“The Caretakers are always permitted to enter with the Imaginarium Geographica,” said the Cartographer. “It’s like a golden ticket that opens doors, or a magic word, like ‘Open Sesame.’”“Actually, that’s two words,” said Jack, “and the magic word was ‘Alakazam.’”“Don’t correct your elders, boy,” said the Cartographer. “So, out with it. How did you open the door? You said yourself that you’d lost the Geographica, and the only other way to get in is with the permission of the king— and pardon my assessment, but none of you look to be the kingly sort.”“You’d be wrong,” said Aven, stepping forward and giving Artus a nudge. “He opened the door.”The Cartographer hopped off of his chair and shuffled over to Artus. “Ah,” he muttered, looking at the young man, who was reddening under the scrutiny. “Ah, I see it now. That nose is unmistakable—a descendant of Arundel, of the House of Eligure, unless I miss my guess. What do they call you, boy?”“Um, Bug—Artus, that is.”“Umbugartis—unusual name for a king, but there’s no accounting for taste,” said the Cartographer. “What may the Cartographer of Lost Places do for King Umbugartis?”“There we go,” whispered Charles. “We finally have his attention.”“It’s just Artus,” said Artus, “and it’s my friend Sir John, the Caretaker, who needs your help.”The Cartographer looked warily at John over the top of his glasses. “You again. I thought we’d established that there was nothing to be done, since at the moment you don’t seem to be the Caretaker of anything.”Charles and Bert started to come to John’s defense, but he cut them off with a gesture and looked squarely at the Cartographer. “That’s not true,” John said. “I may have lost the Geographica, but that doesn’t mean I’m not still the Caretaker.”The Cartographer held his gaze, then folded his arms and sighed. “Continue.”“When I was asked to be the Caretaker of the Imaginarium Geographica,” said John, “I didn’t want the job. I wasn’t prepared. And I certainly didn’t want the responsibility. But then I realized there was no one else who could do it—and that a lot of people were counting on me to see it through. And there is only one thing you can do in a situation like that—rise to the challenge and bear whatever must be borne to complete the task.”“Interesting,” said the Cartographer, “but I’ll point it out again: You don’t have the Geographica. How can you fulfill any obligations as Caretaker?”“It’s about more than the book, isn’t it?” said John. “It’s about taking care of the lands within it too—and right now, that’s all I’m trying to do. Having a book of maps won’t do anyone any good if the Archipelago is consumed by war—but if we can find a way to prevent that happening, wouldn’t that be more important than whether or not I’ve been able to safeguard the book?”“That,” said the Cartographer, as his eyes glittered and a smile began to spread across his face, “is the first time I’ve heard you speak like a real Caretaker.”He moved back to his chair and picked up his quill. “I’m sorry I don’t have anything for you to sit on,” said the Cartographer as he resumed working. “So you’ll just have to make do with the seating apparatus the gods gave you. Pull up a piece of floor, and tell me what’s been going on in the world.”It took the better part of three hours to recount all that had happened to the companions since they left London up to the point where they reached the tower. It was a silent consensus among them not to mention the incident with the sea monster; and the others left it to John to decide whether or not to mention his encounter with the professor, which he chose not to do.“Ah, yes. Sigurdsson,” said the Cartographer when they mentioned the murder. “Pleasant fellow. Came by to visit several times. Brought cookies. Do you have any cookies?”“We did have a cookbook,” said Charles. “But we gave it away.”“You lot seem to have an awful time holding on to books, don’t you?” said the Cartographer. “How on earth did you get picked to be Caretakers?”“It’s a long story,” said John. “So, can you help us?”“I’m a little fuzzy on the details,” said the Cartographer. “What exactly is it you think I can do?”“To be honest, I’m a little unclear on that myself,” said John. “We think that Magwich is taking the Geographica and the Ring of Power to the Winter King, so that he can summon the dragons—”“Oh he has the Ring of Power, does he?” the Cartographer said, interrupting John. “Wears it around his neck, hey?”“Uh, no—probably on his finger,” said Jack.“Oh ho—even better,” said the Cartographer. “I’d like to see that. Hmf,” he snorted. “That fellow is in for a surprise, I think.“Well, if you’re bound and determined to try to do something constructive, I suppose I should go ahead and help you. That way, if it all goes badly and the world starts to be consumed in death and fire, you can’t go around saying, ‘It’s the Cartographer’s fault. If only he’d helped us, we wouldn’t be in this pickle.’”“Fair enough,” said John.“You don’t need the Geographica, because there is only one island in the Archipelago where he might summon the dragons,” the Cartographer said. “That’s where you’ll find him with his ‘ring,’ trying to summon dragons, and stealing people’s shadows, and whatever else it is evil conquerors do these days.”“We’ll still need directions to the island,” said John. “The Geographica—”“Young man, I am the Cartographer. I created the Geographica. It is certainly within my powers to recreate a single, solitary map.”He drew a single tanned sheet of parchment from the stack next to his desk, dipped his pen in the crusted inkwell, and quickly began sketching in light, fluid strokes.As his hand flew back and forth across the parchment, a picture of the island began to emerge.“Amazing how he can keep his maps so clean when he makes such a mess of the work,” Jack whispered to Charles. “He must have ink up to his elbows.”The Cartographer paused and looked up at John. “Navigational directions?”John nodded. “Yes, please.”“No, no, no,” said the Cartographer. “In what language would you like the navigational directions?”John shrugged. “Whatever you like.”The Cartographer’s head lifted almost imperceptibly. “Very good, young man.”He continued adding lines and notations to the sheet until it seemed complete enough to be fully useful. Finally, he set aside the pen and sat back in his chair, giving the freshly created map one last cursory glance and a nod of satisfaction.The Cartographer sprinkled drying dust across the ink, rolled up the map, bound it with twine, and handed it to John.“Remember,” he said, taking them all in with his gaze, “there is a price to pay for the choices we make, and my permanent confinement in the Keep of Time is part of the price I’ve paid for choices of my own. Be wary that the choices you make in the coming days do not limit your own paths into the future. Remember it for what you want it to be, and then do that.“You will find the one you call the Winter King on the Island at the Edge of the World.”
…the Winter King had been searching for them after all.
