Mirrorscape Read online

  Dirk Tot stepped out of the carriage but Mel held back. Now that he had finally arrived, he felt nervous and painfully aware of how shabby and unsophisticated he was. Everything was so grand, so alien, so coloured. I look like a scarecrow. I’m never going to fit in here.

  ‘Come on, Mel. It’s late.’

  Mel swallowed hard, grabbed his precious drawings and stepped down from the carriage. Dirk Tot snapped his fingers impatiently. Mel held his drawings in front of him to hide his threadbare peasant clothes and followed. He was so captivated by everything around him that he did not notice when he stepped in a mound of horse dung, before following Dirk Tot up a low flight of steps and into the mansion of his new master.

  The long hall they entered rose seven storeys above them to a brightly painted and intricately beamed ceiling. The floor was paved with pale tiles in a huge, circular design that was now tainted with Mel’s filthy footprints. The entire mansion was illuminated by flickering gas lamps in brackets attached to the walls. Before them rose a wide staircase that branched and divided into galleries all the way to the top.

  Then, in an instant, Mel’s world changed. For the first time he came face to face with a great work of art. He had listened to Fa Theum’s descriptions of paintings, but nothing could have prepared him for the raw thrill of actually seeing one. It seemed to him that it was not just lifelike but was even more real than the concrete objects all around him. It was as if he could step through the canvas and enter the immaculate world depicted there.

  As he stared, he felt a great happiness enfold him, as he felt the borders of his life expand until they stretched forever. He knew then that he had come home.

  The Apprentices

  Mel stood transfixed at the foot of the stairs. There, just above him, at the head of the broad, first flight, on a great crystal throne, sat an enormous, robed figure with the head of a giant eagle. Around its feet were gathered a menagerie of hybrid creatures and, above it, soared more strange and wonderful birds and insects than Mel could count. They all gazed down at the new arrival with a piercing, unblinking and malevolent stare.

  ‘One of Ambrosius Blenk’s. Impressive, isn’t it?’ Dirk Tot’s voice jolted Mel from his ecstasy.

  ‘The master did that? Really?’

  ‘Really. Look, Mel, it’s late and I must report. Minch will look after you now.’

  As Dirk Tot strode away through a side door, Mel looked up at Minch. He did not need to be told that the fat servant did not like apprentices – it was evident in his sour expression.

  ‘Shoes,’ said Minch curtly.

  Mel followed the man’s imperious gaze down to his own feet and, with a sinking feeling, saw the muck he had trailed inside. ‘Sorry.’ He blushed and quickly removed them.

  ‘Follow,’ ordered Minch as he set off up the stairs.

  Mel padded after the servant in his bare feet. At the first landing he paused to examine the painting more closely. Up close there was even more detail visible than from below. There was no trace of brushwork. His own drawings seemed pitiful in comparison.

  Movement attracted his eye. At the foot of the stairs he saw a young girl, probably no older than he was, on her hands and knees with a bucket and soapy scrubbing brush attacking the mess he had created. She saw him looking at her and glared back.

  ‘Boy!’ snapped Minch and gestured brusquely for Mel to follow. They climbed the stairs and turned down one corridor after another until Mel was hopelessly lost.

  ‘Stop,’ ordered Minch. ‘Wait.’ He produced some keys and unlocked a store room. He looked Mel up and down. ‘Small.’ He entered the room and soon emerged with a pile of clothing. ‘Kit,’ he announced as he piled a shirt, doublet, hose and boots in the household colours in Mel’s arms.

  Mel stood for a moment with his jaw hanging open. ‘Are these for me?’

  Minch sighed. ‘Come.’ He set off again at once, Mel half-running to keep up. More corridors and stairs followed until they arrived at a door through which Mel could hear the murmur of many voices. Minch pushed open the door and announced, ‘Refectory. Apprentices,’ before turning and leaving.

  Mel found himself looking into a large, brightly lit room with a coloured mural running around the walls. Running down the centre of the room was a long oak table, around which sat a dozen apprentices on wooden benches with their half-finished suppers before them. They all wore additions to their livery such as coloured caps or patterned scarves or sashes and all of their clothes bore paint stains. There was an evident hierarchy in the refectory, with the younger apprentices at the end of the table nearest the door and the older ones at the other. Seated at the head of the table in an ornate, upholstered chair, was the eldest of all. He was skinny and much taller than everyone else, his spotty face in need of a shave.

