Fiona realized she didn’t actually know the woman’s name or her profession. She was a blonde-haired human, hair dressed up with a detailed braid down her back, just to behind her shoulder blades. She wasn’t wearing jewelry but was dressed in a business vest, and dark leggings that truncated in cute boots that she wouldn’t mind having on her shelf. Doug approached in tandem, smirking softly.

Wingding, what do you think he knows that I don’t? She pondered to her silent companion. Wingding pondered this for a moment, before flapping out a morse code.

Secret.

Wait. Are you keeping secrets?

No.

Then, what?

Lady.

Fiona furrowed her brow. The woman was sipping a cup of coffee, those hints of hazelnut wafting through the air, peering at the paintings…and a few statue busts. “Greetings, welcome to the emporium!” she announced, and the woman glanced her way, curiosity etched on her face. “I don’t think I caught your name earlier.”

“Ah, Miss Swiftheart! I apologize, I’ve been biding my time. Elaine Dorath, I’m part of a network of the city's various artisan guilds, and affiliated with the museum network throughout Fiefdala, and the greater Unified Kingdoms. I’ve been taking note of your paintings on the wall. Are you familiar with them?”

“I am. Though, not thoroughly rehearsed. I recall you had asked about these pieces, but needed more time to think about it.”

“Correct. And, as I’ve been observing the collections, and doing my research…I think you have a small miracle find,” she added with a faint smile, and gestured to a fairy tale cottage sitting near a sea bluff, the shining sea lapping below, and gulls flapping in the breeze. Fiona swore the longer she looked at, that the painting and the items in it seemed to move, or animated. But when she looked away, they were back to their static positions.

She was in a world of magic. Animated paintings would not be the most surprising thing she’d seen so far.

“I have a new expert I’ve brought on board today to examine many of the items in the store. While we deal with items that adventurers use daily, we also have a large collection of items that are not as fully understood–historical-wise. This is–” She trailed off, realizing she shouldn’t introduce Doug–the dragon who allegedly had been tearing up the Kingdom–as a member of her staff.

Doug picked up the cue instantly. “Derek Kierfraag, Historian. Licensed and classed. I can provide my paperwork, upon request.” He offered a claw to her, and she shook it with enthusiasm. Fiona tried not to scream in outrage.

Everyone is going to know it's you, you dunce! She swore Elaine could read her mind, and she smiled.

“Hah, funny, you look like a tiny version of that dragon that gave us trouble a couple of months ago. Any family relation?” she asked.

“Me, being related to that guy? Nah, it's just a coincidence. Cinder dragons and Cinder kobolds are quite common. You may also be aware that Douglas had a twin. A twin with a rather checkered history,” he added with a knowing smirk aimed at Fiona.

Watch it, smart-arse. Let’s see what you’ve got before you test my patience. Fiona also shook the woman’s hand and gestured to the collection. “As you can see, the collection is in pristine shape. Even with the recovery from a lair. I must give thanks to the previous owner, they went to great lengths to preserve these items.”

“They did, indeed. Fire resistance, stain proof wards, he even added a protective layer to keep the paint preserved and not oxidize. Quite clever, and no alteration to the original work,” she added with a smile. “So, Mister Kierfraag, what can you tell me about these? I’d like to test your knowledge. I have worked out some of it.”

“This collection represents the finest works of Vair La’teur, from her earliest days. As you might be aware, she grew up in poverty, and her family was killed by bandits. She managed to escape, but both her hands were crippled due to injuries sustained. A traveling group of healers came across her, barely alive, and they saved her. They also managed to salvage functionality in her off-hand when they nursed her to health. Though it took some time.”

“That’s basic. Tell me something the average person wouldn’t know,” the woman replied and gestured to one painting–that of a glacial carved lake, nested in a forest. “What’s the significance of this one?”

“Ah. That is Maradina Lake, In the Arkantine Mountains–these days, a quiet retreat of a few cottages of well-established nobility of Fiefdala. There is also a collection of cottages of those who appreciate a more down-to-Cepalune lifestyle–hardy folk, not a lot of gold, but memorable hospitality.”

Doug pointed at the lake. “This was painted by her, in September of 1983, when she was a traveling artist. She used to do these on commissions–usually in exchange for room and board. She had a minimalist lifestyle and spent most of her currency on her art supplies, and a somewhat nomadic lifestyle. The paint was of course, basic, which is why with some of her earlier works, you’ll notice the quality of the paint is an inconsistent texture, and her brushes were coarse, and not magically enhanced for flawless strokes. Even with only partial functionality, you can see the detail she placed on this early work.”

Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

Elaine looked on, her eyebrow raised. “Quite good, at a glance. You know your history.”

“I should. I met her in 1986, she had wintered there in the mountains two years prior, and an established family had taken her in, fascinated by her work. It was about this time that she acquired her mark, and then her works became…absolutely sublime. Even with the lingering pain of her injury,” Doug explained, and Fiona’s eyes widened.

Did he know this artist, personally? Oh you evil dragon, you. You had a backup plan, didn't you? The way he gave a toothy smile while Elaine browsed through the collection only confirmed her notion.

