Chapter 5 #3
“Exactly! I bring my loom outdoors on occasion, though. When the museum is crowded and there’s plenty for me to overhear.”
Almost involuntarily, Florrie imagined Vern reclining in an early 300s weaver’s chair amid his moonbeams and meadow flowers, listening quietly and curiously as sounds surrounded him…
“Aren’t you afraid someone might see you?” she asked, intent upon interrupting her thoughts before they grew too fanciful.
“Like I said, nobody sees me if I don’t want them to.”
“But you wanted me to see you?”
Vern answered her question with his twenty-fourth grin of the conversation, which was, perhaps, the most visually remarkable of the lot.
“I’m grateful,” she said, softly. “Is there anything else you’d like to show me?”
“There are the ruins.” Vern gestured at the forbidding structures in the distance. “But those are not quite looking their best, so perhaps we should leave them for another time.”
“I can never apologise enough,” Florrie murmured.
“On that subject, however, I forgot to mention the most important development. The pri— my husband approves of my plan to find the other painting and learn how to fix what I’ve done to yours.
I intend to leave for Lord Mauve’s museum tomorrow, all being well. ”
“Truly? Then I oughtn’t waste more of your time!” He looked up and smiled. That made twenty-five. “But first, Florrie, I must ask… Well, I don’t want to intrude, but I can’t pass up… Would you take me with you? Please?”
“You mean take the painting? Out of the palace?”
Florrie wove a stray ribbon around the lenses as she considered his request. One might interpret it as utterly unthinkable, considering it essentially involved committing art theft.
“I know it’s inconvenient for me to join you, because of my circumstances,” said Vern.
“But I would be ever so grateful. You see, I once heard a courtly ballad – ‘Lo! To the Portrait I Go!’ was the title – about a fellow who fell into an enchanted painting. In the end, he escaped by calling to the Fairy depicted in the portrait and obtaining their blessing to depart. Consequently, I thought, you know, Lord Mauve and I…?”
“Is there really a courtly ballad about someone trapped in a painting?”
“Oh, there’s a ballad about practically every topic you can imagine!”
Florrie would not count the expression that followed as the twenty-sixth smile; even she could tell it wasn’t fully convincing.
“I don’t actually believe it,” he admitted. “But I do wonder if someone at Lord Mauve’s museum could help me.”
“And if they can help you,” Florrie said, “what will you do? Live among the Fairies, I presume? Did you meet any of them while you were – er…”
“While I was being painted, you mean?” Vern shook his head.
“By the time I worked up the nerve – and by the time I learned how to move and speak, which did take awfully long – I was already packed up. I’m not sure what I’ll do if I escape, or where I’ll live.
Quite frankly, this museum feels more like home than Lord Mauve’s galleries.
So, yes. I admit I haven’t a proper plan. ”
Florrie shuddered at the very thought of planlessness. “You must truly yearn to leave your painting.”
“That’s only to be expected, don’t you think?
” Vern retrieved his spindle, which he had stowed during their tour, and set it back in motion.
“That ballad I mentioned is all about the protagonist’s longing to escape the portrait.
To live again, he says. When I first heard it sung, I took that refrain as a guide.
I assumed I, too, should want to live again.
At the very least, I suppose I’d like to know if it’s possible. ”
His plea was heartfelt, but Florrie couldn’t let it sway her.
Her decision needed to be based on the facts of the situation, not the peculiar way she felt upon hearing that hopeful little catch in his voice.
Bringing along the forged painting would keep it out of Prince Ardant’s sight, and it might prove useful if she hoped to confront Lord Mauve about the forgery.
Those were the only matters worth considering.
“I must determine how to transport the painting safely,” Florrie heard herself saying.
“Oh, Florrie, thank you!” Vern exclaimed.
Now that smile, perhaps, ought to be counted in an entirely different category.
“It’s not entirely for your benefit,” she said. “It might be helpful to bring a traveling companion who has visited Lord Mauve’s museum.”
“A traveling companion,” Vern repeated with reverence. “Now that sounds like something from a ballad, doesn’t it? It would be an honour to join you.”
“Don’t consider it an honour until you see whatever questionable contraption I use to carry your canvas.”
Florrie paged through a mental catalogue of transportation options.
She didn’t have the time to construct a proper water-guard, as it would take far too long to build a hermetic box, encase it in four more such boxes and sink the entire thing in a portable aquarium filled with thrice-distilled water…
“Florrie?” said Vern. “I say, are you all right?”
Florrie forced herself to close the hermetic box of her mind and nod at Vern.
“I must begin my preparations,” she said. “But I truly enjoyed the tour of your painting. I meant to ask, though: why didn’t you show me the forest?”
“I thought you might wonder. You’re so observant.
I’m able to stand beside that first row of trees, but if I try to take a step further, it’s like I’m crashing into a wall.
” He leaned towards the forest with a wistful slouch.
“I’ve always wondered what it would be like to walk somewhere.
Somewhere far. To stride past the edge of the meadow and keep going until I find myself in a place that’s entirely new. ”
Florrie was not unfamiliar with a sense of confinement.
As a child, she had yearned to see the world yet always fussed and felt miserable when family journeys forced new routines upon her.
She might travel about the city more frequently in her capacity as a conservator, but Florrie considered herself almost incapable of visiting new places purely for the joy of it.
Vern, on the other hand, was quite literally confined in the spatial equivalent of a particularly generous cottage garden.
“You’ll see new places aplenty on our journey, I hope,” she murmured.
“Don’t I know it!” Vern exclaimed. “Good night, and thank you for everything, Florrie. I’m ever so glad to have met you.”
Despite it all – despite the frantic way in which she choked down half a roll instead of a proper stew, despite the trepidation she battled while assessing options for packing the painting, and despite the feeling of criminality she experienced when the prince bid her goodnight, blissfully ignorant of her plans – Florrie was also glad she’d met Vern.
Perhaps the Fairy lord would find it a mere trifle to let Vern come and go from the painting as he pleased.
Perhaps she might make the return journey with Vern at her side as a true traveling companion!
It was a strange thought – and, admittedly, a rather pleasant one. How unfortunate, then, that the demands of Florrie’s travel preparations left her no time to ponder anything pleasant.