Mirrorscape Page 6

  Mel raised his head. Scrot to you, Ludo. ‘No one, sir. I just found my way there by … by accident and took the food. All on my own.’

  ‘Very well. You’ve disappointed me, Mel. Cook wanted you punished and punished you will be.’

  Lord Brool

  By the time Mel found his way back to the dimly lit dormitory, everyone was busy retiring for the night and paid him no attention. From the far end, where Groot slept, there came the sound of heavy, drunken snoring. As Mel sat down on the edge of his bed, Ludo’s face appeared over the partition that separated their compartments.

  Great. Now he turns up.

  ‘Sorry, Mel, I tried to warn you when I spotted Cook coming,’ Ludo whispered sheepishly. ‘I only just had time to hide myself. There was no point in the two of us getting caught, was there? It’s not as if the punishment would have been halved if two people had to suffer. Besides, you’re new here. They’d be bound to make allowances. You didn’t say I was involved, did you?’

  ‘Don’t worry, Ludo, I didn’t mention you.’ Ludo had let him down, but he was still the only friend he had in this strange new world.

  ‘Thanks. If my family ever heard of this I’d really be in for it. By the way, what did you get as a punishment?’

  ‘One month’s loss of privileges and stipend, whatever they are.’

  ‘Privileges are permission to go out and about in the city every Sunday. The stipend’s like pocket money. It doesn’t amount to much though, only one silver piece per year.’

  One silver piece sounded like a fortune to Mel, who had only ever seen copper coins – and never too many of those either.

  He undressed and climbed into bed, feeling miserable and betrayed. He thought about his parents and Fa Theum and hoped that they had not suffered any more at the hands of Adolfus Spute. He wished he had had time to talk with his father before Dirk Tot had whisked him away. And then his thoughts turned to his new life. He would have the opportunity to study the many paintings that hung around the mansion. One day he would even create some of his own. In spite of his hunger, he drifted off to sleep with a smile on his lips.

  At the same time, high in one of the lofty towers of the House of Mysteries, a heated meeting was taking place. Adolfus Spute and his dwarf, Mumchance, weary and travel-stained, cowered before the huge bulk of Lord Brool. The Lord-High-Master of the Fifth Mystery sat, toad-like, at his desk. A single lamp illuminated Lord Brool’s face, its flickering, yellowish glow emphasising his warts and bloated features. The Master was angry; very angry.

  ‘Lost it! What do you mean, lost it?’ he bellowed. Flecks of spittle hung at the corners of his mouth. His complexion almost matched that of his scarlet robes. The silver goblet of wine he was holding buckled in his grasp.

  ‘It was definitely with us when we arrived in Kop. Wasn’t it, Mumchance?’ Adolfus Spute glanced nervously at his diminutive companion for support.

  Mumchance nodded.

  ‘Yes it was. But after we packed away the Instruments of Interpellation the box no longer seemed to be there. It was, in a word, gone,’ the High-Bailiff confessed.

  ‘It was such a simple task, Spute; I could have sent a child to do it. Perhaps I should have sent a child. An infant could not have made more of a mess than you incompetents have done. All you had to do was pay a visit to that meddling fool Floris and persuade him to return the Fifth Mystery’s property.’

  ‘Just so, cousin.’ Adolfus Spute hoped that playing on their kinship might help to mitigate his superior’s ire. ‘But Lord Floris was most reluctant to be parted from the substance. He needed to be persuaded to within an inch of his life. Could a child have achieved that, I ask myself?’

  Lord Brool’s tiny eyes bored into his subordinate. ‘Your persuasive powers, Spute, are not in question. What is in question is your trustworthiness. To misplace such a treasure seems to me almost disloyal. Disloyal to the point of treachery. The Fifth Mystery expects more from its servants. It expects much more. Do I make myself clear?’

  Adolfus Spute’s mouth was moving but no words were coming out.

  ‘So, seeing as it was you who lost it, it only seems reasonable to expect that you should restore it before the next meeting of the High-Council. Otherwise, we might review your current position.’

  ‘But, my lord ….’ Finding his voice again, Adolfus Spute realised he was in no position to object. ‘As your lordship wishes.’

