The Indigo King - James A. Owen [74]
“Just you, actually,” John admitted.
“See what I mean?” the owl said. “Slow.”
The bird reacquainted itself with the companions as they told it of recent events, then agreed to assist them in looking for the lost window. But the addition of an extra pair of eyes, even those as sharp as Archimedes’, did not help them locate the portal to Sanctuary. Jack was right—it was gone.
“Could it have been the giants?” John asked. “Do you suppose they actually went onto the island?”
“I doubt it,” Jack replied. “If they were going to do that, they’d have done it much earlier.”
“You came through a door with only one side?” asked Archimedes. “That’s very interesting.”
“I’d love to show it to you, Archimedes,” said John, “but I think we’ve run our luck dry.”
“Not luck,” said Thorn. “The will of God.”
“What do you mean?” Jack asked. “Which God?”
Thorn looked at him, surprised. “There’s only one God, Sir Jack,” he said plainly. “I don’t know much about him, but I know that he sees all, knows all, and has a reason for everything he does.”
“Stranding us in … what year is it, anyway?” said Jack.
“It’s been approximately four centuries since we first met, at the library,” said Archimedes. “If I had a chalk and slate, I could work it out more precisely.”
“Great,” said Jack. “We’re in the sixth century. Do you want me to believe that it’s God’s will that we’re trapped here?”
“You came when I summoned you with the horn,” Thorn replied. “How can I think otherwise?”
“We didn’t come because of the horn,” Jack retorted. “We came to … to …” He stopped and turned to his fellow scholar. “I don’t even know, John. What are we here to do?”
“I think,” John said, carefully considering his words, “that we were meant to be here, now, to help Thorn get to where he’s going.”
“It seems we have little choice,” said Jack in resignation, casting a look around the hill. “We can’t go back. We might as well go forward.”
“That’s very astute,” said Archimedes. “One might think you were an educated man.”
“I’ve got an entire section here on Camelot,” Chaz said, pointing to the Little Whatsit. “There are a few passages on tournaments and the like, but along with those are some general directions. We should be able to get Thorn where he needs t’ be without much trouble.”
“It doesn’t help us to know where we’re going, if we don’t know where we’re starting from,” John said in a slightly officious voice. “It’s one of the first things I learned watching over the Geographica.”
Chaz blinked. “And … ?”
“And Thorn was already lost, and we have no way of telling where we are.”
“Sure we do,” Chaz insisted, pointing at the book. “We’re at Grandfather Oak. See? There’s a picture.”
Sure enough, there was an engraving of the tree that stood next to them.
“That’s insane,” Jack stated. “Why would that book have a picture of this tree, of all things?”
“It seems to be an important place,” said Chaz. “According to the Whatsit, it’s where someone called Arthur first met the knights of the Crusade, on the day before he became the High King.”
It took a few moments for the full meaning of the words Chaz read to sink in. When they finally did, John and Jack turned to look at Thorn. “Is that true?” John asked slowly. “Are you Arthur?”
“Not yet,” Thorn answered, “but I hope to be, soon.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The Crucible
Chaz led the way, with a conversational Archimedes circling low above his head. John, Jack, and Thorn followed closely behind, talking.
Thorn explained that Arthur was not a name in and of itself but a title of rule, and that it essentially meant “High King.”
“High King of Britain?” asked Jack.
“You mean this land here?” Thorn replied. “I’ve not heard it called that before. It is called Albion by some, but most call it Myrddyn’s Precinct. But,” he added in a conspiratorial whisper, “I’m not allowed to know that.”
“Why?” asked John.
“My mother would behead Archimedes if she knew he’d told me,” Thorn replied, seemingly unwilling to elaborate.
John already knew the land had once been called Myrddyn’s Precinct.