Dragons of the Valley

by Donita K. Paul

  “Of course not. What a peculiar thing to say.”

  “But you said—”

  “Well, I guess I was a little sharp with you, but I can’t abide nonsense, you know. And trying to see things through your eyes, I can see that one could say that books have feelings. One feels heavy and another feels light. One is bound with leather, which feels different from one bound with cloth pressed on board.”

  Groddenmitersay realized she had not answered the question of where the paintings were shipped. She was, indeed, a clever adversary.

  His head hurt. He squinted at the sun. They would soon pass a bench in the shade.

  “Would you care to rest, Lady Schope?”

  “Not at all. I find this extremely invigorating.”

  The tumanhofer scowled. She’d evaded his every attempt to elicit information as to the purpose of their stay. He felt sure the paintings hid something of value. Did they transport messages or reports with the pictures?

  So she found this little exercise of wits invigorating? The woman strived to appear foolish, but he was too seasoned to fall for such a trick. She overplayed her hand and thus gave herself away.

  He’d walk with her until she returned to the inn. The pretense would trip her up. The hoax was too elaborate to maintain. He need only be patient.

  28

  Scoundrels

  At the knock on the door, Groddenmitersay jumped to answer. Kulson stood in the upstairs hall of the inn, a flat, oversized bundle under his arm. The tumanhofer waved him in.

  “You were careful?”

  Kulson grunted. “No one saw me.”

  “Put the package on the bed, and light more lanterns. Bring them close so we can see.”

  The tumanhofer took care in removing the cloth covering that protected Verrin Schope’s art. Six pictures. He took out the sheets of heavy vellum and lined them up across the bedspread.

  “Still life,” he said.

  Kulson placed another lantern on the bedside stand. “What?”

  “The picture is of a collection of objects on a table. This subject matter is called a still life.”

  Kulson studied the various poses of fruit, vegetables, and a lone candle as Groddenmitersay picked up one picture after another to study in the bright light from three lanterns.

  “I get it,” said the bisonbeck. “A horse moves, people move, even trees move in the wind, so things that don’t move are still.”

  Groddenmitersay cast his captain a resigned expression. The man couldn’t help being built for battle and not for intellectual pursuits. Kulson came in handy as long as one remembered to think for him.

  “Yes, you’re correct.” Groddenmitersay went back to his inspection of Verrin Schope’s pictures.

  The items in each of the six pictures were identical but arranged differently. Verrin Schope had executed one in black and white. Each of the others blushed with colors of varying vibrancy. Brilliant hues embellished only one painting.

  Groddenmitersay saw no obvious message in the pictures. He turned over the one in his hand. In the lower right-hand corner, he spotted a scribble. Holding it closer to the light he made out the handwritten notation, “three.”

  “Aha!”

  “What?” asked Kulson.

  The tumanhofer picked up another picture and checked the back. “Five. They’re numbered.”

  He sorted the artwork according to the numbers. The first was the black and white. A slight wash of color appeared in the second. Each progressive picture carried a darker shade, until bright colors enlivened the last sketch.

  The tumanhofer stood back, cradling his chin in his hand and contemplating the designs. “The first picture looks like it might be a letter. The letter L.”

  Kulson grunted.

  Groddenmitersay pointed to the fourth picture. “That could be a D.”

  Kulson leaned forward, squinting at the paintings. “I don’t see any letters.”

  The tumanhofer didn’t respond. He studied Verrin Schope’s art. He turned them so they were upside down. Then he left the top three upside down and returned the second row to the original position. Then he arranged them so every other one was turned topsy-turvy. He laid them end to end on the floor. Between every arrangement, he considered what hidden message could be in the line placement of the fruit, vegetables, and candle.

  “The key could be the placement of the candle in relationship to the other items.” He sighed. “And there are extraneous lines all over the place.” He reached for two of the papers. “I might be able to match that random mark at the ends of the paper. I doubt these background marks are really haphazard.”

