“We know you’ve made many sacrifices,” John said, “but we need your help once more—as a Dragon. As the only one left.”
Madoc exhaled heavily and swung his legs to the side of the bed. “All right,” he said. “Tell me what . . .” He paused, finally noticing he carried considerably more bulk than before.
He flexed his wings, which filled the small bedroom. “Well, these are new.”
“Yes,” Laura Glue said. “And your eyes,” she added, moving closer and turning his head to the light. “They’re silver.”
“Silver is nothing but dragon’s blood,” Madoc said. “It has healing properties, and sometimes manifests itself during a transformation.” He flexed his wings again, and the Caretakers could see that the leathery black was shot through with veins of silver. “I suppose I didn’t expect it to leave a permanent marker.”
“I like them,” she said, looking at his eyes. “I liked them when they were violet, and I like them now. The wings, too. They make you look . . . imposing.”
“Yes,” Jack whispered behind his hand to his friends, “because he was such a shrinking violet before the wings.”
“And I like that you are a good and compassionate person, and very forgiving, much like my daughter,” Madoc said, glancing past Laura Glue to the others crowded into the room. “Is Rose here? I was hoping to see her.”
Before John could respond, Fred moved closer to the bed, whiskers twitching. “That’s why we done this,” he said nervously. “That’s why we brung, uh, brought you back, ah, sir. We need your help. Rose needs your help.”
Madoc looked at the small mammal a moment, then stood up. “All right, Caretakers,” he said, addressing all of them at once. “I haven’t eaten in more than a thousand years, so what say you find us something to fill our bellies while you tell me why my daughter needs an old apprentice Dragon’s help.”
Part Two
The Last Flight of the Indigo Dragon
The path was well lit with lanterns . . .
Chapter FIVE
The Zanzibar Gate
The part of the garden at the Kilns where the bridge was located was not visible to passersby, but the driveway where the Duesenberg had been parked was. Precautions had been taken to ensure that no one passing through Oxford would notice anything out of the ordinary, but then again, usually no one was looking—it was what made the Kilns a perfect entry point to Tamerlane House.
No one, that is, except for the two men sitting in the black Bentley across the street. They were looking, and they saw a great deal. Warnie had noticed the car parked there earlier, but thought little of it—the enemies he had been warned to watch out for didn’t drive automobiles.
Thus it was that no one, not even Warnie, seemed to take note when the two men emerged and crossed the road. Focused as they had been on taking Argus to see the Black Dragon, the Caretakers had simply crossed over the bridge, sealing the portal behind them without ever looking back. There were guards posted, and magic runes protecting the entry to Tamerlane House and the Nameless Isles . . . on that side of the bridge. But no one considered that if both sides were not protected equally, then both sides were equally vulnerable to their enemies. But no one was looking for enemies in Oxford.
If someone had been looking, he might have noticed the near-identical black coats and bowler hats the two men wore, and the round black glasses that hid the dark orbs that occupied the places where their eyes should have been.
If someone had been looking, he might have noticed the identical black pocket watches both men carried, which chimed at the same moment.
“It is time, Mr. Kirke,” said one.
“Indeed it is, Mr. Bangs,” said the other.
In hindsight, John thought, that was the Caretakers’ greatest mistake. They should have been more cautious. They should have taken better care. If they had, then perhaps things would have gone differently when the two men knocked on the door at the Kilns.
♦ ♦ ♦
In the dining hall, Alexandre Dumas and the Feast Beasts quickly put together what Dumas referred to as “a light dinner,” which nevertheless consisted of enough food to have stocked the Kilns for a year. Madoc kept refilling his plate and eating as the various Caretakers took turns explaining what had been happening in the Archipelago. He made no comment, only nodding occasionally and grunting. Shakespeare was last to speak, and he explained how he believed the Zanzibar Gate would work, and why it required a Dragon.
“The question is,” Madoc said as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and belched as a courtesy to Dumas, “am I still in fact a Dragon? I still have the wings, but I feel more like a man again.”