The Vanishing Sculptor

by Donita K. Paul

  37

  A Blessing

  Tipper came down to dinner on her fathers arm. Her eyes went directly to the prince, and his beauty took her breath away She’d always thought his clothing fine, but tonight he wore court dress, which meant his tawny breeches came to his knees and buckled with a gold embellishment. White stockings covered his lower legs. Tipper felt her eyes widen when she saw his shoes. What material would shine gold and still look like leather? His kimen friends must have made them.

  His waistcoat looked like spun gold. The flickering candlelight shone with iridescent colors on the shiny white cutaway jacket. Tipper decided the kimens must have worked their skills on all his clothing. Even the cravat at his neck danced with the honey shades of his breeches, coat, and waistcoat.

  Bealomondore, of course, wore a colorful costume that spoke of fashionable awareness. Her father looked neat, and Librettowit looked slightly less rumpled than usual. Their host and hostess wore evening dress, but Tipper had already admired Madam Hunt’s gown when the woman came to her room and styled Tipper’s hair.

  Wizard Fenworth walked into the room from a side door and succeeded in tearing Tipper’s attention away from the prince. The wizard’s white hair and beard gleamed. His wizard’s hat stood with its peak straight up and the brim stiff, crowning the old man with dignity. He wore an elaborate robe that sparkled as he moved. A pattern of leafy vines wound through the fabric. The richness in the darker green in the background glinted as if tiny rubies, emeralds, and diamonds dusted the threads.

  When Tipper and her father reached the bottom of the stairs, Wizard Fenworth took her other arm, and the two men escorted her into dinner behind Madam Hunt, who had her husband on one side and the prince on the other.

  The food looked delicious, but Tipper had a hard time relaxing. Her mother had instructed her on which piece of silverware to use and all manner of things concerning proper etiquette, but she had had very little practice. The conversation, too, seemed beyond her capabilities. Each of the men took part, and so did Madam Hunt. Even the wizard made sense. Sir Beccaroon conversed as if he dined at a table laid with linen napkins and fine china every night. Tipper inwardly groused that he didn’t have to worry about which fork to use.

  “The Runans are joining us after dinner,” said Madam Hunt. “We shall save our dessert to have with tea when they arrive.”

  They adjourned to another chamber where musical instruments hung on the walls, sat in glass cabinets, and stood around the room. Tipper knew how to play some of these, but others she’d only seen pictures of in the books her father kept in his library.

  Master Hunt sat at a keyboard and ran his fingers over keys tinged green and blue, with smaller black keys tucked in the back. He brought a merry tune into the room.

  “Gienella, my love, sing for us the lullaby of good news. Our guests remind me of the lyrics.”

  She moved to stand beside the big black box that framed the strings of the instrument. “A nursery rhyme?” She chuckled and laid her hand on his shoulder. “If you wish.” She turned to Tipper. “Do you know it? Can you join us?”

  Tipper shook her head and sat on a settee next to her father. Master Hunt’s fingers slowly coaxed a melody from the keys, and Madam Hunt closed her eyes as she began to sing the clear, pure notes.

  Four and seven and four

  Come to give us more

  Smiles for frowns

  World upside down

  Promise of a future great

  For those who hear the call.

  Dragons back they ride

  Coming to our side

  A story told

  New for old

  Seize the hope and abide

  For those who hear the call.

  Good news is their song

  You sing along

  A verse you hear

  A voice so clear

  Join the music of the throng

  All those who heed the call.

  “The tune is lovely,” said Tipper. “But what do the words mean?” Master Hunt smiled. “I’ve asked that question ever since I was able to form the words on my lips. My grandmother put me to bed each night and sang it to me. I love the music, but the words make me long for something. As I grew older, I finally decided that all I longed for was to know what the words meant.”

  “I heard the song as a lad,” said Bealomondore. “I told my nurse it made me thirsty.”

  Tipper laughed. “Thirsty?”

