“Verrin Schope understands, and he’s an artist.”
“Verrin Schope understands quantum shifting particle duality. I don’t even understand quantum shifting particle duality. Verrin Schope is something beyond an artist. I think he has imprints from the Creator’s thumb on his brain.”
Verrin Schope opened his eyes and straightened on the bench where he rested. He shook his head slightly and interrupted his learned colleagues. “Impossible!”
“What’s impossible?” asked Bealomondore.
“The thumbprint business. Wulder doesn’t need to touch someone to instill gifts.”
The front door opened and banged against the wall. “Ho! Ho!” exclaimed Garamond Hunt. “Are you ready? I’ve got a carriage to take you out to the field where your dragons await.” He stomped across the room and bussed his wife on the cheek. “Two carriages because Gienella wants to see the dragons up close.” He turned to his houseguests. “I must warn you, the entire village is gawking at the beasts.”
The prince shifted, and surprisingly, Garamond picked up the cue.
Their host shook his head as if to rid his ears of water. “Not beasts, I suppose. I’ll have to get used to all you’ve told me. Is creatures all right?”
Prince Jayrus smiled. “Creatures made by the Creator is quite acceptable.”
Librettowit and Prince Jayrus maneuvered the statue into a hollow while Bealomondore and Tipper helped Verrin Schope to the first carriage.
“Why are you so weak, Papa?”
He leaned to one side and kissed her forehead. “Shifting particles.” When they had him settled, he winked at her. “You are sitting in the front seat of the dragon saddle on this leg of our journey.”
She caught her breath.
“Yes, you,” he said, even though she hadn’t spoken her thought. “If I dissipate, circle the dragon in the vicinity until I reappear. I doubt that I could follow my focal point any great distance.”
This time she couldn’t speak past the lump in her throat. Only one more statue to go, and her father would be safe, but would they acquire the last one in time?
Master Hunt had been accurate in stating that the whole village had turned out. He probably could have added “and the surrounding area.” Tipper had never seen so many country folk congregated in one place. The crowd was larger than market day at Soebin, but they were orderly and only gaped at the four magnificent dragons in the large pasture. A fence surrounded several acres, and the people stayed on the outside.
As the questing party saddled the dragons and prepared to take off, Jayrus became agitated. He muttered, and Tipper thought she heard him scold Caesannede.
“What is it?” Tipper asked the prince.
“They went out and had themselves a fine meal during the night. They should have told me they were hungry.” He marched away to where Garamond Hunt still sat astride his mare.
Tipper followed, wondering what could ruffle the unflappable prince.
He stopped suddenly and Tipper almost ran up on his heels. She sidestepped and stood beside him, just a few feet from the master of the manor.
Prince Jayrus gave no preamble to his concern. “Master Hunt, my dragons are accustomed to hunting in the mountains. Imagine their surprise when they found their meal conveniently surrounded by a fence. I fear I owe someone the price of one pen full of mutton.”
“Ho! Ho!” The landowner retained his jovial attitude. “I wondered if your dragons nibbled something besides grass. Do you know whose flock they devoured?”
“They foraged to the north, but dragons are not very accurate when you try to pin them down to distance or passage of time. I would guess within twenty to thirty miles.”
“I’ll make inquiries. I assume you want to offer restitution?”
Prince Jayrus pulled his pouch of coins from his pocket and poured out the contents in the palm of his hand, which he held up to the man on horseback. “Take what you think is fair. If you need more, I’ll ask Fenworth for additional funds.”
Garamond picked out four large gold coins. “That should be adequate. And should I discover that our long-necked friends ate a bull or two on the way back, I’ll cover the cost.”
Jayrus poured the money back in its cloth purse. “They would have told me if they had. They do not deceive me.”
“Do they not deceive anyone, or is it just you they do not deceive?”
Prince Jayrus flashed him a winsome smile. “Me, and it is because they can’t, not because they always choose veracity.”
A rumble of laughter escaped their host. “And why is that?”
