Dragons of the Valley - Donita K. Paul [41]
If he could have rolled his eyes, Beccaroon would have. The mischief in his old friend’s expression did make him laugh.
Lady Peg’s eyes grew wide, and she whispered, “Verrin Schope, we certainly have a right to help our friend. And how can we help him if we aren’t in his room?”
Verrin Schope smoothed the ointment over the tender skin, and Lady Peg joined in the ritual that kept Beccaroon’s wound site free of the complications of wearing a prosthesis.
Beccaroon turned his head and peered over his shoulder. The dragons resettled themselves close enough to keep watch over the proceedings.
“But we are not supposed to know him.” Verrin Schope winked at Bec.
Lady Peg continued her hushed meanderings. “Oh, now that’s not right. We do know him, so you can’t change that. What you must mean is that others we meet aren’t supposed to know that we know him. That’s a big difference. It isn’t logical to say we don’t know him when we do, but it is possible to fool others into believing we don’t know him.”
“Just so,” Beccaroon said. “A very logical point, Lady Peg.”
She smiled at Beccaroon, then frowned at her husband. “And if some come to know we know Sir Bec, it won’t be because of burrs in his feathers. Wherever did you get such a notion?”
Beccaroon tried to puzzle that one out but gave up with a shrug of his shoulders. Verrin Schope checked to see that his wife was not watching and mouthed the word “cum-bers-ome.” Bec nodded his understanding. Lady Peg had moved on to “de-tailed.”
After four of his self-appointed attendants left for their own beds, Beccaroon pushed a chair over to the open window and perched there to enjoy the cloudless night. The two healing dragons stayed. As he sat on the arm of the chair, his backside rested in the cushioned seat. Grandur and Zabeth curled up next to the tender stump.
From his window the next day, Beccaroon could see Verrin Schope in the town square. He’d set up his easel and dabbed paint on a canvas. He stood on a familiar piece of flooring. With the board from his wife’s closet beneath his feet, Verrin Schope’s body would dissipate and reform within the blink of an eye. No one should notice the phenomenon. Without the centering board that somehow connected with a portal to another continent, the artist could scatter to the corners of the world.
The wizard artist interacted with townspeople as they passed by him on their daily business. Bec knew Verrin Schope extracted more facts from their minds than he did from their words. Along with mind reading and subliminal suggestion, the wizard could delve into a person’s mind as easily as flipping the pages of a book.
Lady Peg sat in a comfy chair confiscated from the inn. She wore a large floppy hat to protect her skin. Much to the delight of the children, the minor dragons frolicked in the grass and did tricks in the air. Beccaroon watched for a while, then turned back to his book.
Hours later, Beccaroon sat in the tavern with his tail restored. He enjoyed his evening meal and eavesdropped on the conversations at tables nearby. The urge to compete with Verrin Schope in the collection of useful rumors kept him attentive to all around him.
He picked up only a few nuggets of information. The bisonbecks had come to the inn weeks earlier and met with another foreigner. The region had fewer problems with kidnappings by slave traders this year, but the farmers had lost livestock to some marauders who left no tracks. They were fearful of blaming the bisonbecks. No one wanted to confront such brawny thugs. But the worst of the rumors he overheard was the disappearance of so many men in authority. Mayors, legislators, councilmen, magistrates, military officers, and powerful landowners had gone missing.
A local band set up to play at one end of the room, and Beccaroon decided to retire. He wouldn’t be able to hear much over whatever music they played. He signaled for his waitress to bring the check, but instead the serving maid brought a marione over and introduced