Here, There Be Dragons

by James A. Owen

  While Bert made his good-byes to the knight, John climbed aboard the Indigo Dragon and looked around for Bug. “So, Aven,” he said. “Are we all stocked up on water, then?”

  Aven fixed him with a puzzled look. “Of course. Why should you ask?”

  John waved it off. “Never mind. Forget I asked.”

  As the crew readied the ship to depart, Jack and Charles (who was somewhat more reluctant than his younger friend) took up their usual post near the cabin. Bert gave Aven a report on what had transpired with the knight and the Morgaine. Her expression darkened, but she said nothing.

  “We’re not returning to London, are we?” Charles said to his companions. “We’ve been drafted, whether we like it or not.”

  “I think he’s been drafted,” Jack said, referring to John. “We get to come along for the adventure. Cheer up, Charles. This could be great fun.”

  “Someone’s got to be an anchor to reality here,” Charles said as the ship began to pull out of the small harbor. “It’s not that I mind falling down the rabbit hole—I just don’t want to lose sight of the door.”

  The Green Knight kept his arm raised long after the Indigo Dragon had passed from sight. Eventually, he lowered it, his breathing gone quick and shallow.

  “At last,” he murmured to no one in particular. “At last my duties have been dispensed. And perhaps my soul can be at peace.”

  Sitting at the shore, the knight passed the final hours of his last night of service in meditation, until finally the sun began to rise. He raised his eyes to the shimmering sky of the Archipelago’s dawn and drew a deep, final breath. “Ah, my Lucie…Finally, I come to join you in that far better place, that far better rest….”

  The knight’s last words faded into the mist as eddies of dust began to swirl about his limbs. Slowly, gently, his aged body began to fragment into ash as he folded in upon himself, leaving nothing but the helmet and breastplate to settle into the grass. In moments he was gone.

  Part Two

  The Archipelago of Dreams

  “…it seems I have a battle to fight.”

  Chapter Five

  The Corsair

  The storm line past Avalon was more roiling clouds and ominous thunder than rain and wind, although there was enough fury in it to push the Indigo Dragon across the waves like a toy. The crew was experienced, and it was obvious they had traversed this passage before. They went about their duties as usual, occasionally checking to make sure none of their passengers had been flung overboard, and in a matter of minutes they were once more through to calmer waters.

  On the formal crossing to the Archipelago, there was a different timbre in the atmosphere. They still appeared to be on open ocean, with no land in sight, but the gray morning light revealed a number of varying depths in the water below. Shallows, where there should be none.

  “Is it a reef?” John asked. “Like those in Australia?”

  “It doesn’t appear to be,” said Charles. “More like submerged islands.”

  “These are the Drowned Lands, called by some the Lost Lands of the West,” said Bert. “You’ll not find them in the Imaginarium Geographica, for as old as it is, there are lands older still.”

  “I wouldn’t do that, if I were you,” Aven said to Jack as he leaned over the railing to catch some of the spray in his hands. “Not here, anyway—not if you want to keep your hands.”

  Jack quickly leaned back and looked at Bert, puzzled.

  “Look into the deeps,” said Bert. “You can still see the shapes of noble towers and cities that once adorned the islands here. Legend says that these islands were the proudest of the world once, when the lands of Man and those of the Archipelago were not divided as they are now.”

  “What happened to them?” asked Jack. “And what does that have to do with my putting my hands in the water?”

  “No one knows,” said Bert. “Some think they destroyed themselves by seeking too deeply into the mysteries of life itself. Some say they were destroyed by the gods for the same reason. One theory is that it was the fault of an inattentive angel who had been assigned by Heaven to watch the developing civilization. For all we know, it was simply a natural disaster.

  “Regardless, my boy,” Bert concluded, clapping Jack on the back, “it was not a gentle passing, nor one of good portents. And some say that when the lands were destroyed, not all of the inhabitants perished with them. Those drowned children of a great culture may still live in the murky deep, and they would be human no longer. Their hearts would be blackened, their limbs transformed to fins, their lungs gone to gills…

  …and their teeth, razor sharp.”

