The Dragon’s Apprentice

by James A. Owen

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The Passage

  Cursing under his breath, Ernest McGee swept his arm across the table, scattering parchments and spilling ink. His family trade was mapmaking, and as far as Ernest could tell, it had brought both wealth and fame, and grief and misery in equal amounts.

  His father’s best friend, Captain Charles Johnson, had disappeared years earlier, and the subsequent deception that was put forth was an insult and a travesty.

  True, the History was published, and it bore Johnson’s name, but for Ernest’s father Eliot to deny all knowledge of the man was not right.

  It didn’t bother Ernest that his father’s collaborator claimed credit for work that was not his—it bothered him that they had created the fiction that Johnson never existed at all.

  It had taken Ernest most of his adult life to properly assemble the two books that his father had worked so hard to complete: One described the wealth of the world, hidden in strange and curious places by terrible men who no longer sailed the oceans; and the other described entire worlds that might or might not even exist.

  He might not have inherited the desire, or even the skill—but he was loath to deny the family a legacy. He only hoped that it would end with him, that perhaps his own son might choose to return to silversmithing, rather than follow the family heritage of making maps for pirates and madmen.

  Even as he wished it, he knew it wasn’t to be. Some things in life run too deep.

  Some things are just in the blood.

  Picking up the quill and a fresh parchment, he dipped the point into the ink and started to draw again.

  “Oh my stars and garters,” Fred whispered. “Is that what I think it is?”

  “It’s a door from the keep, you idiot,” Burton said gruffly.

  Rose laid a comforting hand on the badger’s arm before he could draw a sword and defend his honor by having the stuffing beaten out of him by Burton. “He knows what it is,” she said placidly, “because he’s seen it before. We all have. That’s the door we dropped over the waterfall.

  “That’s the door we gave to my father—to Madoc.”

  “So we may have a way out after all,” said Burton. “Excellent.”

  “Is this what we want to do?” John asked the others. “We might be saving ourselves, but would we be giving up on the Archipelago?”

  “Pardon my saying so,” said Fred, “but what would we be giving up? Other than Paralon, there’s nothing here. And the queen said that Stephen gave his life to give us this opening, so we could fix things. What else do you need to know?”

  John scratched the badger on the head. “You may be the wisest of us all, Fred. We’ll go through the door.”

  “Myrret,” Jack said suddenly, “may I take the reel from the projector with me? Please?”

  The little animal sniffed loudly and nodded its assent through a curtain of tears. “It was f’r you that we preserved it all these years, so it’s well and just that you should have it. Besides, it can’t be used again, so there’s no point, is there? No point in us keeping our stewardship any longer.”

  “There’s always a point, little fellow,” Jack said, “and stewardships kept are among the noblest of causes.”

  “All we have to do now,” said Myrret, “is say good-bye to her.”

  Jack’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

  “The queen,” Myrret said, confused. “We promised that when you came, we would wake her. She sleeps in crystal, here in the Whatsit.”

  “I thought you were talking about the projection,” said John. “A metaphor.”

  “Take us to her, Myrret,” Jack said. “Take us to her now.”

  In another chamber adjacent to the projection room lay a deep cradle of crystal and silk, and in it, covered by a sheath of the clear stone, lay Aven.

  “She’s still here,” Jack breathed. “She’s alive.”

  Aven was ancient, impossibly old. Her face and hands were pale, and her hair, which was draped behind her as if it were floating, was pure, colorless white.

  “I’ll wake her now,” said Myrret. He touched a contact at the base of the cradle, and the crystal sheath slid back. Exposed to the open air, Aven suddenly took a deep breath, then another, and another. Then, slowly, she opened her eyes.

  “Ah, my young corsair,” she said when she saw Jack. “You came back. You came back to me.”

  “Of course,” Jack said, his voice choked with emotion. “Of course I did.”

  He leaned in close as his ancient friend slowly closed her eyes, then opened them again. They still sparkled, but the light in them was fading.

