The Shadow Dragons - James A. Owen [125]
“Pretty much, yes,” said Charles. “There was less pretense about him than almost anyone I’ve ever known. I think I might even learn to miss the old bugger.”
“I can’t believe you just said that,” Jack said.
“I’m a bit surprised myself,” said Charles.
“Then you may find this cheering,” said Eledir, the Elf King. He approached the companions and handed a small bag to Charles. It was filled with soil and tied around a small, slightly charred plant.
It had only three offshoots, and the leaves had only just begun to bud. In the center, at the top, was a curiously shaped bulb.
“Several of my captains discovered this as we were sweeping the field,” Eledir said. “I meant to give it to Samaranth, but I overheard your discussion, and I think it more appropriate that you have it.”
“Well, uh, thank you,” Charles stammered.
The King of the Elves gave the Caretakers a staunch salute, then spun about and walked away to finish gathering his people and return home.
“Imagine that!” Charles said. “The Elf King gave me a plant. I wonder if it symbolizes something in his culture.”
“You’ll have to bring it along when you move to Oxford,” said Jack. “It’ll look good in the window. I wonder what kind of plant it is?”
“Oh, no,” John said as he rushed over to his two friends. “I thought Eledir was going to give it to Samaranth.” He sighed heavily and rubbed his temples. “It’s too late to refuse it now. Eledir would only get offended.”
“Refuse it?” asked Charles. “Why would I possibly want to refuse it?”
In answer to his question, a strange, high-pitched whistling noise emitted from the plant. The companions leaned closer to hear better.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” said Jack. “It’s talking.”
And indeed it was: “Help meee . . . ,” the plant said in a tiny, tinny voice. “Help meee. . . .”
Charles’s mouth dropped open. “I’m cursed. Cursed, I tell you.”
Jack let out a loud guffaw. “Now I have indeed seen everything. Charles, old sock,” he said, patting his friend on the back, “you’ve just become the proud owner of a Magwich plant.”
There were a few more good-byes to be said. Aven and Stephen prepared to return to Paralon, and the other captains and kings went off to their respective lands. But some farewells were more difficult than others.
“Ho, Jack,” said Nemo.
“Ho, Nemo,” Jack replied. “What’s to become of you now?”
“I have to go back,” he said, casting a furtive glance at Aven, and a more lingering and direct one at Stephen. “I have a future to live, and many things to do. And,” he added with a grin, “a young soldier to teach.”
“You still have a lot to learn,” Jack said, clapping him on the shoulder. “But you are already becoming the man I knew and admired, and I have no doubt you’ll get there, in time.”
“Literally so,” said Nemo. He held out his hand. In it was a silver pocket watch. “Bert instructed me in how to use it, and when I return to my proper time, I’m to turn it back over to him.”
“You don’t want to keep it?”
Nemo shook his head. “I’m the captain of the Nautilus and the heir of Sinbad. I’m meant to be sailing in the Archipelago, not through time.”
“Fair enough,” said Jack, offering his hand. “Be well, Nemo.”
They shook hands, and the young captain strode away. He did not look back.
Quixote noted that one other friend in particular struggled with saying farewells.
Uncas was finding it difficult to adjust to the idea that Fred was an apprentice Caretaker—and to the fact that his son was going to probably have the kind of adventures he had only dreamed about.
“I believed myself too old for adventuring,” Quixote said to the little badger, “but apparently, I was mistaken. There may be a few more journeys left in these old bones yet.”
“I wish you luck, brave sir knight,” Uncas said glumly, while trying to appear pleased for him. “I guess I’m going to go back to work at the press. Scowler Charles said I have the temperament to be a fair editor.”
He chewed thoughtfully on a paw. “I wonder if he meant ‘fair’ as in ‘just,’ or ‘fair’ as in, I won’t be really awful at it?”
“I’m sure he meant the latter,” Uncas’s son Fred