The Indigo King - James A. Owen [113]
The Cartographer gave the companions a careful, lingering look of appraisal before speaking again, and when he did, it was to Rose. “Greetings and salutations, daughter of Madoc.”
Unexpectedly, Rose walked to the Cartographer and kissed him on the cheek. “Hello, Uncle Merlin.”
He shook his head at this and gently pushed her back.
Was that a tear on his cheek? John wondered. Or just a trick of the light?
“No,” the Cartographer was saying, “I haven’t needed a name in a very long time, and it’s doubtful I’ll need one again. It’s best for all concerned, especially you, dear Rose, to simply call me the Cartographer.”
“As you wish,” she said, stepping back and taking Hugo’s arm. She was trembling, he realized suddenly. The gesture had been more difficult for her than it had appeared.
“You hesitate,” the Cartographer said to the others, noting that they had come inside the room but remained clustered by the door, as if they were comforted by the option of easy escape. “With good reason, probably. I was an excellent example of what not to do when you’ve been gifted with near immortality and unlimited opportunity.”
“It’s been a revelation, that’s for sure,” Jack said brusquely.
“Merlin?” asked Geoffrey, pulling at his collar. “As in, the real Merlin?”
John chuckled. The knight made of wood and leaves hadn’t fazed the monk, nor had the talking badgers. A living Dragon-ship was similarly accepted, as was a tower made of time. But the thought of actually meeting the man whose life he’d been chronicling made Geoffrey twitch and shift about as if his bladder were full.
“Real is a matter of perspective,” the Cartographer said, “and it’s a matter of what is worth remembering and what is worth passing on to those who inherit the future.”
“We almost lost, didn’t we?” said John. “We almost brought about Mordred’s victory.”
The Cartographer looked at him for a breathless moment, the nodded. “We almost did. All of us, together, who were there.”
“What happened?” Hugo asked. “What did I do to cause the crisis in time?”
“In the history you remember, the one you first came from,” the Cartographer replied, “Mordred defeated me as you feared he would, and then was challenged by the boy. Mordred broke the rules of the tournament and attacked Arthur after he’d chosen not to fight his uncle. The boy, bless his scrappy heart, fought back and actually won.
“He drew Caliburn, became High King, and united two worlds. Because he had beaten Mordred in fair combat, the tribes united under his rule.”
“So when I interfered by throwing the knife and disqualifying both Mordred and yourself …,” Hugo began.
“Arthur won by default when I refused to fight,” the Cartographer finished. “And though he was worthy to draw the sword, he did not unite the people. And I …” He paused, composing himself. “I used that against him, until you came and set things right again.”
“How can you remember all of that?” asked Jack. “What happened the first time? That was a different timeline than the one we changed.”
“I have an acquaintance,” the Cartographer explained. “One of the more recent kings of the Silver Throne, Arthur’s son Eligure, chose to allow me a visitor. And that visitor has shared certain knowledge with me about pasts that were, and a future that may be.”
“Verne,” said John. “You mean Jules Verne.”
“The same,” he confirmed. “He has impressed upon me the need to keep detailed Histories of the events of the Summer Country as well as of the Archipelago. That’s why I asked Abelard to fetch the monk—what was your name again?”
“G-Geoffrey,” came the reply, his voice shaking with trepidation. “Of Monmouth.”
“Ah, yes,” the Cartographer said. “I understand you have amassed quite a library as it is, am I correct?”
“You are,” said Geoffrey. “It’s in the ship below.”
“Excellent,” said the Cartographer.