The Light That Never Was Read Online Free PDF

caterer thought of this was never recorded. The other artists delightedly took turns in adding themselves, variously costumed but always on wrranels and armed with artistic impedimenta; or in contributing to the crowd of panicky tourists prize specimens that had aroused their ire during their visits to the Plai. The painting expanded in both directions and became a vast, panoramic mural.
    The mural’s fame grew. Tourists began to trudge up the hill for a look at it. They found the walk as healthful and stimulating as the mineral baths, and they came again—and again. The caterer’s business expanded almost beyond his credibility. He did not overlook the source of his prosperity, however; when the enormous main room became so crowded with tourists that there was no place for the artists, he added the annex, reserved it for artists only, and served food and adde at cost—which inspired the artists to continue and expand the mural. At both ends of the room it turned corners, turned again, and met in the center of the opposite wall where a crowd of angry tourists was shown pursuing wrranel-mounted, terrified artists.
    A firm dealing in art reproductions heard of the mural and sent a representative, A contract was negotiated, and soon the caterer began receiving royalty warrants. Whenever one arrived, he chalked up the amount in the artists’ annex and served free food and adde until it was exhausted. His competitors did not complain; the number of tourists taking daily walks up to the artists’ colony had enhanced everyone’s profits.
    As for the man who started it all, Gof Milfro had his seat of honor and, like the others, free food and adde whenever there was a royalty warrant. Otherwise he borrowed and begged and had an unexpectedly rare windfall when a tourist paid him a pittance for a painting that had required a month’s work. Somehow he survived and continued to work tirelessly—ragged,hungry, uncomfortable, but for all that indomitably cheerful and irrepressibly optimistic. He was an artist.
    On this day, despite his pleasure in distributing the Harnasharn largess, he was a worried artist. As he took his seat of honor at the end of the long table, he asked, “Is there any news from Sornor?” He got no answer, so he raised his voice and asked again. Other than a momentary lapse in the conversation, the only response came from a young artist who called, “What’s with Sornor?”
    “I’m worried about Franff,” Milfro said.
    “Who’s Franff?”
    “More of an artist than you’ll ever be.”
    “Oh—that animal.”
    “Animaloid!” Milfro snapped. “Which by definition is what you probably think you are, an intelligent animal.”
    He was prepared to enlarge upon that, but an altercation at the door caught his attention. A woman in tourist costume was attempting to enter, and a waiter firmly blocked her way. “Artists only, ma’am.”
    “I only wanted to speak with Mr. Milfro,” she said.
    Milfro got to his feet. “Yes? Oh, it’s you.”
    The waiter moved aside, and she stepped into the annex, a tall, dark woman of flashing eyes, appealing smile, and indeterminate age. She looked about curiously and exclaimed, “No murals? It’s very generous of you artists to beautify the building for others before you do it for yourselves.”
    “Just because we’re artists doesn’t mean we like art,” Milfro growled. “Did you get to see it?”
    “Yes. For two uninterrupted hours! I’m on my way back to Donov Metro, and I wanted to thank you before I leave.”
    Milfro removed his turban, bowed slightly, and said, “You’re entirely welcome—I don’t remember your name.”
    “Mora Seerl.” She spoke to the other artists. “I’m a visiting critic from Adjus. This is my sabbatical year, and I’m studying at the Institute and visiting as many of the art colonies as possible. I wanted to do a detailed study of your mural, but every time I came here the place was so crowded I couldn’t get near it.