"Can he do that?" a horrified Byron whispered to Twain.

"Probably," Twain said, winking at Shakespeare, who returned a halfhearted smile. Will was still stuck in a mood that was half elation and half misery. The first, because his bridge had worked-and the second, because the rest of the Caretakers, with a few exceptions, still wondered if his cleverness was just another mask he wore to conceal the idiot underneath.

"Burton does address a valid point," said Chaucer. "This could be dangerous in the extreme. We should send someone else to help safeguard the Caretakers."

"Whom did you have in mind, Geoff?" asked Twain. "Hawthorne, maybe?"

Nathaniel Hawthorne was, among the Caretakers Emeritis, the most able-bodied and skilled scrapper. He was precisely the sort of man one would want to have in a fight. There was only one problem.

"He can't," said Chaucer. "This is a matter of time, and we have no way of knowing how that would affect a Caretaker who has already passed and is now a resident of Tamerlane House and the Pygmalion Gallery. We can't risk a loss like ..."

His voice trailed off, but everyone at the table knew he was thinking of John's old professor Stellan Sigurdsson. He had traveled with Rose, Quixote, and Archie beyond the Edge of the World, but he'd exceeded the one-week time limit imposed on all Caretakers who resided inside the portraits. One week away from Tamerlane, and no more. And to take such a risk so close on the heels of the loss of Charles would be too much to countenance.

"Burton, Harry, and Sir Arthur are tulpas," Chaucer said, hardly masking the distaste in his voice, "and so are not at risk with another time displacement. John, Jack, and Fred are still living in their Prime Times, and so are also at less of a risk. So there's only one other among us we can send."

"Of course!" Bert exclaimed. "Roger!"

"You do know he hates that name, right?" Twain said bluntly. "He prefers to be called the Tin Man now."

John and Jack looked at each other in surprise. They hadn't considered him as an option. Roger Bacon, one of the great Caretakers of antiquity, had never died-he had manufactured for himself the massive mechanical body that kept his brain, his soul, and his intellect intact. All within a form that could shatter boulders and wade through doors as if they were tissue.

"I'll go fetch him," said Hawthorne, rising from his seat. "I think he's still in the workshed he shares with Shakespeare."

"I'm going too," said someone from the back of the room.

Jack started to shake his head in protest. It was Laura Glue who had spoken, and she was already glaring at him defiantly.

"Laura Glue, you can't think-," John began.

"You really expect to go?" said Dickens. "It could be very dangerous, child."

"Of course I'm going!" Laura Glue exclaimed indignantly. "I was born in the Archipelago, and I've spent my entire life there, remember? Can anyone else here say the same?"

"Ahem-hem." Fred cleared his throat.

"Except for Fred," she added, winking at him.

Burton chuckled. "She has a point, I think."

"That's where home is for me," she continued, walking the perimeter of the table so that she could look at each Caretaker. "You may think it's safer to be here in Tamerlane House, but I'll remind you, I am the head of the Valkyries. I can take care of myself. And no one here is going to stop me."

Bert and Verne both looked askance at Jack, who shrugged his shoulders and raised his hands. "Don't look at me," he said sheepishly. "I couldn't win an argument with her when she was eight."

"I want to go too," Rose suddenly said, realizing that her request sounded more like an afterthought once they'd given in to Laura Glue. "I think I could be helpful to you, Uncle John. And Mother Night did say that I was the only one who could reweave the threads that had come loose from history. Isn't that just what the Watchmaker said we needed to do? To find those special points in time, to make them significant again? For that reason alone, I don't think you can do this without me."

As if her argument had been decisive enough to end the discussion, she folded her arms, closed her eyes, and smiled.

"She must," Poe's quiet voice spoke from somewhere above them. "Rose must go."

"I disagree," said John. "We've already lost Charles and Morgan-and that's without the threat of these Shadows, these Echthroi, that Mother Night said were coming for Rose. I think she'll be much safer here in Tamerlane House."

"Not anymore," said Burton. "The door has been opened for good, by way of Shakespeare's Bridge." He looked up into the shadows. "The islands are still Nameless, but they're no longer lost, are they?"

Poe didn't answer, but simply stood there, watching.

"This is going to be dangerous, Bert," John reiterated, folding his arms. "She should stay behind, with the rest of the Caretakers."

"I don't think anywhere is going to be safe," Rose said mildly. "Is it, Bert?"

The Far Traveler shook his head. "The girl is right, John," he said with obvious resignation. John realized in that moment that Bert didn't want her to accompany them any more than they did. But for some reason, she was meant to go. He looked at Rose and realized that she had not offered just to have a chance at an adventure. She really believed she was meant to do this. And he had no good argument why she shouldn't go.

