Behind the Canvas (10 page)

Yes!
Now was her chance.

Then her moist fingers slipped on the smooth yellow plastic of the bottle. The tension released and the sides of the bottle sprang back to their natural shape, sucking in air with a
slurp
.

The guard reappeared in the gallery entrance. His beam of light trained on Claudia in an instant.

“What the…?” He took a few steps forward, placing himself squarely in front of the Dalí. “You're the kid with the backpack.”

Tears sprang to her eyes as she crouched beneath the Rubens. Past the blinding light, past the security guard, she could see the Dalí painting on the other side of the room. It was too dark to make out details, but Pim was probably in the painting, watching her right now.

She had come so close.

Too close. Too close to give up now.

The guard charged toward her. Like a mousetrap, Claudia's legs released, springing her upward. She spun around as she rose. And with a silent apology to Rubens, she slapped her goopy hand against the painting.

 

C
HAPTER
9

A
PPARENTLY
G
RANNY
Custos knew her stuff. The moment Claudia slapped her ointment-smeared hand to the paint-smoothed canvas, it felt warm, like touching an oven door with cookies baking inside. The warmth exploded through her body in an instant as an invisible force tugged her arm toward the canvas. It pulled harder and harder and she felt warmer and warmer until finally in the middle of that instant she was soaring and falling and turning and tumbling through paint and canvas. Then at the very long end of that instant her feet again touched the ground, in a place both near and far.

As though breaching the surface of water, she gasped for breath and spun around, finding herself nose-to-nose with the museum guard. She jumped back as the pudgy face stared at her, eyes wide, from behind a pane of glass. And etched on that pane of glass was a translucent version of Rubens's
Saint George Battles the Dragon
. In reverse.

She stared at the guard and took a few more steps backward. The guard's eyes followed her. What did he see? Probably a tiny dark-haired girl in Rubens's painting, the same way Pim appeared in her landscape. The guard reached up to touch the canvas, hesitated, and dropped his hand. He looked around the side of the frame, tilted it upward, and looked behind the painting. He turned his flashlight on it, blinding Claudia. He clicked it on and off several times. Then he staggered backward and dropped to the gallery bench, where he sat facing the Rubens.

Her hand trembling, Claudia reached up and stroked the glass window-painting. Somehow it still had the gentle, rough texture of canvas but looked as though it would shatter if she rapped her knuckles on it. She stepped back and saw that, instead of a frame, the window was embedded in a rough wall of stone. She followed the curvature of the gray stone up and around … and was awestruck.

She stood in a wide stone tunnel—no, a cave—with a shallow ceiling. The floor and walls were uneven but smooth, as though worn down with time. The paths to the right and to the left curved around so that she couldn't see where they went. Woven throughout the walls like spiderwebs were veins of crystal—thin in some places but as thick as her arm in others. And just as the walls of the Art Institute had been crowded with paintings, the walls of the cave were peppered with glassy, translucent paintings in reverse.

Claudia approached another window. The portrait of a woman, a queen, maybe. The window looked out into an extravagant bedroom, colored with lush carpet and a velvety bed. The room was empty. She moved to another window, a painting of a square golden building sitting on the banks of a canal. Beyond the painting was another large gallery, this one filled with people. A tour guide discussed a painting on the adjacent wall with a large group, speaking in another language, maybe Italian. No one seemed to notice Claudia at all.

She moved from one window to the next, looking in at museums, galleries, homes, castles, and churches. Each window led to a new place and new peoples. The cave was filled with the distant, echoing hum of environments and conversations. She passed dozens and dozens of windows, astounded to think that the corners of the world—her world—were connected in that very cave.

And then, finally, she found herself standing in blinding sunlight at the cave's wide, round entrance. As her eyes adjusted, she saw a grassy field spread out before her and a forest beyond that. She stowed the mustard bottle and took a few cautious steps out of the cave.