  “We should ask her to answer more of our questions,” Burton began, but Theo pulled him back, and both Houdini and Doyle stepped in front of him. The purpose of waking Aven was not to ask questions. It was to allow her, finally, to rest.

  “You saw the message?” she asked weakly. “You understood?”

  “We did,” said Jack. “We’ll use the door, never fear. We’ll right this, Ave. And we’ll look after the prince.”

  Her expression darkened. “What prince?”

  “Coal,” he said. “The little prince. Your heir.”

  “He mustn’t leave,” she said. “It isn’t safe.” She drew a shallow breath. “Look after Charles, will you, Jack? Take care of him. He needs you. He can help you.”

  “Of course,” Jack said, looking over at John. She was obviously fading—her son was long gone.

  “Ah, Artus …,” Aven breathed. “You don’t need to wait for me any longer….” As the companions watched, the strength left her arms, and her eyes fluttered closed. Slowly she took a breath, her chest rising faintly with the effort. Then another. Then, nothing. She was gone.

  Jack squeezed his eyes shut as the tears flowed down his cheeks, and he murmured a quiet prayer as he placed Aven’s hands on her chest and stepped back from the cradle.

  “It’s decided,” John said flatly. “We can’t take the boy with us.”

  The companions had retreated to the projection room to decide what to do. They had already planned to go through the door—but there was some dissent about whether all of them should go.

  “That isn’t your decision to make, Caretaker,” Burton said with obvious anger. “Not alone.”

  “I have to say that I agree with him,” said Doyle, “and not just because we’re both members of the Society.”

  “I agree with them,” said Houdini. “After all we’ve been told, how can we consider leaving him here? There’s nothing left, John. The Archipelago is a wasteland. There’s no future for him here.”

  “That’s part of the problem,” said John. “It’s all future here. We’ve already had too much experience with dropping people in the past, where they didn’t belong. What kind of chaos will we cause if we bring back someone from the future?”

  “That’s not quite it,” said Jack. “Remember what Ransom said? This isn’t the future, not to us. It’s our present. It’s also,” he added, jerking a thumb over his shoulder at where the boy was chatting with Fred and Laura Glue, “his present. It all moves forward.”

  “You’re wiser than I gave you credit for,” Burton said to Jack. “You’re outvoted, Caretaker.”

  “I didn’t say I was siding with you,” said Jack. “I have reservations of my own. And Aven herself said he shouldn’t leave.”

  “She’s been sleeping in a crystal for two thousand years,” said Burton. “She didn’t know what she was saying.”

  “I still say we vote,” said John.

  “And of course the rodent will be voting with you,” said Burton.

  “Fred,” Jack said pointedly, “qualified to be something you flunked, Burton. So try to have a little respect, if only for the office he holds.”

  “I have some respect for the badger,” Burton shot back. “It’s the office I think is weak.”

  The End of Time looked at Burton. “The child must stay,” he said impassively. “He must.”

&nbs
p; Burton’s jaw dropped open in amazement. Of all of them, the End of Time was the one man he had expected to back him in his arguments.

  “Why?”

  Theo refused to answer, and merely stared at Burton, who dropped his eyes.

  “All right,” Burton finally agreed, still reluctant. “The boy stays here, God curse you all.”

  It took some intense discussions and the direct involvement of both Fred and Archimedes to convince Myrret and the other animals that it would be best for Coal to remain on Paralon. By that point, even John was wavering—but Jack took both Aven’s request and Theo’s warning very seriously and persuaded the others that it really was for the best.

  As Myrret distracted Coal up in the Great Hall, the companions began to examine the door. It was framed in stone, and despite all its travels, looked none the worse for wear.

  “I’ll give this to the Dragons,” said Burton. “They could build a door.”

