Bea Flint walked slowly back toward the Millers’ house as the sun warmed the air and the bees went into busy mode. She came to the main square, where stallholders were setting up their weekly market around the broad steps of the library. There was bustle everywhere, and already the stalls were piled with colorful fruit, tools and plant pots, pickles and preserves, shoes, candles, colored glass, cloth by the yard, belts, buckles and bridles, songbirds in wicker cages, knives, ropes, maps, balms and bandages, pâtés and sausages, bread, books, and a hundred other things. She passed them by with barely a glance.
A pale fish stared sightlessly from a bed of ice on the last stall. Its colorless fat lips were frozen around its last gasp, giving it a witless expression that reminded her uncomfortably of Ike Ledbetter. She groaned. Even when she was awake she could not get Ike out of her mind. She knew what she had to do, but the prospect filled her with dread. She was so tired that it would be difficult not to fall asleep, but how was she to overcome her fear of the dream squatter? He had never even spoken to her, except to intone the demand of his clan: Give us the Hidden Boy.
It did not come as a surprise to her to find that the Millers’ house was once again surrounded by people. At first she thought that news of Ma’s tattooing skills had spread even further, but on second glance she noticed that the people bunched up around Ma in the clearing were already tattooed. They did not all seem entirely pleased about it either.
“I’m telling you it wasn’t there yesterday,” said a man with grizzly hair. He had his shirt rolled up to his armpits and was pointing to a figure half-hidden in the picture on his stomach. “When you done this it was all plants and birds. That was what I asked for. It ain’t natural for new details to sneak out of a tattoo in the night.”
“Same thing happened to mine,” said a woman with elaborately decorated shoulders. “I’ve got bees everywhere now, where yesterday there was just flowers.”
“You must be mistaken,” Ma said to them.
“You can rest assured,” said Pa, “that nobody will be charged for any extra details that may have emerged.” He had descended the ladder to see what the commotion was about, and was now looming over the crowd. Looming was one of Pa’s specialties.
“That’s not the point,” said the woman with the bees, a little doubtfully. “How do we know what might come out in the future?”
“Nothing will come out that isn’t there already,” said Pa. “My wife is the fastest tattooist in history. You just didn’t notice all the details when they were being done.”
Bea could see that Ma herself was a little shaken by the notion that her tattoos might be continuing to grow without her. The rings under her eyes were even darker than before, and she looked ten years older than she had when they set out for the holiday of a lifetime.
Bea stepped forward and cleared her throat. “Why don’t we take a look at these tattoos,” she said loudly. “Maybe we can figure out what’s happening.”
The townspeople looked around to see who was speaking. Ma and Pa looked at her too, surprise on their faces. There was no sign of Granny Delphine, but Bea could almost hear her grandmother’s voice in her mind, and she knew just what she would say.
“Don’t stand there gawping,” she heard herself say. “Bring that bench over here and sit down in a line. We’ll get to everyone, if you all have a bit of patience.”
Grizzly Hair and another man went obediently to fetch the garden bench, and the tattooed and discontented sat themselves down in a line. They had stopped muttering now.
Bea put her arm around her mother’s waist and gave her a quick squeeze. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s see what we can see.”
Ma nodded. She looked at Bea as though she were seeing her for the first time.
“Where’s Granny Delphine?” asked Bea.
“She’s gone to the Quorum. She called another extraordinary meeting.” Ma smiled weakly. “She’s only just gotten here and already she’s running the place.”
Grizzly Hair was first on the bench. He was a pig farmer from just outside Bell Hoot, and since he made it a point always to test his own products for quality he had made a broad canvas of his belly over the years. Ma’s artwork curled across it, a tangle of vines and mossy branches, dotted with brightly colored birds. He pointed at the offending figure. “This wasn’t here before. I watched the whole thing being done, and I’d have seen it.”
Bea peered closer. The figure of a girl was barely visible in the shadows. Her face was turned away, and she carried what appeared to be a large key. “Looks a bit like you, Bea,” said Pa, leaning over Ma’s shoulder.
