The Painting in the Hall: A Fable (G) - Part Two

Continued from Part One.

Back at Master John’s studio, Timothy tacked his incomplete illustration of Old Sage onto his easel and sighed again. “Teacher,” he ventured, “do you know where that painting came from?”

“The one you so frequently admire?” Master John, who had just finished a serving of mutton, licked his paw and scrubbed at his whiskers. “No, I’m afraid I don’t. It’s been in the Hall since before my time.”

“They wish to tear it down.”

“What? Who?”

“Princess Anastasia. And the mice who follow her.” Timothy clenched his own tiny paw, suddenly enraged. “But they don’t know what they seek to destroy. By the Maker, they don’t even understand the painting’s meaning! They see subjugation where there is none.”

“Ah. So Anastasia’s sojourn at Alexandria is finally bearing fruit.”

Timothy favored Master John with a quizzical look.

“The Priory at Alexandria is where cats of high breeding receive their training. It was opened to gifted mice many generations ago — but on that mountain, cats still maintain the majority.”

Timothy huffed, mildly offended. “I know all of that. Everyone knows all of that.” Indeed, the lack of mice at Alexandria had been a topic of extended discussion for many, many years among cats and mice alike.

“Of course. But are you aware of its corruption?”

Now this was something entirely new! Leaving his work, Timothy joined Master John at the table, grabbing a seed to nibble in anxious anticipation. The fat, polydactyl Maine Coon was an accomplished raconteur as well as a fine artist.

“It started in my time. I came to Alexandria to hone my talent with the greatest masters — to discipline my brush and enhance my technique. And indeed, I had many instructors who were eminently skilled at their craft. I will always thank the Maker for their honorable work.”

“As I will thank the Maker for my chance to work with you.”

Master John bobbed his head, gratified. “Unfortunately, there was one cat in residence at the Priory who despised the old ways. Mistress Rachel. She was a sculptor of middling ability, but she had a cunning mind. It wasn’t long before she realized she could rise by exploiting our shame. It discomforts many educated cats, you see, to think that we were once your torturers.”

“But that was the past,” Timothy pointed out, scratching his ear. “No decent cat now living has ever eaten a mouse. Only criminals do such a thing in this age.”

“That may be so. But the guilt still lingers — especially since, as you well know, many mice still struggle to prosper. That’s how Mistress Rachel was able to succeed in bringing many cats at Alexandria to her side.”

“And what happened next?”

“Well, they razed the Archives, for one. I still remember the feel of the blaze on my fur — and the stench of the char.” Master John shuddered, his yellow eyes taking on a haunted aspect. “That was the day I decided to leave.”

“Was everything in the Archives lost? Is that why the painting in the Meeting Hall is a mystery?”

“Not everything was lost, no. There was one heroic cat - Master Thomas was his name, I believe - who braved the flames with several of his students to rescue what they could. But they carried all of it away to a hidden priory beyond the mountains. And for good reason, no one has heard from them since.”

“Is there any way I could find this priory?”

Master John’s laughter rang through the room. “Surely, young Timothy, you can’t be serious!”

“As serious as an April windstorm.”

“You would have to travel countless miles through difficult, exceedingly dangerous terrain. And even if you did find Master Thomas, he might not even possess the records you seek!”

Timothy sobered. In his enthusiasm, he hadn’t thought of the risks.

So far, the small apprentice had spent his entire life living amongst the tightly packed cottages and winding alleyways of Peacefield. Safe behind the fortifications that ringed the great city, no mouse needed to fear the depredations of the hawks that ruled the skies — or the wolves that stalked the wildlands. To depart from Peacefield on this possibly futile mission was indeed to court his own death.

But then again, wasn’t the truth more than worth such a price?

“I understand, Master John. But still, I feel I must go.”

“Hmm.” Master John twisted his head back and chewed at an itch on his flank. “Well, I have heard that there are cairns on the other side of the mountains that may lead you in the right direction — piles of oddly polished stones that may point the way. But mind you, these are rumors I’ve heard whispered in underground salons. I cannot confirm their veracity.”

Nevertheless, Timothy felt hope swell in his breast. If it meant he could save the work he loved so much, he had to seize this chance — no matter how vanishing it might be.

Timothy and Master John stared at each other for a long moment. Then Master John growled lightly in frustration. “Very well. I can see you are quite decided. But you will not go alone. I will accompany you. After all, you might have need of my fangs and claws if the hawks come calling.”

Timothy smiled and threw himself at Master John’s furry leg, hugging it as fiercely as he could. “Thank you! Thank you! I know you think me a goose, but I don’t know what else to do.”

“Steady now, dear mouse,” Master John rumbled. “We may be embarking on fool’s errand — but perhaps, after all these years, it’s time for a little adventure.”

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