The Indigo King - James A. Owen [8]
“You said the, uh, fortress …,” began Hugo.
“The Keep,” said Jack.
“Yes, the Keep of, uh, Time, was almost destroyed. Will we be able to get to him?”
John and Jack looked at each other, thinking the same thing: They were glad, in this moment, that Charles was not in the room. Despite the fact that his actions had once saved their lives, he was nevertheless responsible for the Keep being set ablaze and would have been embarrassed to discuss the matter in front of Hugo.
“Yes,” said Jack. “It’s difficult, but still possible. The fire is long extinguished, but the tower itself continues to crumble. We’ve had to spend more and more time doing damage control with the various Time Storms that have formed as a result, but just going there to speak to him shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Hmm,” said John. “I wonder if a Time Storm might not be the genesis of this book. After all, there has to be some explanation for how Hugo’s writing got on it fourteen centuries ago.”
“I’ve never seen a Time Storm here, in our world,” said Jack. “Just in the Archipelago.”
“There have been crossovers,” John pointed out. “The Bermuda Triangle, for one. And of course, the whole business with the Red Dragon.”
“Red Dragon?” asked Hugo.
“You’d know it better as the Argo,” said Jack.
“Ah,” said Hugo. He got to his feet with a visible wobble. “I think I need some air. Anyone fancy a walk?”
“Excellent idea,” agreed John.
After rewrapping the Grail book and the Geographica (in the unlikely event that one of Jack’s students or the college “scout” responsible for tidying up the rooms should wander in and find them), John, Jack, and Hugo left the New Building and headed down the direction from which John had come earlier. Addison’s Walk was a favorite stroll of theirs; it made a circuit around Magdalen from one side of the college, leading to Dover Pier, and then around to the other side along the Cherwell. It was lined with trees and grassy meadows and offered beautiful views of Magdalen Tower and the Magdalen Bridge. It was an eminently peaceful path to walk alone or with companions, and all three of them had followed it often.
The night was pleasant for mid-September, and it was perfect weather for contemplating the universe. The only thing that made the stroll disquieting was the occasional shadows cast by the lamps they passed. Jack tried not to look like he was avoiding them, and he hoped John wouldn’t notice.
Hugo walked ahead of the other two, hands clasped behind his back, deep in thought. Occasionally he would stop and begin to utter some half-formed thought, then reconsider and keep walking. Finally he fell back with the others.
“So,” Hugo asked, “according to your experiences, all myths are real, and they happened someplace within the Archipelago?”
“That’s an awfully general statement,” said Jack. “I think it’s more reasonable to say that much of what we have believed to be myth and legend in our world here was actually derived from real events in the Archipelago. We’ve been at this Caretaking business for a number of years now, and we’re still just getting our feet wet.”
“Indeed,” said John, who was rustling around in the brush for a walking stick. “Fact and fiction do not fall into the clear patterns they once did.”
“So taken as a whole, mythology, or some of it at least, might actually be real history?”
“We’re still trying to figure that out ourselves,” replied Jack, “although I must admit it’s quite a relief to be able to discuss a lot of this openly with you, Hugo. It’s sometimes been very difficult to restrain myself during conversations with Owen Barfield, for example.”
“I’d imagine,” said John.
Seeing Hugo’s puzzled look, Jack explained. “In recent years Barfield has made the argument that mythology, speech, and literature all have a common source, a common origin. In the dawn of prehistory, men did not make distinctions between the literal and the metaphorical. They were one and the same.”
“The word and the thing were identical,” said Hugo.
“Exactly,