The Shadow Dragons - James A. Owen [5]
Archimedes, called Archie for short, stayed in Hugo’s rooms, mostly—but it was inevitable that he and Rose would be seen together, and a talking owl combined with a girl who wasn’t getting older was a recipe for disaster.
A month earlier they had transported the bird to the Kilns, the residence near Oxford that Jack shared with his brother Warnie and adopted mother Mrs. Moore. Warnie had already been initiated into some of the mysteries of the Caretakers, but it was a more delicate process with Mrs. Moore. However, once she recovered from the initial shock, and once she had accepted the need for secrecy, she and the owl became affable companions. Archie apparently got on very well with females.
Warnie was another matter entirely. The first hour they met, he had made a sudden move that startled the bird, and Archie bit his arm. It left a nasty welt, and thereafter Warnie persisted in referring to the bird as “Lucifer,” which didn’t endear him to the owl once Jack had explained the reference. The pairing made for a very lively household.
Moving Rose to the Kilns was a second option—but again, they would be risking the same kind of exposure there as they had in Reading. And keeping all knowledge of the Geographica, the Archipelago, and the denizens within a secret was the prime rule of the Caretakers—the very rule that caused Burton and others to rebel. There would be no easy answers—which was why it was important for all three Caretakers to discuss the move as soon as they were able.
Archimedes lit atop a shrub next to where Rose was digging a hole and cast a disdainful eye at John. “Don’t you have the atlas with you, Caretaker Principia?” the bird asked. “Isn’t it full of maps?”
“Yes, I have it, and yes, it is,” John said irritably. “But I don’t have any maps of England in it.”
The owl hooted in derision. “Only a scholar would go on a hike with a book of maps that are of absolutely no use.”
“It’s immensely useful!” John shot back. “Just, ah, just not here and now.”
It was not all that unusual for a professor to carry books with him wherever he went—even on a walkabout holiday such as this one—so John simply carried the Imaginarium Geographica around with him. Too many times in the past circumstances had called for its use, and through misfortune, or lack of preparation, he had found himself without it.
Even after the badger Tummeler had begun publishing an abridged and annotated edition in the Archipelago, and copies were freely available, John still preferred to keep a light hand on the actual atlas. It was impossibly old, and had been written in by some of the greatest creative minds in human history. There were notations that were to be read only by the Caretakers or their apprentices, and so were not available to Tummeler. And there were maps that were left out of the popular edition because the little mammal saw them as unimportant.
What Tummeler didn’t realize was that it was often those out-of-the-way places where the turning points of history occurred, in the same way that the men and women who changed the world were not always the ones who seemed to have the power to do so. No one understood this principle quite so well as two professors from Oxford and their editor friend from London.
The owl launched himself back into the air as a stone tumbled into the hole Rose had been digging.
“There,” she said, dusting her hands. “That’s much better.”
“What’s better?” Charles asked.
“The stone,” Rose replied. “It was in the wrong place. I put it back.”
John and Jack blinked at each other in consternation. They couldn’t decide if the girl was too simple or too complex to really understand.
“Are you certain he’s not going to, ah, rust?” Charles said, casting a glance upward at the bird circling overhead. “Hugo would be quite put out if something befell the