The artists, bless them, still slept. I set Scatter and his fellows to moving them out of the way while Evis and the halfdead darted to and fro, arranging the paintings in a rough circle about the room. I took the canvas I’d painted. Mama was grasping every bird she owned. Gertriss was muttering with her, her voice too low to hear. Darla held Buttercup in a tight hug and stayed close by my side. Evis and his halfdead finished arranging the paintings. “Whatever it is you plan to do, it had better not take long.” “It shouldn’t.” I moved to the middle of the room, kicked a fallen easel aside, and laid my canvas on the floor. The strange symbol I’d left upon it did nothing. The other paintings followed suit. Outside, we heard the thunder of hooves, and shouting, and the smell of smoke was thick in the air. “Dammit, Finder, hurry this up,” muttered Evis. The canvases watched us, unmoved. “Knock knock,” I said, aloud. Ropes creaked and groaned, the wall beside up began to tilt.
