Illuminations, p.8
Illuminations, page 8
“There!” said Payne happily. “That’ll teach it! It’s hard to catch them, but they come apart pretty easily once you’ve gotten a grip on one.” He dusted charcoal off his claws and looked pleased with himself. “Good to see that being stuck on a box for a couple centuries hasn’t dulled the old beak at all.”
“Rosalita?” called Uncle Alfonso. “Is the crow in there?”
Payne’s look of triumph faded. “He heard me!”
“You did caw awfully loud,” said Rosa. She went to the opening of the bay. “Yes, Uncle. It landed in here. It’s…um…not hurting anything. I think it’s hungry.”
Uncle Alfonso nodded. “I shall put out some bread,” he said, and vanished into the kitchen.
“But—” whispered Payne.
“Look,” hissed Rosa, “everybody knows there’s a crow in the studio! Just pretend to be a regular old crow and nobody will know you can talk!”
Payne fluffed up his feathers. “I suppose you’re right. And bread would be good,” he admitted. “I think I’ve earned some bread after that.”
Rosa knew that Uncle Alfonso was looking for an excuse to come into her room and talk to her. He believed her, but somehow that made the fact that she couldn’t tell him even worse.
“There,” said Payne. “You saw that. That’s what happens when the Scarling draws with the charcoal. It steals the magic from illuminations by drawing on them and then it uses that magic to make scribblings come alive. That’s why people would want it. They could use it to make paintings that come alive themselves.”
“Like you?” said Rosa.
Payne looked uncomfortable. “Probably not nearly as good,” he muttered. “Tybalt was a genius. Obviously. Anyway, the charcoal is like a…a conduit, right? It takes power from one thing and moves it somewhere else. From an illumination to a scribbling.”
“That’s horrible,” said Rosa. “Why would anyone want that?”
“Well…” Payne scraped his beak. “It had its uses. Look, you know how you make a sketch and then you paint over it, right?”
She nodded.
“Well, if you drew your sketch and then the Scarling traced over it with its charcoal, and then you painted on top of that, your painting would come to life when you were finished. That’s why people want it. You just need the charcoal and a smidge of talent and you could make things come alive.”
Rosa considered this. “You mean you could make a scribbling?”
“Much more than just a scribbling. The Scarling’s not an illuminator. If you combine the talent of an illuminator with the charcoal, you get life.” He snorted. “Also the Scarling just can’t draw very well. It’s only good at tracing.”
The idea that you could make a living painting was fascinating, but also somewhat alarming. You could make beautiful things, like Aunt Nadia’s angels, or even Uncle Marco’s gorgeous beetles with their rainbow-colored shells. Beautiful things that made the world better. Then she thought of the siren painting in Cousin Sergio’s bay, with her lovely scales and her long, sharp fangs. Not nice! Eats people!
The Mandolinis were one thing. But if just anybody could draw a painting, and have it come to life…the scribblings were bad enough. What if somebody wanted to draw really big wicked things…monsters, nightmares, devils?
The cathedral in the center of town had a gigantic painting across the ceiling. It was Art, not an illumination—illuminations weren’t allowed in the cathedral, except for little ones at the doors to keep out mice—but it showed heaven and hell. The artist had clearly been very enthusiastic about painting hell. It was full of lost souls and things with extra heads and gigantic teeth and what if somebody could make paintings like those come to life and they came walking down the street with their teeth gnashing and their claws ripping—
Rosa began to understand why Payne didn’t want to tell anybody about the Scarling.
I wouldn’t ever draw anything like that. I’d draw…well, fanged radishes, probably. She stifled a sigh. She didn’t know why it always came back to the radishes. She drew horses sometimes, too, but even then she usually had a fanged radish riding on its back.
If I had a charcoal like that, it wouldn’t matter that I don’t have my magic yet.
