Free The Search for the Red Dragon by James A. Owen Page A

behind.
    “So,” said John, “what’s it like to be made of wood?”
    “Not as bad as you’d think,” replied Magwich. “Although you wouldn’t believe the places termites can get to.”
    “Sorry I asked,” said John.
     
    The familiar path wound around the edge of the island, the grasses and craggy rocks standing out in sharp relief against the dark,roiling clouds of the Frontier beyond—the true boundary of the Archipelago. At the path’s end they would find the Morgaine—the witches known as the Three Who Are One. Sometimes they were able to prophesy the future. Other times they were unwilling to try. Still, Bert explained, it was worth asking, as the Morgaine were likely to be the only entities who could shed any light on the events taking place.
    Jack suppressed a shudder. “I’m really not looking forward to seeing them again,” he confided to Charles.
    “I know what you mean,” Charles replied. “Those strange old women…especially the one—what was her name again?”
    “Cul,” Magwich said over his shoulder. “And I can sympathize. I don’t come see them unless I’m compelled, which isn’t often.”
    “Didn’t she make you rub her feet once?” recalled Jack, suppressing a wicked smile.
    Magwich groaned. “Why else do you think I stay on the far side of the island?”
    They came into the small clearing, but there was no one to be seen. The great black cauldron that sat over a usually crackling fire was nestled among cold embers, and there were other cooking implements scattered here and there amidst the sharp grass.
    At the far side were three tumbledown cottages in a state of extreme disrepair, around which were piled a number of artifacts of all shapes and sizes. Both John and Charles noticed, but said nothing about, the large iron kettle with the bronze adornments, leather handles, and Greek shield for a lid.
    “Hey, ho, looks like no one’s home,” said Magwich, spinning around on his heel. “Time to go.”
    “Not so fast, Maggot.” Charles caught Magwich by the collarof his breastplate. “You’re the Green Knight now. You botch your job, I guarantee you I’ll give a full report, omitting nothing, to Samaranth himself.”
    “Bloody hell,” muttered Magwich. “A fellow just can’t catch a break with you people.”
    He pointed down the slope. “You’ll probably find them in the cave. That’s where they spend most of their time these days.”
    “Excellent,” Charles said, giving the reluctant knight a shove. “Lead the way, Sir Maggot.”

C HAPTER S IX
The Weaving
    The cave was deeper than the opening would indicate, and although they all (with the exception of Bert, who simply removed his hat) had to stoop to enter, once inside they were able to stand erect without bumping their heads.
    Rather than growing darker, the cave grew lighter the deeper they went. There, at the back, they saw three figures—but it took a moment for them to realize that these were not the figures they had expected to see.
    Instead of the weathered old women draped in layers of dresses and beads and various charms, waiting to welcome the companions were three youthful, graceful women of astonishing beauty.
    The nearest of them wore a dress of shimmering blue and had long, golden hair, pulled back into a bun at her neck. She sat at a large spinning wheel, which was idle. A pile of unspun wool was behind her, the topmost fibers of which were pulled together in the threads hanging from the wheel.
    The second woman had hair like flame, tied in looping ringlets that fell onto a cream-colored dress with elaborate patterns embroidered across the chest. Her arms rested on an enormous loom, which seemed to be as unused as the spinning wheel,wrapped as it was in cobwebs. Hundreds and hundreds of threads grew together in a tangle underneath a giant comb, but she made no effort to unbind them.

    …three youthful, graceful women of astonishing beauty.
    And the third, near the back of the cave, was