Chapter 13
Thanks to an “artistic urgency” provision added in the late fourteenth century, the Conservators’ Code decreed that all certified practitioners must never travel without at least two emergency sketchbooks, a pencil and a wanderer’s palette of gem-colours to hand.
In theory, there was no reason why Florrie couldn’t begin work on Ceru’s request immediately.
In practice, Florrie found herself sprawled before the fountain in the early hours of the morning, dotting the margins of the empty page with the tip of her pencil.
She couldn’t remember the last time she had drawn something of her own choosing.
When restoring particularly damaged artworks, Florrie often sketched a plan for the repainting, but that was always according to the client’s specifications.
Her task would have been far simpler if Ceru had provided a list of three specific landscapes to recreate, as well as a detailed rubric organising the criteria he would use to judge the final product.
It was just Florrie’s luck to end up with an accursedly open-ended assignment.
Still, she had to try something. If she didn’t, Florrie knew the only alternative would be to spend the morning thinking of her most recent visit to the painting.
She fixed her gaze on the centre of the room, searching for a subject.
The fountain itself, beautiful though it was, seemed an ill-advised choice.
There was no way she could paint it without feeling she was simply replicating the work of its sculptor.
Instead, Florrie leaned under the fountain’s base, lured in by the sound of a drip she’d noticed in the night. Beads of dew had gathered there, and, in the invitingly damp environment, a crimson vine with shell-shaped blossoms had settled onto the granite like a slumbering serpent.
Florrie peered closer, turning her head to see the colours in various light conditions.
If she blended Eminent Amaranth with a touch of Pallid Copper, she could likely depict the flowers to her satisfaction.
She brushed a few grains of each gem-colour into the centre of the palette, then ground them with the pestle-brush to form a thick paste.
From her bag she drew a tiny coffer containing a dew-quail’s egg.
The lavender-speckled shell made a satisfying smack as Florrie tapped it against the palette, blending the rose-gold yolk with the gem-paste to form a workable paint.
Under other circumstances, she wouldn’t have leaped into painting so quickly.
Taking a brush to the canvas without a plan – without a sketch, without a prototype – risked wasting good pigments, eggs and paper.
Florrie tensed her wrist, not daring to make the first stroke.
Ceru wanted her to be true and uncensored in her artistic expression – but what if Florrie’s truest self could only be expressed through planning and preparation?
She crept further beneath the fountain, enjoying its cosy confinement.
Yes – she’d paint from this perspective, down on the floor, to create the illusion that the flowers might truly be the scales of some colossal serpent.
Florrie squeezed her eyes shut and brushed the smallest streak of crimson across the top corner of the painting.
She opened her eyes. It was just a line, and it wasn’t quite where she wanted it, but there was no going back now. A second stroke followed the first, then another, and another, and—
A chime sounded at the door and Florrie flinched, as though she’d been unexpectedly awakened. She set the open sketchbook to one side, leaving the gleaming gem-colours to set, and answered the summons to find Lord Mauve standing before her, accompanied by an enthusiastic butterfly.
“There you are!” Florrie exclaimed as Heliotrope fluttered in through the open door. The butterfly tapped his antennae against her head. “Wherever have you been?”
In truth, she had forgotten the butterfly entirely. She hoped Heliotrope wouldn’t hold it against her.
“I gave up trying to predict the behaviours of that butterfly – and his caretaker – long ago,” intoned Lord Mauve.
Florrie frowned, considering whether she ought to be offended, until Lord Mauve stepped aside to reveal a cart far more advanced than Prince Ardant’s antique.
The cart sat atop an impressive twenty-five wheels, which sang in a raspy chorus as Lord Mauve pushed the thing forwards.
A lattice of support beams, carved with meandering flourishes, held up the cloverdown casing at the centre.
“Your painting, as promised.” Lord Mauve lifted a substantial citrine coffer, inlaid with tiny blue spheres that nearly matched Prince Ardant’s token. Florrie had never seen a case of its like. She pressed her ear to it, angling the box to test how the painting might shift in transit.
“It’s secure,” Lord Mauve said. “I oversaw the packing myself. I always keep my word, and I expect you’ll do the same.”
