The Search for the Red Dragon - James A. Owen [36]
“It hasn’t been two days since the ships started to vanish,” Artus began, his back to them and his voice soft. “We can’t really determine how long ago the children began disappearing. But their abductor knew we’d take quicker notice of the Dragonships being gone than if we couldn’t find a few misbehaving children.
“We took even more notice yesterday when the Yellow Dragon—the Nautilus—vanished with my boy aboard. We—I—Aven and I—thought it would be the safest…”
Artus stood straighter. “When the reports of the missing children began to come in, we thought he’d be safer there, aboard a living ship. One that could take action on its own, if the situation demanded it. Then the elves arrived and anchored their ships alongside, and I don’t think I could have arranged a better, more secure place if you’d asked. I even considered taking him to Terminus, except it would have been too long a journey.
“Then the Yellow Dragon vanished altogether, and the Elven ships were set ablaze. The guards were killed, their throats cut. And there was no way to follow the missing ship, because no one had seen it go. It had simply vanished. That’s when I summoned Bert and instructed him to seek you out.”
“Then why, Artus?” said Jack. “If you knew more help was coming, why didn’t you set out then to go find your son?”
In answer, Artus pointed to the pile of papers on the table. John stepped forward and looked at one of the topmost papers, then another.
“They’re letters,” he told the others.
“Correct,” said Artus. “They began coming in three days ago, but my steward only brought them to my attention yesterday, just before the Yellow Dragon vanished.
“At last count, we have six thousand, eight hundred letters, and more were coming in before the ships were put to the torch. And every one of them is from a mother or father who lost a child in the night. Every one.”
He turned to look at them, a quiet resolve on his face. This was no longer their old friend, the potboy of Avalon, talking. This was a man who had realized what it truly meant to be given a kingdom.
“What I’ve been doing,” Artus said, looking directly at Jack, “is directing the affairs of Paralon, and the associated island-states and city-states who have representatives here, to try to control an uncontrollable crisis. You were here, with me, the last time a crisis arose and there was no one man, one leader, to whom the Archipelago could turn for guidance.
“I don’t know if I’m able—but like it or not, I’m the High King. The people here trust that I will make the choices that will help us all, not just those that benefit me. So how could I possibly have left this to my steward, and the other officials, just to go look for my own son, when there is no one else in authority here to look out for the thousands of others who are lost?”
Jack couldn’t speak, but simply extended his hand in response. Artus took it with no hesitation, then clapped his friend on the shoulder.
“Besides,” he said, “if there were anyone on Earth who would see the value of saving the world through library maintenance, it’d be the three ‘scowlers’ from Oxford.”
Charles snapped his fingers. “Oxford men! I say, Artus, that may be the key.”
He turned to Bert. “Whom did you say was the Caretaker after Wace?”
“Easy to find out,” Artus interjected. “Just check the list in the endpapers of the Geographica.”
Quickly Charles opened the book Tummeler had given him to the list of names in the front.
“I wrote the introduction for that, you know,” Artus said to Jack. “On market day, I’ve even been asked for my autograph.”
“You don’t say,” Jack replied.
“Here it is,” said Charles. “Roger Bacon had it after Wace. And didn’t he spend a lot of time here?”
“Much,” said Bert, “but he didn’t assume the role until the Crusades were over—or nearly