Dragons of the Valley Read Online Free Page B

stones.
    “Awk!” Sir Beccaroon ruffled his feathers and moved more briskly down the hall, muttering. “Friendly foreigners bring odd ideas and unsteady shifts in what should be reliable nature. And now definitely
un
friendly foreigners infiltrate our countryside bringing weapons and monsters of war.”
    Lady Peg glanced his way, and a look of relief smoothed her anxious wrinkles. “Here’s Beccaroon. He’ll know what this is all about and how to proceed.”
    King Yellat turned to him. “My granddaughter is gone, along with that tumanhofer artist. Apparently they’ve taken two of Verrin Schope’s statues.”
    “Perhaps,” said Beccaroon in his most diplomatic voice, “they discovered the statues stolen and are in pursuit of the thieves.”
    “See?” said Lady Peg. “I told you he’d have a sensible answer. The tumanhofer is after the scoundrels.” Her face collapsed again into puzzlement. “I don’t know why Tipper had to go along. I hope it’s not a romantic entanglement. My daughter is not at all in the know when it comes to men.”
    The king lowered his chin and pinned Beccaroon with a fierce scowl. “In my experience, artists are not practical, not heroic, and more likely to keep their brushes in good order than the blades of their swords sharpened.”
    Lady Peg folded her hands in front of her. “Verrin Schope is an artist, and
he
is a noble man. He risked his life to save this country. My husband is practical and heroic, and he doesn’t have any swords. But I do think he keeps his sculpting tools sharp.”
    “Your daughter”—Queen Venmarie’s accusatory tone rankled Beccaroon’s nerves—“has followed in the footsteps of her mother, engaging in a relationship with a ne’er-do-well.”
    Lady Peg’s face went blank, a trait that often indicated her confused state. “That’s unfair, Mother. Tipper isn’t here, so she can’t possibly be following me.” Lady Peg glanced behind her to be sure. “And of course, my husband is not a ne’er-do-well. Everything he does, he does well. Thousands of people say so. Even the king, my father, has noted that he is an exceptional artisan. Although Verrin Schope says he’s a jack-of-all-sorts, I’ve never seen him make candles or shoe a horse. I don’t believe he grows wheat or fixes plumbing. I suppose it is bad of him to say he is a jack-of-all-that. Still, he is very accomplished at things that are not practical.”
    She ran out of breath and looked close to crying. Beccaroon went to her side. She rested her hand on the back of his neck, softly stroking his feathers. Her expression clearly suggested a deep turmoil developing.
    “Bec,” she whispered, “what is that jack-of-something?”
    “Jack-of-all-trades.”
    Her countenance brightened. “Exactly. That is exactly what Verrin Schope is not.” Her face lost its shine. “Bec, do you know where Tipper is?”
    “No, milady, I don’t.”
    Lady Peg straightened. “I’m going to find her.”
    She turned swiftly and strode off, her head held high. Tipper labeled her mother’s dramatic exits “the regal departure.”
    Beccaroon shook his head. Where had that girl gone? The others in the room seemed to be more interested in the loss of the two statues. Beccaroon didn’t blame them for that. But he was in the habit of looking after Tipper, and her disappearance brought her safety to the front of his mind. He could think of many traps the young woman could fall into.
    Librettowit stood, scowling at the remaining statue. Beccaroon half listened to the king and queen squabbling. Had Tipper run off? He’d thought she was in danger of losing her heart to Paladin. Was it the tumanhofer who’d caught her eye?
    “Awk!”
    Librettowit looked at him and arched an eyebrow. Beccaroon strutted across the space between them, hating the way the rug captured his talons.
    “Do you have any theories?” the grand parrot asked the librarian.
    “Only another question. Why take two of the statues and not