The Shadow Dragons - James A. Owen [18]
Jack shook his head. “That’s not it. We’ve seen and fought worse than these fellows. But that man who was with them . . .” His voice trailed off, and he rubbed his forehead.
“You recognized him?” Ransom asked. “I couldn’t at all. I’ve never seen the Yoricks under a human’s direction before.”
“I did recognize him,” answered Jack. “I may be mistaken, but I would swear on my life that it was Rudyard Kipling I saw leading the charge.”
CHAPTER FOUR
The Pieces of Time
“Kipling?” Ransom exclaimed. “That’s a fine how-do-you-do. He was Bert’s primary rival for the open Caretaker position after Verne took over. It’s bad form for such a talented man if he’s gone over to the other side.”
“I never saw anything of him in the Histories, or in the Geographica,” said John. “Bert certainly never mentioned him.”
“He wouldn’t have,” Ransom pointed out. “After the Houdini-Doyle incident, when they nearly exposed the Archipelago to the whole world, Verne has kept any information about non-Caretakers or former Caretakers very close to the vest.”
“That’s just a bloody shame,” said Charles. “I wouldn’t ever consider putting Kipling and Magwich in the same class.”
“You’ll have to,” Jack said, still a bit shaken. “I have no doubt that he’s working with our enemies—probably Burton.”
“What makes you say that?” asked John.
“You already know yourselves,” Jack replied. “Didn’t you see it in the papers? Rudyard Kipling died three months ago!”
“That would explain why we didn’t recognize him at first,” John reasoned, running his hand over his hair. “That man was perhaps forty at most. Kipling was seventy.”
. . . they saw the miniature image of an old friend.
“That locks it,” said Charles, banging a fist against the table. “Richard Burton’s behind this. No one else would know how to manipulate things so as to recruit dead poets to their cause.”
“I’m afraid you’re right,” Ransom said. “His presence here cannot be accidental.”
“But yours was,” said John pointedly. “If you hadn’t met us on the road, then we wouldn’t have ended up here, where our enemies now have us hiding under a tree. How do you explain that?”
“I can’t,” Ransom answered, turning to Flannery. “How did you know someone would be looking for them?”
Flannery shrugged. “I din’t know nothing,” he said. “Lampwick told me to get rid of the bird, so I hid him here. And on the way back up into the Flying Dragon, I saw those Un-Men gathering outside. That’s when I knew there’d be trouble.”
Jack tilted his head, appraising the boy. “But how is it you were here, today, when we needed an ally?”
“I’ve been here for two years,” Flannery replied. “There are Lost Boys posted at all the Soft Places—the ones we know of, anyways—just in case. We all report t’ the Valkyries.”
“Well, God bless Laura Glue,” said Jack, rising. “What do we do now, Ransom? Do we go back to Oxford?”
The philologist shook his head. “If they’re here, they’ll be there, too. Don’t worry,” he added, seeing Jack’s look of concern. “They won’t hurt your brother, or Mrs. Moore. They’re only after Rose.”
He removed the book with the Trumps from his coat and fanned out the cards in his hand. “I think it’s time to consult someone with a bigger hammer,” he said.
“Bigger hammer?” Charles asked.
“When you’re stuck with a problem, sometimes the best solution is to hit it with a bigger hammer. I expect he’s going to try to contact Verne,” said John.
John was close. Ransom held up a card that seemed to depict an ancient Egyptian village, but instead of Jules Verne, they saw the miniature image of an old friend.
“Hank Morgan!” Jack exclaimed. “What a pleasure it is to see you again!”
Hank’s face broke into a wide grin, and he waved. “John, Jack. And young Rose, also, I see! And . . .” He paused. “Ah, Chaz?”
“Charles,” the third Caretaker replied. “We’ve not had the pleasure, but I’ve heard many good stories about you.”
Hank raised a questioning eyebrow, then turned his attention back to Ransom. “I wish we had