The Vanishing Sculptor (39 page)

Tipper giggled. “Not a crown?”

“No, a hat.”

They gazed in several display windows before they found a shop that seemed to invite them in. They discovered they could make a purchase anywhere on Mattering Way and have the package delivered to the hotel.

At one store, Peg found a delicate bracelet she wanted to buy as a collar for Zabeth. The small dragon didn’t want it, and Tipper was pleased she was able to interpret the thoughts that bombarded her mind when Zabeth sent her a torrent of objections. Lady Peg took the dragons declining the gift in stride and picked out a brooch for a gown she once had instead. Unencumbered by their plunder, they spent more time than they had expected and only became tired when they reached the last shop at the far end of the avenue.

“I suppose we should go back to the hotel now.” Tipper sighed.

“Yes, but I’m too tired. My feet ache. Let’s get a cab.”

Tipper agreed and looked around for some means of transportation. A small two-passenger coach came toward them with the green flag of vacancy displayed next to the driver. Tipper signaled with a raised hand. The coachman slipped the flag out of its holder and reined in beside the two prospective passengers.

He jumped down and opened the door. “Where can I take you ladies?”

Her mother had already settled inside. Tipper turned to answer the man and saw over his shoulder a most confusing sight.

In front of a shop several doors down from where they stood, Runan spoke to another cabman. He nodded, opened the hack’s door, and climbed in. Wizard Fenworth had spotted the man riding a horse at Mushand’s mansion. What was he doing here?

Tipper pointed to the cab. “Follow him. Follow that cab. I—I know that man, and we’ve lost contact with him. My—my father has business with him, and I can’t let this opportunity pass.”

She jumped into the cab while the driver agreed.

“Please hurry,” she said and pulled the door shut.

“Where did you say we’re going?” asked Lady Peg as the taxi jolted into motion.

“To find out where a man who should be at Runan Hill is going in Ohidae. And maybe we’ll discover how he got here.”

“Why is that important, dear?”

“It took us three weeks of flying on dragonback to get here, and we see him almost as soon as we arrive. How did he get here?”

“Interesting, Tipper. But why is this more important than going back to the hotel?”

“Well, he probably works for the man who won’t give us the statues that would make Papa well.”

“Oh, I see. Well, as long as I can rest my feet, I suppose it’s all right. I’m going to slip my shoes off, Tipper. This is not something someone ordinarily does in public.”

“I won’t do the same, Mother. I promise to be dignified.”

“You’re a good daughter.” She patted Tipper’s knee. “I hope your father doesn’t worry.”

Tipper thought of her four fellow questers, who had conveniently found things to do rather than accompany them up Mattering Way. It wouldn’t hurt for them to worry just a trifle.

Evening surrounded the coach. Shadows cast by the lamplight mottled the road. Huge trees shrouded large homes by cutting off the moon’s milky light. Each house sat back from the street as if the buildings as well as their owners thought too highly of themselves to mingle with passersby

“I think I know where we are,” said Tipper. An ornate sign declared that the property they passed belonged to Mushand.

“Wherever we are, do they serve meals?” Lady Peg asked. “Dinner in particular, Tipper. I’m hungry.”

“We can go back now. The cab we were following just turned into Mushand’s estate.”

“Oh, good. I bet your father is worried about us. He knows I don’t like to be late for dinner.”

Tipper leaned forward and tapped on the small door behind the coachman. It opened immediately.

“We can go back to the Ohidae Grand Hotel now,” she said.

“Yes, Mistress.”

The door closed, and the coachman went on to a circular cutaway in the road. In the center, water splashed in a fountain lit by submerged lightrocks. They rounded the decorative structure and headed back the way they had come.

When they reached Mushand’s gates, two men rushed out and stopped the horse.

“Here now,” yelled the coachman, “let loose my Posie.”

Lady Peg sat forward and peered out the side window. “I had a best friend named Posie when I was a child.”

“Probably not the same Posie, Mother.”

“I daresay you’re right. I think the driver is referring to his horse.”

“Mother, give me Zabeth.”

