John waved his hand. “You’re head of security,” he said. “I trust in that. Let me know what you find, though.”
Hawthorne winked and disappeared.
“Mebbe I should go too,” said Fred, “seein’ as I’m one of th’ actual Caretakers now.”
“Actually, we could use your help here,” said Jack. “There are some cubbyholes in and around the bookshelves that are too small for us to reach, and, not to put too fine a point on it . . .”
“I know, I know,” Fred said with mock annoyance. “You need a badger to bail out your backsides—again.”
“I’ll never begrudge the help of a badger,” John said with honest appreciation, “especially considering that you’re the closest thing to a Dragon we have left.”
“That may not be entirely correct,” said a breathless Hawthorne, who reentered the room in such a rush that he nearly skidded into a bookcase. “Come quickly, everyone! You must see what we’ve found on the South Beach.”
♦ ♦ ♦
Hawthorne’s alert roused everyone at Tamerlane House, and so almost every Caretaker, Messenger, Mystorian, and creature arrived on the beach at the same time and saw the same impossible sight:
There, half out of the water and leaning slightly where it rested on the sand, was the Black Dragon.
Chapter TWO
The Prodigal Dragon
The initial surprise that was felt by all the residents of Tamerlane House at finding the long-missing Black Dragon on the South Beach was quickly eclipsed by their arguing about what it meant, and more, what was to be done next.
Shakespeare, for his part, was thrilled by the arrival of the Black Dragon. But several of the Caretakers Emeriti, led by da Vinci, were convinced it was some sort of Echthroi trick—a Dragonship version of the Trojan Horse—and advocated burning it on the spot.
The younger Caretakers, led by John and Jack, suggested it was merely synchronicity that a Dragonship had turned up at just that point in time that a Dragon was needed, and protested that burning it would destroy their only chance of powering Shakespeare’s Zanzibar Gate.
The rest were basically skirting one side or the other without taking a definitive stance, all of which meant that there was nothing but chaotic bickering right up to the point that Harry Houdini fired the cannon and silenced them all.
“Hell’s bells,” he said as he moved around the still-smoking cannon, which sat along one of the battlements. “I thought we kept this loaded in case of an attack from the Echthroi, but it seems it’s just as useful in shutting up Caretakers.”
. . . Houdini and John piloted the Black Dragon . . .
“Now, see here,” Hawthorne started.
“You’re all forgetting,” Houdini went on, ignoring Hawthorne, “that the Archipelago isn’t on Chronos time anymore. So this ship didn’t just leave a year ago to make its way here. It’s been sailing for . . .” He looked at Twain. “I can’t do math.”
“Oh, uh,” said Dumas, who was good with numbers. “About a . . . um, a thousand years, give or take.”
“A thousand years,” Houdini repeated, glaring at da Vinci. “So we know there’s still a living Dragon at its heart. And as far as using it,” he added, looking at John, “that isn’t our choice. It’s his. And we all know who the Black Dragon once was—so what he’ll choose to do is anybody’s guess.”
“He’ll do it,” said John.
“You sound pretty confident of that,” said Dumas.
“I am,” said John, “because he’s already sacrificed himself once for his daughter, and I have no doubt he’ll do it again.”
“Why?” asked Houdini.
“Because,” said John, “I’m a father too, and it’s what I would do.”
“There’s just one problem,” said Shakespeare. “It’s a Dragonship, not a Dragon. I don’t know if that will work to activate the portal. It may be that the only use for it is as a ship.”
“It’s all well and good,” Dumas said, giving the Black Dragon a cursory glance, “but of what use is a Dragonship with no Archipelago to cross over to?”
“More to the point,” said John, “if we can’t separate the Dragon from the ship, how can we power the gate?”
“Do you really need to, though?” asked Jack. “The bridge didn’t need anything but a Dragon’s eyes to work.”
“I was hoping to engineer the gate to operate on the same principle as the bridge,” said Shakespeare, “but that’s, it would seem, apples and oranges.”