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“It probably helped things along that they were trapped in the Underneath,” Charles whispered back.

“Not necessarily,” noted Jack. “They probably just ate anyone who disagreed with them.”

Most of the Indian Elders sat cross-legged in the broad chairs along the walls, while two of them (whom Burton had indicated as his aides-de-camp) sat on the pedestal with him—though on noticeably lower seats nearer the back. The first, the man called Murthwaite, wore a broad mustache and thick glasses and was scrupulously taking notes on everything said and done.

“Secretary-general,” whispered Charles.

“Indeed,” said Bert.

The other aide was a dusky-skinned, full-blooded Indian Burton called Hairy Billy. He was naked from the waist up, save for several strings of beads and elaborate necklaces that lay on his chest, and had taken a curious interest in Aven. Aven, for her part, regarded him coolly but gave no indication that she noticed the unusual attentions.

“But he’s bald,” said Laura Glue. “Why do you call him ‘Hairy Billy’?”

Burton smiled and crouched down in front of the girl. “Once, when he was much younger, he crossed the waters here to a forbidden island, where the children all choose their own names. And although he was rescued later, he insisted we call him by his new name—so we let him keep it. But we took something else.”

He gestured at the Indian, who gave a wide, openmouthed smile in return, revealing the fact that he had no tongue. It had been cut out.

Laura Glue shuddered and shrank back from Burton, who grinned more broadly and stood up.

“Discipline,” he said to no one in particular. “It’s a harsh lesson to learn, but necessary. And lessons we learn through pain are seldom forgotten.” This last he said while fingering the deep scars on his cheeks, before he snapped out of his reverie and turned to Bert.

“I suppose these are your apprentices, eh, Caretaker?” said Burton.

“Full Caretakers,” Bert replied. “The very ones who defeated the Winter King.”

At the mention of their old adversary, Burton’s eyes glittered, and he took a renewed interest in the three young men.

“I have heard of you,” he said slowly. “The three scholars who changed the course of the world’s destiny. I suppose the prophecy would have been fulfilled sooner or later, else what’s a prophecy for?”

“Prophecy?” said John.

“For another time,” Bert said hurriedly. “What do you want of us, Sir Richard?”

Burton laughed. “The honorific is not necessary. At any rate, it doesn’t apply here. The hierarchy is determined first by age, then by strength and ability. And I’m first among equals in both categories. You may address me as ‘Elder,’ or if you prefer, simply ‘Burton.’”

“When we, ah, met, Burton,” said Charles, “you introduced yourself as a representative of the Imperial Cartological Society. Is that an organization of the Empire? I’m afraid I never heard of it.”

Burton swiveled around. “Indeed. It is of the Empire, and it was sanctioned by Victoria herself.

“After my enlightening but brief apprenticeship as a Caretaker with Dickens, I continued researching the history of the Geographica and the Archipelago on my own, and I made a surprising discovery: There had been many apprentice Caretakers throughout history who, like myself, were trained, then abandoned.”

“For cause,” Bert said mildly.

“An opinion,” Burton shot back, “of one viewing the situation from a privileged position.”

“Well, why were you set aside?” Charles asked.

“Because,” replied Burton, “I disagreed with one of the fundamental rules of looking after the Imaginarium Geographica—that it, and everything having to do with the Archipelago of Dreams, must be kept secret from the world. Nemo and I had many violent arguments about it, but in the end, he left the decision to Dickens, and I was shut out.”

“You don’t think knowledge of the Archipelago would be too great a burden for the common man?” asked Jack.

“Knowledge is a responsibility,” John said, nodding, “but most people don’t know they aren’t ready for it until they already have it—and by then, it’s too late.”

“Really?