Otis’ work on the sculpture was nearly approaching its completion. He was so fixated on the task at hand that he wasn’t aware that Sophie was there until he spotted her in the corner of his eye. He noticed she was carrying her red toolbox, as she’d usually do. Despite seemingly having it with her every night, she never once showed him its content or brought the subject up at all, which caught Otis’ curiosity.
“Say, what have you got in that tiny toolbox of yours?” Otis asked.
“Oh… it’s funny,” Sophie replied. “I’ve actually been wanting to show this to you ever since I knew you were coming. But, now that we’re here, standing face to face… I’m not so sure anymore.”
“Why not?”
“I’m worried I might make a fool of myself.”
“I highly doubt that’s gonna happen.”
“Okay, I’ll show you. But… promise you won’t laugh.”
Then, Sophie opened her toolbox and pulled out a collection of clay figurines, all depicting every sort of mythological creature or monster imaginable.
“Did you make these?” Otis asked.
Sophie nodded with her head. She then grabbed some of the creatures and started describing them.
“This is Flamberge, the living skeleton,” she said. “He’s a shady salesman. I based him off on a bald, boney road merchant I once met, who would not let up trying to sell me his garbage. Oh, and this is Gnarla. She’s a witch.”
“Is she a good witch or a bad witch?”
“Um… I like to think she’s a nuanced character.”
“And who’s that?” Otis asked, while pointing at a figurine resembling a girl with dreadlocks.
“That’s actually a real person,” Sophie said. “She’s Marion, my best friend. I’ve known her since we were in the orphanage together, when we were toddlers. I wanna give this to her once it’s finished.”
“Well, I think they’re all quite excellent,” he said.
“You’re just saying that to be polite.”
“Not true. Trust me, I’ve had many sculptors under my tutelage. I know talent when I see it.”
“I always feel like my proportions are kinda off. Like, my sculptures end up being either smaller or larger than I intended.”
“Plan ahead, then. Once you have an idea on your mind, make a little doodle on paper. If you like working with clay, you can use copper wire to make an armature based off of that original sketch. That way, you’ll know exactly what size your figurine will be when it’s done. Plus, you can use tinfoil for stuffing. It’s less wasteful.”
“Woah. Thanks for the advice! Although, after seeing your work, I’m thinking I might switch to marble sculpting. Do you really think I have talent for this?”
“Of course. But talent isn’t everything. It needs to be nurtured. You’ve gotta cultivate it, just like you would a vegetable garden. And, much like one, it takes time for it to bear fruit. So, if you want to be great at any craft, don’t ever stop practicing. No matter what anyone tells you.”
“I won’t! Thank you, Mr. Otis!”
Suddenly, Rooster bursted into the solarium in a fit of anger.
“There you are!” Rooster said. “You’re in big trouble, missy. I was told you skipped your dance class today. You were slacking off with that girl again, weren’t you?”
“I didn’t skip class. We were on recess, and I —...”
“Wait. Are you still toying with those things?” he said upon noticing her clay figurines. “For crying out loud, Sophie, you’re not a five-year-old anymore. You can’t play with dolls for the rest of your life.”
“I actually made these myself.”
“Even worse! If you have time for that, you definitely have time for more rehearsals. Maybe your schedule isn’t as tight as I thought.”
“C’mon, Rooster,” Otis intervened. “Cut the girl some slack.”
“Excuse me?” Rooster said, turning his head in his direction. “Are you a parent, Mr. Von Hoot?”
“You know I’m not. I already told you that.”
“Then I’d appreciate it if you didn’t give me advice on parenting, same way I don’t give you advice on being a craftsman. Stay in your lane, my friend.”
“I’m not trying to give you advice. I’m just saying she should be allowed to do whatever she wants in those few moments a day when she’s not practicing for those glorified enlistment commercials of yours.”
“‘Glorified —...’? I’ll have you know they’re works of art. Cultural milestones, meant to lift the spirits of our people.”
“There’s literally a line in one of the songs that says ‘A little propaganda never hurt nobody’!”
“I don’t think I like your tone, Mr. Von Hoot. In fact, I think you’re way out of line.”
Otis sighed. “Look, I didn’t mean to offend you,” he said. “Let Sophie stay a little longer, she seems very interested in —...”
“My answer is no,” said Rooster vehemently. “Sophie, go to bed. Now!”
Sophie reluctantly obeyed. After she was gone, Rooster had a glance at Otis’ still in progress sculpture.
“That looks unfinished,” Rooster remarked.
“I still have a few more days,” Otis said.
“You better make them count. Good night, sir.”
After that, Rooster turned his back on him and left the room.
* * *
Three days came and went in a blink of an eye. Otis kept working diligently on the sculpture until its completion, if only out of spite for his patron. He would occasionally take short, much needed breaks to visit Lulu, which was the one thing that kept him from losing his mind. He hadn’t talked to Sophie since their last exchange, as she wasn’t allowed in the solarium anymore. At last, Grandmother Irma’s statue stood tall in the middle of the workshop, bathed in sunlight. Otis wiped the paint off his hands with a piece of cloth, and started putting his tools back inside his bag, ready to leave the manor after a job well done.
