The Search for the Red Dragon - James A. Owen [47]
“You’re welcome,” Bert said to no one in particular.
As before, the door was locked—but Aven, as queen, had a ring that bore the seal of the High King. A touch was all it took. There was a soft click as the lock disengaged, and the door swung inward.
The Cartographer of Lost Places was sitting at his desk, concentrating on a very elaborate map.
“If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you thrice,” he said, irritated, “I haven’t the faintest idea who killed Edwin Drood, so you can just stop asking. You wouldn’t be in this mess if you hadn’t started that dratted serial.”
“Edwin Drood?” John inquired, stepping forward into the densely cluttered room. “I haven’t asked you anything about Edwin Drood.”
The Cartographer frowned and peered at his visitors over the top of his glasses. “Really? Aren’t you the Caretaker Principia?”
“Well, yes, but…”
“Hold on a moment,” the Cartographer said. He hopped off his chair and strode over to John. “You’re not Charles.”
“Ah, that would be me,” said Charles.
“Really?” exclaimed the Caretaker. “How extraordinary. You used to be much more handsome.”
“What?” Charles sputtered. “But…but I’ve only seen you the one time.”
“Nonsense. You’ve been here plenty of times,” said the Cartographer. “Although I wish you’d get rid of that apprentice of yours. He’s a bad egg, that one. What was his name? Maggot something?”
“Magwich,” said Charles. “And that’s the first thing you’ve said that’s made sense.”
“Hmm,” said the Cartographer. “You really aren’t Dickens, are you?”
“None of us is,” Jack put in.
“It’s for the best,” the Cartographer said. “He was a clever fellow, but he had terrible judgment when it came to apprentices. First Maggot, then that explorer fellow who snuck into Mecca. Just asking for trouble, the whole lot of them.”
Bert moved in front of the others to try to get the mapmaker to focus. “Do you remember me, at least?” he asked.
The Cartographer tilted back his head. “Hmm. The Far Traveler, unless I’m mistaken, which is seldom. Yes, yes…I do know you. What year is it, anyway?”
“It’s 1926,” said Charles.
“Excellent to hear,” said the Cartographer. “It’s helpful to know Time keeps moving forward, even as the past vanishes into smoke and ash.”
“Um, about that,” Charles began before Aven stomped on his foot. She scowled and put a finger to her lips.
“We noticed there’d been a situation,” said Bert.
“Situation?” the Cartographer exclaimed. “More like a catastrophe, if you ask me. Someone set fire to the keep and burned up an awful lot of history. It burned for nearly six years, you know.”
“How did you finally manage to put it out?” asked Jack.
“Put it out? Me?” said the Cartographer. “Hello—didn’t you notice the lock on the door? I couldn’t lift a finger. Just had to wait it out.”
“How did it go out?” asked Bert.
The Cartographer sat cross-legged on the floor and indicated that the others should sit as well. “I think it went out when it reached the doors that opened up to the end of the Silver Age, or the beginning of the Bronze,” he said. “Around 1600 BC or thereabouts. That would have done the trick.”
“What happened at the beginning of the Bronze Age?” Charles whispered to John.
“Deucalion’s flood,” John replied.
“Yep,” said the Cartographer, winking at Charles. “Water out the ying-yang. It also put out the Thera eruption, so it could certainly douse a little tower fire.”
“Well,” said Charles, “at least it stopped the damage before it could take the whole tower out.”
“Stopped?” the Cartographer said in surprise. “Slowed, maybe, but not stopped. The entire base of the keep is missing, or hadn’t you noticed? The fire may be out, but the foundation is gone, and the structure is fatally weakened. Stones continue to fall into the sea, and door by door, the tower is still vanishing. What remains is only here because it’s in the future—but our past catches up to us. It always does.”
“What happens when it finally gets to the top?” asked John. “What will happen to you?”
“Well,