“Three paths,” said Blaise, considering the junction of rough walkways before them.
“We should follow the one going up,” said Marin.
“How do you know?” asked Blaise, rubbing his filthy hands on his pants. “Have you been here before?”
The apprentice put his hands on his hips. “No. Those other two paths would lead us down, and I do not see the point of going back to the sea.”
“How do you know that?” Blaise repeated.
“I have eyes to see,” said Marin. “Look, the paths lead down.”
“No, I mean how do you know there’s no point in going toward the sea?”
“I do not know for certain. I just have a feeling that we should walk upward.” Marin’s eyes narrowed. “You do not trust my judgment?”
“Oh, I’ll take a chance on your path,” said Blaise. “But no, I don’t really trust you. Too many people think you’re a traitor.”
With that, he set off briskly, swinging his arms. Sunni and Dean followed, bent over in the burning sun.
Marin pushed past them, his tattered cloak blowing wraithlike in the scouring breeze, and dogged Blaise’s footsteps. “I did not betray my master!”
“Heard that before,” grunted Blaise as he wound up the rugged hillside.
Sunni’s head was spinning with the heat. She licked her dry lips and tried not to stumble. Dean panted at her heels and shouted for Marin and Blaise to slow down. A chorus of hidden cicadas grew louder the higher they climbed among the clusters of brushy trees and weirdly shaped stones.
“You know nothing!” Marin gasped.
“Then tell me.” Blaise stopped between two man-size slabs of rock and blocked the path with outstretched arms, his face blazing red. “Get it over with.”
Marin came to a halt just below him, glowering.
“Come on, I want to know the truth before we go any farther,” said Blaise as Sunni and Dean staggered up and collapsed into the shade of some boulders.
“The truth.” Marin gave a crooked smile.
“You owe it to us,” Blaise taunted.
“I owe nothing to anyone except my master.” Marin leaned against a tall, jagged rock.
“Yeah, your master. So why does everyone think you betrayed Corvo?”
The apprentice turned and pressed his face briefly against the searing hot surface of the stone. “Because of a man named Bellini.”
Sunni, Blaise, and Dean exchanged surprised glances, but before any of them could speak, Marin continued, almost spitting with disgust.
“Maffeo Bellini. He called himself a painter, but he was usually in the taverns drinking wine instead of working. Maffeo copied other painters’ ideas and said they were his own. Because of this, my master refused to allow him in our workshop.” Marin squeezed his eyes shut as if he were in pain. “But Maffeo kept appearing when I was on my own in town, in alleyways, by food stalls, telling me I should leave il Corvo and work for him.”
“But you didn’t,” said Sunni.
“No, but I allowed him to talk. I was flattered. Every time he appeared, his offers grew better and better.”
“What made you so special?” Blaise let his arms drop from the boulders to his sides.
Marin looked miserable. “My master had taught me a small amount about making enchanted drawings. But I began to read his books in secret and practice on my own. I boasted to my friends — and, to my shame, even to Maffeo — that before long I would be able to make even more powerful paintings than my master’s.”
“So that’s why Maffeo wanted you to work for him?”
“Yes,” said the apprentice. “Yet I did not understand how this lazy painter suddenly had so much to offer me. Where did his new wealth come from? By the time I found out, it was too late.”
“Where was it from?” Sunni asked.
“Soranzo,” Marin said through gritted teeth. “Maffeo told Soranzo all about my master’s enchanted paintings. If it had not been for my vain boasts, the existence of the paintings would have remained a secret. But once Soranzo knew, he would rest at nothing until they were his. My master sent us three apprentices away with parcels and directions to different locations. I was sent to Alexandria, in Egypt. But the address was false, and the paintings I carried were blank.”
Blaise jumped in. “Corvo didn’t trust you anymore.”
“I cannot deny it. My master taught me a harsh lesson when he sent me to Alexandria. I worked hard to earn my passage back across Europe so that I could ask for Sir Innes’s help in finding my master.”