Suddenly, Rooster came by. It was the first time he'd set foot in that room after the argument. He was carrying a sack filled to the brim with coins, meant to be handed over to his employee.
“Well, I’ll be…” Rooster gushed, seeing the sculpture. “It’s as if she had never left us. I gotta say, Mr. Von Hoot, we might not share views on certain things, but you are as fine a sculptor as I’ve heard. I apologize for ever doubting you.”
Otis grabbed the bag of coins as he made his way to the door. “Thank you for your hospitality,” he simply said. “Goodbye.”
“I’m sorry little Sophie couldn’t be here to say goodbye,” Rooster added, right before Otis was able to cross the door’s threshold. “She’s… preoccupied.”
Upon hearing that, Otis stopped and turned around. “You know what, Rooster?” he said. “You might think you can make her do whatever you want now, but she’ll grow up. And she’s gonna hate you for this.”
“For what? Making her a star?”
“She can see through this charade. She isn’t anywhere near as dumb as you take her for.”
Rooster looked away and pondered for a moment.
“She’ll understand,” Rooster said. “She’ll see everything we did for her, and she’ll learn to love and respect us as her parents.”
“Yeah, either that or she’ll do the same thing the rest of your daughters did and ‘go to college’. How are they, by the way? Got any letters lately?”
“Nice chat, Mr. Von Hoot. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll have to ask you to get the hell out of my property.”
Even if he hadn’t just been asked to leave, Otis couldn’t endure staying one more minute inside that house. He finished packing his things as fast as he could, grabbed his coat, then exited the house without uttering a single other word to either Rooster or Cyril.
While he was crossing the front yard, Otis heard Sophie’s voice in the near distance. She was running toward him — the steward tried to stop her, but she managed to escape his grasp with ease.
“Mr. Otis!” she shouted.
“Sophie?” Otis said.
Sophie jumped into Otis’ arms and they gave each other a hug.
“You better go back inside,” Otis said, letting go of her. “I don’t wanna get you into trouble.”
“Can’t you stay a little longer?” Sophie pleaded.
“I don’t think Rooster would approve. We’re not on the best of terms. But I have a better idea.”
Then, Otis pulled a sheet of paper from his bag and scribbled something in it with his quill.
“I’ll be staying at a friend’s house for the time being,” he said, as he handed over the sheet of paper to Sophie. “Her name is Ludmila — this is her address. If you need to talk about anything, any time, please, do come by. You’ll be most welcome.”
“Thank you so much. For everything.”
* * *
After Otis’ departure, later in the evening, Rooster, Cyril and Sophie were sitting at the dinner hall. The steward had fixed them their supper a few minutes ago, but Sophie’s plate remained untouched by her.
“Rooster, how come we —...?” Sophie asked.
“Kid, we’ve been through this,” he said, talking over her. “You are to call me ‘father’.”
“How come we’re at war with the kingdom of Lothyen?” Sophie insisted.
“That’s grown-ups stuff. You don’t need to concern yourself with such matters.”
“Can’t you just tell me?”
“Ugh. Fine. If you must know, Elias cordially invited them to annex their lands to our kingdom. They refused, no matter what he offered them — and he offered them plenty. So, he was forced to take extreme measures. He didn’t want to, but they gave him no other choice. If they were reasonable people, they’d have relented long ago. They haven’t. That’s why we’re at war with them.”
“‘Annex’? Isn’t that a fancy word for unrightfully taking their land?”
“He had every right to do so. The person with the most powerful army gets to make the biggest decisions. It’s just how things work. That’s why we need to procure all the strong boys and girls we can, so that our army is the mightiest in the entire world.”
“Right. After all, no army means no war. And no war means that gunpowder sales go down. Isn’t that so?”
“Are you giving me sass, young lady?”
“Pay her no mind, sweetheart,” Cyril intervened. “She’s entering her rebellious phase. It’ll pass.”
They stayed silent for a little while. All three of them knew, however, that the silence wouldn’t last long.
“What if I wanted to enlist in the army?” Sophie said. “Would that sit well with you?”
“Oh, will you give it a rest already?” Cyril protested. “Rooster, don’t let her provoke you!”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Rooster told Sophie, ignoring Cyril’s advice. “I didn’t spend a fortune on your education so that you end up joining the army.”
“So… what are you saying?” Sophie said. “Only those people who didn’t have the same opportunities as we had should go to war?”
“For the love of —...! What are they teaching you in that damn school of yours?!” Rooster shouted, waving his arms in the air like a madman. “Wait. No. I know what’s going on. It was that Von Hoot fellow, wasn’t it? He planted these ideas into your head.”
“What? No!”
“Of course. He’s a foreigner, after all. I should have known better than to welcome an enemy of the kingdom in my house.”
“How can he be an enemy of the kingdom? You said yourself he didn’t even know who Elias Sauvage was until he saw the painting! You’re not making any sense!”
“That does it. I have tolerated enough disrespect for one day. Off to your room with you. Now!”
Sophie got up from her chair. “With pleasure,” she said.
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