Shortly after breakfast the following morning, while sitting on his bed making notes about the upcoming event, the puzzled look on Ilika’s face suddenly changed to a smile. He dashed downstairs and into the streets of Cobble Town.
He entered the first illustrator’s shop he found. “I am looking for an artist, one who can sketch faces quickly.”
“Oh my, I’m sorry, but our illustrators work slowly and carefully. If you want to commission a portrait, the Painter’s Guild is just down the street. I hear they have students who can do something small and simple in a month.”
Back outside, Ilika paused to take a few deep breaths for courage, then set off down the street. When he stepped into the reception room of the Painter’s Guild, an aged man with wild white hair looked up from the picture frame he was carving.
“It would be worth a silver piece to me if you could steer me to an artist who can quickly sketch faces.”
“Hmm. How many such faces?”
“About thirty. And it must be done in one day.”
“Just
sketches?
“Yes. I just need an image that will help me recall each of the people I will interview that day.”
“Hmm. Yes. When do you need this artist?”
“Five days from now.”
“Hmm. Yes, we can supply such an artist. A one day job . . . that is rather unusual . . . let us say . . . four great silver pieces?”
“No problem. But I must meet the artist and see his work before I decide.”
“Well . . . um . . . the artist is actually a . . . well, you’ll see,” the old man said hesitantly. “Namo!” he called over his shoulder.
A young lad ran out of the back room.
“You know where Pica lives?”
“Yes,
sir!”
“Fetch
her. Tell her I have a customer for a small job. Tell her to bring her sketch box.” As he spoke, his eyes shifted back and forth from the apprentice to the visitor.
Ilika sat down in a comfortable chair, closed his eyes, and relaxed.
The female artist soon arrived. Her outgoing personality filled the reception room with merriment as she gave the old man, then the boy, warm hugs and friendly kisses. Then the old man gestured toward the visitor.
She greeted Ilika with a smile and a warm handshake. He described the situation and his need for sketches.
“That would be great fun! There is rarely any call for quick sketch art.”
“Your guild master said it would cost four great silvers.”
“Jobi? The guild master?” she questioned with wide, smiling eyes as she turned around and looked at the old man. He cringed.
To Ilika she said, “If you can’t afford that, I can do it for less, but I have to give one quarter to the guild.”
“No, I think I’m getting my money’s worth. I just want you to sketch me before we finalize the agreement.”
She found paper and a drawing board. Ilika sat, and estimated she finished in about twelve minutes.
“You’re hired!” he said, looking at the sketch and handing her a small silver piece. “I’ll make it five great silvers if you’ll come early to help me set up, then give me your impressions at the end of the day.”
She smiled and nodded.
Ilika strode down the street to his next stop, the papermaker Jobi and Pica
recommended. A bell above the door jingled as he entered the shop.
“Good morning, young sir!” the woman in charge said in greeting.
“Good morning. May I see your paper samples?”
She led him to a table by the window.
He found the one Pica had described, a fine-textured drawing paper.
“Expensive, and not stocked in large quantities,” the matron said.
Ilika also selected a rough paper he had seen used for writing in many shops. “I need to commission something a little unusual. I need thirty pads of paper, each with a sheet of this drawing paper on top, and then twenty sheets of writing paper underneath.”
“Sir, I have never heard of a pad of paper. We can bind sheets. Is that what you mean?”
Ilika looked worried for a moment, but soon relaxed. “You have some kind of glue?”
“Of course, the best cowhide.”
“Get me a few sheets of scrap paper, but with one straight edge, some glue, and I’ll show you how. I’ll let you name your price when you see what I want.”
She quickly ordered her son to heat up the glue pot, then spread the word that a demonstration was about to take place. Soon the materials had been assembled and the workers had gathered around.
“First I put all these straight edges together,” Ilika said. “I hang this edge off the end of the table and weight it down.” He looked around.
An iron weight was quickly located and handed to him.
“Now I take the glue brush and coat the edge lightly like this. As soon as it dries, it’s done. Then it’s easy to tear off a sheet whenever you need one.”
The matron took charge. “This is called a pad of paper. Practice it, but make sure you use scraps!”
To Ilika’s delight, the pencil had already been invented.
The little shop the paper-matron recommended was tucked away on a side street not far from the plaza. As Ilika looked over the possibilities, he noticed a thick, easy-to-hold pencil with a soft, black center. As he was testing it on a scrap of paper, he suddenly frowned.
“Sir, what is the black material in this pencil?”
“Soft lead from the northern mountains. All pencils use it. The very best!”
After a moment of thought, Ilika smiled. “I need forty.”
“I will have them by tomorrow,” the clerk said with a grin.
Ilika located a large woodworking shop not far into Rumble Town. After listening to his need, the journeyman walked with him to the inn and measured the tables.
“You want these partitions to be about four hands high, you say?”
“Yes, just enough so a seated person can’t see a piece of paper on the table anywhere but right in front of him.”
The journeyman sat at a table and experimented with his measuring stick.
“Okay, I have it. Without any finishing work, let us say . . . four silvers?”
“Good, as long as they can be done in three days.”
“I will deliver them myself!”
Deep Learning Notes
What modern device did Ilika really need when he went looking for a sketch artist?
A portrait would take at least a month because oil paint takes days to dry to the point where further work can be done without smearing the previous work.
Why was Jobi sensitive about the fact that Pica was female?
When Ilika showed the papermakers how to make a pad of paper, was he breaking the “Prime Directive” of Star Trek?
Why was Ilika worried about the material in the pencils? (The answer is in the story a bit later.)