The Shadow Dragons - James A. Owen [23]
His companion nodded in understanding. “I don’t want to be here any more than you do, Ehrich. But we can’t exactly let our attention flag—not at this juncture. You know as well as I do how crucial it is that we are here doing what we’re doing.”
“I told you, Ignatius, don’t call me Ehrich,” the Magician shot back before settling down, as his look of indignation was slowly replaced by one of resignation. “I know we agreed to do this, and I still believe in our cause. It just feels as if our talents are being wasted. You and I represent the finest in our fields—and yet we have committed ourselves to the role of errand boys.”
“Errand boys in the service of a greater calling,” the Detective pointed out. “After all, Columbus discovered the Americas, but someone still had to row him ashore.”
“Do you remember his name?” the Magician retorted. “Does anyone? I want my own place in the history books, thank you very much. I don’t want to change the world by proxy.”
“You do have your own place in the history books,” said the Detective. “That accomplishment cannot be erased, merely added to.”
“It would have been easier to add to before I died,” the Magician grumbled. “At least then I was visible on the world’s stage.”
“You still are,” said his companion. “It’s just a different world.”
The Magician was about to say something in reply, when both men were suddenly silenced by a deep rumbling sound emanating from the sky.
They shaded their eyes from the sunlight and peered upward to a floating structure so distant it appeared to be a dark smudge against the sky. Suddenly several small objects appeared and grew swiftly larger as they fell.
“Row!” shouted the Magician, grabbing an oar. “They’re dropping straight for us!”
The two men hastily moved the boat several feet south just as the first stones and part of an archway struck the water where they’d been sitting. A few moments later another object, larger this time, hit the water with a violent splash.
“That’s it!” said the Detective, reaching out with a pole that ended in a hook. “I’ve got it—grab your end, will you?”
“I have it,” said the Magician, pulling the object into the small boat, which sank several inches into the water with the added weight. “When do you think it is? Are we up to Victorian yet?”
“I have no idea,” said the Detective. “He doesn’t let us go through them anymore, remember?”
“That’s not my fault, Arthur,” said the Magician, using a less provocative name. “I’m sure we’ll be allowed to use them again sooner or later.”
“I could care less, Harry,” Arthur said as he took up an oar and began to row. “As far as I’m concerned, the only value in opening doors to the past is what they can do for our future—whatever world we end up in.”
The Magician did not reply, but merely took up rowing with the other oar, and in moments the two men, the leaky rowboat, and a door into time had vanished into the fog.
“What was that all about?” John asked Rose. “Who was that man?”
“I have no idea,” Rose answered. “But he certainly seemed to know me. And he did help us.”
“I’d’ve thought to try the card again eventually,” Charles huffed. “It was only a matter of time before it occurred to one of us.”
“Of course, Uncle Charles,” said Rose. “He just helped move the process along.”
“Well,” Charles said, blushing.
“The Trump couldn’t have been better placed,” said Jack, pointing down. “Have a look, fellows.”
There was, in point of fact, almost no floor at all. They had stepped onto one of the landings where the stairways crisscrossed, but just a few steps below there was only open sky. A few yards below, the jagged bottom edge of the tower’s stones hung over clouds higher than a mountain, and the stairways’ supports had been twisted into chaotic shapes from the weight of the falling stones.
“Another level lower, and we’d have been treading air,” said Jack. “We ought to tell Ransom he needs to redraw his card from a higher vantage point.”
“I’m not sure he can,” John said, pointing in the opposite direction. As one, the Caretakers gasped. They