  ‘And you have yet to explain exactly what you were doing in such a god-forsaken province as Feg in the first place. If I thought that you were pursuing your own, private ends – your personal vendetta against Dirk Tot, perhaps?’

  Adolfus Spute’s mouth dropped open.

  ‘Oh, I know all about the history between you two, Spute. I know that you’ve been trying to entrap him for years, and he’s thwarted you at every turn. Perhaps I should also bring this episode to the attention of the High-Council. We would take a very dim view of such dereliction of duty on the part of our High-Bailiff.’

  Adolfus Spute swallowed hard.

  ‘Do I make myself clear, Spute? I’m sure I do. Now, get out! And don’t let me see you again until you have it back.’

  As he reached the relative safety of the anteroom and his two waiting henchmen, Adolfus Spute rounded on Mumchance and kicked him viciously, bowling him over. ‘You were in charge of the box, you snivelling fraction of a man. How could you have let it out of your sight?’

  Mumchance picked himself up and blew a series of notes on his whistle.

  ‘What? Of course I was going to keep some for myself. It’s me who should be Lord-High-Master, not that beslubbering, toad-featured scut in there.’

  Mumchance’s tiny eyes twinkled and he blew a triumphant note.

  ‘You’re right, “Lord Spute” does have a certain ring to it.’ The High-Bailiff bared his yellow teeth in a repulsive smile. Then his face darkened. ‘But now I’m right back at square one. I need to get my hands on it all over again.’ He looked down at Mumchance. ‘Now, where do you suppose it went?’

  The dwarf blew a positive blast.

  ‘Yes, that’s what I thought too.’

  Mumchance piped a tuneless warble.

  ‘Succinctly put, my murderous midget. There’s no chance of getting our hands on Smell while he’s under Blenk’s protection.’

  Mumchance’s whistle blew again.

  ‘Great minds think alike, my little man. The Fegish boy might be induced to leave the mansion if I chose the right bait.’ He turned to his henchmen. ‘You two are looking a bit peaky, a trifle run-down. I think you could do with a holiday. In the country, maybe. I hear Feg is rather lovely at this time of year. And while you’re there, why don’t you look up some old acquaintances of ours in Kop – the Womper couple and that disgusting old priest, Theum. I’m sure they would love to see their darling little boy again. We’ll organise a family reunion.’

  Ambrosius Blenk

  The sound of the great clock striking eight echoed through the mansion.

  This is it! The start of my new life as an apprentice. Mel smoothed his hair, straightened his smart new livery and peered around the studio door. Morning light flooded the large, whitewashed space from several skylights, highlighting the paint-stained floorboards. There were drawings pinned around the walls, along with several small canvases depicting details of the large unfinished paintings he could see propped on the massive easels at the far end of the room. Nine of the apprentices he had met the previous evening were busy, the elder ones painting at easels and the younger ones at workbenches, preparing materials. Even at that early hour the studio was a hive of activity. Hardly anyone spoke and the air of concentration was palpable.

  ‘The master will be here soon,’ said Ludo. ‘I need to get on with my work. Take a look around until Groot gets here and tells you what to do.’

  Mel stood in the middle of the room, drinking in the intoxicating, alien smells. The other apprentices acknowledged him with nods of their heads. One even smi
led at him.

  Emboldened, Mel approached and peered over his shoulder at a drawing of a unicorn. ‘Did you do that?’ he asked in a tone of awe.

  The boy stopped working. ‘I wish. No, it’s one of the master’s. Don’t touch it. It’s not fixed yet. My name’s Henk, by the way.’

  ‘My friends call me Mel.’

  Mel watched full of admiration as Henk confidently drew a grid of small squares all over the unicorn like a net, dividing it up into many regular boxes. Next to him, on his workbench, he had a much bigger sheet of paper with a grid of the same number of correspondingly bigger squares drawn on it. Into these he carefully copied the contents of each of the smaller boxes, and soon had a larger version of the master’s original sketch.

  ‘I wish I was that quick,’ said Mel.

  ‘You will be soon. It’s just practice. Using squares like this is called graticulation,’ explained Henk. ‘With this technique you can enlarge a drawing to any size you like.’

