Hylozoic (29 page)

“Yes, yes,” said Jayjay, not liking the insults.

“You're impatient with Jan, too, eh? Well, listen to the twist. Victor van der Moelen, that walking piece of shit who's the new treasurer of the Swan Brotherhood—he says that I had no right to appear on the panel as the donor. For the painting was bought with the society's funds, not mine. I'm perfectly willing to reimburse the Brotherhood, but van der Moelen says that won't do. And now—”

Bosch twinkled and made rapid motions with his imaginary brush, as if erasing the imaginary portrait he'd just drawn.

“If you paint over me, I'll have your hide, Jeroen,” bellowed Vladeracken. “I'll send my pigs into your garden. I'll bring bagpipers to your steps every day. I'll denounce you to the priests for saying objects are alive!”

“You have to go rest now, Jan,” said Aleid, getting to her feet. “You don't want to miss the vigil tonight.” Her chilly gaze skewered the meaty Vladeracken. “Go home to your wife.”

“Forgive me,” said Vladeracken, suddenly remembering himself. “My humors are addled. The hot sun in the marketplace. The rumors of the flying devilfish. Surely you understand.”

“Out now,” said Aleid.

The bully shuffled to the front door and left.

“I could paint over his image for you,” suggested Jayjay to Jeroen.

“Exactly,” said Bosch. “That's what I've spent the afternoon training you to do. Bury the pig-man beneath a Bosch thistle. You'll do it tonight, Jayjay, so that the painting is renewed for the Virgin's processional mass tomorrow. I'll be at the Swan Brotherhood building until dawn—our vigil starts the hour before midnight. This way, nobody can think the overpainter was me. Perhaps the emendation will be viewed as a miracle. The hand of the Virgin Herself.”

“What a wonderful idea,” said Aleid in a patient tone, humoring
her husband. “But where's your wife, Jayjay? Our fish stew is ready.”

Thuy was nowhere to be seen. Although she hadn't said for sure she'd be back for supper, Jayjay grew increasingly concerned. He wanted to run straight to the Muddy Eel to look for her, but Jeroen forbade this. The artist said Jayjay had much to do before tonight's commando overpainting raid.

Aleid stayed well out of the conversation; Jayjay had the impression she'd heard enough about the
John the Baptist
panel to last her a lifetime.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A
fter
supper, Jeroen had Jayjay help him prepare a little box with a brush, a small lantern, and six stoppered vials of paint, premixed to shades of yellow, rose, and green. Jeroen drew a floor plan of the Saint John's Cathedral, and then a detailed diagram of the Brotherhood's altar, and then two sketches of the targeted panel: one with the small kneeling figure of Vladeracken, the other with a fantastic, snaky, spiky plant in the donor's place. He wielded a wonderfully nimble pen, quite mesmerizing to watch.

Finally Jeroen was ready to leave for his all-night vigil. Unless Vladeracken were passed-out drunk, he'd be in attendance as well.

“I'm sure your wife will be here by the time you're back,” Jeroen told Jayjay reassuringly. But then a sly, waggish look
crossed his face. “Unless she's drunk or working as a prostitute.”

“Oh, thanks so much,” said Jayjay, flaring up. “Which deadly sin is it when you're a selfish, inconsiderate jerk?”

“Pride,” said Bosch, far from abashed. If anything, he was enjoying Jayjay's reaction. “Kathelijn, run across the square and fetch Goossen's son Thonis. He'll be your guide, Jayjay. I'm leaving now. Truly, I'm sure your wife is doing fine.” Was that a mocking flicker of his lizard tongue? He was gone.

Thonis proved to be a lively youth with a ready laugh, which rang out loudly as Jayjay explained his mission.

“My uncle's been talking about this for months,” said Thonis. “He's a wonderful painter, but he's crazy. Nobody really cares about that panel except Jan Vladeracken and Uncle Jeroen. And maybe Victor van der Moelen. Van der Moelen is the duke's rent collector; he's the kind of man who looks at a newborn babe and sees a page of numbers.”

“Vladeracken said van der Moelen is a walking piece of shit.”

“Yeah? What does that make Jan? Never mind. The reason you're perfect for this job is because you're so small. They lock the church at midnight, you know. It's best if you go in there now, hide till after closing time, overpaint the panel, then climb out through one of the slits in the tower. I'll be waiting for you.”

“How high above the ground is the slit?”

“Too high to jump,” said Thonis. “Can you fly?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I heard you're miraculously strong. From the Garden of Eden.”

“What if we bring a rope with a hook on it?”

“I know where to borrow one of those,” said Thonis. “I
have a friend who's a chimney sweep. Come along; we'll get the rope on our way.”

“Can we stop by the Muddy Eel?”

“The Muddy Eel, no, that's in the wrong direction. And we'd have to cross the marketplace to get there. The plan is that we sneak along the canal to the cathedral. Maybe you can visit the Eel after we're done. They'll be carousing till dawn.” Thonis pranced slowly through a few steps of a jig. “Oh, before we leave, let me take a look at Uncle Jeroen's studio. I always like to see what he's been up to. What a mind he has, what a brush. If he didn't take so long to finish his paintings, I'd still be his apprentice.”

Upstairs, Thonis studied the big square panel, and Jayjay looked out the window at the marketplace, hoping to spot Thuy. Some people were dancing, some were preparing banners and floats for the procession. Bonfires lit the wonderfully arcane and medieval scene. It saddened Jayjay to not be sharing this moment with Thuy.

