The Search for the Red Dragon - James A. Owen [82]
“You are a teacher, aren’t you, John?” said Charles. “Don’t you have experience talking to children?”
“I teach college, not finishing school,” said John. “Anyway, we’ve both got children, haven’t we? This shouldn’t be quite so hard.”
Daedalus laughed. “I never said it would be easy.”
John turned to Aven. “You have a son. Can’t you get Jack to focus for five minutes so we can sort this out?”
“It’s been some time since I could talk to my son as a mother talks to a child,” said Aven.
“Why is that?” asked John.
“It happened very early on,” Aven explained. “My boy decided he was a man who would one day be king, and therefore should do away with foolishness like a mother’s coddling. He was five, I believe. He wouldn’t let me kiss him anymore either. He didn’t think it was appropriate to display affection in front of ‘his people.’ Of course, ‘his people’ usually just consisted of his playmates at Paralon, his tutors, and Tummeler. But he’d made his point.”
Jack dropped out of the tree and landed clumsily next to Charles, who jumped in surprise.
“This will take some getting used to,” said Charles.
“Why?” asked Jack. “I’m still your Jack, Jacksie, Jack-Jack. I’m still myself. I can still think, and reason, and remember—dear God, how I can remember!”
John grinned wryly. His friend had the energy of a ten-year-old, that was certain. Less certain was whether that viewpoint, both new and familiar at once, could give them the knowledge they sought.
“Tell us, Jacks,” said Daedalus, “if you were Hugh and William, and you had been left here in the Underneath by your parents, what would you do?”
Jack pondered the question a moment. “I think I would build a tree fort.” He leaned over to Aven and whispered behind his hand, “There are Indians about, you know.”
“After the tree fort,” prompted Daedalus.
“I’d look for food and potable water…,” said Jack.
“An adult’s answer,” said John.
“Then I’d probably have a pee,” finished Jack.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” said Charles.
“Then what?” asked Daedalus.
“I’d have a good think,” said Jack, “and I’d probably wonder why it is that adults make children do things they don’t want to do.”
“Maybe it’s because adults know what’s best for them,” Charles suggested.
“That’s good for the boilerplate,” said Jack, “but too often adults do whatever they want to do, regardless of what the children want or need, and the adults never pay attention anyway, so why bother?”
Aven scowled at this but remained quiet. John and Charles looked at each other, unsure of what to ask next. Jack pretended to put an apple seed in his mouth—much to Daedalus’s dismay—then, grinning, dropped it.
“What are you all so worried about?” said young Jack. “We should play a game. Do you know any games? I bet you do.”
“Jack, really,” Charles said, exasperated. “There are very important matters to discuss.”
“I thought so too,” said Jack, “but I now realize I was wrong. There’s nothing as important as having fun.”
“There are many things more important than having fun!” retorted John. “We have to rescue the missing children! We have to find out what’s become of the Dragonships! There are many, many things that need to be put right!”
“Well,” said Jack, who had climbed back into Johnny Appletree and was hanging from his knees, upside down, “isn’t that what adults are supposed to do?”
“He has a good point,” Bert put in mildly. “Are you starting to see the pattern?”
“Adults don’t pay attention to what children say,” John said, crestfallen. “And here we are, underscoring the point.”
“Jack…I say, Jack,” Charles began, walking around the tree. “Will you come down from there, so we can discuss this properly?”
Jack stuck his fingers in his ears. “Lalalalala!” he cried. “I can’t hear you! I can’t hear you!”
Charles scratched his head. “We’re never going to get through to him if he can’t even hear what we’re saying.”
John snapped his fingers. “That’s it, Charles! That’s the ticket!”
The Caretaker Principia turned to Daedalus. “When Laura Glue came to us in Oxford, she told us