"I said you'd be back soon, and I'd have you contact him," the fox said. "And then he told me I'm very articulate for my species."

"Oh dear," said Jack.

The companions all went to their separate corners of Franklin's house to better come to grips with the events of the night. The Doctor graciously opened another spare room for Ernest to use, with the promise that breakfast would soon be ready.

When Doyle had dressed in clean clothes, he found Houdini in the kitchen with Franklin.

"You're obviously a man of learning," the Magician was saying, "so let me ask you. His voice dropped to a whisper. "If you were to have a box about yea big, and say, for the sake of argument, it was a magic box-"

"Harry!" Doyle said sharply. "Nix, brother."

Houdini scowled at Doyle, then switched to a charming smile for Franklin. "Another time, perhaps."

A few moments later John and Jack came in. They had questions for Doctor Franklin-which he'd already anticipated.

"Here," said the doctor, handing a cream-colored multipage letter to John. "That should answer many of your questions."

"It's a letter from Jules," John said to Jack. "This is why Franklin helped us."

"I'd have helped you anyway," said Franklin. "As much as I could have. But this letter made it easy. Verne delivered it to me himself years ago and told me who he was, and why he needed my help. I thought it was some sort of prank-but when you showed up at my door, I knew it was all real."

"So the Mystorians ...," John began.

"All I know is what he told me, and what's in that letter," Franklin said with a shrug. "I knew enough to anticipate certain events, and to assist you as best I could. And that's all I was asked to do. And he gave me this," he added, holding up the watch, "so that you would trust me. And it seems you did. Although mine doesn't allow me to travel in time."

"That's all right," said Jack. "Neither do ours at the moment."

"The watch would have been more help," said John, "if you'd shown it-and the letter-to us when we got here. We trusted you when we had to, but we wasted a lot of time thinking you might be ..."

"Echthroi?" Franklin finished, nodding. "That's the very reason I could not confirm who I was, nor whom I worked for. I knew I could trust you Caretakers, as Verne told me I could. But you came with an entourage-including an Echthros. I couldn't reveal more until events had played themselves out. Other than mentoring the boy, assisting you was all that Verne asked of me."

"So a Mystorian is sort of a single-mission Caretaker," said John, "at least in your case, Doctor. I don't know whether to be grateful to Verne or if I want to beat him within an inch of his life."

"Let's get you home first," said Franklin with a wink, "and then I'm sure you'll be able to decide."

After breakfast, the companions reconvened in the study. "There's something that needs doing," Burton announced somberly, "and I'd rather do it quickly."

The companions all nodded in understanding, especially John and Jack. To them, it was not so long ago that they had lain their friend to rest. Now Burton wanted to do the same for his.

Theo's funeral was a small, private affair-only Burton, Houdini, and Doyle, and John, Jack, Fred, and Franklin attended. The body had been wrapped in the style of Theo's culture and placed in a shallow boat on the river.

With no platitudes, and little ceremony, Burton and John set the boat aflame and pushed it out onto the water.

"In broad daylight?" Franklin whispered to Jack. "Isn't this quite risky?"

"Not really," Doyle whispered back, pointing.

There on the dock behind them, Houdini stood with his back to them, hands outstretched. His fingers made delicate tracings in the air, but the muscles on his neck and the beads of sweat soaking his shirt showed the obvious strain he was under. They could hear him whispering arcane words of magic under his breath as he worked the illusion.

"No one will see us, or the funeral barge," Doyle explained. "Burton considered the End of Time to be his friend-perhaps his only friend. And he deserves the chance to do this in peace."

Burton stood on the dock, watching the small craft as it was consumed by the flames. Finally it drifted too far to see clearly. He spun about and cleared his throat.

"All right," Burton said gruffly. "Let's get back to work."

Back at Franklin's house, they found Rose already poring over the maps in Johnson's book.

"What are you looking for?" Ernest offered helpfully. "Perhaps I could give you a hand?"

Rose looked up at him as a flash of fear and worry crossed her features. She'd basically confessed to trying to destroy the work of his entire family-that would not be easily forgiven. But there was no guile or malice in the man's face-the offer was sincere.

