The Crimson Shard
Page 21
“It was,” said Blaise. “These two guys brought us here for safety. We learned how to get around from them.”
A waitress brought menus laminated in plastic. There was no pea soup, but there was roast chicken, which Sunni and Blaise ordered eagerly.
“What happened to them?” asked Mr. Forrest. “Do you know?”
“No.” Blaise stared at the table. “They’re dead now.”
“Only in our time.” Sunni moved close to him and made an empty space next to her on the bench. “In their time, they’re probably sitting at this table right now.”
“Sunni, they were on the run,” said Blaise. “They couldn’t come back here.”
The two fathers raised their eyebrows.
“They were thieves, but they helped us.” She patted the empty bench. “Maybe they sneaked back here for one more meal. Or maybe they came back after everyone gave up hunting for them.”
“That would be cool,” said Blaise.
“What were their names, these two guys who helped you?” asked Blaise’s dad.
“Fleet and Sleek. And we wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for them.”
Mr. Doran took a long breath in. “Let’s drink a toast to them.” He called over the waitress and ordered drinks for everyone. “Oh, and two half pints of ale, too, please.”
When the drinks came, Mr. Doran pushed the mugs of ale to the end of the table, where Sunni had made space. “Here’s to you, Fleet and Sleek. Didn’t know you and never will, but you helped save our kids, and, for that, we thank you.”
They all clinked glasses and laughed. The two mugs sat untouched all evening.
Later, as they got up to leave, the waitress asked, “Didn’t you want those ales, sir? Was there something wrong with them?”
“No,” said Mr. Doran. “They’re for absent friends.”
“Or for the ghosts of the Green Dragon?” said the waitress. “We do have some, you know.”
“I bet we know a couple of them,” said Sunni.
“Like the lady who sold me this.” Blaise tapped the side of his leather satchel as he followed the others out. “And let us sleep up in the Nook.”
“The Nook?” The waitress’s mouth hung open. “How do you know about that?”
Blaise grinned and raised one finger up to the brim of his imaginary three-cornered hat.
“Don’t throw that away, Dad.” Sunni folded her father’s crumpled newspaper into a neat rectangle and stuffed it into the outside pocket of her backpack. “Thanks. I want to find out what I’ve missed.”
“Not much, compared to what you’ve been through.” Mr. Forrest stretched out on the upper bunk bed.
Sunni wedged her bag against the wall of the bunk and curled up under the covers. The top of the newspaper was sticking out, and she was half tempted to read it now, but her eyes were swimming. As she drifted off, her eyelids fluttered open once more, and two words stood out: National Gallery.
It’s probably nothing, she thought. Then again, what if it’s not? She went back and forth like this for a few minutes before snatching the paper out of her pack and reading the article.
September 3
Real or Fake?
The National Gallery to investigate claims
A prominent art expert claims that one of the National Gallery’s most popular paintings, The Angel (commonly known as “The Flemish Angel”) by Marius van Hoost, is a forgery. The expert, Bertrand Rose, says he has evidence that the painting was not made in 1625 but in 1752.
The Whiting family, who gave The Angel to the National Gallery in 1996, deny his claim, stating that the painting was in their ownership from 1668 until it was donated. They admit that The Angel did disappear briefly when it was stolen from the Whiting home in 1752, but claim that it was returned there a few days later, albeit under unusual circumstances. An urchin boy allegedly handed it in, telling the housemaid he had rescued it from a fire.
Mr. Rose believes the boy gave the Whitings a forgery of The Angel, though the family disputes this.
“This is not the only case of a boy supposedly returning a stolen painting in September 1752,” he said. “It was reported that boys returned a number of other artworks that month. How many of them are also forgeries?”
Other experts have laughed off Mr. Rose’s theory. “Bertrand enjoys setting the cat among the pigeons,” said one art historian, who asked not to be named. “Next he’ll be claiming these mysterious boys made the forgeries themselves in some dingy attic hideaway.”
Mr. Rose thinks he will have the last word on the subject. “Examine the angel’s wings yourself. If you look carefully, you’ll find ‘William 1752’ painted into the feathers. There’s your forger’s name.”
Sunni stopped reading and let out a low cry.
“Sweetheart, what’s up?” Mr. Forrest’s voice came from the bunk above.
“Nothing, just something I read in the paper.” She threw a hoodie over her pajamas and slipped her sandals on. “I’ve got to tell Blaise something.”
