The Search for the Red Dragon - James A. Owen [40]
His captor responded with a sound that was half laughter, half a contemptuous snort. “You don’t think I know where’s she’s gone? Or that I can’t follow her as I choose?”
“Follow her?” said the old man. “You can’t even enter this cave. So I don’t think you are as free as you think. Because if you were, you wouldn’t need me.”
The other speaker started to spit out a reply, then seemed to acquiesce. “Well played. But I mean to find out, whatever it takes.”
The voice became lower then, almost a purr, as a different approach was tested. “Ah, you and I, Peter…We are old adversaries, are we not? But does that not also make us brothers, of a sort? And can we not set aside old grievances and come together? You could be first among my allies—my most trusted general. What do you say?”
With the mention of his name, the old man’s eyes widened in alarm, before settling into a resigned calmness. He smiled, and let out a short chuckle. Echoing off the cave walls, it sounded like the laughter of a child.
“You’ve finally made a mistake,” the old man said. “I know who you are now. That has always been your problem—you simply can’t bear for anyone not to know who’s really pulling the strings, so to speak. I wasn’t going to help you to begin with. But now—never.”
“I could make you tell,” his captor hissed.
The old man chuckled again. “Not likely. The pipes don’t work on Longbeards.”
“All right,” the other speaker said, retreating a bit. “Perhaps if I offered you something you value more than power. If you will simply tell me where you sent the girl, and for what purpose, then perhaps…Perhaps I will allow you to return to the Well—one last time….”
The old man laughed once more, but could not disguise the brief flash of longing that crossed his features. He blinked and pursed his lips.
“Thank you, no. I think I’ll take my chances. Being old isn’t as bad as I expected it to be. After all, you know what they say—you’re as young as you feel.”
He tipped his head back and crowed, and the sound was both mocking and triumphant. And then he smiled.
The sudden crescendo of insect noises told the old man that his captor was both livid and gesturing to summon his servants. In a moment several animals had filled the cave entrance. A few made snuffling sounds; one or two were growling. All seemed to be waiting for further instruction. One of them sneezed, then rubbed at its face with a grubby, five-fingered paw.
And then the old man realized they were not animals after all. They were children.
The wolf-child sneezed again. Irritated and distracted, the captor snarled a rebuke, and in that moment the old man saw his chance.
Quickly, he whispered a few words in an ancient tongue, and in an instant, his shadow had separated itself from his body and flew along the ceiling of the cave toward the opening.
His captor cursed and ordered the feral children inside the cave to kick sand over the fire, reducing it to smoke and embers—but it was too late.
The beast-children looked to their leader for the order to pursue this new prey, but he shook his head.
“Let it go. It isn’t that important. It is only his shadow, after all.”
Again he addressed the old man, who was hanging more slackly in the frame, but whose eyes were now glittering. “Let’s begin again, shall we?”
“I can’t believe it,” said Jack, his voice echoing loudly through the halls of the Great Whatsit. “We’re trying too hard to find meaning in meaningless things. You’re seeing connections that aren’t there, John.”
“No, he isn’t,” said Bert, who had calmed down somewhat. “In fact, I think John is exactly right. I think William was trying to pass a message on. And Peter got it, which is why he sent Laura Glue to Jamie.”
“Perhaps this was the Liber the Morgaine referred to,” Charles offered. “It did reveal a missing Dragonship.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way,” said Jack, “but what’s the logic that holds this all together?”
“The ship,” said a voice from the open doorway. “Father’s right. The ship Bacon