With nonchalance, Jayrus shrugged. “Because I am the dragon keeper.”
“Never heard of a dragon keeper, young prince, but since you have the only dragons I’ve ever seen, I’ll grant you the title if you so desire.”
A puzzled look passed over the prince’s face, but he must have dismissed the problem readily. “I appreciate your assistance in finding the owner of the sheep and paying our debt.”
Garamond bounced the coins in his hand and gave Jayrus a speculative look. “Would you know if I pocketed the coins and never looked for this farmer?”
“Yes sir, I would. But I know that you would never do that, just as I know Runan did not run down the poachers because they work for him.”
Garamond barked a laugh. “Runan? The man doesn’t have the energy to oversee theft and mayhem.”
“In time, I think you will find your assessment of his character to be in error.” The prince reached up his hand to shake Garamond’s. “Thank you again for your hospitality. Perhaps we will meet again.”
Garamond shook his hand vigorously, said his good-byes in a boisterous voice, bade his neighbors to do the same, and beckoned to his wife to come back from petting the mighty creatures.
“I don’t want them mistaking you for a fair maiden and hauling you off.”
She came toward them, holding up her skirts to keep them from tangling in the long grass. “Garamond, only you would think I still qualify as fair and maiden. And I think you do these fine dragons a disservice by accusing them of such treachery.”
“I agree with your husband.” Prince Jayrus took her hand and raised it to his lips. “Any dragon worth the name of villainous beast would snatch you away, take you to his cave where he hoards his treasure, and adore you for your beauty.”
Gienella’s mouth dropped open in momentary shock, then a ripple of merry giggles broke the silence. “You are a flatterer of the worst kind. I almost believed you.”
He said nothing, just smiled. Tipper wanted him to turn her way. The profile of his expression warmed her heart. Strangely she did not begrudge Gienella the pleasure of his attention. From the depth of her being, Tipper knew that the more Jayrus encouraged those around him, the deeper his well of kindness became.
Three weeks of travel took them farther north than Beccaroon had ever been. The grand parrot gained maneuverability every day and lengthened the amount of time he could fly. However, he realized he would never be able to fly the speed of the dragons for long hours. He also knew they slowed a bit to allow him to keep pace.
From the air, they saw disturbing signs of the land rippling or, worse, segments that looked like they had been bitten out of the earth and spit back out. One section of a forest had sunk so that the tree-tops barely reached the level of the forest floor surrounding the patch. Beccaroon spotted an odd blemish in the landscape, and upon inspection, he discovered from those who lived in the region that a lake had disappeared overnight. Reaching the city of Ohidae quickly and finding the last statue became more important with each passing hour.
To speed their way, Beccaroon swallowed his pride and often rode on Caesannede’s back. His pride also smarted when, every three nights, they soaked and softened the glue so that his tail could be removed. Many times now he had had to endure the indignity, but the blasé attitude of his companions made the ordeal tolerable. And he had to admit that on the third day his skin began to itch
and the fresh air felt very good.
They camped mostly, since encountering people required explanations. The dragons, both big and small, attracted attention. Evenings around a campfire at a remote location eased that situation, and Beccaroon loved the music the others performed after the evening meal. Bealomondore sketched. Verrin Schope whittled twigs into objects of art, but the effort seemed to tire him. He put away the small knife and spent more time with a piece of casting clay in his talented hands. Every night, a different miniature creation formed in his fingers. Fen-worth tucked them away in a hollow to be used later for making miniature pewter figurines.
Under the tutelage of Hue and Librettowit, Tipper’s voice gained strength. Her talent flourished, and Beccaroon marveled that her performance elicited a great range of emotions from her listeners. He began to suspect that her songs did much more than entertain. With Hue’s guidance, she seemed to be able to inspire her audience or reveal depths of feeling in the hearts of her listeners. The bird acknowledged that after she sang, he felt more aware of specifics in his own personality—the lofty characteristics of courage, loyalty, and self-sacrifice. The revelations were both humbling and embarrassing.