"Hank Morgan traveled back to our time with a map your grandfather made him," Rose replied. "I was hoping to find something similar that we might use to duplicate his efforts."

"What are you thinking, Rose?" Jack asked as he and the others came into the room.

"Mother Night told me that I had all the things I needed to connect the threads of time," Rose replied, "and the Watchmaker told us we needed someone who was able to map time. Doctor Franklin told us that he was instructed by Verne to help Edmund become a mapmaker. I think," she finished, "that together, Edmund and I may be able to get us home."

"When we first met," Ernest said to John, "I told you that I did not have the skills of my father and grandfather. That is still true. But," he added with no small pride, "there is a member of the family McGee who does. My son Edmund can make the kind of map you need."

"I have the extra pages," Jack said as he removed a large folder from Fred's pack. "The ones Bert and the Cartographer took out of the Geographica for safekeeping."

He spread out the large sheets of parchment and selected one, handing it to Edmund. "Here," Jack said. "Let's try your skills out on one of these."

"All right," said Edmund. "What do you want me to map?"

"About twenty years shy of two centuries," said Jack.

"Hmm," said Edmund. "I'm going to need more ink."

As the young mapmaker worked, John moved over alongside Burton, who was compulsively checking his watch and looking out the window. "You're thinking about the boy, aren't you?" John asked.

Burton responded with a short, sharp nod.

"We'll find him, Burton. We will," said John, gripping the man's shoulder. "I swear it."

And this time, Sir Richard Burton didn't knock aside John's hand, but allowed it to remain on his shoulder, steadying him. John wondered if that was deliberate, or if Burton, for the first time since he'd known the man, was simply weary. It didn't really matter, he supposed. Or maybe, it just shouldn't.

"What I'm concerned about," Doyle was saying, "is whether the conflict with Defoe will have any ill effect on the future. After all, he sells the portrait of Captain Johnson to, well, us, in around a decade or so."

"They mean me," said Burton, turning from the window. "I came here in the Indigo Dragon, specifically searching for Defoe to strengthen his ties to the Society. Our pact was sealed with the purchase of the portrait."

"I don't think the future will be affected," said Jack. "That Burton isn't you, Richard-he won't have had this experience and will have no reason to distrust Defoe. And for all we know, Defoe will end up trusting you more then because of your having met now."

"He didn't mention it," said Burton. "Why?"

"I don't think he would," said Jack, "just as he won't care about having seen us here. All he'll recall is that he got the best of us."

"That's not really a consolation," said Houdini.

"I'm actually more worried about what happens when we get back than I am that we'll get back at all," said Jack.

"Why is that?" asked John.

"Aven," Jack replied simply. "How are we going to tell Bert? He's already lost his wife in Deep Time-and now we're going to have to tell him that he's lost his daughter as well."

"Time enough for that later," said Burton, sitting. "No pun intended. But we have more pressing matters to attend to, do we not? First we need to make sure we can get back at all. Then we'll deal with grief and the grieving."

"Of course you wouldn't feel that was important," Jack said, frowning. "You took the news of your own daughter's loss with barely a blink."

Burton leaned back in his chair and observed Jack with a wry expression on his face. "And you have determined from that reaction that I don't care for Tiger Lily, or mourn her death?" he said evenly. "You would be wrong, little Caretaker. I will mourn her, in my own fashion, when I have time to do so. But now is not that time.

"She lived her life as I raised her to," he continued, "rich and full and honorably. She married well, and gave me an heir. I mourn that I was not there to share in more of her years, but that does not weaken the pride I feel as her father, nor does it make me love her less."

With that he spun around and strode from the room.

John clapped Jack on the back. "I can't say he's wrong, old fellow."

"You know," said Houdini, "if Theo were here, he'd have something profound to say."

Doyle looked on impassively. "It is from the dust that we came, and it is to the dust we must all return."

"Oh, shut up," said Jack.

"And what about Coal?" Rose asked. "What can we do about him?"

"We can't stay here," John stressed, "even to try to find Coal. Wherever Defoe sent him can't be helped now. And if we are to have any hope of finding him in the future, the only way to do it is to keep our eyes on our larger goal. We have to fix the Archipelago. And then we'll have a chance of finding Coal."

