The Search for the Red Dragon - James A. Owen [50]
This last was said with an understanding look at Charles, who nodded in acceptance and no small relief.
“There may yet be other consequences, other effects springing from the cause. The tower is failing, and it was the loss of the lower part that has permitted crossings into the past where none were possible before. The doorways were focal points, nothing more—and the pathways to which they led are now drifting freely throughout the world. That something has already been changed seven centuries ago means that someone, somewhere, has learned how to make use of this fact. And I tell you this now so that you are forewarned, O Caretakers of the Geographica and the Archipelago. Be wary. Be watchful. For Time is now in the hands of your enemy.”
Charles moved around the desk and offered his hand. “I do want to apologize. Whether it was my fault or not, someone should tell you they’re sorry.”
The Cartographer hesitated, then shook the younger man’s hand. “Thank you, Charles. But do not think too badly of Mordred, either. The course of his own history may have gone very differently if only one time, long ago, someone close to him had apologized, or at the least, stood by him when it would have cost little to do so. But no one did. And we shall all pay the price for that error, I’m afraid.”
The companions each thanked the Cartographer in turn and left the map-covered room. He was back at his desk, working, before they closed the door.
The Cartographer of Lost Places scumbled lines on the parchment at a furious pace for several minutes before finally capping his quill and laying it aside. He removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes, weary, and not for the first time. He suspected, but did not know, not for certain, what was to follow in the Archipelago, and in the world beyond. But what was to take place in the Underneath was a complete mystery. All that he knew was that the Caretakers, particularly the one called John, must find their way through the maelstrom of events on their own. It would be the only way for them to be prepared when the imago finally arrived.
“So the end justifies the means, eh?” he murmured. “This is a dangerous game you play at, Jules. It’s beyond me—and I was more than three millennia old before you were born. But one of them should have been told. He should know that he will not see the end of it. It’s only right, only just. Isn’t it?”
He waited, almost as if he expected a response, but none came. With a deep sigh, the Cartographer picked up his quill, dipped it into the inkwell, and resumed his work.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Chamenos Liber
The companions expected an easier descent down the tower, but they soon realized it wasn’t to be. The rumbling they experienced earlier had resumed at an increasing pace, accompanied by vibrations that nearly shook them from the stairs. They kept close to the walls and moved as quickly as they dared. “I think it’s the instability the Cartographer mentioned,” Bert, in the lead, called over his shoulder. “More pieces of the tower are crumbling.”
“I hope we moored the ship high enough,” said Jack. “It would be a sorry mess to find it had drifted free because the wall it was tied to suddenly fell into the ocean.”
“Don’t worry,” Aven said. “Her crew is good. They’ll keep the airship close and will be watching for us.”
“Good to know,” said Jack, sounding less than reassured.
They were close enough to the bottom to see open sky below when a tremor struck and dislodged the entirety of the counterclockwise stair. It fell past, taking chunks of the clockwise stair with it, along with several doors.
“Glad we’re not going up,” Charles remarked. “Actually, I’m glad we’re leaving altogether.”
“Cut the line, Jack,” she said softly.
Bert stopped them, putting his arm out protectively. He looked at Aven, and her brow creased with worry. “We should have already come to the window where