Behind him, Thonis was chuckling over the images that Jeroen had painted onto the temple pillar beside Saint Anthony. “See this?” he said. “A monkey god, with a heathen kneeling and offering him a swan! That monkey looks exactly like Victor van der Moelen. And the heathen is my uncle Jeroen. He had to pay for a swan dinner for the Brotherhood last year, it made him mad, he said it wasn't his turn yet.” Thonis's laughter redoubled. “Oh my soul, look at the hog-headed man in his silk robe. Alderman Vladeracken.” Now Thonis gave Jayjay a sly grin. “And that gryllos-man with his legs coming right out of his head? That's you, Jayjay, with the paint still wet! Nobody's safe from Uncle Jeroen. He's been working on this triptych for a year. The Antonites are paying him, and he doesn't want to stop. It doesn't hurt that Aunt Aleid is rich.”

“Are you a painter, too, Thonis?”

“In a small way. I paint murals on people's dining room walls. Flowers, God in the clouds, the triangulation of Jude Christ—the usual lot. You're a painter, too?”

“Today's my first day.”

Thonis puffed out his lips and blew a stream of air. “Good luck making your plant look like one of Jeroen's!”

But somehow Jayjay felt confident. And then, just before they left Jeroen's studio, a faint, sweet song sounded through the ceiling. Thonis didn't seem to notice it. The harp was calling to Jayjay, only to him. Soon, Lovva, soon.

 

 

Thonis led Jayjay through the kitchen and into the garden. He paused for a quick peek into the cellar just to see where he and Thuy were supposed to sleep. A slanting door opened onto a gloomy low-ceilinged chamber with a straw-stuffed sack for a bed. It would do for a few days—provided Thuy shared it with him.

They boarded a small skiff and rowed along the canal's inky waters, making a brief stop while Thonis ran up through another dim garden to fetch a sooty rope and grappling hook. A bit more rowing, and then they debarked to creep through twisty lanes, emerging into a small square beside the cathedral. A party of legless beggars sat against the basilica wall, but there was no time to look at them.

With a whispered promise that he'd wait outside, Thonis shoved Jayjay in through the big church's wooden side door.

Although some pious souls were still in the house of worship, these pilgrims were gathered near the main altar, where an iconic black statue of the Virgin was on display. Encumbered by his box of paints and his sooty loop of rope, Jayjay
lost no time in seeking out the smallest possible nook that could hide him. He settled in a dark recess beneath the altar of one of the side chapels nestled against the walls of the central nave.

He lay there quite motionless for the better part of three Hibrane hours, drifting in and out of sleep, catching up on his rest, thinking things over. Vladeracken's talk of a flying devilfish indicated that Jayjay had indeed seen a Hrull down by the river this afternoon. Was that a good thing or a bad? Hard to decide. Everything was so complicated.

The sexton was late in clearing out the pilgrims, and Jayjay wasn't the only one who was trying to find shelter here. He woke and listened each time another was rousted out and sent packing. But the sexton never thought of looking in Jayjay's hollow beneath the altar of the Bakers' Guild.

Finally all was calm. Jayjay crept out, feeling rested and reborn, as limber as an escaped sacrificial cuttlefish. Moonlight slanted in the cathedral windows, a sacristy lamp burnt above the main altar: God's eye.

Jeroen's diagrams were clear in his mind. Moving slowly in the gloom, he found his way to the niche that held the altar erected by the Swan Brotherhood of Our Dear Lady—but the entrance was blocked off by a bronze trellis. Without too much trouble, Jayjay slid his rope and his paint kit under the grating, and clambered over the top.

The altar was a hefty cabinet the height of a Hibrane man, with a smaller cabinet on top, and a statue of the Virgin atop that. Paint box in hand, Jayjay scaled the main cabinet and stood upon its upper edge. According to Jeroen, the
Saint John the Baptist
panel was on the inside of the left door of the upper cabinet.

Groping in the dark, Jayjay managed to open the door. The hinges squeaked unconscionably; he seemed to hear an answering
scuff, although his heart was pounding so loud in his ears that he couldn't be sure. For several minutes he remained motionless, harking into the cathedral's tenebrous immensity, wondering how soon it would be safe to strike a flint, light his lantern, and get to work.

Was that a tapping sound nearby? He held his breath, still unsure if the noises were real. Yes, a definite thud, closer now. Jayjay lay flat on his stomach beside the upper cabinet, trying to prepare an explanation.

A tattoo of beats stitched across the stone floor, followed by final thump before the Brotherhood's altar. A low hum sounded, and a faint yellow glow illuminated the tines of—the pitchfork.

“Hey, boy,” said the pitchfork softly. “Never fear, Groovy's here. You vandalizing them graven images?”

“Thank God it's you,” said Jayjay.

“You're welcome! Let there be light.” The pitchfork amped up his glow, refining it to a paler shade. No need to mess with flint and lantern.

“Beautiful,” said Jayjay. “I'm about to paint a gnarly thistle onto this picture here.”

Sure enough, there was
John the Baptist
on the inner panel of the upper cabinet's left door. The saint lay flopped down in a state of religious ecstasy. At his side was an awkward little kneeling image of Vladeracken. And on the saint's other side rested a symbolic cuttlefish with his tentacles demurely coiled.

“This is going to be fun,” continued Jayjay, unstoppering his vials of paint.

“After this we go see Lovva, okay?” whined Groovy.

“Fine, but I want to look for my wife, too,” whispered Jayjay. “She went off with Azaroth and never came back to Bosch's house. Do you know anything about her?”

“I visited with her in the Muddy Eel earlier on,” said the pitchfork. “She was taking a bath with an acrobat, a whore, a magician and a fortune-teller. I expect they'll pass the evening in the tavern. Your missus is having fun.”