On the walk to the house, Bert told the others everything he could remember about the strange shipbuilder he and the other time travelers had encountered in the past—and then, together, they repeated it all to the two residents of Tamerlane House whom they could depend on to carry out their plan.
“Interesting,” said Don Quixote as he nibbled on a cookie. “Don’t you agree, Uncas?”
His squire climbed down from the chair where he’d been perched and frowned at the knight. “Interesting?” he exclaimed, whiskers twitching. “Sounds more like a ’mergency t’ me. Finish your snicker-doodle and let’s get going.”
“Uh, we haven’t even told you what we need you to do,” said Jack.
“That’s never stopped us before,” said Uncas.
“What is the task?” Quixote asked, swallowing the last bite of cookie and pocketing two more before dusting off his lap. “I’m not sure where to begin looking for a shipbuilder who might have died thousands of years ago.”
“You may not,” said Bert, “but someone else you know does. In fact, they were well acquainted at one point.”
“Of whom are we speaking?”
“The Zen Detective,” said John.
“He’s just upstairs, with Rappaccini’s daughter,” said Quixote. “Why not just go ask him yourselves?”
“Because,” said John, “despite his sudden turnabout in the battle with Dee and the Cabal, the detective still harbors a lot of deep-seated and unpleasant feelings about working with Caretakers. But you two,” he said, pointing at the knight and the squire, “are not Caretakers. And he still feels a sense of obligation for betraying you.”
“And you want us to play offa that, hey?” asked Uncas. “That in’t th’ Animal way.”
“It’s the way that will work,” said John. “Will you do it?”
Quixote stood and saluted. “For you, Master Caretaker, I would march alone through the gates of Hades itself.”
“And I’d go with him,” said Uncas.
♦ ♦ ♦
The knight and his squire made their way through the warren of hallways and corridors to the room that had been provided to the Zen Detective, but as they suspected it might be, it was empty. Since taking up residence at Tamerlane House, he could almost always be found with one of Verne’s time travelers, the assistants known as Messengers. Her name was Beatrice, but everyone called her Rappaccini’s daughter, after her famous father. Her room was less a living space than it was an arboretum, and nearly everything growing in it was poisonous. This might have been a cause for concern to the detective had he not also recently been poisonous himself. Beatrice corrected that unfortunate condition, and in the most unlikely pairing possible, the two fell in love.
It took several knocks at Beatrice’s door before the detective opened it in a huff. “What is it?” he said, not even trying to disguise the ire in his voice. “We’re busy.”
Uncas drew a breath, intending to ask what they were busy doing, but Quixote kicked him in the shin and shut him up. “Hello, Aristophanes,” the knight said pleasantly. “We’d like to ask a favor, if you don’t mind.”
Aristophanes looked back into the room at his dark, quiet companion and snorted. “Don’t insult me. The Caretakers need a favor, you mean.”
“We need you to find a shipbuilder,” Quixote said, ignoring the deflection. “Someone of approximately your own vintage.”
“My vintage?” Aristophanes said in honest surprise. “There’s no one living who . . .” He paused, eyes widening.
“Back in the day, he built a ship you might have heard of,” said Quixote. “It was called the Argo.”
“Argus,” the detective said, shaking his head. “You want me to find Argus.”
“Ah!” Uncas said brightly. “You know him!”
“I was supposed to execute him,” said Aristophanes. “Plans changed. Mistakes were made. And now I’m being harassed by a geriatric knight and a talking beaver.”
“I’m a badger, you—you—unicorn,” Uncas replied before he noticed the slight gleam in the detective’s eyes. He was teasing.
“So,” said Aristophanes, “the Caretakers have need of finding a shipbuilder, do they?”
“Yes,” the knight said, nodding, “and we need you to do so right away.” He reached into a knapsack at his side and drew out a small bag, which he handed to the detective. “We came prepared,” he said somberly. “Thirty pieces of silver—your usual fee, I believe.”