“I don’t remember putting you in,” whispered Ma.
“You worked nonstop for two days,” said Bea. “You couldn’t remember every detail.”
“Why’s she holding a key?” said Pa.
Bea glanced at Ma. She remembered what Granny Delphine had said about Ma’s aptitude for Mumbo Jumbo, and how Arkadi said that aptitudes had a way of coming out. She said nothing. Grizzly Hair looked at Ma expectantly, and Pa’s question hung in the air. Suddenly Ma seemed to snap out of her daze. She took a deep breath, and some of the spark came back into her eyes. “Yes, of course I put her there,” she said to the pig farmer. “I often put my children into my tattoos.”
“But—”
Ma straightened up and gave Grizzly Hair a brilliant smile. “You must have nodded off while I was putting her in.”
“I’m sure I only asked for birds,” muttered Grizzly Hair.
Pa loomed closer. “Are you saying you’d have preferred another parakeet to a picture of my daughter?”
“I…er…of course not,” said the pig farmer hastily. He rolled his shirt down and got up from the bench. “Like you say, it was a long day. I must have been dozing. I was just curious.”
“Thank you. Come again,” Pa called after him as he hurried away.
“Next,” said Bea. She was conscious of Ma looking at her as the tattooed townsfolk slid up along the bench.
“You’ve grown up all of a sudden,” said Ma quietly.
Bea looked at her and smiled.
“Your grandmother says…” Ma hesitated. She seemed to change her mind. “You’re carrying a key in that man’s tattoo,” she said.
“I know,” said Bea. “Let’s see what the next one shows.”
The woman whose shoulders were tattooed with flowers was next in line. Among the flowers the bees were visible, making a complex pattern that Bea recognized from listening to the flight of the bees around her. She was pretty sure she could even tell which hive they came from. It wasn’t long before the tattooed woman was convinced that the bees were a welcome addition to the flowers that curled around her shoulders. “The inks brighten up as the tattoo heals,” said Ma brusquely. “That’s when you can see things you hadn’t noticed before.”
“And what good are flowers without bees?” added Bea.
There were several more people waiting to have their tattoos inspected. They had arrived disgruntled, but having listened to Bea and her parents dealing with the first few complaints they were starting to see their evolving tattoos as a valuable novelty. They forgot their dissatisfaction, and lined up to have their tattoos admired and interpreted. Bea examined each picture carefully, noting especially the details that their owners said were new. She tried to make sure she remembered everything. The line eventually dwindled to nothing, and Bea climbed the ladder, followed by Ma and Pa, and sank onto one of the familiar cane chairs.
For a while she lay slumped in the chair, listening to the reassuring pattern of the bees as they went about their business. She knew that bees had some part to play in solving this whole puzzle, but she could not yet imagine what it was. The details in Ma’s tattoos buzzed around in her mind in no particular order: a stand of tall thin trees that might be the place where Theo was hidden, the girl with the key who looked like Bea herself, a bare island in still waters. Another tattoo featured mysterious figures wrapped in scarves and mittens that reminded Bea of the curiously overdressed Ledbetters. Why would they choose to make their home in such a barren place? She was sure that if she could just line up all the tattoos in the right order the answer would be as clear as the water that cascaded over Cambio Falls.
Ma’s voice broke through her thoughts. “Your grandmother says that you’re the only one who can find our Theo,” she said.
Bea sat up with an effort. “She told me that too,” she said.
“Do you think you can?”
“I hope so,” said Bea, “but I have to sleep first.”
“Sleep?” said Ma, shaking her head in puzzlement. “You can’t sleep now, Bea. There’s no time to waste.”
Bea got to her feet. Her mother sat on the edge of her chair, worry stretching the skin on her face. Bea kissed her softly on the forehead. “Trust me, Ma. I have to sleep. It’s the only way I can find him now.”
“I don’t understand,” said Ma.
“I know,” said Bea.