“What did he say, exactly?” she asked.
Enoch shrugged. “He simply said he was the one who could help you, and that you would come seeking him.”
“This guy,” Uncas said to Quixote behind his paw, “is like the Zen master of not being helpful.”
“He was here? You met him?” Edmund asked.
Enoch nodded. “He visited us here, long ago, in the days of my youth, and learned many things from us. And in turn, we also learned many things from him, such as the art of making these.”
He held out his hand and from it dropped a silver pocket watch, with an engraving of a Dragon on the case.
“Azer,” said Rose. “Samaranth’s wife. I never realized that was who was on Bert’s watch—most of the Caretakers have one like Verne’s. . . .”
“With the red Dragon?” Enoch asked. “I liked those less. There’s something pure and geometrically pleasing about a simpler design. The original one he brought to me was broken, but it was simple to repair, and I think I improved upon the workings in the process.”
Edmund suddenly brightened. “We have something similar in one of our bags,” he said, grinning, “that was damaged beyond our ability to repair. But it may not be beyond yours. Would you mind having a look at him?”
“Him?” Enoch said in surprise.
In response Edmund simply walked back over to the Indigo Dragon and returned carrying the clockwork owl, Archimedes. He had been damaged on their trip into the future, where they battled the man who called himself Lord Winter. The agents of Winter had repaired the bird, but in doing so had taken away . . . something. He was now completely an automaton, with none of the fire of life he had possessed before.
Madoc sighed heavily when he saw the clockwork bird. “Ah, Archimedes,” he said. “Perhaps my oldest friend, and one of my great teachers.” He looked at Enoch. “Can you?” he asked. “Can you help him?”
The Maker gently took the bird from Edmund and examined him closely. “It’s possible,” he said finally. “Physically, he is unharmed. But his aiua has been smothered, almost extinguished. I think you can call it back, though.”
“Call it back?” said Rose. “What do you mean?”
“Just that,” said Enoch. “His aiua is bound to yours, even after death. To restore him to life, all you need to do is call him, and he will respond.”
“It’s that simple?” asked Edmund.
“It’s that hard,” said Enoch. “The call must be with the full desire of your heart. Your aiua must draw his back. There is no other way.”
“All right,” said Edmund. “I’ll give it a try.”
“Not your aiua,” Enoch said, pointing past Edmund to Madoc. “His.”
Madoc stared at the Maker in surprise. “Why must it be me?”
“Your aiua is most intertwined with his,” said Enoch, “so it must be yours that calls him.”
Madoc took the damaged bird from the young man and cradled him in his arms. “That’s all I have to do? Just believe him well?”
“Believing is seeing, Madoc,” said Fred.
“No,” said Enoch. “Believing is being. So believe.”
♦ ♦ ♦
The Dragon Madoc held the clockwork bird as gently as he could and closed his eyes. Instantly the choices and decisions of a lifetime flashed through his mind, filling him with regret, sadness, and then . . .
. . . happiness. And contentment. And a feeling of rightness about his place in the world. And as he focused on these thoughts, he realized how much a part of who he was could be attributed to the teachings of this cranky, crotchety, wise, and beloved old bird. And that was when he felt it happen—a change, like a blessing made tangible.
“What,” Archimedes said, “did you do to yourself, Madoc? You have wings!”
Madoc opened his eyes. “I wanted to be more like one of my best teachers,” he said, unable to suppress a grin.
“That’s what it would take,” Archie replied. “It certainly wasn’t going to be through your penmanship.”
The companions gathered around the newly himself bird, laughing and cheering in celebration. Enoch, however, simply stood apart from them, arms extended, with his eyes closed and head tipped back.
“What are you doing?” Fred asked him, curious.
“Communing with my father,” said Enoch.
“Uh, you mean you’re praying?”
“Hmm,” Enoch said. “Yes, I think that might be the right word. It is how we Archons communicate.”
“Archons?” asked Charles. “You mean as in rulers?”