The Vanishing Sculptor

  Then she noticed the odd sound effect. If a person started a sentence and stopped, then took up his discourse a matter of seconds later, that would have defined the sound of one person blinking away and returning. Multiplying that by all the occupants of the ballroom added cacophony to chaos.

  She opened her eyes again. The sound with the visual was not as disorienting as the sporadic sound alone.

  The soldiers along the wall had broken ranks and entered the frenzy. Mushand flickered as he tried to dash from one spot to another and succeeded in actually leaving shadows of himself here and there. The shadows faded quickly, but the sight increased Tipper’s queasiness.

  She wanted to clamp her hands over her ears but feared that would be too large a motion. She wanted to ask Wizard Fenworth questions but dared not open her mouth. She couldn’t see the evil wizard Runan without turning her head, and a chill crossed her skin when she thought of what he might be doing.

  Bealomondore had said not to make a madman angry. Every time Mushand crossed in front of her range of vision, he looked redder in the face and fainter in body. Was he like a stain washing away after many trips to the laundry room?

  Sweat ran down Tipper’s back. The air thickened and felt sticky, like the air within the gateway. Tipper longed to take a deep breath, but would that much movement throw her into the disorder around her? Perspiration trickled down her face and stung her eyes. She fought the urge to lift an arm and wipe the moisture from her brow.

  To her surprise, a breeze sprang up and cooled her sweaty skin. No, not a breeze. The movement of air did not fluctuate like the wind. The temptation to move her head grew. What were the others doing? Where was Runan?

  Librettowit’s voice broke through the pandemonium. “Not a good idea.”

  He knows I want to move?

  “Fenworth, think twice.”

  He’s not talking to me.

  The wizard chortled. “Buck up, Wit. It’ll only take a minute.”

  The image of the room around her began to spin. It reminded her of what she could see when she sat on a carousel at the county fair. Only she stood still, and the room revolved.

  Runan passed before her, and she saw he was caught in the anarchy of jerking movement and jolted conversation. The revolution came around again, and Tipper saw Runan had lost his hat, or rather, Fen-worth’s fancy hat. On the next revolution, he’d lost the flowing outer robe decorated with shimmering gem dust and lifelike vines. The third time around, the deep blue underrobe was gone and only a gray shift covered the outraged wizard’s body. Tipper determined to close her eyes for Runan’s next passing, but it came too quickly, and she was relieved to see he hadn’t lost his last bit of clothing.

  Thunder rumbled through the room, and everything went black. The wind ceased.

  Even though Tipper couldn’t see, she felt that the odd motion all around her had stopped. She strained her ears and heard nothing. The darkness faded to gray. Within the blank gray screen, forms began to take shape, fuzzy silhouettes in differing shades of gray. Color seeped into the forms, and the edges became more distinct. Each time Tipper blinked, the scene became more real until she focused on the Amber Palace’s ballroom.

  Lady Peg’s voice broke the silence. “I’m so glad we were not invited to this Gala. I wish we hadn’t come.”

  Tipper whirled to see her mother standing in her father’s embrace. Her other comrades seemed to be adjusting to the normalcy with the same blinking fit that had come over her.

  Across the open space made by a ring of confused dancers, Fen-worth, in his magnificent wizard robes, stood eye to eye with Runan. The sneer on the evil wizard’s face made Tipper fear for the confused old wizard she’d grown to love. She took a step toward them and found Paladin at her side. Librettowit stepped between them and grabbed their arms, holding them back.

  “No need, children. Fenworth just maneuvered us through a cosmic whirlwind—backward but, still, we made it. And he accomplished this intricate task during a time flux. He can take care of himself.” His voice trailed off, but Tipper heard the last sentence. “I wonder if going backward is actually more efficient than going forward.”

  Runan raised his hands above his head, arched his palms with fingers spread like claws, and uttered something that even without distinguishable words sounded dark and twisted.

  In a direct line from his fingertips to the tip of Fenworth’s hat, a sizzling bolt of energy zapped through the air. Tipper’s eyes widened as she watched a ripple of rainbow colors spread and form a band wrapping Fenworth. The energy ring descended from his hat and widened as it passed over his head and body until it fell to the floor around the ample circumference of his robes. The colors pooled and mixed, muddling into black, and flowed to Runan’s bare feet.

  “Where are his shoes?” asked Lady Peg.

  “The question should be, where are Fenworth’s stolen shoes?” said Librettowit. “And the answer is back on Fenworth’s feet.”

  Runan stared at the floor around him, a mixture of puzzlement and horror on his face. The mass of energy bubbled, and as the bubbles burst, rainbows of color escaped into the room. An unpleasant smell like burned fur accompanied the gorgeous display of lights.

  “Don’t mess with time, young wizard,” said Fenworth. “It’ll come back and bite you.”

  The bubbling black puddle shot up like a geyser and covered Runan. He shrieked and dissolved like melting sugar. Even the odor reminded Tipper of the smell of taffy cooking. The second fragrance covered the first, and the room’s atmosphere changed from threatening to normal. Fenworth had dispatched the evil wizard.

  From the quiet after the storm came a groan. Tipper searched the crowd, as did everyone else. All eyes focused on Mushand. His moan grew louder, changed tone, and became an enraged bellow. The roar ended with a spewing of foul language and evolved into shouted commands.