Tipper asked Beccaroon to tell some of the stories of the Indigo Forest. This developed into a story swap with the librarian. Librettowit would tell a tale, and the others would have to guess whether it was an account from Amaran history or a fiction piece.
Beccaroon soon caught on that if the story related to something done by Wulder or Paladin, the tale was true—that is, according to the three who had been to Amara. Some of Librettowit’s reports seemed farfetched, particularly the descriptions of how Wulder chose an individual and imparted talents.
One gift encompassed discernment, truth telling, exhortation, and encouragement. Beccaroon noticed that Prince Jayrus perked up and listened intently to the tale recounting the development of their Paladin, the champion of the people, the emissary of Wulder. Beccaroon expected someone like the young prince, who had been isolated most of his life, to be gullible and ready to believe these fantasies. Librettowit and Fenworth, however, were well educated, yet they believed the Amaran explanations of an absolute power enjoying the fellowship of lesser beings. The details disturbed Beccaroon, but he began to savor the stories as much as he did the music.
Finally they could see Ohidae in the distance. They landed with the intention of setting up camp one last time. Beccaroon flew to the ground and strutted over to have a word with Tipper. She’d become quite an accomplished rider in the past weeks and no longer complained of being sore at the end of the day.
Beccaroon waited as the beautiful dragon with the odd name of Gus folded her wings and legs to the dismounting position. Tipper threw her leg over the saddle horn and slid down the creature’s shoulder to the ground. She immediately smoothed the feathers on the back of Beccaroon’s neck, and although he enjoyed the touch, he reminded her with a loud tsk not to get too familiar.
She laughed and ignored his sense of propriety. She leaned over to kiss the top of his head. Would she never behave with the decorum he had worked so hard to instill in her?
“Propriety!” he reminded her.
She made a face that was not as contrite as it was mischievous, although he knew she meant to show repentance.
Behind them, Verrin Schope descended from the back of the dragon. Beccaroon heard a snap as his friend slid down in the same manner as all the riders. Bec turned to see that Verrin Schope had slammed into the ground, and one of his legs lay crumpled, twisted at an odd angle.
“Papa!” Tipper rushed to his side.
The minor dragons flocked to the fallen man, and Prince Jayrus appeared beside them, kneeling.
“Papa! Your leg is broken.”
“Hush now, my dear.” Verrin Schope’s smile barely lifted the corner of his mouth. “It’s only those shifting particles again.”
39
Ohidae Grand Hotel
Tipper paced back and forth in the sitting room of their hotel suite. Wizard Fenworth, Grandur, and Zabeth attended to her father. The dragons had relieved the pain of his injury, but the prince reported that each time he and Fenworth maneuvered the broken pieces of the bone into place, the bone refused to bind. Librettowit, the prince, and Bealomondore kept her company as they waited for something to change.
“This should be an easy procedure,” Jayrus told her.
She threw her hands into the air. “Then why isn’t it?”
“Fenworth says there are a lot of factors at play here.”
“What does Papa say?”
“He doesn’t say anything, my girl,” said Beccaroon. “The dragons have him sedated so that he doesn’t feel the pain involved in maneuvering the bones.”
“Is it shattered?”
Librettowit stepped into her path and placed a hand on her arm, bringing her to a stop. “You know that would be a much more serious injury. You’re a smart young lady, so I won’t try to soften any of the details. Your father’s thigh has a clean break in two places. The lower leg is fractured in three. But the bone is not crushed.”
He directed her to a chair, and once she sat down, he put an arm around her shoulders. “Fenworth is a skilled physician. It’s part of a wizard’s job. He’s doing his best, and we’re fortunate to have a good supply of medicinal bugs.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Tipper saw Prince Jayrus shudder. His expression grew serious. “We must not delay in finding the statue.”
Tipper glanced around the room at her companions. “I thought we knew exactly who has the third statue.”
