The Search for the Red Dragon - James A. Owen [57]
“We do,” said Laura Glue, who had wiped her nose on her sleeve before Charles could give her a handkerchief. “T’anks anyway, Charles,” she said, tucking it in her belt.
“Well, I don’t know about the rest of you,” said Jack, “but I’m rather anxious to get a look at this ‘Nether Land’ myself. Shall we get to it?”
“Of course,” John said.
“Oh!” exclaimed Laura Glue. “I almost forgot!”
She reached inside her belt and pulled out a note written on a familiar cream-colored paper that seemed to be favored among Caretakers. Beaming, she handed the slightly crumpled paper to John.
The others crowded close as he unfolded it and read:
John—
While our young friend Laura Glue was showing me her wings, we discovered something else that had been left behind in your automobile. I trust it has now come to you in a timely manner, and that you will find it helpful.
The message she brought was sent by Peter, and thus must involve the Nether Land, and the Lost Boys. And these days, there is only one way in.
The words to open the passage are on page 42.
Godspeed to you all.
Sir James Barrie
John opened the Geographica to the spread of the page Jamie had indicated. “That looks awfully familiar,” he said pensively. “Is this actually an island in the Archipelago?”
Bert pressed closer and peered over his glasses. “It must be, although I’ve never been there myself.”
The island was shaped like a broad cup, wide at the top, narrowing to a tight neck, then widening again to a small base. The legend above identified it as “Autunno.”
“Autunno,” said John. “Italian, from a Latin base. Autumn. The island is called Autumn.”
“Hm,” said Bert. “I don’t recall ever needing to go there, although Stellan may have. But it looks ordinary enough.”
“It’s Hell,” said Charles.
“What?” the others said in a chorus.
“Hell,” Charles repeated. “Or at least, Sandro Botticelli’s version of Hell.”
Bert snapped his fingers. “Beat me with a noodle—he’s right. The cartographic image is that of an island, but the shape and topographical details match exactly the painting Botticelli did of Hell for Dante’s Inferno.”
“That makes sense,” said John. “The Cartographer said that Dante was one of the only Caretakers who visited the Underneath.”
“Fine,” said Jack, “but how does it apply to finding the Underneath?”
“I think it is the Underneath,” replied John. “The coordinates for Autunno are exactly the same as those for the Chamenos Liber. So it stands to reason that it is precisely where we’ve been told it is—Underneath, being guarded by the Chamenos Liber.”
“Can’t Autunno also be translated as ‘Fall’?” asked Jack.
“I don’t like the sound of that,” said Charles.
“Mmm, possibly,” said John. “I’m not as practiced with Italian, especially in this rough script. Give me a few minutes and I’ll have all the text sorted out.”
“Italian?” Jack asked Bert as John moved to the foredeck for privacy. “Dante wouldn’t have written his annotations in Latin?”
Bert shook his head. “Remember that Dante, for all his faults, was also a communicator. Most of the poems of the time were classified as ‘high’ for the serious topics, or ‘low’ for the vulgar ones. He thought it was a mistake not to write about the grander themes in a language that was more accessible to the common people.
“So when he chose to write an epic about the redemption of man, a subject of utter gravity and great import, he shocked most of civilized society by doing it in Italian. His tendency to do the contrarian thing was probably one of the reasons he was selected as a Caretaker.”
“Indeed,” said Charles. “That’s an exceedingly noble and Romantic notion. Romantic with a capital R, that is,” he added.
“How so?” asked Bert.
“I believe that as human beings, we are all connected to one another, and in that way, largely dependent on one another for survival. A belief,” he said, observing the fauns still at work repairing the balloon at one end of the deck, and John translating Dante’s notes at the other, “that has only grown stronger during this adventure.
“I