The Vanishing Sculptor (44 page)

“Won’t he be punished?” asked Tipper.

Her mother entwined her arm with Tipper’s. “He’s going to be very poor after paying all that money out for wages and passages and such. Maintaining an army for even a few days has got to be a strain on the household purse.”

King Yellat said, “I’ll have him arrested, but only after he’s done his bit to right some of his wrongs.” He looked around the room. “You can’t right murder and injury.”

The king extended his hand to Tipper’s father. “Verrin Schope, it’s been a long time.”

Her father shook his hand.

“Peg.” The king looked sternly at his daughter. “Are you going to introduce me to your child?”

“Where’s Soo?”

“She refused to come since you weren’t invited. She does so every year.”

“I didn’t know that. Now why does she do that? She doesn’t have to. I’m the one who always got in trouble.”

King Yellat nodded toward Tipper. “Your child?”

Lady Peg pressed her lips together. “Father, may I present my daughter?”

The king’s face held no warmth, and Tipper had the urge to do something very childish. Kick his shins. Stick out her tongue. Turn her back. But the pressure of her mother’s hand on her arm stopped her.

She curtsied as her mother had instructed over the years, a full, graceful curtsy. For a moment, she wished she had the lavish dress that would complete the picture of a dutiful, regal granddaughter. Then she remembered the years of neglect and stood more quickly than was correct.

Her mother did not offer a reprimand. Instead she pulled her daughter away from her royal grandparents and offered their services to the lady who had begun to organize the aid to the wounded.

The king’s servants began to arrive as they were released from wherever they’d been captured and held. The wounded were carried away to beds. The royal physician arrived and organized those helping. He sent for more medical aid.

The minor dragons helped where they could. Grandur flew back and forth between two severely injured men, keeping them alive. Zabeth visited the minimally injured, and those men got up, thanked her, and walked away with a dazed look on their faces as they examined a healed wound.

Tipper marveled at her mother’s stamina. They worked side by side for two hours before the ballroom began to look less like a battlefield and more like part of a palace. Lady Peg administered aid to nobles, servants, and the fallen enemy, all with a compassionate air and a few words of nonsense.

When Wizard Fenworth appeared at the door, Tipper watched as he silently summoned her father and Librettowit. The men looked up from their tasks, nodded to the wizard, and excused themselves.

Tipper touched Lady Peg’s shoulder. “Mother, may I leave you now to see what Wizard Fenworth is up to?”

“Yes, dear. We’ve got everything under control, I think. Well, not everything, of course. But enough.”

Tipper bolted across the room, catching up to the group of three men in the hall.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

Verrin Schope put his arm around her shoulders as they walked. “To put the statues in the correct formation.”

She shuddered. “We’re going back to Mushand’s mansion?”

“No. The statues are here.”

“Here? How?”

He shrugged. “Mushand—or more likely Runan—must have had them transferred.”

They climbed the stairs, and at the end of the corridor where they had first entered the palace, Paladin stood guarding the three statues. Tipper had always thought Prince Jayrus handsome. He’d matured during their journey and lost some of the arrogance that put her off

“He used to be a bit bigheaded.”

Her father looked down at her. “Jayrus?”

Tipper flinched. She hadn’t meant to speak her mind. She nodded.

“Well, he learned most of what he knows from books. He hobnobbed with one man, who was probably socially inept as well. His other associates were kimens and dragons. But now he is under the direct tutelage of Wulder. He’ll improve. You’ll see.”

Tipper frowned. In spite of all the important, life-changing circumstances whirling through her world, her heart focused on the young man standing at attention at the end of the hall.

“Does being the paladin mean he isn’t normal anymore?”

“Normal?”

“Like other men.”

“I’m sorry, dear Tipper, I have no idea what you are getting at.”

“Can he marry and have a family and live out here, or does he have to go back to that tower castle?”

“Ah.” Her father dragged the single sound out. “I see.” He patted her shoulder, then stopped.

She stopped as well and turned to face him.

He took her hand, brought it to his lips, and brushed a kiss upon it. “I do not have the answer to that. Paladin who serves Amara is unwed, but I do not recall anything in Wulder’s Tomes that says a paladin must remain unmarried.”