“And he didn’t want anything to do with you either, so you went into Arcadia behind his back.”
“Soranzo’s spies were everywhere. I merely protected myself. You must see that!” Marin pushed himself away from the rock. “I had to steal into the painting and keep out of everyone’s sight. With enough magical knowledge to create my hidden cave and charm the dryads, I dedicated myself to fending off the spies who began arriving to hunt for my master and his paintings, while searching for him myself.”
Blaise crossed his arms over his chest. “So you don’t want Corvo’s lost paintings yourself?”
“No, I want only il Corvo’s forgiveness. And even if I cannot have that, I will continue to defend Arcadia and the paintings if they are here.” Marin shrugged. “Believe me if you choose to. It makes no difference.”
“I’m still not sure what I think of you,” Blaise said, wondering fleetingly what Sunni thought of Marin, deep down. “But maybe this is your chance to prove yourself. There’s a new enemy here now. Angus Bellini. Yeah, that’s right — Bellini. He claims our teacher sent him to rescue us, but he’s really after the lost paintings. And he’ll trample over anyone to get them.”
“Bellini,” repeated Marin, his eyes wide. “That man is named Bellini? Yes, yes, I knew there was something familiar about him.” He began pacing about like a penned- up animal until something came to him and he stopped short, a look of disbelief on his face. “This Angus Bellini is from your century?”
“He must be,” said Blaise. “If he wasn’t, how would he know about me and Sunni, our names and everything?”
Marin seemed satisfied with this. “And you do not work for him?”
“I’d rather eat crab shells,” Blaise snorted.
Marin pulled his leather satchel from under the cloak. Dean cringed at the sight of it and skittered behind the boulder.
“What now, boy?” asked Marin impatiently as he rifled through the bag.
“My portrait. You’re going to finish it, aren’t you?”
“You are the least of my problems. I see now that you are no spy, after all.” He drew out Mr. Bell’s book and carefully peeled the pages apart.
“No joke?” Dean’s mouth hung open.
“I do not joke about such things.”
“Yes!” Dean’s relief was so great, he punched the air.
Holding the book out in front of him, Marin tapped his finger on a painting of fauns and nymphs dancing in a forest glade. Blaise, Sunni, and Dean gathered around.
“That’s Maffeo,” said the apprentice, pointing at a laughing faun. “He once modeled for my master. Before il Corvo knew what he was really like.”
“Maffeo looks just like Angus,” said Sunni, aghast. “But he can’t actually be him.” She looked at the date of the painting. “1580.”
“Angus told me that some of his ancestors came from Italy and settled down near Braeside, so maybe they’re related.” Blaise shook his head. “And Angus is an artist, too, but I wouldn’t want to see any of his drawings brought to life! Really creepy stuff.”
“Perhaps your Bellini is a devilish incarnation of his ancestor,” said Marin, shutting the book. “If only I had found the paintings myself and knew they were safe. I have searched many islands, as well as the maze and the palace, but there is no sign of them.”
“Maybe they’re not even here,” said Sunni.
“It would be a relief if no one could ever find them. Thos
e paintings have cost many lives.”
Blaise let out a long breath and said, “Like Hugo’s and Inko’s.”
“What?”
“Angus pushed Hugo into the maze and something attacked him. And he made Inko go into the brambles below your cave. Th-they swallowed him up.”
“Unfortunate for Fox-Farratt . . . But Inko is stronger than you think. Do not worry about him.” Marin’s hands curled into fists. “So another Bellini dares to hunt my master’s paintings and will kill to own them! I shall make this devil pay.”
He looked at them each in turn. “I may need your help to stop him.”
“In return for two things,” said Sunni cautiously. “First, give me Dean’s portrait to prove you won’t finish it.”
Marin slid the damp sketch out of the Corvo book. “I will gladly give it to you and tell you a secret. I can bring people back out of their portraits. The imprisonment does not have to be permanent. But do not ask me to release the other spies — they would only make trouble.” He handed it to her. “Keep this drawing safe in your satchel.”
