understood more than Verne was saying aloud. “The badger and the knight. You’ve sent them on another quest, I take it? Are they after another Sphinx?“
“Not quite,” said Verne. “They’re looking for the Ruby Armor. And Aristophanes is guiding them.”
For the briefest instant, John thought he saw the Messenger’s expression darken, as if this was a disturbing surprise.
“The Zen Detective,” said Dr. Raven. “I see. And that’s all you need? For them to be chaperoned?”
“Shadowed,” Verne corrected. “No assistance, unless their lives are in imminent danger. If they succeed, we’ll have won amajor victory against the enemy. But if they fail, then the armor remains out of reach to our enemy as well.”
“Understood.” The Messenger bowed to Verne, but he kept his eyes firmly locked on John, as if they shared some sort of secret. “I serve at the will of the Caretakers. It shall be done.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” Verne said as he opened the door and ushered John outside. “We’ll expect a report soon, then.” He closed the door, and the Messenger was alone.
The room shimmered, as if it were slightly out of focus with the rest of the world; then it clarified again, and the room was just as it had been—with one exception. Dr. Raven was younger. The wrinkles at his eyes were fewer, and he stood just a bit straighter, with just a little more vigor. It was as if several years of his life had suddenly fallen away.
“Be seeing you,” Dr. Raven said to no one in particular, before he removed the watch from his pocket, twirled the dials, and disappeared.
. . . in the middle sat a beautiful woman in a blue silk dress . . .
C HAPTER E IGHT
The Last Caretaker
Vanamonde’s last word hung in the air and echoed in the companions’ minds so strongly that it took a few seconds for them to realize that they might actually be prisoners, and not merely guests.
Burton got to the door first. It was locked.
“Fools,” he muttered, eyes downcast. “We are all fools. Especially”—he turned, pointing at Bert—“ you .”
“We were all taken in,” Charles said mildly. “We can’t blame Bert for trusting in a familiar face.”
“We all chose to follow him,” said Edmund, “and he did offer to help Archie.”
“It isn’t that stout a door,” Burton said, flexing his muscles. “I think I can take it down.” He threw his weight against the door—which didn’t move. Charles joined him, but even together, they couldn’t budge the door.
“This door has a Binding,” Bert mused, rubbing his chin. “Rose, try using Caliburn.”
As her mentor suggested, Rose swung the great sword at the door. It struck with an explosion of sparks—but made no mark at all where the sword hit.
“Deep Magic, then,” said Bert. “We’re in this room until Vanamonde—or his Master—say otherwise.”
There was nothing the companions could do but wait for Vanamonde to return and hope for the best. But hope was in short supply, after the reversals they’d experienced in the last few hours. They paired off into different corners of the room, to commiserate, and try to rest, and prepare themselves for whatever might come next.
“All Lloigor,” Charles said bleakly. “That’s a bad, bad circumstance, I think.”
“Not all,” Burton corrected. “Pym certainly was no Lloigor—I think.”
“Perhaps, but then again, he’s the one who attacked you and nearly demolished poor Archie,” Charles replied. “At this point, I’m feeling less threatened by the Lloigor than by Verne’s own lieutenant.”
“Been there, done that,” said Burton.
Across the room in the far corner, Rose and Edmund were sprawled out on their coats, using their duffels for pillows and trying to rest. Sleep was unlikely, but Burton had taught them both how to meditate, so they decided it was as good a time as any to balance their minds. Mostly, though, they were just talking about the friends they’d left behind
“Not quite,” said Verne. “They’re looking for the Ruby Armor. And Aristophanes is guiding them.”
For the briefest instant, John thought he saw the Messenger’s expression darken, as if this was a disturbing surprise.
“The Zen Detective,” said Dr. Raven. “I see. And that’s all you need? For them to be chaperoned?”
“Shadowed,” Verne corrected. “No assistance, unless their lives are in imminent danger. If they succeed, we’ll have won amajor victory against the enemy. But if they fail, then the armor remains out of reach to our enemy as well.”
“Understood.” The Messenger bowed to Verne, but he kept his eyes firmly locked on John, as if they shared some sort of secret. “I serve at the will of the Caretakers. It shall be done.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” Verne said as he opened the door and ushered John outside. “We’ll expect a report soon, then.” He closed the door, and the Messenger was alone.
The room shimmered, as if it were slightly out of focus with the rest of the world; then it clarified again, and the room was just as it had been—with one exception. Dr. Raven was younger. The wrinkles at his eyes were fewer, and he stood just a bit straighter, with just a little more vigor. It was as if several years of his life had suddenly fallen away.
“Be seeing you,” Dr. Raven said to no one in particular, before he removed the watch from his pocket, twirled the dials, and disappeared.
. . . in the middle sat a beautiful woman in a blue silk dress . . .
C HAPTER E IGHT
The Last Caretaker
Vanamonde’s last word hung in the air and echoed in the companions’ minds so strongly that it took a few seconds for them to realize that they might actually be prisoners, and not merely guests.
Burton got to the door first. It was locked.
“Fools,” he muttered, eyes downcast. “We are all fools. Especially”—he turned, pointing at Bert—“ you .”
“We were all taken in,” Charles said mildly. “We can’t blame Bert for trusting in a familiar face.”
“We all chose to follow him,” said Edmund, “and he did offer to help Archie.”
“It isn’t that stout a door,” Burton said, flexing his muscles. “I think I can take it down.” He threw his weight against the door—which didn’t move. Charles joined him, but even together, they couldn’t budge the door.
“This door has a Binding,” Bert mused, rubbing his chin. “Rose, try using Caliburn.”
As her mentor suggested, Rose swung the great sword at the door. It struck with an explosion of sparks—but made no mark at all where the sword hit.
“Deep Magic, then,” said Bert. “We’re in this room until Vanamonde—or his Master—say otherwise.”
There was nothing the companions could do but wait for Vanamonde to return and hope for the best. But hope was in short supply, after the reversals they’d experienced in the last few hours. They paired off into different corners of the room, to commiserate, and try to rest, and prepare themselves for whatever might come next.
“All Lloigor,” Charles said bleakly. “That’s a bad, bad circumstance, I think.”
“Not all,” Burton corrected. “Pym certainly was no Lloigor—I think.”
“Perhaps, but then again, he’s the one who attacked you and nearly demolished poor Archie,” Charles replied. “At this point, I’m feeling less threatened by the Lloigor than by Verne’s own lieutenant.”
“Been there, done that,” said Burton.
Across the room in the far corner, Rose and Edmund were sprawled out on their coats, using their duffels for pillows and trying to rest. Sleep was unlikely, but Burton had taught them both how to meditate, so they decided it was as good a time as any to balance their minds. Mostly, though, they were just talking about the friends they’d left behind
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