The First Dragon(14)

“But,” John said, puzzled, “it seems as if you’re merely trading one jailhouse for another. What can you do here that you could not do on Lemnos?”

“Be myself,” said Argus. “The easiest and hardest thing a man can do.”

The Prime Caretaker considered this a moment, then nodded his head. “As you wish.” He turned to the badgers. “Uncas, will you see to it that Master Swift arranges for a suite of rooms at the house?”

Argus placed a hand on John’s arm and shook his head. “That won’t be necessary,” he said, gesturing with his other hand at the fractured hull of the Black Dragon. “I will be more than comfortable here. This is where I belong—and where I think I shall be content.”

John agreed, and with another handshake to bind the deal, he and the badgers left Argus, who was already stroking the ship and whispering words of quiet power as a smile spread slowly across his face.

“Indeed,” Argus said to no one in particular. “My conscience is finally clear, and I have at last come home.”

♦ ♦ ♦

The elder members of the Caretakers Emeriti crowded at the open door to look in on Laura Glue’s patient. It was startling to see Madoc as he must have been in his youth, unbearded and unscarred by the world. But it was equally startling to see, there on top of the quilt, his right hand, whole and unblemished. That alone was unusual enough to them that they could nearly overlook the great, leathery wings that were folded along the headboard behind him.

“So,” Twain said softly, “he is the Hook no longer, but fully a man again, our Mordred is.”

“He is more Madoc than Mordred, I think,” said Dickens. “He is, at last, perhaps once more the man that he set out to be.”

Laura Glue sat next to the bed, facing this strange young man whom she had met only once before, when he was older, and weathered by the events of his long life. In a way, it felt like another first meeting to her. She wiped his forehead with a damp cloth, watching as his breathing became more regular, until he finally opened his eyes.

“Hello there,” she said.

“Rose?” he asked, propping himself up with the pillows. Then his vision cleared, and he realized his nurse was not his daughter. After a moment he added, “I’m, ah, Madoc.”

She giggled. “I know that. We have met, you know.”

He reddened. “I remember. It’s just . . . more like a dream now. It’s been so, so long.”

“Only a year for me, since we saw you in London.”

“Which was a century before I gave myself over to my other self to become the Black Dragon, and then over a thousand years since that,” he said, more awed by the reality of it than anything else. “And now here I sit, in this body that I remember having centuries earlier, before I . . .” He paused.

“Before you became the Winter King.”

Again, he blushed. “Or at least before I became Mordred, at any rate.” He stopped and looked away, out the window. “I still remember those things too, girl. I still remember the choices I made. And . . . I don’t regret them. I’m sorry, but it’s true.”

“You must have been capable of making some good choices,” Jack offered from the doorway, where he, John, and Fred had crowded past the other Caretakers. “Otherwise, you’d never have become the Dragon’s apprentice.”

“Mmm,” Madoc answered noncommittally. “There have been times I almost regretted that particular choice too,” he said, “but when I was in the presence of my daughter, it all seemed to have happened for a reason. It seemed necessary.”

“Everyone makes mistakes, Madoc,” said Jack.

“Not everyone was the son of Odysseus and was offered the whole world as his kingdom,” Madoc replied. “But I was, and I still made many mistakes.”

“So was your brother,” Jack suggested, “and he had more opportunities than you did to choose a direction for his life, but for my money, he didn’t turn out any better than you did. Uh, I mean worse,” he corrected quickly, after a poke in the ribs from John. “Uh, sorry.”

Madoc shook his head and grimaced. “I don’t know. Perhaps if I had chosen a better teacher . . .”

“Better than Samaranth?” asked John.

Madoc’s face darkened. “No,” he said. “A . . . different teacher. Samaranth, I should have heeded more. But then again,” he added, looking around the room, “Myrddyn is nowhere to be seen, and I am here—again. So that should say something, I think.”

“It does,” said Jack. “Truly.”