Dragons of the Valley (23 page)

Kulson shook his head and used his spoon to gesture as he made his point. “The king doesn’t know about us. We’ve been very stealthy in our work. My men do a good job. And now that The Grawl isn’t around to stir up curiosity, we don’t attract much notice.”

The commander surveyed the room. Every so often one of the villagers stole a glance at the bisonbeck sitting among the collection of high races. They wouldn’t ban him from eating there, but they didn’t trust him.

Groddenmitersay sent The Grawl “away” because the beast would be more efficient without Kulson and his men. But The Grawl was also unpredictable. He only stayed on a job as long as it satisfied him. Having Kulson reporting on his performance had been necessary as long as the commander had stayed in Baardack.

“During the time I’ve been here,” said Groddenmitersay, “I’ve become suspicious of these three
innocent
people. I want you to rob the next transport to Ragar and steal the drawings. You will, of course, take other things of value so no one will suspect that it is Schope’s pictures we are after.”

“They’ll know it’s us. We can’t disguise the fact that we’re bisonbecks, and we’re the only bisonbecks in the area.”

Groddenmitersay almost smiled. The speatus had actually thought of a reasonable problem that might arise. But he had not come across a solution. Given the time to think about it, he would undoubtedly work out a way around the dilemma.

The commander decided not to wait. “First, don’t do it right outside of town. Second, don’t leave any witnesses.”

Kulson nodded and continued with his meal. Groddenmitersay lifted his tankard as a server went by. He needed a drink.

The pretty day would lure the lady from the inn. Odidoddex’s chief of tactics sat on a bench in front of the barbershop. He clutched a newspaper but didn’t read. The front of the inn held his interest. He waited for Lady Peg.

She often walked, sometimes with her husband and sometimes with the parrot. And sometimes alone.

Groddenmitersay hoped today she would happen to be alone. He wanted to talk to her. Typically it was the female in a group who could be easily confused and maneuvered. A little conversation, and he would have information concerning the real purpose of the threesome’s long stay in this obscure village.

He watched the open door at the inn. A flash of color signaled that the lady in question stood in the doorway. He recognized a dress he’d seen before. She had turned, possibly to speak to someone.

“Come on, Lady Peg,” whispered Groddenmitersay. “Take a stroll, but leave the others behind.”

In another moment, she stepped into the sunshine. The tumanhofer held his breath. Lady Peg pulled on her gloves and adjusted her hat, then proceeded down the street toward the village garden.

Groddenmitersay left his bench and took a path that would intersect Lady Peg’s. He pulled a dainty lace-edged handkerchief from his pocket. Allowing her to get a bit ahead of him, he then scurried to catch up.

“Madam?” he called. “Madam?”

Lady Peg stopped and turned, giving him a quizzical look.

He held out the handkerchief. “Did you drop this yesterday, Madam?”

She took it to examine. “What a fine piece of workmanship! My cousin does exquisite needlework like this.” She thrust the handkerchief into Groddenmitersay’s hand, turned, and walked away.

“But, Madam—”

Lady Peg faced him and raised one eyebrow.

“Forgive me,” said the tumanhofer. “I should introduce myself. I am Doremattris Groddenmitersay from Baardack.”

She nodded but did not give her name.

“I know I presume, but are you not the wife of the fascinating artist Verrin Schope?”

“Yes, I am, but I don’t know that I would call my husband fascinating. His art is fascinating, but he is more intriguing. The difference being that fascinating people fascinate one and intriguing people are more likely to intrigue. I daresay I find blooms fascinating because out of that tiny bud of color so many individual petals unfold. You know it is going to happen because it always does, but it is fascinating to watch all the same. However, my husband is intriguing because very often you don’t know what he is going to do next and you definitely don’t know why, even after he has done it and explained why.”

Groddenmitersay blinked as he tried to make sense of what she said. He had to engage her in conversation. A little flattery perhaps?

“Quite so, Lady Schope, quite so. How astute of you to define the ever-so-slight distinction between the two terms.” He held out the handkerchief once more. “May I return this to you? Since it is evidently your cousin’s work, I’m sure you don’t want to have mislaid it.”

“Oh, but I don’t own any of my cousin’s needlework. Whenever she sends me a piece, I straightaway give it to the mayor’s wife. She works with the poor, you know.”

Lady Peg turned to leave.

He determined not to let her get away. She obviously sought to confuse him, but he would bring her to the point of disclosing pertinent information.

Groddenmitersay hurried to catch up to her longer stride. “May I walk with you? I am interested in words, and you have an astonishing command of language.”

She raised her chin. “Normally a formal introduction would be called for, but I am merely going to walk through the village garden three-point-six times, and that is a very public place.”

Groddenmitersay bit his lower lip. Was this a code? Perhaps she thought he was one of the king’s men. “Three-point-six?”

“Yes, my intriguing husband informed me the other day that we did not actually complete the fourth turn and had only managed three-point-six rotations. This is because we left at a different gate and visited the pastry shop. He’s mathematical as well as intriguing.”

“Yes, I see. I’ve heard that you are King Yellat’s daughter. May I ask why the villagers refer to you as Lady Peg instead of Princess Peg?”

“You may.”

Groddenmitersay waited. She was toying with him, laughing as she played these word games.

He cleared his throat. “Lady Peg, why are you addressed thusly instead of with your title, Princess Peg?”

“Well, one reason would be that my mother and father don’t approve of me and so I am not Princess to them. My sister is also out of favor because she always said our parents were unreasonable in expecting me to conform.”

The tumanhofer congratulated himself. He had directed the conversation toward his goal.

“So you are unconventional?”

“Yes.” With a contented smile on her face, she bobbed her head.

“Perhaps you like danger and intrigue?”

“Oh, intrigue most definitely. Remember my husband. I do like him a lot. But danger I prefer to leave in my daughter’s hands. She’s more suited to it, though Wizard Fenworth says she’s excitable.”

Groddenmitersay resisted rubbing his hands together in glee. Aha! A wizard. An interesting component complicating the scheme.

He needed to worm out a few more details. “So your daughter is involved in your escapades? How proud you must be of her.”

Lady Peg tilted her head and gave him a sideways glance. “Are you thinking of accolades, promenades, or balustrades? Because escapades are not exactly proper, and the royal family does not indulge in things that are not strictly correct. Even those in the family who have been cast out of the family but then returned. Accolades are common among royal circles. And I do enjoy a brisk promenade. And there are balustrades galore in the Amber Palace. But escapades are few and far between. I suppose you could say that escapades are questly by nature, and I do know family members who have participated in quests.”

The tumanhofer panted as they went through the gate to the square village garden. He had to walk quickly to keep up with her longer stride, and spewing all those words while practically racing down the street added to his breathless state. He’d barely made sense of what she’d said.

In truth, much of it hadn’t made sense. She was onto his game, most certainly. And the clever woman hoped to disarm him with chatter. Fortunately she slowed her pace once on the garden path.

The tumanhofer waited until his words would not be interspersed with gasps for air and then endeavored to restart the conversation with a new goal. “I imagine your house is a museum of fine art. I’ve noticed that your husband ships his paintings away. Do they go to your home to be hung?”

“Oh goodness, no! Who would want to live in a museum? I don’t even go into Verrin Schope’s library. That many books wanting you to take them down and read is discouraging. Even if you read one a day,
it would take too long to read them all. Rather than disappoint those I wouldn’t get to, I don’t read any of them. That way none could feel slighted.”

“You believe the books have feelings?”

“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.

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.”