The Shadow Dragons

by James A. Owen

  “How do you mean honorable?” asked Jack.

  “Death has little to do with sorrow,” said Bert, “although that’s what we feel when someone dies. The veil between this life and what comes after is surprisingly thin. Life persists. Consciousness persists. Spirit persists. It’s only those of us on this side, who don’t see it firsthand, who feel sorrow.

  “Life is about the fulfillment of one’s duty, and for most, their duty extends past what we know as ‘death.’ But for some, such as the Caretakers, there is a need to have them here, in this life, after their allotted time has passed. And so Basil paints the portraits in the gallery. But only the one time, and only under the limitations of Tamerlane House.

  “There are other ways that allow more freedom—but the reasons to choose one of those methods must be carefully examined, as must one’s motives for wanting to do it at all.”

  “That’s why the option of a portrait or one of the other methods hasn’t been used to bring back Artus or Nemo, isn’t it?” asked Jack. “Neither of them would have chosen to do it.”

  “That’s why. There are certain costs, and other drawbacks to having made such a choice. But it is a choice. And in their cases, they had done the work they had been here in this life to do—and it was their time to go forward and continue their work in the next life.”

  “And what about Professor Sigurdsson?” asked John. “Why couldn’t he choose another option, and live on?”

  Bert and Ransom exchanged pensive glances, as if they’d expected this question to come, sooner or later.

  “As I said, there are several ways for a person to survive past death,” Bert began. “The one preferred by the Caretakers Emeritis is the method you have already seen: the creation of the portraits by use of the Pygmalion resins. But there was also another means available to the Caretakers, which was discovered long ago by our first renegade.”

  “Dr. Dee,” said John.

  “Yes,” Bert said, sighing. “Dee discovered a method for creating a new body, a virtually immortal body, into which one can ‘move’ upon death. It’s basically willing a new self into existence. The Tibetans call this creation a tulpa, and the strength of the creation depends only on the will of the creator. And Caretakers are very strong-willed.

  “Roger Bacon scorned the process and disavowed it as a tool of darkness. But some, like William Blake, embraced it and taught the method to others, such as Burton, who has made spirited use of it. He went back in time to recruit his allies in the Imperial Cartological Society before their own deaths occurred, and before portraits could be painted. Most of his recruits were either not yet full Caretakers, or like Doyle and Houdini, not yet dead when he got to them. Only one actual Caretaker has even gone through the process upon his death—and it was at the request of Poe and Verne that he did so.”

  “Kipling,” said Jack. “It was Kipling, wasn’t it?”

  “It was the only way to ensure that he was accepted into the enemy camp,” said Ransom. “It was a heavy price to pay, but he did so willingly.”

  “How is virtual immortality a heavy price?” asked John. “It sounds like an easy decision to me.”

  “That’s because you’re going to live for several more decades,” said Ransom. “You and Jack both have plenty of life ahead of you, so it’s not a test of your convictions to suggest a way to live forever.”

  “It is, as with everything in life, a choice,” said Bert. “The Caretakers decided long ago that to meddle in the world past our allotted spans was not the ethical choice. As residents of Tamerlane House, through the use of the portraits, we could advise, and counsel, and be a living repository of information for those who came after. But we would not walk about messing around in the affairs of a world we were not meant to be in.”

  “You do,” said Jack.

  “I haven’t died yet,” said Bert, “but when I do, I shall join the others in the gallery. Stellan chose to live at Tamerlane, and then to die, finally, on Terminus. And he did so as a hero, John. Do not begrudge him that.”

  “There was no portrait of Poe in the gallery at Tamerlane House,” said Charles. “What does that mean?”

  “It means it’s his house,” said Bert. “He doesn’t need a portrait, because he’s never actually died.”

  “There was another one missing,” Jack said. “Jules Verne. He died many years ago—but he seems to be pulling all the strings from backstage on everything that’s happened. Is he a portrait, or a tulpa?”

  “He’ll answer that for himself,” said Bert. “He should be along shortly. It was he who requested this meeting.”

