CHAPTER TWENTY.

The False Caretaker

It took a while for Laura Glue to track down Doctor Franklin, but the second time she looked there, she finally found him on the upper floor, discoursing with Myrret about Arthurian history. He was reluctant to leave, until she told him who his visitor was.

"The fox has some very unusual takes on history," Franklin said as they descended the stairs, "but I think he's got his dates confused. He seems to be off by a millennium or two."

"Foxes make great librarians," said Laura Glue, "but they're not so good at math."

"Mr. McGee," said Franklin, offering his hand.

"Doctor Franklin," said Ernest, taking it. "I'm pleased to finally meet you."

"What's all this?" Franklin asked as he looked over the spread of papers on the table.

Briefly Edmund explained about the book and what he'd been doing with it.

"How fascinating!" Franklin exclaimed. "You know, Edmund, I've got some similar writings and drawings in an old book of mine I keep in my desk. You might call it my own apprenticeship. I'll have to show it to you sometime. I think you'll find it very enlightening."

"I'd love to see it," Edmund said, as a look of interest flashed among the Caretakers. A book like this one? One that Franklin had not yet shown to Edmund? And more importantly, that he referred to as his own apprenticeship?

At that moment John noticed that a shadow had followed Laura Glue and the Doctor down from the rooms upstairs. The boy Coal was holding a kite. He suddenly had an idea.

"Doctor Franklin," John said amicably, "I'd promised Coal that we'd go out flying kites, but I forgot that we were meeting with Ernest. You wouldn't have some free time, would you?"

"Actually, I do," said Franklin. "I was thinking of going over to Trafalgar Square myself to try out a new kite design. I'm sure the young man wouldn't mind helping me, would you?" He looked down at the boy, who nodded enthusiastically.

Jack started to protest that it wouldn't be necessary, that they could look after the boy well enough, but John's tap on his hand stopped him. John nodded almost imperceptibly, then to Franklin he said, "That will be fine. Thank you, Doctor Franklin."

"What was that all about?" Jack asked as the Doctor left with the little prince, two kites in hand. "With all our suspicions, are you sure it's safe to leave the boy alone with him?"

"What's he going to do, really?" asked John. "Benjamin Franklin isn't exactly going to harm a child in broad daylight. Besides, it's to follow up on our suspicions that I agreed."

"I hadn't realized you expected me," Ernest said, confused. "We had a meeting?"

"We're having it now," John said as he headed up the stairs. "Harry can pick any lock, and we've got a good hour before they're back to look around unmolested. And I want to see that book."

The others laughed and trotted to catch up to the Principal Caretaker. "When you wrote about the little burglar in your book," Jack said, "I didn't realize you were writing from experience."

"Not experience," said John as they entered Franklin's private study. "Just unfulfilled ambitions."

"Do you like the kite, Coal?" Doctor Franklin asked as he led the boy into ever more crowded streets. "I made it just for you."

The boy nodded happily, clutching the brightly colored kite to his chest as the tail trailed along behind them. "It's very nice, thank you."

"What a polite young man," Franklin said, mussing the boy's hair. "I'm very glad we've gotten to be friends. We'll have some good fun, you and I, won't we? I was meaning to ask," he added, "where is it you come from, Coal?"

"I-I'm not supposed to speak of it," Coal stammered, looking suddenly very worried. Laura Glue and the Caretakers had given him very strict instructions not to talk about where he was from with strangers-but Doctor Franklin was not really a stranger, was he? After all, they had let him go to fly kites with the Doctor, and they had been staying at his house. If he could not be trusted, then who could?

"Perhaps you could tell me about it as a story," Franklin suggested. "You like stories, don't you, Coal? Like the ones in my library?"

"Oh, yes!" the boy responded. "I love to read."

"Well, then," Franklin said as they located a suitable place from which to launch the kite. "Why don't I tell you a story about myself, and then you can tell me stories about yourself. Is it a bargain?"

Coal murmured in agreement as he untangled the kite's tail from his legs. "It is. A bargain."

"Excellent!" said Franklin as they tossed the kite into the wind. "I'll start. I came here from a land far, far away, called America. Where did you come from?"

"Once upon a time," Coal began, oblivious to the intense scrutiny being fixed on him by the Doctor, "I came here from a land far, far away. It was called Paralon."

The Caretakers were so intent on getting a look at Franklin's mysterious book that they didn't notice Edmund and Laura Glue slip away and out the back door. They ran through a maze of alleys and ended up at an old barn that was mostly used to store grain. It was spacious, and best of all, private.

"They were going to go look at the Doctor's book," Laura Glue said as they climbed up to sit on a high crossbeam. "Didn't you want to see his secret maps?"

"I draw maps all the time," said Edmund, "and when I'm not drawing them, I'm reading about them. I spend most of my life buried in maps. And I do love them-but I want to do other things too, and spend time with ..." He blushed. "Well, do other things. Otherwise, I'd be no better off than if I was an old hermit, stuck in a tower, doing nothing but drawing maps. And what kind of a way to live is that?"

Smoothly, he leaned in to kiss her, and she shied away. "You don't kiss boys where you come from?"

"It's never really come up," Laura Glue said matter-of-factly. "There were always kissing games when we were children-girls chasing the boys, and all that-but the point of it was that the girls chased the boys, who didn't want to be kissed."

"Didn't they?" asked Edmund with a lopsided grin. "Weren't the boys faster than you were?"

"Mostly," Laura Glue admitted, "except for maybe Abby Tornado. She could outrun everyone."

"Mmm-hmm. But somehow you always managed to catch them, didn't you?"

