The Shadow Dragons - James A. Owen [24]
“I say,” Charles mused, looking downward. “Is that a boat down there, below us? It’s too far to make out properly.”
Jack wrapped his arm around a twisted piece of railing and looked to where Charles was pointing. “I think it is,” he said, puzzled. “What would a boat that small be doing in the Chamenos Liber?”
Before any of them could venture an answer, the tower began to rumble and shake. A thunderous noise filled the air, and before their eyes the stones in the walls began to separate.
“It’s coming apart!” John yelled, scrambling for the landing. “Up the steps, quickly!”
Together the three men raced up the stairs, pushing Rose ahead of them for safety. If one of them fell, as their friend Aven once had, there was no Indigo Dragon to catch them before they hit the surface of the water below.
An entire section of stones and steps fell away just before the frame of the lowest door also peeled off and dropped, as, finally, did the door. Abruptly the tower stopped trembling, and the four companions could once again catch their breath.
“That was close,” John breathed.
“Too close,” Jack agreed.
“I can’t see the door,” said Charles, peering over the edge of the steps. “Or the boat. I hope it didn’t sink the poor devils.”
“They probably just left,” Jack offered. “It’s a terrible place to be fishing, anyway. It stinks of sulfur, and stones are always unexpectedly dropping out of the sky.”
“Yes, but anyone in the vicinity would already know that,” said John. “Who would come here to fish?”
“Trolls,” said Charles. “Or Cambridge scholars.”
“Never mind,” said Jack, trying to hide a smile at his friend’s joke. “Everyone all right? Rose? Archie?”
“I’m fine,” Rose replied, looking at the owl. “This is the most fun I’ve had in ages.”
“They’re not very bright,” Archimedes commented to her, “but they do have a way of keeping things stirred up. Good for the vim and vigor.”
“If we could find a way to stir things up less,” said Jack, “we’d be very happy men, eh, John? I say, John—are you listening?”
The Caretaker Principia slowly shook his head.
“What’s the matter?” Charles asked.
“That door,” John said, pointing across the landing. “It’s open”.
“So it is,” said Jack. “The last tremor probably shook it loose.”
“I’ve never seen that happen before,” John observed. “Remember, the doors are anchored on the reverse by the time they open to. I don’t think they can be jarred open.”
“Should we close it?” asked Charles.
“I’m wondering if we shouldn’t have a look,” John replied. “So much of what’s happening has to do with the Time Storms caused by the collapse of the keep—and Burton is obviously playing at a game we haven’t seen yet. I say we have a look.”
“We should discuss this,” said Jack.
“I agree,” said Charles.
“You scholars are worse than three Scots with a match,” said Archimedes, “if you have to have a referendum and debate over something as elementary as whether to open or close a door.”
Rose did not voice an opinion, but simply walked across the landing and pulled the door open.
“Oh Lord,” said Charles. “It’s done, fellows. Let’s have a look— if it’s some prehistoric beastie, we can close it quick.”
“Agreed,” John said, turning to Rose. “Just don’t step over the—”
Rose stepped over the threshold and through the door.
It took a few moments for the frail-seeming, bearded old man to realize that the light falling across the goosedown quilts of his bed was not from the window.
The oil lamps in the room provided enough light for him to read and write. But mostly, he slept. The perpetual twilight kept him in a constant state of drowsiness, and besides, he was tired. Tired to the bone. He’d had a lifetime of adventuring, and this, such as it was, was his reward.
He might have been happier on some island in the outer reaches of the Archipelago, but he would not have lived nearly as long. Here, in this room, Time itself had stopped—or so he