honored to meet you. And, ah, to partake of your hospitality.” The dragon bowed his head to Bert in acknowledgment, then to each of them in turn, pausing only at Bug, to whom he bowed a bit more deeply, and for a moment longer than the others. Bug, for his part, blushed visibly. Samaranth straightened and gestured toward the badger, who was standing to one side, beaming. “And you, Child of the Earth—will you join us?” “Certainly,” said Tummeler. “Y’ wouldn’ happen t’ have those crackers I fancy, would y’?” Samaranth made a huffing noise not unlike a steam engine, which after a moment the companions realized was laughter. “Yes,” said Samaranth. “I have the Leprechaun crackers. One moment, and I’ll get them.” “They ain’t made from real Leprechauns,” Tummeler confided to Charles. “I just calls ’em that.” The dragon returned with a silver tea service delicately balanced on one arm, and a small bundle of crackers on the other. “Mistress,” he said to Aven. “Will you do the pleasure of serving?” Aven began to retort something about not being servile to men, but the dragon’s tone and manner was so respectful that she could not refuse. She took the tray from him, and Jack rose to his feet to help, taking the parcel of crackers. “These are tea biscuits,” he said, puzzled. “Just like we have at home.” “There are those who trade with your world,” said Samaranth, “and they in turn trade with the animals, who in turn trade with me.” “Umm-hmm,” Tummeler said happily through a mouthful of crackers. “What do you trade?” Charles asked. “Jewels? Gold?” Samaranth turned to him. “Is that all you see of worth here, O Son of Adam? The riches of the Earth?” Charles shrank back. “Ah, just wondering.” “Knowledge,” Bert interjected. “You trade in knowledge.” “Hurm,” the dragon growled in satisfaction. “A Caretaker of the Geographica would understand this.” “That’s the second thing you’ve said that indicates you know me,” said Bert. “Pardon my asking, but have we met before? Because I’m certain I would not have forgotten, I assure you.” “No,” said Samaranth, “but it is in my interests to keep abreast of what occurs in the Archipelago—and those who seek to influence its affairs. And to that end,” the dragon continued, “tell me what it is that has brought you here to have tea with an old dragon.” It took them the better part of an hour to recount everything that had happened, from the murder of Professor Sigurdsson to the flight from London, to the prophecy of the Morgaine, the battle with the Black Dragon, and the Grand Council at Paralon. They also recounted, much to John’s embarrassment, his failure to translate the differing languages of the Imaginarium Geographica, and the urgent need to do so, that they might find a way to defeat the Winter King. The dragon said nothing but merely listened, pausing only to refill the teapot with fresh tea and to replenish the Leprechaun crackers for Tummeler, who had not stopped munching them the entire time. When the companions finished their accounting, Samaranth said nothing, but sat, considering. When he finally spoke, it was about the past. “Ages ago,” Samaranth began, “the Archipelago of Dreams was guarded by thousands of dragons. The skies were filled with them. Then, not all that long ago, they began to disappear, until they were all gone, save for myself. And the only knowledge that remained of them was found in myth, and legend, and in books.” This last was said with a rather pointed look at John. “We guarded the boundary between the Archipelago and the world beyond, using flame and fear to turn back travelers that ventured too close. But I have not seen another dragon for almost twenty years, and men like the one you call the Winter King have risen to power—men who would learn the secrets of the lands not to rule justly, but to conquer cruelly.” “He has already placed many lands in Shadow,” said Bert, “and for some reason, he believes that possession of the Geographica will aid him in his efforts.” “Why he wishes to possess the Geographica, I cannot say,” mused Samaranth, “but there are already too many plans afoot in the lands, and were it to fall into his hands, it would not bode well for the Archipelago.” “Then what can we do?” said Bert. “There is no king, and not even a real Parliament to give counsel. Worse, there apparently hasn’t been a real Parliament in some time—and the revealed deception ended the possibility of unity in the Archipelago.” “Yes, that is a problem,” said Samaranth, turning to face Tummeler. “Would you care to tell us, little Child of the Earth, just what the animals were thinking?” Tummeler froze, a half-eaten Leprechaun cracker hanging out of his mouth. “The animals?” said Aven. “Do you mean to say that they built those imposters in the Parliament?” “It makes sense,” said Charles. “They are the only ones aside from Nemo who know how to build the vehicles, and the clockwork kings and queens were at least as complicated as that.” The companions turned to look at Tummeler, who was twisting the ends of his vest and twitching his whiskers mournfully. “Aye, ’tis true, I be afeared to say,” Tummeler began. “We—the animals, that is—built them several years back, to avoid just this sort o’ calamity.” “But why did you build them?” Jack asked. “There are plenty of humans on Paralon who could have served.” “Not kings and queens,” wailed Tummeler. “Th’ Parliament must be kings and queens of the greater islands of the Archipelago, and none wuz left alive.” “None of them?” Bert said. “That’s not possible.” “Both possible an’ true,” said Tummeler. “With no High King, no royal heirs, an’ no real kings an’ queens in Parliament, it were only a matter o’ time before the other kingdoms would start to fight for th’ Silver Throne. “So it were decided that we—th’ animals—should build replacement-likes, to keep a Parliament t’gether so’s a new High King could be decided on.” “Who decided that you should build the replacements?” Bert asked. Tummeler wiped a paw across his snout and shrugged. “I don’t know. I never saw. Ol’ Tummeler never did anyfing but drive supplies to and fro in the Curious Diversity.” “The Steward,” said Charles. “Was he clockwork too?” Tummeler shook his head. “I don’t know.” “It stands to reason,” said Charles. “If no one knew the other kings and queens were being murdered, as the High King’s family had been, then they could be replaced with fakes.” “But why would anyone want to do that?” Jack asked. “Consensus,” said John. “Only the continuity of human rule kept the other races in check. And a consensus of Parliament and the delegates of the other kingdoms could put someone on the Silver Throne—someone like the Winter King, which is exactly what the Steward was trying to do.” “And Bert stopped him,” said Charles. “Well done, Bert.” “Of course, now the capital city is on fire, and the entire Archipelago may be at war,” said Jack. “But let’s not dwell on the past.” “So what do we do now?” asked Aven. “Whatever is occurring among the races, the Winter King will still be pursuing the Geographica, and we can’t let him find it.” “Agreed,” Samaranth said. “As much as it pains me to suggest, the Imaginarium Geographica must be destroyed.” “We tried that,” said Jack. “Nemo threw it on a brazier, but it wouldn’t burn.” “No,” said Samaranth. “Only he who created it can destroy what he has wrought. It must be taken,” the dragon finished with a smoky exhalation, “to the Cartographer of Lost Places.” “That brings us full circle to our original problem,” Aven said with a contemptuous glance at John. “We don’t have any way to read all but the most basic maps and annotations in the Geographica—and with no way to