Before her dad could object, she was out in the corridor, tapping on the Dorans’ cabin door and murmuring Blaise’s name until he stuck his head out.
“Read this.” She thrust the newspaper into his hand. “It’s about Will.”
Blaise frowned. “What? You mean Will from the Academy?”
“Yes. Some art expert says the Flemish angel in the National Gallery is a forgery. That means Toby saved the wrong painting from the fire.”
“But Will didn’t get to finish his copy of it,” Blaise said.
“Well, he hid his name and the year 1752 in the angel’s wings.”
“Will signed the copy before it was done?” he asked, unconvinced.
“Guess so.” Sunni blinked. “Yeah, why not?”
“It just seems weird. Unless . . .” Blaise said slowly, “Jeremiah put Will’s name there. To make sure a trace of him was left behind.”
Sunni stared out the window into the black countryside, her eyes stinging. The carriage swayed, and Blaise steadied her.
“He’ll stay with me,” Sunni whispered. “Just like the others.”
“Me, too.”
“Why us, Blaise?” she asked. “Why did we get pulled into all this?”
“Well.” He screwed his face up. “I seem to remember something about a weird bearded guy. And a map on a —”
“Paper napkin!” She poked him gently in the ribs. “That’s right, this is all your fault.”
“Okay, maybe it is. But at least there weren’t any sheeplike tourists where we went.”
Sunni smiled. “Or any china shepherdesses. Or Roman mosaics.”
“Exactly,” Blaise said. “If it wasn’t for me, we’d just have spent the day lounging in some park instead.”
“Oh, so you did me a favor then?”
Instead of responding, Blaise wrapped his arms around her.
“I think I did us both a favor!” he said.
“You know,” Sunni answered, hugging him back, “I think I might just agree with you.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Writing The Crimson Shard was an enjoyable and challenging creative journey. I had great help from friends and colleagues along the way. Painter, art conservator, and restorer Brian McLaughlin, who advised me on Renaissance painting techniques for The Blackhope Enigma, also helped in my research on trompe l’oeil and the history of paint pigments. Jo Logan recommended valuable resources on the history of art forgery. My thanks to them and to everyone else who shared their knowledge with me.
My editors, Anne Finnis and Emily Hawkins, were, as ever, a joy to work with. I am grateful to them and to everyone at Templar Publishing, as well as editor Kate Fletcher and the team at Candlewick Press, who published the U.S. edition. I also count myself extremely lucky to have Kathryn Ross as my agent. Her sound judgment and encouragement are deeply appreciated.
I am most thankful for the support of my family and friends, especially my husband, Pablo, who has cheerfully accompanied me
on this writing journey. I treasure their enthusiasm and their contribution to my work.
Look for Sunni and Blaise’s third adventure,
The Shadow Lantern, coming in July 2013!
TERESA FLAVIN is a former art-school lecturer, amateur radio DJ, and illustrator. The Crimson Shard was inspired by her fascination with art forgery, illusions in paintings, and the dark side of eighteenth-century London. She says, “I loved creating the mysterious candlelit world of thieves, body snatchers, and alchemists, where nothing is as it seems and danger lurks in every shadow.” She was born in New York and currently lives in Scotland.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or, if real, are used fictitiously.
Copyright © 2012 by Teresa Flavin
Cover illustration copyright © 2011 by Teresa Flavin
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in an information retrieval system in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, taping, and recording, without prior written permission from the publisher.
First U.S. electronic edition 2012
The Library of Congress has cataloged the hardcover edition as follows:
Flavin, Teresa.
The crimson shard / Teresa Flavin. — 1st U.S. ed.
p. cm.
Summary: During what seems like an ordinary museum visit, a tour guide lures Sunni and Blaise through a painted doorway — and they discover they’ve stepped into eighteenth-century London. When they realize their “tour guide” will do anything to get more information about what Sunni and Blaise know about magical paintings, they attempt to flee and encounter body snatchers, art thieves, and forgers.
ISBN 978-0-7636-6093-2 (hardcover)
[1. Painting — Fiction. 2. Space and time — Fiction. 3. Adventure and adventurers — Fiction. 4. Magic — Fiction. 5. Great Britain — History — 18th century — Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.F59861Cri 2012
[Fic]—dc23 2011048343
ISBN 978-0-7636-6208-0 (electronic)
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