The Search for the Red Dragon - James A. Owen [33]
“Let’s stick to Artus, then,” declared Charles. “I’m not sure I can fit ‘Bug’ and ‘Your Majesty’ together in my brain at the same time.”
It took a long while for the companions to explain everything that had transpired, during which Artus ordered several trays of food brought in—which the servants spread around them on the floor.
“I hope you don’t mind,” Artus said apologetically. “I’m just so much more comfortable working here on the floor. A throwback to my early days on Avalon, I suppose. The old witches didn’t let me have any furniture, so I had to learn to make do.
“I can’t quite get used to the fancy thrones and banquet halls and whatnot. Sure,” he continued, “every so often, for an official function, we have to put on the robes and do all that kingly stuff. But mostly I like to spend time working among the people in the shops and on the docks. When they’re not on fire, that is,” he added.
“It’s fine,” John assured him. “What do you know about the ships? Who’s setting them ablaze?”
“We don’t know,” said the king. “But everything you’ve told me has sparked an idea. Come with me.” Artus jumped to his feet. “I want to show you something.”
Artus led them through several cavernous rooms piled with loose papers that seemed newly made, fresh. They were certainly not typical archive materials. Past those rooms they came before a great set of doors, guarded by two powerful-looking elves.
“I’ve noticed a number of elves around the, uh, archive,” Jack remarked.
“Yes,” said Artus. “When the Blue Dragon was taken, King Eledir sent several other ships here to shore up any defense we might need—and those were the first ships to burn. So we’ve put the elves to work in places that need greater security.
“It’s fitting that they’re here in the Old City,” he continued. “It was Elven craftsmen who built many of the structures here, and especially the doors, but these are special.”
He pointed up at the intricately carved figures that ringed the arch at the top of each door. “These were built by a legendary craftsman who was rumored to be half elf and half troll. Made him crazy as a bedbug, but the work he did was second to none.”
As he spoke, Artus removed his ring, the symbol of his office, and pressed it into a nearly imperceptible depression in the metal frame. There was an audible click from inside the doors, and only then did the guards relax their stance to allow the visitors to pass.
“I read somewhere that the rings and the locking mechanism were both carved from a ‘lodestone,’” said Artus, “but I haven’t the faintest idea what that is.”
He opened the massive doors. Inside they saw a honeycomb of shelves upon shelves filled with bound books, sheets of parchment, and rolls of papyrus, all in an incredible state of disarray.
“Please forgive the mess,” Artus said mildly. “The main body of the library has been moved now and again, and we keep adding new materials before we’ve had a chance to fully catalogue what we already have.”
“So this is the Great Whatsit,” Charles said, unable to disguise the admiration in his voice. “I wonder what old Craigie at the OED would think about this, eh, John?”
“Ah,” said Artus. “I see Tummeler’s been talking. No, it’s okay,” he added when Charles began to stammer an apology. “I know that’s what the animals began calling it. So does just about everyone else. It’s not a bad name, Great Whatsit. It’s better than what Aven called it, which, um, I can’t really repeat—lots of sailor words and the like, you know.”
It was the first time Artus had mentioned Aven in any context at all, and he did so in such a matter-of-fact way that none of the companions could discern anything from the remark.
Artus turned away from his friends, cupped his hands to his mouth, and bellowed, “Solomon! Solomon Kaw!”
In response to his call, an enormous black crow dropped down from the dark recesses of the ceiling above and perched on