  “You said there were other ways to survive death,” said John. “Could none of them be used to help the professor?”

  “I’m sorry, lad,” said Bert, “but none that I know of. Had he been a tulpa first, as Defoe was, we might have created a portrait. But as he was a portrait first, there were no other options. And as Poe told you, the resins can only be used once, so his portrait cannot be recreated. I am truly sorry, John. For all of us.

  “What I was referring to by mentioning other methods was other Caretakers, like Bacon, who never needed a portrait at all. He still serves the Archipelago, in his own fashion. You met him in the battle, I believe.”

  “Bacon?” Jack exclaimed. “I met Roger Bacon? When?”

  “He saved your life, and Nemo’s beside,” said Bert. “Charys calls him the Tin Man.”

  “I thought that was just another clockwork,” said Charles.

  “In a way, he was the first clockwork,” said Bert. “The only difference is, his mind remains inside. All he needs is the occasional spare part, and he can keep wandering the Archipelago until the end of time, if he so wishes.”

  “That’s why the Shadow King was frightened by him,” said John. “He saw what he was trying to be, but with, you know, less evil.”

  “We all learned lots of lessons there,” said Bert. “That’s one benefit of traveling to your own future, and making the trip part of your past.”

  “So are all the members of the Imperial Cartological Society immortal?” asked John.

  “Only virtually,” said Ransom. “They haven’t aged, from what we can tell—and while they can be killed, it’s much harder to manage, as you saw when Samaranth stepped on Defoe. So it’s more like they have a second life.”

  “A very resilient one, and without the restrictions of the portraits,” said Charles thoughtfully. “It would be very tempting.”

  “Everything has changed now,” said Ransom. “Hopefully the members of the society truly are more misguided than traitorous.”

  “Why didn’t Jakob Grimm’s watch dissolve?” John asked suddenly. “We know he was a traitor, even there, in Tamerlane House.”

  “The magic that governs the watches is not one of mere cause and effect,” Bert replied. “It is attuned to the desires of your heart. Jakob did what he did out of a sincere belief that he was doing what he must to save his brother.”

  “Even to the point of aligning himself against the Caretakers?” Charles said. “That’s a long stretch.”

  “Jakob has paid his price,” said Bert. “And it was more than just the physical damage he suffered. He knows he chose poorly, and he will have to overcome that. And regaining his self-worth will not come easily.”

  “I’m still unclear what Kipling’s role was,” said Jack. “Did he switch sides, as Burton tried to do? Or was he your man all along?”

  “When we realized that there were traitors among the Caretakers, we seeded Kipling among them so that we would have a means of keeping track of them. The Shadow King found the means to quite seriously tempt him and make it appear he had betrayed us—but we discovered that someone else was already feeding pages from the Last Book to the Shadow King.”

  “The True Names of the Dragons,” said Jack.

  “Precisely,” Bert replied. “Kipling realized that once Poe revealed the details of the Prophecy and our plan of action to the Caretakers, the traitor
would probably try to steal the book itself and get it to his master.”

  “So Kipling went first, to draw attention to himself?” asked John.

  “Again, precisely,” said Bert. “If Kipling went, then all the Caretakers’ attention would be on him, and any other defection would be much more difficult. It also gave him the opportunity to give Burton the nudge he needed when it was evident that the Shadow King cared more about conquest than anything else. And Burton was still more Caretaker than traitor.”

  “But Defoe stole the book anyway,” said Charles. “That was the one action that devastated the Dragons and nearly lost the entire conflict.”

  “Yes,” said Bert, “and he covered his betrayal well. Kipling never suspected him, nor did any of the rest of us. But Kipling was still in a position where he could continue to report to us, and then, when the time was right, betray the Shadow King. If he’d uncovered Defoe’s true allegiance sooner, before he’d taken the book itself, then it would have been too difficult for Kipling to follow after without arousing the suspicions of all the Caretakers.”

  “So you knew where Abaton was all along,” said John.

