Mirrorscape Page 7

  The great clock struck six as Mel reached the top of the stairs at the end of yet another knee-trembling, arm-numbing climb and was met by a thunderous wave of apprentices as they hurried from the studio.

  ‘Come on, Mel. Supper time,’ shouted Ludo. ‘I’ll meet you in the refectory.’

  Mel felt limp with fatigue. As he tidied away his cleaning tools, he heard a noise coming from the storeroom that opened off the studio. Curious, he crept over to the doorway. The room was like an Aladdin’s cave, packed with every imaginable type of art material. There were large chests with shallow drawers containing paper in a great variety of colours and weights, and shelves crowded with exotic oils and pigments. Large pots contained every kind and size of paintbrush, and long rolls of canvas and bundles of wooden stretchers leant against the walls.

  Amongst all of this was Groot. Mel crept into the room and hid himself behind a chest. From his hiding place he watched as Groot fiddled with a cabinet. He had a long, bent piece of wire, which he was poking into the tiny keyhole. After several attempts he managed to pick the lock and open the door. Arranged on shelves inside the cabinet were small glass jars of pigment. Mel guessed they were kept under lock and key on account of their value. On a table to one side there were several small sheets of paper. Groot took one of these and rolled it to form a cone. He shook a quantity of pigment from one of the jars into the cone and folded over the top and bottom. He repeated this with other pigments. When he had finished he closed and locked the cabinet. He concealed his parcels inside his doublet and, pausing to make sure no one was around, he left, closing the storeroom door behind him.

  He’s stealing pigment! Mel stood up from his cramped hiding place and flexed his aching legs. He approached the cabinet to examine it more closely, then heard the noise of footsteps outside. He turned to see the door begin to open with a soft creak.

  The House of Mysteries

  Mel only just had time to hide again before the huge form of Dirk Tot entered the storeroom. He went straight to the cabinet and unlocked it. He took down one of the glass jars and shook it gently, examining its level. He then took a phial containing a similar pigment from his reticule and tipped it into the jar. He repeated this several times with other pigments, replenishing the material Groot had taken. This task complete, he relocked the cabinet and left.

  Mel did not understand the scene he had just witnessed. Groot’s a scrotty thief. No surprise there. But why is Dirk Tot covering up for him?

  Mel was the last to arrive in the refectory. He ignored the baiting from Groot’s end of the table and sat down. A plate with a huge portion of rabbit stew was placed before him, much larger than everyone else’s. He turned and saw Wren serving.

  She leant close and whispered, ‘Thanks, Mel. For not telling on me. I can’t afford to lose this job. Now, eat up. You look like you could use it.’

  Mel noticed that Ludo did not seem pleased with the supper menu.

  ‘What’s up? Lost your appetite?’

  Ludo looked sick and pushed his plate aside. ‘Rabbit for supper always spells bad news for the junior apprentices.’

  ‘I thought rabbits were lucky. Their feet, anyway.’

  ‘If you think scrubbing the floor’s bad, just wait till tomorrow.’

  Puzzled, Mel glanced at Henk and Teck for an explanation. They said nothing and just smiled knowingly to each other.

  Mel awoke the next morning to find that the weather had changed and a dense fog clung to Vlam. He looked forward without enthusiasm to the prospect of continuing his cleaning of the studio floor. Against all the evidence of his aching limbs, he had hardly made any difference. However, when he and Ludo arrived in the studio, Groot, had something else in mind for him.

  ‘Leave that, Smell,’ he ordered. ‘I have something that’s more urgent for you and Ludo. Get on down to the kitchen courtyard. Ludo knows what’s to be done.’

  Ludo groaned. ‘Told you supper was bad news.’

  Perplexed, Mel followed his friend down to the courtyard where some servants had built a fire. Above it, suspended from a stout metal tripod, was a large, iron cauldron filled with water.

  ‘Well, you wanted to be given something to do with making pictures and it looks like your wish has come true. We’re to make size. I hope you’re happy,’ said Ludo.

  ‘What’s sighing got to do with pictures?’ asked Mel, puzzled.

  Ludo rolled his eyes. ‘Not sighs, size! It’s a kind of glue. Before a canvas is ready for painting it must be prepared with a coat of size, so that the paint won’t soak into the fabric. Then more size is mixed with gypsum to make gesso.’