  The younger tumanhofer nodded. “She’d bring me a glass of water, and I would drink it straight down. Then I’d ask for more because the thirst had not gone away.”

  Master Hunt reclaimed everyone’s attention with an expansive gesture, sweeping his arm before him to indicate his guests. “I have not, in all my life, seen a riding dragon. And I have certainly never seen four dragons with seven riders. So when you arrived today, I thought of the song—seven on four dragons’ backs.” He raised a hand and let it drop. “But that leaves out the other four. Our mysterious nursery lyrics are not fulfilled.”

  Wizard Fenworth shifted in his seat, and the minor dragons popped out of his robe, one by one. Four minor dragons scurried to sit on the back of his high-backed chair.

  “Oh!” The wizard lifted Hue off the cushion and put him in his lap. “Come, no sitting on the furniture. We don’t know how these people feel about minor dragons in the house.” Junkit, Zabeth, and Grandur skittered down to join Hue. Fenworth stroked each one. “Don’t take offense now. Let’s have Hue join the music, and these Chiril citizens will come to appreciate the talent of at least one of you.”

  “ ‘Four and seven and four,’” said Garamond Hunt.

  “We once had a house dragon,” said Gienella, “but you talk to these creatures as if they understand you.”

  Her husband dropped both hands on his knees, making a loud slap. “Four and seven and four. Ho! Ho! Who would have thought our Bealomondore would be part of the realization of an old nursery rhyme?”

  Tipper shook her head. “Even if we are the four and seven and four, what can the rest of the lyrics mean? Do you know, Librettowit?”

  The librarian looked at her with amusement in his eyes. “We don’t have that song in Amara. I can’t remember ever hearing one remotely like it. But if Wulder originated the verses, and I admit the song does sound reminiscent of some of the prophecies He gifted to our ancestors, then someone someday will figure it out. ”

  Tipper looked at Jayrus, hoping he would have some knowledge. From visiting in his tower, she knew he read a great many books. But the content expression on his face irritated her. He’d obviously wandered in his thinking and didn’t care about the topic under discussion. She asked Bealomondore, “Do you have any ideas?”

  “I think there were some more verses.”

  Fenworth lifted the purple dragon from his lap. “Then Hue should be able to ferret out the other words. He’s a musical dragon, after all. Good for that. He can delve into your memory.”

  This made their jolly host laugh a bit too loudly. “I’m not ready for a house dragon to dig around in my head, even if it’s figuratively speaking.”

  Tipper cleared her throat. “I don’t think they like to be called house dragons.”

  “What do they like to be called?” Still with a twinkle in his eye, he peered at her.

  “Minor dragons.”

  Zabeth flew to her lap.

  “Oh! Oh!” Tipper felt her cheeks heat with a fiery blush. “She says she prefers to be called Zabeth.”

  The room filled with laughter. Master Hunt slapped his knee and guffawed until he had to wipe tears from his eyes.

  Tipper managed a tight giggle but found the attention embarrassing. To move the conversation on, she addressed her host as soon as she thought he could speak.

  “Can you tell us what the rest of the lyrics mean?”

  Garamond Hunt chuckled heartily. “It’s taken me fifty years to see something that resembles the first line. I don’t think I can give y
ou any answers tonight. But would you give us a song, little lady?”

  Tipper smiled and stood up. The next hour passed quickly. She sang with Hue and Gienella, Hue and Prince Jayrus, and Hue and everyone in the room. Everyone except Beccaroon. Tipper had heard the grand parrot sing and knew her old friend was wise not to lend his voice to the harmony. She could see that he nevertheless enjoyed the music. His head bobbed, and occasionally he did a little dance on the arm of the chair where he perched.

  Hue never sang words, but his vocalization was like a fine instrument. His presence enhanced the ability of the others and made every performer more pleasing to the ear. Many of Tipper’s fellow questers played instruments. They took turns playing and singing and turning the pages of music Gienella brought from a cupboard.

