The Blackhope Enigma (24 page)

Blaise had heard more than enough from Marin. With a heavy sigh, he plodded on. Suddenly, after rounding a hard bend in the trail, he came to a halt at the edge of a steep cliff. The path continued as a high, narrow ridge across a bay, which led to a towering, sheer-sided needle of rock jutting up from the water. It rose from the surf far below, edged by majestic cliffs that vanished into mist. A dark indentation in the cliffs suggested that the path ran on around it.

Blaise held one arm out to shield Dean from the edge. “We’ve got to follow the path to that big stack.”

“Just like that?” Dean gulped. “Look how narrow it is. One wrong step and you’re gone.”

“We can do it.”

“I don’t know.”

Sunni and Marin bounded up behind them.

“Oh, great.” She peered down at the deep drop on both sides of the path and shuddered.

“It’s doable,” said Blaise.

“But what if — what if something bad happens to one of us trying to get across, and it turns out it wasn’t even the right path?”

They were all silent.

“There is no room for doubts — they steal our courage and concentration,” said Marin after a time.

“I’m not scared,” Sunni said, her chin jutting out. “I just wish we knew we were on the right road.”

“We’re going to have to take a chance,” said Blaise.

“I know, I know.”

“Being scared didn’t keep us from going through the maze or into the boats. And it didn’t stop you from coming into the painting in the first place, to find Dean. You didn’t think twice about that!”

Sunni nodded sheepishly.

“I’ll help you. It’ll be fine.” Blaise flexed his arms. “I’ll go first, then Dean. I can figure out the best places to step and guide you, OK?”

“OK,” Dean murmured, trying not to look down.

Holding his arms out fully for balance, Blaise gingerly walked the ridge until he reached the stack and hugged it, his fingers scraping the rock to get a grip. He edged along to a safer perch and waved back at the others.

“It’s not too bad. You can do it, no problem. Come on, Dean.”

Dean braced himself at the edge. Blaise, with his long legs and quiet determination, had made it look so easy.

“Are you OK?” Blaise called. “You don’t look like you’re breathing. Stop holding your breath, man!”

Dean let out a long sigh and began to breathe again.

“All right!” Blaise called. “That’s more like it. Look, why don’t you crawl on your hands and knees? That might be easier.”

He kept chattering encouragements as Dean made his way across on all fours. At last, Blaise pulled him in away from the edge.

“No problem at all!” Dean turned and grinned at Sunni triumphantly. “Your go, Sun.”

Sunni focused all her concentration on the ridge and moved slowly but steadily across, jumping onto the ledge without Blaise’s or Dean’s help.

“See? You did great.” Blaise grinned at her as he guided her away from the edge.

Marin was a lonely sight, staring at the crashing surf below.

“Don’t look down,” said Blaise. “Not a good idea.”

“You can do it, Marin, but you’re going to have to use your arms for balance,” Sunni called, giving him a tight smile of encouragement. “Or just do what Dean did.”

“Come on, you’ve lived through worse than this in Arcadia,” Blaise said, secretly pleased to be telling the apprentice what to do.

Marin pushed his cape over his shoulders. “Quiet!”

He shifted his satchel around onto his back and stepped onto the ridge, his teeth bared slightly. Jerkily, like a marionette, Marin tottered across and came to a standstill near the end of it.

“Keep going, don’t stop there!” Blaise said. Marin flung himself toward the ledge, stumbling and starting to topple backward.

Dean grabbed Marin’s tunic and was pulled, howling, toward the apprentice, before the others hauled them both in. All four collapsed in safety on the ledge, sending alarmed birds screeching from their roosts in the cliffs.

To their surprise, Marin began to laugh.

He sat up and playfully shoved Dean, who had only just let go of his tunic. “You surprise me, boy. I thought you would be the least likely to help me.”

Dean shoved him back. “My name’s Dean, not Boy.”

“Come on,” groaned Blaise, getting to his feet.

He began to feel his way around the stack, along the rough path. One by one, the others followed, their faces pale and strained with concentration.