  Groddenmitersay placed the paintings on the bed again and spent a few minutes testing his new theory. With the pictures in numerical order, he lined up the background contours so that one mark flowed off one paper and onto the next. Because he had arranged the pictures in two rows of three, the line made a circle. Almost. In just a few places, the lines did not connect.

  He snapped his fingers. “I’ve got it. Three-point-six rotations.”

  He picked up the fourth and sixth papers and exchanged their places in the order. With a little more finagling, all the lines met at the edges. The oblong loop ran an irregular pattern through the six pictures, going from one painting to the next.

  “Do you see, Kulson? The wavy line completely encompasses the papers. That’s probably the outline of a territory, and the fruits and vegetables will denote civilians and military. The position of the food items may signify numbers.” He pointed to the second picture in the bottom row. “See, the pear is pointed toward three o’clock, and that would indicate one number, while it points to seven o’clock in this next one. That would be a different number.”

  The smile on Groddenmitersay’s face faded when he looked at his henchman. The elaborate message completely baffled the first speatus.

  Kulson grunted. “Can you tell what it says?”

  “Not yet, but I’ve already solved one element of the puzzle.”

  “You still think there’s a message hidden there?”

  “Of course. He’s sending reports to King Yellat.”

  “How does he get information to send on? He doesn’t do anything but paint all day.”

  Groddenmitersay sighed his frustration. “Haven’t you noticed how many people come to see him?”

  “Well, yes, but he is interesting. A famous artist. Kind of royalty because of his wife. He wears different clothes too. He puts on a show, you might say. And he’s got those dragons. Lots of people come to see the dragons.”

  “Curiosity would explain some of the visits, but there is a steady stream of coming and going. Some of those people are relaying information gathered to inform the king of our doings.”

  Kulson looked so uncertain that the tumanhofer wanted to slap some sense into him.

  He held his temper. “Don’t try to figure it out. Just take my word for it.”

  The tumanhofer picked up the heavy papers off the bed and stacked them on the table. “It might be worth our while to capture one of these three pawns of King Yellat. Lady Peg, Verrin Schope, and Sir Beccaroon are high-class informants. We will force the code out of one of them.” Groddenmitersay waved a dismissing hand at the first speatus. “You can go now. I’ll continue to scrutinize this work, and quite probably I will uncover the key.”

  Kulson had already bolted for the door, but he stopped with his hand on the doorknob. “Do you want us to kidnap the lady?”

  “No, she’s too clever to give anything away. The artist is probably too noble.” He huffed in disgust. “One of those who would die with a secret rather than face the shame of a traitorous act.”

  The bisonbeck’s eyes grew large. “The bird?”

  “The bird will have to do.”

  “We can’t catch him and bring him here. It’s too risky.”

  “I know that, Kulson. Have your men search the countryside for a deserted barn or something.”

  “Yes sir.” He opened
the door but quickly closed it again as Groddenmitersay continued.

  “It can’t be too far from here as I’ll have to be able to get to it and back in a day.”

  “Yes sir.” He twisted the knob and pulled.

  “Shut that door. And don’t do anything until I give the order. I may be able to break the code on my own. I wouldn’t want to cause an unnecessary disturbance.”

  First Speatus Kulson nodded and waited, his hand twitching on the door’s handle.

  Groddenmitersay glared at his subordinate. “Dismissed.”

  The soldier fled. The chief commander had frequently met bisonbecks with more intelligence than this one. At least Kulson wasn’t as blustery as some.

  The tumanhofer sat in the only chair in the room and systematically inspected the wrapping that had protected the art. He saw nothing unusual. He returned to the pictures, and after an hour of speculation on the front side, he carefully put the pieces together upside down so that he could scrutinize the odd smudges and scratches across the back.

  In the end, he had to admit the code mystified him. He felt sure the grapes represented his forces, or rather the king’s infiltrating units.