“Are you feeling unwell?” Lady Peg unwrapped the dragon from around her neck. “Verrin Schope says she’s becoming quite good at the healing arts.”

“No.” Tipper took the dragon and cuddled her close for a moment. “I want her to take a message to Paladin.”

“It’s very confusing for that nice young man to have two names.”

“Yes, it is, isn’t it? Zabeth, I hope you can find the hotel. I
know
you can find the hotel. Fly there and tell them what’s happened. Tell Paladin or Fenworth or someone to come get us.”

She kissed Zabeth on the head and put her out the window. To her dismay, the dragon flew up into the closest tree and perched as if that was all the farther she was willing to go.

The two doors jerked open, and rough hands dragged her and her mother out.

“You’re coming with us,” growled the one holding Tipper.

She looked around and saw their driver lying beside the road. She gasped.

“That could happen to you if you don’t start walking.”

“I need my shoes,” said Lady Peg.

“That’s tough, lady.”

“Then you’re going to carry me? I don’t think that is proper.”

“Get her shoes,” said the man holding Tipper. “She’ll slow us down if’n you don’t.”

The man hustled Lady Peg back to the open door. She reached in, retrieved her slippers, and brushed off each foot before slipping the shoe on.

“Is there dinner where we are going?” asked Lady Peg.

“I don’t rightly know,” growled the man who was most given to speaking. The other grunted.

“It would be quite all right,” said Lady Peg, “if we could eat the dinner that is left.”

Tipper bit her lip, hoping these ruffians wouldn’t get annoyed by her mother’s skipping conversation. But apparently they were too dense to pick up the right-left reference.

With a shove from behind, Tipper walked through the gates.

“Things have changed so much,” said Lady Peg. “An invitation to dinner used to come in an envelope.”

44
Help!

Beccaroon saw Zabeth sitting on the outside sill of the closed window at the same time as the prince. Jayrus jumped up and raced to open the window. Zabeth flew in and sat on his shoulder, chittering wildly.

“Here’s our answer.” Jayrus nodded toward the dragon. “She knows what happened to our ladies.” Paladin gently took the frantic dragon off his shoulder and cradled her in his arms. “Slow down.” He calmed her with his voice and by stroking her sides. “It’s all right. I’m sure you came in time. We’ll go rescue them.”

He turned to the others in the room, Wizard Fenworth, Verrin Schope, Beccaroon, Librettowit, and Bealomondore.

“The ladies followed Runan to Mushand’s mansion and were captured by his henchmen. They are inside his house now.”

Beccaroon shook his head. “I would wager that was Tipper’s idea.”

Paladin focused on Zabeth. “Excellent idea. Take Hue and Junkit with you.”

He took her to the open window. Three of the four dragons left in a flurry of wings. Grandur stayed on Verrin Schope’s shoulder.

“They’re going to scout the house,” Paladin explained.

“Help me stand,” said Verrin Schope.

Librettowit and Bealomondore came to his aid.

As soon as he was steady, Bealomondore started for the door. “I’ll go down and get a carriage.”

Paladin eyed their invalid as if assessing his strength. “My dragons will be faster.”

Verrin Schope nodded. “I can ride.”

“Everyone dress in dark clothing.” Paladin surveyed their group. “Meet me on the roof in fifteen minutes.”

Beccaroon glanced down at his bright plumage. He had no change of clothing, but he wasn’t staying behind!

Paladin left the room, followed by Bealomondore, Librettowit, and Wizard Fenworth.

The wizard had a spring in his step. “What’s a quest without a rescue of a damsel in distress? And by the silent stars and singing salamanders, we’ve got two to rescue.” He clapped his hands together and rubbed them vigorously. Critters scattered as they escaped his robes. “Can’t say I like questing on the whole, but a rescue! Now there’s excitement for you. I just hope that girl hasn’t jumped into the excitable nonsense before we even get there.”

Tipper sat across the table from her mother in a shadowy little anteroom on the first floor of Mushand’s mansion. The meal they had been served was tasty but a bit cold. Tipper nibbled while her mother ate with a subdued appetite. In the shadows next to the door, one of Mushand’s big oafs watched them.

