Behind the Canvas (15 page)

Grunting, Cash stretched out his legs and his neck, then slowly lumbered to his feet and shook himself. “Spades and britches, if I ain't tired. And hungry. I'd give a full house for an Italian beef sandwich right about now.”

Claudia grabbed the plate of bread from the table, sighed as she looked over the crisp crust and the chewy brown flesh, and slid it across the floor toward Cash. Her stomach grumbled. “Sorry. All we've got is bread.”

*   *   *

They left the Dutch village on a different road than the one on which Claudia had arrived. It wasn't long before the snow on the ground became only a dusting and then disappeared altogether. They passed by meadows with thick green blades of grass and wildflowers that stretched up toward the sky. The morning sun was bright, and her surroundings were rich with detail and color, just as vibrant as she might have seen in her own world. Even more so. As she looked around, she wondered what had been real and what had been dreamed up in the artists' imagination.

When they could no longer see the spire of the village church behind them, she asked Cash, “How long will it take to get to this forest?”

“Couple of hours. Why? You in a hurry?”

“Yeah. Kinda.” Because she knew Pim was waiting for her. Right?

Cash glanced up at her. “Oh, really? And what gig d'you run?”

“Gig?”

“Sure, you know, what line of work are you in?”

“I'm only twelve.”

“C'mon, everybody's got a gig. Unless…” He glanced up at her and chuckled. “Unless, of course, you got something to hide. Maybe your gig's not quite on the up-and-up. Maybe you're on the lam, hoping not to run into any coppers. Maybe bank jobs is your thing, eh? I heard a bank got knocked over good the other day in Schaumburg.” He gave Claudia a suspicious eye.

“What? I … No! I wouldn't even know how to rob a bank. And did I mention I'm only twelve?”

“Uh-huh. Sure. Likely story. But hey—” He glanced around as though someone might be listening. “If you're lookin' for a good wingman, I knows a guy. Done a dozen jobs, at least.”

“I don't rob banks!”
Steal witches' staffs, maybe, but I don't rob banks
.

“All right. Then whaddya do?”

“I do … art. Drawings and things like that.”

Cash wrinkled his already wrinkly nose. “Art thief, eh? I never would have pegged you for one of them. They says you can make a pretty penny or two in that, but I don't see how. Them's just pictures, after all.”

Claudia rolled her eyes.

“Now, gambling,” the dog continued. “There's a racket to be taken seriously. You gamble?”

“My grandpa says that having kids and gambling are the best ways to go broke fast.”

“Well, if your grandpa ain't a wise man, I don't know who is. I haven't won my fortune yet and I been trying a long time. But the day's gonna come, mark my words, when fate shines a fat, golden smile in my direction. And so I keep playing.”

Soon the meadows gave way to farmland, and the road cut through fields of tall yellow hay, sometimes stretching up to Claudia's chin. The fields rolled off into the distance, peaceful and innocent and simple.

“So whaddya do for fun?” Cash asked.

“Art mostly. I like to go to art museums, though I haven't been to that many. And I go to the library all the time.”

Cash glanced at her and missed a step in his four-legged stride. “You must be a genuine live duck at parties.”

“Oh yeah? And what do you do besides sit at a card table all night long?”

He flashed a canine grin. “Well, if you really wanna know, when no one else is around, I—” He froze mid-stride. His nose shot upward, head turning this way, then that, nostrils flaring. Claudia glanced around at the rolling fields, which immediately lost their innocence. There was a sound nearby. Breaking glass, perhaps.

Cash's head finally snapped toward a curtain of hay on the side of the road. He barked once. “Whoever you are, come on out. I know you're in there.”

She stared at the hay, waiting for something to emerge, hoping Saint George had only one dragon. She took a step backward. Finally the stalks parted as a dog stuck its head through. “Hiya, Cash.”

“Get out of there, you mongrel.”

The dog came out with his head down and his tail between strong legs. It was the Saint Bernard from the poker table the night before. His dual-colored eyes lingered oddly on Claudia and her arm hairs prickled. He turned back to Cash.