“Almost there,” Blaise said. “Just coming to —”

Suddenly he was pulled forward and yanked off the path into a dark recess. For a moment they heard him shouting, but then another snarling voice drowned him out.

“Blaise!” Sunni plastered her back to the stack’s wall.

Dean froze, his eyes shut.

“Keep going!” Marin hissed. “Go! Blaise is in danger!”

Sunni felt for Dean’s hand, and with halting steps she edged herself around to the opening in the stone. She pulled Dean close as Marin pressed in behind them, propelling them deeper into the recess.

What they found was far more than a crude hollow in solid rock. It was a perfectly round room, its smooth walls lit from above by an opening in the stack.

In its center loomed Angus, one hand twisting Blaise’s arm behind his back, the other pressing the blade of a dagger to his throat.

“W
elcome.” Angus’s smooth voice cut Sunni and Dean to the quick. “What a pleasure it is to see you again.”

Blaise’s free arm strained to tear the dagger away from his throat. “Get off me, you crazy —”

“Shut up, kid, or the blade will do it for you,” snapped Angus, wrenching Blaise’s arm sharply. He looked up at Sunni, Dean, and Marin. “A fascinating place, is it not? The walls are alive.”

Sunni flicked her eyes away from Blaise long enough to take in what was on the wall behind him. It was a huge drawing — and it was moving. The color drained from Marin’s face as he noticed the mural.

It showed two boys, who went about their business apparently unaware of what was happening in the chamber. They inhabited an airy workshop with tall shuttered windows, full of pots, benches, artists’ materials, and drawings. At one table, a boy with short curly hair, dressed in clothes similar to Marin’s, stirred something in a cauldron. The other, older boy stood at a slab, grinding nuggets of something into powder with a pestle.

Angus’s face was lit up with a diabolical energy. “A living mural,” he announced, turning Blaise around to survey the drawing. Angus was so enraptured that he didn’t notice Sunni edging her way closer.

But before she could reach him, he glimpsed her out of the corner of his eye. He brandished the dagger and muttered, “Stay back.”

“You’ve got no right!” shrieked Sunni.

“Oh, no, have I upset you?” Angus puffed. “Again?”

“You’re supposed to be rescuing us!” Dean exploded.

“What a shame that Marin hasn’t finished your portrait and I still have to listen to you!” He nodded a greeting at the seething apprentice.

“He’s not going to finish it!” shouted Dean.

“Congratulations.”

“Bellini.” Marin’s face was a rigid mask of anger. “The boy Blaise has done nothing wrong. Release him immediately.”

“I disagree,” said Angus. “He’s got stolen property in this bag.”

Blaise choked out, “Wha —?”

“The map,
mon ami
, the map.”

“It’s not stolen. I found it!” Blaise shouted.

“It belongs to Lady Ishbel,” said Angus.

“Where is she, then? Did you dump her overboard?”

“She’s around. Somewhere.”

Marin took one half step forward. “It is
my
map. It was meant for me. But you may have it in exchange for the boy.”

He moved quickly toward Blaise and retrieved the map from the messenger bag. Angus snatched it and crushed it into his trouser pocket.

“Well, there goes your bargaining chip. I look forward to seeing what’s so special about this map.” The painter peered over his shoulder at the mural. “Now, let’s take a closer look at this drawing.”

Never taking his eyes off Angus, the apprentice said nothing.

Angus dragged Blaise toward the mural. “If I’m not mistaken, this is il Corvo’s workshop in Venice. And the two boys are very busy. What’s the younger one doing? Ah, of course, boiling linseed oil to mix with the pigments and thicken them to perfection.”

Marin glanced at Sunni and Dean, dabbing one finger to his temple.

“He’s mental all right,” agreed Dean in a whisper.

“Pay attention! You’ll learn more here than in all the lessons my cousin Lorimer could ever give you,” Angus said. “Look, the other boy is grinding nuggets into powder to make paints. Lapis lazuli, verdigris, malachite, umber, ivory . . .”