Bealomondore looked directly into her eyes. “It’s been more than a year since I saw the masterpiece in Mushand’s collection. He could have sold it.”
The seriousness in his tone and expression panicked Tipper. “How are you going to find out? Are you going there?”
Bealomondore’s eyes shifted to Beccaroon and back. Librettowit stood and moved toward the door. Jayrus came and stood behind her, placing his hand on her shoulder.
The younger tumanhofer straightened the sleeve of his jacket by giving the cuff a tug. “Mushand’s a very rich and influential man. One doesn’t just go up to his house and knock on the door.” He fidgeted with the lace that edged his shirt at the neck. “I’m going to visit the family who introduced me to Mushand the last time I was in Ohidae. They’ll know whether or not he still has Evening Yearns. If he does, they may be able to get us an appointment.”
Bealomondore took his hat from a side table next to the door. “We’ll go now, Mistress Tipper. We’ll come back with good news.”
He smiled as he put on his hat, but Tipper knew the tumanhofer now, and his expression did not inspire confidence. She nodded and tried to look calm but feared her face froze in a stiff, noncommittal expression. Librettowit, Beccaroon, and Bealomondore each bowed to her as they left the room.
“How odd,” she said as the door closed.
Prince Jayrus sat in the chair next to her. “What’s odd, Tipper?”
“The way they left.” She shifted in her seat to face him. “Sometimes dignitaries come to visit my mother. She gets very royal during their stay. Fortunately, they usually leave after a day or two.”
Jayrus tilted his head and watched her, not saying anything but not looking puzzled by this bit of family history that was apparently not connected to anything.
Tipper sighed. “When these men and ladies from Ragar’s royal court take leave of my mother, they always bow like our three friends just did.”
“Perhaps this action was due to my eminence.”
Tipper took in his sincere expression and began to laugh. She tried to talk between giggles but had to wait. Each time she thought she had command of her voice, his puzzled brow set her off again.
“First,” she managed to say, “they were taking leave of me, not you.”
“I was there.”
“Yes, but they were looking at me, and they just nodded to you.”
Wor
ds didn’t come to his lips, but his demeanor shouted, “That can’t be right!”
Tipper just shook her head. The prince she admired so very much sometimes acted like he had no clue about the normal world. Perhaps it was a sovereignty thing. Her mother had lost the ability to perceive her surroundings and respond accordingly. She hoped the prince’s faculties would not deteriorate in the same manner.
Jayrus touched her arm. “Tipper, have you gone ruminating?”
Her attention snapped back to his face. “And where do you get those words?”
His eyes focused on her, but his befuddlement deepened. “Words? Which words?”
“Ruminating, eminence, a-dither, expounding…you’re always using words as if you were part of a book, talking in terms used in Papa’s stuffy textbooks.”
His eyebrows shot up, but the unruffled calm she expected of him remained. “But, Tipper, books are what I conversed with all the time I lived with Prince Surrus. Of course Surrus talked to me, but he spoke in a similar manner. The only other source I could have emulated is the dragons, and their words are more often pictures. It would be hard to speak aloud the language of their minds.”
He stood up. “It is time to attempt an adjustment of your father’s leg. Do you wish to help us?”
Tipper nodded and followed the strange young man who flustered her, made her laugh, and confused her.
Beccaroon liked the home of Bealomondore’s friends. The large windows almost eliminated the walls that held them and, in some cases, even extended into the roof. Some of the first floor rooms jutted out from the main house. These solariums gathered light from the outside and exposed those inside to the magnificence of crowded trees and bushes growing close together right up to the house.
In the conservatory where he and the two tumanhofers waited for the host and hostess, plants grew in pots. This foliage reminded him of his beloved Indigo, even though the vegetation outside had no resemblance to the tropical plants of his home.
Master and Madam Markezzee entered with servants bearing trays of refreshment. Bealomondore introduced Librettowit and Beccaroon.
The Vanishing Sculptor Page 27