"She may not be safe anywhere," said Poe, "least of all with you, in the Archipelago. But the fact remains that this may be what she is meant to do-even if it costs her everything else."

John stepped into the center of the foyer underneath the railings where Poe stood. He looked up at the shadowed face of the great Caretaker. "Tell us why," he said, not bothering to keep the anger out of his voice. "We have done many, many things on faith, Edgar. Sometimes things work out, but sometimes they don't. And we have never defied you or the Caretakers Emeritis.

"I don't believe you're all-knowing," John continued, his voice still sharp with fury. " I think you're making this up as you go along, the same as the rest of us. So I think we deserve to know why we should have to do as you say."

Burton chuckled under his breath. "So, the little scholar has some dung up his neck after all."

"That was, ah, brave," Houdini whispered to Doyle. "I don't think anyone, even Chaucer, calls him Edgar."

"You don't," said Poe simply. "You have always had your free agency to choose-as does Rose.

"There are threads that are lost, and must be found again," he continued, echoing Rose and Mother Night's words. "She is the only one who can find them."

"What else haven't you told us?" asked John. "What else is happening here?"

"The Darkness is coming," Poe said somberly. "Perhaps not now, this instant, but soon. Some of its agents already work against us. Some of them have been here, in this house. But make no mistake-the Darkness will come. And all of our work over the centuries has been to find the one light that will be able to stand against our enemy."

"Echthroi," Schubert said from the far side of the stairway. "Our enemy."

"And you believe that Rose is that light?" John demanded. "Do you?"

Again Poe was silent. And John realized why. He didn't need to answer a question John had known the answer to all along. Rose was the light. She was the one they had protected, who had come out of history to save them once before-as she might do again.

"All right, so the Grail Child has to go," Burton said, "but with the addition of the mechanical man and the birdy-girl, you've got two more representatives of the Caretakers. I demand equal representation for the ICS."

"As the Valkyrie noted," said Poe, "she is simply returning home. She represents only herself."

"Fine," Burton acceded, "but you're still up one with the Tin Man."

"I had already planned on sending someone else along with you," Poe said as a door to his right opened slowly. "I trust you'll approve."

From behind Poe, a tall, muscular, dark-skinned man stepped onto the landing and descended the stairs. He was dressed in the manner of an Arab, with a linen robe and head wrapping and broad leather belts. He was barefoot, and his skin was so black it was almost purple-hued in the light of the meeting hall.

He moved through the Caretakers and went straight to Burton-who, to the shock and amazement of everyone there, embraced the tall man.

"The End of Time," Burton exclaimed. "I did not know you were still alive, but I'm not surprised!"

"Master Burton," the man said in a deep baritone voice that was flecked with a French accent. "It gladdens me to see you again."

"What are you doing here?" said Burton as he clapped the man on the shoulders. "When did you get here?"

"I have been here, in these islands, for a very long time," he replied. "I have been waiting for you, in fact."

Burton wheeled around and pointed at Poe. "What kind of game are you playing, Poe? You had my friend here, with you, all this time?"

Poe didn't answer.

"The End of Time?" Jack said. "I'm sorry, but I don't understand the reference."

"It isn't a reference, it's his name," said Burton, still eyeing Poe above. "He was my guide across Somaliland in the 1850s. I would not have survived if not for him. We called him Theo for short, and ...

"Wait a minute," he exclaimed suddenly. Burton looked over the man he called the End of Time from head to toe, then took a step back. "How is it that you're here now? That was nearly a century ago."

"He's one of the Messengers," Verne said, trying without success to conceal the smugness he felt at disorienting Burton so. "An adept, like Ransom and Morgan. Or didn't you know that?"

"I ... did not," Burton said frankly. Doyle and Houdini looked at each other in surprise. This was a rare admission for Sir Richard, to not have known something about his own man.

At that moment Hawthorne reappeared with the Tin Man, who agreed to go. "And I'm taking Archie," said Rose, as if defying Burton to argue with her-but he was too stunned by the appearance of the End of Time to care.

"Then we have our fellowship," Chaucer declared. "Luck be with you all."

The travelers left Tamerlane House to go prepare the Black Dragon, just as another argument broke out among the Caretakers Emeritis. "We've already shared so much," Bert was saying, pleading with the others. "Why couldn't we have told them this, too? Why not put all the cards on the table, so they can be fully informed about their choices?"

