The Shadow Dragons - James A. Owen [7]
In answer, the man reached into his pocket and pulled out a silver pocket watch. On the back was the clear image of a red dragon. It was identical to the watch John had just pulled from his own pocket. “It was given to me by Jules Verne,” the man said, “as, I suspect, he gave yours to you.”
“Good enough,” John said as he and the stranger compared timepieces. “I’ve only ever seen one other like it.”
“That would probably be Hank Morgan’s,” said the man. “His is used a bit more frequently, I’m afraid.”
“So are you also a time traveler?” asked John.
“Not so much a traveler in time, as in space,” the man said, “although thanks to the watch, I have the ability to do so when the need is dire. My mentor has a different set of goals for me than he had for Hank.”
“Verne,” said Charles. “So he’s the one who sent you?”
“Indeed,” the man replied. He pulled at his collar and looked around. “We should find a place more suitable to talk, unless you have an objection.”
“That was our plan anyway,” Jack said, offering his hand. “Do you have some place in mind?”
“I do,” said the stranger, shaking Jack’s hand, then John’s and Charles’s in turn. To Rose he gave only a long, appraising glance.
“You know all of us,” Charles said amicably, “but you’ve not yet introduced yourself.”
“Ransom,” the man said as he turned and began leading them down the path to the left. “My name is Alvin Ransom.”
CHAPTER TWO
The Inn of the Flying Dragon
“I’m a great admirer of all your works,” Ransom said as they walked briskly along, “especially your latest, John. That book about the little fellows with the hairy feet, and wizards, and whatnot. I particularly liked the part where the giants turned into stone. Very moving.”
“Actually, those were trolls,” John said. “And . . .” He stopped walking. “Hang on there,” he exclaimed. “How could you have read that? I haven’t even finished that book yet—and I’ve barely touched it in years!”
Ransom slapped his forehead. “Apologies, my good fellow. I forgot it’s not due to be published until next year. That’s what I get for trying to curry favor with you by coming up with compliments.”
“Oh,” said John. “So, ah, you didn’t really like it after all?”
“I haven’t finished it,” Ransom admitted. “But it is on my nightstand, and I fully intend to, as soon as I have the opportunity.”
“What is your profession, Mr. Ransom, if I may ask?” said Charles.
The lamps were … moving with the light of active
flame.
“I’m a philologist,” he answered evenly, “at the University of Cambridge.”
“A philologist?” said John. “Really? A languages specialist? How odd that we haven’t met before.”
“Not particularly,” said Ransom. “The Cambridge that I come from isn’t the Cambridge you’re familiar with.”
“Different country?” asked Jack.
“Different dimension,” replied Ransom.
“That sounds exactly like Cambridge,” said Charles.
“Bert has alluded to the concept of different dimensions once or twice,” John said, “but we never got into specifics. Charles is our resident expert in that particular field.”
Charles beamed with pleasure at the compliment. “I’ve actually devoted quite a bit of attention to the topic,” he said brightly, “even wrote a book about it.”
“I know,” Ransom replied, his voice suddenly somber with respect. “It’s one of our most important theses on the subject of multidimensionality.”
Charles blinked at him. “It was, ah, a work of fiction, actually.”
Now it was Ransom’s turn to be surprised. He started to make a comment, then paused, his expression softening. “I keep forgetting what year I’ve come to,” he said mildly. “There are things I take for granted that you won’t actually know about for a few years yet, God willing.”
Jack and John exchanged a glance of concern. God willing? Just what was that supposed to mean? That they wouldn’t discover the knowledge Ransom referred to too soon, or that they might not have the opportunity at all?
“You seem to know a great deal more about us than we know about you,” Jack said. “I don’t know how comfortable