“I shall indeed!” Florrie tried – and failed – to settle the box into a comfortable position on her shoulder. It was truly gargantuan. “Provided I can manage to carry this home, I suppose.”
Lord Mauve stared at her in a most curious manner. To Florrie’s surprise, he quickly produced his notebook and raised an eager quill.
“Do you mean to suggest such magic no longer exists in Stillscape?” he said with rather alarming alacrity. “What happened to the levitating carts I traded away for Folk sketches a hundred years ago?”
“They simply didn’t ‘feel as real as a wheel’, apparently.” Florrie watched as Lord Mauve scribbled furiously. “Lord Mauve, are you implying this box will – float?”
“How else could one transport a painting across the countryside?” Lord Mauve replaced his notebook and gently took the box from her hands. “Let me show you.”
Florrie expected Lord Mauve to push a button or pull a handle. Instead, he traced a cloud of rippling lines across the coffer, as though he were sketching a stylised representation of the wind. With a sudden jolt, the box twirled into the air, compelling Heliotrope to sit proudly upon it.
“There!” Lord Mauve announced. “You are burdened no more. Now, for one final gesture of largesse, I shall bestow upon you a means of expediting your travel.”
Returning to the cart, Lord Mauve brought forth a small figure cast from jam-pink metal.
The rectangular form of its eyes and torso rather reminded Florrie of eighth-century geometry portraits, but the gleaming crystals adorning its body were altogether more in line with the style of the 500s.
Sparkling hexagons emerged from its head and shoulders like a peculiar cloak.
The statue had an amusing, toy-like quality and the tiny wheels lining its base only furthered that impression.
“This is a little architect,” Lord Mauve said, and the statue spun its wheels and hummed to introduce itself.
“It will build you a safe road home, thereby reducing the journey to but a few hours’ walk.
It can also construct colonnades, palaces and follies, though I suppose you’ll have no need for any of those. ”
The little architect reached up a creaky hand and pulled one of the hexagons on its head.
As the hexagon came loose, a new one popped up in its place.
The machine placed the detached shape delicately on the floor, then repeated the process with renewed energy and speed.
Florrie realised that the hexagons were ceramic tiles, and she could not stop watching as they tessellated into a mosaic.
Her fingers twitched as she wondered what the glaze on the tiles might feel like.
“Is that how you travelled to Stillscape in the past?” she asked.
“Alas, the little architect was invented just before Fairy society abandoned Stillscape. Cursed to a fate of near-instant obsoletion.” Lord Mauve rubbed his chin rather worriedly. “I find their eyes too blankly watchful. I don’t suppose you’d be interested in taking, say, fifty of them?”
“One is more than generous.” Florrie felt as though she could just about collapse with relief, though she didn’t mention that to Lord Mauve. “Am I right to assume I can use the little architect when I return to present my portfolio to Ceru?”
“You certainly can” – Lord Mauve grimaced – “but doesn’t it seem an awful waste of time to come here, go back and return again so soon?
Allow me to propose an alternative. After you speak with Prince Ardant and gauge his reaction, send word immediately.
If I am welcome, I shall come to Stillscape with a small party, including Sir Cerulean. ”
“If you say so.” Florrie took a deep breath. “But I must be honest with you, Lord Mauve. I am not particularly skilled in the romantic arts, nor in the arts of persuasion. I don’t imagine I can convince Prince Ardant to view you more favourably.”
“I imagine not,” Lord Mauve huffed. Then his expression softened and he gave her a thin smile.
“Please don’t misunderstand my intentions.
I do not expect Ardant to renew our betrothal.
I only hope he will understand that I – rather foolishly – vanished from his life because I assumed I was not welcome.
My only aim is for us to have a proper conversation. ”
“Yes,” said Florrie, firmly. “I believe I could tell him that.”
“Very good.” Lord Mauve bowed. “I rarely say such things, but I suppose I must admit that it has been a pleasure speaking with you, Miss Florrie.”
It was only after Florrie closed the door to finish packing that she realised how different Lord Mauve had sounded.
For the first time in their acquaintance, he had not attempted to change the formality of his speaking patterns.
He had simply behaved, she imagined, like himself.
The thought made Florrie feel a little lighter.