  Jack’s eyes widened, and Aven suppressed a grin as he moved squarely to the middle of the deck.

  Charles and John peered over the side, and in fact it did seem as if they could see the outlines of what may have been cities once, a long, long time ago.

  “Bert,” John said, overcome with a sudden clarity, “could this be…” He paused, biting his lip. “Is this Atlantis?”

  Bert took a breath before replying, his expression more wistful than remorseful. “It was, my boy. It was.”

  “Paralon is the seat of government here,” Bert began, in explanation of the Morgaine’s prophecy. “It has ever been so, since the reign of the first king to unite both worlds: the High King—Arthur Pendragon.

  “The descendants of his bloodline ruled justly and well for centuries, until the last king was murdered nearly two decades ago. Ever since, the leadership of the Archipelago has been in question. That’s one of the reasons you are needed now, John. A crisis is at hand—and the resolution will have repercussions both in this world and in your own.”

  “Why is it only now that I’m needed?” said John. “Surely Professor Sigurdsson could have done whatever was needed years ago, if the situation is as dire as you say.”

  “He could have, true,” said Bert, “save for two conditions that have never before been present. To start, this is not the first time a king has been killed. As in your world, it does happen—usually by a relative who aspires to ascend to the throne. But in this case, the rest of his family was murdered as well. There are no heirs.”

  “What’s the second point?” asked Charles.

  “You already know, after a fashion,” said Bert. “His minions tried to kill you last night.

  “What his true name is, no one knows. But in the Archipelago, he is known as the Winter King.

  “In the absence of a High King, a Parliament of minor kings and queens govern Paralon,” said Bert, “while a successor is determined. But with no apparent heir, it has been an ongoing debate—one that the Winter King is determined to end by eliminating all other challengers to the throne.

  “There are kings of other races who could assume the Silver Throne of Paralon—but tradition is not easily dismissed. The Winter King is human and is still subject to the ruling of the Parliament. What is occurring today is a Great Council—all the kings of all the races of the Archipelago are coming together with the Parliament to determine who should assume the throne.”

  “Well, then,” said Charles, “you ought to trust the Parliament. They’ve held him off this long—can’t they continue to do so, until a successor can be chosen?”

  “No,” said Bert. “They can’t wait any longer, because of that,” he said, pointing at the southern horizon. There was a black smudge against the water, below the cloud line. It was as if someone had taken a paintbrush to the landscape and obliterated some of the scenery.

  Jack said as much, and Bert nodded in agreement. “More true than you know, young Jack.

  “We call them the Shadowed Lands—the islands conquered by the Winter King. When he and his armies take them, they disappear from the cycle of life in the Archipelago—and then they disappear from the Geographica as well.”

  “If he’s in the process of erasing it,” said John, “then why is he willing to kill us for it?”

  “No one knows,” said Bert. “It i
s the greatest mystery of the Archipelago. But we do know that he is amassing power—power that would give him greater influence than any other king or ruler in this land, or,” he added, “in others.”

  “Do you mean…” Charles began.

  “The worlds are separate, but what happens in one affects the other,” said Bert. “Arthur knew this, and established a throne to rule them both. Do you think it coincidence that in the time the Silver Throne of Paralon has been empty, your world has erupted in war?”

  “Speaking of Paralon,” said Aven, “it’s about time our ‘Caretaker’ gave us some direction. The morning light is coming up, and while the Indigo Dragon can find the way, it’ll be easier to navigate if she can be given a few specifics.”

  “Oh, uh, yes, of course,” said John when he realized she was talking about him. At Bert’s urging he unwrapped the Geographica and began thumbing through the pages. After a few minutes, he came to a large page of parchment with a heading that translated roughly to “Paralon,” along with extensive annotations that included nautical instructions. He furrowed his brow in concentration. “It’s, ah—it’s all in Old Saxon.”

