Renaissance of Muses for the Maestro Chapter 8

[xuebingcode]

Chapter 8

Snow: …Well. No use crying over spilt milk. 

Let’s go inside…mm?

The smoke dissipated, unveiling to us not another room behind the broken door, but a set of stairs.

Akira: There’s…no one here.

Flying over the debris, the paintbrush flitted up the staircase. 

Rustica: Shall we follow it?

Feeling a little sorry about the intrusion, we hastily followed after. 

The narrow staircase fit for one person at a time led us to a room that was much the same. 

Where we were was apparently the attic, and the setting sun’s last rays of light seeped through the window.

Akira: (What is this smell…?)

A unique smell mixed with dust was in the air. At first I thought it was a storage room, until I noticed clothing, tableware, and all the signs of a person living here. 

What drew my eye the most however, was the easel set up by the wall, and the canvas draped in cloth. 

Rutile: Isn’t this…the smell of oil paint?

???: …Don’t move!

Akira: Eek!

My heart leaped with fright. When I tried to approach the easel, a man’s angry voice yelled out.

In the darkness of the room, I could see a figure holding something. Realizing it was a bladed object by its glint from the sunlight, I froze in fear. 

Akira: Ah, uhm, we don’t mean you any harm…!

Slowly, the figure that stepped out from the shadows was someone we recognized. The beret wearing youngster. 

Except up close he looked to be in his thirties, with eyebags seemingly from sleep deprivation. His body was skinny, and he had not shaved. He was incredibly tired.

The hands that gripped onto that bladed object–the palette knife were rugged and dirty with reds, blues, yellows, and more. Those stains must be from oil paint.

Rustica: Greetings, and good evening. I’m sorry we startled you. 

Compared to me who was seized by fear, Rustica was all smiles and light. 

He moved forward, blocking me from the man as if he were protecting me. 

Rustica: We only came here to deliver you this forgotten item. This is yours, correct? 

???: Shut it! It’s not mine! Get the hell out of here!

He swung the palette knife around as he yelled,

arm hitting the easel by him and pushing it over. At the same time, the cloth draping over the canvas dropped to the ground,

and the massive artwork lay bare before our eyes. What was painted on its surface was a portrait, one that took us by surprise. 

Heathcliff: This is…

Mithra: Hrmm. I believe I’ve seen this before…or not. What is this? 

Painted in dark reds was a deformed face of a human that resembled a collage, with geometric shapes and patterns. 

It had a misty texture to it, and its technique of layering thick strokes of paint were exactly like the painting we saw before. 

Akira: (There’s no doubt about it…)

This was the person behind the forgeries of Pict’s work. Everyone came to the same conclusion.

Akira: (To think of all the places where the forger could hide, it’d be the museum itself…)

Lying beneath the window was a large black cloth, likely used to block the window so those outside couldn’t see in. 

Rustica: …

Mithra: Did you draw this?

He held a painting of a red bird in his hands, causing the man to flinch.

???: Don’t look, don’t touch it! That’s…ah, these are paintings that the resurrected Pict gave to me!

He really is alive again! Believe me!

He probably realized that we must have figured out the truth. 

He shook with desperation, trying to convince us still. Yet we could only look at him with pity. 

Except for one.

Rustica: It’s lovely to meet you, sir. My name is Rustica Ferch. 

It’s like a dream come true to be meeting one of my favourite artists. 

Akira: (Favourite artist?)

Not letting a moment of doubt in, Rustica continued. 

Rustica: There are no words I can think of that can express the joy I am feeling right now. I feel gratitude to the entire world. 

The man widened his eyes at his words. He was at a loss for words, sunken eyes trembling. 

Rustica: I am a fan of your artwork, sir. The first time I saw this painting my heart was stolen by it.

With a snap of his fingers a canvas appeared in his hands. 

Akira: (Isn’t that…)

The painting Rustica had bought the moment we arrived in town. He gazed with affection upon the signatureless artwork. 

Rustica: This is your work, is it not? A piece that only you could create, with your own artstyle.

Nervously, I asked Rustica a question.

Akira: Rustica, is that painting really his…?

Rustica: Indeed it is. If you observe carefully, you can spot how the expressions of all those paintings on display in the gallery change according to the angle of the lighting. As is the same for this one here. 

???: !

Rustica: By that reaction, I assume your lighting tricks weren't on purpose, but a habit of yours?

Well, my beloved artist. Won’t you tell me your name?

The man held his head down, hesitating on answering, until he opened his mouth a bit. 

Artem: It’s…Artem.

Rustica: Artem, I see. What a beautiful name. Like I mentioned before, I am a fan of your art,

to the point I would buy it and take it home at first glance. 

Following Rustica, Mitile mustered up his courage and spoke.

Mitile: Me too! I thought it was a beautiful painting as well. The painting Mister Rustica bought, and the paintings on display at the museum too…

His words stopped. He began to look at Artem with a sad expression.

Mitile: …Mister Artem, you used Pict’s name and painted all those works at the museum, didn’t you.

Why did you do that?

I could understand Mitile’s feelings, of his love for Artem’s artwork, and his struggle of accepting the painted forgeries. 

Artem: …

The grip on the palette knife had loosened in Artem’s hands, dangling from his fingers. They were slightly trembling.

Artem: I didn’t think it would gain this much popularity…so big and important…

Aggression was lost in that thin voice of his, turning into regret and guilt.

The younger wizards who at first guarded, began to look at him, and the art he drew, with forgiveness in their eyes.

Artem: …For the museum, and its curator, I wanted to do at least something…if someone like me could be of help, I…

Rustica: Mm…you are a very kind person indeed.

And a wonderful artist, to be able to imitate Pict’s art so well. 

Those paintings at the gallery were made from your exceptional technique, observational skills, and your love for Pict’s art. 

I wish you would value yourself and your artwork more. 

Artem’s eyes shut tight, and with all his courage he began to talk about himself.

<     Index      >