The Vanishing Sculptor (19 page)

Bealomondore and Librettowit sat beneath a lone tree to one side. Tipper had claimed a boulder in the midst of the action. Beccaroon landed beside his girl and noted that she looked bored. She held a flower chain made from wild mumfers. She greeted him with a wan smile, picked another bloom, and split the stem.

“What are they doing?” Beccaroon asked.

“Trying to establish communication.” Tipper sighed. “We’ve found a difficult watch of dragons.”

“Watch?”

“It’s a grouping like a herd or a swarm or a flock.”

Beccaroon eyed the three dragons and two men. “The dragons don’t seem aggressive. Very placid. They don’t seem to mind being approached.”

“Papa says they’re playing a game and laughing at us.”

“So they
can
communicate.”

“He’s sure of it, though they won’t cooperate. He and Fenworth have caught bits and pieces of their thoughts but mostly the sound of them laughing.”

Beccaroon watched them for a minute more, then turned to study Bealomondore and Librettowit. The older tumanhofer appeared to be asleep. The younger sketched on a large pad of paper.

“Where are our dragons?” he asked.

“I don’t know.” She waved a mumfer in the air. “They flew ahead of us with Grandur in the lead. They headed this direction, so I assumed they would be here.”

Beccaroon saw the concern in her eyes. “And you are worried.”

“Yes! And everyone else says they’re all right and not to fuss. Except Bealomondore, who says nothing.” She paused. “I don’t think he likes dragons. Not our little ones and certainly not the big ones.”

“He appears to be drawing them.”

Tipper looked from the artist to the scene around her. “They
are
lovely.”

Beccaroon studied the dragons and then the young tumanhofer. “Perhaps his aesthetic sensitivities will be aroused by their beauty, and he’ll begin to appreciate them.”

She joined the beginning and end of her string of blooms and hung it around her neck. She picked a pink mumfer and started another chain.

They sat in silence, Beccaroon watching the play between man and beast. Tipper concentrated on her fragile jewelry making a crown, another necklace, and a bracelet for each arm.

Beccaroon nudged her with his wing. “One of the dragons is coming this way.”

The blue dragon approached. His chest scales glistened turquoise, and his darker sides looked like the gray blue waters of a deep lake. Pale blue wings furled and unfurled as he strode closer. His intelligent face glittered with a pattern of three shades of blue. White circled his eyes, making them look larger than they were.

Beccaroon straightened his legs from his resting position, and Tipper stood.

“What should we do?” whispered Tipper.

Beccaroon glanced at Verrin Schope. The sculptor didn’t appear to be alarmed for his daughter’s safety. “I assume imitating what that wizard and your father have been doing would be our best choice.”

“But Papa and Fenworth have been approaching the dragons. This dragon is moving toward us.”

Dealing with dragons was outside his realm of experience, but Beccaroon decided that the dragons should behave as many wild animals do. If not threatened, the dragon should remain nonviolent.

“Just be still.” Too late, it occurred to him that the smaller birds of the mountain forest might be a food source for the big creatures.

Tipper spoke softly, her voice full of wonder. “Oh, he has kind eyes.”

Kind eyes? Beccaroon looked away from the sharp teeth that had captured his attention and allowed himself to gaze into the dragon’s expressive face. “He certainly looks like a thinking animal.”

“I dare not reach out to him,” said Tipper.

“Why not?”

“Haven’t you noticed that when Papa and Fenworth try to touch the dragons, that is when they move away?” She smiled up at the beast. “I want him to stay.”

With a tongue that was just as blue as his wings, the beast licked his lips.

“I don’t know that I like that gesture,” said Beccaroon. “Do you suppose it’s hungry?”

“Not it, she.”

Beccaroon jerked, then wished he hadn’t. The dragon switched her attention from Tipper to him. “How do you know it’s a she? You’ve been saying
he.”

“I know, but now I know she’s a she. I think she told me.”

The dragons attention returned to Tipper. She pushed her snout against the emerlindian girl’s stomach, then her feet, sniffing with a soft whuffing sound.

Tipper giggled. “That tickles.”

The dragon nosed her from bottom to top. She backed up a bit, eyed Tipper, then came forward again with her lips parted.

Beccaroon scooted closer to Tipper and stretched a wing between his girl and the huge beast.

