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“So you never got to discuss any of the other Geographicas with him?”

Jack choked on a cracker and washed it down with a gulp of ale. ”Other Geographicas? What the devil are you talking about, Ransom? The whole point of the last quarter century of my life has been to protect the one, unique atlas—and now you’re suggesting that there are others?”

“The Imaginarium Geographica is unique,” Ransom replied. “To this world, anyway.”

Jack started to sputter a response when Ransom shushed him. “Later, later,” the philologist said. “There’s someone just about to join us whom I think you’re all going to want to speak with.”

“Greetings, Caretakers and company,” said the stout, bearded man who had just entered the Inn of the Flying Dragon. He was elegantly dressed in a manner more dapper than stylish, and he had a twinkle in his eyes. “I’m Jules Verne, and it is my great pleasure indeed to finally meet you all.”

John, Jack, and Charles were stunned into silence. After all that had happened, not just in recent days, but over the last twenty years, they were unprepared to meet the man who seemed to have been the architect of everything they had experienced.

“Let’s order a round of drinks, and an assortment of foodstuffs, and get caught up,” Verne said as the door opened behind him and three more figures entered the inn. “But first I’d like to introduce you to the last three gentlemen I’ve invited to our little gathering. I believe you’ve all made their acquaintance before.”

Fred let out a yelp of surprise, and Rose pursed her lips. Bert and Ransom said nothing, for they had expected this—but John, Jack, and Charles were slack-jawed with astonishment. Behind Jules Verne were Harry Houdini, Arthur Conan Doyle, and Sir Richard Burton.

“Greetings, little Caretakers,” said Burton.

“What is this about, Bert?” John said, rising. “What are they doing here?”

“I was waiting until Jules arrived to tell you,” Bert said placidly. “The Caretakers Emeritis have reached an accord with the leadership of the Imperial Cartological Society.”

“‘But how was the play otherwise, Mrs. Lincoln?’” Charles commented drolly. “The enemy of my enemy is my friend, eh, Bert?”

“Not enemies,” said Verne. “Differing philosophies. We have managed to persuade Sir Richard that complete and unfettered openness would be disastrous.”

“But,” said Burton, “Poe and the others have conceded that total secrecy has not been the Archipelago’s salvation either. So we have agreed to compromise.”

“Compromise how?” asked John.

“Sir Richard, Sir Arthur, and, ah, Harry, have agreed to abide by Poe’s request that no unauthorized information about the Archipelago will be made public. In exchange, we have agreed to formally sanction the establishment of the Imperial Cartological Society. They will no longer operate in shadow, so to speak. And we need not fear being exposed, because the eventual goal of the society under the Caretakers’ purview is to open the knowledge of the Archipelago to all those who prove worthy of it. As it was, once, a long time ago.”

“Your apprenticeship program writ large,” Burton said, nodding at Fred. “Just imagine—where you are now three, there could be thousands of Caretakers, sharing the secrets and wonders—”

“And responsibilities,” said Charles.

“That won’t just happen overnight,” said John.

“No,” said Bert. “It may take a generation or three to implement, but we believe it is possible.”

Jack slapped his forehead. “And who’s to be in charge of this grand endeavor? We probably shouldn’t set it up at Oxford—that would be pressing our luck, with John and I teaching there, and Charles having joined the Inklings. Too much risk of exposure.”

“It wouldn’t be set up at Oxford,” said Houdini.

“Then where?”

“Uh-oh,” Fred said to Rose. “Here it comes.”

Burton grinned wickedly. “Cambridge.”

“And the other shoe finally drops,” Jack said, leaning on Charles. “I think I’d rather find out when I’ll die.”

“I’m not convinced,” said John, eyeing Burton and the others. “Will this change our