Lady Peg took one bite after another, chewing and swallowing but not talking. Tipper knew the signs. She’d taken care of her mother for years. Soon her mother would complain of a headache. Her eyes would lose focus. Exhaustion. Deep fatigue. Once her mother’s energy drained to the last ounce, a weariness akin to illness enveloped her. Nothing but sleep would restore her.

Tipper turned to their guard. “If we are staying the night, we will need a bedchamber. My mother is not well and must rest.”

Lady Peg glanced up at Tipper but did not contradict her. She folded her napkin and placed it beside her plate. “Yes, I would like to retire.”

“Ah, but that will not be necessary.” An odd man stood in the door. Backlit from the lights in the hall, his silhouette resembled a round ball for a head, an oval for a body, and legs and arms too long for his frame. He held a drink in each hand. “I am your host, Sir Greystone Mushand. I have a glass of refreshing tonic for you, Lady Schope.”

He swirled a goblet, clinking the ice. “I have one of these excellent reenergizers every evening.” He gestured with his head. “Come, I wish to show you how your husband’s work is favorably displayed in my gallery.”

Lady Peg rose. When she reached the door, she took the drink offered her and stepped out into the brighter light. As Mushand turned, Tipper stood and followed. With the light on his face, Tipper thought Mushand repugnant. Straight black hair framed his pallid face. Dark eyebrows slashed across his forehead. His eyes glittered like onyx, with too much white surrounding the pupils and black eyelashes thickly accenting the unusual eyes. He headed down the corridor, her mother trailing behind, sipping her beverage and admiring the paintings.

Tipper caught up with her mother and leaned close. “Don’t drink that, Mother.”

Lady Peg smiled at her. “It’s quite good, Tipper. I don’t know why he didn’t offer you a glass. Perhaps he thinks you are too young to need a tonic.”

Tipper glanced over her shoulder at the guard who walked a few feet behind them. “This is a bad man,” she whispered. “We must not trust him.”

“He does have very poor manners.”

Tipper gave up and followed Mushand. She hoped fervently that the drink was not a potion that would do her mother harm. Mushand drank from his goblet, and the drinks looked the same.

“That doesn’t mean anything,” she muttered.

“Don’t mumble,” warned her mother, “or we will have to do mouth-stretching exercises. And they hurt.”

They entered the gallery, and Tipper couldn’t help being impressed. Not only did Mushand own incredible artwork, but he also knew how to display it for the best presentation.

Lady Peg walked immediately to the two statues. “These belong to my husband,” she said.

“They were executed by your husband, Madam, but I purchased them. They are mine.”

Lady Peg’s eyes widened in horror. “My husband did not execute these people. How bizarre is that? They were never alive, so they couldn’t be executed. You have strange beliefs, Mister Mushand.”

Tipper examined her mother’s face. The lines of weariness had vanished, and since she carried on in her usual style of conversation, the drink must have revived her. Tipper wondered about her mother’s use of
Mister.
Mushand had introduced himself as Sir Mushand. Mister, as a form of address, was below Master, and far below Sir.

Mushand’s lips pressed in a firm line. He didn’t like the slight, whether it was intentional or not.

Tipper’s mother pointed to
Evening Yearns.
“You’ve got her in the wrong place. She’s supposed to be in front of the farmer, not behind. You should have put her hand behind her, touching the farmer’s outstretched hand, leading him. You’ve got it all wrong.”

Mushand’s expression relaxed into a sneer as Lady Peg talked.

Tipper’s mother frowned. “She’s touching his shoulder, and I’m sure that’s not right.” Lady Peg shook her head and took another swallow from the glass goblet. “It looks like she’s trying to get his attention. I don’t like this at all.”

Mushand smirked. “At first, I thought as you, dear lady, and had them in the other order. But I have a remarkably intelligent friend— a genius, in fact—and he saw the right of it. I switch them back and forth, but when they are set thusly the portal opens.”