The Vanishing Sculptor (31 page)

The smell didn’t bother Bec, but he held his breath anyway while they attached the false tail to his stump.

“Now,” said Fenworth, “we need only wait three minutes, and the glue should be set.”

Bec breathed out and stood still. Having so many people waiting for the results of this experiment unnerved him.

“So,” he said into the unnatural silence, “where is our next stop for securing the second statue?”

“Hunthaven,” said Bealomondore.

Beccaroon jerked, and Fenworth chided him to be still. “Don’t jiggle the glue until it sets up.”

Bec bobbed his head, still staring at the wall before him, and addressed the younger tumanhofer. “The celebrated Hunts have a statue? That should make our transaction easier. They are known for generosity and goodwill.”

Bealomondore shook his head. “Unfortunately, they only live next door to the manor where the statue resides. The owners of Runan Hill own
Day’s Deed.
I have an open invitation to Hunthaven but have never been on good terms with Allard Runan.”

Librettowit checked his pocket watch. “Two more minutes.”

Tipper quit staring at Beccaroon’s back end and turned to Bealomondore. “Does this man, Allard Runan, have an extensive collection?”

The tumanhofer artist considered the question. “It’s hard to say what his purpose is. The home does not reflect a love of art, yet he has some astonishing pieces scattered around.”

“Don’t twitch,” said Fenworth.

“One minute,” said Librettowit.

Verrin Schope sat down suddenly on the edge of the bed.

“Papa?” Tipper came to his side.

“Just a bit dizzy. I’ve been very well these last few days. I almost forgot the ailment.”

Piefer came over and put a hand on the older emerlindian’s wrist. “Pulse is racing.”

“A mud-meade moth,” said Rowser and reached for a pocket.

“Is it still muddy?” asked Prince Jayrus, his nose wrinkled.

Piefer laughed. “You must think we’re very primitive. Nothing in our shop would give offense to your sensibilities. The moth is dried, ground, and put in a lozenge. We use honey to cover the slight taste.”

Rowser handed what looked like a wrapped candy to Tipper’s father. “Suck on this. Don’t chew.” He addressed his partner. “Not all of the things in our shop are pleasing to all people.”

“You’re right.” Piefer nodded.
“Gobbilious scrubbugs. ”

Rowser returned with
“Morticanicus virtos. ”

“Awk! Stop!” screeched Beccaroon. “You forget I know what those are for.”

“Proves the point,” said Rowser with a shadow of a smile.

“What was the point?” asked Fenworth.

Piefer put his hands on his hips and tilted his head to one side. “Not all of the things in our shop are pleasing to all people.”

“Harrumph,” said the wizard. “I thought the point was to supply our friend here with sufficient tail feathers to help him toward graceful flight.”

“And I thought,” said Beccaroon, “that the point was to get the tail on, test it, and get on with the quest.”

“Time’s up!” said Librettowit.

Beccaroon jumped down from the chair. “Finally!”

“Where are we going to test Bec’s new tail?” asked Tipper.

“In the country, where our riding dragons await.” Prince Jayrus picked up one of the bags ready to be taken downstairs. “I’ll procure transportation.”

“No need,” said Rowser. “Piefer and I brought our delivery wagon. We would be honored to give you a lift.”

“And see the bigger dragons,” said Piefer.

Beccaroon strutted to the door, pleased with the way the new tail hung. The weight was a tad more than his old tail, but he’d grow accustomed to that. He moved the stump and found the feathers responded well. Hope put a skip in his step. He looked over his shoulder to see if anyone had noticed. Only Tipper’s eyes met his, and she winked.

35
Boscamon Returns

Their questing party strolled through the lobby of The Moon and Three Halves Inn as if they were in no hurry. Prince Jayrus had Tipper on his arm. Fenworth caused a stir. The minor dragons had decided to procure a snack by following the old wizard and snatching up bugs as they fell. Verrin Schope, Bealomondore, and Librettowit carried on a conversation as they walked.

The two medicinal bug merchants had gone ahead to position their delivery wagon at the front door. Tipper giggled at the thought of the uniformed doorman and his stuffy attitude. He wouldn’t appreciate the Insect Emporium rig stopped before the grand mahogany and glass double doors.

