The Shadow Dragons - James A. Owen [6]
“He hasn’t rusted so far,” said Jack, looking around the small clearing, “but we’re going to be soaked to the skin if we don’t find a place to bed down for the evening. We’d best be going, and quickly. It’s getting dark.”
“Any suggestions?” said John.
Jack indicated a faint footpath to the northwest, which veered off the main walking trail. “There’s a faint glow coming from over there. With any luck, it’s an inn—or at least a farmhouse where we can get directions and our bearings.”
There was indeed a light emanating from somewhere behind a grove of trees. The roadway must have been on the other side, as the path was sparse enough that it could not have seen many travelers. Nevertheless, the companions followed Jack’s lead and pressed their way through the trees.
As they walked, the path opened up into a proper road which crossed another going east-west, and there, at the junction, stood the source of the light—a tall streetlamp, which looked as if it had been plucked out of Oxford and dropped here in the countryside.
Underneath it, dressed in a battered topcoat, a man was standing as if he were waiting for a bus, or unwary passersby. Moving closer, John was startled to realize that he recognized him. Or at least, he thought he did.
Jack had the same flash of memory, and both looked back to note that Charles was right behind them.
At first glance, it looked as if Charles— another Charles—was standing at the crossroads, waiting for them. The man was tall and had Charles’s bearing—but as they walked closer, it was apparent that he was a stranger to them. The three men and the girl nodded politely and began to move past, taking the path to the right and away from the lamp’s comforting glow.
“Pardon me,” the man said, raising a hand in greeting, “but do you have the time?”
“What?” said John. “Oh, uh, yes, of course,” and he turned, pulling his watch from his vest pocket. It was a distinctive sort of watch: silver, untarnished, with a red Chinese dragon on the cover. “It’s half past five,” he said, snapping the watch closed, “or half past drenched, depending on your point of view.”
“Mmm,” the stranger mused. “Well put, John. But actually, I also need to know the year, if you don’t mind.”
At the mention of John’s name, he and the others froze in place. Had the man merely overheard them talking? Had one of them uttered John’s name? Or was something more sinister afoot?
“Why do you need to know the year?” John asked cautiously, as Jack and Charles moved protectively closer to Rose.
“Because,” replied the man stiffly, “I’ve come a long way, and I seem to have lost track.”
“Lost track of the years?” Charles exclaimed. “If you don’t even know what year it is, should you be out and about in the woods all alone?”
“Actually,” the man replied, “I came here to protect you, Charles. The year, if you please?”
“It’s 1936,” said Jack. “April, if you couldn’t tell.”
The man surprised them by slumping against the waypost in obvious relief. “Thank God,” he said, running a hand across his head. “1936. Then I’ve not arrived too late after all.”
“What year did you think it was?” asked John. “And pardon my asking, but how is it that you know our names? Have we met, perchance?”
“You are the Caretakers of the Imaginarium Geographica, are you not?” the man replied. “Let’s just say we are in service of the same causes. And I was fully expecting to arrive here in 1943.”
“You were expecting to arrive in the future?” said Charles. “That’s not really possible, is it? I mean, not unless the circumstances are extraordinary.”
“You’ve been in such a circumstance, I believe,” the man said. “And it wasn’t the future I was aiming for, but the past. I just seem to have overshot my mark, to our benefit, I hope.”
John and Jack exchanged worried glances. The man knew enough to be dangerous to them—but he had so far done nothing more than talk while leaning against the post. And he did say he was there to help them.
“Forgive our hesitation,” John said mildly, “but we’ve heard credible stories of every stripe and color from the best of them.