"It isn't a matter of being fully informed, Bert," said Twain, "but about how much they can bear."

"It would have only added to their burdens," Verne said wearily, "to reveal that according to the future Histories, today, Jack's 'Independence Day,' also marks the first day in the War of the Caretakers."

CHAPTER NINE.

The Waste Land

In a world where the power of a nation was determined by the power of its naval forces, a skilled mapmaker was as valuable as the most ruthless of privateers. The ability to see what others could not see, and know what they could not know, was embodied in the accuracy of the maps made for the various principalities, and the brotherhood of mapmakers skilled enough to have come to the notice of the kings and admirals was small and select. But even among these there was a hierarchy, and the best, most elite of their number was a man who had never drawn a map for a king or country.

In mapmaking circles, no one was better than Eliot McGee, and he only made maps for pirates.

It was the family trade, begun by his father Elijah, who was recruited by the pirate governor, Henry Morgan, to make maps to his own hidden treasures. In time, word of both Elijah's skill and his ability to keep tightly bound the most fragile of secrets brought all the pirates of the age to the McGees' door.

Eliot's childhood, once meant for his apprenticeship as a silversmith, became an endless game of art and imagination, of hidden lands and lost treasures, as his father taught him the art of mapmaking.

Once, during one of Morgan's late-night meetings with Elijah, Eliot thought he overheard something about a Cartographer, and Caretakers of a place called the Archipelago of Dreams. He had assumed it was just another discussion about the Caribbean. Almost all the maps that Elijah made were for islands in that part of the world-in part because that was where all the pirates were.

Then, when he was old enough to have passed from apprenticeship to mastery, he met another man who spoke of the same things, in the same way. They spent many long nights talking of imaginary lands, and in the process became the best of friends. And in due time, his friend introduced Eliot to his own master-a man who referred to himself as a Caretaker. And this Caretaker had also taken on another apprentice, who was destined to have a great impact on the life and career of Eliot McGee.

And thus did Eliot Mcgee, Charles Johnson, and Daniel Defoe become apprentice Caretakers to Cyrano de Bergerac.

Burton argued with Jack about which of them was to captain the Black Dragon, until Fred pointed out that John was actually the Caveo Principia, and he should choose. John, for his part, didn't want to embarrass Fred by ignoring his obvious show of loyalty, but he also didn't want to overrule Burton in so blatant a manner. So, he asked one of the others to flip a coin, and Burton was to call it.

It turned out the only one of them who actually had a coin was Houdini. "All right," he said, readying a quarter on his thumb and finger, "I'll flip it. But how do you know I won't cheat? I can make the quarter do anything I want, as you probably know."

"If you do it fairly," John said, "I'll tell you the secret of how the Serendipity Box works-uh, worked."

Houdini's face lit up. "Deal!" He flipped the coin expertly into the air. "Call it, Richard."

"Tails," said Burton.

Houdini caught the spinning coin and slapped it on his wrist.

"It's heads," Fred said as Houdini showed him the coin. "Scowler John chooses."

Burton started to protest, until John interrupted him. "Burton should captain the ship," he said. "Any objections?"

"Not really," said Jack.

"I don't understand," said Burton. "Why put us through this little game if you were going to let me do it anyway?"

"Because," said John, "I wasn't going to 'let' you do anything. I was going to choose you, because you've had more experience, and more recent experience, than any of us. And I made us flip the coin to point out who's in charge here."

Burton's eyes narrowed, then he grinned and moved to the foredeck to loosen the moorings, while instructing the Tin Man to loosen those in the aft.

"How did you know you'd win the toss?" asked Doyle. "Not much of a way to establish yourself as leader if you'd lost."

"Oh, Harry made sure I won, didn't you, Harry?" John said with a wink at the magician.

"Well, er ... that is," Harry stammered, glancing over his shoulder to make sure Burton wasn't in earshot. "You did win, and that's what counts. So," he added, rubbing his hands together in anticipation of an earned reward, "how does the Serendipity Box work?"

John clapped him on the back and leaned close. "Magic," he whispered before striding to the cabin with Jack and Fred. "It's magic."

"That was dirty pool," Houdini fumed as Doyle laughed. "Completely dirty pool."

The Black Dragon seemed almost grateful to be free of the boathouse, giving Burton only a little bit of resistance as he steered her out to sea. The water that had come with the Nameless Isles extended only a few miles from the shoreline, where it vanished under the gray mists that now surrounded the islands.

"If this works," John said to the others, "we should know right away. And if it doesn't, we'll just take a little jaunt around the islands."

"It will work," said Rose. "I can feel it."