The Search for the Red Dragon - James A. Owen [48]
He stood up and dusted off the seat of his pants. “Now, you didn’t come up whatever stairs are still remaining to talk about my health,” he said wryly, “but anyone who’s indifferent to the fate of Edwin Drood is okay in my book. So what can I do for you?”
The companions took turns relating the story until all of the events had been laid out for the Cartographer, who sat at his desk and listened without comment. When they had finished, he simply turned away and began to work on his map.
John, Jack, and Charles looked at one another, bewildered, but Aven stepped to the desk and tapped the mapmaker on the shoulder.
“Excuse me,” she said. “But you might just be the rudest person I’ve ever met.”
The Cartographer put down his quill. “Really? What a boring life you must have led. I’m sorry—it was a lovely story—but was there a question?”
“About a million of them!” cried Jack. “Where have all the children been taken? And the Dragonships? Who’s burning all the other ships? And what happened to change history seven hundred years ago?”
The Cartographer sighed heavily. “No doubt you came to see me because of the nature of the keep, but my knowledge and understanding of it is rudimentary at best. I make maps. I make very good maps. I am the best mapmaker who ever lived. So if you need maps, I’m your man. But it isn’t my fault or responsibility that someone ruined a tapestry on Avalon, or wrecked history, or did whatever they did that has the Morgaine’s knickers in a twist.
“I also don’t have the slightest idea where the children are, or who is burning your ships. Sorry. And as to the missing Dragonships—the Morgaine already told you where they are, and I wouldn’t be surprised if the answers to some of your other problems come to light when you retrieve them.”
Even Bert looked puzzled at this, and the Cartographer let out an annoyed groan. “And you call yourselves Caretakers. The Morgaine said they were in the Underneath, guarded by the Chamenos Liber, did they not?”
“Sure,” said John. “But—”
“But nothing,” said the Cartographer. “The last time you paid me a visit, how did you find the Keep of Time to begin with?”
John blinked a few times, then his eyes grew wide and his face turned a deep crimson.
“I’d forgotten,” he said.
“So,” said the Cartographer. “The other shoe drops again.”
“We don’t have to go looking for Chamenos Liber,” John told the others sheepishly. “We’re already there. This chain of islands here was called Chamenos Liber in the notes in the Geographica.”
“I remember!” declared Charles. “You’d set it aside as unimportant because it was a mishmash of Latin and ancient Greek, and all the notes about it were otherwise in Italian.”
“Alighieri,” said the Cartographer. “Now there was a Caretaker. Even came back from the dead so his sons could finish that little poem. You’d never catch him whining about Drood this and Drood that.”
“So why did you call it that?” Jack asked the Cartographer. “Why Chamenos Liber?”
The mapmaker shrugged. “It wasn’t named by me. It was named by someone much older—actually a granduncle of sorts, now I think about it. But if your Caretaker Principia had paid just a bit more attention, half of your problems might be over already.”
“Why half?” asked Charles.
“As you’ve already noted, Chamenos Liber is mixed Latin and ancient Greek, and the meaning of Latin words can change with specific usage. Liber doesn’t mean ‘book’—it means ‘boy.’ Translated properly, Chamenos Liber means ‘Lost Boys.’”
At the revelation, Aven stiffened, although no one noticed but Jack—and he couldn’t tell if it was from dismay, or from shock like the rest of them.
“So the islands themselves guard the Underneath, whatever that is,” said John.
“You’re getting your wind, philologically speaking,” observed the Cartographer. “The rest should be a breeze.”
“The rest?” John said.
“And you were so close to having my respect,” said the Cartographer. “The Underneath is an extension of the Archipelago—another chain