Tipper wore another new dress her father had purchased. The yellow color accented her fair skin, and the long trumpet skirt made her feel like royalty. It swished. She loved the swish. Normally she would have been proud to display the fancy dress among the haughty clientele of the hotel, but her mind was on her old friend.

She watched Beccaroon as he exhibited poise and self-confidence among strangers. His strut looked natural, not unbalanced and not weighed down by the artificial tail. Sir Bec’s squared shoulders and lifted head warmed her heart. Her old mentor might be testy at times, but his ever-present dignity was something she counted on.

In her pleasure, she squeezed the prince’s arm. Startled, he looked down at her. When she nodded toward the proud parrot, he beamed one of his dashing, dimpled smiles.

As if the grand parrot could hear the silent exchange, his head swiveled almost completely around, and he latched one beady eye on the couple. He gestured with a nod, and Tipper came to his side.

“Are you all right?” she asked in a hushed voice.

“Certainly, but I have a request.”

“Anything.”

“See if you and the prince can tone down the brilliance of those smiles. You’re blinding the assembly of rich and noble Fayetopolians.”

Tipper giggled and stroked the feathers across the back of his neck.

“Tipper!” He hissed.

She pulled her hand back. “I’m sorry.”

But happiness prevented her from wiping the grin from her face. To have Beccaroon chastise her for her overfamiliarity proved he was well.

She looked up and saw a man rise from his chair and head toward them. Her smile evaporated. What did Sheriff Rog want with them? And he mangled his hat in his hand again. Was that a good sign or a bad sign?

Prince Jayrus stepped forward and greeted the lawman. Verrin Schope joined them, and as Tipper realized he stood directly beside her, she also realized the others had stopped behind them.

“What can we do for you?” asked the prince.

“I thought you might like news of the mishaps on the night you were attacked.”

Verrin Schope raised his eyebrows, which, on an emerlindian, made an upside-down V across the brow.

Prince Jayrus nodded. “I would indeed appreciate your expounding upon the subject.”

Tipper heard her father snort and refused to look his way. She didn’t want to join him in laughing over the prince’s odd choice of words.

“Well.” The sheriff cleared his throat and rotated the hat in his hands. “Seems it’s most likely some of Bamataub’s men accosted you. It’s unknown whether your encounter with his henchmen happened before or after the man responsible for Bamataub’s death entered the house and scared the ruffians out. But whoever managed to penetrate Bamataub’s fortress has done the city a good deed. Apparently no one has stepped up to take over the lead of the evil ring the deceased operated.”

Wizard Fenworth bunched his profuse eyebrows in a fierce scowl. “And his brand of evil was?”

“Slavery.”

“Aha! I knew it.” The wizard tapped his nose. “The house smelled of fear and violence.”

The sheriff transferred his steady gaze to the old man. “And when were you in the house, may I ask?”

“The day before. Wanted to buy a statue from the weasel.”

“And he wouldn’t sell?”

Tipper tensed. Would the sheriff turn on them if he learned a few more facts?

Fenworth laughed. “No, he wouldn’t. But his wife gave it to us.”

The sheriff looked down at his hat for a moment. “Bamataub’s gone, and that’s a good thing. I suspect Barrister Beladderant, the man who came with me the other day, was hoping to move up and take his place. Instead, he’s disappeared as well. Two self-important rats have left my territory, one way or another. That’s a good thing.”

He put his hat on his head and snatched it back off, nodding to Tipper. “Sorry, miss.” He gestured with the hand that held his hat to include all of them. “I’m pleased to have made your acquaintance.”

Once the general pleasantries of farewell were done, they left the sheriff and passed a very disgruntled doorman to climb into the waiting delivery wagon. Rowser handed Tipper up to the driver’s seat, where she settled next to Piefer. From that perch, she observed Beccaroon out of the corner of her eye. Prince Jayrus, Bealomondore, and her father stood by apparently in no hurry to board.

Beccaroon studied the distance from where he stood to the edge of the wagon bed. A shiver coursed through his wing feathers. Then he swatted the air, gave a leap, and fluttered onto a barrel latched sideways to the inside of the cart.

Tipper breathed a sigh of relief and turned toward the front. Rowser climbed up to sit on her other side, and the rest of the questing party took seats among the barrels and crates in the back.

The doorman gladly waved them off, even stepping into the road to hold traffic a moment so they could enter the thoroughfare.

