The Glittering Court
Page 33

Mira, brave as ever, walked right up to the railing and peered down at the water. It made me shiver. I had a constant fear of her being pulled over the edge. Averting my eyes from her, I studied the far reaches of the bluish-gray sea. Not unlike Cedric’s eyes, I supposed.
“So beautiful,” I murmured.
“Your first voyage?”
I turned and saw the man who’d been watching me that first day, the one who either needed to shave or just grow a proper beard. In fact, the more I studied him, the more I just wanted to . . . well, neaten him up. His rumpled clothing was respectable enough but, as Cedric had pointed out, hardly in the class of someone who could afford us.
“I’m sorry,” he said, smiling. “We’re not supposed to talk without a formal introduction, right?”
“Well, these aren’t very formal settings,” I said as Mira came to stand beside me again. “I’m Adelaide Bailey, and this is Mira Viana.”
“Grant Elliott,” he replied. “I’d take my hat off if I had one, but I learned long ago that it’s not even worth wearing one out in this wind.”
“You’ve been to Adoria before?” Mira asked.
“Last year. I have a stake in a store that outfits people for exploration and wilderness survival. My partner ran it over the winter, and now I’m coming back.”
Mira’s eyes lit up. “Have you done much exploring yourself, Mister Elliott?”
“Here and there,” he replied, turning from her and focusing back on me. “Nothing you’d find interesting. Now, help me understand how your organization works. You’re ranked by gemstone, right? And you’re the top one?”
“The diamond,” I affirmed. “And Mira’s a garnet.”
“So, that means you’ll get to go to all sorts of—”
“There you are.” Cedric strolled up to us, smiling when he saw Grant. “Looks like the three of you have already met. Mister Elliott is one of the men who shares a cabin with me. Adelaide, I need to borrow you for a moment.” He nodded toward another group of our girls a short distance away. “Mira, will you be able to go back down below with them when they leave? I think they’re going soon.”
“Of course,” said Mira. “And perhaps Mister Elliott could tell me more about his business.”
Grant shook his head. “I’d love to, but I just remembered something I have to follow up on.”
He walked away, and Mira wandered over to the other girls. Cedric beckoned me to follow him, and I expected us to simply find some private part of the deck to talk. Instead, he went below, leading me through the ship’s narrow inner passages until we reached a cargo hold piled high with crates.
“What in the world are we doing here?” I asked as he shut the door behind us.
He waved me forward past several rows of crates and then gestured grandly. “Your art studio, madam.”
I peered into a narrow space shielded by a large stack of boxes and found a canvas and some paints.
“I smuggled them aboard and waited until I could find a place seldom visited,” he explained, clearly proud of his cunning.
I knelt down to look at the paints, spreading my skirts around me. I examined the pots one by one. “Oils.”
“Does that make a difference?” he asked.
“It affects what I can do. I can’t do a Florencio. His medium’s different.”
Cedric’s earlier pride faltered. “I didn’t know. Will you be able to do something?”
“Sure.” I ran through a mental list of various artists’ works I’d seen, including the types of pigments and canvases used. I had a pretty good memory for detail. The question would be choosing which style was within my skill set. “Thodoros,” I said at last. “A Myrikosi painter. I can do one of his. A lot of their trade goes through Sirminica, and with all the chaos there right now, a rogue painting being smuggled out wouldn’t be that extraordinary.”
“Can you do it in a little less than two months?”
I hesitated. “I suppose—especially if I can get a couple of hours each day.”
“I’ll make sure of it,” he said adamantly. “We’ll make this happen.”
When he simply stood there and watched me expectantly, I exclaimed, “What, right now?”
“Why not? We’re short on time.”
“I can’t just jump into a major work. Especially with you staring at me the whole time.”
He backed up—but not by much. “Well, I can’t leave you. I need to be around in case someone comes in.”
“Well, if they do, it’s not going to save us from being caught in art forgery,” I snapped.
“It’ll save you from some wandering sailor. Now. Is there anything else you need?”
“More space. More time. A ship that isn’t constantly swaying. And maybe something to eat that isn’t dried out and preserved. I’d kill for a honey cake.” Seeing his exasperated look, I said, “Hey, you try just jumping into reproducing one of the greatest artists out there. I want to help you, but I need to think this through.”
After pondering Thodoros’s works for the better part of an hour, I finally set to sketching charcoal on the canvas and began planning out the scene. Thodoros was famous for a series of four paintings called The Lady of the Fountain. Each also had a number. They were all different angles and poses of a young woman standing by a fountain and had been created at different times. Occasionally, another person would be included—a man, a child. Passing off a fifth, just-discovered one would hopefully be viable.
My marks were tentative at first. The bizarre, cramped setting didn’t help any. Neither did the constant rocking of the ship. I finally decided a back view of the woman would be easiest, and I had to remember the exact position of the fountain and number of trees around it. As time passed, I grew more confident and was happy to get lost in the work. It took my mind away from the deception I was enmeshed in and that constant ache over Tamsin.
I forgot Cedric was there and jumped when he spoke. “Adelaide, we’ve got to go.”
“Do we?” I nodded toward the canvas. “I’m not done with the sketch.”
“We’ve already been gone longer than we should have. It’s nearly dinnertime, and I’m hoping Miss Bradley hasn’t been looking for you.”
I reluctantly surrendered the charcoal and watched as Cedric neatly concealed everything away. “Be careful,” I warned. “Don’t tear that canvas.”
“Maybe it’ll just add to the authenticity of being smuggled out through dangerous conditions.”
“Maybe,” I said, stretching my cramped muscles. “But a painting that makes it out intact will fetch a better price for poor, penniless heathens. A buyer won’t question the miracle to have something neat and tidy hanging in his home.”
“Well, this poor, penniless heathen is grateful.”
We left the cargo room but stopped again in the narrow corridor just before we reached the Glittering Court’s set of rooms. He lowered his voice. “Where did you learn to do that anyway? The painting? Lots of people know how to paint. Not many can do that kind of imitation.”