Behind the Canvas (12 page)

“Beautiful landscape, is it not?” Balthasar muttered in Claudia's ear.

The question startled her. Up to that point, he had been silent as they journeyed. She nodded slightly. She craned her head to look behind them, but the bird had left its perch.

“The best is yet to come,” he continued. “The Lady is not the only radiant beauty in these parts.”

Claudia couldn't tell who he meant by
the Lady
. It was probably just somebody else who would want to see her executed.

“Are your bonds too tight? Are they causing you pain?” His voice was low.

The gag and the rope weren't exactly comfortable, but they didn't hurt, either. She shook her head.

“You must forgive us our roughness. Cornelis in particular. He has been wounded more than most by the Sightless One. She has great power, but I do not think you are a witch-daughter. There is a magic about you, no doubt. But no, your eyes are too fair to be a witch-daughter.”

Claudia tilted her head back toward Balthasar to show she was listening. She raised her tied hands toward him.

He shook his head. “No, my lady. I may not think you a witch-daughter, but the consequences would be great if I loose the bonds to find myself mistaken. The Master from Rijn will judge you.”

She sighed and dropped her hands.

“We have reason to be suspicious. It is only on occasion that the Sightless One appears in our land. And she always arrives mysteriously, magically, as you have. But she has a presence here, there is no doubt of that. Whenever she wanders through our forests or our deserts or our fields, she seeks out the strong of body but weak of mind. She preys on them. Enslaves them. Buys their meager will for a penny and makes it a part of her. Most of them are not evil creatures, but after her claws ensnare them, they become such. It was not always so, but as her interest in our land grows and her reach extends, darkness comes with it.”

Claudia glanced around at the rich golden hills, as though the darkness might be something visible and apparent. Pim hadn't told her any of that about Nee Gezicht—at least she assumed the Sightless One was Nee Gezicht, since that's what her name meant. It seemed Pim hadn't told her a lot of things.

She turned her head and tried to speak around the cloth in her mouth. “An' 'im?”

Balthasar looked back at the other riders before leaning closer. “Speak again.”

“An' Phim?” she enunciated as carefully as she could.

“Ah, Pim. You ask about the witch-son. You say he is a friend of yours. If that is fact and you know his true nature, then the Master of Rijn will see into your soul and send you to execution for the evil you are. If you say he is your friend, and he has deceived you, hidden his true nature, then … well, you would not be the first.”

Anger rushed through Claudia's veins. How could he say something like that about Pim? Pim was sweet and funny and considerate—there was nothing evil about him. There couldn't be. Could there?

She had known him for a few weeks. Maybe seventeen days. Even if he hadn't been stuck in a painting, how well could you get to know someone in seventeen days? What if he had tricked her, lied to her, had some reason to—

No. Pim is my friend. And friends trust each other.

Balthasar continued. “Pim is the chief servant of the Sightless One. Her captain in these lands. He comes and he goes and may not be seen for great lengths of time, but when he appears, sorrow follows and lands upon the innocent. Like Cornelis.”

Balthasar's voice lowered to a whisper. “Cornelis never speaks of it, but he had a lady. Fairer than any blossom. Emilie. It was Pim's deception that brought about her death in the name of the Sightless One. Cornelis knows he cannot fight the power of that witch, but he will do what he can to oppose her. And her servants.”

Claudia took a deep breath and tried to match up the Pim she knew with the one Balthasar described. It was impossible. She wondered if Pim was still waiting by the Dalí window. If he was frantically worried about her. If he even cared. Or if somehow all of this—her little painting, their friendship, the journey behind the canvas—was some kind of trick.

But why? If—
if
—Pim was working for Nee Gezicht, what good would it do him to bring Claudia into this world? More slaves for the witch? Just to be cruel? But what about Granny Custos? She seemed to know a lot about Nee Gezicht and she didn't have a problem with Pim. And she didn't seem evil. A bit crazy, perhaps, but not evil.

