Leon and the Spitting Image by Allen Kurzweil Page B

you come with me through this arch, I can show you something more satisfyingly deadly.”
    Ms. Jasprow guided her group into an herb garden and spoke about plant poisons, then continued on, to a library gallery, where she provided an overview on toxic pigments.
    “See the red paint in that illuminated manuscript?” Ms. Jasprow said, pointing at a peaceful castle landscape. “Artists call that color vermilion. Chemists, however, know it as mercuric sulfide. It’s
highly
poisonous. And the yellow on the knight’s banner? That’s orpiment. Orpiment contains arsenic, which is the principal ingredient in rat bait. And farther up, that golden sun, any guesses what that’s made out of?”
    No one had a clue.
    “Dried cow urine,” Ms. Jasprow said matter-of-factly.
    Thomas raised his hand. “Ms. Jasprow?” he said. “I think it’s been an hour. Miss Hagmeyer is probably expecting us.”
    “And we certainly shouldn’t keep the Ha—Miss Hagmeyer waiting,” said Ms. Jasprow. But on her way to the meeting point, she had a change of heart. “I can’t resist a quick detour,” she said with a conspiratorial wink.
    Ms. Jasprow hustled the O through Zs into a room dominated by a beautiful stained glass window. “Isn’t it a joy to watch the light shine through this? It’s like medieval motion pictures!”
    She was just launching into a speech about the dangers of glassmaking when she was interrupted by a tooting sound.
    The coach came running up, proudly displaying a clay whistle, shaped like a jester’s head, that he had purchased in the Cloisters gift shop. “Uh, Regina? Phyllis is getting a little, well, you know … ”
    “Impatient?” the art teacher suggested. “Fidgety? Restless?”
    “You got it,” confirmed the coach.
    “At last!” Miss Hagmeyer said as the O through Zs joined the A through Ns at the entrance to the tapestry room. “You’re seven—no, eight—minutes late!”
    “It’s my fault,” said Regina Jasprow.
    “Of course it is,” said Miss Hagmeyer. She leveleda look of intense displeasure at her tardy colleague before marching everyone into a large stone hall.
    “These,”
she said, waving her needle, “are the reason I arranged this trip.”
    “Rugs?” said Lumpkin.
    “Not rugs—tapestries. Seven of the most exquisite tapestries in the world.”
    “And each one has a unicorn!” Antoinette blurted out. “That’s why you had
us
make unicorns!”
    “That is correct, Miss Brede. I gave you that assignment so that you could better appreciate the master pieces on these walls.”
    Guiding the group to a hanging on the far side of the room, Miss Hagmeyer said, “I would like you to focus your attention on that rose right there. It required no fewer than thirty-four stitches per inch—you heard me correctly,
thirty-four
s.p.i.”
    “I’d settle for six,” Leon whispered.
    Miss Hagmeyer neutralized Leon with a glower before continuing. “That exquisite rose is one of six hundred and twenty-seven similarly exacting flowers that blossom on
The Start of the Hunt
. I know because I tallied them up—twice. In addition to examples of the seven stitches of virtue that all of you should know, this master piece incorporates tent stitches, stem stitches, knot stitches—”
    Miss Hagmeyer suspended her speech. “Did you wish to add something, Ms. Jasprow?”
    All heads turned toward the art teacher, who was whispering to the coach. “What?” said Ms. Jasprow. “Add something? Me? Uh, no.”
    “You are quite sure?” said Miss Hagmeyer. “We wouldn’t want to deprive the class of an
artist’s
perspective.” The snideness in her voice was unmistakable.
    Ms. Jasprow turned red. “Sorry for the disturbance. Please go on.”
    “It’s hardly a disturbance, Regina.
Enlighten
us.”
    “Well, if you insist,” said Ms. Jasprow. “I was just telling Coach Kasperitis here that I find your perspective slightly”—she took a moment to choose the right