The First Dragon (Chronicles of the Imaginarium Geographica, The) (4 page)

“First things first,” he said firmly. “Let’s secure the ship in the boathouse where it ought to be. Then we must attend to other matters, such as the security of Tamerlane House. And then,” he added with a tight smile at Bert and Verne, “we’ll make our battle plan.”

♦  ♦  ♦

Once the ship was safely ensconced in the boathouse, John, Jack, and Bert retreated to the main house to set another part of their newly minted plans in motion.

Bert had been largely absent from the activities of Tamerlane House for the last two months, for reasons both good and shoddy. The good reason was that upon finding out he had died and was now a portrait, he also discovered that Verne had rescued his love, Weena, from the far future, and made her over into a portrait as well. The love he thought lost to the mists of time was now, here, present, and in his new life. John couldn’t begrudge his old mentor that.

However, Bert had also been complicit in many of Verne’s plans, including keeping the truth of many things from his protégés simply because Verne had deemed it necessary. And so when John had enough of Verne’s games and declared himself to be the new Prime Caretaker, Bert also bore some of that judgment. So when an opportunity emerged for Bert to actively contribute to the plan of action, he jumped on it with relish—and possibly out of hope of a small measure of forgiveness from the Caretakers whom he had come to love like his own sons.

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.”

The detective’s eyes widened slightly, but he didn’t answer. Instead he reached out a hand and pressed the bag back toward Quixote.

“All debts were paid,” he said softly, the gruffness gone from his voice. “Tell Verne that he was as good as his word, and I have rejoined the flow of the world.”

“So, do you think you can find Argus?” Quixote asked.

“Consider it done,” Aristophanes said brusquely, as if trying to regain his earlier gruff demeanor. “I can take you to him now if you like.”

“Really?” asked Uncas in astonishment. “That’s pretty amazing.”

“I’m actually very good at this,” the detective said as he cast a longing, heartfelt look at Beatrice, then grabbed his hat and coat. “Also, if I’m not actually charging you to find him, then there’s no point in dragging things out to drive up my expenses.”

♦  ♦  ♦

Together, the three unlikely companions crossed Shakespeare’s Bridge to the Kilns, where they kept the Duesenberg. It was no ordinary vehicle—it had been modified with a special spatial projector that could transport them instantly to any number of places that were depicted on an assortment of special slides. It made missions like these a great deal easier to manage.

“Is that a new hat?” Uncas asked as they clambered into the car.

“It is,” Aristophanes said, trying and failing to hold back a wistful smile. “A gift from Bea. I’m no longer poison to the touch, but I’m apparently still a unicorn,” he went on, fingering his fedora, “so I still need a hat if we’re going to go mingle with civilized society—or whatever passes for that where we’re going.”

“You’re the guide,” said Quixote as he started up the car. “Where to, Steve?”

“Here,” the detective said, holding up a slide. “Thousands of years in obscurity, and the Caretakers have a portal that leads almost right to his door. Amazing.”

Aristophanes inserted the slide, and the Duesenberg roared forward just as the portal opened up on the side of a building a few hundred yards from the Kilns. The car slid to a stop atop a grassy hill, in the bright afternoon sunlight of Greece.

“Welcome to Lemnos,” Uncas said, flipping off the projector. “Where to now?”

Aristophanes pointed ahead to a fork in the road, indicating
that they should drive to the right. Then, consulting a small notepad he pulled from his coat, he told Uncas they’d be looking for a seaside cottage about three miles farther along.

“This seems like a nice little hamlet,” Quixote observed as they passed a number of small but tidy houses. “Hardly where you’d think an ancient shipbuilder could find peaceful refuge away from prying eyes.”

“It’s the standing stones,” the detective said, pointing them out as the car passed between two sizable rocks that stood alongside the road. “They act as a sort of screen, keeping out the looky-loos and troublemakers. They’re as good as hiding in plain sight, because someone living within the boundaries of the stones can’t be found—not by the methods the Caretakers use, anyway.”

“And what method do you use?” asked Quixote.

“That,” Aristophanes said, pointing at the small red book he carried in his breast pocket. “With that and a stub of graphite, I can keep track of anyone I like. I just write it down.”

He frowned at the look of incredulity on the old knight’s face. “What?” said the detective. “Like everything has to be done with magic?”

“It’s like our Little Whatsits,” Uncas said, nodding in approval. “Very wise.”

“Thank you, badger,” said Aristophanes.

“Don’t mention it,” Uncas said, pointing at a small cottage. “Look—I think we’ve arrived.”

“Please,” he said. . . . “Feel free to look around . . .”

The cottage was a traditional
whitewashed stone structure common to the Greek isles, save for the windows, which were stained glass that depicted ancient Greek myths in spectacular bursts of color. There were chimes outside the doorway that swayed gently in the breeze of their passing and announced the companions’ presence to the occupant inside.

The shipbuilder’s shop at the rear of the cottage was bright and airy and had tall, whitewashed walls that curved up into ceilings. At the center of the room, the proprietor was descending a staircase carrying a box of supplies. He paused when he saw the three visitors, then smiled and continued down the stairs.

“Please,” he said, setting the box on the floor, then gesturing around the room with his hands. “Feel free to look around at my work. Much to see, more to buy, as long as the price is right.”

All around the room were tables and low shelving laden with globes, clear glass jugs, and bottles, and in them floated miniature ships of various designs. Some appeared to be simple, traditional sailboats, but most were of a far more elaborate design, incorporating scrollworks and ornate carvings in the hulls. But what was most intriguing to the companions was that every ship bore
a masthead that resembled an insect. Several had the aspect of a praying mantis, but most of the others were moths or butterflies with magnificent, delicate wings. As Uncas watched, some of the wings appeared to flutter with the gentle motion of the water in the bottles.

The shipbuilder was pleased to see them admiring his handiwork, and he smiled a lopsided grin. “For some reason,” he said matter-of-factly, “I seem to be skilled in merging creatures that fly with craft that float.”

“That’s why we’ve come seeking you,” Quixote ventured. “We understand you have had some experience with merging a ship and a larger creature—say, a dragon?”

“Hah!” The shipbuilder exclaimed. “You want someone to make you a Dragonship? Easier to ask for the Golden Apples of the Sun, or a sword made by Hattori Hanzo.”

Aristophanes snorted. “Hattori Hanzo doesn’t exist.”

“True,” the shipbuilder replied, “but that doesn’t stop people from seeking out his swords.”

Uncas slumped, dejected. “So it isn’t possible to make ships larger than these toys?”

“Oh, it is possible, but I seldom have,” Argus replied, sitting. “And not for a very long time. You don’t want me, anyway. You’d be better off with my master, Utnapishtim. He’s the true virtuoso for what you want.”

“Utnapishtim?” Quixote said, puzzled. “I don’t think I’ve heard . . .”

“Sorry, sorry,” Argus said, rolling his eyes. “I forgot he took a different name when he’d crossed over for good. You might know him better by his Greek name, Deucalion. Or perhaps as . . .”