Way down deep, where she rarely allowed herself to think about it, was the fear that she might never get any more magic. She might never be an illuminator. But if she had the Scarling’s charcoal, would that matter?
If we could make living paintings, everybody would know that the Studio Mandolini are the greatest family of illuminators in the city. We’d never have to worry about getting enough work again. And Serena would have to take back the mean things she said.
“If we catch the Scarling, is there a way that we can use the charcoal to make paintings without—”
Payne didn’t let her finish. “There!” he squawked. “There, you see? This is why it’s dangerous. You find out about it and you want it!”
“I was just asking!”
“Sure, that’s how it starts,” said Payne. “But it always goes bad. Tybalt knew it and he locked the thing away in a box and set me to guard it!”
“But—”
“People see that kind of power and they want it and they won’t stop until they get it!”
“Don’t yell at me!” snapped Rosa. “I didn’t do anything! I just asked a question!”
“It was a stupid question!”
“You’re stupid!”
“No, you!”
They glared at each other.
It was exactly like fighting with Serena. And like fighting with Serena, there was really only one thing to do.
Rosa stuck her tongue out and went “Nyyyyuuhhh-uh!”
(This had worked on Serena for years, until she had started to say, “Saints, Rosa, you’re such a child.”)
Payne fluffed up the feathers along his neck until he looked like a bottle brush and said “NYUUUHH-HUH!”
They stared at each other a moment longer, and then Rosa dissolved into giggles.
“Hmmph!” said Payne, smoothing down his feathers and looking smug.
And then everything was fine again…at least, until the next drawing showed up.
FIFTEEN
Morning
Melon Day
Thermidor, the Month of Heat
* * *
Grandmama didn’t even bother to say anything this time. She simply dropped the bucket and the sponge at Rosa’s feet and walked away.
Rosa stared at it. She didn’t even know where the drawing was—but if she asked, there was going to be yelling. There was a hard set to Grandmama’s jaw, as if she’d been pushed much too close to the edge and was going to start pushing back.
The payment from the Dynast for the great tile illumination had arrived that morning, and that should have eased Grandmama’s mind a little, but it had been followed immediately by the man who sold canvas, who needed paying. Canvas was not terribly expensive, but they used a great deal of it in the studio. And then the grocer came to the door, and the woman who supplied coffee.
“They can smell money,” said Grandmama, as another knock came on the door. “Jackals!
“They are mostly our friends,” said Uncle Alfonso mildly. “We’ve known Martin for forty years.”
“Do not be reasonable at me,” said Grandmama. “I am not in the mood to be reasoned at. Take what’s left and go pay the taxes, will you?”
“Certainly,” said Alfonso. “I shall take Rosa with me.”
“Rosa is grounded,” said Grandmama.
“I shall not let her out of my sight,” said Uncle Alfonso. “We shall have no fun whatsoever and I will not make even one joke.”
Rosa hastily shoved the bucket of water back into her bay. The drawing would vanish soon anyway, like all the others, so it wasn’t as if she was shirking.
He said something else to Grandmama, too quietly for Rosa to hear, and then Grandmama said, “Fine, see if you can get anything out of her, then.”
“Put on your shoes, Rosalita,” said Uncle Alfonso. “We have a grim duty ahead of us and I require your company.”
Rosa had one sandal on when there was yet another knock on the front door.
Grandmama threw her hands in the air. “Are we to have no peace today at all? We have no more money, so they will simply have to go away!” She stalked to the front door and opened it.
They were too far away for Rosa to catch more than a few words, but her name was one of them.
“…no…Rosa…grounded…not today…”
The voice that came back was unmistakably Serena’s. “Not for that. Dad sent me to borrow some pigment. He said Marco’s white is the best, and he needs it for the dragon’s eyes.”
Rosa looked up at Uncle Alfonso in horror. She didn’t want to see Serena right now. Not when she was already grounded and Serena had said such mean things to her. She had too much on her mind already and if she had to start thinking about whether or not she and Serena were still friends, she was going to collapse into a heap and wail in despair.