“She’s not going to bite me,” Tipper reassured him. “She likes my flowers.”

In a manner similar to the way Beccaroon had seen horses eat from the hands of small children, the dragon placed her lips around the crown of flowers and pulled them out of Tipper’s hair. She closed her eyes and chewed, then nuzzled Tipper’s neck and got hold of the two garlands there. The blue tongue slipped out and wrapped around the delicate chains. With one tug, the dragon broke the necklaces and then slurped in the lovely blooms.

She sat back on her haunches, closed her eyes, and lifted her chin as she chewed. A throaty thrum issued from the beast.

“She’s humming.” Tipper clasped her hands together and bounced on her toes.

Verrin Schope’s voice startled Beccaroon. “Tipper, my dear, you seem to have developed a rapport.” He came along the side of the blue dragon and looked under the creature’s chin at his daughter. “See if she will allow you to touch her.”

Tipper slowly lifted her hand. The beast did not move. She stretched out her arm and laid her palm on the blue scales covering the dragon’s foreleg. The emerlindian girl’s face beamed. “Her name is Merry.”

“She’s given you her name. That’s significant.” Verrin Schope laughed. “And very humbling. Here Fenworth and I have experience with riding dragons, and the least likely among us has made progress.”

Beccaroon cleared his throat. “Pardon me, but I believe I am the least likely. I do not find these creatures as fascinating as our girl does. And I’m certainly not interested in bonding with a dragon.”

Merry opened her eyes and stared at Beccaroon. She lowered her head and gave him a push on his brightly feathered chest.

“Awk!” He fluttered into the air and came down again a few feet away. “Rude!”

Tipper put one hand on her hip and pointed a finger with the other. She shook it at Beccaroon. “It seems to me she would be justified in saying
you
are rude.” She changed her voice to match the parrot’s. “ ‘I’m certainly not interested in bonding with a dragon.’”

She rammed her other hand onto her hip as well and waggled her head at her mentor. “I was taught to be more considerate of others’ feelings. Particularly when meeting someone for the first time.” She lifted her chin.
“And
I seem to be able to remember my manners even though I have lived a secluded life and not had the infinite opportunities to practice as you have.”

“All right, all right.” Beccaroon came back to her side and looked up at Merry. “I beg your pardon. My remark was thoughtless.”

Tipper whirled around to face the blue dragon and shook a finger in her face. “Stop that! The appropriate response is, ‘You are forgiven.’ Or, ‘No harm done.’ Or, ‘Apology accepted.’”

Beccaroon turned to Verrin Schope and cocked an eyebrow at his friend’s amused expression. “What is going on?”

“Merry is laughing.”

“I don’t hear her.”

“She’s laughing in her mind,” Verrin Schope explained. “And Tipper wants her to be serious about accepting your apology.”

“I got the last part.” Beccaroon fumed. These dragons were even more trouble than the wizard.

The questers made no further progress with the dragons that afternoon. As the sun lowered in the west, they decided to abandon their efforts for the day and camp in the glen between the wooded area and the dragons’ hill.

In the morning, Tipper sat beside Merry and watched the wizard and her father work to gain the other dragons’ confidence. Verrin Schope convinced the purple dragon to allow him to put his hand on her leg. He learned the dragon’s name, Kelsi.

Kelsi would not mindspeak to him but seemed to understand everything Verrin Schope said… to a point. She allowed him to stroke her scales. She accepted a token gift of muffins from Fenworth’s hollows. She didn’t turn her back on him or walk away.

Several times, Tipper’s father thought he might be able to mount her from the side and sit as a rider. Each time he made the climb, he reached a spot closer to the top. Then the obstreperous dragon shed him. She either leaned her bulk to one side so the slope of her flank became a perpendicular wall of slippery skin, impossible to hold on to, or she gave a gentle shake that dislodged the climbing emerlindian. After each unsuccessful attempt, the dragons chortled.

Fenworth went through all sorts of procedures to ingratiate himself with the red and gold dragon. He lectured, he hummed, he meditated, he danced, and he massaged the creature’s toes. The dragon seemed to like the massage and the humming best. The old wizard never attempted to climb aboard the dragon, and eventually he and his nemesis curled up together under the lone tree and took a nap.

