The Vanishing Sculptor (24 page)

Her father’s voice interrupted the flow of condemnation before Tipper had even listed a dozen instances in her mind.

“Don’t wallow in regret. I learned while I was in Amara that it is impossible to always choose right without the friendship and guidance of Wulder. And even with His backing, handling life in an upright manner is still a struggle.”

“So everyone, even this Wulder, fails from time to time?”

“Wulder defined what is good and bad, right and wrong. He doesn’t make mistakes. Fenworth told me it is impossible for Wulder to choose to do wrong. Can you imagine that?”

Tipper leaned her head back so that it rested between her father’s shoulders. “No, I can’t.”

27
Fayetopolis

They landed in a valley outside the city as the late afternoon air began to pick up the chill of evening. Tipper’s legs surprised her by refusing to provide support. She and Bealomondore were labeled “novice riders” and told to sit under a tree and gently massage their legs while Grandur and Zabeth worked healing on their stiff muscles. The others busied themselves with removing the saddles and rubbing down the dragons in appreciation for their cooperation.

“You’re better off than I am,” Tipper complained. “You, at least, walked over here by yourself.”

Bealomondore laughed at her. “The prince did not insist on carrying me. You probably could have walked had he given you the chance.”

“I don’t think my father and Beccaroon appreciated the prince’s gallantry.”

“They probably thought of it more as presumption.”

“Well, Beccaroon couldn’t carry me, and my father—” She stopped. She didn’t want to voice what had come to her mind.

“I know,” said Bealomondore in a low voice. “I’m worried too. Even in the short time since I met your father, I’ve seen a drain on his energy.”

Tipper felt a buzz in her head. She concentrated. “Oh! Oh! Grandur says to bend our legs and flex our ankles to help speed the recovery.”

“You heard him?”

“I did.” She paused to listen to her father’s healing dragon. “He says Papa is much weaker than he is letting us know.”

Bealomondore struggled to his feet. “Then we should hurry. I’ll go to that building over there. It looks like a tavern. Perhaps I can procure a conveyance to take us the last mile or so into town.”

By the time the young tumanhofer got back with a volunteer, Beccaroon and the dragons had made themselves scarce. The big dragons would certainly cause a stir in the neighborhood. Prince Jayrus felt more comfortable leaving them when they promised to stay out of sight. And Sir Beccaroon had no desire to spend the night in a noisy city. A wooded area nearby would provide shelter from prying eyes for the night and for as much of the next day as the questers needed to secure the first statue. The minor dragons would accompany the party that went to town but stay hidden in the pockets of Fenworth’s cape.

“They can go into your hollows?” Tipper felt a tremor of fear. “Couldn’t they get lost or hurt?”

“Nonsense,” said Fenworth. “She picks sheer nonsense out of the air and panics over it. I do have normal pockets, flighty girl. Try not to get flustered over every little thing. Going to pieces on a quest is most undesirable.”

The jolting of the wagon proved ten times more uncomfortable than gliding through the air on a dragon. Tipper had felt the muscles of the creature flex beneath her, but the motion was never jarring. She thought she might break her teeth in the back of the large farm cart if she was not careful.

The marione driver stopped in front of The Moon and Three Halves Inn. Prince Jayrus, Wizard Fenworth, and Librettowit jumped down immediately, but Tipper stretched out her legs and wiggled her feet to be sure they were ready to support her. Bealomondore cautiously climbed down, then turned to help her father.

Tipper craned her neck to look up at the building they would sleep in that night. The Boss Inn had impressed her, but this edifice left her speechless. Carved wood emphasized every line of the hotel. Gilding accentuated most of the windows.

Numerous patrons went in and out through the door. She saw a sign that gave dining hours and realized they had arrived at the peak of that busy time. Then she saw the placard that displayed the words “The Moon and Three Halves Inn.”

“What an odd name,” she said.