  Jack reached out and touched the door. It swung open slightly and vibrated. Peering through the crack, he could see some kind of street, and the sounds of horses and street vendors wafted through, along with an assortment of odors. There was no question—the door still worked.

  Suddenly a stone fell from the arch and landed with a dull thump in the sand. “Uh-oh,” said Houdini. “That’s not a good sign.”

  “It’s thousands of years old,” said Fred, “and it’s no longer being supported by the energies of the keep.”

  “We’d better go through quickly,” said John. “It may not last for another trip.”

  But before the companions could open the door farther, an earth-rattling tremor threw them to the floor.

  “What the hell?” said Burton. “Is it another discontinuity?”

  “No,” Theo said, looking up the stairwell. “That was something else. Something living.”

  There was another tremor, and then a deep, malevolent voice rang through the entire palace. “Little things,” the reverberating voice said, “why have you come here?”

  Rose’s eyes widened in recognition. She had heard that voice before, not all that long ago. “It’s the star!” she exclaimed. “The star, Rao, from one of the islands past the Edge of the World!”

  “It is a dark star,” the ferret said. “It is a creature of Shadow now.”

  “A Lloigor,” said Theo, “with the power of a living star. We must go. We must go now.”

  Somewhere up above the palace, the star called Rao roared, and the earth shook. Two more stones fell from the frame around the door.

  “It’s not going to hold!” Fred cried as he pushed open the door. “The frame is breaking up!”

  A huge figure lumbered around behind the door and grasped the stones, and Fred pushed it open all the way.

  The Tin Man braced himself around the crumbling archway and held the stones together as, one by one, the companions passed through the vortex of energies that was the doorway into time.

  Rao continued to rage, and now the roaring was closer—the star had entered the palace itself.

  “Good-bye, Great Caretakers,” the ferret said sadly. “Remember us.”

  “Ah, me,” said John, closing his eyes. “How can I leave them like this?”

  Suddenly a cry rang out—a plea. It was a child’s voice, calling to them from the far chamber, and he was begging not to be left behind.

  Coal.

  “We can’t!” John shouted, steeling his resolve. “I’m sorry, we can’t!”

  “We understand,” Myrret called out as he barred Coal from entering the chamber. “Go! Go!”

  “How stony is your heart, Caretaker?” Burton argued from the world beyond the door. “You’ll leave him here, to face this, alone?”

  John looked back and forth between Burton and the terrified boy, then dropped his head in resignation. Jack knew the expression on his old friend’s face. He was thinking about his own son, Christopher, who was in the Royal Air Force back in England. One young man against a war was too much for a father to carry—and it was too much here, in the face of the dark star, the Lloigor Rao. “All right!” John said to Burton. “Go! Grab him! We’ll keep the door open!”

  Burton dashed back through the door and took the terrified boy from the fox just as a dark, living mist began to descend the staircase. “Little things,” the booming voice called out, “come to me. Come to Rao.”

  “Scowler John,” Fred said, trying to keep the pleading out of his own voice, “what would Charles do?”

  “All for one and one for all, then,” John said under his breath. “Myrret!” He shouted. “Come on through! Bring everyone!”

  Burton, carrying the little prince, passed through the door just before a rush of animals nearly bowled him off his feet. A dozen foxes, as many hedgehogs, and the ferret raced though between John’s legs.

  The outer chamber of the Whatsit was full of the black mist now, and the entire palace seemed to be falling to pieces. The rumbling was constant now, and the angry voice of Rao filled the room.

  “What about Aven?” Jack shouted over the rumbling. “And Eledir?”

  “Aven’s already gone,” John shouted back, “and Eledir’s too far away to help. We’re done here, Jack.”

  John was the last to pass through, and for a brief instant he considered suggesting that the Tin Man try to step around and through the door—but the great behemoth saw the thought pass fleetingly over John’s face, and shook its head no.

  There was no time left. The Tin Man was here, now, for this purpose—to ensure that the last efforts of Aven and Stephen had not been in vain.

