The First Dragon(32)

“Boat,” said Laura Glue.

“Ship,” Uncas insisted.

“Actually, it’s an ark,” Deucalion said pleasantly. “And it wasn’t so much a decision as it was a responsibility.”

“How so?” asked Madoc.

“Come,” Deucalion said, rising to his feet and gesturing for them to follow. “I will show you.”

He led them through a connecting passage into another tent, which was guarded at the entryway by two of his sons, who regarded their visitors suspiciously, even though the guide was their own father. Inside, another son, Hap, stood guard over a pedestal.

“This is where we keep those objects sacred to us,” Deucalion said as his son stepped back and the companions circled around the pedestal, “so that we carry with us the reminders of the work we are to do in the world.”

On the pedestal was an ornate box made of a black wood with a latch made of bronze. The shipbuilder opened the latch and pushed back the lid. Inside, they could see several items: a brooch, a small dagger, three scrolls, and a simple, cream-colored note card on what appeared to be paper of twentieth-century manufacture. Deucalion removed the note card and closed the box.

“This is the reason I have done the work I have,” he said pointedly. “Were it not for this, I would never have conceived of building the great ship, nor pursued the animal husbandry in the manner that I have. Although,” he added, smiling and scratching Uncas behind the ear, “I have always favored the Children of the Earth above man, and thus, the work I have done only pleases me more.”

“I can’t read it,” Laura Glue said bluntly. She looked at Madoc. “Can you?”

He shook his head. “It is far older than I, and of a language I never learned at Alexandria.”

“There are few who can read it,” Deucalion said, “but you already know the content of it—it is a warning about the Great Deluge to come, and a plea to gather all the Children of the Earth into a great ship, so that they may be taken to safety in another world, and to take all the knowledge necessary should the world need to be rebuilt. It was such an expression of madness that I would never have given it credence had I not also known and trusted he who wrote it.”

“Who is that?” asked Madoc.

Deucalion smiled and tapped his chest. “Me.”

He explained how he had been approached at his court by someone who appeared out of thin air and seemed to be able to predict the future. This strange visitor was the one who delivered the note, which had apparently been written by Deucalion himself, to himself, in his own hand. Thus, the shipbuilder explained, the man must have been a prophet of some kind, and after consulting with his sons, Deucalion left his land and journeyed to the City of Jade, where they began their work in earnest.

“To be honest, were it not for him, I might not have been so welcoming of you,” Deucalion said bluntly. “Even here, in this land, you are strange personages.”

Madoc frowned. “Then why did you trust us?”

“Because,” Deucalion answered, gesturing at the pocket watch Fred wore, “our strange visitor carried a device just like the one you wear.”

Laura Glue sighed and looked at Madoc, who was rubbing his forehead and flexing his wings in agitation. “Verne,” he said, sighing. “Sometimes I don’t know whether to be grateful for him, or wish that someone would get fed up enough with his meddling to seal him in a tomb.”

Deucalion gave her a strange look. “Verne? No, that was not his name. He called himself something more in the manner of my own people—Telemachus.”

The companions all felt the same thrill of fear at hearing that name. Laura Glue looked again at Madoc, who shook his head slightly, as if to say, Now is not the time or place. However, as had often been the case, the humans’ discretion was completely overridden by the badgers.

“That’s the name of th’ boy prince we lost and then found again,” said Uncas. “He might be evil, though.”

“Or not,” said Fred. “The last time we saw him, he was still thinking it over.”

“Well, he apparently made his choice,” said Deucalion, “because he left something for you, too.”

“For us?” Quixote said in surprise.

“The badgers, specifically,” said Deucalion. “He and I share an affinity for talking animals, it seems.”

At the shipbuilder’s urging, the badgers peered into the box, and there, underneath the scrolls, were two more envelopes, one addressed to each of them.

“Great!” Uncas exclaimed. “I love t’ get mail.”