that in all of Hamelin town only he remembered. And he mourned the loss of his friends, and saw the anguish of their parents, and he determined to do something. He decided that he would find them and bring them home.”

“And did he succeed?” Charles asked.

“In part,” said John. “After many years of searching, he finally found the lost children. But he never returned home. Instead, he became lost himself.”

The Caretakers went to look for Peter, to say good-bye before leaving for the Archipelago. They found him with Laura Glue in Raleigh’s Orchard, near Echo’s Well.

“You’ll be able to cross back into the Archipelago with the Dragonships,” said Peter. “It’s part of their nature—to cross magical barriers. They needn’t be able to fly, although we won’t tell Burton
that,” he added with a wink at Laura Glue.

“And what of you, Peter?” asked John. “What do you plan to do?”

“Why, what I’m already doing,” he answered. Peter walked past them and looked into the Well. It reflected back the aged lines of his face, the white shock of hair. But it didn’t change.

“Olly Olly Oxen-Free,” he called, grinning. Nothing about his appearance changed.

“See?” he said to John. “I didn’t change, because I found who I really was, who I really am. Who I want to remain. I’m Laura Glue’s grandfather.”

“I suppose if you ever wanted to retire as the Pan, you could just choose a successor,” said Charles. “Not that you need to, of course,” he added hastily.

“But I
did
choose a successor,” said Peter. “A child of the right temperament and age, who, if he had chosen differently, might have come to the Nether Land and remained a child.”

“How can you decide if a child has the right kind of temperament?” asked John.

Peter grinned puckishly. “Because if he didn’t, he wouldn’t have been able to become one here,” he said, looking at Jack.

“Me?” Jack said in surprise. “When did you ever choose me?”

“Long ago,” said Peter. “I came to you in the night and listened to your dreams. And then I whispered stories to you about the Nether Land, where you could become whoever you wanted, and even take a new name, Jack, Jacksie, Jack-in-the-Green…. Why do you think you were the one who was able to share my shadow, if not because we are the same, you and I?”

Jack went pale. “It was you,” he whispered. “You’re the one
who called me Jack.”

But Peter only winked, and spryly moved away to play with the children, his limp barely noticeable.

“It’s never fully healed,” John observed. “It was Peter who inspired Daedalus to resume his old experiments in flight. He wanted Peter to be able to move about freely in the air, since he could not do so on land. It may have been the single most redeeming thing the inventor ever did.”

“The child in Hamelin,” Charles exclaimed. “The one who went searching for his friends—it was Peter, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.” John nodded. “I believe it was. I don’t know who he truly was before he came here, but once here, he became Peter Pan. And he always will be, forevermore.”

As they said their good-byes to Peter, a tearful Laura Glue, and the rest of the Lost Boys, Peter had one parting gift for them—if it could truly be called a gift.

It was the padlocked wardrobe, the only thing he’d chosen to remove from Plato’s cave, where it had been kept ever since his falling-out with Jamie.

“We know how to make and repair Daedalus’s wings,” Peter said, “and we have plenty of dragon feathers with which to make more. So we don’t really have to have this.

“And besides,” he added, “I don’t really feel the need to go to London that much anymore.”

He embraced his granddaughter and thumped the wardrobe.

“Find a good place for it, won’t you?”

“Well, gosh,” Artus exclaimed. “What a handsome wardrobe.”

They placed it in the Great Whatsit. There wasn’t a better place for it in the entire Archipelago, John decided.

The reunion with Stephen and Aven made Artus happier than they’d ever seen him, and he declared that there should be a celebration across the entire Archipelago. Aven and Stephen left to make preparations, and the king was left with the Caretakers, who told him everything that had happened.

When they were finished, Artus sat back and looked pointedly at each of them. “I know you want to ask it, so ask.”

“All right,” said John, rising. “Where are the dragons?”

Artus nodded. “I knew it would come up sooner or later, but I was rather hoping for later. I sent them away, back to where they’d come from, past the Edge of the World, beyond Terminus.”

“Why?” asked John. “They have always been the strength of the Silver Throne.”

“Yes,” said Artus, “and that’s what troubled me. We—I—did not want to depend on brute force in order to rule. And I’d already decided that a monarchy may not be the best way to run an entire Archipelago. But if there were no king who was able to manage the dragons, it would be even more unwieldy to expect a Parliament to do it.

“So I decided. And as of today, my work is clear.

“Before another year has passed in the Archipelago, I will have begun the dissolution of the monarchy.”

When the others had left, Jack hung back to speak with the king in private.

“Artus, I have something to ask,” said Jack. “Something very personal, I’m afraid.”

Artus nodded as if he’d been expecting the question. “You’ve been wondering about Aven, and our son.”

“Yes.”

“He’s a good boy,” Artus said. “I couldn’t be prouder if he were my own flesh and blood.”

“Then he isn’t…isn’t yours and Aven’s?”

“I know you have eyes,” Artus replied. “I have hair like straw, and I’m so fair-skinned when I’m out in the sun too long the freckles on my arms turn green. He has his mother’s eyes and cheekbones—but he gets his handsome complexion from his father.”

The pieces fell into place. “That’s how your son can be nearly nine years old, even though it’s only just been nine years since you met his mother,” Jack guessed.

“Yes,” said Artus. “Aven and Nemo had been closer than she admitted to anyone. And even he wasn’t really able to convince her to settle down. She was—is—happiest on the seas, piloting a ship. So when I asked her to marry me, she said yes—and then I backed down after I saw how unhappy she’d become. She’d agreed at first in order to help me become accustomed to running a kingdom, and I thought she wanted it because of the pending birth of her son. But as it turned out, neither one of us needed a marriage for the reasons we thought we did, so we didn’t.”

“And yet,” Jack went on, “you call Stephen your son and have raised him as such.”

At this, Artus looked taken aback. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I? There’s a lot more to being a father than whether or not I’m the one who started the process. It’s seeing it through that counts.”