The Blackhope Enigma (23 page)

“We have two choices,” Marin declared. “If we do not take the path, we must dive back into the pool and find an underground waterway to the sea.”

“Too risky. We’ll end up back here again if we’re lucky, and drown if we’re not.”

“Let’s try the path,” said Sunni.

Marin rolled up the map and went to tuck it into his satchel.

“Hey,” said Blaise, “I found that. Give it back.”

“It was meant for me.”

“I don’t see your name on it.” Blaise thrust out his hand. “Hand it over.”

The apprentice snorted. “As you wish. I am not a thief.”

“Yeah, yeah. So you say.” Blaise made a great show of stashing the map away.

“There. You are happy now?”

“Can we get a move on?” Sunni took a few impatient steps toward the row of stone goddesses. Blaise caught up with her, and she gave him a pointed look.

“What?” he whispered.

“Why are you giving him a hard time?”

“Huh? The guy kidnaps you and threatens to put you in a prison drawing, and you’re worried about
him
being given a hard time?”

“We’re all right,” she hissed. “He ended up helping us.”

Blaise let out a frustrated breath. “I still don’t trust him.”

Sunni shook her head and bustled to the last statue in the row. Carved into the side of its body, a narrow staircase of shallow steps led straight up.

“Dean, you follow me.” Sunni edged her way up the steps and along a catwalk behind the row of goddesses, the others inching along behind her. She reached a sharp turn, and the way ahead was dark.

“Something’s in there,” she whispered. “I can hear sounds.”

“What?” Dean’s voice quivered as Sunni felt her way along in the blackness. Suddenly an explosion of wings slapped her around the face and shoulders.

“Bats!” she screeched. The cloud of creatures veered away into the higher reaches of the cave.

There was scuffling behind her. Marin shouted in Italian, and Blaise barked something back at him.

“What is it?” Sunni asked.

“Nothin’, keep going.” Dean’s voice pierced the dark. “One of them kicked the other or something.”

Sunni moved forward. The path twisted again, and a dim glow shone from above.

“Light,” she called. “Come on, there’s light up here.”

They crawled hand over hand through the slimy passage toward a chink of blue sky and emerged aboveground on a scrubby hillside studded with boulders and cacti. The sun scalded the earth and forced them to shield their eyes.

“Three paths,” said Blaise, considering the junction of rough walkways before them.

“We should follow the one going up,” said Marin.

“How do you know?” asked Blaise, rubbing his filthy hands on his pants. “Have you been here before?”

The apprentice put his hands on his hips. “No. Those other two paths would lead us down, and I do not see the point of going back to the sea.”

“How do you know that?” Blaise repeated.

“I have eyes to see,” said Marin. “Look, the paths lead down.”

“No, I mean how do you know there’s no point in going toward the sea?”

“I do not know for certain. I just have a feeling that we should walk upward.” Marin’s eyes narrowed. “You do not trust my judgment?”

“Oh, I’ll take a chance on your path,” said Blaise. “But no, I don’t really trust you. Too many people think you’re a traitor.”

With that, he set off briskly, swinging his arms. Sunni and Dean followed, bent over in the burning sun.

Marin pushed past them, his tattered cloak blowing wraithlike in the scouring breeze, and dogged Blaise’s footsteps. “I did not betray my master!”

“Heard that before,” grunted Blaise as he wound up the rugged hillside.

Sunni’s head was spinning with the heat. She licked her dry lips and tried not to stumble. Dean panted at her heels and shouted for Marin and Blaise to slow down. A chorus of hidden cicadas grew louder the higher they climbed among the clusters of brushy trees and weirdly shaped stones.

“You know nothing!” Marin gasped.

“Then tell me.” Blaise stopped between two man-size slabs of rock and blocked the path with outstretched arms, his face blazing red. “Get it over with.”

Marin came to a halt just below him, glowering.

“Come on, I want to know the truth before we go any farther,” said Blaise as Sunni and Dean staggered up and collapsed into the shade of some boulders.

“The truth.” Marin gave a crooked smile.