“Bernie, why the bankroll are you following us?” Cash asked.

The massive dog shifted from one paw to the other. “I got nothing else to do today. Thought maybe I could hoof it with you. Where you going?”

“We're chasing rabbits,” Cash said, gruffer than usual.

“Sounds like fun. Lemme come.”

“Bernie, you know you couldn't sneak up on a piece of cold liverwurst.”

“C'mon, Cash. I really wanna go with you and your … friend.” He glanced again at Claudia.

“Say … did you get your money?” Cash asked. “I left it on the table at the Night Café. I thought you was going back there this morning.”

Bernie's ears pricked up. “You got my money?”

“Yeah, yeah. I left it in one of the empty bottles on the table. You know they don't usually clean until Tuesdays. Or is it Mondays?”

Bernie turned to run back up the road but hesitated. “Promise I can come with you when I get back?”

“If you can catch up. Just don't scare the rabbits when you come lolloping back.”

The Saint Bernard woofed and charged off in the direction of the village. Cash watched him go until he was out of sight. “Come on,” he said. Then he turned and plunged into the field of hay. Claudia followed.

“We'll have to stay off the road,” Cash said. “I don't want ol' Bernie finding us again.”

“You think he's a spy for the witch?”

“Spy? Don't know what you're talking about. I owe Bernie money. I never travel with a dog I owe money.”

But Claudia wasn't so sure about the Saint Bernard. That strange way he had looked at her. She didn't like the idea of leaving the certainty of the road, but she also hoped Bernie didn't find them.

“Won't he be able to track us? You know, pick up our scent?”

Cash huffed. “You been reading too many detective novels. Everyone knows Saint Bernards almost always have a head cold. Bernie couldn't smell his own supper.”

“Can you see where we're going?” Claudia asked as they plunged through the wispy yellow stalks.

“Me? I'm following you.”

“Bad plan. Maybe I can carry you.”

A growl came from deep in Cash's throat. “I can handle my own four feet, thank you very much. You see two hills in front of us?”

“Yes.” They sat prominently on the horizon.

“On the far side of the hill on the left is Colossus's digs. Bad place to be. And beyond that is L'Estaque—nice little town, great bakeries, but the viaduct is always closed for maintenance. Now, the hill on the right, that's what you aim for. At the top of that is the Lady's pavilion.”

“The Lady's pavilion?” He'd said it as though there was a glow around the title.

“That's right. We can't pass this way without popping in to pay a visit to the Lady. And we can't visit the Lady without getting her cook to hand over a few of her kolaches—tastiest little morsels you'll ever sink your teeth into.”

Claudia doubted that any morsel a cook dished up in this world would be the tastiest anything. “Who's the Lady?”

“Aw, just some dame. They say she knows a thing or two, but I think she's a little nuts. I usually make a beeline for the kitchen instead. You'll see.”

But Claudia liked the sound of the
Lady's pavilion
. There was something powerful to it—royal wisdom and white knights and all that. Perhaps she could find more help there.

They walked in silence for a while. Claudia heard a rustling behind them and spun to see nothing but hay. “What was that?”

“You tell me. All I can see is hay and boll weevils. Bit jumpy, aren't ya?”

“I have a lot to be nervous about.” She paused. Rembrandt said the dog was trustworthy, and she still had an awful lot of questions. “Do you know anything about the Sightless One?”

Cash gave her a disgusted glance from down in the hay. “The old witch? I know she's a rabble-rouser. But I don't meddle with her sort. Keep my nose where it belongs.” Then he added, “You might ask the Lady, though. She'd have a thing or two to tell, I'd wager.”

Claudia kept her eyes on the hill in the distance as they walked, casting a backward glance now and then at the way they had come. Cash took advantage of Claudia's nervous silence to instruct her in the fine art of poker. She listened to his monologue with only half an ear, although she found what he had to say about a “poker face” kind of interesting.