“Why can’t I just tear it up or dump it in the sea?” Dean burst out.
“Let her keep it safe. It is unwise to throw enchanted paper away.”
Sunni sandwiched Dean’s half-finished portrait between the pages of her sketchbook.
“What is your second request?”
“That you’ll help us find the way home to our world.”
“Of course,” he replied. “I can see now that you stumbled upon Arcadia in error.”
“We stumbled in and brought trouble with us. So have you, Marin.” Sunni’s voice cracked. “You might not be a traitor, but you’re a bully. Inko was so scared of you, he did anything you ordered him to.”
Marin lowered his gaze to the ground. “Even though Inko could not speak, he could lead enemies to me. I had to tell him I would erase him from Arcadia if he disobeyed.”
“Erase him!”
Marin hastily opened the book of Corvo’s paintings and held it up when he had found what he was looking for. A drawing of Inko smiled out from the page.
“Sir Innes asked il Corvo to put Inko in Arcadia. My master copied this portrait into one of the underpaintings, and when he conjured everything into life, Inko lived, too. Sir Innes wanted this because the real Inko, Sir Innes’s cabin boy, had died of disease years before.”
Sunni’s eyes stung at this.
“But I could not have erased him,” Marin continued in a hollow voice. “The Inko who lives in Arcadia cannot die. My master drew him, along with every stone and tree in this place. As long as this painting exists, Inko will be alive in it.”
The four figures weaved along the straggly path, pushing through spiky undergrowth and scrambling over rocks.
Blaise walked at the front, muttering warnings about stones or thorns over his shoulder from time to time. Dean clambered behind him while Sunni and Marin brought up the rear. Blaise could hear the hum of her voice — she kept on finding new questions for the apprentice, which didn’t seem to bother Marin now that he’d already spilled his guts to them. He answered every question and had Sunni completely absorbed.
Blaise had heard more than enough from Marin. With a heavy sigh, he plodded on. Suddenly, after rounding a hard bend in the trail, he came to a halt at the edge of a steep cliff. The path continued as a high, narrow ridge across a bay, which led to a towering, sheer-sided needle of rock jutting up from the water. It rose from the surf far below, edged by majestic cliffs that vanished into mist. A dark indentation in the cliffs suggested that the path ran on around it.
Blaise held one arm out to shield Dean from the edge. “We’ve got to follow the path to that big stack.”
“Just like that?” Dean gulped. “Look how narrow it is. One wrong step and you’re gone.”
“We can do it.”
“I don’t know.”
Sunni and Marin bounded up behind them.
“Oh, great.” She peered down at the deep drop on both sides of the path and shuddered.
“It’s doable,” said Blaise.
“But what if — what if something bad happens to one of us trying to get across, and it turns out it wasn’t even the right path?”
They were all silent.
“There is no room for doubts — they steal our courage and concentration,” said Marin after a time.
“I’m not scared,” Sunni said, her chin jutting out. “I just wish we knew we were on the right road.”
“We’re going to have to take a chance,” said Blaise.
“I know, I know.”
“Being scared didn’t keep us from going through the maze or into the boats. And it didn’t stop you from coming into the painting in the first place, to find Dean. You didn’t think twice about that!”
Sunni nodded sheepishly.
“I’ll help you. It’ll be fine.” Blaise flexed his arms. “I’ll go first, then Dean. I can figure out the best places to step and guide you, OK?”
“OK,” Dean murmured, trying not to look down.
Holding his arms out fully for balance, Blaise gingerly walked the ridge until he reached the stack and hugged it, his fingers scraping the rock to get a grip. He edged along to a safer perch and waved back at the others.
“It’s not too bad. You can do it, no problem. Come on, Dean.”
Dean braced himself at the edge. Blaise, with his long legs and quiet determination, had made it look so easy.
“Are you OK?” Blaise called. “You don’t look like you’re breathing. Stop holding your breath, man!”
Dean let out a long sigh and began to breathe again.