Laura Glue's brow furrowed, then her eyes widened. "I never really thought of that. I suppose they must have wanted to be caught."

"That's my point," Edmund said as he moved closer. "Boys liked kissing as much as the girls did. They were just too young to admit it."

Laura Glue sighed. "We shouldn't, you know. Not because I don't want to, but ..." She hesitated. "I may be going away soon. To a place a long ... a long ways away. A place it would be impossible to visit."

"All the more reason to spend as much time with you as I possibly can," said Edmund. "Besides, sometimes things don't go as we plan them to. I wouldn't mind if you had to stay here."

"I wouldn't either."

She unhooked the harness that held her wings and let them drop to the barn floor below, then moved closer to Edmund until their knees touched.

"Aren't you afraid you'll fall?" asked Edmund, peering down at the wings.

"I'm sure if I do, you'll do your best to hold on to me," Laura Glue said, her voice barely a whisper.

"And if I fall?"

"Then I'll catch you," she said, and then she leaned in and kissed him. Neither of them ran away.

It took Harry only a few seconds to open the lock on Franklin's desk, which was disappointing to Fred, who was ready to jimmy it with an awl.

"It doesn't hurt to have a backup plan," said the badger.

"He's quite a smart fellow for a badger, isn't he?" asked Ernest.

"You don't know the half of it," said Jack as Houdini handed him the book.

"That book," Fred said wonderingly. "It's almost like the Little Whatsit. Almost exactly like it, 'cept maybe a little older."

"Yes," said John. "Strange. It's very like the Little Whatsit."

"Not the Little Whatsit," said Jack. "One of the Histories. Just look at it!"

Jack held it up and pointed to the cover. He was right-it was identical to one of the Caretakers' Histories.

"I'm right, aren't I?" asked Jack.

"I'm afraid you are," John said, gritting his teeth in frustration. "It's the only explanation that fits. He is an apprentice of Daniel Defoe."

Just then there was a knock at the front door. Fred peered out the window. "It's that blind magistrate," he said.

"Uh-oh," said John. "I'd better go see what he wants."

If the body of the End of Time had lain in any other district in that part of London, it might have been discovered sooner. As it was, his body had already gone cold and rigid when the match girl found him. She told the potato vendor at the corner, who told one of the newly commissioned police force, who, in an effort to demonstrate his worth to his employer, told the magistrate. And it was he who realized who the victim was, and who needed to be told about the murder.

It was a good day for flying kites. Warm and overcast, the cloud-filtered sunlight cast no shadows. And so the boy was unafraid when he was led away from the park by his friend who had no shadow at all.

On days such as this, the trees ate many kites-and so no one questioned, or even noticed, when two kites were left unattended, to flutter in the breeze.

Under the circumstance, Jack felt compelled to tell his companions about the private discussions he had been having with Theo since the crossing of the Frontier.

"He wanted to wait to say anything," Jack explained, "until he'd gotten a better handle on what our enemy might be planning. I trusted him entirely."

"As you should have!" Burton roared. "I'll not have you talking about him like he was some laggardly half-wit. It would have taken someone-something-truly inhuman to have killed him like this."

Burton's words were brash and full of anger, but more than one of the companions noticed that as he paced back and forth his hands were trembling.

"You said Theo told you the Echthros had followed us through the door," said Doyle. "Do you think it's possible ... I mean, the boy-"

"No!" Burton roared. He grabbed Doyle and threw him roughly to the floor.

"It's worth considering," said Houdini as he helped his companion back to his feet. "If you were not so upset, you'd see that, Richard. And the End of Time would say the same if he were here."

Burton stared at them, breathing hard, his eyes crazy with rage. But then the mood passed as he slowly realized the wisdom of Houdini's words. It was true-if it had been Theo speaking, he'd have at least considered the possibility. The boy, Coal, might be the very Echthros they were fighting against.

"Theo said that he had a way to control it," said Jack, "and I think I know what that way is." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a bloodstained piece of paper. "The magistrate said that Theo had this in his hand. They had to pry his fingers open to get it loose. It's a Binding. An Old Magic Binding."

Burton stared. "Why would the End of Time have such a thing?"

"Never mind why," said John. "How would he be able to speak it and make it work? I didn't think it was possible for just anyone to speak a Binding."

"It must have been possible," Jack replied, "or else he wouldn't have meant to try it. Poe did send him with us, after all. And as one of Verne's Messengers, he certainly would have known what it was."

"Not that it did him a lot of good," said Doyle. "Either it didn't work, or he didn't have time to speak it. Which means that the Echthros either caught him unawares ..."

"Impossible," said Burton.

"Or," Doyle went on, "it appeared to him as someone he trusted and would not think to question."

"It may not be the boy," said John. "There's another possibility, remember?"

"That's almost as bad," said Burton. "If it is Defoe, then it's my fault the End of Time is dead, because I'm the one who recruited him to the Society."

"There's one way to find out," Doyle said, taking the paper from Jack. "We can bind him ourselves, and we'll ask."

"We can't," said John. "If we interfere with Defoe too much here, we'll risk derailing everything we've already accomplished back in 1945."

"And what do we do about Coal?" said John. "It's an unanswered question. What if he is our enemy?"

"Maybe he's the Fiction," Jack suggested. "He's certainly unique, given where he came from. He might not be an Echthros-he might just be a cypher. Something that shouldn't exist, but does."

None of them saw the shadowy figure that had been listening outside the cracked door, and none of them saw it leave. But it had heard everything it had to hear to know what it needed to do next.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE.

The Summer King