  At Mel’s appearance the conversation ceased. All eyes were upon him. The head apprentice took a long draught from his goblet and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He had a rat-like, pointed nose and tiny grey eyes, above which ran a long, single eyebrow, and there was a large wine stain on his shirt beneath his open doublet. Slouching back in his throne-like chair, he asked in a slurred voice, ‘What’ve we here? Wash your name?’

  Mel smiled and introduced himself. ‘Melkin Womper. But everyone calls me Mel. Pleased to meet you.’

  There was a moment’s silence and then they all bellowed with laughter.

  ‘A Fegie, we’ve got ourselves a real, live Fegie!’

  ‘I do believe you’re right,’ sneered the eldest apprentice. ‘Our very own country bumpkin. Look at what he’s wearing – it’s tabby. And he’s barefoot. Have you ever seen anything like it? And where did a shoeless, tabby-wearing Fegie get the wherewithal to buy an apprenticeship with old Blenko?’

  ‘I didn’t buy it. It was a free one,’ answered Mel.

  ‘It was a free one,’ mocked the other. ‘And what makes you so special? What’re those?’ He had spotted Mel’s drawings and pushed his right-hand companion roughly. ‘Bring it here, Bunt. Let me see.’

  ‘It’s not bad, Groot, it’s actually not bad,’ said Bunt admiringly as he retrieved a charcoal portrait of Mel’s mother from under the new clothes Mel carried and handed it to the head apprentice.

  ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about, Bunt. It’s rubbish,’ proclaimed Groot. ‘A Fegie wouldn’t be capable of producing anything but rubbish. I doubt if his hands have held anything finer than a plough or pitchfork. Still, it’s nothing that a few strokes from a real artist couldn’t improve.’ He dipped his finger into the gravy on his plate and wrote ‘Fegish rubbish’ across the drawing.

  ‘Hey! Don’t do that.’

  Groot ignored Mel’s plea. ‘There now. What do you think?’ He held it up for the other apprentices to admire. When no one answered he grabbed the nearest apprentice viciously by the throat and asked again, ‘Well, Jurgis?’

  ‘It’s Fegish rubbish, Groot,’ answered the lad in a strangulated voice.

  ‘Let’s hear it from all of you,’ said Groot, releasing Jurgis.

  There came an unenthusiastic murmur of ‘Fegish rubbish’ from around the refectory.

  ‘It’s better than you can do,’ mumbled a boy about Mel’s age, sitting at the foot of the table.

  Mel looked down at the mumbler. He had very pale skin and dark hair. His hazel eyes had a dejected look that matched his hangdog expression.

  ‘What did you say, Ludo?’ asked Groot. ‘Let’s all hear it.’

  ‘I said it’s probably the best he can do.’

  ‘That’s right … What’s that smell?’ asked Groot.

  Bunt approached Mel again and saw the shoes he was carrying. ‘It’s the Fegie, Groot. His shoes are covered in scrot.’

  ‘Ugh, that’s disgusting! But what more can you expect from a Fegie?’ He turned to Mel. ‘Perhaps you’re used to that smell where you come from but it’s not allowed in my refectory. Ludo, take that smell out and get him cleaned up. I don’t want to see either of you agai
n until he’s dressed properly and smelling like a human being. Here, take this with you,’ he said, flinging Mel’s defiled drawing back at him before taking another great swig of wine and belching loudly.

  ‘They call me a “Fegie” as if it’s an insult,’ said Mel, balancing his new clothes and drawings as Ludo led him away. ‘None of us have the choice where we’re born.’

  ‘Think yourself lucky. It could have been worse. They could have smelt your shoes before they heard your accent.’

  Mel laughed. ‘I guess Fegie doesn’t seem so bad, after all. So those are the other apprentices. I can’t say I think much of them.’

  Ludo laughed with him. He was taller than Mel and his demeanour was lighter now that they were out of the refectory. ‘They’re OK, once you get to know them. But they’re scared of Groot. And his sidekicks, Bunt and Jurgis. They can be vicious – especially when they’re drunk.’

  ‘Isn’t he, you know, a bit old to be an apprentice?’

