"Ironic," said Charles. "I think."

The face of the clock was twenty feet across and bore two elaborate overlapping dials-the inner one of silver, and the outer one of gold. From somewhere inside the mechanism, they could hear a steady thrumming sound.

"The center dial represents Kairos-real time, of pure numbers with no measurement," Verne explained, "while the outer dial represents Chronos, which is ordinary wristwatch, alarm-clock time."

"One mechanical, one metaphysical," said Charles. "Fascinating."

"You all have similar mechanisms on your watches," said Bert, "the ones that have been activated as Anabasis Machines, at any rate."

"The Summer Country is on Chronos time," said Verne, "while the Archipelago is on Kairos time. Now at the moment, they should be in sync. But the longer you remained here, you'd see ..." He stopped, puzzled. "Hank?" he asked. "What do you make of this?"

Morgan looked up at the clock, and his jaw fell open. He looked at his watch, then back at the clock, and shrugged. "I have no clue what this means, Jules. I've never seen this before."

"What is it?" asked John.

"The Kairos time should be behind Chronos time," said Verne, "but it's exactly the reverse. The Archipelago is moving faster." He looked at Hank. "That explains why you were late."

"Maybe so," said Hank. "But we should consult with Poe just the same."

"I agree," said Verne. He turned to the others. "I'm sorry, but we're going to have to cut our evening short," he said, suddenly somber.

As the group began to filter their way back to the main hall, John, Jack, and Charles pulled Verne, Twain, and Bert aside.

"There's something else we need to discuss with you," John said quietly. "We didn't want to discuss it openly in front of Burton, but it concerns Hank Morgan."

Briefly the companions explained John and Charles's encounter with the ghost pirate at Magdalen Tower. When they finished, Bert turned to Verne with a puzzled expression. "An anomaly?" he asked.

"It must be," Verne replied, looking just as baffled. "I did recently send Hank on a mission to the seventeeth century, but as you saw, he returned just as he left. There must be some other answer. And as far as I know, Shakespeare never built a bridge in his life-or after." He put a hand on John's shoulder. "You were right not to discuss it openly-or mention it to Hank. Anomalies are my responsibility. I'll look into it."

"We also have something we need to tell you," Twain said to the companions, "and in just as much secrecy, I'm afraid."

The three men listened as the older Caretakers told them about Rose's strange visitor.

"A Dragon's apprentice?" said John when Twain was done. "I didn't know there was such a thing."

"Never mind that," said Jack. "Why is this the first time we've heard about these ... Echthroids?"

"Echthroi," Bert said, glancing at Verne, "and we have no good excuse, I'm afraid, Jack. We were waiting until you were ready, and-"

"If you'd waited any longer, we'd all be dead," said Charles, "but we know now. Do you think the Echthroi have anything to do with the ghost-Hank we saw?"

"I don't know," said Verne, "but we'll not get this figured out tonight. Come back tomorrow, and we'll have a proper council to discuss everything."

"Good enough," John said, yawning. "It's always easier to fight primordial evil after a few hours' sleep."

"Not for me, I'm afraid," said Jack. "I have several papers to grade and two lectures to prepare. But yes, I'll come back with John."

"Just the idea is going to be a weight off my shoulders," said Charles. "This whole matter of not being able to travel to the Archipelago has had my sense of obligation all in a twist. I kept worrying that there was going to be some crisis I wouldn't be able to help with-sort of like listening to a radio report about your brother's house burning down. You might be able to do something eventually, but there, in the moment that you're needed most, you can't really do anything. Terribly frustrating."

"I know," Bert said. "I know how hard it's been for all three of you. But that's all, erm, behind us now, so to speak. For now, let's get you home, hey?"

They rejoined the rest of the Caretakers and guests in the main hall, where final good-byes were said, hugs given, and hands shook, and at last the three companions were ready to return home.

"Remember," John said to Rose, "we want you to come back to Oxford as soon as you can arrange it. We've missed you terribly, and Warnie and Hugo would be terribly hurt if you couldn't spend time with them as well-although your uncle Hugo is going to be merciless about your hair."

Rose kissed him on the cheek, then Jack, then Charles. "I shall, I promise," she said. "That works both ways. If you find you have a free hour or two, you can always come here. This is home too."

