The Search for the Red Dragon - James A. Owen [31]
With that the little badger scurried around them, pulling two clean, undamaged copies from the bottom of the pile and handing them to Jack and Charles. Then he raced to a small office at the back of the shop and returned a minute later with another copy for John that seemed slightly different from the others.
With extreme sincerity and gravity, Tummeler presented the book to John.
“F’r th’ Master Caretaker,” Tummeler said soberly. “This be my own original book, copied from yours. I wants y’ t’ have it, Scowler John.”
“Tummeler, I can’t accept this,” John protested, holding up his hands. “You made it yourself.”
“That’s why I wants it t’ be yours,” insisted Tummeler. “It’s not as clean as th’ ones what we printed, but it’s got character.”
John finally acquiesced and took the gift as graciously as he could manage. “Thank you, Tummeler. I’m sure it will come in very handy.”
“I say, Tummeler,” said Charles. “Would you mind signing mine? Just for old times’ sake?”
“Sign? Y’ mean, like a autograph? Oh, Master Scowlers,” Tummler said, nearly swooning. “This be th’ proudest day in ol’ Tummeler’s life.”
The little badger removed a quill from one of his pockets and carefully inscribed his name in all three books.
“One last favor to ask, if I may,” Bert began.
“No need t’ ask,” Tummeler said, beaming. “When I saw y’ landin’ th’ Indigo Dragon, I already started up th’ Curious Diversity out back. I figured you’d be needin’ a lift t’ th’ archive.”
Charles thumped him on the back again and grinned. “Good old Tummeler.”
“We’re not going to the palace?” asked Charles as Tummeler guided the steam-belching vehicle onto one of the broad streets that led to the northern part of the island. “Don’t we need to consult with Artus, ah, that is, the High King?”
“That’s where I be taking y’, Scowler Charles,” the badger said without taking his eyes from the road ahead. “T’ th’ king.”
As they traveled, Bert explained just how drastically things had changed in the Archipelago, particularly in regard to the Palace of Paralon, where the High King and Queen sat on the Silver Throne. On the outside, it looked much the same as it had when they had last been there. It was still a mighty and impressive edifice, and a number of ministers and officials circulated around an axis somewhere in the center—represented by King Artus. But it was no longer the true seat of authority in the Archipelago.
Rather than embrace and revel in the trappings of authority, wealth, and power, as would almost anyone who found themselves heir to a throne, Artus had apparently eschewed ceremony and was conducting the affairs of the kingdom in the ruins of the Old City, the first built by his ancestor Artigel, son of Arthur.
Artus reportedly liked to conduct affairs of state while sprawled on his stomach behind a makeshift throne in a vast hall with only half a ceiling. On the floor, he examined maps and parchments and a pile of various reports that was constantly being added to by the continuous stream of officials who made the trek from the palace.
“He wasn’t in Paralon for a year,” Bert said, “before he moved everything here, lock, stock, and powder horn. It turns out he had a passion for the old archives, and I daresay it’s made him a better ruler for it.”
“What do you know?” said Jack. “The potboy turned out to be a scholar after all.”
Tummeler guided the Curious Diversity along the bottom of the canyon, which had been recently paved. They glided smoothly past the great doors that led to Samaranth’s treasure hoard without so much as a swerve in its direction.
“Shouldn’t we be consulting Samaranth as well?” asked John. “After all, he’s probably the oldest creature in the Archipelago.”
“Considered,” said Bert, “but he’s gone with the rest of his kind, searching for the Dragonships. And he may be old, but his knowledge is broad, not deep. Other than the royal family and the Caretakers, he hasn’t paid as much attention to mankind as you