“That is interesting. You claim to know her?” Elaine asked.

“I can tell you that she always signed the painting twice. Once, before the canvas ever had a drop of paint applied, the second time, hidden in something subtle--foliage or wood grain, to blend in with the brushwork. For the former, she chose either the lower left, or the lower right corner. May I suggest gloves? You can't see the primary marking, but she always puts on a faint enchantment so that you can feel it. It also will reveal the name if touched with a slight stenciling.”

“Greg, do we have gloves?” Fiona called out. He nodded, and quickly brought out a box of thin latex gloves that he handed to the three of them. Doug, however, had the sharpened claw presented a problem, and had to be extremely careful.

“Do you mind if I check first?” Elaine asked, looking entrained with this reveal.

“Not at all. Be gentle, the paint she used was prone to flaking if too much force was applied,” he answered. She traced the lower right corner, by a tree stump. She frowned, but then ran her finger over the lower left–and stopped.

“There's a raised spot. I can feel it.” She traced her finger over it, and there was a slight glow from the paint, ever so gently, where her finger contacted. A crisp signature appeared showing the name;

La’teur.

Elaine’s eyes widened. “That’s her signature. After she acquired her mark, she did this for all her paintings. Exceedingly difficult, if not impossible, to forge. I think she knew the worth of her work, even if she spent the majority of her life as a traveling painter.”

“Spring, 1985, she migrated to the Bar’dathi plains. She did many works, showing the elven community and the vast expanses of the forest. The elves always built simple, but sturdy, using only natural products, and occasional stonework.” He gestured to a painting of a cottage on the cusp of a forest meadow, looking like it could have been a living extension of the large trees just adjacent to the rustic home. Small elven children could be seen playing in the background. “She spent three years there, where she honed her craft. She learned to live on subsistence, only taking coin when needed to pay for her supplies. You’ll note that she incorporated natural pigments that the elves used, from the various plants and the minerals that would be carried down the Tarsis river.”

Elaine glanced at him, in awe. “You might have me at a loss. I knew about her visits there, but not…not the specifics of the pigments.”

“Milkvine carries a white pigment. You wouldn't know it unless you shone a certain mage fire light over it, where it illuminates. Historically it’s been rarely used, but highly prized. But the elven tribes never took more than needed, and the Kingdom doesn’t have sovereignty over the unincorporated regions. They did not want the plant to become a scarce commodity, or farmed.”

“Mister Kierfraag, do you realize this whole collection is–”

“Genuine? Yes. That is why Miss Swiftheart brought someone like me on board. Because I know the history best. I can tell you from my brief interaction with her almost forty years ago, that she was very kind. She didn’t do any self-portraits, except for one: her last. She had ashen hair by then, her brush strokes exaggerated, tired–but her artistic talent was still sharp. Her later works were accounted for, they’re in various private collections."

“I know. We have a small collection of her later works, including her self-portrait in the Fiefdalian Central Museum of Culture. It’s on display downtown,” Elaine stated, amazed.

“A small collection. But this? This is a collection of twenty years of unrealized beauty. Forgeries have been attempted, of course, but the mark created a unique signature for her work. No one has replicated it," Doug told her, and that proudness in his voice was palpable. Like he'd always had a plan.

You had a plan, didn't you? Greg said they weren’t sure of the artist, and that it might have been some other lesser-known individual making replicas… Fiona realized they might be sitting on a gold mine even Barry hadn’t considered. He looked at her, with a raised eyebrow.

“Surely, you’ve noticed that no one has purchased these items, yes? They look, but always shy away,” Doug directed toward her. “Do you know why?”

“She wanted her works shared, in the end. Something about her mark?” Fiona guessed. Doug nodded at this.

“Correct. The collection has a curious power–people collect them, but ultimately, they end up in the hands of museums, and public displays…everyone eventually has a change of heart, through circumstance or personal preference. It’s a subtle and fascinating power,” he concluded. “They say no two marks are created alike, and they’re right. I’ve seen artists have their paintings come to life, some can summon monsters, and others can paint a garden, and harvest the most succulent greens and produce. But this one is certainly–”

Elaine stood straighter, bright green eyes shining. “I’d like to have an independent historian examine this. If it's genuine and I do believe it is, I’d like to lease this for the museum. We have generous philanthropists and private donors who would certainly love to have this as part of the display for the public."

Fiona nodded and glanced at it. This hadn’t been an outcome she expected, and she smiled faintly. “I’d have to speak to my partners on this. We’ve never had a situation where a cultural institute would be interested in a display like this. The paintings and other artifacts haven’t moved as much as the adventurer’s gear.” She motioned to Greg, who nodded. “What do you think, can we put in some paperwork for this one?”

“I’m sure we can arrange that, with a small lease to put the items on public display,” he replied, and peered at the displays. “But, which one–”

“All of them.” All eyes stared at Elaine, looking confident. " I can convince the higher-ups to take the whole collection."

Wingding gave her a silent Morse code, and a flood of delight hit her:

Cha-ching.