The Vanishing Sculptor (40 page)

Tipper jerked. Did he mean gateway? The wizard’s gateway? She didn’t like the smile on Mushand’s face. Evil and smug, his grimace made her skin crawl. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw odd lights glimmering in the air just beyond the two statues.

In another moment, Runan stepped out of nowhere, or so it seemed to her.

She blinked. A subtle difference made her unsure if she really did see the Hunts’ neighbor and not someone else.

Runan laughed. “Yes, I am the man you met at Hunthaven. At the time, I had to cloak my person so that your nosy wizard would not discover I am his equal.”

“Equal?” Mushand’s tone dripped with scorn. “You far surpass that clumsy, befuddled wizard. You are brilliant, as you have proven over and over.”

The statement inflated Runan. The man looked larger than he had at Hunthaven. Perhaps it was his posture and the arrogant swagger.

Tipper blinked and stared harder. This vibrant personality in no way resembled the unresponsive man who had sat in the Hunts’ music room. Even his varied facial expressions demonstrated an incredible contrast to the shell of a man who’d ignored the social interaction around him.

Now he stood as if posing, his hands clasped before him and held at chest level. “It’s a nuisance to hide one’s true nature. But the rustics would have been overwhelmed by my talents. It was best for them to think I was not only ordinary but perhaps below their level of understanding.”

His lips stretched into an unpleasant grin. “And when the wizard appeared… well, there was no sense in revealing my identity until I chose the convenient time.”

Runan swaggered across the room, around the statues, and stood before Lady Peg.

He bowed. “Your Highness.”

She shook her head. “You’ve mistaken me for someone else.”

“You are Princess Peg Yellat Schope, and as soon as the king and queen are dead, you will rule.”

Her lips twisted in annoyance. “I don’t know where you get your information.”

“I make my information, Your Highness, and I will direct your reign for you. You will find it most convenient to have me as your first advisor.”

“I would like to go home now, thank you.” Lady Peg put on her most regal stance and looked down her nose at Runan.

“That is no problem.” He held out his arm, and she took it.

“Mother,” Tipper objected.

“Come along, Tipper.”

Runan guided Lady Peg to the spot where he had first appeared. He disengaged his arm and, without preamble, pushed her into the lights. Tipper heard her mother’s gasp just before she disappeared. Tipper charged around the statues, only to be intercepted and held by the big oaf of a guard.

“No reason to be alarmed,” said Runan. “Your mother is now in the gentle care of my dear wife at the peaceful halls of Runan Hill.”

“What happened?”

“The portal,” crowed Mushand. “Right now it only allows one person to travel, but Runan assures me that when we get the third figure in place, we can send armies wherever we please.”

He turned around slowly with his arms extended as if he would embrace the whole room. “This collection will be nothing compared to what my army will procure for me. And Runan.” He gestured toward his cohort. “Runan will maneuver your mother onto the throne and smooth the way for whatever brilliant plans he concocts. He’s an alchemist.”

He paused to give Tipper a quizzical stare. “Did you even know alchemists still exist? He and his wife are both geniuses, and they won’t have to play the boring, nondescript couple hidden away at Runan Hill much longer.” Mushand held his goblet aloft. “We have plans.”

Tipper saw the disgusted look Runan cast Mushand before he masked it with a polite smile. “And the next part of our wonderful plan is to allow your comrades to break into the gallery. Shall we depart so that their valorous attempts to rescue you are not thwarted by our presence?”

Tipper raised her chin. “How do they know where we are?”

Runan sneered. “You sent word by the green dragon, did you not?”

Tipper tried to think of something to delay the man, upset his scheme, save the day. She could think of nothing, and the oaf who held her too tightly stank. Her stomach roiled.

“Come.” Runan gestured, and Mushand’s thug dragged her closer to him.

“We must hurry. My wife is to slit your mother’s throat if we don’t join them at the appointed time.”

With that threat dissolving any intention she had of resistance, Tipper allowed the guard to sling her into the portal.

45
Invasion

Beccaroon fumed over the time it took to get ready. Only one riding dragon at a time could land on the hotel rooftop. While one was outfitted with riding gear, the other three hid on the tops of nearby buildings.

