The First Dragon(13)
However, he was not entirely unchanged from the experience: his right hand, once severed and replaced with a hook, was now whole again. And while he was once again in the form of a man, not all the aspects of the Dragon had been shed with the ship—two great, black wings rose from his shoulder blades and stretched out behind him like sails.
No one spoke, or moved, until Madoc’s eyes fluttered closed, and he started to fall. Then John, Jack, Houdini, and Hawthorne all rushed forward to catch him—but it was the Valkyrie Laura Glue and the badger Caretaker Fred who moved the fastest, and caught their friend’s father before he fell.
“It’s all right,” Laura Glue whispered through the tears streaming down her face. “Rose wouldn’t let you fall, and neither will we.”
♦ ♦ ♦
As the rest of the group at the boathouse gathered around the newly reborn Madoc, Verne, Bert, and Twain simply watched—because they were also watching the reactions of two others: Argus and Aristophanes.
The shipbuilder’s response was easier to parse—it was that of near-total surprise. Short of just being told beforehand—something he might not have believed—there was no way for him to have known that the Black Dragon he had bonded with the ship, at the request of Mordred, the Winter King, was in fact Mordred himself, in his true persona of Madoc. The dragon already existed, and at the time, not even Mordred knew that the Black Dragon was a future version of himself, who went back in time to become the Black Dragon. So in a way, even as the act of releasing Madoc closed a great circle, it was understandable for the old Greek to be surprised.
Aristophanes’s reaction was more enigmatic: He showed fear. Of the three Caretakers watching him, only Verne really knew the detective to any degree, but he was certain that Madoc and Aristophanes had never crossed paths. So why was his response a fearful one? It was, Verne decided, something worth investigating, but later. For now, there was a more important agenda to focus on.
Fred and Uncas were helpfully offering a drink of water to the weakened shipbuilder. The retransformation process he claimed would be “easy” was anything but, and the effort had taken a toll.
“Thank you,” Argus said, handing the tin cup back to the badgers as John approached. “Well, Caretaker? Are you satisfied with my work?”
John nodded, smiling. “What was your price?” he asked. “Quixote was authorized to bargain in good faith.”
“I told the knight I wished a boon.”
“Whatever we owe you, then,” John said to the shipbuilder, “has been more than earned. Name your price.”
Argus responded by turning to look at the newly released Madoc, who was being borne up in blankets by the Caretakers for rest and recovery at Tamerlane House. The shipbuilder’s face twitched as he watched, and his eyes went glassy, as if he were immersed in a long-buried memory. Finally he turned to John and extended his hand.
“There is no cost,” he said. “Long ago, I myself promised to grant a boon, and that debt has now been paid—twice over, I think. No more need be said about it. I’d just like to return to my work.”
John took his hand and shook it firmly, then again. “Fair enough,” the Caretaker said, not certain whether he ought to question the old man further. “Even all, then.”
“I would make one request,” the shipbuilder said, “not as payment, but simply a favor, if it is one you’d be willing to grant.”
John spread his arms. “You have returned to us dearest blood, and given us the only chance to find our lost friends,” he said in reply. “Ask what you will.”
“As I said, I’d like to continue my work—but I would like to do so here.”
“Here?” John answered, surprised. “At Tamerlane House?” He stroked his chin in thought, before replying further.
“You must understand,” he said slowly, “that save for the connection to Jack’s house, those residing here are all but prisoners. The Archipelago . . .”
“I’m not as naive or as uninformed as your agents seemed to think,” said Argus, “and the detective keeps secrets less well than he believes. I know—a little—of what’s happened. But I have been a virtual prisoner myself on Lemnos for a very long time.”
John frowned and fingered his lip. “A prisoner? I had understood that you were a free man.”
“A private one,” said Argus, “and those conditions do not always mesh.” He made a broad gesture with his hand. “I saw the rune stones as we crossed the bridge—I kept myself hidden in Lemnos in a similar manner. I could even be of use to you in assisting with your security, beyond what work I can do in the boathouse.”