The First Dragon (Chronicles of the Imaginarium Geographica, The) (24 page)

“The Cabal,” Jack said. “John, he’s brought the entire Cabal to the Nameless Isles! The enemy is here at our doorstep!”

“Closer than that, I think,” the Cheshire cat Grimalkin said as he appeared in the air over John’s shoulder. The Prime Caretaker jumped away, but the cat merely smiled at him and scratched at himself with a wicked-looking claw. “We’re in your house, eating your food, drinking your wine, and criticizing the decor.”

“Grimalkin!” John exclaimed. “You aren’t welcome here anymore!”

“Welcome or not, I’m still here, boy,” the cat said, “although it seems not even my master needed me, really. I would have thought it would take more than ‘Your shoelace is untied’ to get all of you to take your eyes off Dr. Dee.”

The Caretakers whirled around, but to their relief, Dee
was still there, along with Warnie and his henchmen.

“We’ve done as you asked, Dee,” said John. “Honor your part of the bargain.”

Dee looked at the cat. “Well, Grimalkin?”

The Cheshire cat licked a vanishing paw. “He tells the truth. The wards are down.”

Dee nodded, and Mr. Kirke struck Warnie a vicious blow to the head. Without making a sound, Jack’s brother fell to the ground, unconscious.

“I will kill you for that, Dee,” said Jack. “You know this. Believe it.”

“I kept my word,” Dee said as he crossed the bridge. “He hasn’t been harmed. Much.”

The Caretakers drew their swords and readied their weapons. “There are three of you and a multitude of us,” Twain said, leveling his
katana
at the former Caretaker. “We have you vastly outnumbered.”

“Appearances, Samuel, can be deceiving,” Dee countered. “You have numbers on your side, but this time I brought an ally whose loyalty cannot be questioned.”

With a gesture, he signaled to the cat, who suddenly became completely visible—and who began to grow much, much larger. In seconds, Grimalkin was the size of a good-sized truck.

“Now we can talk reasonably, like civilized men,” Dee said as he and his minions strode casually toward the house under the watchful gaze of the giant cat.

“I know you are bound,” John said to Grimalkin. “I know that’s why you serve him.”

“Yes,” Grimalkin said, with no trace of shame or embarrassment. “For a very, very long time now.”

Twain shook his head in disgust. “I can’t believe we’ve had a Lloigor here all this time.”

“Not Lloigor,” the cat insisted. “Echthros. A Lloigor is one who has given up or sold his shadow. But an Echthros is simply an Echthros.”

“Echthroi are Fallen angels,” said Twain. “Are you saying you’re an angel?”

“Was,” said the cat.

“A Binding is not the whole of your being, Grimalkin,” said John. “People have resisted Bindings before! And you resisted enough to warn us about Rose!”

“What?” Dee said, startled. He turned to the cat, scowling. “You caused me to move my timetable considerably,” he growled, “and there will be a price to pay, on that count you can be certain.”

“Enough chatter, Dee,” said Verne. “What is it you want?”

“There has always been one Imago and one Archimago on the earth,” said Dee. “You chose your candidate for Imago, and I chose mine—and now it seems both have been lost.”

“Ours is lost,” said Jack. “Yours abandoned you out of common sense.”

“Maybe,” said Dee. “But I believe that yours may yet succeed in restoring the keep and the Archipelago. And when that happens, I would like to be present. That’s why I have brought my house to the Nameless Isles—so that I can be here when the Imago and Archimago are together again in one place.”

“You’re out of your mind,” John said. “There’s no such person as the Archimago.”

“It is one of the great secrets,” said Dee. “One of the reveals the Prime Caretaker alone knows.”

Several of the Caretakers automatically turned to look at John, and the Chronographer of Lost Times slowly realized that something significant had changed in the Caretaker hierarchy. He smiled wickedly.

“I see,” Dee said, turning to look at Verne. “You haven’t told him, have you? He doesn’t know!”

“There are a lot of things I’m still learning, Dee,” John said, “not the least of which is whom I should trust, and when.”

“I was the Prime Caretaker before Jules was,” said Dee, “until the Caretakers and I had a critical difference of opinion.

“The most significant reason it is the job of the Prime Caretaker to seek out and train the Imago,” Dee continued with a flourish, “is because the Archimago resides here, with you, at Tamerlane House. He has been hiding in plain sight among the Caretakers ever since the first Imago was killed.”

The Caretakers, all except for Verne, froze in shock.

“That’s impossible,” said John. “We would have known.”

Dee shook his head. “It’s not impossible. He’s watching, and listening to all of us, right now,” he said, looking up at one of the balconies.

As one, the Caretakers turned to look, some already realizing, and all of them already fearing what they would see.

There, watching in the shadows from between the parted curtains at his window, was Edgar Allan Poe.

♦  ♦  ♦

“Rebuilding the keep,” said Rose, “is exactly what we’ve been trying to accomplish. We just have no clue who the Architect is.”

“You don’t need clues,” Telemachus replied, “because the answer you’ve sought has been staring you in the face all along.

“I was a good student,” he went on, turning to Madoc, “and I knew well the history of the Archipelago. And I know,” he continued, “that in your former life as Mordred, the Winter King, you once went to considerable lengths to try to destroy the original
Imaginarium Geographica,
am I right?”

Madoc reddened. “You are.”

Telemachus shrugged. “So why couldn’t you?”

“It had to be destroyed by the one who created it,” Madoc replied, “and none other. No one else could even do so much as singe the pages, unless he permitted it.”

