Behind the Canvas (16 page)

She sat back on her jeans pockets, breathing hard. She surveyed the mess as Cash's barking laughter continued. She felt her cheeks flush.

“Was that supposed to be funny?” she snapped.

He rolled over onto his side and gasped for a breath. “No … that was beyond funny.” He shook again with laughter.

She glared at him.

“That was doggone hilarious,” Cash roared. “Get it? Dog-gone…?” He fell again onto his back.

She stood and grabbed an armful of hay, tossing it on top of him.

“Thanks a million,” he gasped. “You just—you just saved me from that evil pile of hay!”

“Not amused, puppy dog. Next time you can find your own way out of the hay field.” She turned around and stormed toward the edge of the pasture.

“Hey, c'mon, kid,” Cash called after her. “Just a little fun. And who you calling a puppy dog, short stuff?”

Claudia came to the end of the pasture and plunged into another field of hay. She didn't care if Cash followed or not. Rembrandt had said the roads here were dangerous. There was nothing wrong with being a little cautious, a little suspicious.

The field grew on the side of a hill, the incline so steep that she could see only yellow hay stalks ahead of her. The field behind her rustled as Cash joined her.

“Hey, now, wait up.”

She tromped ahead, rising to the top of the hill—and she froze.

The landscape plateaued into a wide plain. At one time it had probably been filled with more hay. Yellow hay that shone in the sun. A barn to store it in at harvesttime. A farmhouse in the middle of it all.

But now there was only rubble and ashes.

An area the size of a football field spread out in front of her, all of it blackened. The earth was scorched without a sign of anything living. The stone foundation of a house and barn rose from the ground, with charred remnants of the structure still clinging to it.

Cash joined her at the crest of the hill. He took in the scene and gave a low whistle.

“I'd heard about this, but I hadn't seen it with my own eyes. Spades and britches…”

“What happened here?”

“You was asking about that witch. The Sightless One.” He nodded at the desolation. “Some years ago her thugs came through and torched it all. Burned the house. Burned the barn. Everything. A farmer and his family lived here. Haven't been seen since.”

Claudia stepped carefully toward the remains of the farmhouse, each step sending up puffs of ash. “If this happened years ago, why is everything still crispy? Why hasn't something grown back?”

“That's just the way things work around here, sweetheart. Nothing's gonna grow here again.”

Rubble lay around the house, bits of iron, brick, and mortar, most of it unrecognizable. A partially burned chair and table stood in the corner of what may have been the kitchen. The lone testament that someone once lived here.

“You said the Sightless One's thugs did this,” she said quietly. “Do you know who they were?”

“Naturally I don't associate myself with their kind. But I heard their captain was a Dutch kid. Name of Pim.”

Claudia's heart stopped. It suddenly felt as barren as the scene surrounding her.

Pim the witch-son. Here was the proof.

 

C
HAPTER
15

C
LAUDIA STARED
at the scorched earth, at the remains of the building that a farmer and his wife once called home. She couldn't believe it. There had to be a mistake. Her Pim wouldn't do this. Her Pim wouldn't even be
capable
of doing this. Something so cruel. Heartless. Maybe Nee Gezicht forced him to. Maybe the witch hypnotized him or took his will or whatever it was that evil
Artisti
did.

Or maybe Claudia had been wrong, so wrong, about him.

She placed a shaking hand over her mouth.

Then why had he brought her here? What had she gotten herself into?

Tears slipped from her eyes and coursed down her face.

She had trusted him. She had thought he needed help. She had risked herself for him.

A quiet sob escaped from under her hand.

He had deceived her.

Cash placed a paw on her leg. “Hey, kid … you, uh, you okay?”

She sniffed. Going forward now was useless and would probably only get her killed for nothing. There was only one thing to do.

She wiped her face with the back of her hand and licked the salty tears from her lips. “Cash, I want to go back.”

“Back? Back where?”

“Back to where we started. To the Night Café. Then maybe I can find someone to show me how to get to the window-painting I came through.”

“What are you talking about? The Southern Forest is just on the other side of that hill.”