  King Odidoddex would not appreciate Groddenmitersay’s personal claim to this venture, but the tumanhofer gave himself credit for the success they had encountered so far. He had masterminded the strategy. The king only provided men and a full purse.

  Groddenmitersay had been the one to enlist the aid of The Grawl. That stroke of genius no doubt accounted for the amount of secrecy they had been able to maintain. The Grawl worked silently.

  He put the pictures away and got out the maps of Chiril he used to plot the demise of the country. Pleasure warmed him as he went through a packet of reports from each of his first speatuses. Small forces surrounded the capital of Ragar, no more than six highly trained men in each unit. Four major trade routes had been disrupted. At his word, the king’s city would be completely cut off, under siege.

  An army encamped in the foothills, having crossed through dangerous territory undetected. If anything, the encounters with the wild beasts of the mountains had honed their fighting skills. The weak or ill-trained had died in the frays. That was as it should be.

  Next he marked each of the cities where spies maintained ordinary jobs, waiting for his command. It would be his command that brought victory. King Odidoddex would claim the honors, but the real power lay in Groddenmitersay’s hands. Those whose opinions he valued knew the truth.

  The tumanhofer enjoyed his position. And to be quite frank, sitting on a throne and currying favor among a court full of idiots did not suit his taste. Ordering strong, fierce, and barbaric men to do his will gave him great satisfaction. He had squelched rebellions for the king. Now he would conquer another country. And the monetary gains he made from his occupation richly rewarded his efforts. Yes, he was a happy man. He folded the maps and prepared for bed. Tomorrow would be a busy day.

  29

  Pulling It Off

  “Awk!” His startled cry reverberated against the wooden walls of his room at the inn.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, Bec.” Lady Peg patted his feathered back. “Did that hurt?”

  “A twinge,” said Sir Beccaroon, squinting and refusing to utter unkind words to Tipper’s mother.

  The glue they used to fasten his prosthesis showed its age by getting more and more difficult to dissolve. The ordeal of removing the artificial tail so that a skin treatment could be applied caused Beccaroon to fall into a foul mood. He preferred Lady Peg’s gentle cleansing of his stump over Verrin Schope’s quicker methods. But right now he wanted to talk to the wizard sculptor.

  “When did you say Verrin Schope would be with us?”

  Lady Peg wrung water out of a cloth and draped it over the stubborn glue. “In just a little bit. He’s shipping more paintings to Ragar. He’s been very productive of late. He told me this collection will pay for new drapes and rugs at Byrdschopen.”

  A knock on the door and a call from the other side indicated Verrin Schope had arrived. He entered the room with Hue and Grandur perched on his shoulders. They flew to Beccaroon, intent on aiding the glue removal procedure.

  The wizard took off his coat and rolled up his sleeves. “I sent a letter off to the Insect Emporium for the ingredients to make fresh adhesive.”

  Lady Peg looked up at her husband. “But you sent the letter last week.”

  “We should have heard from them by now. Perhaps my letter followed the route of my paintings.”

  “Now why would a letter do that?” She shook her head. “Many of the problems of our world would be solved if people, and in this case, things, retained an awareness of purpose. Acquiring a list of ingredients is the purpose of the letter. Acquiring funds for the upkeep of Byrdschopen is the purpose of Verrin Schope’s art.”

  Her husband lifted the soaking rag, his face a model of control. Beccaroon suspected her last remark had irked him. Verrin Schope and the dragons took over picking the pieces of glue off the parrot’s skin. Hue provided cheerful humming as they worked.

  “Peg, my lady love, my art has a broader purpose than just to provide us with money.”

  Her eyebrows rose, and she gave him an incredulous look. “Really?”

  He frowned at her, and she became flustered.

  “Well, of course.” She waved a hand above her head.

  Beccaroon wondered if she were trying to collect scattered thoughts with the fluttering gesture or disperse them even more.

  Her hands came to rest on her husband’s arm, and she looked into his face with sincere love. “I know you do things to please me, Verrin, but I hope you know you don’t have to. I am delighted with your paintings and little carvings. But if you only held my hand and walked with me, it would be enough.”