  “We didn’t know, but we suspected,” said Bert. “Defoe provided Hallward with the image for the painting, and Poe told him to go ahead and paint it. We didn’t know where it was, just that it went somewhere. We weren’t sure how to follow up Kipling’s actions, until Charles made his suggestion to duplicate Defoe’s painting as a Trump. That proved to be the perfect solution in more ways than one.”

  “All of this started when Kipling tried to capture us here,” said Charles. “What would have happened if he had succeeded then?”

  Bert grinned. “He wouldn’t have. He just needed you to believe he might, so you’d go along with Alvin. His only real problem was making sure the effort looked good so the Shadow King would never suspect he had a cuckoo in his nest.”

  “Who planned this bit of espionage?” asked Charles. “It seems to have been a very deep game.”

  “Who else?” said Bert. “Jules is called the Prime Caretaker for a reason. And Poe has perceptive abilities that are far and away the best I’ve ever witnessed, in any era. Outside of we three, only Chaucer and Hallward knew.”

  “I knew,” said Grimalkin, who was gradually appearing on John’s shoulder, “but then again, cats always do.”

  “I think you’ve been adopted,” Bert said, winking at the cat.

  “He’s quite unusual,” John said, reaching up to scratch the cat’s ears. “I wouldn’t mind keeping him.”

  Bert chuckled. “I was talking to you, not the cat.”

  “I’ll trade you,” said Charles. “I’ll give you the Magwich plant for the cat.”

  “Don’t do it, John.” Ransom laughed. “You end up with Magwich in 1945 anyway.”

  “Why is that?” Charles asked. “Do I finally get tired of him?”

  Bert scowled at Ransom, as all the blood drained out of the philologist’s face.

  “Not exactly,” Ransom finally managed to stammer. “John gets him because Jack wins the coin toss at your funeral.”

  “Ah,” said Charles. His face betrayed no emotion, but his hands trembled as he set down his beer. “I see.”

  “When we met,” said Ransom, “I said I had come to protect you, Charles. And that was true. Protecting Rose was my primary objective, but you were also in danger. And in some versions of the histories, you did not survive 1943.”

  “Oh?” exclaimed Charles. “Well, uh, well done, then. I think.”

  “It’s one of the reasons I requested the assignment from Verne,” said Ransom. “Of all of you, Charles has a particularly resonant influence on the different dimensions. He seems to be a key figure in all the worlds, and that makes him—in whatever form, or whatever he’s called—worth looking after.”

  “So in some, he’s called Chaz,” said Jack.

  “And in others, something else?” asked John. “Alvin, perhaps?”

  Ransom smiled. “Some things aren’t just coincidences,” he answered. “And some things are just what they appear to be.”

  “Well, thanks for spilling the beans,” Fred said, scowling at Ransom.

  “You weren’t supposed to know,” Bert said to Charles. “No man needs to know the day of his death until it’s upon him.”

  “Nine years is close enough,” said Charles. He raised an eyebrow at Ransom. “That portrait Hallward was working on at Tamerlane House,” he added with a sudden realization. “It wasn’t you after all, was it? It was my portrait.”

  Ransom bit his lip and nodded.

  “Sorry, old fellow,” Jack said supportively.

  “I’m not dead yet!” Charles retorted. “And from what we’ve been discussing, maybe I won’t have to be.”

  “What are you thinking?” asked Bert.

  “Well,” said Charles, “what if I was to suggest that I didn’t believe my duty would be fulfilled by 1945? What then?”

  Bert nodded, as if he was expecting to have this particular discussion. “Come with me,” he said, rising. “Let’s discuss this privately. I think you’ll be relieved and more than a little surprised by what I want to suggest.”

  “I’ll hold down the fort here,” said Fred. “Me and Rose, that is.”

  Rose winked at the little badger. “I’ll have Flannery bring over more Leprechaun crackers.”

  “Y’ sure know the way to a badger’s heart, Miss Rose.”

  “Bert never really answered my first question,” John said to Ransom. “Communicating with Rose by Trump is one matter, but how are we supposed to fulfill our responsibilities as Caretakers if we aren’t allowed to return to the Archipelago?”

