The Search for the Red Dragon - James A. Owen [17]
“Indeed it does,” concurred Jack, noting that since they’d erased the pi symbol and added the omega, the glowing had ceased. “But I don’t know if it made it prettier to look at.”
Jamie and Charles returned with a silver tray laden with ham, cheese, and thick cuts of dark rye bread.
“Sorry there’s no milder bread in the house,” said Jamie. “You can take the boy out of Scotland, but you can’t make him give up his rye.”
“Not a problem, I assure you,” John said as he started slathering a piece of bread with a grainy mustard. “In fact, I think I prefer—”
He stopped speaking when he realized that none of the others were listening. Instead, they were all looking at Laura Glue, who was still holding the Compass Rose.
It was faint, and indistinct—but the parchment flower had begun to glow.
“Well,” Jamie said wryly, rubbing his dog’s head, “I think we may be in for more company.”
“Do we need to be down by the river?” asked Charles. “If Bert is coming, won’t he be piloting the White Dragon?”
“Or one of the other ships,” Jack agreed. “Perhaps we should be waiting for him there.”
“It’s a pleasant night out,” said John. “There’s no storm, there’s been no murder, no one is chasing us, we have a comfortable study to relax in, a delicious pile of food in front of us, and for company, James Barrie—with whom we can also talk about the Geographica and the Archipelago. And you seriously want me to consider leaving all this to go tromping alongside the Thames in the middle of the night, just in case it’ll be easier for Bert to find us? I don’t think so.”
And with that, he plopped down on one of the chairs and began to happily devour a huge ham sandwich.
“See?” Charles said to Jamie. “That’s why he’s the Caretaker Principia.”
After having consumed three sandwiches of her own, Laura Glue declared herself to be the Caretaker of the Compass Rose. Carefully monitoring it for any change, she nestled back into the haunches of the huge, still sleeping Saint Bernard, Aramis.
“His predecessors were Porthos and Athos,” said Jamie. “If I myself make it to a D’Artagnan, I’ll be very contented.”
“There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you,” said Jack as he licked mustard off his fingers. “When we found Laura Glue, she told us that she’d been sent to find you, specifically, not just because you were the Caretaker, but also because you were her grandfather’s greatest enemy. And then, in the park, you said something about an adventure with your best friend—”
“Whom she said later became my enemy. And you’ve surmised they were the same person. Well done, Jack.
“Oddly enough, the reasons we became enemies have a lot to do with Aven as well. Although I must point out a very important distinction between myself and the girl’s grandfather. Just because he no longer regards himself as my friend does not necessarily mean I am no longer his.”
Before Jamie could elaborate, a newspaper struck the shutters, which clattered loudly against the windows of the library. “Hmm,” said Jamie. “The wind has shifted. I wonder what that means?”
“Why?” asked John.
“It’s March,” Charles explained. “The wind never blows in from the west this time of year.”
Wordlessly the four men looked at one another, each of them thinking the same thing.
“Look,” a voice said, soft with wonder. It was Laura Glue, who on speaking woke the dog and was being given an involuntary bath by Aramis’s massive tongue. “Look at my flower.”
There on the desk the Compass Rose had begun to shine as if it were on fire, the symbols marked upon it swirling with an eldritch glow.
Suddenly a shadow passed over the windows, momentarily blocking the light from the waxing moon above.
Puzzled, Jamie jumped to his feet, as did John.
“Was that a dragon, perhaps?” asked Charles.
“Too slow,” said Jamie. “Maybe it—”
A loud knocking from one of the upper floors interrupted him.
“I think you have a visitor, Jamie,” said Laura Glue sleepily.
In an instant, all four Caretakers were running to the hall and up the stairs. Jamie led the way to the