Balthasar must have sensed her body tense as the thoughts wrapped around her mind, because he began to hum a tune. He fumbled for something in his coat, and pulled out a small leather book. He flipped the pages until he found what he was looking for. His hum quickly flowed into words, sung in a deep, pleasant baritone.

“My true love said 'tis not enough to labor day by day,

But one must dream and reach aloft to wend a merry way.

Yet, methink she errors, for we do not need a star—

The love we hold, yea, truth be told, we're happy as we are.”

“For pity's sake, Balthasar, sing a song with some pluck to it,” called out Cornelis. Without waiting for a response he, too, burst into song. Hendrik quickly joined in and, with obvious reluctance, Balthasar did as well. The song was boisterous and bouncy with a driving beat. Even the horses seemed to pick up the pace a little.

“The sound of the cock crow at quarter past dawn,

The sight of the morning dew,

The taste of adventure that nips at your tongue,

The scent of the hunt anew.

The thrash of the boar as it beats through the brush,

The clop of the laboring steed.

The whoosh of the wind as it rushes the ears,

The huzzah of the daring deed.

The thrill of the kill at the end of the chase,

The pleasure of roasting flame,

The comfort of company: family and friends,

The love of that one special dame.”

The travelers approached what appeared to be the steep crest of a hill as the song came to an end. But as they drew closer, Claudia realized that it wasn't just the top of a hill but a cliff overlooking a magnificent green valley. Soon they reached the edge, and her eyes grew wide.

The valley was similar to the patchwork-quilt landscape
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they had passed through earlier, all of it green and lush. There were waterfalls and rivers, woods split by curving roads, and majestic mountains seated at the far edges. But most breathtaking of all were the suns.

Claudia had seen sunsets before, coloring the sky in her backyard. She had also seen sunsets in paintings, over lakes, or mountains, or a city; but always with one sun at a time. Cutting through this valley were the rays of dozens of suns. Some were large and full, while others were simply bright dots pinned above the horizon. But each sun was lighting fire to its own sunset, and together the colors melded and intertwined, creating a tapestry of woven color climbing halfway into the sky.

Hendrik rode up beside Balthasar. “The Valley of the Suns,” he said dreamily. His skin glowed softly in the warm light.

“Aye,” replied Balthasar. “Where the light of a million candles melts to form an illuminated vision of splendor.”

Cornelis turned to look at Balthasar. “That was almost poetic.”

“Poetry requires inspiration, dear Cornelis. And since I spend all of my time with you and Hendrik, I hardly carry the blame if my eloquent words dip into mediocrity.”

Cornelis smiled. “Come. Let us walk quickly in this ‘vision of splendor' and perhaps the Master of Rijn can cast judgment on this creature before evening departs.”

They headed down a path that hugged the side of the cliff, twisting and switching back and forth toward the floor of the valley. The drop from the side of the path was sheer. It made Claudia's head spin and she wished for a moment that they had blindfolded her as well. The descent eventually leveled out, and before long they were on a white road winding through purple light and green pastures.

The soft light of the sunsets and the peaceful terrain was by far the most beautiful thing Claudia had ever seen. But it was impossible to appreciate it with her hands tied and a gag in her mouth. They passed through it quickly, and she was glad when they came to the end of it. It wasn't fair to experience something like that and not be able to enjoy it.

The Valley of the Suns fed into a cramped canyon with high, jutting walls of red rock. The suns disappeared as the towering walls surrounded the riders. They picked their way over the stony ground in a light that was noticeably dimmer. But even after they had passed through the canyon, the light didn't change.

Dusk had fallen, and it was growing colder. The riders picked up the pace and Cornelis led the way, craning his neck to see what was up ahead.

Wherever they were going, they were getting close. And then the Master from Rijn would decide her fate.

Claudia shivered in the cool evening air.

