The Search for the Red Dragon - James A. Owen [35]
“As you did with The Time Machine,” said Jack.
“Yes,” said Bert, “and others. Jules did it too. And Cervantes, Shakespeare…A lot of real history, biography, and geography can be found in the fiction of the world.
“At least,” he added with a wink, “those fictions written by Caretakers.”
“This one was written by Geoffrey of Monmouth’s immediate successor,” said Bert. “Robert Wace. He also had a lot to say about the Arthurian histories.”
“I remember,” said John. “He wrote a French version of Geoffrey’s Arthurian compilations and dedicated it to Eleanor of Aquitaine. He’s also the source of the story about Arthur’s legendary Round Table.”
“It isn’t actually round,” Artus confided to Charles. “It’s more oblong, but it still served the same purpose, I think.”
“What does it say about the message?” asked Jack. “Does it say anything about a Crusade?”
“The actual Crusades in your world had already begun nearly a century earlier,” said Bert. “But I don’t think the message had anything to do with those. We have two clues to go on. First, Jamie mentioned a memory of a Crusade myth; then, the Morgaine said that something had changed Time—and they both alluded to it as an event that happened seven centuries ago.
“Seven hundred years ago the Caretaker was Master Wace. And he spent a great deal of time in the Archipelago, working on Histories of his own. If there is a myth about a Crusade dating to that time, I can’t imagine he wouldn’t have known about it—and written it down.”
“I agree,” said John. “The warning came from the Archipelago. It won’t be an event that took place back in our world that we’re looking for.”
“Well, it’s not that long a history,” Charles said, tracing across the book’s thickness with his thumb. “Between us, we should be able to skim through it in an hour or two.”
Just then, Solomon Kaw dropped back down from the gloom at the top of the room, with a second identical book in his talons—followed closely by a flock of other crows, all carrying books that they lowered into an ever-increasing pile on and around the desk.
“I told you,” Bert said. “Master Wace spent a lot of time here, and he loved to write.”
“Just how many history books did he write?” asked John.
“For-for-forty-three,” replied Solomon Kaw.
“I’ll order some more food and drink,” said Artus. “This is going to take a while.”
As an academic exercise, poring over nearly four dozen incunabula would have been considered a fine weekend activity by John, Jack, and Charles. Artus, aided by Bert, had a slightly slower time of it but demonstrated a facility for quickly summarizing complex material that none of them would have guessed he had.
An as exercise of discovery, however, it was an absolute failure. Nothing in any of the books referred to a Crusade taking place in the Archipelago for a two-hundred-year span. There were events of import, and skirmishes, and minor wars—John had found a ten-page account of something called “The Chyckenne War of Gryffynne Baye”—but nothing that hinted at any solutions to their growing list of problems.
“Well,” Artus said jovially, “still not a bad way to pass an afternoon, all things considered.”
“Not a bad way to—,” Jack began, rising to his feet. “Damn your eyes, Artus! We’ve been in here for hours now! We’ve been thumbing through old books, and eating, and generally having a leisurely afternoon of it, when we should be out there, looking for your son!”
Neither Artus nor the others said anything, but merely waited so Jack could finish saying what he needed to say. John and Charles had also wondered why their friend was not more concerned with his missing son, but they didn’t feel it was their place to address it.
Jack’s motivations, however, ran deeper.
“I’m sorry, Artus,” he said. “But it must be said. How can you be expected to solve the problems of an entire kingdom if you can’t even spare a moment’s concern for your own son?”
Artus uncrossed his legs and stood up. Without a word, he strode