  Mel looked confused. ‘Gesso?’

  ‘You know, the white ground on the canvas. It also helps to fill in the weave so that it’s flatter and easier to paint on. They must have run out,’ he added gloomily.

  Mel could not see why Ludo was so disheartened. ‘So, what do we need to make size?’

  Ludo took out his handkerchief and tied it around his nose and mouth. He lifted the corner of some old sacking that covered a pile in the corner. ‘This,’ he said.

  A cloud of flies rose up and the two boys reeled back at the sickening smell of a large heap of rabbit skins.

  ‘That’s disgusting!’ Mel took out his own handkerchief and copied Ludo. From all around the courtyard came the sound of windows and doors closing.

  ‘The water’s boiling,’ said Ludo. ‘Grab a pitchfork and help me transfer the skins to the cauldron.’

  When the nasty task was complete, Ludo handed Mel a paddle. ‘Here, you stir the brew. Just keep it moving.’

  ‘What about you? Aren’t you going to help?’

  ‘I’ve got to clean this mess up.’ Ludo grabbed a broom and a bucket of water and began to scrub the gory stains from the cobbles.

  Mel’s arms were already beginning to ache. ‘How long must I keep stirring?’

  ‘Till it’s done. Use the ladle to skim off the scum as it forms on the surface. It needs to be the consistency of syrup before it’s ready. And make sure you keep the fire fed. It must be kept boiling. I’ve got something to finish in the studio. I’ll be back soon,’ said Ludo.

  Within a very short time, Mel wished he was back scrubbing the studio floor. The rank steam from the cauldron got into his hair and into his clothes until he was dripping wet. Stirring the ripe brew as it thickened made his arms ache far more than yesterday.

  Ludo only reappeared at midday.

  ‘Where’ve you been? I thought you were supposed to help me.’

  ‘Sorry. Groot found something urgent for me to do in the studio. Here, I got you a sandwich.’

  Mel was not altogether sure he believed him. He raised the sandwich to his mouth and lowered it again.

  ‘What’s the matter? Aren’t you going to eat it?’

  ‘It stinks! It smells just like the size.’ Mel threw it, untouched, on to the fire.

  ‘Ludo!’

  The boys turned to see Dirk Tot standing in the doorway, a handkerchief covering his mouth. ‘Take over, will you? Mel, come here. I have an important errand for you.’

  Mel smiled to himself.

  ‘First, go and see Minch. Tell him I sent you and that you’re to have a new set of clothes. Then you must wash – try and rid yourself of that smell. You’re to go to the House of Mysteries and present this warrant for cinnabar pigment at the commissary. Guard it well, it’s very valuable. Now, is that clear?’

  ‘The House of Mysteries?’ The idea of another meeting with the Fifth Mystery filled Mel with dread. ‘How do I get there?’

  ‘You must take a tramcar. Here’s the number.’ He wrote the number sixty-one clearly on a sheet of paper. He told Mel where to find the tram stop and gave him the fare. ‘You can’t mistake the House of Mysteries – it’s the biggest building in Vlam. If you get lost anyone can point you in the right direction.’

  A little later, Mel, washed and dressed in his new clothes but not smelling very much sweeter, found himself in t
he foggy square outside the mansion. He made his way to the busy tram stop and boarded a tram with a number that matched his piece of paper. After only a few stops he had the entire car to himself; the other passengers had dismounted, driven away by the strong smell that clung to him. Only the conductor remained, behind his glassed-in driving position. He occasionally looked back at his sole passenger with annoyance.

  Mel listened attentively each time the conductor rang the bell and shouted out the names of the various stops but he did not hear the name of his destination. He soon lost all track of time and imagined himself exploring the city once he had regained his privileges.

  ‘All change. End of the line.’ The conductor’s voice shook Mel from his reverie. He looked up just in time to see the conductor step down from the cab and disappear into the fog. Mel was quite alone. He stepped off and looked around for someone to ask for directions but the place appeared to be completely deserted. In no time at all he was lost in the narrow streets. Mel sat down on a doorstep to think what to do next when he heard footsteps. He caught sight of two strangers wearing red robes emerging from the fog. Fifth Mystery men! He shrank back into the doorway and the two men walked past without seeing him. In a flash, he realised that they must be going to the House of Mysteries. Cautiously, he began to follow them.