  Ludo gave a dismissive laugh. ‘He should have graduated years ago. But when the time comes each year to present the master with his apprentice piece he always comes up with some excuse or other.’

  ‘What’s an “apprentice piece”?’

  ‘It’s a painting that we all must produce on our own at the end of our apprenticeship, before the master passes us as journeymen.’ He looked at Mel. ‘You don’t know what a journeyman is, do you?’

  ‘Afraid not.’

  ‘It’s like a junior artist. The truth is Groot’s not that good. He’s lazy too, prefers to spend his time boozing and gambling. The master would like to boot him out, but he’s a Smert.’

  ‘What’s a “smert”?’

  ‘It’s not a thing. It’s his name. Groot Smert.’

  ‘What’s so special about that?’

  ‘Don’t you know anything? The Smerts are only one of the most powerful families in Vlam, that’s all. They’re related to the Brools and the Sputes.’

  ‘Not the High-Bailiff?’

  ‘The same. Groot’s his nephew. What’s the matter? You’ve gone as white as a sheet.’

  ‘It’s … it’s nothing. It’s just that I’ve met Adolfus Spute.’

  Ludo and Mel mounted some stairs. ‘So the master gave you a free apprenticeship then. You must be good. May I see?’

  ‘I don’t know. Groot said it’s rubbish.’

  ‘You don’t get it, do you? If it was rubbish he would have ignored it.’ Ludo took some of Mel’s new clothes so he could look at a drawing. ‘Wow! This is great, Mel! Groot couldn’t draw like this until he’d been here years.’

  A broad grin cracked Mel’s face.

  Ludo pushed open a door. ‘This is the dormitory. You can sleep there, next to me.’ He indicated a vacant bed. ‘You can stash your stuff in there,’ he said, opening a cupboard and placing the clothes inside. ‘And look here.’ He knelt down and showed Mel where a board was loose at the back of the cupboard, revealing a shallow space. ‘Great for hiding things you don’t want the others to see.’ He winked at Mel. ‘You can pin your drawings up next to your bed, we all do. I’ll fetch some drawing pins while you get changed.’

  Mel quickly discarded his coarse tabby garments and changed into his new livery. They were the finest clothes he had ever worn. The shirt and the hose were made of white silk, the doublet of the softest deep blue velvet and the ankle-boots of supple doe-skin.

  Mel folded his old clothes and placed them inside his cupboard. As an afterthought, he secreted his bodkin and little box behind the loose board, pushing the box especially far down so that only an arm as small as his could retrieve it. He laid his drawings on the bed, placing the defaced portrait of his mother to one side. With a few strokes of his hand the malicious Groot had turned a thing of beauty into no more than a piece of stained paper. It was as if he had assaulted Mel’s mother. Mel felt a stomach-churning mixture of rage and sadness.

  ‘Don’t you look smart? Almost like one of us,’ said Ludo as he returned. ‘But you need to add something of your own that sets you apart from the other servants. Like this here.’ He touched the olive-green and gold sash around his waist. ‘It’s the colours of the Cleefs – my family’s house.’

  ‘Your family has its own colours? You must be awfully posh.’

  ‘No, not really. Certainly posher than Groot – not that it counts for anything round here. Not while he’s in charge.’

  ‘I know!’ said Mel. He reached inside his cupboard, pulled out his faded, tabby breeches and tore off a wide strip. Tying it around his waist, he said with a sense of pride, ‘It’s the Womper family colours.’

  ‘Great! That’s one in the eye for Groot.’

  The two of them pinned his drawings up around his bed.

  Ludo picked up the portrait of Mel’s mother. ‘I’m really sorry, Mel. That was a squity thing to do. Even for Groot.’

  Mel could not respond because a great lump had formed in his throat. He placed the drawing in his cupboard. He felt tears forming but did not want to embarrass himself in front of his new friend. Changing the subject, he said, ‘I’m starving.’

  ‘I guess you don’t want to go back to the refectory. Let’s sneak down to the kitchens. It’s strictly out of bounds but Wren will give you something to eat. But first, I think we’ll get rid of these.’ He picked up Mel’s smelly shoes and, holding them at arm’s length, dropped them out of the open window. ‘If only Groot was as easy to get rid of.’

  ‘There she is. Psst! Wren. Wren,’ called Ludo softly from their hiding place. Heat and bright light radiated out of the bustling kitchen into the cool, dimly lit storeroom.

