“What?” Magwich and Bert screamed at the same time. “Destroy it?” Bert exclaimed. “But why, my boy?” “Of course we’re still going to destroy it,” said John. “By now the Winter King will have realized that he doesn’t have the Geographica after all—and how long do you think it will be before he has a hundred ships scouring the sea for us?” “He has a point,” said Jack. “The Winter King won’t stop until he’s found us, and it.” “Samaranth thought it was a good idea to destroy the Geographica, however regrettable,” said John. “The only reason we have not to is Magwich’s word that finding the ring was his sole purpose in searching for it.” “That does it for me,” said Charles. “We must find the Cartographer’s island and destroy that damned book. After that, we can decide what to do about Shadow-Born and boy kings.” “Before we go anywhere,” said Artus, “may I ask a favor?” “Certainly,” said Ordo Maas. “May I see my mother’s grave?” Together the companions felt a sudden mix of shame and sympathy—they had all been so immersed in talk of legends, and floods, and empires, and ships, that they had overlooked the fact that their friend Bug, young Artus, had just learned everything he’d never known about his family—including the story of the mother who loved him enough to die protecting him. “Of course, lad,” said Ordo Maas. “Please, follow me.” Hor, one of Ordo Maas’ younger sons, led the way through a fern-shrouded path to a small clearing above the cottages. Great barkless trees towered above, curving up in odd angles high into the air. Ordo Maas stopped, pointing into the clearing. “It’s there, marked with the seal of Paralon,” he said to Artus. “Do you want to go in alone?” “I’d like Sir John to go with me, if it’s okay,” he added, casting a quick glance at John. “Of course,” John said. “Lead the way, Artus.” “I’ll keep an eye on Maggot,” said Charles. “It’s Magwich,” said the Steward. “Right—I keep forgetting,” said Charles. “So tell us, how did you get the kettle away from the Morgaine, anyway?” “It was simple,” said Magwich. “American whiskey. Put them right out.” “You got them drunk?” Bert said. Magwich shrugged. “It was efficient and nonconfrontational. One of them kept fighting it off, though, and I had to give her a backrub to get her to sleep.” “I hope for your sake it was Ceridwen,” said Charles, “or Celedriel.” “No,” Magwich said with a shudder. “It was Cul, all right. I couldn’t get the smell off my hands for months.” When Artus and John rejoined them, Bert raised the question of how they would get from Byblos to the Cartographer’s island. “I thought perhaps we might summon those cranes that rescued us,” he said. “If they were to carry word to Paralon that we needed a ship, or to my friend Uruk Ko…” “A good thought,” said Ordo Maas, “but it would take too long. The Winter King may even now be returning to the waters around Byblos to seek you out. No, if you are to leave, it must be now, and with haste.” “But we need a Dragonship,” said Bert. “Anything else would not be able to navigate as surely or as quickly, and there are only the seven Dragonships to be called on.” “No,” said Ordo Maas. “There are only seven Dragonships to be called on that you know of.” Trailed by dozens of cats, Ordo Maas and his sons led the companions to the northern part of the island, where a great frigate was floating serenely in a small harbor. “The White Dragon,” said Ordo Maas with obvious pride. “The last legacy of the great ark.” “Did you anticipate another flood?” asked Charles. “No,” said Ordo Maas. “Then again, neither did any of my friends in the Empty Quarter—but there came a time when they wished they’d had one anyway.” “Hey,” said Jack. “It has a rowboat, too.” “It occurred to us when the first great ark sprang a leak,” said Ordo Maas. “It took a week to locate, and two days to mend, during which we took in a great deal of water. For a while, it seemed a very real possibility that we would sink—and, the animals notwithstanding, I suddenly wished I’d thought to build a rowboat, just in case of an emergency.” He turned to John and Artus, bowing. “To the Caretaker of the Imaginarium Geographica, and the High- King-in-waiting, I present my ship,” he said. “Use it as you will, and go forth to seek your destiny.” “We will,” said John. “Thank you.” “And remember,” said Ordo Maas, “when the time comes, you shall not be alone. There are allegiances greater than any that bind the Winter King and his servants. Allegiances not bound by fear and pain, but by ancient promises of Spirit and Living Will. “When the time comes, those allegiances will be called upon, and you will not fight alone.” With that he bowed deeply and stepped aside to allow the companions to board the White Dragon. “Come look, lads,” said Bert. “Come look, and see a sight such as you have never seen in your lives.” The companions moved to the railing as the White Dragon eased out into the channel and looked in the direction Bert was pointing. High in the center of Byblos was a mountain with a crown. The skeletal remains of a great ark, come to rest atop the mountain thousands of years earlier, threw the spars of its frame high into the air on either side of the peak, framing it as if resting on the brow of a giant. End to end, the ship spanned half the diameter of the island itself and was fully as broad. It was not hard to imagine that if they had wished it so, Ordo Maas and his family might have also taken with them everything they needed to begin anew after a deluge great enough to cover the Earth. Everything they needed to restore the peoples of the Earth, and the flora, and the fauna. A scattering of raindrops hit the deck of the White Dragon, a forerunner of the storms that loomed on the horizon—the very horizon toward which they were sailing. And suddenly, the White Dragon felt very small. Very small indeed. Ordo Maas and his sons watched the ship until it had disappeared in the distance. “Father,” said Amun. “There’s one thing I don’t understand. If you knew Magwich was their enemy, why did you speak so openly to them in front of him? Why give secrets to one who wished them harm, and may still?” The ancient shipbuilder chuckled. “You are truly your mother’s son. No one else thought to ask. “Yes, it was a choice that had risks. But to try to talk to the Caretakers in secret might have warned him that I knew the depth of his treachery. And then he would truly have been the Serpent in the Garden, waiting to strike. “No,” he continued, “better that they know him as their enemy, and that he know that they know it. Secrecy is the weapon of those like the Winter King—they have power only so long as the secrets are kept.” His sons did not fully understand, but they nodded in agreement, for they believed their father to be wiser than themselves. “My sons,” said Ordo Maas, “I have a request of you. “There will be a great conflict. Greater perhaps than any we have seen in this world. And those who go to fight against the evil Shadows do so with little hope of survival. They are brave, and their hearts are pure. But they cannot prevail without help, and there is no High King to draw together those who might come to their aid.
