Still more astonishing had been the information that Benden’s Lord and Lady Holder were willing to pay more than half his fees.
Now he must earn as much as he could, as soon as he could, to show his family that their sacrifices had not been wasted.
Undoubtedly Lord Chalkin would be difficult. Undoubtedly there would be problems, but the marks promised for the commission would pay the land transfer fee. So he’d initialed the contract; a copy was made for Master Domaize’s files and it had been returned to Lord Chalkin.
Chalkin had demanded, and received, a verification of Iantine’s skill from his Master and then returned the signed contract.
Best re-read it, Ian, Ussie said when Iantine waved the document about in triumph.
“Why?” Iantine glanced down the page and pointed to the bottom lines. Here’s my signature, and Master Domaize’s, alongside Chalkin’s. That is, if that’s what this scrawl is supposed to be.” He held it out to Ussie.
“Hmmm, looks all right, though I haven’t seen Chalkin’s hand before. My, where did they find this typewriter? Half the letters don’t strike evenly.” Ussie passed the document back.
I’ll see if there’re any other examples of Lord Chalkin’s signature in the files,” Iantine said, “though how… and why would he deny the contract when he himself proposed it?”
“He’s a Bitran, and you know how they are. Are you sure that’s your signature?” Ussie grinned as Iantine peered with a suspicious glare at his own name. Then Ussie laughed.
“Sure, I’m sure it’s mine. Look at the slant of the t. Just as I always make it. What are you driving at, Ussie?” Iantine felt the first twinges of irritation with Ussie’s attitude.
“Well, Bitrans are known to forge things. Remember those bogus land transfer deeds five years ago? No, I don’t suppose you’d have heard about them. You’d’ve still been a schoolboy.” With an airy wave of his hand, Ussie left a puzzled and worried Iantine.
When he brought the matter up to his master, Domaize could produce a sample of Lord Chalkin’s signature on a document much creased and worn. Domaize also put his glasses up to his eyes and peered at his own name on the current contract.
“No, this is mine, and I recognize your slanting t-bar.” He put the document in the to-do tray. “We’ll copy it into our workbook.”
“If you have any trouble though, at Bitra Hold, let me know instantly.”
“It’s much easier to sort things out when they start, you know. And don’t,” and here Master Domaize had waggled a stern finger at him, “allow them to entice you into any games of chance, no matter how clever you think you are. Bitrans make their living at gaming. You can’t compete at their level.”
Iantine had promised faithfully to eschew any gaming. He’d never had much interest in such things, being far more likely to sketch the players than join the game. But gambling was not a thing that the Master would have meant, Iantine was learning. What did fall into that category: especially the nuances of the word satisfaction. Such a simple word that can be so misconstrued. As he had done.
He had done not four miniatures, but nearly twenty, using up all the materials he had brought with him so that he had had to send for more from Hall Domaize since the wood used in miniatures had to be specially seasoned or it would warp, especially in a damp environment like Bitra Hold. He had done the first four on the canvas he had brought with him for the job, only to discover - along with a long list of other objections from Lord Chalkin and his wife, Lady Nadona that canvas was not satisfactory” If it isn’t the best quality,” and she ran one of her almost dragon-talon nails across one canvas, snagging a thread so badly the surface was unusable, “it doesn’t last long.”
“Skybroom wood is what you should be using.”
“Skybroom wood is expensive.”
“You’re being very well paid for these miniatures,” she said.
“The least we can expect is the best grade of materials.”
“Skybroom wood was not stipulated in the contract.”
“Did it have to be?” she demanded haughtily. “I made sure that Domaize Hall has the very highest standards.”
“Master Domaize provided me with the best canvas,” and he pushed his remaining frames out of her reach. “He said that is what he always supplies. You should have stipulated skybroom wood in the contract if that’s what you wanted.”
“Of course it would be what I wanted, young man. The very best is none too good for my children.”
“Is there any available in the Hold?” he asked. At least with skybroom you could clean off unsatisfactory work without the risk of damaging the surface.
“Of course.”
That was his first mistake. Nevertheless, at that point he was still eager to do a proper job to the best of his abilities.
However, what skybroom there was turned out to be substantial lumber, being cured for furniture, and not thin enough to be used for miniatures: miniatures’ which were now twice the ordinary size.
“High on the list of unsatisfactory” were the poses of the children, although these had been suggested by the Lady Holder herself.
“Chaldon doesn’t look at all natural,” Lady Nadona said. “Not at all. He looks so tense, hunching his shoulders like that.”
“Whyever did you not tell him to sit up straight?” Iantine forbore to mention that he had done so frequently, and within Lady Nadona’s hearing. “And you’ve given him such an odious scowl.”
“Which had been Chaldon’s natural expression.”
“Standing?” he suggested, cringing at the thought of arguing any of them into standing for the sittings”. He’d had enough trouble getting them to sit still. They were, as Ussie had foreseen, not biddable and had such short attention spans that he could never get them to strike the right pose, or assume an even halfway cheerful expression.
“And why on earth did you paint on such a small canvas”?
“I’ll need to use a magnifying glass,” Lady Nadona had said, holding Chaldon’s likeness away from her as far as her arm would reach.
Iantine had known enough about his patroness by then to suppress a remark about her farsightedness.
“This is the customary size for a miniature -“
“So you say,” she replied repressively. “I want something I can see when I’m on the other side of the room.”
As she was generally on the other side of her room whenever her children were in her vicinity, the need was understandable. They were the messiest pre-adolescents Iantine had ever encountered: plump, since they were indolent by nature, dressed in ill-fitting apparel since the Hold’s seamstress was not particularly adept, and constantly eating: generally something that ran, smeared or left crumbs on their chins and tunics. None of them bathed frequently enough and their hair was long, greasy and roughly cut. Even the two girls showed no feminine interest in their appearance. One had hacked her hair off with a knife…
except the long tress she wore down the back, strung with beads and little bells. The other had thick braids which were rarely redone unless whatever fastened the end had got lost.
Iantine had struggled with the porcine Chaldon, had realized that the child could not be depicted naturally and tried to retain enough resemblance so that others would know which child had been painted.
“But his portrait was unsatisfactory”. Only the youngest, a sturdy lad of three who said nothing beyond ‘No’ and carried a stuffed toy with him from which he could not be parted, was deemed marginally ‘satisfactory’. Actually the dirty bear was the best part of Briskin’s portrait.
Iantine had tried to romanticize Luccha’s unusual hairstyle and was told that she’d look better with proper hair which he could certainly add in if he was any good at all. And why did she have such an awkward expression on her face, when Luccha had the sweetest smile and such a lovely disposition?