The Vanishing Sculptor

  “Always excitable,” murmured Fenworth.

  She ignored him. “I broke free and climbed up on the settee—”

  “Wait,” the chief commanded. “He held a sword so that the tip rested against the back of your skull.”

  “At the base, yes,” answered Tipper.

  “And you jumped away and didn’t get hurt?” Doubt laced his words to the point of sarcasm.

  “The snakes were crawling up his pant legs too, and he was distracted and loosened his grip. I suppose the oaf released me more than I struggled loose. And I did get a scratch.”

  “May I see it?”

  “There’s nothing to see now.”

  He cocked one eyebrow.

  “Harrumph,” said the mayor. “Un—” He clamped his mouth shut and threw a disgruntled glance at Fenworth, who was dozing.

  Tipper saw no vines, leaves, or sprouts of any kind on the wizard and decided he wasn’t sleeping at all.

  The law officer squinted at her. “You heal quickly, Mistress Tipper.”

  She nodded and tried to sound casual. “We have healing dragons with us.”

  The chief looked at the hotel owner.

  The mayor pulled himself up to his full height. “Ordinarily we don’t allow pets in the hotel, especially since there is a city ordinance against stray dragons. But they are housebroken. None of the cleaning staff has complained, and the party gave a substantial deposit against damage to the rooms.” He paused. “There are four of them. The dragons, I mean. Four minor dragons.”

  Tipper tried to read the mayor’s face. Was he concerned that he would get a citation for allowing the minor dragons to stay in his hotel? They definitely were not stray dragons. She spotted the gleam of avarice in the hotel owner’s eye as he surveyed the disorder of the room. Aha! He figured he was going to get to keep the deposit.

  The chief’s intense gaze returned to Tipper. She refused to squirm.

  “And one of these four dragons healed you?”

  “Two, Grandur and Zabeth.”

  “I see.” He glanced around the room. “I don’t believe I’ve heard who participated in the struggle to overcome the thieves.”

  “I did, sir,” said Paladin.

  “And who are you again?”

  “Prince Jayrus of the Mercigon Mountains.”

  “Never heard of you.”

  Unaffected by the man’s lack of knowledge, Paladin shrugged.

  “She”—the chief pointed at Tipper—“called you something else.”

  “Paladin.” Jayrus supplied the answer without hesitation.

  “That’s your name too?”

  “No, that’s my position.”

  “I thought prince would be your position.”

  “No,” said Jayrus, “prince is my title.”

  “And paladin is your…?”

  “Position, charge, calling.”

  The chief stood still for a moment and just stared at the finely dressed, unruffled young emerlindian before him. A muscle in his jaw ticked. He clenched his teeth, then relaxed. “You were one of the defenders here.”

  “The only one,” said Librettowit. “I’m a librarian, not eager to jump into a fight.”

  “I’m an artist,” said Bealomondore, smoothing the shiny fabric of his coat sleeve. “I would have lent a hand, of course, but Paladin vanquished the lot before I even thought to grab one of the fallen villains’ swords.”

  The chief gave Paladin a hard stare. He looked around the room. “Minimal damage. You say the thieves didn’t get the statue they came for. Not one of your party injured.”

  Tipper started to object but stopped. Something beyond the obvious bothered the city’s leading law enforcer.

  “I’d say my business is done here.” The chief started for the door.

  “But,” said the mayor as he caught up to him and grabbed his sleeve.

  The chief looked him in the eye. “Mayor, the name of Mushand has been mentioned here. The less we delve into this matter, the better.”

  The mayor swallowed hard. He glanced around the room, nodded, and headed for the door.

  With his hand on the doorknob, the chief nodded. “Good morning to you.” He closed the door behind him.

  Dawn infused the room with light. Prince Jayrus pushed open the door to the bedroom and disappeared into the darker chamber. Bealomondore walked around the room, covering lightrocks and snuffing candles.

  Librettowit shoved himself to his feet. “I’m tired.” He put his hand to his back. “I’m going to bed. There’s nothing we can do right now about the statues.”