Fenworth scowled and pulled his beard. “Should have named it Two and a Half Moons. Would have made more sense.”

Librettowit stamped his feet, knocking bits of hay from his trousers. “I don’t see that either name makes sense. We’ve only one moon on any given night. Why mention more?”

Fenworth tapped his shoulder and pointed to the front window of the establishment. “A bow window sticks out. That one is backward, sticks in. But look in the three panes of glass.”

“By my list of great ancestors, I wonder how often that occurs.”

Tipper hopped off the wagon and came to see what they were looking at. The single moon in the sky reflected off a window nine feet above the front porch. One moon gleamed in each of the first two panes. The last section angled in such a way that the glass only revealed half the reflection.

Bealomondore stepped closer with his head tilted back to scrutinize the window. He started to laugh. “It’s a painting. A very clever painting. If we’d seen this in the full light of day, we would not have been fooled.”

Tipper and Prince Jayrus clambered up the stairs, their boots making a racket in the quiet evening.

Jayrus, with his emerlindian height, had no trouble reaching up and touching the picture. “The wall isn’t even curved in. The surface is perfectly flat. Could you draw something like that, Bealomondore?”

“Yes, and I have many times. This type of false impression is all the rage in Greeston. Many times this was the reason behind my being invited to stay. The hostess wanted something clever on the walls, something different from the art collected by her friends.”

“Two and a Half Moons is still a better name,” grumbled Librettowit. “Fenworth is right. Three half moons would be a half moon, a half moon, and a half moon, separated. Not two halves making a whole.”

“Now, Wit,” said Fenworth, “don’t get too melancholy over the folly of these Chiril citizens. We’ve already noted that their quirks and idiosyncrasies are abundant. Must tolerate the natives, after all. We are the guests in their fair land, and to point out the silliness of some of their ways would be discourteous. Who’s got the money to pay this farmer for the ride?”

Librettowit pulled out his coin purse and shook out the coins acquired in Temperlain. As he reached up to put a sum in the driver’s outstretched palm, the man leaned over to speak.

“Seems to me,” he said in quiet tones, “that these guests are the ones with the quirks.”

The librarian looked around at the questing party. Only Beccaroon was missing. Librettowit raised an eyebrow at the farmer. “I agree,” he said. “Bealomondore and Jayrus are odd, but these quirky ones are yours. We didn’t bring them from Amara.”

The driver frowned, sat up, and tucked his pay into a small pocket in his vest. Snapping the reins lightly, he called to his horses to get a move on.

Wizard Fenworth led the way into the inn. A crowd of milling people obstructed their way in the foyer. Off to one side, double doors opened into the dining area. Tipper rose up on her toes and looked over the heads of most of the people. The restaurant appeared to be filled to capacity. The sound of quiet conversation, music, and dishes clinking floated from the dimly lit room. The smell of meat roasting and savory spices awakened a ravenous hunger in Tipper.

She squeezed her father’s arm. “How do we get in that room and seated at a table?”

“We ask,” answered Prince Jayrus.

Fenworth made for the restaurant, and people stepped aside to let him pass. Bealomondore put Tipper’s hand on his arm and managed to stay behind Fenworth.

“Must be a wizard thing,” he said. “I don’t think they’d part for us, so let’s follow in his wake.”

They reached the door, and a man in a fancy suit stood in their way. Tipper looked down at her clothes. She still wore the riding clothes Fenworth had pulled from his hollow. The loose fit looked rumpled. She reached up and touched her head. Stray hair blown from her braid stuck out around her face. She tried to smooth it down.

“Are we expecting you?” asked the door guardian with a skeptical smile.

“You should be,” said Fenworth.

“Your name?”

“Fenworth.”

The man looked at a list in the book at his side. “No Fenworth is listed.”

Prince Jayrus stepped forward. He greeted the man with one of his most charming smiles. “Hello. You are?”

“Sabatin, sir.”

“Sabatin, from Little Liscover?”

