The Shadow Dragons - James A. Owen [105]
“You may not,” Rao said blithely. “None may pass save that one must stay. That is the Old Magic, and the old rule.”
“Then I offer myself,” said the professor. “I will stay, so that the others may pass.”
“No!” Rose cried. “You can’t!”
“That, dear Rose, is the other reason Bert could not come,” he replied. “Years ago, we turned back when another star made the same request. And we both knew it would be made again. A life for the passage. That’s the rule.”
“But we need you!”
“No,” he said gently, “you don’t. You needed me to get you to your father—and you’re nearly there. Quixote is your guardian—I was merely your guide.”
“We still have to convince him to repair the sword,” said Rose. “We can’t do that without you.”
“Rose,” the professor began.
“I’ll stay,” said a voice behind them. “I’ll do it.”
It was the portrait of Captain Johnson. “I’d be willing,” he stated, “if the fact that I’m essentially an oil painting doesn’t count against me.”
“Can you arbitrate?” asked Rao. “Will you arbitrate the disputes of my children?”
“I witnessed more than seventy pirate trials,” said Johnson. “I could give it a go, I suppose.”
“Little Thing,” Rao said, “this is acceptable to me. You shall stay, and the others may pass.”
Rose took the portrait from the boat, kissed it quickly, and handed it to Rao.
Quickly, before the star could change his mind, the companions hurried back to the boat and put her to sea.
“Thank you, Captain Johnson,” Rose called out.
“Farewell, Captain,” Quixote said.
“I’d rather have left the Caretaker,” said Archimedes. “There’s an entire houseful back in the Archipelago.”
“Remember,” Johnson called out, his voice growing faint as the island vanished behind the mist, “don’t trust Daniel Defoe!”
CHAPTER TWENTY
The Bargain
“Absolutely not,” said Dickens. “It’s the most insane thing I’ve ever heard of in my life.”
“I concur,” said John. “He’s caused us more grief than almost anyone except for the Winter King himself, and he almost single-handedly brought about the Winterland when he tricked Hugo Dyson through that door. Letting him have asylum here, in Tamerlane House . . .” He paused and took a deep breath. “Well, it’s just unthinkable.”
“I think it’s worth at least a debate,” said Defoe. “He knows a great deal about the Shadow King’s plans.”
“Because he was his chief lieutenant until just a few hours ago!” said John. “We should consider him a prisoner of war, not a refugee seeking asylum.”
“I think he should be flogged,” said Shakespeare.
“But just yesterday,” Chaucer pointed out, “weren’t we debating whether or not his beliefs about the Archipelago and the Imaginarium Geographica were in fact superior to our own? That alone should change our perception of him.”
John rubbed his temples. This discussion was not progressing in a reasonable direction. “All right,” he said finally. “Bring him in.”
In one hand he held a hammer. The other was not a hand at all . . .
Richard Burton entered the conservatory, flanked by Nathaniel Hawthorne and Daniel Defoe. He grinned and nodded at John as he took a seat at the table.
“You should realize, Burton,” John began, “that none of us here trusts you in the least.”
“I don’t trust you any more than you trust me, John,” Burton said, “but desperate times make for strange bedfellows, and you don’t have to trust me—just my motives.”
“Which are?”
Burton raised his hands and smiled. “The same as they’ve always been,” he said simply. “No more secrets. My goals and those of the Caretakers have seldom been far apart—we just differ in how we approach them. But I’ve realized that the goals of the Chancellor are not mine—and whatever he is, he is not the man I would willingly serve. I believed he was. I was wrong.”
“Would you be willing to give us the information we need to defeat him?” asked Chaucer.
“I will share what I know,” said Burton.
“We haven’t yet decided whether to give you what you’re seeking,” said John, “but we’re considering it. In the meantime, you’re not to be left alone at any time. Either Charles and Fred will be with you, or