At first, Tipper kept her lips sealed. She had many questions, but the city street echoed with a plethora of noises. When they reached quieter roads, she still held her peace. How freely could she talk with Rowser and Piefer listening?

When they started passing cows instead of people and haystacks instead of houses, she could no longer contain her curiosity.

“Why didn’t the sheriff arrest us? He had to know we were involved somehow.” She wiggled around to look at Fenworth. He sat behind her and, of course, slept. She poked him. “Why did you tell the sheriff all that about the statue?”

She clamped her mouth shut. She had a whole lot more she could say, and none of it was very respectful to the elderly gentleman.

Fenworth came fully awake as he often did, one minute snoring and the next spouting off whatever was on his mind. He had apparently heard Tipper’s question. “The truth wasn’t going to hurt us, girl.”

Verrin Schope sat up straighter. “Truth is one of the most important tenets of Wulder’s teachings.”

Tipper smiled at her father, not really listening to his words. “I’m so glad you’re back.” Her smile dissolved as she thought about all he’d been through. “Why did they kidnap you?”

“Now that’s a good question,” said Fenworth. “A person who can ask good questions will go far in the world. Provided, of course, she gets answers.”

She ignored him and kept her eye on her father.

“Well, as outlandish as it may sound, they wanted to ship me to another country—Maronde, to be exact. King Affron is not above buying an artisan to serve him.”

Tipper gasped. “A slave?”

Verrin Schope twisted his face into a grimace. “Yes, and they weren’t too pleased that I was too weak to travel.”

Bealomondore leaned forward. “How were they going to force you to produce?”

“That didn’t come up in their conversations, but I imagine their means would not have been pleasant. I am grateful for the rescue, my friends.”

Beccaroon shuddered and unfurled his wings. “It’s time for me to test this tail.”

He launched into the air and, as far as Tipper could see, had no problems. The men in the wagon cheered, and she clapped.

“That’s a good sight,” said Verrin Schope.

In the distance, Tipper spotted dark spots flying above the horizon. She stood and pointed. “There are the other dragons.”

Piefer slapped his hat on his knee. “Now, that’s a sight I’ve waited all my life to see.”

Rowser snapped the reins, and the horses responded by speeding up. Tipper lost her balance and fell back over the driver’s seat, landing in Fenworth’s lap.

“Umph! Girl!” He struggled to sit up.

“Whoa,” said Rowser, and the wagon stopped.

“Prince Jayrus! Verrin Schope! Remove this woman from my lap. She’s squishing some furry creature, and it’s as frantic as a drowning rabbit.” He pushed ineffectively at Tipper’s wriggling form. “It
is
a rabbit! Get this girl off me.”

Bealomondore grabbed one of her arms and started hauling her upward. Prince Jayrus put his hands around her small waist and lifted her easily. He set her on her feet but did not let her go. The young tumanhofer resumed his seat beside Librettowit, and they exchanged a knowing look.

From the safety of one of the prince’s strong arms encircling her waist, Tipper addressed the imposed-upon old man. “I’m so sorry, Wizard Fenworth. Are you all right?”

He threw her a sour glare.

She swallowed. “Is the rabbit all right?”

His expression softened. “You are a tender-hearted gal. Excitable. Clumsy. But tender-hearted.” He gave a nod. “The rabbit is fine and has retreated to a hollow.”

“I’m glad.” Tipper glanced around. “Where’s Papa?”

Librettowit picked Verrin Schope’s board up off the floor. “He was here when Beccaroon took off.”

Fenworth stretched out his hand, and his librarian handed over the piece of closet. The wizard turned it over and over in his lap. “Not here,” he said.

A slight pressure to her waist, pulling her back against the prince, reminded Tipper to stay calm.

The wizard placed the board across his knees. “I don’t think we need be alarmed.” He turned to Librettowit. “Have you been keeping records of Verrin Schope’s stability status?”

“Did you ask me to?”

The wizard sat up straighter. “You’ve been my librarian for hundreds of years. Now I have to start telling you how to do your job?”

The old tumanhofer stood, a profound glower darkening his features. He stepped forward, casting a shadow on the board in Wizard Fenworth’s lap. Librettowit didn’t move again, but the shadow twisted, thickened, and grew in mass. In another moment, Verrin Schope sat on his board on Fenworth’s lap.