Paladin called Caesannede to the hotel last. Beccaroon had come to know the young emerlindian during the long hours of flight as he shared the back of Caesannede. The prince had saddled his dragon only once, when he hoped to persuade Tipper to ride with him. After her father put an end to that idea, he never bothered with the riding apparatus again. Therefore, instead of throwing the pile of saddle and straps over Caesannede’s back, the young dragon keeper ran up his tail, along the back ridge, and sat at the base of his neck.

He called to those waiting. “Gus, Ketmar, and Kelsi will land in that order. I’ll head on to Mushand’s. Your mounts will follow Caesannede.”

Beccaroon didn’t wait to see the tumanhofers help Verrin Schope onto Gus’s saddle nor Fenworth onto Ketmar’s back. He flew with Prince Jayrus.

“Do we have a plan?” he asked the prince.

“The minor dragons will be able to tell us where the ladies are. Once we know that, we can decide what to do.”

Bec looked over his shoulder. The other three riding dragons followed at a short distance. The flight across the city took much less time than riding through the streets in a carriage. Prince Jayrus chose to land on the grounds of a large house where no light shone.

Beccaroon saw the wisdom of his choice. Hopefully the family had gone on vacation, or perhaps the place was deserted for some other reason. A house for sale? Renovation?

They made a silent descent and soon stood on the extensive lawn.

“We’re going to need something for Verrin Schope,” said Fen-worth, rummaging around in his hollows.

“I’m fine. Let’s go get my wife and daughter.” Verrin Schope swayed, and Bealomondore reached him before he fell. The short tumanhofer lent his assistance to the tall emerlindian, helping him stand as he waited. He was a convenient height for leaning on. Grandur fussed and wrapped himself around Verrin Schope’s neck.

Fenworth snorted. “You can’t walk as fast as I want you to go.”

“Give me crutches, then. I’ll move as fast as need be.”

“Tut, tut, oh dear, oh dear, oh dear. I seem to have forgotten crutches, canes, scooters, and—aha!”

He pulled out four wheels, each about twenty inches in diameter. Next he put pieces of a chair on the lawn. Librettowit kneeled on the ground and started assembling the device, which turned out to be an ill-proportioned wheelchair.

“You’re going to push me in that thing?” Verrin Schope exclaimed. “Over this uneven surface?”

“Shh! Need for secrecy,” whispered Fenworth.

Beccaroon watched as the last nuts and bolts were screwed together. Prince Jayrus stood over to the side, gazing in the direction of Mushand’s mansion. Fenworth’s assessment of the emerlindian artist’s strength had been accurate. He’d never have been able to walk the distance to the wall that surrounded them, let alone traverse the quarter mile to their destination.

Librettowit stood and pushed the chair toward Verrin Schope. A loud squeal ripped through the quiet night.

“Oil, oil,” said Fenworth, patting his robes as a man pats his pockets to find a set of keys. He returned to poking around the inside pockets and came out with an oil can. The slight noise of the flexing metal as he pumped drops of lubricant sounded like extra-loud hiccups.

Finally they were on their way. Beccaroon was not surprised that Fenworth’s contraption, when outside, floated on clouds. He hoped they would not have to deal with lightning. Grandur settled in Verrin Schope’s lap. Bealomondore pushed the wheelchair. Prince Jayrus led. Fenworth brought up the rear behind Librettowit.

The wizard looked very much like he was out for an evening stroll. His lively step, inquisitive, alert demeanor, and pleasant expression belied his usual shuffle and grumbly ways. Perhaps the prospect of a rescue had rejuvenated the old curmudgeon. In general, Beccaroon felt less unsettled by the wizard, but he wasn’t ready to accept him and his foreign ideas.

Bec took to the air and scouted, looking for dogs that would bark, people who would object to their skulking through their alleys, and obstacles of any kind. Mushand’s house was dark, with only a few lights piercing the darkness.

He landed outside the wall, beside the other men. “The guard at the gate looks like he’s asleep. There’s a guardhouse, but he’s outside the door, in a chair.”

Jayrus frowned. “Fallen asleep at his post? That doesn’t sound like a very disciplined force to be up against. Still, remain alert. One lax guard does not guarantee an easy entry.”

They slipped up to the front gate. Fenworth put his hand on the lock, and Beccaroon heard the latch disengage just as if the old man had used a key. The wizard stepped back, and the prince pushed open the large wrought-iron gate.

