The Indigo King - James A. Owen [7]
“And not only that,” John interjected, “but to him in his capacity as a Caretaker.”
“A Caretaker of what?” said Hugo. “And who is the Cartographer?”
“I think,” John said, reaching for the oilcloth-wrapped book he’d brought with him, “that it’s time we explained a few things to you, my baffled friend. Beginning with this.”
On top of the table, John unwrapped the Imaginarium Geographica.
“We’re going to need more rum,” said Jack.
As Hugo sat in stunned silence, John and Jack took turns telling him a slightly abridged version of all the adventures they had experienced as Caretakers of the Imaginarium Geographica. When they were finished, a completely discombobulated and still slightly skeptical Hugo Dyson squinted one eye and looked them over.
“This is all completely on the level, then?”
“As level as it’s possible to get,” said John. “And as you can see, the Geographica itself is fairly compelling evidence.”
“Indeed,” said Hugo, rising to look at the atlas. “It is extraordinary, I’ll give you that. Extraordinary. And you say this Cartographer of Lost Places created all these maps?”
“Yes,” Jack said, nodding.
“So who is he, really?”
“I don’t think anyone really knows,” said John. “Bert might have his ideas. Samaranth as well. But I’ve never come across any mention of him in any of the Histories. What we know of him is all there is to know.”
“Perhaps he’s the one who sent it,” Hugo suggested. “After all, the note I, uh, wrote seems to be for his benefit.”
John shook his head. “It wouldn’t have come by post. He’d have sent Bert, or a dragon, or a postal owl or something.”
“A postal owl?” said Jack.
“I was just giving a ‘for instance,’” said John. “I don’t think it was really delivered by an owl. Everyone knows swallows are more suited for that sort of thing, anyway.”
“That’s even worse,” said Jack. “At least a good-size owl would have a shot at lifting a heavy book. You’d need several swallows to match that.”
“He has a point,” said Hugo.
“Whatever,” said John, irritated. “What I mean is that it was sent by someone in this world, not someone in the Archipelago.”
“But who here knows that we’re the Caretakers?” asked Jack. “And why not just contact us directly?”
“Maybe they couldn’t,” offered Hugo. “Perhaps whoever sent the book was prevented from bringing it themselves.”
“I think that the reason it was addressed to Charles is obvious,” said John. “His novel proves his interest in Grail lore, and as a Caretaker he has resources other scholars wouldn’t.”
“Fair enough,” said Jack. “But what initiated Hugo’s involvement in all this?” They both turned to their friend, who gulped and grinned sheepishly.
“I’m just trying to keep up, honestly,” said Hugo. “As I said, I was familiar with Charles’s work, but my interest was in what I hoped the novel was, not what it is.
“I’m doing a lot of reading in Arthurian legends, and so of course I’m taking detours into Grail stories. I thought Charles’s book might be a nice diversion, but it was rather disappointing to discover it’s wholly contemporary. To him the Grail is an object, a device, if you will, to allow him to tell a story of the supernatural. And that wasn’t what I was looking for at all.”
“I see,” said John. “We’ll have to speak further about the Arthur legends. I think we can help you there”—he winked at Jack—“particularly with the material about his descendants.”
“You can show me the actual Histories?” Hugo exclaimed.
“Better,” said Jack. “We can show you the actual descendants.”
“We’re the last one’s godfathers,” John explained.
“Good Lord,” said Hugo.
“What I want to know is the connection between the Grail and the Cartographer,” said Jack. “How are they linked, I wonder?”
“Arthur again,” said John. “Remember, the seal of the High King is what keeps the door locked in the Keep. There must be a connection there.”
Jack snapped his fingers. “Right. I’d forgotten. So what do we do?”
“Let’s do this,” said John, rising. “Tomorrow I’ll use the Compass Rose to summon one of the Dragonships from the Archipelago, and we’ll go ask the