"Indeed it is," said Charles, "and you have my word, dear girl-I'll be back here before you know it."

"All right, fellows," said Ransom. "Let's have a little walkabout." He pulled a small leather case out of his jacket and untied the binding. Removing the stack of trumps from the enclosure in the back of the case, he shuffled to the one he wanted and held it out in front of him, concentrating.

Nothing happened.

"Hmm," he said after a minute. "I must have had a bit too much to drink. I can't seem to focus."

Hank stepped forward and extended his hand. "I've just gotten back from a visit to the seventeenth century," he said with a half-concealed smile, "so I haven't yet had the chance to indulge in as much brandy as you. May I?"

Ransom scowled a bit but handed his colleague the card.

Hank held up the drawing of the cottage where Jack lived with his brother Warnie-who could even be seen through one of the windows, reading and smoking his pipe-and began to concentrate. Again, nothing happened.

"If this is all a trick," Houdini said at length, "the setup has been astonishing so far. I only hope the payoff is just as good."

"It isn't a trick," Ransom snapped testily. "The card just isn't working!"

"Something's wrong with the picture," said Rose, looking closely at the card in Ransom's hand. "With Uncle Warnie."

"Is he all right?" Jack asked, suddenly concerned. "What's happening? Is he in danger?"

"No," said Rose. "It's nothing like that. I'm looking at his pipe. The smoke isn't moving."

John arched an eyebrow as he and the others moved in to peer more closely at the card. Rose was correct-there was smoke coming from the pipe, but it was frozen. In fact, nothing in the picture was moving.

"How is that unusual?" asked Doyle, who had not seen the cards used very often. "It's just a drawing, isn't it?"

"The drawings change with the passage of time," Ransom explained. "It was Hank who first figured it out, after our escapade in 1936. They move along with us, and change as time advances. It isn't usually noticeable, except when we're using one. Then, the scene begins to move as we step through. But the card isn't even expanding, so I don't know what to think."

"So the one we used to get to the keep," said John, "the one that jumped us from 1936 to 1943. What is it like now?"

"It's blank, save for the frame of runes," Ransom said. "The last time I looked, where the Keep of Time had been drawn, there was only open, empty sky." He shuffled the cards again and pulled one out. "See? It's ..." He paused, frowning.

"What's the matter?" asked Charles.

"Something's off with the trump," Ransom answered. "Here, look for yourself."

Charles took the card and whistled. Ransom was right. The card was not so much blank as overfull with static. A pulsating gray crackle swept back and forth over the surface of the card.

"Perhaps it looks like that because the keep is finally gone," offered Jack. "A temporal flux of some sort, like the Time Storms."

"No," Ransom replied. "I looked in on it just a few days ago, and it was fine. Water, sky, a few seagulls-but a normal trump, otherwise."

"It's not just that card," said John, pointing at the others on the table. Ransom spread them out and took a quick accounting. All the trumps that led to places in the Summer Country had the same problem as the one for the Kilns-they were frozen in time. But all the trumps that led to locations in the Archipelago were filled with gray static.

"That's really disturbing," Morgan said as he examined his own cards. "Mine are the same way. And I just used one earlier to get here from London."

"How did that work?" asked Verne.

Morgan shrugged. "It seemed to be fine, mostly. I didn't give it much thought at the time, but now that this is happening ..." He frowned. "It was a bit difficult getting back. I thought I was just tired, but it took me more effort than usual, since I was also using my Anabasis Machine to travel through time. That's why I was late arriving here."

"So were we," said Ransom. "By several hours, in fact. I thought it was just a fluke, though. And the trump seemed to work fine-but now it won't work at all."

"Oh, dear," said Bert. "That's going to present a problem."

"How so?" asked John.

"There is currently no other way to cross the Frontier," Bert said, hands spread apologetically. "If the trumps don't work, there's no way for you to go home."

CHAPTER FOUR.

The Bridge

"This is a fine how-do-you-do," said Jack. Traveling by trump was so convenient, and so easy, that it had never occurred to any of them what might transpire if the trumps suddenly stopped working properly.

"If only we still had a Dragonship," said Charles, "getting back would be a walk in the park."