  ‘Or reduce it,’ said Mel, instantly seeing the possibilities.

  ‘Turn the squares into oblongs and you can even distort things.’

  ‘That’s amazing.’

  Mel wondered what task he might be given. Probably something simple like mixing paints. He could see another apprentice near the door shaking some coarse green powder into a mortar and begin to grind it with a pestle.

  ‘What’s this?’ Mel examined a glass jar containing the bright pigment.

  ‘It’s malachite. It must be ground really fine before – ’

  Just then the door burst open, sending Mel flying, and spilling the colour in a great, long slash across the floor.

  ‘The smell! I might have known it. You clumsy little scrot!’ snapped Groot. ‘Do you realise how much that pigment’s worth? You won’t last long around here. Not if I have my way.’ He looked pale and sickly.

  ‘Clean it up, Smell. I can see that you’re going to be a great help in the studio,’ said Jurgis, as he and Bunt followed Groot into the studio. ‘Jump to it!’ He aimed an unsteady kick at Mel, but missed and almost lost his balance. He looked no better than Groot.

  ‘It wasn’t his fault,’ said the apprentice with the pestle.

  ‘Oh? If it wasn’t his fault then it must have been yours, Teck. It certainly wasn’t mine. Perhaps you should clean it up, eh?’ said Groot, grabbing the boy’s ear and twisting it cruelly. ‘So, whose fault was it?’

  ‘It was Mel’s fault,’ said Teck, grimacing with pain.

  ‘Whose fault?’ Groot twisted his ear harder.

  ‘Smell’s fault.’

  ‘That’s better,’ said Groot, releasing him. ‘Now, clean it up, Smell.’

  ‘That’s servant’s work. Let the cleaners do it,’ said Teck as he nursed his sore ear.

  ‘Thanks for reminding me, Teck. That kind of work’s only for household scum. I expect you’d much rather be using a brush, wouldn’t you, Smell?’ asked Groot.

  ‘Yes,’ answered Mel. ‘I thought that’s why I’m here.’ He set the empty jar back on the workbench.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Smell. Do forgive me.’ Groot half bowed to Mel. ‘Bunt.’ He snapped his fingers. ‘Fetch the new apprentice a brush, if you’d be so kind.’ He winked at his crony.

  ‘Here you are, Smell,’ said Bunt, returning with a domestic brush and pan. ‘You fit the bill of household scum, all right. Now get on with it. Do as you’re told, unless you want to feel my boot.’

  Mel sighed and knelt and began sweeping the spilled pigment into the little pan.

  ‘Hung-over. Again,’ explained Teck in a low voice as Groot and his cronies sauntered down the studio and took up their positions in front of the big easels.

  ‘The master’s coming,’ said Henk.

  The master! At last, I’m going to meet him. Mel hurried to finish collecting the valuable pigment. He decanted it back into the jar, then noticed some he had missed. He disappeared under the workbench on his hands and knees and came face to face with a tiny pink face surrounded by a shock of pure white hair. The creature stared at him with wild eyes, bared its pointed teeth and hissed loudly. Startled, Mel jumped up and banged his head hard against the underside of the workbench. The glass jar tottered and then fell, covering one side of the snowy white monkey, for that is what it was, in bright green pigment. Mel saw a pair of stubby hands with thick fingers and jewelled rings appear and gently lift the animal.

  ‘Albinus, my lovely, what has he done to you?’ said an agitated woman’s voice.

  Mel crawled out from under the table. The apprentices were staring at him, horror-struck. The agitated woman was stout and richly dressed. An enormous, stiff lace collar framed her face, atop of which sat the biggest hairdo he had ever seen, with more jewels interwoven into her red curls. Her face was thickly made up and her cheeks heavily rouged. She cradled her pet in her arms. The monkey was divided almost exactly in half, one side white, the other green. What have I done? She must be the master’s wife!

  To her right stood Dirk Tot and, next to him, the man Mel knew must be the master.