Uncle Alfonso patted his pockets and said, “Hmm, it seems I’ve forgotten my…err…lizard. I shall go look for it directly. We’ll leave in just a few moments.”
“Lizard?” whispered Rosa.
“Very important, lizards. One should never go out without a lizard. You never know when you’ll need one.” He tapped the side of his nose.
Rosa drew back into the corner of her bay and waited, listening to Uncle Marco rummage around for white paint and hand it over to Serena. “With my compliments to your father,” he said.
The front door opened and closed again. After a moment or two, Uncle Alfonso returned.
“Did you find a lizard?” asked Rosa, shoving her other foot into her sandal.
“Hmm? Oh. Do you know, there does not seem to be a lizard in the place? I suppose we shall simply have to risk needing one. Now let us go.”
Rosa scurried after her uncle. Grandmama watched them go with her lips pinched and an odd expression on her face.
“Now, we must be very serious,” said Uncle Alfonso. “There shall be no giggling, and absolutely no joking.”
He gave her an exaggeratedly somber look under his eyebrows. Rosa would have giggled under other circumstances, but she was much too worried about the Scarling.
Payne can watch things while I’m away. It will be fine. I hope.
She was torn between relief at getting away and a gnawing sense of dread that things would get even worse.
At least if I’m not home, they can’t blame me for any new drawings!
They trudged along together. Rosa took two steps for every one that Uncle Alfonso took.
“Your trouble must be very serious, Rosalita,” he said, when they had gone several blocks.
She grunted.
“That was an excellent grunt. You would make a very good little old man with a grunt like that.”
She smiled involuntarily, and Uncle Alfonso, watching her closely, smiled too.
It was a long walk to the little office where they paid the taxes. The streets were full of people doing their shopping before the afternoon heat. Everywhere that Rosa looked, she saw people.
And under their feet and over their heads, painted on walls and ceilings and floors, on the bridles of horses and the sides of carriages, worked into lamp-posts and set into shop doors, she saw illuminations.
Some were ancient and worn away and probably hadn’t worked for centuries. Some were so new that the paint shone as if it were still wet.
What would happen if the Scarling got out and began scribbling over all those illuminations, the way it had on Nadia’s?
There were illuminations on every doorway against fire and flood. Those kept the city safe. You had to have them on every building, by order of the Dynast. And there were all the other little illuminations that weren’t as important, but which kept things running smoothly: the painted bridles that kept horses from slipping on the stones and hurting themselves; the shop windows etched with dancing leopards in the corners, an illumination against breakage; even the windowsills with little charms to keep pigeons from pooping on them.
Rosa tried to imagine a city without them and felt her heart sink even farther.
Maybe it won’t be so bad. Payne obviously likes to yell “Doom!” It’s just one nasty little vegetable, how much damage can it do? It can’t draw a scowly face on every illumination in the city!
Rosa remembered the horrible painted face on the mandrake root and the way that it had advanced on her, trying to scare her. And it had been drawn immediately to the most important thing in the studio, Aunt Nadia’s great angel painting.
The Scarling didn’t have to draw on all the illuminations, just the important ones. The ones against fire, say. Or even the ones against pigeons.
Rosa’s parents had died in a fire long ago, when she was a baby. A building behind the studio had been abandoned, and the wards against pigeons had lapsed. So the pigeons had pooped all over the building, including on the illuminations that kept away fires. It sounded funny, but the fire had raged through the building and jumped to the studio. The studio’s own illuminations had burned out trying to stop the blaze.
Grandmama wouldn’t talk about it. Uncle Marco had said once, very softly, that it was lucky that it had struck the studio out of all the buildings in the city. “Our illuminations kept it from spreading,” he said. “Half the neighborhood might have burned down otherwise.”