“It's all about clearing your mind, kid. Detaching yourself from your emotions. You just concentrate on your breathing. If you start thinking about what you're gonna do with the winnings—or how you're gonna have to make a run for it when the cards come down—then your face'll show it. But you gotta be consistent throughout the game. And it's not just your face—your body gives you away, too. Keep your shoulders relaxed and watch out for any nervous tics. I used to play with a dachshund who would wag his tail whenever he had a good hand. I mean, really, Sid, as if the whole table don't know what you're thinking.…”

Without warning, the thick forest of hay ended, opening up into a field of dry, stubbly weeds. The open pasture stretched the length of several city blocks and was crowded with dozens of haystacks. Big and little, with no apparent organization, they were scattered across the field like yellow igloos. Claudia remembered that Monet
20
had painted a few haystacks—apparently they were popular with lots of other artists, too. She stopped at the edge of the pasture.

“Ah, now that's refreshing,” Cash said as he stepped out of the stalks and blinked in the sun. “Nice to see 'em break up the terrain a little.”

Their surroundings were quiet. Unsettling. Claudia thought about how very still everything was just before the dragon had appeared the day before. The mounds of hay gave that same impression somehow. Like they had been waiting forever just for her to walk by. What could they be hiding?

“Nice navigating, kid,” Cash said. “We're right on track.”

The hill in the distance seemed closer now, and Claudia could barely make out a building on top. But to get there they would have to go through …

Cash looked up at her. “So. We going?”

“What do you think about those haystacks?” she asked quietly.

“What do I think? I think they grow a lot of hay around here. Gotta put it someplace.”

“You don't think they look … dangerous?”

Cash gave her another glance, then studied the mounds. He took the cigar from his mouth with his forepaw. “You know, now that you mention it, they do look a might sinister, don't they?”

“You think so?” Perhaps it wasn't just her imagination.

“Yeah, yeah. I mean, we could be passing by and one of them things just falls right over on us. We'd be smothered, trapped. Agricultural asphyxiation, that's what they call that.”

“You're messing with me, aren't you?”

Cash grunted. “No need. You're messing with yourself pretty good. They're just haystacks, kid. And I need a kolache. C'mon.” He led the way into the field.

She held back for a moment longer. Of course she was being silly. They hadn't seen a soul for hours. There was no way anyone knew where she was, much less Nee Gezicht. She followed Cash.

The haystacks closest to the edge of the field were spread apart, but quickly the distance between them began to narrow as they moved toward the center of the field. Unable to take more than a few steps in a straight line, Claudia and Cash wove in and out, her heart picking up its pace as claustrophobia crept up on her. She wiped a sweaty palm on her jeans.

Cash was ahead of her, out of sight around the edge of a haystack. A quick, sharp rustling came from his direction.

“Cash?” She hurried forward, expecting to find him around the next haystack. He wasn't there.

“Cash?” Louder now, as much to bolster her courage as anything. She ran forward, dodging the mounds of hay, but no sign of Cash. She hurried back to where she had heard the rustling—or was it over there? They all looked the same.

“Cash!” She was frantic now, visions of the leaping dragon in the forest molding her imagination. She circled the haystacks, looking for any sign of the dog but keeping her distance. She fully expected a claw or a tentacle to lash out at her.

“Help me.” The voice was faint, but it was Cash's.

She froze next to a mound that towered more than a foot above her head. “Where are you?”

“Help me.”

The haystack. Inside the haystack.

Without hesitating, she jumped, her shoulder plowing into the haystack. It leaned to the side and she plowed into it again. The top half of the stack toppled to the ground. She tore into the remaining hay, pushing handfuls aside, trying not to think about what creature might have pulled Cash inside. Shouting his name, she dug deeper, decimating, tearing the haystack to bits, until—yes—white fur. She grabbed a hind leg and pulled, flinging herself backward. She expected resistance, something trying to hold him tight, but Cash came freely. They tumbled to the ground, the fall softened by the scattered hay.

Claudia rolled over to look at Cash. The dog was shaking, convulsing uncontrollably. She reached out, unsure if she should touch him. And then she knew.…

He was laughing. Shaking and breathless, four paws in the air, but laughing with canine jaws wide open.