  ‘Who’s there? Is that you, Ludo?’ came a girl’s voice from beyond the door.

  ‘Wren, this is Mel. He’s new here and he’s missed his supper. He’s starving – could you find him something to eat?’

  ‘You know it’s not allowed, Ludo. You shouldn’t be down here. And if they catch me then I’ll be out on my ear. We both will.’ She peered cautiously over her shoulder and stepped into the storeroom. ‘And who’s this new … You!’

  It was the girl Mel had seen earlier, cleaning up the mess he had created in the hallway. She was slim and wore a long cloth wrapped around her head like a turban. Beneath it she had auburn hair, green eyes and her cheeks were bright with exertion. Over her long dress in the Blenk household blue was a soiled, white pinafore. When she’s not scowling she might be quite pretty, thought Mel. ‘Uh, hello,’ he said sheepishly. ‘Sorry about the … the you-know-what.’

  ‘Why should I risk my job to get anything for you – after all the work you made for me?’

  ‘But, Wren, he’s really hungry. Please,’ pleaded Ludo.

  Wren glared at Mel, but after a moment her expression softened and she said, ‘Oh, all right. You look half starved. Wait here. And keep quiet. If they catch you there’ll be big trouble.’ She disappeared into the kitchen and returned shortly with an apple and a generous sandwich containing a thick slice of succulent beef. ‘I must go now. We’re rushed off our feet at the moment. Just stay out of sight.’

  Mel had only ever eaten beef once before, at a village feast. It tasted even better than he remembered but he only managed one bite.

  ‘Caught yer, thief!’ A plump woman grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and held him fast. ‘Minch, Minch! Come and lend a hand. I’ve caught a thief.’

  Mel looked round quickly for Ludo. Where was Ludo?

  Minch emerged from the kitchen, wiping his greasy mouth on his sleeve. He grabbed Mel’s arm. “Prentice,’ he said. He snatched Mel’s sandwich away proclaiming, ‘Proof.’

  ‘It’s off to the steward with you, my lad,’ said the cook. ‘This could mean prison. I’ve seen people sent to the mines for less. Yer no better than a guttersnipe. The gutter’s where yer belong and that’s where yer’ll be before tonight’s out. Mark my words.’

  Mel’s heart sank. Ludo, please help. A great feeling of dread overtook him. Arrived and expelled on the same day.
How could he face returning home?

  As he was marched away between Minch and the cook he looked around and caught sight of the toe of a boot as it withdrew behind some sacks. Ludo. The first sign of trouble and he’d left Mel alone to face the music.

  Mel was marched up to the steward’s office. Minch knocked and they entered.

  Dirk Tot looked up from his papers. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Thief,’ said Minch, pushing Mel forward. ‘Proof.’ He slapped the illicit sandwich on to the desk and indicated the cook with a jerk of his thumb. ‘Witness.’

  ‘Is this so?’ asked Dirk Tot, addressing the cook.

  ‘Yes, sir. Caught him red-handed, I did. Freshly baked bread and some of the best beef, straight from the spit. An’ this!’ she said triumphantly, producing the apple as if it were the clinching piece of evidence.

  ‘Is this true, Mel?’

  Mel hung his head and nodded.

  ‘Very well, Cook, Minch. I’ll deal with this. Please return to your duties.’

  ‘Just so long as he gets what’s comin’ to him,’ said the cook as she left.

  ‘’Prentice,’ said Minch with a sneer, as if it were an insult. He cast a last, longing look at the sandwich and closed the door after them.

  Dirk Tot fixed his withering one-eyed stare on Mel and said in a stern voice, ‘Is there anything you want to tell me, Mel?’

  Still staring at the floor, Mel shook his head. ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Was there anyone else involved?’

  Mel said nothing.

  ‘Mel, there have been hundreds of apprentices through the studio in my time, and more than a few of them have stood where you’re standing now for all manner of misdemeanours. But never after so short a stay. I cannot really believe that after only a few hours in this household, you made it all the way down to the kitchens, found where the bread was kept, helped yourself to a fat slice of the master’s best beef, from the spit in the very heart of the kitchen and then found yourself the means of preparing this sandwich. All on your own. Come on, Mel, who else was in this with you?’