The Search for the Red Dragon - James A. Owen [62]
Jack and Charles moved closer to see which maps Bert was referring to.
“The Underneath does have other names,” explained Bert, “and each of the lands within also has its own name and identity.”
“Like Paralon is an island within the Archipelago of Dreams,” said Charles.
“Precisely,” said Bert. “This place been called Skartaris by some, but most would know it as Pellucidar,” he continued, pointing at an expansive map that bore a strong resemblance to central Europe.
“From Edgar Rice Burroughs’s books?” Charles said contemptuously. “That’s terrible—don’t tell me he was a Caretaker.”
“Close, but no cigar,” replied Bert. “He has the imagination in spades but didn’t care one whit about learning the languages needed—or having much to do at all with the Archipelago, save as a source of story material. Jules spent considerable time with him—apparently—and made every effort to accommodate his eccentricities, but to no avail.”
“It’s for the best, believe me,” snorted Charles. “His prose is atrocious. Of course he couldn’t master other languages. He’s still working on English.”
“Now, Charles,” Jack admonished. “You have to admit, some of his publishers are very respectable. That American magazine that serialized his Ape Man stories, for example—they’re first class.”
“Granted,” said Charles. “But the idea that he might have become a Caretaker is appalling.”
Bert sighed. “What can one say? People do have their own ambitions, and most reasons for pursuing them aren’t benevolent. Some accepted for the wealth, as Edgar did, and some for the fame.”
“Did you do it for the wealth or the fame?” Jack asked Charles.
“I’m still trying to decide,” said Charles, grinning. “If we ever make it back to London, that is.”
Aven and Laura Glue had finally come fully awake and had chosen to leave the discussion of maps to the Caretakers. They had moved a short distance away and were playing some sort of game. Neither one seemed particularly bothered by the happening that had brought them to this place, Jack noted aloud.
“Of course not,” said Bert. “They’ve both been here before—or somewhere like here, at least.”
“Why aren’t there more notes?” John asked as he thumbed through the previous few maps. “There ought to be more of—well, something written about this place.”
“No one makes new annotations if no one visits,” said Bert, “and since the last one here was probably Jamie, I’m not surprised by the lack of information.”
“Skartaris,” Jack mused, rubbing his chin. “That sounds very familiar, come to think of it….”
“It should,” said Bert. “That’s the name of the mountain that cast a shadow across the entrance to the center of the Earth in Jules’s book. Scartaris.”
“So it was based on the Underneath?” John exclaimed. “And he never told you this?”
Bert shrugged. “He is a writer, after all,” he said plaintively. “We do make things up on occasion, you know.”
John was about to make another remark when his brow furrowed, and he leaned closer to the page he’d just turned to. Suddenly he gasped and then swallowed hard.
“I say, John. Are you all right?” asked Jack.
The others looked down at the Caretaker Principia. All the blood had drained from his face, and he was trembling so violently that the atlas was shaking in his hands.
“John?” Jack asked, concerned. “What is it?”
Wordlessly John stood up, then slowly walked away from the tree line back to the clearing where they’d awakened. He stood there, staring at the Geographica, then dropped it to the ground and looked up into the sky.
Aven and Laura Glue had noticed the others’ concern and rejoined them from the fallen trees where they’d been sitting and playing their game.
“Is he all right?” Aven asked Jack in a low voice.
“I can’t say,” he answered. “He looks as if he’s seen a ghost.”
“Not a ghost,” John said without turning around or lowering his gaze. “A Titan.”
The companions crowded