Dragons of the Valley - Donita K. Paul [73]
The tumanhofer scowled. She’d evaded his every attempt to elicit information as to the purpose of their stay. He felt sure the paintings hid something of value. Did they transport messages or reports with the pictures?
So she found this little exercise of wits invigorating? The woman strived to appear foolish, but he was too seasoned to fall for such a trick. She overplayed her hand and thus gave herself away.
He’d walk with her until she returned to the inn. The pretense would trip her up. The hoax was too elaborate to maintain. He need only be patient.
28
Scoundrels
At the knock on the door, Groddenmitersay jumped to answer. Kulson stood in the upstairs hall of the inn, a flat, oversized bundle under his arm. The tumanhofer waved him in.
“You were careful?”
Kulson grunted. “No one saw me.”
“Put the package on the bed, and light more lanterns. Bring them close so we can see.”
The tumanhofer took care in removing the cloth covering that protected Verrin Schope’s art. Six pictures. He took out the sheets of heavy vellum and lined them up across the bedspread.
“Still life,” he said.
Kulson placed another lantern on the bedside stand. “What?”
“The picture is of a collection of objects on a table. This subject matter is called a still life.”
Kulson studied the various poses of fruit, vegetables, and a lone candle as Groddenmitersay picked up one picture after another to study in the bright light from three lanterns.
“I get it,” said the bisonbeck. “A horse moves, people move, even trees move in the wind, so things that don’t move are still.”
Groddenmitersay cast his captain a resigned expression. The man couldn’t help being built for battle and not for intellectual pursuits. Kulson came in handy as long as one remembered to think for him.
“Yes, you’re correct.” Groddenmitersay went back to his inspection of Verrin Schope’s pictures.
The items in each of the six pictures were identical but arranged differently. Verrin Schope had executed one in black and white. Each of the others blushed with colors of varying vibrancy. Brilliant hues embellished only one painting.
Groddenmitersay saw no obvious message in the pictures. He turned over the one in his hand. In the lower right-hand corner, he spotted a scribble. Holding it closer to the light he made out the handwritten notation, “three.”
“Aha!”
“What?” asked Kulson.
The tumanhofer picked up another picture and checked the back. “Five. They’re numbered.”
He sorted the artwork according to the numbers. The first was the black and white. A slight wash of color appeared in the second. Each progressive picture carried a darker shade, until bright colors enlivened the last sketch.
The tumanhofer stood back, cradling his chin in his hand and contemplating the designs. “The first picture looks like it might be a letter. The letter L.”
Kulson grunted.
Groddenmitersay pointed to the fourth picture. “That could be a D.”
Kulson leaned forward, squinting at the paintings. “I don’t see any letters.”
The tumanhofer didn’t respond. He studied Verrin Schope’s art. He turned them so they were upside down. Then he left the top three upside down and returned the second row to the original position. Then he arranged them so every other one was turned topsy-turvy. He laid them end to end on the floor. Between every arrangement, he considered what hidden message could be in the line placement of the fruit, vegetables, and candle.
“The key could be the placement of the candle in relationship to the other items.” He sighed. “And there are extraneous lines all over the place.” He reached for two of the papers. “I might be able to match that random mark at the ends of the paper. I doubt these background marks are really haphazard.”
Groddenmitersay placed the paintings on the bed again and spent a few minutes testing his new theory. With the pictures in numerical order, he lined up the background contours so that one mark flowed off one paper and onto the next. Because he had arranged the pictures in two rows of three, the