Chapter 10
While Florrie didn’t know what reception to expect at Lord Mauve’s museum, she had certainly imagined something more formal than the reluctant welcome of a sunbathing gallery guard.
The museum itself was so thoroughly camouflaged within the canyon walls that Florrie nearly walked right past. The canyon contained countless rock formations that rose like twisted spires into the twilight sky.
When she had started climbing down, Florrie had mistaken every craggy pinnacle for a hand-carved column.
By the time her descent was complete, she’d grown so accustomed to their serpentine shapes that the actual columns of Lord Mauve’s home were nearly impossible to distinguish.
Only nearly, though. The rocks were rough and snaggy, but there was a subtle regularity to their shapes.
In comparison, the columns were aggressively asymmetrical, as though the carver had tried too diligently to make something look wild and organic.
Beneath the columns Florrie discovered a delicate pointed arch that drew her from the main trail.
Once she had crouched through the arch, she found herself facing a precarious stone-and-twine bridge spanning a smaller branch of the canyon – and an exceptionally lovely stranger reclining nearby on a glass-cast lounging chair.
After the day she’d endured, Florrie suspected she must look a proper mess next to her peculiar host. The Fairy wore a delightfully short dress made from nothing more than forest moss, accented on the hem with a ruffle of interwoven white mushrooms. Strange, reflective spectacles overlaid the Fairy’s eyes with the colours of the canyon around them.
With a sigh, the stranger dropped her notebook – in which she had been scribbling most furiously – and gave Florrie a half-hearted wave.
“Have you an invitation?” called the Fairy.
Florrie fumbled through the various compartments of the hamper. At last, she produced the crystal from Prince Ardant.
The stranger sniffed. “Is this some sort of sculptural riddle? I’ve seen better.”
“It is a token indicating Lord Mauve’s favour,” Florrie replied. “I would like to arrange an audience with him.”
“Arrange an audience?” echoed the Fairy, suddenly peering closer at the wingless area above Florrie’s shoulders.
“Ah, I see. You’re Folk, which is why you speak like someone from ten centuries ago.
Is that right? Folk time befuddles me. Anyway, you should know that the oh-so estimable Lord Mauve wants everyone in his museum to be extremely informal these days.
Including me, if you can believe it. That’s why I’m staffing the bridge while dressed like the guest of honour at a breakfast picnic. ”
The Fairy inclined her head as though she wanted to bow but thought better of it.
Her strawberry-blonde hair, fastened back in a practical plait and streaked with touches of ruby dye, reminded Florrie of Vern’s.
She knew the metallic tones of Fairy tresses encompassed a vast range of colours, so it seemed a marvellous coincidence to recognise the same shade on this stranger.
“Lady Aestival Violet, Knight of Gallery Protective Services – curses, I suppose you ought to just call me Aesti – at your service. Curses again! Too formal. Pretend I said ‘Here to help’, will you? Except I imagine you won’t find me particularly helpful.
Our dear Lord Mauve hasn’t accepted those tokens in years.
He’s not wasting time with that ‘protective lie’ nonsense, either, so don’t waste yours.
Terrible shame, really. There’s nothing more tantalising than a well-crafted lie. ”
Florrie sighed. She hadn’t wanted to involve Vern in these initial negotiations, considering his nervousness, but it seemed she had no choice.
Florrie was about to open the bag and reveal the painting – to explain her urgent need to meet with Lord Mauve – when the butterfly landed atop the Fairy guard’s spectacles.
“Oh, it’s you,” said Lady Aestival – Aesti – with a startling grin. She lowered her spectacles to shake off the butterfly, revealing deep-grey eyes that, again, rather resembled Vern’s. “It’s been a while. Are you traveling with her? How droll!”
“Are you acquainted with this butterfly?” Florrie asked.
Aesti held out her hand and the butterfly landed atop her golden fingernails. When Florrie looked closer, she realised Aesti’s nail varnish was decorated with scores of miniature words penned in careful Fairy calligraphy.
“I once knew him well enough. But not as well as Lord Mauve did.” This was the third time Aesti had uttered the Vibrant Lord’s name in a pointed, teasing tone, as though she intended to use his formal title just to spite him.
“Go on, then, old friend,” Aesti said, running her fingers down the butterfly’s tufts.
“And take your peculiar Folk companion with you, if you must.” She pulled a bundle of diaphanous fabric from her pocket and tossed it into the air.
