The Swiss captain dutifully removed his boot, and wriggled his toes for the sculptor's inspection. Master Beneforte compared flesh and wax, and at last grunted satisfaction. "Well, I shall be able to mend what is lacking, if need be."

"You can see the very veins of this waxy fellow's flesh," said Uri, leaning close. "I'm almost surprised you didn't put in my hangnails and calluses, he's so lively. Will it come out of the clay so fine like that, in bronze? The flesh is so delicate." He hopped, pulling his boot back on,

"Ha! Of that, I can give you an immediate demonstration. We have just cast a fine little conceit in gold—I'll knock off the clay before your eyes, and you can see for yourself if my statue's hangnails will survive."

"Oh, Papa," Fiametta interrupted urgently, "can I undo it myself? I did all the other steps by myself." Surely he must sense her new-cast spell, if he handled it so fresh.

"What, you're still moping around? Have you no chores? Or were you just hoping for another glance at a naked man?" Master Beneforte jerked his chin toward his waxen Perseus.

"You're going to put it in the town square, Papa. All the maidens will see it." Fiametta defended herself. Had he caught her peeking, at those modeling sessions?

The live Perseus, Uri, looked like this was a new and unsettling thought. He glanced again at the statue, as if inspired to ask for a bronze loincloth.

"Well," Master Beneforte chuckled indulgently at her flusterment, "you're a brave good girl, Fiametta, and deserve some reward for drinking sour wine for breakfast to confound that doubter Quistelli for me. Come along." He herded them both back toward the front workroom. "You'll see, Captain. The lost wax process is so easy, a child can do it."

"I'm not a child any more, Papa," Fiametta put in.

His smile went bland. "So it would seem."

The clay lump lay on the worktable where she'd left it. Fiametta gathered up the tiniest chisels from the rack on the wall, held the ball in her hands for a moment, and recited an inward prayer. The spell's inaudible hum became almost a silent purr. Her father and the captain leaned on their elbows to either side and watched. She chinked away with the chisel, and clay flew off in chips. Gold gleamed from its matrix.