  “It isn’t a certainty that you can’t return, not yet,” said Ransom. “You resolved a terrible conflict—but you did so in the future. We want to make certain that that future is preserved in this and every other dimension it touches, and so for the time being, we have to move forward as we already have. And that means we must act as if you were not in the Archipelago again for seven years.”

  “That would apply here as well, then,” said John, “because we were completely removed in time. But records still existed of our accomplishments here in Oxford, so somehow, we were still present.”

  “That’s his point,” said Fred. “The records we had of you then are of the deeds you’ll perform now, and over the coming years. That’s what you’re meant to do. But here, and not in the Archipelago.”

  “Time does move in two directions,” said Ransom, “but the lives we lead only move forward. That’s how a ‘Charles’ from one world can become the Green Knight in this one.”

  “And how a ‘Charles’ from another can arrive here to protect the one we already have, eh, ‘Alvin’?”

  “Precisely,” said Ransom.

  “At any rate,” John said reflectively as he lit his pipe, “it is only for seven years, after all. We went longer than that between our first two visits. And in a way, we’ve already been there anyway.”

  “This is making my head spin,” said Jack as Charles and Bert returned to the table. “I can’t keep track!”

  “Jack,” Ransom said, “were you able to spend much time with Poe while you were at Tamerlane House?”

  Jack shook his head and grabbed a handful of Leprechaun crackers. “Not much, I’m afraid. After the initial Gatherum, I went off to Paralon, and then everything went to hell after that. So it was mostly John who was there, and he was usually locked in a debate with the Caretakers Emeritis.”

  “So you never got to discuss any of the other Geographicas with him?”

  Jack choked on a cracker and washed it down with a gulp of ale. ”Other Geographicas? What the devil are you talking about, Ransom? The whole point of the last quarter century of my life has been to protect the one, unique atlas—and now you’re suggesting that there are others?”

  “The Imaginarium Geographica is unique,” Ransom replied. “To this world, anyway.”

  Jac
k started to sputter a response when Ransom shushed him. “Later, later,” the philologist said. “There’s someone just about to join us whom I think you’re all going to want to speak with.”

  “Greetings, Caretakers and company,” said the stout, bearded man who had just entered the Inn of the Flying Dragon. He was elegantly dressed in a manner more dapper than stylish, and he had a twinkle in his eyes. “I’m Jules Verne, and it is my great pleasure indeed to finally meet you all.”

  John, Jack, and Charles were stunned into silence. After all that had happened, not just in recent days, but over the last twenty years, they were unprepared to meet the man who seemed to have been the architect of everything they had experienced.

  “Let’s order a round of drinks, and an assortment of foodstuffs, and get caught up,” Verne said as the door opened behind him and three more figures entered the inn. “But first I’d like to introduce you to the last three gentlemen I’ve invited to our little gathering. I believe you’ve all made their acquaintance before.”

  Fred let out a yelp of surprise, and Rose pursed her lips. Bert and Ransom said nothing, for they had expected this—but John, Jack, and Charles were slack-jawed with astonishment. Behind Jules Verne were Harry Houdini, Arthur Conan Doyle, and Sir Richard Burton.

  “Greetings, little Caretakers,” said Burton.

  “What is this about, Bert?” John said, rising. “What are they doing here?”

  “I was waiting until Jules arrived to tell you,” Bert said placidly. “The Caretakers Emeritis have reached an accord with the leadership of the Imperial Cartological Society.”

  “‘But how was the play otherwise, Mrs. Lincoln?’” Charles commented drolly. “The enemy of my enemy is my friend, eh, Bert?”

  “Not enemies,” said Verne. “Differing philosophies. We have managed to persuade Sir Richard that complete and unfettered openness would be disastrous.”

  “But,” said Burton, “Poe and the others have conceded that total secrecy has not been the Archipelago’s salvation either. So we have agreed to compromise.”

  “Compromise how?” asked John.