The Search for the Red Dragon - James A. Owen [96]
The island was small, and they ran until they reached the far side. By then the tremors had stopped, and there was no sign of pursuit.
Laura Glue, however, was frantic and sobbing.
“It’s all right,” John said, reassuring her. “We’ve escaped. They don’t seem to be following us now.”
“They don’t need to follow us now!” Laura Glue cried.
“What do you mean?” John asked. “They got our bundles, but we managed to keep the History and the Geographica.”
“John, you don’t understand,” said Aven. “It’s Jack. They took Jack.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
The City of Lost Children
In his dreams there had been giants. But they were not golden, and they had not taken notice of him, as had Talos and his fellows. The fingers of the giant automaton had formed a cage from which he could not escape, and the crashing footfalls had made it impossible for Jack’s friends to hear his cries.
He was a prisoner. He was alone. And he was only a child. But he still had his mind. He was still himself, still Jack. And he still had his scholarly training. Passive observation, not panicked action, was what was called for here. And so he waited, and kept quiet.
Once Talos realized that his small captive was not going to struggle or try to flee, he relaxed his grasp enough for light and air. Jack looked between the giant’s fingers at the ground below—which was a mistake. His stomach twisted and turned, and finally he retched, spilling his last meal from Haven across the broad golden palm. The giant never noticed.
Jack decided that whatever else he was in for, he ought to at least not make himself ill on top of being terrified. So he closed his eyes, sat back, and tried to think of more pleasant things.
Thus calmed, it was only minutes before the boy professor fell asleep.
“I’m sorry,” the six-armed creature said plaintively. “There have to be forms…”
Despair.
That was all the companions could feel. A dull, throbbing ache of despair.
Despite all they had come through, all they had endured, they seemed no closer to discovering what had happened to the children of the Archipelago, or the missing Dragonships, or Aven’s own son. And now they had lost their friend to an incomprehensible foe.
“I can’t bear this anymore,” John said miserably. “Every time we’ve come to the Archipelago, it’s to fail. To come up short. Every time, we run as fast as our legs may carry us, and fight with every last breath in our lungs, and it’s never enough.”
“But it is enough,” countered Bert. “Don’t you see, John? It is enough. Remember what Stellan told you, in the tower?”
As if in answer, an enormous granite block fell from the sky and crashed into the water, close enough to drench them all with the spray. A moment later it was followed by an oaken door, which slapped the surface like a stone, skipping once, twice, then stopping.
It was one of the doors from the Keep of Time.
“You mean that tower?” Charles said gloomily. “The one I wrecked, that’s literally falling down around our ears?”
A closer examination of the shallows near the beach revealed that a number of the large blocks had fallen there, and lazily spinning in the water were several of the doors.
“Look,” Charles said, pointing to one of the doors. “A rising sun is carved into that one. I think it’s Hittite.”
“That means the tower is still crumbling,” said Bert. “The effects of scattered Time may be worse here. We must be on our guard.”
“You mean on our guard enough so we don’t lose any more children?” John asked bitterly.
“Quiet, all of you!” Aven said, her tone making it clear that she wasn’t asking for debate. “Don’t you see you’re scaring her to death?”
Sitting nearby, huddled into a ball on the sand, was Laura Glue. She hadn’t said a word, but tears were welling in her eyes, and it was obvious she was very, very frightened.
John and Charles felt like idiots.
Both men knelt and consoled the small girl. “We’re sorry, Laura Glue,” said John. “Sometimes adults get