“I'm sorry to bring you all the way out here. But I want to go back. I want to go home.”

Cash looked from her to the charred remains of the farm, confusion plain on his face. “Females,” he mumbled. “Never gonna understand them.”

Then to her: “Fine. I'll take you back. But first we're gonna stop at the Lady's pavilion for a breather and a bite to eat. I'm famished. Then we head back.”

Claudia looked up at the building perched on top of the hill beyond the burnt farm. “Okay,” she said meekly. She wasn't in a hurry anymore.

Shortly after stepping off the blackened earth, they found a barely perceptible dirt trail that led toward the hill rising in front of them. At the base of the hill it became a well-maintained stone path that lazily wove back and forth up to a large cottage on the hill's crown.

With the title of Lady (obviously with a capital
L
), Claudia had expected something grander. Perhaps even a castle large enough to house a small army. She had seen magnificent castles like that in paintings before. The cottage at the top of the hill seemed barely big enough to house her family.

But as they came closer, she saw that there was definitely something regal about it. The fine-cut stone carved with intricate patterns, the gilded windows, the charming roses climbing the walls. The building didn't give the impression of power but of importance. As though it represented something people admired.

When they came to the end of the stone path, slightly out of breath, she expected Cash to knock at the front door. Instead he skirted through the gardens on the side of the cottage and followed the sounds of talking and music into the backyard. Or rather, where a backyard might be at a normal house. Here she found a
pavilion
.

Nearly as large as the school cafeteria, the pavilion stretched across the top of the hill. Marble paving stones covered the ground. Elegant columns held up a latticework of flowering vines that filtered out the sun in some areas, leaving others open to the soft, hazy rays. A half wall at the far end partially hid the view of a sloping valley and acres of vineyards. In some places she could see fall colors and, in the not-so-far distance, a strange mound of dull browns, blues, and grays. Beyond that, stretching to the horizon, was desert.

Even from here the desert looked dismal and foreboding. At least now she wouldn't have to go there. But the thought only made her eyes burn.

A laugh tore her attention from the vista. A few ladies in delicate dresses sat near the cottage—which looked much bigger from behind. A man in velvet robes played a lute. But Claudia barely glanced at them before her eyes rested on the other person in the pavilion, seated peacefully at the far edge between two columns. The Lady.

She wore a simple green dress with a shawl draped over her shoulders. Her brown hair was parted in the middle, topped by a black mesh veil so thin it moved like air. A wispy haze surrounded her so that her features, and even the landscape behind her, looked soft. Claudia recognized her instantly as Lady Lisa. Or in old Italian, Mona Lisa.

Cash walked quickly behind the cottage toward an open doorway, Claudia trailing behind. From the corner of the pavilion, the Lady's high and subtle voice spoke. “Come.”

Cash stopped mid-stride, hesitated, and turned reluctantly toward the Lady. Claudia followed. They stopped at the Lady's feet and Cash bowed his head. Claudia felt like she needed to do something, so she attempted a curtsy, which felt awkward in jeans and sneakers.

“It's, ah, it's a mighty big honor to be in your presence, my Lady,” Cash said.

To Claudia's surprise, the Lady reached down, snatched up Cash, and set him on her lap. She scratched vigorously behind his ears. “There's, like, nothing cuter in the world than a talking puppy. Is there, Snookums?” One of Cash's hind legs beat up and down. She planted a kiss on top of his head, then set him on the ground again. The Lady resumed her regal visage, her back straight, her face slightly happier than neutral.

Cash blushed through his fur. He fixed his eyes on the ground and spoke hurriedly. “I was hoping to visit some of the folks in your court, my Lady.”

The Lady ever so gracefully lifted her hand, palm facing the travelers. “In my court, you are most welcome.”

Cash immediately turned and trotted toward the open cottage door. Claudia moved to follow when the Lady said, “Stay.” The word was as gentle as a breeze and as hard to ignore as a polar bear.

Claudia turned and gave the Lady a hesitant smile. Cash had said she knew a lot, but he also said she was nuts. So far, nuts seemed more likely.