  He placed a gentle kiss on her lips. “You know what you have just said to me is exactly what I have said to Wulder.”

  Lady Peg startled out of the calm of contentment and frowned. “He gives you pictures and statues?”

  Verrin Schope nodded with his mouth twisted in a lopsided grin. “In a way. But all He wants from me is that I hold his hand and walk with him.”

  “That sounds very reasonable,” said Lady Peg, “as long as He loves you.”

  “His love is never-ending.”

  She picked up the cloth to dip in the warm water. “Oh, I’m so glad He’s not fickle. I just can’t stand it when a person starts down a road and then makes a lot of detours. It’s hard to keep track of a person who does that.”

  “I have a problem,” Bec announced. He didn’t want to hear about Wulder. The way Verrin Schope talked as if he could actually communicate with this Wulder made the parrot uncomfortable. Beccaroon had important matters to discuss.

  “Are you cold?” asked Lady Peg as she draped the soaking rag on his exposed rump. “We’ll pay attention now, Bec. I promise.”

  “No, I have something of importance to tell Verrin Schope. I’ve been waiting for him.”

  Lady Peg tugged on her husband’s shirt sleeve. When he looked at her, she jerked her head toward the grand parrot. He gave her a puzzled look, even though Beccaroon was sure he knew what she wanted. She jerked her head twice more with added vigor.

  Her husband pantomimed, “What?”

  “Oh goodness, Verrin Schope! Sir Beccaroon wants to tell you something. He’s waiting for you.”

  “Bec, are you waiting for me?”

  “Not anymore.”

  The wizard turned back to his wife. “He isn’t.”

  Her face transformed from impatient to confused. “Isn’t what?”

  “Waiting for me.”

  “Well, of course he isn’t. You’re here now, but he wants you to ask him to tell you, so ask him.”

  Verrin Schope removed the soaking cloth as he spoke. “Bec, do you have something to tell me?”

  Beccaroon had grown tired of the game and forestalled another round of confusing Lady Peg by answering directly.


  “Those bisonbeck buffoons have been trying to capture me.”

  Lady Peg gasped. “Oh dear, do you think they want to roast you?”

  The comment startled Beccaroon. It had never occurred to him that he might end up as their dinner.

  “No, no, Peg,” said her husband. “Remember all we’ve learned about these ruffians. They were sent by Odidoddex to disrupt communication and supplies and to eliminate people in authority so that when it comes to war, our citizens will be hampered by a lack of leadership.”

  “Oh yes.” Lady Peg looked devastated. “You did put an end to that, didn’t you, dear?”

  “We’ve been able to thwart most of their attempts in the last week or so.” He gave her shoulder a squeeze. “We know that First Speatus Kulson is in charge of two men. And we have learned that Groddenmitersay is the mastermind behind this invasion scheme. They are stealing my pictures—”

  Lady Peg scowled. “Now that is not nice.”

  “Correct, not nice at all. And they are trying to decipher the code within the pictures that informs the king of their movements.”

  Lady Peg grinned at him. “I do remember that part. There are no hidden messages, so Master Groddenmitersay is pulling his hair out trying to find something that is not there. But how are we going to buy new drapes and rugs if he steals all your work?”

  “I send the pictures I really want delivered with a special courier. I only send the pictures I want him to puzzle over by mail. And in those, I put various stray marks to confound the man.”

  Grandur chirruped, reminding the wizard and his wife that it was time to put on the soothing ointment.

  Sir Beccaroon talked as they worked. “At first I thought the three bisonbecks were just following me. But it has become more obvious, as they have become more desperate, that their goal is to entrap me in some way. On several occasions they have very nearly pulled it off.”

  Lady Peg paused. “Now that would be embarrassing.”

  Verrin Schope whispered, “Not Bec’s tail, my lady love. The bisonbecks nearly pulled off the kidnapping of our grand parrot friend.”