The Shadow Dragons - James A. Owen [22]
Before any of them could speak, Jack grabbed John’s elbow and nodded at what the old man held in his hand.
It was a pocket watch. A silver pocket watch.
“You aren’t supposed to be here,” the old man said dismissively. “You aren’t members of the Quorum. You can’t be here.”
“Begging your pardon,” said Charles, “but we didn’t plan to be. We had every intention of being elsewhere.”
“Then do so, and go,” he answered with a wave of his hand. “I have work to do.”
“We would if we could,” John put in, “but we don’t know where—or when—we are.”
The old man didn’t reply, but merely regarded them with disdain—until his eyes fell on Rose.
To the companions’ great surprise, his mouth dropped open in shock and his eyes, cold a moment before, suddenly filled with tears.
“Rose,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “How can you be . . . ?”
Barely taking his eyes off her, he opened the pocket watch, which bore no dragon on the cover, and was festooned with several more dials and buttons than John’s own watch.
The old man’s forehead wrinkled in confusion. “Most unusual,” he murmured to himself. “A new zero point, and here, in Platonia! This must be brought before the Quorum.”
He snapped it shut and looked at Rose. His expression had completely changed—he was watching her with a rapt intensity that bespoke familiarity. Somehow, he knew her.
John looked at the girl. Her face was placid. She was observing, and nothing more. She didn’t know—couldn’t know—who the man was in this strange, infinite space.
“We’re trying to reach a place called the Keep of Time,” Rose said. “Can you help us?”
“The keep?” he replied in surprise. “Interesting.” He consulted his watch again and adjusted a dial. Then he looked up and actually smiled.
“By what means did you come here?” he asked.
Charles showed him the Trump. “Ah,” said the old man. “Primitive, but useful in its own way.” He moved closer and regarded the companions more carefully, taking furtive, emotion-laden glances at Rose.
“So you’re the three,” he said rhetorically. “The Prophecy had something to it, after all, did it?”
“We don’t know anything about a prophecy,” Charles said. “We just need to get Rose somewhere she’ll be safe.”
“And so you shall,” said the old man, abruptly wheeling away.
He stood some distance off, with his back to them. “Use your card once more,” he said at length. “It will take you where and when you are meant to be.”
Charles did as instructed and held up the Trump, which was already beginning to expand—but this time there was no fading of the image. In moments the frame displayed a perfect, rich picture of the interior stairwell of the Keep.
“Thank you,” John called out to the old man as the companions moved through.
He responded with little more than a shrug, and didn’t turn around until the frame began to shrink. Tears streaked his cheeks, and he was clutching the watch with hands that trembled.
“I am . . . glad to have seen you, all of you,” he said in a shaky voice. “And Rose,” he added, “try to think well of me in the future— and in the past.”
And with that, the infinite whiteness vanished as the Trump closed, and the companions found themselves standing within the Keep of Time.
PART TWO
Abandoned Houses
“All set.... What is our destination?”
CHAPTER FIVE
The Spanish Prisoner
It was not in the Magician’s nature to wait for anything, so it was boredom, rather than the arduous journey or noxious atmosphere, that finally caused him to lose his temper. Fortunately, his companion, whom he had drolly dubbed “The Detective,” was accustomed to such outbursts and took them in stride.
“This was not what I signed up for,” the Magician grumbled. “I was the toast of Europe. America was at my feet. I had the run of the finest hotels, and the best restaurants valued my opinion of their fare more than they did the critics’. But mostly, I was enjoying myself. And I gave all that up for what? To sit here, in a leaky boat, ticking off the seconds that pass as the stench eats away at my