Behind the Canvas (21 page)

“Who?”

“An
Artisti
.”

She sat back in the chair. Rembrandt had said the same ridiculous thing about her. “But I'm not—”

“Of course you are. I had to observe you for a while, but it was very clear. I was hoping for a fully developed
Artisti
, naturally, but after getting to know you…” He smiled. “It's been a long time since I've made a friend, as you can imagine. I needed an
Artisti
who could help me cripple Nee Gezicht. When Granny Custos presented her plan, I knew my opportunity had come. To rob Nee Gezicht of her power. To break the thousands of spells she has intact in this world and the other. And if my freedom comes as a part of that, it will be a welcome release.”

“But why would you think I'm an
Artisti
?”

“I've watched you draw, Claudia. It may not seem extraordinary to you, but you have a connection with your artwork that other artists don't have. It's easy to see and difficult to explain. But there is no doubt.”

There were plenty of doubts. If she had access to magic, wouldn't she know it? If she was born with a connection to the magic behind the art, wouldn't she feel something? Wouldn't she have special powers? Wouldn't she be creating art that made people stop and stare in wonder?

She shook her head. An
Artisti
—impossible. But this wasn't about her. This was about someone she thought was her friend. Someone who had lied to her. Someone who had done evil things. Had caused a person's death here behind the canvas. Maybe more than one, who knew? How could she even trust the words he was speaking right now?

But if he
had
changed? What was it that Rembrandt said? Shades and hues and layers of brushstrokes …

“Claudia,” he said. “I should not have deceived you. The things you have seen and heard about me since entering this world … I can only imagine what you must think of me. The good people of this world hate me. And they are right to. But to think I have hurt you—that pains me most. I don't deserve your help, and I will no longer ask for it.”

His eyes probed hers. She wanted to trust him. But should she?

“Not everyone here hates you,” she said. “Rembrandt, well, he said you weren't all bad. And the Lady—the Mona Lisa—she actually seemed to like you.”

“You met the Lady?”

“Yeah, earlier today. When I was leaving, she said, well, she said to tell you that the answer to your question is
yes
.”

His face lit up. “She said that? Honestly?”

Claudia nodded. “What did you ask her?”

He jumped up and threw out his arms, laughing. “I can't believe it. My list of hurt against her pavilion is long. I visited her some time ago to ask if she would forgive me. She really said yes?”

“Really.”

He laughed again. “I suddenly feel as light as air.”

He looked completely different than he had moments ago. He looked like a boy. Like the boy in her painting in her bedroom. Could someone like him change completely?

But he hadn't changed. He'd lied to her to get her to come into this world to free him. Well, not to free him, really. To help make up for his mistakes.

If he had told the truth, would she have come? Probably not.

He was desperate. That was why he lied. He had no one else to turn to for help.

But that lie was tiny compared to the other things he'd done …

Could a person change that much? Just stop being the way he has been for so long?

Her heart told her,
Yes
.

And at the moment, that was the only thing she trusted.

She took a deep breath and stood. “All right, Pim. One more question. Is there anything else you haven't told me that you should have?”

He stepped closer to her and she didn't back away. “Only this. There is a window-painting northeast of the forest that will send you home. Allow me to escort you. I'll take you straight there.”

“And you'll come home with me?”

He shook his head. “Not that way. Granny Custos is right about that. My will is my own now, but Nee Gezicht's magic keeps my body chained to this world. Her staff is the linchpin—the memory that keeps that spell and so many others in place. It must be broken before I can leave. And that is a task I will see completed, if it means my death.”

“All right, then.” A twinge of doubt still chafed her heart, adrenaline rushed through her veins, and a spark of hope lit in her mind. It was a strange and stirring combination. “Which way to Nee Gezicht's house?” Pim's face flooded with surprise. “But … you…”

“A friend needs my help.” She shrugged. “I can't just go home.”

He studied her, eyes wide. Then he leaped forward and wrapped his arms around her in a hug. She resisted for the briefest moment and then hugged him back.

It felt strange hugging a boy, even one who was almost four hundred years old. Finally they stepped back and looked at each other.

She gave him a tiny smile. “Let's go find that staff.”

 

C
HAPTER
19

W
HILE THE
Cubists' respect for Claudia seemed to have skyrocketed at the mention of Rembrandt, they were still reluctant to let her go.

“Have you ever considered a career in theater?” Pablo asked. “Next month we're starting work on our rendition of
Hamlet
. The entire first act will take place in a French bistro. Think of the possibilities. You'd make a smashing Ophelia.” He moved uncomfortably close to Pim. “And you'd be my first choice for Hamlet's uncle. His sword fight at the end is
to die for
.” Pablo grinned.

“Thanks, but we're heading south,” Claudia said.

“Ah. In that case, you had better keep a careful eye on this one.” Pablo gestured toward Pim. “His reputation for playing villainous characters is unparalleled.”

“Show us how to get out of the forest,” she said coldly. “Now.”

Pablo eventually agreed, and—after several invitations to join the cast party—assigned the two harlequins to escort them to the Southern Exit. The entire group of Cubists gathered around and watched in eerie silence as she, Pim, and Cash plunged back into the forest.

The path leading out of the forest didn't look any different on the surface than the one leading in. But it
felt
different somehow. Less scary. Less hidden. Less … weird.

No, it's still weird. But maybe that's not such a bad thing.

They arrived at the edge of the forest much sooner than she expected. The shapeless opening was as bright as the sun on water and she had to squint as they approached. But as her eyes adjusted to the glaring daylight, her excitement at leaving the forest plummeted.

Desert.

Of course it was a desert—she knew that's what they were heading for. She'd even glimpsed it from the Lady's pavilion. But this … It filled her with the same taste of despair as the Fireside Angel's shriek, only more slowly.