The noonmeal included a variety of sandwiches and two kinds of soup. Fenworth grumbled about wasted time. Beccaroon left on another search for the mysterious and evasive inhabitants of the tower. Bealomondore displayed the sketches he’d been making, and Verrin Schope gave him some pointers about light and shadow when dealing with a vast landscape. His drawings of the dragons were more comical than realistic.

After the meal, they all—except Beccaroon—went back to the dragons on the hill. As they stood at one edge and contemplated plans that might win the dragons’ favor, Beccaroon returned, flying in at a speed he normally reserved for emergencies. He landed beside them.

“I’ve found an emerlindian,” he said through panting breaths.

“Where?” asked Verrin Schope.

“Right behind me.” He looked up at the sky.

A dark spot grew as it neared.

“A dragon,” said Bealomondore.

Wizard Fenworth nodded with satisfaction. “And a dragon rider.”

The dragon zoomed over the meadows, and his yellow and white wings stilled as the creature glided toward Merry. The dragon rider stood on the flying dragon’s back. The air rushing past rippled his loose-fitting tan tunic and trousers. The light material pressed against his tall, thin form. As rider and dragon crossed over the blue dragon, the pale emerlindian flipped himself into the air and landed on Merry’s back. She spread her wings and launched into the air, following the yellow and white dragon.

“Did you see that?” Tipper exclaimed.

“Imprudent,” said Librettowit.

“Astounding,” said Bealomondore.

Merry circled and landed so abruptly that the young man on her back somersaulted down her outstretched neck, came up on his feet, and ran to Kelsi. Her purple tail lined up with Merry’s head. Tipper realized the dragons must have done this on purpose.

The rider ran up the incline of Kelsi’s tail, and as soon as he stopped on her back, she took off. Tipper smiled at the intent look on the rider’s face. A band of green material wrapped around his head kept his longish blond hair out of his eyes. A glint of gold on the band reminded Tipper of her mother’s royal circlet.

The young man did a flip in the air and landed with one of his feet on each side of the ridge running up the dragon’s back. The first dragon caught up with Kelsi. When they were neck and neck, wingtip to wingtip, the emerlindian raced over Kelsi’s wing and jumped to the white dragon’s wing. Both dragons on the ground trumpeted, then launched into the air. All four dragons flew toward the eastern range, then circled back. The rider ran and jumped across all four dragons.

“He’s crazy,” said Bealomondore.

Tipper twisted her lips. “Show-off.”

When the dragons returned, the rider sat on the white dragon’s neck. The three others veered off in different directions, but the white dragon pointed his head upward and began a vertical climb. The young man, his blond hair blowing in the wind, leaned forward and wrapped his arms as well as his legs around his neck. The dragon went over backward and completed a loop in the sky, returning to an upright flying position with the rider still attached to his neck.

“Aha!” said the wizard. “We’ve been talking to the wrong person— or persons, one might say.”

Tipper huffed. “You mean we have to talk to that flashy show-off?”

“Indeed,” said the smug wizard.
“That
is a dragon keeper. And a dragon keeper will solve our problems.”

“How?” asked Bealomondore.

“By convincing the dragons to cooperate.”

The young tumanhofer scowled. “And what assurance do we have that the dragon keeper will cooperate?”

The smirk fell from Wizard Fenworth’s face. “Young man, you have listened to Librettowit for too long. Problems are not problems before they occur. After a problem has sprouted, it is indeed proper and prudent to address the problem. But to attend to a problem before it has manifested as a problem is foolhardy. Kindly refrain from attempting to present problems that are, at the moment, nonexistent.”

Librettowit gave the younger man a sympathetic nod.

Bealomondore sighed. “Yes sir.”

“Quite proper, that!” Fenworth clapped his hands together and disturbed a bat sleeping in his sleeve. The little beast flew away in a staggered path, evidently bewildered by the bright day. “A good ‘yes sir’ strategically placed is a gem, a diamond, a jewel set in gold.”

The young tumanhofer leaned toward Tipper’s ear.

“What is he talking about?” he whispered.

“Nothing,” she said, then shrugged. “Or maybe everything.”

Verrin Schope came to stand behind them and draped his arms over their shoulders. “You’ll get used to him.”

Librettowit smiled, and the strange grimace of widened mouth and large, square teeth made Tipper laugh. He chuckled, then laughed with her. They ended up sitting together on the grass while the four dragons and their rider circled above them.