He had a sword in his hand, and for the first time, Beccaroon wondered where that sword was kept. Prince Jayrus did not wear a sword belt, yet several times he’d produced his weapon. Did he have a hollow like the wizard? Why had he never mentioned it? Beccaroon had come a long way in trusting these comrades of the quest. He hoped he hadn’t been misled. In this dangerous situation, his judgment to follow this new paladin’s lead could end in disaster.

Jayrus signaled for them to enter. They passed the guard slumped in a wooden chair. On the ground beside his chair, a plate held the remnants of a large piece of cake, and a dark bottle indicated he’d washed his dessert down with a potent ale. The scent of liquor penetrated Bec’s nostrils, and he stifled a sneeze.

Sticking to the shadows, the group approached a side door. Zabeth, Junkit, and Hue waited for them.

The prince whispered to the party of rescuers. “Junkit and the others say Lady Peg and Tipper were led to the gallery. The dragons know they didn’t come out of the gallery, but they can’t pinpoint where they are anymore.”

“What do we do?” asked Bealomondore in a matching low whisper.

Beccaroon detected a tremor of anxiety. He understood. A lot could go wrong here. Beccaroon shivered.

Prince Jayrus seemed unaffected by the tension. “We go to the gallery and see what we find. But we go warily.”

He tested the door. It didn’t budge. He stepped back and gestured to Wizard Fenworth. The old man came forward and placed his hand on the knob, and the latch clicked. Prince Jayrus led them into the mansion.

Beccaroon thought what an odd bunch of burglars they must appear. He almost chortled, but the seriousness of the mission and his uncertainty of his comrades choked the laugh in his throat.

Their leader, a young man dressed in clothing suitable for a fine dinner, stole through the unlit corridor, heading for a door at the end, beneath which a light shone. Next in line, Librettowit tiptoed. An old tumanhofer tiptoeing was an amusing sight. Beccaroon stifled a chuckle. He needed to get control of himself. His nerves must be making him giddy.

Behind the old tumanhofer, the young tumanhofer pushed the peculiar chair apparatus, which now flickered an occasional light from the dissipating cloud underneath. Fenworth followed, silent and walking as if he were a much younger man. And bringing up the rear was a bright grand parrot, himself, trying not to step on the critters coming out of the wizard’s robes. He wasn’t dressed in dark clothes like those in the middle, so their procession led off with a prince in finery and ended with a bird in fine plumage.

They would need more than luck to achieve their goal. Perhaps this Wulder would prove Himself trustworthy.

No one offered any resistance to their advance through the elegant hallways of the mansion. That made Beccaroon more nervous. With Junkit and Zabeth sitting on his shoulders, the prince steadily pressed forward. Hue flew ahead and then returned, apparently scouting.

The doors to the gallery stood open, the room half lit by lightrocks. Bealomondore wheeled Verrin Schope directly to his works of art. No remnant of the cloud remained.

The emerlindian gazed thoughtfully at his statues. “What a strange arrangement they’ve made of them.”

“A gateway.”

Beccaroon turned at Librettowit’s words. The tumanhofer pointed beyond the statues.

Wizard Fenworth took a few hurried steps forward.

From all around them, a hiss disturbed the silence. Billows of white flowed across the floor.

“Gas!” cried Fenworth. His hands twirled around each other, the motion gaining momentum. He threw them out toward the prince. A half sphere spread over the young man like a net. The device quickly expanded and completed a bubble around him, pushing the bad air away from his feet.

Jayrus, sealed in the sphere, battered against the sides. Beccaroon assumed he had not seen who enclosed him.

Wizard Fenworth’s hands worked again, but the gas cloud billowed upward. Beccaroon coughed. He saw the two shorter men fall and Verrin Schope slump in his chair. Fenworth’s movements slowed.

Beccaroon looked up and saw the minor dragons flying in circles at the highest point in the room. Only wisps of the cloud reached that high, but the white mist was rising.

Each breath Beccaroon inhaled tasted worse than the last and burned his throat. He moved a few steps, realizing he had been trying to escape ever since the first hiss warned of danger, but the heavy mist around his feet felt like thick mud. His muscles ached, and his head swam. He looked at Fenworth. The wizard had ceased spinning his arms around each other. Bec closed his eyes and fell into the poisonous gas.