The Indigo King - James A. Owen [70]
Chaz jumped to his feet. The brief sleep seemed to have recharged him fully. “So what is the plan?”
John was examining the packs that the badgers had prepared for them. There were rations of food, and containers of fresh water, along with two other items: the Serendipity Box and the Little Whatsit.
“The latter is for any emergencies what may arise,” explained Uncas, “an’ the former, for when you’re well an’ truly up t’ your necks in it. Just in case.”
“I already used the Box,” John said.
“I know,” said Uncas, “but they haven’t.”
The badger was right. According to Bert, they could each use it once, and Jack and Chaz hadn’t touched it yet.
Before John could ask anything else, they were interrupted by a tremendous crash from outside. There was a cacophony of howls, and what sounded like pounding surf, and worse, the laughter of giants.
Fred indicated to the others that they should remain in the projection room, and he rushed out the door.
A few seconds later he reappeared, helping Reynard, who was limping and bleeding badly from a gash in his skull that had nearly cost him an ear.
The companions hurried over to the wounded fox. “What’s happened, Reynard?” John asked, concern etched on his face. “Are you all right?”
“I shall live,” Reynard replied, “but you have suffered a loss, I am sorry to say.”
“What loss?” asked Jack.
“Your ship,” Reynard said, still in shock. “The Red Dragon. The giants have succeeded in destroying her. She’s gone, shattered, sunk.”
So that was it, John realized. The Red Dragon had been their only means of escape from Noble’s Isle. Whatever success they were to have in defeating Mordred would now only be found inside the slides left for them by Jules Verne.
“Uncas,” John instructed, “fire up the Lanterna Magica. We’re running out of time.”
The third slide showed a grassy hilltop, on what seemed to be a summer day. There was a single tall oak tree at the crest of the hill, and underneath, a young man, barely more than a boy, sleeping peacefully.
“Do you know who it is?” Chaz asked the others. “He’s too young to be Meridian or Madoc.”
John shook his head, as did Jack. “Not a clue, I’m afraid,” Jack said, “but I mean to find out.”
The three companions said their good-byes to the badgers, and thanked the injured fox for his attempts to protect their ship. Then, Chaz leading this time, they stepped into the projection.
Unlike the previous slides, which had opened into cities on the sides of walls, this one opened a portal into open air. The three men moved quickly through the gossamer layers and turned around to look at the odd phenomenon.
“Strange, isn’t it?” said Jack. “It’s a bit like the door in the wood, John. There’s no back side to it when you come around the other side.”
“At least this one isn’t going to close on us,” John replied. “We’ll have to remember it’s to the east of the tree when we return.”
There was nothing else in sight, save for miles of rolling hills and clusters of trees. No buildings, no structures of any kind, as far as they could see. Just the tall oak and the sleeping boy.
He was dressed heavily, with a cloak over his tunic and shirt, and his boots were fur. He’d come from some land that was colder than this, wherever they were.
“It’s England, of course,” said Jack. “Can’t you tell by the light?”
“If you say so,” John said, unconvinced. “Shall we wake him up? He’s obviously the reason Verne had us come here.”
The others agreed, and John reached down and shook the boy’s shoulder once, then again. Finally the boy opened his eyes and gave them a half-awake smile. “It’s about time,” he said, sitting up. “I’d begun to think you would never get here.”
His speech was a mix of Gaelic and Old English, but it was not difficult for John and Jack to understand. Chaz couldn’t quite make it out, but he seemed to get the gist of it. The boy had been waiting for them.
“You were expecting us?” John said in surprise, offering the boy a hand up.
The boy rose to his feet and dusted himself off. “I was expecting … someone,” he replied. “I blew the horn