 

C
HAPTER
12

S
NOW BEGAN
to fall in the escaping light. The ground ahead of the travelers turned gray and then white. By the time the rooftops of a village came into view, the path was covered in white drifts pocked with footprints. The air had become crisp, and Balthasar removed his cloak and draped it around Claudia's shoulders. She nodded in thanks, wishing her hands were free so she could pull it tighter.

It was clear now where they were taking her, where she might be executed.

A village ran the length of the hill before them, houses and shops and a church on one side and two great ponds on the other. The ponds were frozen over and covered with skaters whisking by in a race or sauntering hand in hand. In the distance rose a span of craggy mountains, culminating in a single sharply rising peak.

It was a Dutch village from one of Bruegel's peasant paintings.
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She had seen it in more than one art book, and it always seemed like a happy scene to her. A busy little town. Kids having a good time.

Not a place where they take people to be executed.

Was there a stake in the middle of this town where they burned witches? Or did the skaters move to one side while they cut a hole in the ice to toss the witches in?

A group of hunters tramped wearily in front of them on foot, surrounded by a pack of orange-and-black dogs. As the horses approached, the dogs turned and frantically nipped and yipped at the newcomers. Cornelis baited the dogs with calls and greeted a hunter who shouldered a spear. “How goes the hunt, my friend?”

The man, all grizzled beard and fierce eyes, smiled. “Slow as sap, Cornelis. The boars become lazy when a cold snow falls.”

“Are there festivities in the village tonight?”

“Aye. A wedding feast. The roof may be straw and the floor dirt, but tonight we feast and dance to the jealousy of a king!”

Cornelis laughed as they passed the man and headed down the hill into the village. The houses lining the street were constructed of brick or stone and capped with tall, pointed roofs layered with snow. The windows shone with warm light from inside, where Dutch mothers were probably lighting candles or fires in the hearth to warm their darkening homes.

Claudia's mother would never know what happened to her.

The round face of a little girl appeared in the window of one home. Her eyes unabashedly followed Claudia as they passed through the street. Claudia nodded at her, as if trying to assure her everything would be okay. The girl quickly ducked beneath the windowsill.

They soon arrived at the town square, a large, open cobblestone space surrounded by houses and shops. At the far end of the square stood a barnlike building with a wide peaked roof that reached above its neighbors. Its doors were open and light flooded out into the square. The sounds of a celebration—music, laughter, conversation—spilled out with the light.

Cornelis led the group across the square to where it intersected another street heading back into the village. He trotted toward a building that seemed slightly out of place among the aging Dutch homes.

It was another scene that came straight out of one of the large art books from the library.

Van Gogh's café stood in front of her, a smattering of people sitting at its patio tables. Waiters casually moved across the plank flooring of the terrace, sheltered from the snow by a wide, sweeping overhang. A lamp jutted out from the wall and lit the scene with a strong yet wavering light, making the blue exterior walls of the café a flickering yellow-green.
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The people sitting at the tables ate and spoke with spirit, wrapped in cloaks and furs. All of them stole glances of her as the horses approached, whispering to one another, taking in the gag and the rope on her wrists. She could feel her face burn. This was so much worse than the time she had been sent to the principal's office for drawing a chalk mural on the back of the door in the gym. This time she hadn't even done anything wrong.

The injustice of it boiled inside her.

Cornelis dismounted and looped his reins around a post. He reached up to lower Claudia to the ground.

With a twist of her body, she kicked at Cornelis's face. Her sneaker connected and he staggered backward. The kick threw her off balance and she toppled over the other side of the horse, a deep bank of snow breaking her fall. She struggled to get up, to run, but Hendrik and Balthasar were already there, lifting her to her feet.

Cornelis approached as they held her, and she was satisfied to see a red spot underneath his eye. Towering over her, he removed his riding gloves.

“Well, child, if indeed you are a witch-daughter, take this moment to say your prayers. The Master of Rijn resides here tonight. He shall be your judge.” He turned and strode into the café.