The scenery pulsed with color. The grass. The trees. The sky—so blue it was unreal.
Azure, isn't that what you call a really blue sky?
The color surrounding her was almost too rich and too deep, like someone had messed with the settings on a computer monitor.

She walked farther into the field, the tall, wispy grass brushing against her fingertips. All of this had been a painting. Or several paintings. And now she stood in the middle of it, as if she were part of a painting herself.
Wait until I show this to Pim.…

Pim. She had to get back. Pim was probably still waiting. He wouldn't leave her. She could put more paste on her hand and touch the Rubens painting again. She would have to wait until the guard left the gallery, but once she was back in the museum, she could enter the Dalí like she was supposed to.

She spun around, back toward the cave entrance.

Something wasn't right. She had a feeling. The same feeling you get when you know someone else is in a room with you even before you hear a sound.

She scanned the field, the trees. The saturated colors suddenly seemed sinister. And then she saw them.

Two large yellow eyes stared at her from the tall grass. Her heart leaped into her throat.

The eyes, already immense, widened even more. The creature that owned them moved up out of its crouch. Wide jaws with dagger teeth. Wrinkled folds of brown beaded skin. Flaps on the side of its head that moved in and out like the gills of a fish. A long snakelike body. And hands and feet that looked like human hands, but clawed and gnarled and powerful.

The dragon from the Rubens painting.

The creature stood between her and the cave. It watched her, daring her to run. But she couldn't leave the cave. It was the only way back home, the only way back to Pim. This couldn't be happening.

With a snarl, it moved—slinking—toward her. A pants-wetting terror filled Claudia and she launched herself in the only direction available—into the forest. Immediately behind her came the violent rustling of grass. Panic surged through her veins, making it hard to get control of her body. She stumbled through the undergrowth. She slipped on a mossy stone and nearly collided with the ground. Finally she got her legs under her and she ran.

Branches tugged at her hair and scraped her face, leaving behind the scent of oil paint and fear. The savage growl of the dragon followed her. She crashed through bushes and branches for what seemed like forever. Over roots and under limbs, she pushed her legs to move until they hurt. The dragon was toying with her. Its powerful legs. The quick movements of its body. It could have caught her in the first ten seconds of the chase. The snarls behind her suddenly sounded like wicked laughter. She pressed on, even though her legs felt like jelly and her lungs burned. Her eyes stung with tears that swept away into her hair as she ran.

She burst into a clearing littered with boulders and stones, and her legs gave way altogether and she tumbled to the ground. She braced herself for steely jaws closing over her head. But nothing happened. She opened her eyes and looked around. The clearing was empty except for a swarm of gnats passing above her. Everything else was complete silence.

But the silence was just as frightening as the sounds of the dragon's pursuit. She rose to her feet, trying to look in all directions at once, her heart beating like the piston of a locomotive. The open space made her feel exposed and vulnerable, and she cautiously stepped backward until she found herself against a tree. Her head was spinning. She had no idea which way she had come from, which way would take her back to the window-cave. The motionless forest around her offered no clue, no hint.

She pressed herself against the thick tree trunk, the paint-smooth surface bringing an odd comfort. An unexpected breeze fell on her from above. It was warm and smelled like decay. She forced her eyes upward and saw the dragon climbing down toward her headfirst.

Claudia pushed off from the tree and leaped forward, but the dragon did the same. It flew over her head and landed in her path, turning to confront her in one fluid motion. Its yellow eyes shone with hunger. It was done playing with her. She was about to be consumed, from head to sneakers, by a painted dragon. Alone. Without a friend. And no one at home would even know.

 

C
HAPTER
10

T
HE DRAGON
snarled and crouched, its fingered feet digging into the earth. Scaly lips pulled back to reveal jagged teeth. Its rapid breathing fell into sync with Claudia's. It was joined by the steady rhythm of galloping hooves.

Galloping hooves?

Death must arrive on horseback in this world
.

The dragon's head snapped up. A low growl tumbled from its throat, and it reversed its crouch as though it was ready to leap in defense from some invisible attacker.