“Lucky for everyone but us,” said Uncle Alfonso, and Rosa had slipped away so that neither of them knew she had overheard.
He had happier things than fire on his mind now. Uncle Alfonso called out to friends as they walked, waved to other illuminators, and bowed very deeply to a little old woman who waved him off with her shawl and said, “Away with you, flatterer!”
Rosa trailed along behind him. Her feet seemed to get heavier with every step.
They went into the office of the Dynast, a large, handsome building with pillars and illuminated murals that glowed with magic. None of them were from the Studio Mandolini. The magic felt silvery to Rosa, and a bit furry. Studio Lasrina, probably.
She knew that people who weren’t illuminators didn’t feel magic the same way, but there was so much inside the building that she didn’t know how anyone couldn’t feel it.
She hoped that feeling it meant that she was going to become an illuminator when she was older, but there were no guarantees. Grandmama wasn’t an illuminator, but she had enough talent to feel a little bit of magic. She said that Studio Lasrina’s paintings always made her feel vaguely as if she had dog hair on her clothes.
Rosa wandered over to a mural while Uncle Alfonso talked to the man behind the marble counter. The mural was ten feet tall and featured a parliament of owls holding scrolls and scale balances. They were very somber owls, as suited a place of government, but the branches had smiling faces hidden in them.
Uncle Alfonso finished his transaction and came back over, sighing. “Well, that’s that,” he said. “The money comes and the money goes. Let’s go home.”
A block or two from home, Uncle Alfonso paused. There was a little park, barely more than a bench and a tree, but he drew her into it. “Sit with me a moment, Rosalita. My old legs are tired.”
Rosa sat beside him, staring at the cracked brickwork under her feet.
“Is there anything you need to tell me, Rosalita?”
She swallowed. She didn’t dare look at him.
“Sometimes things seem very bad in our heads, but they aren’t so bad when we tell other people.”
She wanted to tell him so badly, but if she did, Payne would be furious. And Serena wasn’t speaking to her and Aunt Nadia was so angry she couldn’t even be in the same room, so Payne was the only friend she really had right now.
Even that might not have stopped her. Rosa knew that her family weren’t the sort to want the Scarling’s power, no matter what Payne thought. But she also knew she should have told someone right away. If she’d told her family about the Scarling when it first appeared, then they could have caught it before it ruined Nadia’s painting. If an illumination held a piece of the painter’s heart, then the Scarling had taken a bite out of Nadia’s, and Rosa had let it happen.
If Payne and I can catch the Scarling, it’ll all stop. It’ll be okay again. Everything will go back to normal.
She didn’t let herself think of what might happen if they didn’t succeed. How much would the Scarling destroy? And it will be my fault, because I let it out.
Besides, the worst that happens if I don’t tell is that I feel bad. The worst that happens if I do is that somebody takes Payne apart to find out how he works. You couldn’t really compare the two, could you?
“All right,” said Uncle Alfonso, when she had been silent for much too long. “If you think of anything…anything at all…you know I’ll listen.”
Rosa nodded. If he said anything else, she was going to cry.
But he didn’t say anything else. Instead he stood up and they went home, past all the illuminations, which—for now—still worked.
SIXTEEN
Very Early Morning
Ryegrass Day
Thermidor, the Month of Heat
* * *
Rosa woke up in the middle of the night because there was a beak in her ear.
“Guhhnn! Whuh? Payne?”
“There!” whispered the crow, with satisfaction. “You’re awake!”
“I am now,” she grumbled. “You poked me in the ear!”
“Yeah, well, you sleep like a log. A stone log. And you snore.”
“I do not!”
“You do so! Worse than Tybalt, and he sounded like a herd of elephants. Now keep your voice down and come with me!”
Rosa sat up. The studio windows were still velvety black.
“Wh…what time is it?”
“Late,” said Payne. He hopped up onto her shoulder. “Midnight, at least. The Scarling’s been up to mischief. Come on!”