  Tipper peeked in to see how her father fared. Prince Jayrus—no, Paladin—sat on the edge of his bed, holding his hand and talking quietly. Junkit came to her at the door and sat on her shoulder. She leaned her head toward him. He moved his head up and down, rubbing against her cheek.

  “Is he better?” she whispered.

  Paladin didn’t answer.

  He didn’t hear me.

  She decided not to interrupt whatever he was doing. She went to the big soft chair in the darkest corner of her father’s room. She cuddled up with Junkit in her lap and watched the handsome young prince soothe her father’s restless sleep.

  A picture came to her mind of the four dragons standing guard over the invalid. Hue stood at her father’s feet on the covers of the bed. Zabeth and Grandur guarded Verrin Schope’s head, looking alert and ferocious for such gentle creatures. Junkit positioned himself between the partially opened door and the bed. Outside the door she could hear the conversation, the threats, her gasp as the villains demanded the statue. She realized Junkit was telling her what they had done during the ordeal.

  “Thank you, Junkit. Thank you for protecting Papa.”

  Harsh hands grabbed her as she dreamed. A whispery voice threatened her. She saw Runan and his wife hiding in corners, riding in carriages, and peeking in the windows.

  Hue sang on her shoulder, and the dreams settled into more pleasant visions of her father walking through the corridors of Byrdschopen, sitting on the veranda with her mother, chatting with Beccaroon over tea and daggarts, and dabbing at a canvas with a large brush.

  “I’m so glad you’re better, Verrin.” Her mother’s voice sounded clearly through the mist in the forest. “However, I think it would have been wiser to tell me we were going on vacation. I had a very hard time finding you.”

  “I’m sorry, my Peg.” Her father’s voice rumbled, sounding like a man making amends to his wife, not a man at death’s door. “I’m afraid there was a breakdown in communication.”

  “Yes, your leg. Such a shame it’s broken.” Lady Peg sighed. “We weren’t invited to the Palace Gala anyway. You won’t need to dance. Soo was.”

  “Soo was invited to the Gala?”

  “Yes, she always is.”

  “I know, dear one. But someday your father will relent.”

  Tipper heard the rustle of silks. “He never will. I don’t think so. Not at all. As I understand it, he would have had to lend us something first, and then that something could be re-lent. As it is, he’s never lent us so much as the time of day, and he can’t re-lend that even if he had the first time, because lending the time of day is such a confusing trial. Trial and error, you know. Error always comes with the trial of lending the time of day, and the clocks are never quite at the same time after that.”

  Only her mother could have said that. Not even in her dreams could Tipper fabricate that line of reasoning. She opened her eyes.

  Mother sat on the bed where Paladin had sat early in the morning.

  43

  A Shopping Trip

  “Mother, where did you come from?” Tipper jumped up and ran to hug Lady Peg.

  “Growder, of course. I thought I told you I was visiting your Aunt Soo. Did you not know Soo lives in Growder? Honestly Tipper, sometimes I think I neglected developing your mind as you grew up.” She turned to her husband. “Do you think I’ve been a bad mother, Verrin? Should I have trained he
r with mental exercises?”

  Tipper’s father wore an expression of contented love. “You are the best of mothers, Peg. And I’m sure Tipper has been blessed by your lack of interference in her mental development. Some young minds should be left free to explore their potential.”

  “That’s what I thought,” Peg said with conviction. She beamed at her daughter. “Tipper, your dress is lovely, but if you’ve been sleeping, you should have been wearing a nightdress. But it is day, so I can see how you got confused.”

  Happiness bubbled inside Tipper, spilling into what was sure to be a silly grin on her face. She couldn’t pull back on the smile, even though she tried to be a bit more proper. Her mother liked proper.

  Her mother patted Tipper’s cheek. “Shall we go shopping? Your father is tired, he tells me. We shall let him nap. And you and I will visit the shops. Mattering Way is right outside the hotel. So convenient. Fashionable, exquisite—”

  “Expensive,” interjected her father.