Like a well-manicured lawn, the forest ended in a razor-straight line to the left and right as far as she could see. The desert started immediately—patches of dry, cracked earth intermixed with dunes of sand. Boulder gardens, some rising far above her head, dotted the landscape. Toward the horizon, a tower rose into the sky.

Claudia turned back to the harlequins. “Thank you…”

They were gone.

“Not much for good-byes, eh?” said Cash.

“They may seem like a ridiculous group of thespians,” Pim said. “But they're actually the main intelligence branch of the underground resistance. They funnel all their information back to Rembrandt. That's why I came to them. They had a better chance of knowing where you were, Claudia, than anyone else.”

Cash harrumphed. “Everyone's got a conspiracy theory.”

Claudia took a hesitant step onto the crusty ground of the desert and looked over the barren scene. She fought at the hopelessness encroaching on her mind. Pim stepped up beside her.

“Hey … What did the painter say to his canvas?”

“What?”

“I got you covered.”

“What's a pirate's favorite subject in school?” she asked.

“I don't know.”

“Arrrrrrt.”

They looked at each other and smiled.

“What is this, comedy hour?” Cash said. “We gonna stand here yukking it up, or are we gonna move?”

Pim pointed to the horizon.

“Those towers in the distance. That's where we're going.”

Claudia nodded. It looked so far.

“Please tell me there's a beach on the other side of all this sand,” Cash said. He looked as unsettled by the desert as Claudia felt.

She knelt down next to him. “You've already got a lot more out of today than you bargained for. Why don't you go back through the forest before it closes? I'm sure they'll help you through to the other side.”

“Nah.” He shook his head. “You may have buddied up to those crazies, but the feeling ain't mutual. I don't fancy the desert, but I sure don't want to get myself lost in that forest again. Besides, I can't leave a little lady alone out here with questionable company.” His eyes flashed to Pim.

“All right, then,” she said before Pim could respond. “Let's go.”

*   *   *

“I got sand stuck between my toes. Do you know how uncomfortable that is?” Cash shuffled his feet, trying to wiggle his toes and walk at the same time.

Claudia had shoes on but agreed with the sentiment. It hadn't taken long for the desert to wear on her nerves. The great open expanse, the cracked earth, the stretches of sand that made her leg muscles burn.

“Nobody asked you to come along, puppy dog,” Pim said with a glare.

“Oh, I'm sure you don't want me here,” Cash retorted. “It's hard to keep company with a fella you owe money to. Where was it you lost all that dough to me? Phillies, wasn't it? And then your buddies showed up and—”

“So what are we going to find out there?” Claudia interrupted. Their bickering was as irritating as the sand.

“In that tower,” Pim said, “we'll find the window into Nee Gezicht's manor home.”

“Charming,” Cash mumbled.

The dog was right—from here it didn't look like much, and what it did look like wasn't inviting. A thin building or a branchless tree, she couldn't tell.

They trudged through sandy terrain. The sun pounded on them, heating the air until it felt like they were baking inside a kiln. She wiped the sweat from her face with her shirtsleeve. Hopefully they would arrive at their destination before they became too crispy.

And as they walked through the heat, a single word rolled over and over again in her mind. The name Pim had called her.
Artisti
.
Artisti
.
Artisti
. Finally it worked its way into a question.

“So, Pim, what do the
Artisti
actually do? I mean, Granny Custos talked about pillars and all that, but what do they
do
?”

“Well, that's hard for me to answer, since I've only really been an
Artisti
in this world. Here it manifests itself very differently. But even in the real world, it is distinct for every
Artisti
. For example, have you heard of the artist Mary Cassatt?”
24

“I think so. Didn't she paint kids and moms and things like that?”

“Yes. She's the one. Nineteenth century. There's a story about her that goes like this. Cassatt was American, but she lived in Paris for much of her life. She had a good friend there whose little daughter became ill. At one point, the child's condition worsened, and the doctor said she wouldn't live through the week. When Cassatt heard that, she rushed to her studio and locked herself away. She painted furiously, weaving magic into a single painting. She emerged two days later, sleepless and weary, but she went straight to the home of her friend. She found the mother with her daughter—overjoyed. The girl was completely well and whole. The mother was sitting on the floor, bathing her daughter's feet. It was exactly the same scene Cassatt had been painting in her studio.”

“Whoa. So she made the daughter better? Now, that's cool. Granny Custos made it sound like all they do is
influence
things.”

“They do that, as well. Influence people and culture. Change the way they think or feel.”

“That makes no sense.”

“Well, think about this … Mary Cassatt infused all of her art with an aura of love and peace. She designed her paintings so that everywhere they are hung—even now, a hundred and fifty years later—they cast an influence of peaceful thought and feelings of goodwill. If you were to remove her paintings and bury them in the ocean, that influence would be gone and you would notice it. Violence and anger in the cities where those paintings hung would increase. The
Artisti
make a difference in the world—they are needed.” Pim looked away into the desert. “How I wish I had followed that path.”

Claudia brought her backpack up above her head to shield her eyes and thought for a while about Mary Cassatt. Finally she said, “Next question. Nee Gezicht has lived for so long because she sucks the life out of people's wills, right? Well, what about Granny Custos? I mean, you don't think she … sucks wills, too, do you?”

Pim's face glistened with sweat. “When I served Nee Gezicht, spying on one person or another through the window-paintings, she always had me searching for any sign of the Renaissance
Artisti
—the ones like her who created this world behind the canvas. I'd heard of Granny Custos, but I'd never seen her before we entered her house together.”

“She didn't have any paintings in her house,” Claudia said, thinking back to their evening with the old woman.