The Indigo King - James A. Owen [77]
“That old snake,” Hank said, pounding a fist into his other hand. “That explains an awful lot.”
“Can you use your device?” asked Hugo. “The silver dragon watch? Can you use it to send a message, as you did before?”
Hank shook his head. “I’ve tried. It still isn’t working. That’s never happened before—not for this long.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means,” Hank said with a desperate edge to his voice, “that we are completely on our own.”
“Perhaps not.” Hugo sat upright with a strange expression on his face. “I might be going balmy, but I think I have an idea worthy of a caretaker.”
“What’s that?”
“We’ve been too caught up in instantaneous communication,” Hugo explained, “worrying too much about how soon we can contact someone via your watch device, when we really, literally, have all the time in the world.”
“You’ve figured out another way to contact help?”
“Better than that,” Hugo said, beaming. “We already have.” He held up the squarish book he’d taken from Taliesin’s tent. The first page was blank, but the rest of the book was filled with writing—and on the cover, embossed deeply in the leather, was the image of the Grail.
“Do you have any ink and a quill?” asked Hugo.
“I have a quill,” Hank replied, “but Merlin makes his own ink. I could probably put something together for you, but it would have to be done in daylight.”
“No time for that.” Hugo rolled up his sleeve and held out his hand for Hank’s dagger. “John’s going to be pleased that he called this one on the nose.”
After more bloodlettings than Hugo expected, he finally had enough to work with to inscribe his message in the book. It was approaching morning before he finally began writing in earnest.
“Not to be critical,” said Hank, “but wouldn’t ‘Help us! Help us! We’re trapped in the sixth century!’ suffice?”
“Now, now,” Hugo admonished. “This has to be done properly. This is a work for the ages—I can’t just slop it together.”
“It’s a plea for help, not a sonnet,” Hank argued, holding open the tent flap to look outside. “Just write it out so we can be done before Merlin returns.”
“I’m a professor of English!” Hugo retorted. “I don’t want to be embarrassed in front of my peers when they come to rescue us, just because I slacked off in my composition efforts.”
“Technically, you already read what you’re writing,” said Hank. “Can’t you just write it out from memory?”
“I can’t recall it all,” Hugo said, leaning over the book. “There was a lot going on that evening, and my head was all a-muddle. I even thought it was all a joke of some kind until I actually got here with Pellinor.”
“You’re lucky you did,” Hank said with no trace of sarcasm. “He’s batty. The story goes that his ancestor, Pelles, was a guardian of the Holy Grail, who lost it when it was stolen by a dragon he called the Questing Beast. They’ve all been on the crazy side ever since.”
“I’ve never seen a dragon, either,” Hugo said as he began to write, “but after the past few days, I’d be willing to extend him the benefit of the doubt.”
In short order, Hugo finished writing the warning to his satisfaction, and together he and Hank hid it where Merlin would not stumble across it.
“That’s that,” Hugo said, dusting his vest off with one hand and flexing the other, which was sore from the dagger pokes. “According to the rules of time travel, now that I’ve actually created the message for us to get later, they should be coming to pick us up any time now.”
“The ‘rules of time travel’?” Hank said with a smirk. “Do you think they’re just going to be able to do some mumbo-jumbo and suddenly appear?”
“Am I really being criticized by a man who travels through time with a silver pocket watch?”
“Sorry,” said Hank. “I’m not trying to be discouraging. I just didn’t want you to think that even for the Caretakers, it would be as easy as just flipping a switch.”
“Ah, but if I know John and Jack,” Hugo said with more pride than confidence, “it is.”
The final contests began at sunrise, and everyone who was camped in the valley was there to watch. No one wanted to miss the