“Are you coming?” called Fenworth.

Verrin Schope placed Tipper’s hand on the crook of his arm and escorted her to where the others waited in a circle around the three statues.

Librettowit pinched his lower lip as he studied the formation. “How shall we proceed?”

Verrin Schope left Tipper to walk around his art, examining the pieces from all sides. “I suggest we move the three statues out of the circle simultaneously, turn them around, then slide them back in place.”

“Here in the corridor?” asked Tipper. “Shouldn’t they be displayed somewhere?”

“This is temporary,” said Fenworth. “Just to right the world so no more damage is done before we make a permanent arrangement.”

Verrin Schope, Librettowit, and Paladin each took hold of a statue and hauled the figures out of the backward configuration. A crackling noise filled the air and intensified until at last the librarian edged his statue into place.

Librettowit straightened and frowned. “That took more muscle than I expected.”

Fenworth stroked his beard. “There must be an innate energy pulling them toward one another, much like a magnetic force.”

Paladin stood with his hand resting on the crown of the farmer statue’s hat. He looked at Verrin Schope. “What next?”

“Wizard Fenworth and I will spend a few minutes untangling the weave of the gateway. Runan added some interesting distortions, and we want to break those.”

Librettowit, Tipper, and Paladin stood to one side and watched. Tipper saw the two men fingering something in the air but could not see what.

“Can I learn to do that?” asked Paladin.

Librettowit nodded. “If you can see it, you can learn.”

He put his hands on his hips and appeared to study the movements of Tipper’s father and the wizard from Amara.

Tipper asked, “Why does it matter which way the statues face?”

Librettowit shook his head. “It’s all very complicated. The original gateway was constructed for long distance. The weave is strong, but only one or possibly two people could move through the gateway at a time. Runan took the basic framework and improved the function. His configuration allowed the passage of great numbers. However, this new pattern involved reversing the stones. Reversing the stones disrupted the natural energy flow and is as bad a situation as having the stones disconnected altogether.”

“They’re ready,” said Paladin.

He and Librettowit stepped forward, and Wizard Fenworth stepped back.

“Counterclockwise,” said her father.

He, the librarian, and Paladin carefully rotated the statues in unison.

“So far, so good,” muttered Fenworth. He crossed his arms over his chest and gazed at the procedure with a gleam in his eye.

“Nothing could go wrong, could it?” Tipper’s voice squeaked.

The wizard said nothing.

The men pushed the statues into a tight circle.

“Ah, good!” said Fenworth. “Nothing exploded.”

Verrin Schope tweaked the arrangement of the statues until the way each touched the next satisfied his artistic sensibilities.

Fenworth leaned closer to Tipper and whispered, “Very important that the energy field aligns perfectly.”

“Exquisite!” declared Bealomondore as he came down the corridor. “Divine!” He quickened his step and beamed as he studied the grouping of sculptures. “Magnificent!”

Tipper’s chest swelled with pride. The work before her proclaimed her father’s talent like no other she’d ever seen. The figures pulsated with an unseen power.

Bealomondore frowned and looked at the others in the corridor. “I apologize, but I’ve been sent to bring you back to the king. We must drag ourselves away from this splendid display and attend His Majesty.”

They started down the hall. At the top of the stairs, Paladin announced that he wanted to go up to the roof to arrange for the reception of their dragons.

“I’ve called them to come, and I don’t want the palace guards thinking this is another invasion. I’ll be with you soon.”

The king indicated that Lady Peg and her assembly were to move into a private sitting area. Beccaroon followed reluctantly. He found it hard to be civil to those who had caused such unnecessary hardship on the family he loved.

Once beyond the sight and sound of the melee, the king commanded them to sit, and an awkward conversation began. Both Librettowit and Bealomondore were conversant in social situations. Beccaroon contributed, but only to ease the discomfort of Lady Peg and Tipper.

Librettowit, Bealomondore, and Beccaroon gave an account of the unusual happenings of the last few weeks. Lady Peg said nothing. Junkit sat on Lady Peg’s lap and looked like a guard. Tipper’s mother stroked his back and sides, but he didn’t relax. Verrin Schope merely affirmed the more unbelievable aspects of the tale.

