As the companions descended the staircase, the tower grew three more times. “Walk faster,” Bert admonished. “It’s literally going to be a longer walk going down than it was coming up.” Nevertheless, surprisingly, it took them a considerably shorter time going down.
“Just like sledding,” Charles observed. “It’s the long walk up that makes the slide down fun.”
Unlike their ascent, which had been done in silence, the companions could not resist discussing the strangeness of the Cartographer as they descended.
“I think it was a great waste of time,” said Aven, who had taken the lead along with Jack. “Even if we’d had the Geographica, it was clear he wouldn’t have destroyed it.”
“We might have just left it,” John said thoughtfully. “For him to safeguard.”
“Yes,” added Bert. “I doubt the Winter King would have made the effort to go clear to the top.”
“Not to mention that he wouldn’t have gotten in,” said Charles, giving a knowing smile at Artus. “Not without royal blood.”
“Or the Geographica,” Aven put in, “which he does have.”
“At least we know he can’t destroy it either,” said John.
Aven stopped. “Isn’t that what we wanted?” “Not now,” said John. “Not now that we know the real stakes.” “Meaning what?” “Meaning that he intends to use both the Ring of Power and the summoning in the Geographica to try to call on the dragons,” said John, “and I don’t think that’s all there is to it. Look at what happened above—Artus opened the locked door with a touch, because he is the true heir. Don’t you think the same conditions might hold for summoning the dragons as well?” “That’s an excellent deduction, John,” said Charles. “Agreed,” said Bert. “No pressure,” Jack said to Artus. At the bottom of the staircase (where Artus surreptitiously closed a certain door), the companions laughed with relief and gratitude—happy sounds that ceased the moment they stepped free of the keep. There, silhouetted by the rising sun, they saw a ship equally as large as their own moored next to the White Dragon. It was the Black Dragon—the Winter King had been searching for them after all. Aven cursed and cast a venomous look at John. All of his notes in the Geographica had been in unaffected modern English—a child could have located the island. Leading the Winter King and several dozen Shadow-Born–bearing longboats onto the shore was Magwich. The Steward was clutching the Imaginarium Geographica closely to his chest. And even at that distance, they could see that the Winter King was wearing the ring. “He has what he wanted,” said Jack. “There’s no reason to come looking for us here.” “Unless he came to the same conclusion we did,” said Charles. “Magwich heard the same story from Ordo Maas that we did, remember? The Winter King now knows exactly who Artus is.” “Do we run?” said John. “He’s cut off any chance of retreat to the White Dragon.” “Quickly,” Charles said to the others, “come back onto the stairs.” “Are you stupid?” said Aven. “We’ll be trapped.” “No,” said Charles. “I don’t think we will.” Without another word, he started racing back up the steps. Jack and John exchanged looks of confusion. “It took us half the night to reach the top,” said Jack. “I’m already exhausted. We can’t repeat that again, even if we’re being chased.” Aven grabbed them both and propelled them toward the stairs, where Bert and Artus were already following closely behind Charles. “No time to argue,” she said. “It’s the only option we have.” Strangely, the Winter King’s henchmen didn’t seem to be pursuing them, instead remaining at the bottom. They were several flights up when Jack stopped, sniffing at the air, then peering down the stairwell. “Smoke,” he cried. “They’ve set fire to the keep! We have to go back!” Charles stopped and looked at Jack. The younger man was breathing hard, more from fear than exertion. “Jack,” Charles said, “throughout this entire adventure, you have jumped willingly into every fray. You have accepted every fantastic marvel and irregularity we have encountered as if nothing were amiss. And all the while, I’ve done very little but question the reality of what we have seen.” “That’s why I don’t understand what you’re doing now,” said Jack. “It doesn’t make any sense. It’s not logical to climb higher into a tower that’s just been set on fire.” “Precisely my point,” Charles said as he continued to climb. “It isn’t logical. But then, nothing about this tower is. But I just saw my friend John go into a room and talk to someone we know to be dead, and emerge a changed man for having done it. And I believe that it happened. So if I’m going to take one thing on faith, I think I can take another—so shut up and follow me!” “Are you going back to the Cartographer?” Jack said, panting. “He’s more trapped here than we are, remember?” “Not that high,” Charles said over his shoulder. “Not quite.” Bert grinned. “I think I know what he has in mind. Quickly now—do as he says.” The companions continued their flight up the stairway as the minions of the Winter King began to fill the openings at the base of the tower, while the smoke rose up behind them, as if it were a predator in pursuit of its prey. Charles’s assessment that the tower did not play fairly with the laws of space and time appeared to be correct: In a fraction of the time taken for their original ascent, they had reached the upper levels of the keep. The smoke from the fire below, while still evident, was no longer the air-constricting cloud it had been earlier, and the sounds of their pursuit had faded. “Why wouldn’t they follow us?” Jack said. “I think they are,” said Bert. “The Shadow-Born wouldn’t fear the fire—but perhaps the tower is growing for them while it’s been shrinking for us.” “It’s the same kettle,” said Charles. “To them, it’s not yet begun to boil—while to us, it’s boiling already, even though it’s been the same amount of time.” “We’re nearly at the top,” John said. “We’ve passed the door that led into London, so we won’t be going to last week. And the Cartographer can’t help us. So where are we going, Charles?” “There was one more door before the Cartographer’s, remember?” said Charles. “If the one below was the recent past, and the one above is the present, then the one in-between might be just what we need.” “And what if it opens onto Outer Mongolia?” said Jack. “It won’t,” said Charles. “How do you know?” “I don’t,” Charles said, grinning. “But I believe.” “That’s not very logical,” said Bert, trying to suppress a grin. “No, it isn’t,” said Charles as they reached the next-to-last landing, “but it wasn’t logical for John’s door to open into a study in London, either. It was just what he needed it to be.”