Bert and Verne exchanged nervous glances. "Yes, if only," said Bert. "Don't worry, there has to be a reason this is happening. We'll get you home, never fear."

"How about one of the principles?" Jack suggested. "The Royal Animal Rescue Squad would be more than eager to come and bail us out with a ride to Oxford."

"The vehicles are also unable to cross the Frontier," said Bert. "The magic feathers that allowed them passage lost their power when the Dragons died."

"Samaranth has feathers," said John. "Perhaps we should ask him for a few?"

"You're forgetting the first thing he ever said to us," said Charles. "'Will you drink tea with me, or plunder and die?' Do you really want to go ask him if he's molted any feathers we could borrow? Especially after that last speech he gave about the race of men being on their own?"

"I agree," said Ransom. "There's our dignity to consider."

"I'm fine staying here, if it's all the same to you," said Magwich the shrub. "They really do treat me poorly in Oxford. Why, just watering time alone ..."

"Oh, do shut up," said Charles, "or we'll give you to Grimalkin. And if you thought Mrs. Morris had large claws ..."

"Sorry, sorry," said Magwich.

"All right," said Twain. "So far we've got a stack of malfunctioning playing cards and our dignity. What else do we have to work with?"

"Burton," said John, "the Society has ways of traveling around expeditiously. Can you do anything here?"

Burton's eyes grew wide-he'd been enjoying the predicament the Caretakers were in, but only as an observer. He didn't expect to be drawn in as a participant.

"In time, yes, but not in space, and not across the Frontier," he said in clipped tones. "That's why I stole the Indigo Dragon, remember?"

John could tell that Burton hated admitting he couldn't do something. "Fair enough," he said before anyone could probe any deeper. "It's seems our work is cut out for us, then."

As the other Caretakers Emeritis began to discuss a plan of action, Rose noticed that William Shakespeare had been present throughout the entire discussion.

He didn't often join in, and on the few occasions when he tried, he was either maligned by the others or just dismissed entirely. The most useful contribution Rose had ever heard him make was to suggest that someone be flogged-but then that was usually all he ever suggested.

"Lord," Shakespeare said under his breath as he quietly rose and moved into the adjacent corridor, "what fools these immortals be."

Rose caught him by the arm before he could disappear into the bowels of Tamerlane House. "I heard you," she said plainly. "You know what we need to do, don't you?"

Shakespeare looked uncomfortably flummoxed and tugged at his collar. "I, er, I don't know what you're talking about, child," he said, guiding her over to a more remote corner of the hallway. "After all, there's no one to flog."

Rose didn't reply to this but simply kept a steady gaze on the increasingly uncomfortable Caretaker until he finally sighed and shook his head.

"All right, I submit. You're more perceptive than I gave you credit for."

"Everyone here in Tamerlane House is more perceptive than anyone gives them credit for," said Rose. "You have an idea, don't you? Why don't you tell them?"

"Do you know," he said with a mingling of resignation and melancholy, "what they say about me? Out there, in the world?"

Rose was confused. "You're honored and adored," she finally answered. "Your work is held up as the greatest of achievements-greater than any produced before or since."

Shakespeare put his head in his hands. "That's exactly what I mean. Do you know what kind of a burden it is to have such a reputation? To be, as I am, revered? It is troublesome bad, and more than any man should be expected to bear. And it was worse when I was recruited to be a Caretaker. My fame had outstripped even my life, and always, those around me-even my elders and betters-looked to mine own words for counsel."

He sighed heavily and looked at Rose. "It is a great responsibility to make decisions, and more so to be trusted, and risk being wrong in the counsel given, the choices made. Much, much worse."

At last Rose understood. "But," she said gently, "if you could convince them it was all reputation and not reality, that you were not as well-suited to the task as they thought you to be, then no one would ever look to you for advice."

Shakespeare nodded once, then again. "It has been a difficult fiction to maintain, especially in those dark days when no one quite knew what path to take, save I-and I could not break my act, lest it give me away."

"Sometimes it's better to do the right thing than the comfortable thing," Rose said firmly. "Like right now. You know, and you won't help. How is that a good way to live?"

"It isn't," Shakespeare agreed, "but after so long, I don't know how the fellowship would countenance a newly confident Will."