“It is one of the first principles of Deep Magic,” Telemachus said gravely. “The
Imaginarium Geographica
could not be destroyed save by he who had created it . . .

“. . . and neither could the Keep of Time.”

The understanding struck Laura Glue and Fred first, and they stared at the others in shock and amazement. Charles suddenly looked as if he had swallowed an oyster that was too large to choke down, and Rose simply gripped her father’s hand more tightly. Of all of them, only Edmund beamed with delight at having an answer to the unanswerable question.

“Do I really need to clarify it for you?” asked Telemachus. He pointed at Charles. “You may have created the circumstances that led to its destruction, but you didn’t destroy the keep.” He continued, swinging his arm around to point at Madoc, “
You
did.

“You, Madoc.
You
are the Architect of the Keep of Time.”

“Now, Grimalkin,”
said Dee.

Without another word, the Chronographer of Lost Times, the cat, and the two strange men called Mr. Kirke and Mr. Bangs vanished.

Before any of the Caretakers could react, two tremendous explosions rocked Tamerlane House and threw them all to the ground.

“What in Hades’s name?” Verne exclaimed.

They clambered to their feet in time to see a small boat pulling up to the docks below. It was motorized but silent, so they had not heard it approach, and had in any regard been completely distracted by Dee.

In the boat were William Hope Hodgson, Aleister Crowley, and Nikola Tesla, who was wearing a device that resembled two massive engines strapped to his back. The engines were pointed forward, and Tesla smiled and pressed a contact. Immediately another explosion rocked the island, and one of the minarets crumpled in on itself.

“Sonic energy,” said Shakespeare. “I’d bet my life on it.”

“Oh, that is just not bloody fair,” said Dumas. “Tesla always has all the best toys.”

The shipbuilder had already completed the work . . .

“Split up!” Verne called out. “Our weapons won’t be very effective against Tesla for long!”

The Caretakers scattered around the island as Tesla advanced, still firing at the house. As he fled to the north side of the island, John glanced up at the window where Poe had been watching. It was empty.

♦  ♦  ♦

Madoc stared dumbfounded at the old man, too stunned to speak, but Rose found her words more easily.

“It makes sense,” she said, still unsure of what this revelation meant, “but how could no one have known? No one in history?”

“Because,” Telemachus said, “the only ones who were present are here now. We’re witnessing it as it’s happening. And history will move forward from this point, and no other.”

“I know the structure well enough,” Madoc said slowly, “but it’s made of cavorite. Where am I meant to get the blocks to build it?”

“You brought them with you,” Telemachus answered, pointing at the Zanzibar Gate. “They are precisely what you need, in the right size and shape. All you have to do is assemble them.”

“That’s not going to make a very big tower,” Uncas observed.

“Many great things start small,” said Telemachus, “and any seed planted properly can grow and flower into what it is meant to become.”

Rose looked at her father. “What do you think?”

Madoc shrugged. “I think we have nothing to lose if we try,” he said. “Let’s get started, and see what happens.”

♦  ♦  ♦

“Tell me again what we’re doing down here?” Shakespeare whispered. “I like to dabble in espionage, but I’m not very good at it.”

He, Houdini, and Conan Doyle had taken a page from their adversaries’ playbook—while Tesla, Crowley, and Hodgson were distracted by the other Caretakers, they had stolen the boat from the dock and launched their own assault on the Cabal’s own headquarters.

“Haven’t you studied warfare?” Houdini whispered to Shakespeare. “The single biggest advantage of being completely surrounded is that it gives you the opportunity to attack the enemy in any direction you choose.”

“All right, fair point,” Shakespeare whispered back. “So how do we go about breaking in?”

“This,” Houdini said, “is the moment when I prove my worth to the Caretakers at large. Give me three minutes.” He stopped, reconsidering. “No, make that two,” he added as he scrambled up the embankment toward the house.

“Cocksure, isn’t he?” Shakespeare whispered to Conan Doyle.

“Not really,” Conan Doyle replied. “If he said two, that means he can do it in under one. Some of us got our reputations because we wrote good books or had clever publicists. He got his reputation through sheer hard work.”

As if to underscore his colleague’s sentiments, the double doors under the eaves of the house swung open on silent hinges and Houdini leaned out, winking at the others.

“See?” said Conan Doyle. “That’s why he’s my best friend. Never a dull moment.”

The three men entered the house, prepared for a fight—but they met almost no resistance, not even the perfunctory kind, done for show. The house was practically empty—not even the servants were moving about.

Passing one gallery, Houdini noticed a former friend, and he paused. “Gilbert?” he said. “What are you doing?”

“Having a drink, for these are trying times,” Chesterton said, not moving from the chair where he was sipping some sort of drink out of a small crystal glass. “Also, I wish to defect. I’m more of a strategist, not a fighter.”

“Really,” said Houdini. “What strategy are you advocating now?”

“Joining the winning side,” Chesterton replied, “obviously.”

“I can’t argue with that,” Conan Doyle said as he ran past with a blunderbuss. “I’ll secure the south side, Ehrich.”

As it turned out, without Dee driving them, not many of the Cabal were willing to put up a fight. Some, like Chesterton, who still possessed his own shadow, offered to join the Caretakers. Others, like Lovecraft, refused to even come out of their rooms. Even Tesla was finally cornered and subdued, overcome by sheer numbers. There were many Caretakers, and few members of the Cabal. From start to finish, it seemed to be a fool’s errand. It was as if the entire effort to move the House on the Borderlands to the Nameless Isles was . . .