The Shadow Dragons - James A. Owen [45]
Beyond the isles of Father Christmas, there was nothing. Nothing in the Geographica, and nothing as far as the companions could see. None of the previous Caretakers had ever made the effort to sail so far—they had simply assumed that what had been documented was all there was to see. Of them all, only John’s mentor, Professor Sigurdsson, had ever taken an active liking to the actual adventuring, the discovery of new lands. He had ventured deep into the Southlands on a fabled voyage, and more than once into the deep west—although John had no clue what he could have been searching for, or what else could be discovered that way, since Terminus and the endless waterfall marked the true End of the World as he knew it.
Charles, when he was not putting on his shirt and taking it off again so the others could check their position, spent his time talking about multiple dimensions with Archimedes, who had proven to be a worthy adversary in a debate.
Quixote preferred to talk to Rose when he could, asking her about the more mundane aspects of boarding school in Reading, with an occasional digression to tales of Odysseus on Avalon.
Jack, for his part, spent the better part of an hour scanning the horizon with a spyglass provided to him by Quixote, until he finally realized that there was no actual glass in the spyglass.
“I never really needed it.” Quixote shrugged. “It doesn’t help if you’re lost, and if you aren’t lost, why do you need to see a place you’ll soon arrive at anyway?”
Eventually, as the Cartographer had promised, a smudge of land appeared off in the distance, then grew larger at an alarming speed. The Nameless Isles were far closer than they had appeared to be, and had the appearance of a mirage. It took effort to focus on them—a moment of drifting attention found the islands sliding from one’s field of vision.
At close range the illusion dropped, and the islands came into sharp relief. There were thirteen all told: a massive island to the south and east of the others, which served as a shield of stone; a small cluster of islands to the west; two larger, half-moon islands to the east and north; and directly ahead of them, a broad, dunecolored island that sloped up from a short beach to a flat expanse of sand, black crystals, and short, blocky trees.
All of the smaller islands had been built up with columns and arches that were all but prehistoric. From their appearance, their construction, and their apparent great age, John surmised that they may have been built in the earliest years of prehistory— contemporary with the first cities, such as Ur and Untapishim. The structures on these outer isles formed a kind of massive arena enclosing the three inner islands. There was no mistaking the purpose: They were defensive, or at least protective, in nature.
On the center island was the unmistakable shape of a house in the distance—and from all appearances it was immense. Directly ahead was a dock, a small boathouse, and a sight that made the companions cheer in joy and relief.
The White Dragon, the airship piloted by their mentor Bert, was moored to the north side of the dock, where it floated calmly in the shallows.
“I suddenly feel much better about the prospects of this trip,” Charles admitted. “Nothing against you fellows, but Bert always seems to know the score.”
“I’m with you there,” said John. He guided the Scarlet Dragon alongside the larger ship and leaped to the dock to tie a mooring line.
A large orange cat was sitting just past the dock, idly cleaning itself while keeping a watchful eye on the new arrivals to the island.
“I expect you must be the Caretakers,” the cat said at