The Indigo King - James A. Owen [24]
In earlier years Jack would have reddened at this and become flustered. But he’d matured a great deal in the intervening time, and could face his own shortcomings and mistakes foursquare, as a man is supposed to do.
“I stopped feeling responsible for that a long time ago, Bert,” he said calmly. “James Barrie told me things about Nemo, and you, and …” He stopped. “Verne. You came here with Jules Verne.”
Bert sighed heavily and turned his back to them before answering. “Yes,” he said finally. “Jules and I came here together. We came … here.…”
Without warning, the old man suddenly burst into tears. “Why did you have to bring her up, Jack? Why did you have to mention Aven, now that I’d finally nearly forgotten about her?”
Jack started to reply, but John silenced him with a gesture. Bert was speaking from a long, deep pain, and perhaps they might learn something of what was happening.
“If she’d been killed in battle, I might have been able to live with it,” Bert sobbed. “But here, after what’s happened, it’s as if she never existed! She is worse than dead!”
“The Lady Aven is not dead,” came a soft voice. “I saw her myself just yesterday.”
Fred was standing nearby, head bowed and paws folded respectfully, but when he spoke his voice was firm with conviction. “She is alive. Maybe not here, where we are, but somewheres. She is. And when Scowler John and Scowler Jack, and, uh, Mister Chaz help us t’ get back there, maybe you can come with us and see for yourself.”
At first Bert reacted in rage, raising the ash stick to strike at the little creature. But Fred didn’t move. He barely flinched, and closed his eyes to receive the blow.
Seeing this, Bert lowered the stick, then fell to his knees and grasped the badger, pulling Fred to his chest. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, little child of the Earth,” Bert said through muffled sobs. “I will not strike you. I won’t. It’s just … It’s been so long.…”
Fred hugged the old traveler, and after a moment, Uncas moved in to do so as well. “It be all right,” said Uncas gently.
“Animal logic,” Jack said to John. “Loyalty is all, and all things may be forgiven.”
“We should go inside,” said Chaz. “The sun will be coming up soon.”
“Yes,” Bert agreed, rising and wiping his eyes. “We have a great deal to discuss.”
With the badgers supporting him on either side, Bert moved down the pier to the bridge that connected it to the house. John followed behind, but Jack pulled Chaz aside.
“If this is indeed ‘our’ Bert,” Jack whispered, “how has he survived? You knew just where to find him. Wouldn’t the king have killed him long before now?”
“He has, in years past, proved himself to be a friend to the king,” Chaz replied, “or at least, wise enough to seem as such.”
“And this,” Jack said, indicating the damaged man walking ahead of them, “is how the king treats his friends?”
Chaz shrugged. “Someone asked him that once. And th’ king laughed an’ said, ‘A friend this valuable you can’t eat all at once.’”
Bert took them all inside the little shack, where he lit two candles, which he placed at opposite ends of the cramped quarters. For a single person, the accommodations were tight; for four men and two badgers, it was practically claustrophobic. There was a table and only one chair, which Bert took. The others sat on the floor, except for Chaz, who remained standing nervously in the doorway.
“You’ll have to forgive my lack of hospitality,” Bert told the others. “I’d offer you tea, but I haven’t any tea. I’d offer you brandy, but I haven’t any brandy. In fact, I don’t even have any crackers to give you.”
“We did,” said Uncas, “but there was an emergency.”
“There still is,” said Jack.
“That’s a shame,” said Bert, “to run out of crackers before you’ve run out of emergency. And in Albion, it’s always an emergency.”
“The king, whoever he is, sounds like an utter despot,” John observed.
“Well said, John,” said Bert, “for he is just that. A despot. A petty, cruel dictator who hates himself and takes it out on everyone