A Beast's Tale

Chapter 7

"I'm surprised at you, Chev. Bringing me along instead of your pretty little maid. Isn't she your personal attendant?"

I kept my eyes on my book as Clavis prattled on about whatever nonsense popped into his mind. His voice was part of the background noise, along with the clip-clop of horses' hooves and the clattering of carriage wheels. The warm spring weather made for a pleasant ride, company notwithstanding. Ivetta probably enjoyed her walk to and from the palace. In the morning, it would give her time to prepare for the day, and in the evening, it would give her an opportunity to unwind.

The carriage jostled to a stop. Clavis opened the door and leaped onto the sidewalk. I set my book on the seat and followed in a more dignified fashion.

"I might attend this auction," he said, following me into the gallery. "Traditional artwork is boring, but this artist comes up with odd angles and unique subject matter. It'll be interesting to see how much foreign art dealers will pay for his paintings."

"Ah, Prince Chevalier, Prince Clavis." The gallery owner scurried toward us on short legs, his beady black eyes sunken into his round face. He bowed low, low enough for me to wonder if he would lose his balance and fall over, too top-heavy for his skinny legs to support. "Everything is ready for the auction. We have multiple top painters and sculptors from—"

"Is he in his studio?" I interrupted, uninterested in the details. That was the reason I brought Clavis, after all.

"Ah, yes, yes, he is finishing a new painting right now."

I left them and strode toward the back room, where a set of narrow stairs led up to a small apartment above the gallery. The painter living there had yet to sell a piece, but his work was promising enough for me to sponsor him. This auction would prove whether I had wasted my money or made a wise investment.

It was an investment. I didn't gamble, and though I was no art aficionado, I knew talent when I saw it.

I didn't bother to knock. When he was in the middle of a painting, he was deaf to the world. I let myself in and followed the thoughtful humming and muttered words to the disaster zone. The paint-splattered tarps covering the floor helped contain the mess, though droplets decorated the wall nearest to the easel and the painter. He stood still, chewing the end of his brush and tilting his head to the side, and then he sprang into motion and added several strokes of gray to the scene before him.

I went to the far corner of the room and uncovered the finished paintings. Almost a dozen, varying from portraits to city scenes to a cloudy sky. He painted whatever struck his mood, which put him at risk of producing artwork nobody would buy. Fortunately, these were all of excellent quality and would interest individual collectors and art dealers, thus bringing more revenue into Rhodolite.

"It's done!"

I returned to his side and studied the painting. A view from his window, with slight cloudiness from the panes of glass and the bars of the window frame interrupting the scene. It was the street down below at a busy time of day. Late afternoon, I guessed. A horse-drawn carriage waited outside a storefront while another drove past it, and numerous people crowded the sidewalks, traveling in both directions.

"Prince Chevalier!" The painter gasped and spun to face me. "I-I'm so sorry! I didn't hear you come in!"

"You painted this today?"

"I started it yesterday afternoon," he replied, turning a proud smile upon the canvas. "After five o'clock, when the street was at its busiest."

I'd guessed as much. One figure walking along the sidewalk was a familiar young woman with long, sleek black hair. I couldn't see her face, but I'd seen no one with hair like hers. It fell freely past her hips, no longer restrained by a ponytail, and she'd changed out of her uniform and into a faded green dress. Her short stature and petite figure as compared with the surrounding people removed any doubt as to her identity.