The Search for the Red Dragon - James A. Owen [63]
But it wasn’t the writing that had so stunned their friend. It was the illustration.
It depicted a world within a world. And the smaller sphere was held aloft on the back and shoulders of the Titan Atlas. The drawing also showed him holding back the oceans above with his hands, so that the world within would not be flooded.
And together, they suddenly realized what the towers on the horizon were.
“Look,” John said, tipping his head at the sky. “If you squint your eyes, you can just make out his hands.”
John took charge of the group and declared that they’d be better off climbing down from the wall of ships and making their way to the beach to try and assess where they were. It was easier to do than any of them expected: The ships were accumulated in such a way that the wall formed a natural (if exceedingly large) set of steps. Within an hour, they were sitting on the beach just outside the tree line. John and Bert continued to study the Geographica while the others looked around for any other distinguishing landmarks they could use to identify the island.
“Distinguishing landmarks other than the giant skeleton holding up the sky, that is,” said Charles. “If that isn’t a Nether Land kind of sign, I don’t know what is.”
“This isn’t the Nether Land,” Aven declared. “I have no idea where we are.”
Laura Glue’s head bobbed up and down in agreement. “The sky is all right, but we don’t have smelly trees,” she said bluntly. Then suddenly she grew alarmed. “My wings! I’ve lost my wings!”
“They’re probably just aboard the Indigo Dragon, wherever it is,” said Jack. “I’m sure they’ll turn up.”
“Unless it sank,” Charles said. “Do you think it was damaged that badly?”
Aven shook her head. “I doubt it. I think it struck the ship we landed on and may have rolled to the other side of the wall. Even if it ended up in the water, the hull was fine, and if we survived however far we fell, it should have too. I haven’t seen any of the crew, either—so perhaps they’ve just moored her someplace to continue repairs.”
The queen of Paralon sounded very sure—but the worried expression on her face told a different story.
John closed the Geographica. “That’s all I can get,” he said. “There’s nothing else in here that can help identify where we are.”
“Dante wrote about nine circles of Hell,” suggested Charles. “Perhaps he based that on nine lands here in the Underneath.”
“Dante wrote more allegorically than literally,” said Bert. “There’s no way to be sure, short of exploring the place on our own.”
“I say,” declared Charles, “perhaps we could just ask that lot over there at the trees.”
The companions looked in the direction Charles was facing and saw nearly a dozen men standing just outside the tree line, watching them. The men were curiously dressed, wearing common-looking shirts and trousers, but also various belts and outer garments that were adorned with feathers and colored beads.
They were also heavily armed. Several held muskets loosely against their shoulders, and all had either spears or bows and quivers of arrows.
“Oh, no,” cried Laura Glue. “Run! Hide! It’s Grandfather’s enemies! It’s the Indians! We have to run!”
Before the companions could process what the girl was saying, another line of men stepped out of the forest on the opposite end of the beach. They were dressed identically to the first group, and were just as well armed.
The companions were surrounded.
“Very odd Indians,” Charles said to Jack. “They seem to be Europeans.”
“Maybe she meant Eastern Indians,” said Jack.
“Her grandfather’s enemies, she said,” John whispered. “From Barrie’s book, remember? I think they are some kind of American Indian.”
The two groups of men made no move toward the newcomers they’d encircled, but instead watched and waited. And then another man stepped out of the woods behind the first