  “Surround them! Execute them! Kill the king! Kill the queen! Destroy these rats dressed in finery. Spare only Queen Peg.”

  The soldiers in the room drew their swords against the unarmed ballroom. Women screamed. Paladin bolted to confront the line of warriors, his own sword in his hand. He downed three men and took one of their weapons so he could wield two blades at once. A shifting of the crowd brought the ladies to the center with the unarmed men in a protective ring around them. The minor dragons swooped over the men in arms, spitting colorful saliva on their faces. The men dropped their weapons and clawed at the caustic fluid burning their flesh.

  The king came down from his dais, swinging his scepter like a bludgeon. The queen grabbed at the bank of candlesticks. She pulled out a candle and threw it to the floor. She then yelled a name. As one of her court turned in answer to the call, she threw him the three-foot-high heavy metal holder. The men soon caught on and dashed over to receive the crude weapons.

  Tipper heard a squawk and turned to see Beccaroon in flight, talons extended, battering a group of the men in uniform. Bealomondore and Librettowit fought against the enemy. Her father had a pole with Chiril’s flag at one end. As her father thrashed the attacking soldiers, Lady Peg crawled between the scrambling feet.

  Tipper wondered what in the world her mother was doing until she saw her come up behind one of the men her father fought. Verrin Schope forced the man back. He fell over Lady Peg, and while he was on the floor, another lady of the court bashed him on the head. Several women then dragged him off to be tied up with whatever they could find.

  The king worked his way through the mayhem to stand beside Verrin Schope. Soon Peg was tripping the combatants her father fought as well those who assaulted her husband.

  The only two people who didn’t enter the fray were the wizard and herself. Tipper assessed the situation. Which group of women should she join: those whimpering in a tight circle away from harm, those ministering to the wounded, or those fighting in their own way beside the men?

  She had just decided to find a club when the old wizard gestured for her to come to him. She edged
through the terrified huddle of women in the middle of the fighting and went to Fenworth.

  “Sing,” he commanded as soon as she stood before him. He grabbed her shoulders and whirled her around to face outward, enveloped her in a tight hug, and repeated, “Sing!”

  “What?”

  “Does Chiril have a national anthem?”

  She nodded.

  “Sing that.”

  She opened her mouth, and the first note out astonished her. The wizard amplified the words to resound over the din of battle.

  The land of Chiril,

  Our home of peace,

  Is where the brave

  Protect the meek.

  Our men are valiant.

  Our women strong.

  In love and kindness

  All the day long,

  We stand together

  To right each wrong.

  We plan together

  To make things better.

  We live to give

  Each other life.

  The land of Chiril

  Will not bear strife.

  Tipper started over at the first verse. Some of the cowering women knotted together in the center of the room joined her song. Their warbling voices became stronger as they made it through the verses.

  “Courage! Hope! Determination!” Fenworth hugged Tipper closer to his bony frame. “Your song feeds them what their souls desire.”

  Many of the men in fancy dress lay bloodied on the once pristine ballroom floor. The women of Chiril knelt beside them, staunching the flow of blood and offering comfort.

  As Tipper, within the wizard’s embrace, began the anthem for the third time, she noticed that the clamor of battle had subsided. The doors had been barricaded so reinforcements could not bolster the ranks of the enemy. A handful of soldiers still struggled against Chiril men. Librettowit and Bealomondore had just captured Mushand and force-marched him toward Fenworth.

  When she finished the verse, Fenworth released her.

  “Good voice,” he said and turned to Mushand. “Command your men to lay down their swords.”

  Mushand clamped his jaws.

  “Now,” said Fenworth in a quiet tone.

  Tipper felt energy tingle along her skin. She saw tiny sparks skitter over Mushand’s hair and clothing.

  Mushand gasped, and his eyes darted around the room.

  “Now,” said Fenworth in an even softer tone.

  Snaps now accompanied an increased frequency of the sparks dancing all over Fenworth’s adversary.

  Mushand’s wild eyes focused. “Put down your weapons.”

  His soldiers immediately complied, and Tipper wondered if they were relieved. They’d come into the room outnumbering a group of men and women celebrating a gala event. Now they were outnumbered, and the revelers had turned into a formidable fighting force.

  Fenworth took Mushand’s arm in a friendly grasp. “Now we will go dismiss your army and give them instructions to go home. Perhaps you’ll arrange for their wages and an allowance to pay for their journeys.”

  Mushand nodded.

  “Paladin,” Fenworth called, “would you join this would-be dictator and me as we seek to undo the mess he’s created?”

  Paladin sheathed his sword beneath his jacket at the waist, but no scabbard received it. The weapon disappeared at his side. He joined Fenworth and Mushand.

  Mushand’s eyes pleaded with Paladin. “I really didn’t aim to be dictator. That was Runan’s ambition. I was to have the art, the art of the entire nation. The art of any world we conquered. I was to build museums. Spacious, filled with light, overflowing with priceless beauty.”

  Paladin patted his shoulder. “For now, let’s send these men home. They clutter up the palace.”

  They walked to the main entrance, and the men there removed the barricade and opened the doors. Mushand addressed the soldiers waiting. “We are disbanding.” He walked on, Paladin and Fenworth flanking him.

  “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 dra
gons. 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.”