“You owe it to us,” Blaise taunted.

“I owe nothing to anyone except my master.” Marin leaned against a tall, jagged rock.

“Yeah, your master. So why does everyone think you betrayed Corvo?”

The apprentice turned and pressed his face briefly against the searing hot surface of the stone. “Because of a man named Bellini.”

S
unni, Blaise, and Dean exchanged surprised glances, but before any of them could speak, Marin continued, almost spitting with disgust.

“Maffeo Bellini. He called himself a painter, but he was usually in the taverns drinking wine instead of working. Maffeo copied other painters’ ideas and said they were his own. Because of this, my master refused to allow him in our workshop.” Marin squeezed his eyes shut as if he were in pain. “But Maffeo kept appearing when I was on my own in town, in alleyways, by food stalls, telling me I should leave il Corvo and work for him.”

“But you didn’t,” said Sunni.

“No, but I allowed him to talk. I was flattered. Every time he appeared, his offers grew better and better.”

“What made you so special?” Blaise let his arms drop from the boulders to his sides.

Marin looked miserable. “My master had taught me a small amount about making enchanted drawings. But I began to read his books in secret and practice on my own. I boasted to my friends — and, to my shame, even to Maffeo — that before long I would be able to make even more powerful paintings than my master’s.”

“So that’s why Maffeo wanted you to work for him?”

“Yes,” said the apprentice. “Yet I did not understand how this lazy painter suddenly had so much to offer me. Where did his new wealth come from? By the time I found out, it was too late.”

“Where was it from?” Sunni asked.

“Soranzo,” Marin said through gritted teeth. “Maffeo told Soranzo all about my master’s enchanted paintings. If it had not been for my vain boasts, the existence of the paintings would have remained a secret. But once Soranzo knew, he would rest at nothing until they were his. My master sent us three apprentices away with parcels and directions to different locations. I was sent to Alexandria, in Egypt. But the address was false, and the paintings I carried were blank.”

Blaise jumped in. “Corvo didn’t trust you anymore.”

“I cannot deny it. My master taught me a harsh lesson when he sent me to Alexandria. I worked hard to earn my passage back across Europe so that I could ask for Sir Innes’s help in finding my master.”

“And he didn’t want anything to do with you either, so you went into Arcadia behind his back.”

“Soranzo’s spies were everywhere. I merely protected myself. You must see that!” Marin pushed himself away from the rock. “I had to steal into the painting and keep out of everyone’s sight. With enough magical knowledge to create my hidden cave and charm the dryads, I dedicated myself to fending off the spies who began arriving to hunt for my master and his paintings, while searching for him myself.”

Blaise crossed his arms over his chest. “So you don’t want Corvo’s lost paintings yourself?”

“No, I want only il Corvo’s forgiveness. And even if I cannot have that, I will continue to defend Arcadia and the paintings if they are here.” Marin shrugged. “Believe me if you choose to. It makes no difference.”

“I’m still not sure what I think of you,” Blaise said, wondering fleetingly what Sunni thought of Marin, deep down. “But maybe this is your chance to prove yourself. There’s a new enemy here now.
Angus
Bellini. Yeah, that’s right — Bellini. He claims our teacher sent him to rescue us, but he’s really after the lost paintings. And he’ll trample over anyone to get them.”

“Bellini,” repeated Marin, his eyes wide. “That man is named Bellini? Yes, yes, I knew there was something familiar about him.” He began pacing about like a penned- up animal until something came to him and he stopped short, a look of disbelief on his face. “This Angus Bellini is from your century?”

“He must be,” said Blaise. “If he wasn’t, how would he know about me and Sunni, our names and everything?”

Marin seemed satisfied with this. “And you do not work for him?”

“I’d rather eat crab shells,” Blaise snorted.

Marin pulled his leather satchel from under the cloak. Dean cringed at the sight of it and skittered behind the boulder.

“What now, boy?” asked Marin impatiently as he rifled through the bag.

“My portrait. You’re going to finish it, aren’t you?”