“All right!” Blaise called. “That’s more like it. Look, why don’t you crawl on your hands and knees? That might be easier.”
He kept chattering encouragements as Dean made his way across on all fours. At last, Blaise pulled him in away from the edge.
“No problem at all!” Dean turned and grinned at Sunni triumphantly. “Your go, Sun.”
Sunni focused all her concentration on the ridge and moved slowly but steadily across, jumping onto the ledge without Blaise’s or Dean’s help.
“See? You did great.” Blaise grinned at her as he guided her away from the edge.
Marin was a lonely sight, staring at the crashing surf below.
“Don’t look down,” said Blaise. “Not a good idea.”
“You can do it, Marin, but you’re going to have to use your arms for balance,” Sunni called, giving him a tight smile of encouragement. “Or just do what Dean did.”
“Come on, you’ve lived through worse than this in Arcadia,” Blaise said, secretly pleased to be telling the apprentice what to do.
Marin pushed his cape over his shoulders. “Quiet!”
He shifted his satchel around onto his back and stepped onto the ridge, his teeth bared slightly. Jerkily, like a marionette, Marin tottered across and came to a standstill near the end of it.
“Keep going, don’t stop there!” Blaise said. Marin flung himself toward the ledge, stumbling and starting to topple backward.
Dean grabbed Marin’s tunic and was pulled, howling, toward the apprentice, before the others hauled them both in. All four collapsed in safety on the ledge, sending alarmed birds screeching from their roosts in the cliffs.
To their surprise, Marin began to laugh.
He sat up and playfully shoved Dean, who had only just let go of his tunic. “You surprise me, boy. I thought you would be the least likely to help me.”
Dean shoved him back. “My name’s Dean, not Boy.”
“Come on,” groaned Blaise, getting to his feet.
He began to feel his way around the stack, along the rough path. One by one, the others followed, their faces pale and strained with concentration.
“Almost there,” Blaise said. “Just coming to —”
Suddenly he was pulled forward and yanked off the path into a dark recess. For a moment they heard him shouting, but then another snarling
voice drowned him out.
“Blaise!” Sunni plastered her back to the stack’s wall.
Dean froze, his eyes shut.
“Keep going!” Marin hissed. “Go! Blaise is in danger!”
Sunni felt for Dean’s hand, and with halting steps she edged herself around to the opening in the stone. She pulled Dean close as Marin pressed in behind them, propelling them deeper into the recess.
What they found was far more than a crude hollow in solid rock. It was a perfectly round room, its smooth walls lit from above by an opening in the stack.
In its center loomed Angus, one hand twisting Blaise’s arm behind his back, the other pressing the blade of a dagger to his throat.
“Welcome.” Angus’s smooth voice cut Sunni and Dean to the quick. “What a pleasure it is to see you again.”
Blaise’s free arm strained to tear the dagger away from his throat. “Get off me, you crazy —”
“Shut up, kid, or the blade will do it for you,” snapped Angus, wrenching Blaise’s arm sharply. He looked up at Sunni, Dean, and Marin. “A fascinating place, is it not? The walls are alive.”
Sunni flicked her eyes away from Blaise long enough to take in what was on the wall behind him. It was a huge drawing — and it was moving. The color drained from Marin’s face as he noticed the mural.
It showed two boys, who went about their business apparently unaware of what was happening in the chamber. They inhabited an airy workshop with tall shuttered windows, full of pots, benches, artists’ materials, and drawings. At one table, a boy with short curly hair, dressed in clothes similar to Marin’s, stirred something in a cauldron. The other, older boy stood at a slab, grinding nuggets of something into powder with a pestle.
Angus’s face was lit up with a diabolical energy. “A living mural,” he announced, turning Blaise around to survey the drawing. Angus was so enraptured that he didn’t notice Sunni edging her way closer.
But before she could reach him, he glimpsed her out of the corner of his eye. He brandished the dagger and muttered, “Stay back.”
“You’ve got no right!” shrieked Sunni.
The Blackhope Enigma Page 17