  “Is that a problem?” asked Aven.

  “Ah—no, no, not really,” said John. He examined the annotations for a few moments more, then looked around at the expectant faces. “It says, ah—it says we should be going, ah, that way,” he finished, waving vaguely to the starboard side of the ship.

  Aven raised an eyebrow in surprise, but Bert nodded to her, and she began instructing the crew to turn the Indigo Dragon in that direction.

  Nervously, John wrapped up the Geographica and tucked it under his arm.

  “You’re one of the three Caretakers,” Charles said to Bert. “So why did you need John? Why couldn’t you simply have left London once you had it?”

  “Being the Caretaker Principia requires a lifetime of study,” said Bert. “I myself have some skill and knowledge, but honestly, I simply don’t have the training—which is why Professor Sigurdsson retired, so that he could begin to train his eventual replacement. You, John.”

  “What about the third Caretaker?” said Charles. “You said there were always three.”

  Aven cursed and spit. “Useless as a buck centaur in a dairy, that one. If he had taken his responsibilities more seriously, then you”—she pointed at her father—“wouldn’t be in danger, and your mentor”—pointing at John—“wouldn’t be dead, and you”—again jabbing a finger at John—“would still be doing whatever it is you do.”

  “Now, Aven,” Bert chided, “Jamie has his own life to lead, and we can’t begrudge him that. Not everyone is made for this sort of adventure.”

  “That’s what makes me angry,” she said. “Jamie was. He was suited to this, father. And he gave up a lifetime in the Archipelago for playacting in Kensington Gardens.”

  “Is it me,” Jack confided to Charles, “or do I sense a hint of spurned romance in her anger?”

  Jack wasn’t quiet enough; Aven overheard him and shot him a venomous look before flinging her father’s arm off her shoulders and storming into the cabin.

  An instant later they heard her curse loudly, followed by a flurry of shouting and banging. Before anyone could move, she reemerged from the cabin, breathing hard and red faced from exertion.

  “Some men weren’t made for adventure,” Aven snorted, “and some boys don’t know when they’ve had too much.”

  Under her arm, face purpling from the headlock in which she had him, was Bug.

  They had a stowaway.

  Having an extra person on board did not present any particular problems, although Aven did suggest throwing him overboard, just to save the debate. Bert suspected that the errand to fetch fresh water had been a ruse to allow the boy to sneak on board, and said so.

  Charles shook his head. “Frenchmen.”

  “To what end?” said John. “If the knight thought Bug should go with us, why not simply ask?”

  “I beg your pardon,” said Aven. “I don’t recall giving you any authority to say what does or doesn’t happen aboard my ship.”

  “Well, he’s here now,” said Charles. “What do we do with him?”

  “Just what we need,” grumbled Jack. “A child to look after.”

  Bug’s eyes narrowed. “I’m no younger than you.”

  “Young enough, potboy,” Jack shot back.

  “That’s enough,” said John. “I’ll take him on as my, uh…”

  “Squire?” offered Charles.

  “Whatever,” said Aven. “Just keep him out of the way.” She leaned down as one of the fauns whispered something in her ear. “No,” she said, straightening up and looking at Bug. “You can’t feed him to the mermaids. Yet.”

  Bug looked at John. “She’s joking, surely?”

  “Probably,” said John. “But keep close to me anyway.”

  A shout from the crew brought them all to the port side of the ship, as the water began to roil with activity. Something large was rising from under the sea.

  “A whale?” asked Jack.

  “Too big,” said Charles.

  “Just watch,” Bert said, smiling, as the shape, now obvious as some kind of construct, rose from the water.

  Jack and Charles stood speechless in the embrace of the growing shadow. Rising alongside the Indigo Dragon was the magnificent, gleaming, golden hull of a ship that was unlike anything they had ever seen. It had no masts or sails and seemed enclosed, like the submarines they’d heard of from the American Civil War. There were huge fortified portholes along the sides, and various openings below the waterline that both drew in and expelled water. And fore, on the hull, was the upper body and head of a dragon. A metallic gangplank slid seamlessly from an opening in the hull and attached itself to the railing of the Indigo Dragon. Above, a panel slid silently open and an impressive figure filled the open doorway.