  Lady Peg patted his arm. “That’s all right, Verrin. Give Tipper the purse.” She smiled at her daughter. “Be quick now. Change into something less crumpled, and wash your face. I can’t imagine all that stretching you’re doing with your lips is healthy for your skin. Water should help it shrink back to normal. Don’t use too much though. We don’t want your mouth to get too small. I hate it when people mumble.”

  Tipper gave her father a quick look, examining all she could see. Either he or her mother had combed his hair. His eyes were tired but not vacant or feverish. His arms rested on the covers with one hand clasping his wife’s hand, and he appeared alert, not lethargic.

  He winked at her and nodded. “Go shop, my dears. And when you return, I’ll sit in a chair and have dinner with you.”

  With a glance out the window to note the weather, Tipper scurried off to her own chamber to change. She wore a high-waisted gown of pale pink and a brown pelisse. As she fixed her hair in a fancy braid, the thought crossed her mind that she really did not need more clothing. But she had never been shopping with her mother, and she certainly wasn’t going to miss the chance.

  “You’re disappointed,” her mother said as they stepped out into the blustery wind and turned toward the fashionable shops up the street. Zabeth draped around Lady Peg’s neck like a colorful green collar for her coat.

  Somewhat surprised by her mother’s astute observation, Tipper answered, “Just that none of the men could accompany us.”

  Peg laughed. “So you wanted Wizard Fenworth’s fashion advice?”

  Tipper felt her cheeks flush. “No.”

  “The librarian’s?”

  “No.”

  “Well, the artist fellow would have given good consultation on matching colors and fabrics.”

  “Yes, he would have.”

  “But the prince… ah, the prince would have made our outing so much more enjoyable.”

  “He is nice, isn’t he?”

  Lady Peg wound her arm around her daughter’s and quickened their pace. “Perhaps we should visit a goldsmith and have your circlet made. It’s about time you acknowledged your heritage.”

  Resentment zinged through Tipper’s pleasure. “Mother,” she said, “do you know Gienella Hunt?”

  “Oh, yes, a very pleasant woman. I haven’t seen her in years, of course.”

  “She said I’m next in line to inherit the throne.”

  “Did she? I wonder if that’s true.”

  “You don’t know?”

  “My goodness, Tipper, keep your voice down. Why are you so flapped?”

  Normally Tipper could decipher what her mother meant, but this comment challenged her. “Flapped?”

  “Yes, dear. It is a good trait to be unflappable. You should cultivate it.”

  Tipper accepted the term flapped now that she had a reference. “Back to the question, Mother. Do you know if I’m next in line?” She frowned and shook her head. “Why aren’t you next in line?”

  “I’m not next in line because I was naughty.”

  Tipper peeked at her mother’s face and saw unhappiness there. Her mother’s face rarely reflected negative emotions. Even when she scolded, her eyes remained detached from the slight frown of her lips. Now her mother wrapped Zabeth’s long smooth tail around one finger.

  “I’m sorry, Mother.”

  Lady Peg’s face relaxed, and she squeezed her daughter’s arm. “I’ve been thinking about it, and I think Gienella might be right. Soo and I are the only heirs. Soo has no children at all, and there is a passel of girl cousins on my father’s side. There are male cousins on mother’s side, but they, of course, are ineligible. Not illegible. I’ve never seen their handwriting.”

  Before her mother could follow that train of thought, Tipper attempted to return her to palace politics. “So I’m the next logical choice.”

  “Oh, not logical, my dear. Please don’t mix logic into this discussion. You are next because there is no one else. At least, no one I can think of. But I don’t know what’s been going on in the palace since my indiscretion. They don’t keep me informed, you see.”

  “I think that’s outrageous, Mother.”

  Lady Peg beamed. “You’re a good daughter. Shall we get you a crown or a dress first?”

  “A dress. I have nowhere to wear the crown.”

  “I know. With your father’s broken leg, we will not be going to the Palace Gala that we weren’t invited to. So a simple dress—not to say a simple dress, but a plain—no, not to say a plain dress, but a dress not for a ball will be what we should look for. And a hat.”

  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.”