The Search for the Red Dragon - James A. Owen [9]
“I agree,” John said. “But I’m at a loss as to what we should do. Obviously someone there meant for us to do something. But I have no idea what.”
“She does have that rose,” mused Charles. “It bears the marks of both the High King and the Cartographer. I can’t imagine they’d allow just anyone to use them.”
“I concur,” said John. “So how should we proceed?”
“Obviously,” Charles said, “we should take her to see Barrie. He’s in London, and colleagues of mine have often pointed out his residence to me. We can deliver her straight to his front door. And then perhaps we’ll find out what this is all about.”
“That sounds like a plan,” said Jack. “It’s time I was out and about for a bit anyway.”
“Excellent,” agreed John. “This sort of adventure I can handle. A little mystery, a little drama, and it’s all wrapped up and done with a quick excursion into London.”
It was decided that they would have to take John’s car into the city. To take the train, especially from the Oxford station, would risk the three of them being seen on nonuniversity business and would engender too many questions that they’d have to make up answers for. And that was before any queries about their keeping company with a small winged girl with a penchant for yammering on about something called the Archipelago.
John went to make some adjustments to the engine, followed by a very inquisitive Laura Glue, while Jack and Charles made apologies to Warnie about having to leave. Warnie himself had already decided that this was a business he’d rather have no part in—and so nodded in agreement when they presented their plan to go into the city to locate the girl’s family.
“I call navigation,” said Jack as they walked out to the car.
“What does that mean?” asked Charles.
“It means I get the front passenger seat,” said Jack, “and you have to sit in the back with Laura Glue.”
“What?” sputtered Charles. “That’s not fair. I came in with John. I get the passenger seat.”
“What are you two arguing about?” John said, wiping his hands on an oilcloth. “The car’s ready to load, if you haven’t something more pressing to settle.”
“We’re arguing about the seating arrangement,” Charles told him. “I wanted to sit in front—”
“But I called navigation,” said Jack.
“Well, there you have it,” stated John. “Can’t be helped if he called navigation. Sorry, Charles.”
“Drat,” muttered Charles.
It was fortunate that Laura Glue’s wings were artificial, because they would not have fit in the small cab of the car and still allowed room for any other passengers. It was difficult enough to get them into the boot, and then only with some amount of judicious folding and positioning.
Laura Glue was twisting her hair into knots with nervous concern for her wings, until John pointed out that he was putting the Geographica in the boot as well, so she could be assured it was a safe place for them to be.
Wings and atlas secured, Charles and Laura Glue bundled into the cramped backseat, and John and Jack climbed into the front.
“Okay,” said Laura Glue, pointing at the threadbare seat covers. “There’s an invisible line down the middle. This side is for girls, and that side is for boys. And you aren’t allowed to cross the line.”
“It’s a little close in here for boundaries,” Charles noted. “What happens if I cross the line?”
Laura Glue scowled. “I’ll have to cut out your heart and feed it to the fairies.”
Charles stared, wide-eyed and speechless, before the girl’s face split into a broad grin to indicate that she was teasing him.
“You’re not exactly a normal little girl, are you?” asked Charles.
“You have a funny-looking mouth,” said Laura Glue.
“This is going to be a very long ride,” said Charles.
It was actually a shorter ride than they expected, as the weather was good and there were few other vehicles on the road. Traffic became more congested once they arrived in London proper, but Charles’s familiarity with the city streets aided with their navigation considerably.
“Ironic, isn’t it?” remarked Jack.
“Oh, shut up,” Charles said crossly.