An immense dark horse and a rider dressed in black shot from the trees. Claudia threw herself backward just before the hooves hit the ground where she had stood. The rider drew a rapier and extended it toward the dragon as he rode past. A second rider burst through the trees, followed by a third. Like a flock of birds, they wordlessly changed course and formed a galloping circle around the dragon. All three pointed their swords at the beast as they drew their circle increasingly tighter. The dragon crouched lower and snarled, turning in every direction to confront the horsemen. Finally they slowed to a trot and then halted with barely a tug at the reins.

One of the riders turned to Claudia, his sword still pointing at the dragon. The white plume in his hat bounced with every movement.

He gave her a regal smile. “My dear lady, I am Cornelis, of Ghent. These are Balthasar and Hendrik”—he gestured to the other two—“of townships with very little renown, but nonetheless they are men of valor.” The other riders rolled their eyes. “We have cornered this beast and now request that you throw your girdle about its neck.”

The dragon snapped in Cornelis's direction. The horseman swished his sword in response.

Claudia's mouth went dry. “I—I don't have a girdle.”

Cornelis flinched with surprise. “Very well, then, your sash.”

“I don't have one of those, either.” Who did they think she was, a princess?

“Well, do you have a scarf?”

Claudia shook her head.

“A handkerchief?”

Again.

“Hmmm…” Cornelis looked at the dragon, which was ready to spring, and then at his companions. “It would appear that the fate of this damsel is entirely in our hands. We must rely not on our strength but on our skill and cunning to dispatch this dragon.”

The others raised their swords. “Huzzah! Dispatch the dragon!”

Whether it didn't appreciate the sentiment or simply saw its last opportunity as the swords were raised, the dragon leaped toward the horseman named Balthasar. He rolled from his horse as the dragon's claws passed overhead. The beast landed near the edge of the clearing, spun, and charged at Cornelis. Cornelis spurred his horse and took off into the trees. The dragon followed, as did Hendrik.

Balthasar gripped the saddle and pulled himself back onto his horse. “That blasted Saint George,” he muttered. “Why can't he do his own job for once?” He shouted one more “Huzzah!” and charged into the trees.

Claudia looked around the empty clearing. Her heart slowly came down from her throat. She was bruised and exhausted, but she was alive.

Do I stay or run?
She strained to place the distant sounds of the chase, unable to tell which direction they came from. There was the beat of hooves, the ferocious growl of the dragon, the muffled shouting of the riders. She was glad the rescuers had arrived just in time, but she also wondered if they were up to the challenge of “dispatching” a dragon.

Cornelis bounded into the clearing once again, a rope with a noose in his hand. Charging forward, he tossed the noose up and over a thick tree branch and then caught it as it fell down the other side. He held on to both ends of the rope as his horse shot forward, flinging himself into the air. The dragon leaped from the trees, bounding toward Cornelis.

The horseman's timing was perfect. He swung back around and caught the dragon square in the chest, sending it crashing to the dust.

Within seconds both man and beast were on their feet. Cornelis grasped the noose on both sides and pulled it wider. “Come at me, you scaly snake from Vagevuur!” Before Claudia could wonder where Vagevuur was, the beast leaped straight at Cornelis. At the last instant Cornelis stepped to the side and looped the noose around the dragon's head. He grasped the other end of the rope and pulled it tight, pitching himself backward with a cry.

With the rope looped over the branch above them, the dragon roared and clawed its way toward Cornelis, even as the horseman strained to pull it back in the other direction. His boots dug trenches in the soft earth as the dragon pulled him closer. It was a tug-of-war that Cornelis would obviously lose.

Without thinking, Claudia sprang forward and grabbed the rope behind Cornelis and pulled for all she was worth. The dragon skidded backward but then roared again and lunged, snapping its jaws just a foot from Cornelis's boots. And then suddenly Balthasar was beside her, pulling the rope back toward a sturdy tree. The dragon stood on its clawed tippy-toes by the time Balthasar wrapped the rope around the trunk and tied it firm.