The Indigo King - James A. Owen [112]
“We all are indeed,” John said hastily, “after a fashion, that is.” The Green Knights were not traditionally known for their intelligence, and the last one he knew personally, Magwich, would sell his own mother, then forget to collect the money.
Geoffrey was taking both the strange appearance of the knight and the invitation with aplomb. John admired that—even if he was a bit bemused at the monk’s rather disorganized personal style. Suddenly, looking up the stairs, all the elements of the happening came together for John in a burst of insight.
“Geoff,” John said, tapping him on the shoulder, “how would you like to relocate your collection of books and manuscripts and receive a special education on the history of the kings of Britain, all at the same time?”
“That sounds very intriguing,” Geoffrey answered, rubbing his hands together. “What must I do?”
John smiled. “Grab your hat,” he said briskly, sizing up the Green Knight. “We’re going visiting.”
* * *
The Green Knight had come to Caerleon in the beasts’ ship, the Green Dragon. It was one of the larger of the Dragonships, and also the most wild and free-spirited. With the knight’s help, and under Geoffrey’s mostly efficient direction, the companions were able to load the monk’s entire collection onto the ship in a matter of hours.
With the work done, they all boarded the ship one last time, and slowly it pulled away from the shore and set sail for the Archipelago.
“It was good of you to wait and help us bring all the books and manuscripts,” John told the knight. “We appreciate it very much.”
The knight bowed. “It was my pleasure, Caretaker.”
“Are you the Abelard I would know of?” asked John. “The philosopher poet?”
The knight seemed startled by this, then regained his composure and bowed again. “I am honored that you would remember me as a poet,” he said with a lilt of pride in his voice. “It was, in truth, one of the later accomplishments in my life.”
“How is it that you were chosen as a knight of Avalon?” asked Jack.
The knight sighed. “It was Bernard of Clairvaux,” he said, the shimmying of the leaves on his shoulders attesting to the emotion he felt in sharing the confession.
“He had succeeded in having me accused of heresy. I became ill at the priory of St. Marcel, and it was there that I was approached by my predecessor, a knight called Gawain. He offered me the chance to serve, and I accepted, most gratefully.”
“I know of your work too,” Geoffrey said quietly. “In fact, I have the only complete copy of your Historia Calamitatum.”
“I am pleased by this,” said the knight, and it showed. He looked near to bursting.
“Your predecessor was Gawain,” Jack mused. “Who was his predecessor?”
“The greatest of us all,” the knight replied. “He served for many years as the first Guardian of Avalon and set the example by which those who came later follow.”
“Are we going to Avalon, then?” Jack said, almost tearing up at the description of Chaz.
The knight shook his head. “That was not my instruction. Tonight we are going to the Chamenos Liber.”
“We’re going to the Keep?” asked Jack.
The knight nodded. “Someone has asked to see you.”
John and Jack looked at each other and traded knowing smiles. There was only one man in residence at the islands of Chamenos Liber—only one man who could have requested them by the title of Caretaker here, in the twelfth century.
At the Keep of Time, the companions all disembarked and began to climb the stairs of the impossibly tall tower. Finally they reached the top of the steps, and the door that was second to last in the Keep.
The door was locked, and the keyhole under the mark of the High King seemed so new it might have just been installed that hour. John was about to knock when Rose reached out her hand and touched the door. The lock disengaged with a soft click.
“Come in,” said a now familiar voice. “Enter freely and of your own will.”
John gave the door a gentle push, and it swung open to reveal a room that was only just