  Along with the night dancing in the streets of Tallion, this experience gladdened Tipper’s heart and created a yearning to connect with people through music. A bond formed between the musicians as they shared notes of such beauty.

  While they sang a ballad about a sickly bride and a woeful groom, Tipper noticed a couple standing in the doorway to the room. Their blank expressions pulled her out of the fellowship of song.

  The music ended, and Gienella crossed the room to greet them. “Allard, Leatte, come in. I’m so happy to see you, and you must meet our guests. Bealomondore, you know.” With a natural social grace, she guided them around the room, introducing everyone. Tipper studied the newcomers as she waited her turn.

  While Gienella bubbled with delight over everything, this couple slogged through the niceties with no enthusiasm. They discharged their duty with the right words, but Tipper wondered if they retained any of the tidbits of information Gienella offered them. To her amazement, Prince Jayrus’s charm had no effect. To resist his smile and attentive demeanor truly revealed a lack of sensibility in the Runans.

  As hosts, Garamond and Gienella averted any discomfort that might be felt by the addition of two wooden guests. The conversation continued around a splendid tea. Every effort was made to engage the couple, but their monotone one-word answers made it difficult. Finally, Bealomondore brought up the subject of the statue.

  “I’ve no interest in the thing,” said Allard Runan. “You may buy it for what I paid for it.” He turned to his wife. “Do you have any objection, Leatte?”

  Raising her eyes from her cup slowly, she shifted her attention to her husband. She stared blankly for a moment, then answered, “No, none at all. We will get a different piece to sit on that table.”

  “Good.” Runan put his plate on the table. “I’ll have the servants crate it tomorrow and deliver it here.” He turned to Garamond. “Do you have any objections, Garamond?”

  For once, their host did not answer with a laugh or a wave of his hand. “No, Allard, that will suit us all.” He paused. “Did you find the poachers I warned you about?”

  Runan looked down at his hands and then back to his neighbor. “I didn’t think it warranted any action.”

  Garamond shook his head, his lips pressed together. “You’re wrong there, Allard. Thieves of any caliber warrant action. It’s the mind-set that must be eradicated. These people believe pilfering is preferable to pushing a plow. Our duty as landowners is to give them opportunity to do honest work and discourage those who would rather gain by illegal means. To be lax in upholding the law is to invite more serious lawlessness.”

  Jayrus leaned forward as if to contribute to the line of discussion but then leaned back instead.

  Runan made no motion to agree or disagree. He stared at his hands. Then, as if awakening, he addressed Leatte. “Shall we go now, milady?”

  She immediately put down her cup. “Yes.”

  She stood, as did Runan.

  “We thank you for your hospitality once again,” said the husband with no inflection in his words.

  “Delicious,” said the wife and moved toward the door.

  Gienella rose quickly to see them out, chattering in her usual manner, seemingly undisturbed by her neighbors’ lack of social skills. The others in the room bade them farewell, but to their backs, as they were already exiting through the door.

  Tipper looked around, trying to gauge the reactions of the others. Wizard Fenworth dozed. Prince Jayrus looked thoughtful. Bealomondore and Garamond engaged in a pleasant conversation about an upcoming feast. Her father and Sir Beccaroon gazed at each other as if an unspoken communication existed between the two.

  When Gienella reentered the room, she clapped her hands. “Listen, my friends. I’ve remembered two more verses of the song we sang first this evening.”

  “Hue did it,” said Verrin Schope.

  “She could have just remembered,” said Beccaroon.

  “That’s a possibility, of course, but these minor dragons employ the most wondrous talents.” Verrin Schope beamed at the crowd nestled on the wizard’s lap. “It’s time you recognized how unique Wulder has made them.”

  Next to Tipper, the sleeping wizard softly muttered. “Bedtime, I’d say.”

  “Garamond, would you play for me?” Madam Hunt went to the keyboard instrument, successfully cutting off the discussion.