  “Dear God in Heaven,” John said as he tried to take in the remarkable sight before them. “Is that what I think it is?”

  “It is indeed,” said Bert. “Boys, I would like to introduce you to the captain of the greatest ship to sail on the oceans of any world—the Nautilus.”

  A swarthy, bearded man with glistening, dark skin stepped off the gangplank and put his hands together, inclining his head in the Hindu fashion.

  He smiled, and while not unfriendly, it was undoubtedly the smile of a predator. “Captain Nemo, at your service.”

  Everyone was introduced, including Bug, who got a long, curious look from Nemo.

  “We’re going to the council at Paralon,” said Bert.

  “As am I,” Nemo replied. “There are restless forces growing in the lands to the north and the south, which must be quelled if we’re to unite against the Winter King.

  “A caution, though—you’re going to catch the currents off the Shadowed Lands if you keep heading in this direction, and you’ll miss Paralon altogether. I thought your captain was better trained than that.”

  Aven blushed and scowled at John and her father in turn. “How far off are we?”

  “Five degrees to the south should correct your course.”

  Aven withdrew to change the course of the ship, and Nemo’s eye caught sight of the Geographica under John’s arm.

  “Would that parcel hold the Geographica?” he asked.

  “The Imaginarium Geographica, yes,” said John.

  For the first time, Nemo spoke with a slight hesitation in his voice. “May I—may I touch it, Master John?”

  “Certainly.”

  John again unwrapped the Geographica and proffered it to Nemo, who accepted it as if he were holding a fragile parchment that would crumble if he breathed on it the wrong way.

  “It’s been through a lot,” Charles said. “It’s sturdy. Won’t break, I assure you.”

  “You misunderstand my care,” said Nemo. “To those of us in the Archipelago, it is a holy book. Here in these lands there are a thousand different worlds, a thousand cultures. Some are united
by fealty, some by commerce. But the only thing that unites us all, the only Grail that can strengthen us by drawing the disparities closer, is the Imaginarium Geographica.”

  “Then every time the Winter King conquers a land…,” Charles began.

  “Yes,” Nemo said, nodding. “The corresponding map vanishes, and we take another step backward to the barbarian cultures that gave birth to us.”

  “You could always just destroy it,” Bug offered, before being silenced by Jack with a poke in the ribs.

  Instead of responding in anger to the suggestion, Nemo nodded his assent. “It’s been suggested, boy, and tried. As valuable as it is, it may be better for the lands to lose it, if it means the Winter King cannot have it.”

  To underscore his answer, Nemo suddenly stepped in front of Aven and dropped the Geographica on the hot brazier that sat mid-deck.

  There were shouts of dismay and disbelief, and John leaped forward to retrieve it before it burned.

  But there was no need to worry. The coals were blazing, but they did no more than singe the outer layer of oilcloth.

  “Magic,” breathed Jack.

  “Yes,” said Nemo. “The Imaginarium Geographica cannot be destroyed—which makes proper stewardship of it both a blessing and a burden.

  “Guard it well, lad,” Nemo continued, dusting off the ash and returning the book to John. “It is a great responsibility to be the heart of the compass. But I knew your teacher, and while I mourn his passing, I sense that he chose his successor wisely and well.”

  Nemo turned to Bert and gripped his forearms, then kissed Aven on the cheek before leaping back to the gangplank.

  “Be well, my friends,” he said as the ship pulled away. “I’ll see you soon.”

  As the Nautilus departed, Aven cornered John and demanded an explanation. “We’re lucky he came along,” she said, eyes flashing with anger. “Five degrees would have put us in the North Sea. We would have lost an entire day and missed the Council at Paralon altogether.”