Queen Venmarie entered and came to sit by her husband, but she kept her eyes averted and her chin tilted upward. Beccaroon controlled the sarcasm tickling his tongue. He had the urge to ask Her Highness if she found the present company distasteful.

She sniffed. “You’ve brought a foreign prince to our court?”

Beccaroon sighed. Her tone answered his question.

Paladin appeared at the door as if called. He strode over to the king and bowed. “Your Highness. I have a report from your captain of the guard. He wishes to speak with you when you are free but assures you that his squadron is firmly in control. I offered my services, but he said I might be needed here.”

Queen Venmarie clicked her tongue. “I don’t see that you are
needed
anywhere.”

A thoughtful look crossed Paladin’s face. He didn’t seem to take affront at the queen’s tone. Tipper did not hide her feelings well. The resentment in his girl’s heart was etched on her face.

Fenworth, asleep in a chair, snorted. The queen looked down her nose at him and turned away.

Paladin addressed the king. “May I sit with you, Your Highness?”

The king nodded and indicated a chair next to Lady Peg. “You fought valiantly and with great skill. Had you not been present, many more of my people would have been slain.”

A smile quirked the corner of Paladin’s mouth. “You swing a mean scepter yourself, Your Highness.”

King Yellat snorted a laugh. The reaction died quickly. Indulging in merriment lightened the mood only momentarily. The evidence of evil still lingered outside the door.

Paladin sat and leaned slightly forward, glancing from the king to the queen and back. “I will speak of treasure, if I may?”

The queen’s eyes narrowed, but the king nodded.

“Mushand’s desire for works of art warped his perception of the world. He thought what he deemed treasure was also desired by everyone else. In his mind, the more treasure he had, the more envy he generated in all those around him. It never occurred to him that his servant would rather have a piece of cake than own a picture. He assigned his values to others.”

Beccaroon studied the circle of individuals sitting in comfortable chairs in a room designed to reflect the name of the palace. Gold, yellow, and warm browns accented the furnishings. His weary friends were not tidy or even presentable. After all, they’d been through a lot. The king and queen were haughty even with rips in their lace and brocade.

Beccaroon had two desires. He would like either to get up and walk away from this place with his own people, leaving everyone else behind, or for the cold-hearted royalty to drop their pride and embrace Lady Peg and her family.

And this paladin chose to talk of treasures. Awk!

The room misted, reminding Beccaroon of the gas that had choked them in Mushand’s gallery. But this fog drifted in as naturally as the morning haze in a stand of trees. No one in the room moved. No one panicked at the unusual sight.

Paladins warm voice conjured up a picture in the middle of the room, in the midst of the fog. Beccaroon relaxed with the other individuals in the room and watched the unfolding scenes with a sense of wonder.

“Lady Peg as a child used to escape her nanny.”

A small child in a dirty dress and pinafore ran through the palace halls. She burst into a roomful of well-dressed ladies and thrust her grubby hand in the queens face. A precious red feather slipped from her fingers and fell on her mother’s lovely silk skirt.

“Mushand thinks everyone admires his treasure. Peg thought the same. Mushand wants to hoard his beauties. Peg wanted to share.”

The fog grew heavy and cleared a bit. In the new scene, the queen promenaded along a garden trail. Behind her trailed three children. One was obviously Soo, neatly attired, walking primly. Beside her was an empty dress with a bonnet hovering where a head would be. The empty dress followed her mother with graceful moves and complete adherence to decorum.

Beccaroon smiled as he spotted the third child. This was Peg, hair in disarray, bows untied, hem of her dress muddied, the fingers of her white gloves black with grime, and the lace of one sleeve torn and fluttering in the breeze.

Beccaroon realized with a gasp that Peg was supposed to be inside the empty dress. There had not been three children. As he watched darling Peg, she skipped into a bed of flowers, picked up a bug, twirled in the sunshine, then began to fade, becoming translucent until her image was gone. In the distance, the queen could be seen following the well-groomed trail with a child and an empty dress stepping properly behind her.