The Command - Brian Jacques - Flying Dutchman 02

Ben shook his head admiringly. “Don’t you ever guess wrongly?”

The girl licked honey from her fingers. “Sometimes, but I can always manage to talk my way out of mistakes. The whole thing is just luck, guesswork, a bit of shrewd watching, and telling the customer things they like to hear. Right, let’s set up stall here on these steps. Dominic, get your sketching stuff out. Ben, you and Ned sit here by me, try to look poor but honest. I’ll start singing to attract the customers. Come on, now, we can save some of the pancakes for later. Dominic, do another sketch of Ned.”

The dog sat by Karay’s side and winked at Ben. “You look poor, I’ll look honest!”

Karay folded her shawl in two and spread it out at her feet to catch any coins that were thrown. Dominic took up a piece of slate and his chalks. Ben sat on the other side of the girl, listening as she sang sweetly.

“Oh kind sir and madam, you good children too,

Pray stop here awhile, and I’ll sing just for you

Of mysterious places, across the wide sea,

Of distant Cathay and of old Araby,

Where caravans trail, like bright streamers of silk

To far misted mountains, with peaks white as milk,

And ships tall as temples, spread sails wide and bold,

All laden with spices, fine rubies and gold,

Fine harbours where garlanded flowers deck piers,

In the lands of great mandarins, lords and emirs,

Where beautiful maidens, with priests old and wise,

Sing songs or chant prayers ‘neath forgotten blue skies.

Have your eyes not beheld them, then hark to my song,

And your heart will be there, in sweet dreams before long.”

Gradually a few people gathered. One of them was an old fellow pushing a cart on which he had a churn of buttermilk, a ladle and some earthenware bowls. When Karay finished her song, he applauded loudly, calling out, “What a fine voice! Sing some more, young maid!”

The girl held out her hand to him. “Let me get my breath, sir. Come on up here and get your likeness sketched by a real artist. We won’t charge you much!”

The old fellow chuckled, shaking his head. “No thank ye, miss, I haven’t got money to spend on pictures. Besides, who’d want to sketch a battered old relic like me, eh?”

Ben coaxed the old man up and sat him on the top step, facing Dominic, and reassured the reluctant sitter. “We’re not talking money, sir. A bowl apiece of your buttermilk to quench our thirst would be enough. My friend is a good artist, you’ll like his picture, I’m sure. Don’t be shy. Here, I’ll let my dog sit with you, he’s a good companion.”

Some of the watchers called out encouragement to the old fellow, and he finally agreed to be sketched. “Go on then, it’ll give my wife something to throw mud at when she’s angry with me!”

Dominic captured the spirit of the old buttermilk vendor amazingly. More folk had gathered to watch, and they viewed the likeness with astonishment.

“Oh it’s wonderful, what a nice picture!”

‘Aye, very lifelike. He’s even drawn that black dog, with its paw on his knee, see!’

“Doesn’t the old man’s face look kind and jolly!”

Ned watched them admiring the picture as he contacted Ben. “A true artist, eh? He’s made me look even nobler on that sketch, and see the old man’s eyes. Every crinkle and crease is perfect. You can see by looking at them that he’s a cheery old codger with a good nature. Right, who’s next to have their picture sketched—with the noble Ned, of course. I’m getting used to being famous!”

Ben tugged his dog’s tail. “Stop boasting and drink your buttermilk, the man’s waiting on his bowls. Though he’ll have to wash that one before he serves buttermilk in it again.”

The black Labrador sniffed. “I should think so too. Peasants using the personal bowl of Ned the Noble!”

Men and women began clamouring to have their pictures sketched next, even holding out coins in their hands. Karay nudged Ben. “Haha, we’re in business now!”

Dominic looked around before choosing his next subject. He guided a young woman carrying a baby boy up to the step. She was obviously poor—her clothing was worn and frayed— but her baby looked clean and healthy.

The woman tried to avoid Dominic, her cheeks red with embarrassment as she pleaded with him. “Please, sir, I have barely enough money to feed my baby. I cannot afford your cost!”

The Facemaker of Sabada spoke gently to her. “There will be no cost, lady. For the privilege of sketching you both, I cannot pay you. But I will give you two pancakes, one for you and one for the babe. Hold him on your lap now, sit still and face me please.”

Slumping down on the steps beside Ben, Karay heaved a sigh of resignation. “Two customers, no, three, if you count the baby, and what have we earned so far? A bowl of buttermilk apiece! Why don’t we go and seek out some beggars, perhaps this facemaker’d like to sketch them free! Maybe we could give them the clothes off our backs for allowing us to do them the favour. Fools, that’s what we are!”

Ben was not pleased with the girl’s callous attitude. “Oh, stop grizzling, there’s nothing wrong in helping people a little. There are other things in this life besides money. Where would you be if I hadn’t helped you when you were chained to a cartwheel?”

Karay was about to make a sharp retort when they were interrupted by a richly clad lady, mounted sidesaddle on a chestnut mare. Her voice was loud and imperious. “Tell that boy he can sketch me next!”

Ned growled menacingly as she spurred the horse forward. The chestnut reared, but the lady brought it forcefully under control. She wagged her quirt at Ben. “Tie that dog up, or I’ll have it destroyed!”

The boy took hold of the Labrador’s collar. “I’m sorry, marm, Ned thought your horse was going to trample us.”

He ignored Ned’s indignant thoughts. “Pompous baggage. Both she and her horse could do with a lesson in manners!”

The lady was pointing at Dominic with her leather quirt. “Finish that picture quickly, I don’t have all day to sit here waiting whilst you mess about with peasants!”

The facemaker continued sketching, though his eyes were hot and angry as he flicked them up at the mounted lady. “Then be on your way, marm, because I don’t intend making a likeness of you!”

The young woman with the baby started to rise, but Dominic beckoned her to stay put. “Sit still, I’m almost done.”

The onlookers had to scatter as the lady wheeled her horse about and rode off, glaring hatred at Dominic.

Ned broke free of Ben’s hold and chased after the horse, barking furiously, causing the animal to break into a gallop. The lady was forced to hold on to her ornate hat as she bounced up and down awkwardly. Stall holders laughed and jeered at her ungracious exit, some even cheering Ned as he made his way back to Ben’s side.

Dominic held up the slate containing the picture of the young woman and her baby, amid gasps of admiration from everyone around. There was beauty and honesty in the woman’s face, and love for her child. Happy innocence and trust shone from the babe’s eyes—it was a perfectly beautiful likeness. He passed it over to the blushing mother, together with the food he had promised her. She curtsied deeply, stammering her thanks.

“My husband will be pleased to see this hanging over our fireplace. Thank you, thank you very much, sir!”

Dominic bowed and smiled at her. “Tell him that I said he’s a lucky man to have such a pretty wife and baby.”

Shortly after the mother and child’s departure, Dominic had just started to portray a fat, jolly housewife when a commotion arose between the stalls. He looked up from his work. “What’s all the noise about?”