"In Morgan's note, he said he and Elijah were trying to create a 'chronal map,'" Rose said. "We know they did, eventually. That's how he attuned his watch to get back."

"Shouldn't we be able to do the same?" asked Fred. "The zero point he mapped to Tamerlane House is still there."

"Except," said Jack, "he didn't start from a mapped zero point, so even when he had the map, he spent two centuries trying to leap forward in time."

"Which," Burton noted, "is exactly how long it would have taken him doing it the ordinary way."

"Do you remember when we moved through time using the trump?" John asked. "They tried it again and it never worked-and it didn't really work for Hank, either."

"That may not have been Morgan's fault," said Rose. "Basically, he was trying to mix two incompatible means of travel. The trumps were meant to be used in space, and the watches in time."

"That's what worries me," said Jack. "His map worked in exactly a way it wasn't supposed to. It effectively functioned as a 'chronal trump,' moving him in time and space. I'm worried that we'll just be duplicating Hank's efforts, and with just as little success."

"Fruitless?" said Fred. "He did make it back."

"Just in time to die," said Burton. "I'd rather stay here, if that's the choice."

"No, I think it may be just the direction we need to be looking," said Jack. "Think about it-the Keep of Time functioned in the same way. Stepping through the doors moved you in time and space-and they were changeable. Basically, the keep itself intuited where and when we needed to go. If we can find a way to recreate that ..."

"I'll settle for getting to Tamerlane House in 1945," said John. "If we can."

"We're about to find out," said Edmund. "I think I'm done."

Edmund had followed the notes in Elijah's maps, as well as the calculations that accompanied them. As well as he could determine, the map he'd made was identical to the one his great-grandfather had made for Hank Morgan.

"All we have to do now," said Burton, "is figure out how to use it without spending two centuries lost in history."

"He stepped through in space, but it didn't let him step through in time," said John. "It was the same problem he had with the projected message he left at Magdalen Tower."

"I think I understand what to do," said Rose. "I think I know the reason I needed to be here." She reached into her pocket, and just as she had before, she found the glowing ball of Ariadne's Thread.

She looked at the ball, then at the others. "Reweave the threads of history, that's what Mother Night told me," she said. "Somehow I have to use this thread to get us home."

"You're forgetting the original purpose of the thread from mythology," John said. "With it, you can always find your way back."

Experimentally, Rose unwound one end of the thread and let it dangle on the table.

"Now that's very interesting," said Edmund. "How do you get it to extend into the map that way?"

"What are you talking about?" asked Rose.

"The glowing thread," Edmund said, pointing from the ball in her hand to the parchment on the table. "It's connected directly to my drawing, see?" He grabbed the edge of the sheet and slid it back and forth. "It follows the map. How are you doing that?"

"Edmund," said Jack. "We can't see anything."

The young mapmaker never heard the comment. He'd already become too absorbed in the strange light, and something deeper it seemed to mean to him.

Dipping a quill in his ink, he started adding some new notations to the map, pausing every few seconds to observe his handiwork. He added another sketch to the center, and several symbols to the edges. Finally he put down the quill. "There," he said, breathing rapidly from the anxious effort. "Now it's done. The thread just showed me a few things I hadn't understood before."

"All right," Jack said. "Let's give it a try. Everyone, please focus on the map."

Half in fear that it might work, but more out of fear that it wouldn't, the companions gathered closely about the table and stared at the map.

The parchment trembled; once, then again. And again. And then suddenly it started to expand.

"Here!" Jack exclaimed. "Hold up the other side, John!"

Together the Caretakers held up the sheet as it continued to grow. In minutes it filled the whole width of the room, and as they watched, a picture began to form amid the symbols and equations.

"What do you think?" Jack asked. "Should one of us go through first, to test it?"

John shook his head. "It's either going to work, or it isn't," he said, his voice full of resolve. "We all go together."

"What about Edmund?" Laura Glue asked. "Don't we have to take him?"

"She's right," said John. "If this works, and we want to do it again, we're going to need him, just as the Watchmaker said."

"I agree," said Ernest. "This is your destiny, my boy. You must go."

Edmund hugged his father. "What of Elijah's maps? And all of his notes?"