  Sure enough, they soon approached the veiled form of a huge building. The yellow lights from its windows were reflected palely on the damp cobbles of the street. It was easily the biggest building Mel had ever seen. A rectangle of light briefly appeared when a door was opened and closed as the two Mystery men entered the building. Mel dashed up after them but found the door locked. At least I’ve found the House of Mysteries, he thought.

  It seemed oddly deserted for such an important place. Mel began to follow the wall, hoping to find the door to the commissary. Eventually, a thin sliver of light appeared, revealing a door. Mel pushed it open and stepped inside.

  ‘Oi, what’re you doing here?’ Mel spun round at the sound of the voice. Confronting him was a tall man dressed in the uniform of the Fifth Mystery.

  Mel backed away involuntarily. ‘I’m sorry but I’m lost. I’m new to the city. Please, is this the House of Mysteries? I’m looking for the commissary.’

  ‘This is the South-Eastern winding shed, you’re miles from the House. You’re a spy. What’re you really doing here?’ The man grabbed Mel roughly by the arm. ‘Yargh! You smell dreadful.’ He released him quickly.

  ‘No, honestly. I’m looking for the commissary. See, I’ve got a warrant here for some pigment.’ He withdrew the document from his doublet and showed it to the man.

  Whether the man was convinced of his explanation or simply wanted to be rid of the obnoxious smell, Mel was escorted brusquely to the door and pointed in the direction of the Great House. He began walking and soon heard a clanking sound, followed by a subdued groaning as a line of chained men in ragged clothes materialised from the fog. Mel stood aside to let them and their scarlet-clad guards pass in the narrow street. They were obviously headed for the winding shed.

  ‘Hey, you there,’ said a quiet voice. ‘Apprentice. Blenk’s boy.’

  ‘Silence. No talking back there!’ yelled one of the prisoners’ escorts.

  Mel looked around for who had addressed him.

  ‘Yes, you,’ said the voice even more softly. One of the prisoners was looking at Mel from the corner of his eyes, trying to speak without moving his lips. He was filthy, half-starved with matted hair that might have been auburn. He had a scar across the bridge of his nose and stared at Mel with hollow, haunted eyes.

  ‘How did you know I’m one of the master’s apprentices?’ asked Mel.

  ‘You’re wearing the most famous livery in Vlam. Do you know Wren? She’s about your age, works in the kitchen.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Mel, surprised. He fell into step with the line of prisoners. ‘She’s my friend.’

  ‘Tell me, is she well? How’s she looking?’

  ‘She’s well. But how do you know her?’

  ‘Can you take her a message – ?’

  ‘Who’s talking back there?’ One of the guards was walking briskly back down the line.

  The man began to speak quickly. ‘Tell Wren I love her. I think of her all the time. Tell Wren her father said to … to look in the night.’

  Mel took to his heels and ran off at the guard’s approach. Behind him, he heard the sound of a man being beaten. Shaken, he ran on blindly until he saw lights appearing through the fog. He was back at the tram. The conductor had returned from his tea-break and was climbing into the cab. ‘Excuse me,’ said Mel, slightly out of breath. ‘I thought that this tram went to the House of Mysteries?’

  The conductor paused. ‘Not this tram, son. From here at the South-East Winding Shed to the river. That’s my route.’

  ‘But I was given this number. Look.’ He showed the man the paper Dirk Tot had given him. ‘It’s the same as yours.’

  ‘So it is, number nineteen, right enough,’ the conductor said, examining it. ‘But wait a mo; it could also be sixty-one.’ He turned the note upside down. ‘Now, a sixty-one goes right past the Mysteries. Hop back on. I’ll tell you where to change.’ He caught a whiff of Mel. ‘But do me a favour, son. Ride on the running-board outside, will you?’

  Mel fretted about the delay during the two tram journeys that eventually set him down outside the House of Mysteries. The scale and splendour of the structure was obscured by the fog as he ran up the steps towards the entrance.

  ‘And just where do you think you’re going?’ A doorman barred his way.

  Mel showed him the warrant.

