The Search for the Red Dragon - James A. Owen [110]
Even Burton was sobbing, as his daughter dropped to her knees and embraced him. “Ah, my Lillith, my Lily-girl,” he said. “I’ve missed you so.”
“I missed you, too, Papa,” said the girl.
The shadow hissed and rose into the air. “You may have destroyed my form,” the former Piper hissed, its words like acrid smoke. “But I have not come here alone.”
Hugh the Iron and William the Pig, the half-Clockwork Lost Boys, were still under some kind of compulsion. The destruction of the panpipes seemed not to deter them at all. They marched briskly to the Red Dragon and removed from its deck several large paving stones, which they laid end to end in a path that led from the ship to the clearing where the shadow of the Piper still hovered.
Then one last passenger calmly climbed over the railing of the Red Dragon and, careful to step only on the stones, walked toward the astonished companions.
It was Daedalus.
“You gave your word the children would not be harmed,” the inventor said to the shadow.
“And none of them have been,” the shadow hissed. “Yet. You said you would deliver all the Caretakers to me as children, yet when I arrived, I find them fully grown.”
“They wouldn’t look into the Well,” replied Daedalus. “Only the one, Jack, and I don’t see him here.”
“One is not three, Daedalus,” the shadow said. “Had they been children, I might have entranced them with the pipes, and we would be done with this.”
Laura Glue cried out in happiness and ran forward to embrace Daedalus, not realizing what was actually taking place. Charles reached out and caught her, then pulled her close.
“What is this?” Aven exclaimed. “What have you done, Daedalus? What have you allied yourself with?”
“He was against us all along,” said John. “That’s why he wanted us to look into Echo’s Well, and that’s why the History is missing the last pages. It was all a trap.”
“Try not to think too badly of me, Aven,” Daedalus said, as Hugh and William continued to remove stones from the ship and lay them around the clearing. “I simply did what I must, as we all do. You were motivated by love of your son. While I…I simply wanted to get out of that damned city of children. That accursed tower where I’ve been trapped for all these centuries.”
“So much for repentance and redemption, eh, Daedalus?” said John.
“Spare me your Christian balms,” said Daedalus. “My nephew had humiliated me, and while it wasn’t my intent to kill him, I couldn’t let his offense simply pass.”
“And what of Icarus?” put in Bert. “What of your own son?”
Daedalus started, then regained his composure. “Regrettable. I never wanted it to happen. My designs were not perfected then, so it really wasn’t my fault. It was an accident, that’s all. An accident.”
“You have to be the worst father I’ve ever heard of,” said Charles.
“You’re forgetting Jason,” said Bert, with a sorrowful look at Hugh and William.
“Peas in a pod,” Charles stated. “Both despicable.”
“Enough talk!” spat the shadow. “Honor your bargain, Daedalus. Destroy them.”
“I hate to deflate your balloon,” said Charles, “but the panpipes are broken. You no longer control your army of children, and those two”—he gestured at Hugh and William—“are no match for all of us.”
“Fortunately for us,” Daedalus replied, “Hugh and William are not the only servants at my command.”
Daedalus raised a hand and made a complicated gesture with his fingers, and an instant later the companions heard a thunderous noise, followed by a tremor.
“Is that thunder?” said Burton, looking up at the dark skies.
“It isn’t thunder,” declared Charles. “It’s the sound of a master chessman making an excellent move.”
The sounds were echoing across the islands with a regular rhythm now, and far to the north, Talos and the other bronze Clockwork giants moved into view. They would be upon them in minutes.
“Check,” said Daedalus.