  “Little things,” Rao boomed, “I see you!”

  A great tendril of darkness shot out from the formless Lloigor, past John and through the open door, where it wrapped itself around Rose and began pulling her back.

  “No!” John shouted, clutching at the darkness. “Burton! Jack! Hold on to her!”

  The men grabbed Rose by the arms, and she screamed. For a moment it seemed as if Rao was going to pull her apart—then suddenly the tendril loosed and pulled away. It had gotten what it wanted.

  “My shadow!” Rose exclaimed in horrified wonder. “It’s taking my shadow!”

  “Close the door!” John yelled up at the Tin Man. “Do it now, before it’s too late!”

  Something shoved John hard in the chest, and he fell backward through the door. The tendril had released Rose’s shadow, which followed him through the door, writhing on the ground at his feet as Rao rose up to confront the Tin Man.

  The companions despaired. The machine man was powerful and had a great will—but he would not last long against the power of the dark star.

  As the door closed behind him, John heard the voice of the Tin Man speaking to him through the din. “Fix this,” it said, in the softly accented continental English of Roger Bacon. “Fix this, Caveo Principia.”

  Then the door slammed shut and exploded with a violent burst of light and splinters and the shards of time.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Craven Street

  The companions found themselves standing in an alley off a busy street in London. It was dark, and narrow, and smelly, but it was concealed enough that they weren’t going to immediately attract too much attention for the fact that they were accompanied by dozens of animals that walked on their hind legs, were dressed in human clothes, and spoke in accented English.

  It took several minutes for the companions to gather their wits about them after the narrow escape from the dark star Rao. John’s last act of compassion had brought them not only the little prince, but also an entourage. It also cost them precious seconds during which they’d nearly lost Rose to the Lloigor.

  “She’d never have been at risk if you’d just allowed the boy to come with us from the start,” Burton said to John, glowering. “You are a stupid man, Caretaker.”

  “It’s all right,” said Rose soothingly, her voice still a bit shaky from the fear and the adrenaline. “Because of the Tin Man, we all
came through fine, with no harm done. That’s all that matters.”

  “Not completely,” Jack said, pointing at the ground. “Something’s come loose, Rose.”

  He was right. Her shadow lay on the ground at their feet, completely disconnected from her—and pointing toward the light from the street.

  Rose’s eyes widened, and she leaned down to touch it, but it darted away and up a nearby wall.

  “What does this mean?” she asked the Caretakers. “How can my shadow move on its own?”

  “People have lost their shadows before,” said John, “but usually they have to be given up willingly, or in the cases of the Shadow-Born, taken. But this is an entirely new dilemma.”

  “Does that make her a Shadow-Born, then?” asked Fred. “That would be terrible for you, Rose.”

  “She didn’t lose her shadow,” said Jack. “It’s right up there. It just isn’t attached to her anymore.”

  “To give up a shadow means choosing a dark path,” said Burton. “Be wary, girl.”

  “I don’t want to give it up!” Rose exclaimed, almost petulantly. “I haven’t chosen a dark path! I’m the Grail Child.”

  “Well, it doesn’t appear to be leaving you,” John remarked, noting that the shadow was now dancing among the shadows cast by the other companions. “I don’t think you have to worry about becoming a Shadow-Born, Rose.”

  “Not permanently, anyway,” Jack said with a grin. “But if you wanted, you could get up to all sorts of mischief now, and just blame it on your shadow.”

  Rose’s eyes widened. “Really?”

  “Shame on you!” Archie squawked. “You of all people should know better than to joke about that, Caretaker.”

  “He isn’t too bright either,” said Burton.

  “I’m sorry,” Jack said, chagrined. “Forgive me, Rose. We’ll figure out how to reattach it somehow.”

  “There’s nothing to forgive,” Rose answered. “We have bigger things to worry about.”

  “First things first,” said John. “We’ve definitely returned to the Summer Country—but when?”