  ‘Side door. The commissary’s at the side door. How many times do they have to be told? I don’t care if you are one of Blenk’s apprentices, civilians are not allowed in the front. Whatever next?’

  Mel reached the side door and entered. He found himself in a long corridor that curved upwards in a sweeping incline. Presently, he came to an open door and entered it to find himself in a long room lit from above by gas chandeliers. All along one wall was a long, continuous bench seat of mahogany beneath a wall-length mirror. On the bench sat customers awaiting their goods. Facing it was an equally long and high counter of the same dark wood, lit by more gas lamps. Behind it, on shelves that reached up to the ceiling, were arrayed thousands of huge, oddly shaped glass jars containing pigments of every imaginable colour, including a few that Mel had never guessed existed.

  As Mel advanced into the commissary, the customers waiting on the bench slid away from his unwelcome odour.

  ‘Yes?’ The man in charge eyed Mel over half-moon spectacles.

  ‘I’m to give you this,’ said Mel nervously. ‘It’s for some pigment.’

  ‘The young scut here says he wants some pigment. Have we got any pigment in at the moment?’

  ‘All gone. Tell him to come back tomorrow,’ said his assistant, as he measured out a quantity of orange pigment into a complicated set of brass scales.

  ‘What’s all that then?’ Mel pointed to the shelves where another man rolled back and forth on a wheeled ladder. ‘Please, it’s really, really urgent. I’ve got to – ’

  The man in charge shook his head. ‘Give it here then.’ He leant forward to take the proffered warrant. ‘Poo! You smell worse than you look.’ He snatched the document and quickly retreated. ‘Go and wait outside. You’ll be called when it’s ready.’

  Mel went out into the corridor to stand by a large archway, open to the air. The first puffs of a breeze that promised to blow the fog away ruffled his hair and made him feel less uneasy about being there in the headquarters of the Fifth Mystery.

  That same breeze wafted along the corridor and into the ventilation shaft feeding fresh air down through the building and into the chambers below. In one such chamber the breeze oozed out of the ventilator, carrying with it the disagreeable odour of rabbit-skin size.

  ‘What’s that smell?’ asked Adolfus Spute, wrinkling his stubby nose.<
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  A negative note from his whistle indicated that Mumchance did not know.

  ‘Men!’ the High-Bailiff shouted for his assistants.

  Mumchance’s whistle.

  ‘Yes, you’re quite right, of course I did. How forgetful of me. I sent them to Kop to collect our guests, didn’t I? We’d best go and find out for ourselves. What is that stink?’

  ‘Red mercuric sulphide!’ The completion of an order was announced in the commissary. When no one came forward the man bellowed at the top of his lungs, ‘Red mercuric sulphide! Cinnabar for Blenk!’

  Mel rushed back in. ‘That’s for me!’ A parcel was pushed down the counter. He tucked the valuable pigment into his doublet and hurried back the way he had come.

  ‘It’s getting stronger. It’s definitely coming from this direction.’ The High-Bailiff and his companion hurried along the corridor leading up to the commissary. ‘Whatever is that … Smell! How nice to see you again.’

  Mel froze. The High-Bailiff and Mumchance stood there, blocking his way. He suddenly felt very cold.

  ‘So we meet again. Just when we thought that we faced a dreary afternoon, you’ve brought some colour into our lives.’

  Mumchance smiled and piped a long note on his silver whistle. He and the High-Bailiff moved closer.

  Mel wished he had his bodkin. But I do have this! He withdrew the parcel and flung the powdered cinnabar in their faces. Adolfus Spute screamed and Mumchance doubled up, both coughing and clawing at their eyes. Mel turned and began to run back up the corridor, but the commissary servers emerged, barring his escape.

  Mel looked to his right, at the archway, but escape was impossible that way. It was high above the street; the fall would surely kill him. To his left was a door. In desperation, he lunged at it, and it opened on to a stairwell. There was a scuffle of feet behind him as his pursuers reached the doorway.

  With no time to think, Mel took the down staircase as a hand grabbed his collar. He half-turned and saw the High-Bailiff’s face, now stained red and contorted with an inhuman fury. ‘I know you took it, Smell. It’s mine, you thief. It’s mine, and I want it back.’