  She smiled as her husband positioned himself on the bench and played an introduction. Gienella sang the verses they had already heard, then ended with two new ones.

  One of the seven stays on

  Guide, servant, champion

  Friend to all

  All a friend

  For us the Paladin

  For those who heed the call.

  One of our own leads on

  To lands of joy beyond

  Sweet dreams

  And bliss

  At the gate of the end and beginning

  For those who heed the call.

  “Exactly,” said Prince Jayrus.

  Wizard Fenworth sat up. “Now that makes sense.”

  Tipper looked from one man to the other. “It does?”

  38

  A Pain

  The crate arrived in the early morning. The men placed the box on a round table in the foyer, and Verrin Schope pried it open.

  He put the crowbar down and leaned heavily on the table. “Oh, I’m dizzy. I better sit.”

  Prince Jayrus put his arm around the older man and guided him to the wall, where several benches and chairs sat in a row. Tipper followed, but her father waved her back to the task at hand.

  “Check the statue.”

  She returned to the center of the room and peeked inside at the familiar Day’s Deed and saw the small stone farmer with his arm extended as he scattered seed.

  Zabeth and Grandur flew in from upstairs and landed on Verrin Schope. Tipper watched as Jayrus worked to make her father more comfortable. He arranged a cushion he had retrieved from another room behind Verrin Schope’s back. When he was satisfied the invalid was at ease, the prince spoke softly to the dragons, as if giving them instructions. His actions mystified Tipper. How did he know what to do?

  She twisted her lips. His arrogance still showed in that he took over without consulting anyone, but she couldn’t criticize the care he gave the weakened emerlindian. Sighing over her mixed opinion of the prince and her anxiety over her father’s health, she purposefully focused her attention on the contents of the crate.

  She moved the packing material aside. “I like this one. The person’s more practical than Morning Glory or Evening Yearns”

  Gienella joined her beside the table and moved more of the shredded paper away to get a better view. “Oh my. If he weren’t so small, I’d expect him to leap out of the box. He’s so lifelike.”

  Bealomondore passed by and glanced in. “They’re all about the size of kimens, but this one has the form of a marione.”

  Madam Hunt nodded. “Yes, the farmer doesn’t have the delicate bone structure of a kimen and definitely has the smooth hair and heavy eyebrows of a marione.” She lifted the marble figure from the crate and turned it around in her hands. “Oh my he’s solid. Weighty.” She placed
the farmer back in the cushion of paper again. “What does the Morning Glory statue look like?”

  Tipper answered with a smile. “It’s a female figure, and her hand is stretched out to the horizon. In her palm is the half-risen sun. The other hand is cupped below the first, and it looks like water flows out of the sun, down to the second hand, then down to the base of the statue. It’s”—she glanced at her father—“interesting.”

  “And what race is she?”

  “O’rant,” said Verrin Schope. “She represents liquid, among other things. The farmer represents solids.” He chortled. “You said he was solid. And the last statue is of a kimen floating above tall grass. She represents air, and since she is floating, she is able to embrace the other two statues at the same height.”

  “How does a piece of stone float?”

  “It only appears to float.” Tipper rose up on tiptoe and stretched her arms out, one in front and the other in back. “She looks like she’s running in the air, but her toes are in the grass.”

  “No need to package the statue again.” Fenworth came down the grand staircase. “It will be just as easy to place him in a hollow.”

  Bealomondore looked up from the paper he read. “Why don’t those things in your hollow knock into each other?”

  The wizard looked over his shoulder at his librarian, who followed him down the steps. “Didn’t we explain this?”

  “Yes, the cupboard.”

  “That was an inept explanation.” The wizard turned back to glare at the younger tumanhofer. “Things put into a hollow don’t all go to the same shelf in the cupboard, so to speak.”

  Librettowit lifted his chin. “I thought the cupboard was a poor analogy.”

  “It is,” grumped the wizard. “So is the shelf business, but how are you going to explain interdimensional planes to an artist?”