The Shadow Dragons - James A. Owen [60]
“The Lady of the Lake,” said Malory. “She cannot be summoned on a whim.”
“Ah,” said Quixote, “that point of fact is exactly the reason I believe I am to play a role in this matter, and why the Frenchman believed I was the knight of the Prophecy.
“Many years ago I was called upon to perform a service for the Caretakers.”
“And a job well done,” said Cervantes. “You traveled to the Summer Country and to the edges of the Archipelago itself, and you brought back the Geographica”
“Indeed,” said Quixote, “but what none of you knew, save for my partner Edmund, was that in the course of events I performed a service for the Lady of the Lake. And to this day, she owes me a boon.”
“This wasn’t in any of the Histories,” Irving said with an irritated glance at Spenser. “Where was it chronicled, Caretaker?”
“It’s in one of the appendices,” replied Spenser, “under the title ‘The Thin Man and the Queen of Stars.’”
“Ah,” said Irving. “Your pardon, Edmund.”
“If you are able to summon the lady,” said Chaucer, “what weapon do you believe she will give you?”
“‘Return what was given,’” Jack said suddenly. “That can only mean one weapon. We saw it given to her ourselves, John.”
“That’s right,” said John. “It’s in one of the, ah, less accurate chronicles written by Geoffrey of Monmouth. After the first battle with Mordred in Camelot, when we brought Rose to restore Arthur’s life, he called on the Lady of the Lake—his mother—and gave the shattered pieces of his sword to her.
“The weapon we need to defeat the Winter King is the weapon he wanted for himself,” John finished, now visibly excited. “It’s the sword of Aeneas! It’s Caliburn!”
“I concur,” Chaucer said, after all the murmuring and table thumping that had followed John’s statement had died down. “That must be the weapon mentioned in the Prophecy. But that still leaves us with many unknown pieces on the board. Even if Quixote should succeed in obtaining Caliburn from the Lady, it must still be repaired—and there is no one living who knows how it was forged.”
“The Cartographer,” said John. “It may be worth consulting him.”
“A possibility,” allowed Chaucer. “A better one may be the Ancient of Days—the shipbuilder Ordo Maas. He has knowledge of techniques long lost to the rest of the two worlds. He might be willing to help.”
“And then what?” said John. “We wait for our adversary to make his plays and then respond in kind? You said the war had not yet begun in the Archipelago, while it’s been raging along in the Summer Country. What if he’s there already? What if he’s planning on turning it into the Winterland first—and then returning here?”
“He hasn’t been in the real world,” Bert said. “We’d have known, or seen some aspect of his movements there. But we’ve seen nothing.”
“He has to be operating somewhere,” said Jack. “Burton and the others of the Imperial Cartological Society are operating in both worlds—why can’t he?”
“You’ve hit the problem on the head, boy,” said Twain. “They must have a base of operations, but we just haven’t been able to locate it. And believe me,” he added, tapping out his cigar, “we’ve looked. In both worlds.”
“It isn’t there,” a soft, slight voice said from somewhere above them. “The place you’re seeking—it isn’t there.”
As one, the assembly looked up to the figure standing at the railing above and gasped in unison.
It was the master of the house.
He stood to the right side of the landing, which was still steeped in shadows. His smallish frame seemed to implode upon itself as he stood there, moving his hands nervously, trying to decide what to do with them. His eyes glittered from under a deep brow and his hair was strewn about as if he’d just risen from a long nap.
He finally gripped the railing to steady himself, then repeated the words he’d spoken: “The place you’re seeking isn’t there.”
Edgar Allan Poe quietly descended the staircase and moved around the table to take his place at the head—a place John had assumed was reserved for Jules Verne.
“Is Poe the Prime Caretaker?” he whispered.
“You