The Search for the Red Dragon - James A. Owen [4]
When they had parted ways in London years earlier, they had made a pact to never contact one another except in the event of a situation arising that involved the care of the Geographica, or the Archipelago, or in case of another extreme emergency. It was, they decided, the only way to protect the secrets they had been entrusted with.
It was likely, if not inevitable, that their academic pursuits would sooner or later bring them into contact with one another; but otherwise, it might foster too many questions for the three to be in one another’s company. And in nine years, no occasion had arisen for any of them to cross paths—so for Jack to deliberately break their pact and contact each of them directly was, John suspected, probably more for a bad reason than a good one. Unlikely as it was, he hoped it was the latter.
The small cottage where Jack was staying was near a cozy little village at the edge of Oxford city. They parked the car on a patch of gravel just off the road, and after checking on the Geographica, went to the front door and knocked.
The door was opened immediately by a thickset, tanned fellow in military dress, who bore more than a passing resemblance to the young man they both remembered. John and Charles both hesitated, before remembering that it was Jack’s brother who had summoned them there in the first place.
John immediately stiffened into the formal posture he affected when addressing a fellow officer. “You are a captain, I believe?” he asked before the other waved off the question.
“Please, we’re all informal here,” the man said, shaking John’s proffered hand. “I’m heading swiftly for retirement in a few more years and plan to soon be devoting my time to assembling the family papers and as much reading as I can manage.”
“I’m John, and this is Charles. We came as quickly as we could.”
“A pleasure,” said Charles, stepping forward to shake the man’s hand. “You’re Warren?”
“Call me Warnie—Jack does. I’m very grateful to both of you for coming. Although I must admit, it is a bit odd that he should ask for you.”
“Why is that?” said Charles.
“As I understand it,” Warnie explained, “you’ve not actually become officially acquainted since he began teaching at Magdalen. In fact, before yesterday, Jack never so much as mentioned either of you at all.”
It was a testament to the swiftness of their self-control that neither John nor Charles exchanged a glance at this.
“It’s just that Jack is an intensely private person,” Warnie continued, “and while he’s an excellent tutor, and is very affable with our circle of friends, it’s unlike him to be so open about personal matters with, er, ah, strangers, so to speak. And especially so to invite them here to his private study. No offense.”
“None taken,” said Charles, trying to keep the mood light. “If I’d come here for a bit of solitude, I wouldn’t want to be disturbed either. This is a lovely accommodation. It’s called the Kilns, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is,” said Warnie, nodding, “after the brick buildings down the way.
“We’ve taken it for a few months so that Jack could get some work done,” he went on. “It’s a very pleasant place, actually, and very convenient to Oxford, as you’ve seen. The gardens are quite large—almost a park—and extremely overgrown. But I wouldn’t mind settling here for good, if we had the coin to afford the price.”
He regarded Charles appraisingly. “You called it the Kilns—you know Headington Quarry, then?”
“I’ve had my opportunities for walking expeditions from the city,” replied Charles. “Not so much now that I’m based in London, but I do like returning here to Oxford now and again.”
“I haven’t been out this direction yet,” John said, “but now that I’ve been given the new position at the university, I expect I’ll have plenty of opportunities.”
“New professor