The Shadow Dragons - James A. Owen [102]
Quixote was holding Johnson so that he could also see the spectacle below. “Look!” the captain said. “There’s one of those sorry privateers!”
Professor Sigurdsson looked more closely, then lowered the Scarlet Dragon a few yards.
“Hmm,” he said. “That’s William Blake, unless I miss my guess. Surprising—I would’ve thought he had a stronger will than that.”
In a few more minutes they had passed over the lake, and the professor said it was safe to drop back into the waters past the western beach.
According to Johnson’s memory of the professor’s notes, the next island gate had a name. “It’s called Entelechy,” he said.
“Both are,” said the professor. “The island, and its queen. They share the same name—although it’s more politic to refer to her as ‘the Quintessence.’ As far as I know, she’s Aristotle’s goddaughter, and so is at least two thousand years old.”
“Finally,” said Rose. “I’ll get to meet someone my own age.”
Entelechy was a prim and proper island, with a well-kept harbor and several soaring towers of blue stone. They stopped at the dock and left Archimedes and Captain Johnson to guard the boat. The professor led the others to a great turquoise-tinged reception hall.
The Quintessence was seated on a throne at the head of a magnificent banquet table. She was perhaps twelve feet tall and had all the presence of a giant. Her gown billowed around her immense chair, and her hair was piled high above a glittering crown.
“Great Quintessence,” the professor said, bowing. “We seek passage through your gate, if you please.”
“Come closer,” she commanded, “that I may better see you.”
A curious look of . . . happiness appeared on the queen’s face as she watched the professor. She considered them all, briefly, then turned back to Rose.
“You have the look of the Old World to you, girl,” she said. “I may allow you to pass. Who are your forebears?”
“My father’s father was Odysseus,” she replied.
“Ah,” said the queen. “I might have guessed. You are familiar to me. And your mother’s parentage?”
“No one you’d know.”
“Hmm,” said the queen. “And you?”
Quixote bowed. “I am the lady’s humble protector,” he said simply.
“I see,” said the queen. “And you?”
“I am a simple traveler,” said the professor, “seeking out what beauty there is in the world.”
“And what have you found?”
“If seeking beauty was my only goal, I should be happy to stop here,” said the professor, “but we have other needs, and thus must go on.”
The queen smiled. “That’s an excellent answer,” she said, smiling. “I believe I will let you pass, for a price.”
“There’s not much left to barter with,” Quixote whispered to the others, “only the candles!”
“Those are for a different gate,” said the professor. “Name your price, milady.”
“Will you give me a kiss?” the queen asked, bending down so he could reach her.
“I shall,” said the professor. And he did.
“Ahh.” The queen sighed. “I have missed that—it was as nice as before, so long ago. It does grow lonely out here, you know,” she said with a look of sorrow on her face. “There have been few other visitors of late.
“Another descendant—or was it an ancestor?—of Odysseus passed this way not long ago, and I allowed him through, because he knew my godfather.”
Rose and Quixote were silently thrilled by this—the first proof they’d had of Madoc’s survival, and passing.
“There was another,” said the queen, “but he was rude, and a bit delusional. I let him pass, but I kept one of his arms.”
“We really ought to be going,” said Quixote, his eyes wide. “Begging your pardon.”
“You won’t stay to dine with me?” said the Queen.
“We really must go,” Rose concurred.
“So we must,” the professor said. He bowed deeply and kissed the queen’s hand.
She bowed her head in assent, and the companions returned to the boat. Shortly after, they were again underway.
“I don’t know what to say, Professor,” Rose said with a broad smile. “That was an impressive display of personal charm.”
“Thank you,” replied the professor. “Bert used to refer to it as my ‘shield of charisma.’”
“She seemed to remember