  Mel’s first impression of Ambrosius Blenk was that he looked both very old and very young. He was tall and slim, with a long grey beard that hung over his elegant black robe like a hairy waterfall. The garment was covered with fine silver embroidery that sparkled as it caught the light. Around his waist was tied a sash in the deep household blue and he wore a tight-fitting black skullcap that extended over his ears. From beneath busy eyebrows two of the most piercing, blue eyes Mel had ever seen darted back and forth. Then, to Mel’s astonishment, Ambrosius Blenk winked at him.

  ‘So you are the Fegish boy,’ said the master’s wife. ‘Well, Green-Knees, what have you to say for yourself? What do you mean by mutilating my beautiful Albinus, eh?’

  Mel gazed down and saw that his new white hose was stained by the green pigment. ‘I’m … I’m very sorry, Mistress,’ he stammered. ‘I can bathe him, perhaps it’ll wash off.’

  ‘Wash off? That is the finest Kig malachite. It costs its own weight in gold. It’s not intended to merely wash off! If it did we’d want our money back, wouldn’t we, Ambrosius? It’s permanent. He’s ruined, thanks to you.’

  Mel looked around anxiously at the many faces staring at him. He came to rest on the master’s face and was sure he saw amusement in his eyes. He might even be smiling beneath his beard.

  ‘Remarkable. Quite remarkable. Womper, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, Master.’ Ambrosius Blenk – the Ambrosius Blenk – was actually speaking to him.

  ‘Tell me, Womper: are you familiar with the southern rainbow-ape? Related to the harlequin-mangabey? From the Pyrexian jungles, the home of the carnivorous butterfly and the tree-dwelling crocodile.’

  As Mel heard the names of these exotic creatures, ideas – dozens of them – began to ricochet around in his imagination; ideas for a whole new menagerie of fantastic creatures.

  ‘No? Never mind. I have a likeness of one in my bestiary. You must take a look at it sometime. There’s much else in there that will appeal to you. You’ll find basilisks and catoblepas and chichevaches and cockatrices and the crocotta and – ’

  ‘Ambrosius, you’re rambling again,’ interrupted the mistress.

  ‘I’m truly sorry, Master. For the accident.’

  ‘Sorry? What on earth are you sorry for? This creature’s coloration is a marvel. It’s pure serendipity, Womper. We must talk more when I have time. I’ve seen your work; it’s interesting stuff. Very promising. Once you get some technique at your fingertips you’ll flourish. Here’s a silver piece for you, you’ve made my day with this happy accident.’ The master patted Mel’s arm. ‘Ah, Henk, how’s my unicorn? Grown up, has he?’

  Mel stared at the silver coin in his palm.

  ‘What are you gawping at?’ said the mistress. Then to Groot, ‘Put this … this, mutilator to work at once. Before he creates any more damage. And keep him away from the paintings until he has found at least a modicum of coordination.�
��

  ‘As you wish, Mistress. I’ll see that he understands his duties and doesn’t get into any more mischief. Come along now, young fellow, let me show you how you can help.’ The head apprentice placed a protective hand on Mel’s shoulder and led him away.

  When they were out of earshot, Groot leant close to Mel and hissed, ‘Oh, you’ve really done it now, Smell. Albinus is the mistress’s favourite pet. Just because old Blenko’s taken a shine to you, you needn’t think you’ll be getting an easy ride. And give me that. All gratuities belong to the head apprentice.’ Groot snatched Mel’s gift away and dug his nails viciously into his shoulder.

  As soon as the master and his entourage had gone, Groot said to everyone, ‘All right, you scrot-stains, the show’s over. Now, Smell, if you’re so good let’s see how well you can draw. I want you to draw water.’ Mel’s face betrayed the briefest flash of hope. ‘Oh no, Smell. You can forget all about that sort of drawing. I want you to take that bucket over there down to the courtyard behind the kitchen and draw enough water to fill it. Then, I want you to carry it up here and begin to clean all of the stains off of this floor. When it’s clean to my satisfaction I’ll see about the next stage of your education.’

  Mel soon found out that artists’ colours made stains that were almost indelible. Throughout the long day he toiled down the mountain of stairs between the studio and the pump and then back again. On each visit to the courtyard Mel had to pass Cook, who could not hide her delight at his treatment. Once he caught sight of Wren but she was being kept busy and could only exchange a sympathetic smile as their eyes met.