The Search for the Red Dragon - James A. Owen [44]
“Well, if it’s any consolation,” John said, “I’ve never gone by ‘John’ in my entire life. I’ve always preferred ‘Ronald,’ but the military used my full name, and there were times when propriety required that I be introduced as ‘John,’ and so that’s how Professor Sigurdsson came to know me. And then you fellows, of course. But there’s no one else in the world who knows me as John.”
“We’re not really in the world, in case you hadn’t noticed,” Jack noted.
“Point taken.”
“So would you rather we called you Ronald?” asked Jack.
John shook his head. “I don’t think so. Being ‘John’ is something I’ve come to associate with the Geographica and our travels together, and it’s almost as if I’ve become a different person here. So John is fine.”
“How about you?” Jack said, turning to Charles, who had just emerged from the galley licking his fingers. “Anything you’d like to share about your name or names?”
Charles cleared his throat. “Well, I once wrote a play, starring myself, in which I assumed the identity of a great adventurer, modeled after Baron Munchausen, whose name was Brigadier-General Throatwarbler-Mangrove. I tried to coerce my friends to refer to me as ‘Brigadier-General,’ or at least ‘TM,’ but it never really took.”
Jack’s eyes goggled. “That’s amazing.”
John laughed and snorted. “How old were you when that idiotic idea crossed your mind?”
“It was last month,” said Charles, looking slightly put out.
“Sorry,” said John.
“You’d have been in fine company,” Bert said as he emerged from the cabin with two steaming mugs of millet and barley soup. “Baron Munchausen wasn’t his real name either,” he said, handing a mug to Charles.
“Really?” said Charles. “What was it?”
Bert puffed his cheeks and blew on the hot soup. “Ramon Felipe San Juan Mario Silvio Enrico Smith Heathcourt-Brace Sierra y Alvarez-del Rey y de los Verdes. But we all called him Lester.”
“Dear God.” Charles shook his head. “I’m sorry I asked.”
The night passed uneventfully, although Aven’s expression grew darker every time she noted the lack of ships on the great expanse below them.
Bert, Aven, and the crew knew the way to the smaller archipelago, where the keep was located, well enough to make consulting Tummeler’s Geographica unnecessary. This was a reprieve for John, who was hoping that his error in leaving the real atlas in London wouldn’t come up.
“We’re approaching the islands,” Aven said. “We should give the center a wide berth—remember the steam, from the volcanic cone? That will play havoc with the airship.”
“She can’t quite bring herself to call it ‘the Indigo Dragon,’” Bert said to Jack. “Still too attached to the old one, I’m afraid.”
Aven tossed aside Jack’s copy of the Geographica and snorted. “These children’s books are more a threat than anything. They don’t note things important to navigation, and they skip too many of the dangers in the Archipelago.”
“Tummeler probably worried that it would be bad for sales,” Charles offered helpfully. “It’s the publisher’s dilemma.”
“We’d probably better keep to the original,” Aven said, turning to John. “That’s what it’s for, after all.”
“Ah, about that,” John began.
“Oh, my stars and garters!” Bert exclaimed. “I don’t think this is a problem that can be dealt with by reading the Imaginarium Geographica.”
The others crowded around the starboard side of the ship’s railing to see what the old man was talking about. Just ahead, in the creeping light of morning, they could see the silhouettes of the necklace-shaped ring of islands amidst the ever-present steam.
The stone columns of granite were just as the companions remembered them—with one stunning exception.
“The Keep of Time,” Bert said in astonishment. “It’s gone.”
High above them, like a great gray comet…
CHAPTER TEN
The Tower in the Air
The largest of the islands, where the Keep of Time had previously stood, was stark and barren.