The Search for the Red Dragon - James A. Owen [78]
Daedalus handed the book to John. “Can you read Ancient Greek?” he asked.
“Well enough,” answered John, taking the book, “as long as it isn’t mixed up with Latin.”
He scanned the page the inventor had indicated, then the next, and the next. “Amazing,” he muttered under his breath. He looked up at Daedalus. “I think I see what you mean.”
“What is it, John?” said Jack.
“According to this book,” explained John, “Medea never killed Jason’s sons, but brought them to these islands in exile. They were left to fend for themselves and became very bitter—they blamed their father for being abandoned here—so they discarded their Greek names and chose new names for themselves.”
“What did they choose?” asked Charles.
“You’ll never believe it,” said John. “They called themselves Hugh the Iron and William the Pig.”
“Those are the men in Bacon’s History!” Jack exclaimed. “The ones who stole the Red Dragon!”
“To them, they weren’t stealing,” said Bert, “but reclaiming their birthright.”
“Just so,” said Daedalus. “The sons of Jason and Medea are the original Lost Boys.”
“That must be the right deduction,” Bert said sadly. “William and Hugh must be the ones who have taken the children and caused all the destruction.”
“They would have known the Red Dragon was once the Argo,” reasoned Charles, “and they did tell Bacon they were claiming their inheritance.”
“They also said to give a message to Peter and Jamie,” said John. “At least William did. So perhaps he believed that only they would be able to understand the clue and help. What can they possibly have been thinking? How could they be on a crusade of vengeance while at the same time be sabotaging their own efforts by trying to do the right thing?”
“That’s adolescents for you,” said Charles.
“Satyagraha,” John murmured.
“It’s the basic conflict between the two halves of men’s souls,” said Jack, “but Charles is right. There’s no way to determine what they were planning.”
“You’d have to put yourselves in their sandals,” said Daedalus. “Imagine yourself to be them. Imagine you have been abandoned, and you will never grow old—but you will never have anything more, because you are trapped, and all paths to the future are seemingly closed to you. What would you choose? How would you act, if the means for retribution were placed within your grasp?”
“How can I make a determination like that, when I’ll never be faced with the same circumstance?” said John. “I have grown old. I have begun a family. I can guess what they have endured, but the recollections of my youth will be imperfect. So there’s no way for me to know how I might have chosen, when I’m already on a path I can’t retrace.”
“Ah,” said Daedalus. “But what if you can?”
Daedalus led the companions out of his workshop and down a cobbled path between the gabled towers to a brightly lit clearing where Sadie Pepperpot and Laura Glue had their garden.
There were rows of carrots and lettuce, clumsily arranged between clusters of beets, corn, and some leafy vegetables that none of them could readily identify. Laura Glue was excitedly leading Aven around from cluster to cluster and waved happily when she saw the companions approaching.
“Jack! Charles! John!” she called. “You must see my snozzberries! They’re almost ready to harvest!”
“Snozzberries?” Charles said behind his hand.
“Third dessert course,” Daedalus replied.
“Ah. Lovely,” said Charles. “Show us the snozzberries, my dear girl.”
“I’m sorry I left,” said Aven. “I got caught up in a lot of old feelings. It’s a very comforting place for me.”
“No need to apologize,” said Daedalus, “but you should come with us now. We’re going to the Well.”
The inventor didn’t explain, but walked past the gardens and into a small orchard that stood on a grassy knoll. The children followed, circling the grown-ups like a whirlwind of paper cranes, and took turns interrupting one another in their haste to explain that the orchard was the reason Haven was built.
“This is Raleigh’s Orchard,” said Laura Glue. “It was planted