As it flew, the fabric caught on the breeze and unfolded into a balloon-like cloth swallow, with three pairs of gossamer wings and an embroidered red beak.
Florrie was astonished. She wouldn’t have guessed Aesti’s dress had space for pockets.
“I’ve announced your arrival,” Aesti continued. “I recommend letting Heliotrope here make the introductions once you’re inside.”
“Who?”
The butterfly launched itself from Aesti’s hand and returned to Florrie’s shoulder.
“I also recommend learning the name of your fellow traveller,” Aesti murmured to Florrie. “Folk manners are most peculiar.”
Aesti shifted her chair slightly to the left, giving Florrie access to the bridge.
Though the precipice beneath it was deeper and more dizzying than she had anticipated, Florrie did her best to stride across without allowing the knight to see her waver.
It was a waste of effort – when she glanced back, Lady Aestival was already lounging in the sunlight again, her eyes darting across the grids and scribbles in her notebook as she chewed the end of her quill.
“Can you truly speak, or was she simply teasing me?” Florrie asked the butterfly. “Sometimes it’s rather difficult for me to tell. And is your name really Heliotrope?”
The butterfly merely flapped its wings and dived ahead of her.
Opening the portfolio-bag seemed ill-advised on the precarious bridge, but Florrie still hoped Vern could glimpse the surrounding cliffs.
The wind rushed through the crevasses and caves, producing booming, haunting tones that mixed pleasantly with the chattering of canyon birds.
As one swooped before her, Florrie could swear she saw what looked like painted flowers brushed on its plumage.
The presence of Aesti’s swallow-balloon soaring above them opened all manner of doors – including those that guarded the canyon palace.
As the gates creaked apart, Florrie paused to examine the inset reliefs that stretched skyward.
As best as she could tell, the metalwork depicted a vast sea, creating the illusion of a weird, watery oasis amid the canyon.
On a nearby panel, the hues of a wave curled and crested until they transformed into a four-masted ship, which itself blended with the fossilised bones of some great sea leviathan.
Because the figures were completed in high relief, they almost looked like sculptures pasted to a wall.
Heliotrope, for his part, must have preferred low relief; the butterfly beat its wings against Florrie’s forehead until she moved on.
To her surprise, the gates and the hall behind them led to an expansive open-air pavilion. Within it stood a well-dressed Fairy the size of Florrie’s thumb. The Fairy possessed a miniature folio of documents and an undeniable aura of authority.
“Greetings, friend!” intoned the Fairy in a solemn, gravelly voice. “Allow me to offer you the warmest and most undoubtedly informal of welcomes to Lord Mauve’s private collections. I’m Sir Umber Emblem, Knight of Visitor Services. Are you weary from the road?”
“I am simply exhausted, Sir Emblem.” If not for said exhaustion, Florrie likely would have pushed herself to say something more poised and polite. Under the circumstances, she decided to forgive herself.
“Excellent!” replied Umber Emblem. “Then I’ll get you settled in your quarters first. But do keep in mind that the guestrooms are located outside the galleries these days – terribly sorry to disappoint.”
“Disappoint?” Florrie repeated.
“A great many of our visitors find it disappointing, yes. You’ve likely heard the rumours that we once let guests stay in the heart of the museum itself, but that’s a thing of the past. We created dedicated bedchambers after a somnambulant visitor crashed into a sculpture.
So, I do hope you weren’t looking forward to sleeping with the art. ”
Florrie assured him she had no intention of doing such a thing.
Their path from the courtyard led through a rather plain passage.
The walls, ceiling and floor were all lined with a matte tea-rose metal.
Florrie’s initial disappointment at the lack of ornamentation faded as she took her first step – and noticed spirals of silver and gold fizzing on the floor like firelight, activated by the motion of her feet.
Above them, gilt flourishes swirled about the ceiling to form the limbs of an ostentatious beetle.
The Knight of Visitor Services walked ahead of Florrie at a remarkably brisk pace.
Though she still couldn’t discern the details of his features from behind, it was easy to see the rich brown of his hair and the velvet trim of a malachite-coloured cape.
They halted at the third door, which Sir Emblem unlocked through a heart-shaped keyhole placed just above the floor.
“We rarely encounter Folk guests these days,” chattered Sir Emblem. “I hope the accommodations aren’t too dusty.”