“You are the least of my problems. I see now that you are no spy, after all.” He drew out Mr. Bell’s book and carefully peeled the pages apart.

“No joke?” Dean’s mouth hung open.

“I do not joke about such things.”

“Yes!” Dean’s relief was so great, he punched the air.

Holding the book out in front of him, Marin tapped his finger on a painting of fauns and nymphs dancing in a forest glade. Blaise, Sunni, and Dean gathered around.

“That’s Maffeo,” said the apprentice, pointing at a laughing faun. “He once modeled for my master. Before il Corvo knew what he was really like.”

“Maffeo looks just like Angus,” said Sunni, aghast. “But he can’t actually be him.” She looked at the date of the painting. “1580.”

“Angus told me that some of his ancestors came from Italy and settled down near Braeside, so maybe they’re related.” Blaise shook his head. “And Angus is an artist, too, but I wouldn’t want to see any of his drawings brought to life! Really creepy stuff.”

“Perhaps your Bellini is a devilish incarnation of his ancestor,” said Marin, shutting the book. “If only I had found the paintings myself and knew they were safe. I have searched many islands, as well as the maze and the palace, but there is no sign of them.”

“Maybe they’re not even here,” said Sunni.

“It would be a relief if no one could ever find them. Those paintings have cost many lives.”

Blaise let out a long breath and said, “Like Hugo’s and Inko’s.”

“What?”

“Angus pushed Hugo into the maze and something attacked him. And he made Inko go into the brambles below your cave. Th-they swallowed him up.”

“Unfortunate for Fox-Farratt . . . But Inko is stronger than you think. Do not worry about him.” Marin’s hands curled into fists. “So another Bellini dares to hunt my master’s paintings and will kill to own them! I shall make this devil pay.”

He looked at them each in turn. “I may need your help to stop him.”

“In return for two things,” said Sunni cautiously. “First, give me Dean’s portrait to prove you won’t finish it.”

Marin slid the damp sketch out of the Corvo book. “I will gladly give it to you and tell you a secret. I can bring people back out of their portraits. The imprisonment does not have to be permanent. But do not ask me to release the other spies — they would only make trouble.” He handed it to her. “Keep this drawing safe in your satchel.”

“Why can’t I just tear it up or dump it in the sea?” Dean burst out.

“Let her keep it safe. It is unwise to throw enchanted paper away.”

Sunni sandwiched Dean’s half-finished portrait between the pages of her sketchbook.

“What is your second request?”

“That you’ll help us find the way home to our world.”

“Of course,” he replied. “I can see now that you stumbled upon Arcadia in error.”

“We stumbled in and brought trouble with us. So have you, Marin.” Sunni’s voice cracked. “You might not be a traitor, but you’re a bully. Inko was so scared of you, he did anything you ordered him to.”

Marin lowered his gaze to the ground. “Even though Inko could not speak, he could lead enemies to me. I had to tell him I would erase him from Arcadia if he disobeyed.”

“Erase him!”

Marin hastily opened the book of Corvo’s paintings and held it up when he had found what he was looking for. A drawing of Inko smiled out from the page.

“Sir Innes asked il Corvo to put Inko in Arcadia. My master copied this portrait into one of the underpaintings, and when he conjured everything into life, Inko lived, too. Sir Innes wanted this because the real Inko, Sir Innes’s cabin boy, had died of disease years before.”

Sunni’s eyes stung at this.

“But I could not have erased him,” Marin continued in a hollow voice. “The Inko who lives in Arcadia cannot die. My master drew him, along with every stone and tree in this place. As long as this painting exists, Inko will be alive in it.”

The four figures weaved along the straggly path, pushing through spiky undergrowth and scrambling over rocks.

Blaise walked at the front, muttering warnings about stones or thorns over his shoulder from time to time. Dean clambered behind him while Sunni and Marin brought up the rear. Blaise could hear the hum of her voice — she kept on finding new questions for the apprentice, which didn’t seem to bother Marin now that he’d already spilled his guts to them. He answered every question and had Sunni completely absorbed.