The Lady sat motionless on her stool, staring at her. Smiling.

The noise in the pavilion died down, and Claudia glanced behind her to see the lute player and ladies follow Cash into the cottage. She was alone in the pavilion with the Lady.

Who was still staring at her. Still silently smiling.

Should she say something? While she was giving up on Pim, Claudia had a million questions about the world behind the canvas and Nee Gezicht—maybe the Lady could answer them. The woman's stare was making her itch.

She cleared her throat and curtsied again. “Do you—”

“I bet you don't know how to play lily spit.”

“Play what?” Claudia said.

“No. I didn't think you would.” The Lady glanced to the left and right, and then jumped off her seat. “Well, come on, then.” She snatched Claudia's arm and yanked her to the half wall at the back of the pavilion. The Lady leaned out over the wall and then motioned to Claudia. “Down here.”

Claudia hesitated a moment and then stepped up next to the Lady. Looking down she saw that the base of the wall spread into an arch, allowing a small stream to pass through. The stream fed into a pond, large and reflective, full of scattered water lilies with blue-and-green pads. Spanning the pond was the single arc of an elegant bridge. It was a Japanese bridge, which Claudia knew only because she remembered the name of Monet's famous painting. The entire scene glowed, as though she were looking at it through a clouded window.
21

The Lady pointed at the water twenty feet below. “The object of the game is to, like, spit on the lily pads in the pond. The ones dead below us are worth five points, those closer to the bridge are worth ten. Frogs are a twenty-point bonus and are, like, totally worth the effort. Whoever hits the most in a minute, wins. Are you ready?” A sand timer sat on the wall. Without waiting for a response, the Lady flipped it over. “Go!”

Immediately the Lady made a sound in the back of her throat like a cat with a hairball. With a
tooey
, whitish spittle sailed down and landed in the dead center of a pad directly below them. “Hah!” Within seconds she released another volley, this one arcing gracefully before hitting one of the pads farther out. The Lady glanced at Claudia. “Well, come on now!”

I am so glad no one else is here to see this
.

Claudia tried to imitate the sound the Lady made in the back of her throat. She gagged and coughed. She tried clearing her throat, but there was nothing to clear. Finally she sucked on her tongue until she had enough saliva worked up. She leaned over the wall and forced it out with a single breath. The spit scattered down her chin and into the air, sending tiny droplets to the pond below.

The Lady watched them fall and looked up at Claudia, who still had a string of saliva dangling from her lips. “You, like, totally hit four lily pads with one spit. So cool!” The Lady leaned over the wall, took aim again, and spit. The spittle flew through the air and landed on the edge of a lily pad beneath the bridge. She winked at Claudia and flicked the timer over with a fingertip. “But I still win.”

With that, the Lady turned and glided gracefully back to her seat.

Claudia wiped spit off of her chin with the back of her hand. She had never expected this. To meet the most famous face in the history of the world—and find out she's really a loogie-hocking surfer chick. No one back home would believe it.

She followed the Lady back to her stool. The Lady arranged her skirts, head held high in a princess pose. After a moment she glanced again at Claudia as though surprised to find her there.

“Well, aren't you going to ask me any questions?”

“Questions?” Claudia repeated.

“Sure. Whenever people visit me, they always ask me questions. You know, like, what's my favorite color, or what's it like to be famous, or what makes me smile.”

Maybe we can work our way up to witches,
Claudia thought. “Um, okay. What's your favorite color?”

The Lady looked startled. “Oh, gee, that's a tough one. Hmm … blue. Definitely blue.”

The novelty of meeting the real Mona Lisa was quickly wearing off. “Lady, I was wondering if you knew—”

“Well, actually, it's not strictly blue because, like, anyone could say
blue
. My favorite kind of blue is the shade of blue of bluebonnet wildflowers that you pick in the field, but not that blue exactly because that's too dark, but if you take those wildflowers and put them into the pocket of a white blouse, and then kinda scrub that blouse in water so that the flowers get smashed into the shirt, then the shirt pocket starts to turn blue and runs all over the rest of the shirt—that blue, the runny blue, that's my favorite color.”