The Shadow Dragons - James A. Owen [28]
“I can’t recall the generalities of his story, much less the specifics,” said John. “Did we overlook it, Charles?”
“That’s just it,” Charles protested. “It’s not that I might have overlooked his story in one of the Histories—it isn’t in the Histories at all. I’ve been very thorough, especially after the Dyson incident—and I’m telling you, the story he’s related to us is nowhere to be found.”
“And what was that about Jules Verne losing the Geographica?” said John. “I can’t believe that. He’s always too many moves ahead of any adversary. I can’t believe he’d ever countenance such a blow.”
“Then again,” said Jack, “we were once young and stupid—or at least, younger and stupider than we are now. We learned to become the men we are in part because of the mistakes we made. Couldn’t the same be possible for Verne?”
“We’ve overlooked something else,” said Charles. “Hank Morgan also mentioned a Prophecy. So it isn’t just Quixote. Something larger is afoot, I’m sure of it. But do we believe him or not?”
“Either way,” said Jack, “I don’t think we have a choice—we have to take him with us, or he’ll perish with the next tremor.”
The three companions silently agreed. On that point, there was not—could not—be a debate. Every other door in the keep, save for the Cartographer’s, opened into an entire world at a particular point in the past—and when the doors fell, the passageway was simply severed. But this room was actually part of the keep—and to stay within it would be too great a risk.
“All set,” Quixote said, having also loaded himself down with a considerable array of weaponry. “What is our destination?”
“Up,” said John, pointing. “We go up.”
The company, which now numbered six, stepped from the room and closed the door. John felt the small click of a lock under his fingertips, and the pi symbol seemed to glow faintly as the door closed.
“What has happened to the tower?” Quixote asked as he looked worriedly over the railing at the damaged keep and the nausea-inducing drop. “It is eternal, is it not?”
“Everything ends,” said Jack. “Eventually.”
The old knight shook his head sadly. “I fear you are right. But still, it is a fearsome sight.”
“Look up, old fellow,” said Charles. “That’s my answer. Always look up.”
Quixote nodded, then took a position behind Jack as together, the companions and their new acquaintance began to climb.
As the group ascended the stairway, the Caretakers explained to the knight whom it was they were going to see.
“I have heard stories of this man, if a man he truly is,” said Quixote, “but I have never seen him with my own eyes. Only in stories, and from the things the Frenchman says, do I know him at all.”
“He’s a difficult man to understand,” John said, “but then again, he’s also two millennia old. We’ve all spent time with him in our calling as Caretakers, but we also had the chance to know him at various points in his youth. I regret to say that if we had been more perceptive, or simply better examples and less fearful, he might have become a better man than he is.”
“You knew him in his youth?” said Quixote. “Two millennia ago?”
“It was under unusual circumstances,” said John.
“Those were indeed unusual circumstances,” said Quixote, “if you could manage such a journey through time.”
“It was an accident,” Jack put in, “involving a scholar and two badgers.”
“That would probably be enough,” said Quixote. He looked down at Rose. “And you, young Rose? Do you also know this Cartographer of Lost Places?”
Rose smiled. “I’ve only met him once,” she replied, “but in a way I’m closer to him than the Caretakers are. I’m his niece.”
“His niece?” Quixote said in surprise, wondering at her obvious youth. “If that is so, then either you have also slept for many years in a tower, so that the days pass you by, untouched—or you have a remarkable parentage.”
“You have no idea,” said Charles.
It took very little time, relative to their previous visits, for the companions to reach the top of the stairway and the second