“Why, yes.” The man’s tone warmed.

“Sabatin, my guests are from a great distance, and I would like to show them the best of our country. Naturally, we arrive at your doorstep. Where else would we go?”

The guardian nodded.

“There are five of us. While you are preparing a table, would you send someone to acquire rooms for the night?”

“Oh, sir, I would like to oblige, but—”

Prince Jayrus looked the man in the eye. “That’s fine, Sabatin. I know you will do your best. Travel-weary though they be, the dignitaries from Amara are first of all gentlemen. I have no doubt they will wait for you to work wonders on their behalf.”

“Yes, yes.” Sabatin turned, raised a hand, and snapped his fingers. Another well-dressed man appeared. “Calros, mind my station.” He turned to Prince Jayrus. “Right this way, sir.”

Tipper transferred from Bealomondore’s arm to her father’s. She stood on tiptoe to speak in his ear. “Was that the mesmerizing thing you spoke of?”

“It had some of the trappings of mesmerization, but I can’t be sure. It certainly isn’t the way I influence a person’s mind. Too much talking for my taste.”

Tipper realized her father leaned on her. She started to say something but glanced up at his face. She read more than fatigue. Her father was in pain. She shifted her arm to support him and guided him to the table where they would eat.

28
Bamataub

Fenworth decided he was too tired to find and visit the owner of
Morning Glory
that night. Tipper saw him cast a glance at her father and wondered if the wizard aimed to protect Verrin Schope from becoming overtired.

At breakfast the next morning, Beccaroon strutted through the door in time to sip from a cup of amaloot. The hot, sweet beverage usually calmed Tipper’s nerves, but today her anticipation was beyond taming.

They rented a carriage to take them to Bamataub’s estate. Beccaroon rode on top, but the other six in their party fit comfortably in the spacious carriage.

Their driver maneuvered through the busy city streets. The noise and confusion bothered Tipper, and she wondered about Beccaroon on his perch above. He wasn’t fond of hustle and bustle either. He’d probably fluffed himself up, pulled his head down, and closed his eyes. For a moment, she wanted to be up there with him, but a harsh exclamation from someone in the road reminded her of the safety the carriage provided.

Eventually they reached a less crowded area, where other vehicles no longer jockeyed for the right of way. Businesses gave way to homes. Modest homes gave way to larger houses. Bamataub lived in an affluent part of town where all the residences sat back from the road, massive lawns and groomed flower beds showing off their wealth. The branches from tall trees arched over the lane, creating a pleasant shade. Breezes rippled the leaves, creating an ever-changing, lovely dappling on the fine gravel road.

Tipper’s nerves prickled as they moved farther out of the city. Wider spaces separated the homes. The trees thinned, and glaring sunlight beat on the carriage. The atmosphere became stifling, hot, dry, and still. Bealomondore and Jayrus opened the windows on either side.

Tipper tried unsuccessfully to squelch an uneasy feeling that had begun when Bamataub’s name had first been mentioned. When they stopped before a heavy wrought-iron gate in a high brick wall, she wanted to tell the driver to turn back. The atmosphere of their destination contrasted with the sunny estates they had passed.

“No one else lives in a fortress,” she pointed out.

Bealomondore shifted in his seat. “He has his reasons. Although everyone in Fayetopolis respects him, it’s a respect born out of fear, not admiration.”

Tipper remembered the look on the concierge’s face when they asked for a vehicle to take them to Bamataub. “So that’s what was behind the concierge’s expression? I sensed he didn’t approve, but I thought he didn’t approve of us, not Bamataub.”

Prince Jayrus’s blue eyes looked thoughtful. “This would be a circumstance when those who have no power are very careful to guard themselves from incurring the wrath of he who is in power. Those who work at the hotel dare not voice a warning or disapproval of any kind.”

“You are correct,” said Bealomondore.

Tipper eyed the prince. “How did you know that? Do you come here often?”