As Angus peered at the boy with the pestle and mortar, a man with a short dark beard and hooked nose appeared in the mural, taking his place in front of a huge easel. He contemplated a picture of a ship being attacked by a giant whale.

Marin gasped.

“The Raven himself,” whispered Angus. “The master who can turn paintings into miracles.”

As if on cue, Corvo briefly looked in their direction, but by the way he looked through them, it seemed he could not see them.

“I regret that the Raven is oblivious to us. Is there no way to communicate with him?”

“No,” Marin said. “He is beyond us while in the mural.”

Angus’s smile twitched. “That’s a terrible shame. Is this mural your doing? Did you put Corvo and the others into it? I imagine your drawing style is much like the Raven’s, since you learned from him.”

Marin said icily, “This is not my work. It is the work of my master himself.”

“And what’s this I see?” said Angus, squinting at the mural. “So many paintings in the workshop. So many new masterpieces.”

He walked slowly along the wall, dragging Blaise with him, his eyes trained on the mural. Then suddenly, he stopped. A grin spread over his face. “That painting there, hanging behind Corvo’s easel, the one with the dead stag at the bottom of the cliff and the men on horseback. What’s that painting called?”

“I do not know,” said Marin.

“Really?” Angus raised an eyebrow. “It matches the description of a lost painting I read about called
The Chalice Seekers
. See? It even has the chalice floating in the sky.” Sunni sucked in her breath.
The magical paintings Hugo talked about
.

“I’ll wager that the two paintings next to it are
The City of the Sun
and
The Jewel of Adocentyn
,” said Angus, breathless. “The three missing canvases, found at last! It’s the perfect hiding place — paintings within paintings within paintings. Genius. Now all we need to do is get them out of there so I can see them.”

Marin folded his arms over his chest.

“You seem to be a clever lad, Marin. You know how to trap people in your drawings. It stands to reason that you can remove them, too. Objects should be even easier to transport in and out,” said Angus. “So, there’s a good chap. Bring those three paintings out of the mural.”

Marin did not move.

“I’m not asking you. I’m telling you.” Angus smiled but his eyes were steely. “And if you do not do as I say, what happens next will be your fault.” The knife glinted in his hand as he pushed it against Blaise’s throat.

“I cannot remove what my master has drawn there. It is impossible.”

Angus considered this. “But you could transport a person
into
this mural. Yes?”

The apprentice’s face fell for a split second, and Angus pounced.

“Aha, it can be done. A simple proposal, then. I want you to draw
me
in.”

“It is too dangerous. I do not know how you would ever get out again.”

Angus hesitated. “All right. Send the girl in. Let’s find out how dangerous it really is.” He leered at Sunni. “You can fetch them for me, can’t you, Sunshine? You’re a strong lass — I reckon you can carry all three in one go.”

“No, I c-cannot be responsible . . .” stammered Marin. “What if something were to happen to her?”

“Matey, you’ll be responsible for what’s going to happen to
him
in a minute.” Angus tightened his grip on Blaise. “And don’t tell me you’ve suddenly developed a conscience after trapping people in your little sketches. Now, get on with it.”

Blaise struggled as he tried to wrench himself from Angus’s grasp, but the dagger nicked his skin and a scarlet pearl of blood appeared on his neck.

Sunni screamed and took a step toward him. Marin put a hand on her arm.

“What guarantee do we have that you will hand back the boy once you have the paintings?” he asked Angus through gritted teeth.

“None!” Sunni said. “His guarantee isn’t worth anything!”

“Well,” said Angus, “if you feel that way, we can’t do business.” He grunted into Blaise’s ear, “Your fair damsel won’t help you. I’m afraid it’s all over, my friend.”

Blaise spat out a defiant, “Good!” but his eyes were terrified. Angus traced the dagger across Blaise’s throat, lightly, his eyes fixed on Sunni.

Sunni’s heart beat so hard it ached. “Draw me! Marin, just draw me!” she cried. “I’ll do it!”

Angus relaxed his grip slightly and smiled. “Ah, she’s all heart, that girl. It would bring a tear to a glass eye.”