Chapter 10: The Painting
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I.
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She took a step backwards.
Theodore sighed placidly. "I knew you wouldn't want to, yet," he said.
"I do like the idea," said Quest. "I like it a great deal. But I can't."
"Hum," remarked Theodore. "I s'pose you have ties. Something to keep you. I don't."
"Shall you go it alone?"
"N-o-o," he answered sadly.
A short silence ensued.
Quest said, "How old are you, Theodore?"
"A dozen."
"Years you've spent doing…?"
"Life," said Theodore. "It's fairly easy, you know; just breathing in and out again."
"Quest!"
At the sound of her name, Quest whirled, scanning the marketplace. She could've sworn -
Before she knew what was happening Sashay had crushed her in his arms, nearly throttling the breath from her. Hands flailing, she tried to speak and failed - she finally managed to wriggle halfway out of his grasp and glanced up. His face was pale.
"Where have you been?" he demanded, not letting go.
"Trying to find you," she said.
"I've been worried out of my mind. Why did you let go – "
"I didn't do it purposefully," said Quest, rather perturbed. "In case you hadn't noticed, it's a bit crowded in there – "
"All the same – "
"Calm down, you goose." She slipped out of his arms and dusted herself off. "I'm all right. Theodore showed me the way back."
"Who's Theodore?" Sashay looked over her shoulder.
"He's just – " Quest turned, and stared around, trying to spot the boy; but his red hair was nowhere in sight. He had evidently decided the conversation was over and disappeared.
"He was here, anyway," she said. "He was doing magic tricks and I stopped to watch and he showed me the way back here."
"You can't trust random strangers!"
"But – " She stopped, suddenly understanding what Sashay was thinking. "He's twelve years old, Sashay. Hardly a ruffian, I should think."
"Oh," said Sashay, and frowned. "You can't really blame me for being worried, you know."
"I know."
Sashay humphed.
He looked forlorn, so Quest looped her arm through his and pointed to the crowd. "Where are Lucky and Joseph?"
"I saw them back at the fishmonger's." Sashay sounded a little easier in his mind, and he pressed her arm closer. "We could go there, or we could go back to the ship, if you like."
"Let's go back to the Suzy," said Quest. "I'm tired."
They began walking, up the street, under the stained glass patchwork. The air was quiet. A few birds swept by overhead.
"By the way," said Sashay. "Did you see or hear anything about the Black Widow or Dolly?"
Silence.
"No," said Quest, and they continued on their way.
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II.
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"Lace is fully conscious," said Shrimpy. "And in quite good spirits, too. I believe we have Willis to thank for that."
Willis, eating an apple at the ship's kitchen table, changed color and muttered something about doing nothing at all.
Sashay and Quest had gone to find supper in the larder and had found Willis already there. It appeared he, Shrimpy and Lace had had a rousing debate all morning about the various treatments for fever water, and Lace had won hands-down. "She's a spitfire," Shrimpy had said, nodding his head wisely. "Who'd have thought it, eh?"
Quest cut a piece of persimmon pie and began to eat it with her fingers. "What do you do, Willis?"
"What do I do?"
"I mean, what do you like to do? Carpentry? Or are you a chimney sweep, a stonecutter maybe?"
"Well, I've worked on ships my whole life. Being anything, really. The highest position I ever had was steersman."
"What are those paint smudges on your hands?"
Sashay chuckled. "Astute, Quest," he said.
Quest told him to be quiet.
"Iron Allen lent me his watercolors," said Willis, a little bashfully. "I – I suppose I paint, too. Not really anything good."
A general demand went up for the work to be shown, and ignoring Willis' protests the company trooped down the hall belowdecks to knock on Lace's door.
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"He painted me," said Lace.
It wasn't necessary to know beforehand who the creature in the drawing was. It could be seen upon first glance. The pale wisps of hair flying about the forehead, the green eyes - upon closer scrutiny Quest saw that Willis had used not just green in Lace's eyes, but blue above the pupil and yellow where the light was hitting, with a speck of white like a star in the darkest shadows. Somehow, with her eyes, with a movement of the brush in the shape of her nose and the lines of the long arms, Willis had captured Lace's smile and tears and essence, all together.
And then Quest tilted her head and looked again, and read something else in the painting.
Something was lurking in the brushstrokes; it had seeped into the paint and the very structure of the portrait - and Quest glanced up and caught Willis' eyes, and knew she was right; and his level gaze said You know, then; please don't say anything.
And Quest folded the cover back and said softly, "It's very beautiful."
"It's fascinating the way it looks like me, doesn't it?" Lace took it and opened the book to her portrait again. "I asked him to do more – I'm the only one who has any time to pose, but he doesn't like painting me."
"I didn't say that," protested Willis. "I said I get distracted."
"But I could be Helen, or Artemis and wear a helmet, and he could sell his pictures and get disgustingly rich and I'd be his muse and take half of everything. You're ruining my plans, Will."
Quest stared at Lace. Who was this new person, alive and chattering away like - like she hadn't been speaking half-legible sentences in her sleep not two days before? She was such a far cry from the former muttering wraith, Quest's mouth nearly hung open.
"You could make quite a tidy sum if you sold some of these," said Sashay, looking them over.
"I guess you're an authority on art," murmured Quest, frowning at the picture.
"Think you're clever. No, of course not. I just know what Dongun-Ar people like to buy, and they like color and life, and that's what I see here." Sashay prodded Quest's shoulder. "So you can put that in your pipe and smoke it."
Willis twirled the paintbrush in his hands and said slowly, "I could just sit, you know, outside of the market - and draw people. For a sum."
"Or better yet," exclaimed Quest, "There is that circus – what's it called? – Something with Stars. I suppose all kinds of people will be there, and it won't be so crowded. And it would give you atmosphere – an aura of the unknown."
Sashay scoffed.
"I like the idea," said Lace.
"Agreed," said Quest smugly, and sat on the bed, listening as Shrimpy outlined financial advice. Idly, she put her hand in the pocket of her jacket.
She knew her coin wouldn't be there anymore; of course, she had given it to Theodore. But she hadn't expected to find anything else there either; and as she shifted her hand, she felt the corner of something.
Her fingers closed around it. It was a piece of paper.
She slipped out of the door into the hallway; the others didn't notice, or didn't seem to, and she unfolded the paper and read the words on it. It was a rather dirty piece of blue parchment, and the writing was small and peculiar:
Don't forget about pirates.
T. Bean
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END OF PART ONE
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Elfine's Note: I need a leetle help with this chapter. The flow of this particular installment seems to be missing something and I can't put my finger on it. Suggestions, anyone?
Meanwhile, I love I-thought-I-lost-you reunions. They are so cute. So are Lace and Willis. At the risk of sounding pretentious, they ought to be Potential Couple of the Year. Bonus! I have finally worked out a posting plan – a chapter every one-two weeks. Eh?
Elfine's Note No. 2: IMPORTANT! Desperado is going on temporary hiatus while I post a novella (fancy-schmancy word for "longer than a short story and shorter than a long story") entitled Springwild, about a fairy. Publishing will begin on Sunday and I shall update it every other day. If you like purple-drenched passages, please read it; I have very much loved writing it. Thank you!