Ishmael awoke with a vague sense of confusion. The light was different, and a bell bonged nearby.
Then he remembered.
He was not at home. He was at the Commons, and Color Master had said last night that Luc would stay in his posticum forever. Ishmael leaped up and dressed in his trousers and tunic.
He had to persuade Luc to return to the farm.
Today.
But when Ishmael met Luc at the top of the dormitory stairs, Luc left him no opening to talk about the farm, or to say anything at all. Instead, he rattled on about his posticum and what he still needed to do all through breakfast. So Ishmael bided his time, certain that he would have an opportunity once they were working, certain he could make Luc see how much they needed him at home and how staying in his posticum would be selfish.
At the entrance to the posticum, they were met by a petite young woman standing near four crates, a small tank filled with water, and another stone jar similar to the one Luc had yesterday.
“I thought Anna was supposed to give me the fauna?” Luc said to her.
“She was, but you’re all behind schedule. Does Color Master know you’re bringing people in here?” she asked, lifting her chin toward Ishmael.
“This is my younger brother, Ishmael, and yes, she knows.” He turned to Ishmael. “This is Delilah. She’s the Motion artisan for our posticum.”
Delilah said, “Don’t worry about the change in schedule—they should be easy enough to deal with.”
“What about the land animal? I remember the teeth in the drawing,” Luc said, tapping the largest crate.
Delilah rolled her eyes. “I suspended his motion until Gustation is done with him so you don’t need to worry.” She put her hands on the next two crates, both one-tenth the size of the first crate. “I didn’t see the need to suspend the motion of the others. Just don’t let them out of their crates. The taller crate is the fowl. The flat one is the reptile. The smallest one holds the creeper. And of course, the sea creature is in the tank. Any questions?”
Luc shook his head.
“It would help if you were timely with your work this week.”
“Have I ever not been timely?”
Delilah raised an eyebrow.
After she departed, Luc turned to the crates. “This ought to be interesting.” He ran his hand through his hair. “First, we need to inspect yesterday’s work before I can pass the flora to the Sound artisan, and then we can turn to the fauna after lunch.” Luc led the way toward the back of the posticum. “Coloring the animals is my last assignment.”
“So you’ll be finished soon? Today, even?”
“Possibly. It depends on how much trouble these animals give me. I’m not used to working with quickened fauna.”
“What does that mean, quickened fauna?”
“The Hall of Motion breathes movement into the animals, what we call the fauna. Once they do, the animals are quickened. They live. They move. They skitter away when you try to give them color.”
Ishmael nodded, silent for a moment. “If you finish today or tomorrow, that means we could possibly be home in two or three days.”
“Uh … not quite. I will finish in the next day or two, but the whole posticum won’t be finished until Gustation, Scent, and Sound have their turn. And once the other Halls are done, Head Master holds the laurels ceremony. I’ve still got at least a week before my duties at the Commons are complete.”
Ishmael stumbled over a large root. “And then what?”
“And then … you know. Ah! Here we are.” Luc stopped in front of the clusters of plants he had colored the previous day and examined them one by one, checking leaves and stems for even coloring.
Frustrated that he couldn’t pin Luc down, Ishmael stared at the plants. The stems and stalks were deep golden, while the leaves and flowers fluttered in a delicate yellow. Somehow Ishmael had thought it would be more complex. As he studied the effect of the whole swath of plants, something bothered him. It took him a moment to figure out what. “Aren’t you using any other colors?”
A look of delight lit Luc’s face. “I’ve hidden them,” he said, lifting up a golden stone by the wall. Streaks of blue ran across its underside. “Posticums require all the primary colors.”
Ishmael touched the blue, tracing its path with his fingertip. “It’s a beautiful shade,” he said. His brow furrowed as he looked up at Luc. “I don’t understand why you’d want to hide it.”
“It’s not that I’m ashamed of it as much as I want everything golden here.”
Ishmael frowned, thinking of the glorious jumble of Color Master’s sticks. It seemed a shame to show only one color when there was so much beauty in all of them. In fact, it seemed not very different from back home where everything was colorless. “But I still don’t understand why.”
Luc dropped the stone back into place. “Do you remember that day we rolled down the hill of the Commons? When we got into so much trouble?”
Ishmael nodded.
“Do you remember the feeling before we got caught? That feeling of flying, of euphoria, of joy? Yellow gives me that feeling.”
Ishmael knew that sensation well. It had been his constant companion since he first saw color, but the exhilaration came from all the colors, all together. “Don’t you get that feeling with other colors, too?”
Luc shook his head. “My color, my world.”
There was that phrase again. “You said that before, my color, my world. But doesn’t a posticum require more than one creator?”
“This is my posticum, and I want my color here,” Luc said. “Whatever anyone else does is irrelevant.”
If that was truly Luc’s feeling, then persuading him to return home was going to be the challenge of Ishmael’s life.