Wisdom's Kiss by Catherine Gilbert Murdock
The soldiers, however, did not notice the girl cowering in the shadows, but instead tramped through the main entrance calling for victuals. A babble of voices rose within as guests questioned the new arrivals. Had they any news of the duke's wedding?
The wedding had taken place, confirmed one man. But his voice was heavy, and somberly he reported that the princess had collapsed at the service, and that certain busybodies with no loyalty to their state whispered of poison.
Wisdom poisoned? Trudy could not believe it! Certainly she did not care for the princess (to put it mildly), but she would never wish her ill, or ... or dead. This was shocking news. Shocking and awful.
The man continued speaking, silencing the jabber. He and his men had raced from Froglock on a crucial mission. Had anyone seen a red-haired lady-in-waiting? This ... female had departed Froglock before dawn, and Her Most Noble Grace feared the lady carried information she should not. For the safety of the duchy—of the empire—she must be found, and returned to the capital to be tried and punished!
Listening to this, Trudy quaked in fright. Against her better judgement, her legs trembling, she eased herself up until she could see inside the tavern. There, past the harried kitchen staff, she managed to catch sight, just for a moment, of the speaker, who so filled Trudy with horror that it was all she could do not to shriek.
She must run—fly!—escape this place! If they dared assassinate a princess, what might they do to a simple orphaned...
No, she could not panic! Not with her life hanging in the balance. Clawing her kerchief ever tighter about her face, she slid down the wall, praying with every fiber of her being that the movement not be spotted.
Gingerly she set the empty soup bowl on the doorstep, and gingerly she lifted her sack. Oh, how she wanted to sprint away! But such haste would draw the attention of every soldier within the tavern. Her only hope lay in anonymity, in making herself so nondescript that these murderous men could not possibly pay her notice.
And so Trudy, though her heart screamed to bolt straightaway, instead dawdled across the courtyard and out to the road.
Up the muddy way she trekked, keeping to the shadows as much as she could, forcing herself not to look back. She could imagine their probing eyes studying her, wondering who that lass might be, why she traveled alone, and what was under that kerchief ... Stop! she scolded herself. If the soldiers didn't dispatch her, her own frenzied terrors would.
She scrutinized the steep hill before her. If she could just make it to the crest, that would be success enough—she could see it. Then she could take refuge in the woods without raising alarm by creeping off the road. Once over this hill, she knew, she would be safe...
Walking as quickly as she dared, panting at the effort, Trudy began to climb. The breeze intensified—and her kerchief blew off! Trudy lunged, but already the accursed wind had snatched it away, and snatched her hair as well, sending her long locks—brilliantly red, even in the cloudy gloom!—fluttering in all directions.
Trudy struggled to restrain her hair. Now released, however, every strand whipped about maddeningly. How could they not notice her with hair flying like a crazed flag! Hot tears of frustration stung her eyes—she was at wits' end—and then she heard a distant shout. She had been spotted!
Blind with panic, Trudy stumbled, then began to sprint. Another shout, and another—now she raced full-out, pounding with the desperate illogic of a doe run to ground—
A great blow caught her broadside, knocking her breath from her body.
Memoirs of the Master Swordsman
FELIS EL GATO
Impresario Extraordinaire ♦ Soldier of Fortune
Mercenary of Stage & Empire
LORD OF THE LEGENDARY
FIST OF GOD
Famed Throughout the Courts and Countries of the World
&
The Great Sultanate
* THE BOOTED MAESTRO *
WRITTEN IN HIS OWN HAND~ALL TRUTHS VERIFIED~
ALL BOASTS REAL
A Most Marvelous Entertainment. Not to Be Missed!
***
GREAT DRAMA has always compelled my full attention, and I bore no small connection to beautiful, delicate Wisdom, having revealed her innate artistry only the previous day. While others grieved the loss of their princess, I could not but grieve as well the loss—so senseless! so theatric!—of one of the grandest performers, if only for a night, of the grand Circus Primus. For no sooner had the Princess of Montagne wedded handsome Duke Roger than she collapsed ... poisoned!
Most repugnantly, the perpetrator of this fiendish act—not an observer could deny—was none other than Her Most Noble Grace, Duchess Wilhelmina. She had pushed the goblet into the girl's reluctant hand, had handed the other goblet to her son. Were I to stage a poisoning (not that ever I have, though on several occasions I have been sorely tempted, most especially with my third wife, and well would the harridan have deserved it), I could not have orchestrated it more artfully. Nor did it require the genius of the great Felis el Gato to find Her Most Noble Grace's denials too fervid, particularly in light of the animosity and calculation that had always marked her relations with Montagne.
The poison operated most sinisterly. Never in my remarkable life have I encountered such a malevolent toxin; the many physicians summoned to the palace, experienced in their own way, concurred that the substance baffled them as well. The princess, laid out in the banquet hall in which the couple was to celebrate their union (carried across its threshold by her new husband, a gesture so visibly romantic that I emulated it at my subsequent weddings, and now thanks to my example it is a tradition in several countries, though modern grooms forbear from weeping), was quite obviously expired and could not be revived by any touch, sound, or scent. And yet her heart would occasionally manage one soft beat, and a mirror held to her exquisite lips would, after several minutes, film over, however briefly, with a faint breath of life.
Gladdened as I and others were to observe that the princess had not entirely passed through the gates of death, this situation in its way was even crueler, for it filled our breasts with the intoxication of hope—and hope's torment. Equally tantalizing was the belief that Her Most Noble Grace would divulge the antidote, or at least the poison's name, that the authorities might furnish a cure. The duchess, however, continued to insist to her increasingly skeptical listeners that she had played no role in this intrigue. When at one point her son fell to his knees imploring his mother's help, she berated him in the harshest tones for his histrionics—a response, as I could have warned her if only she had sought my counsel, that blackened her further to the populace, and the emperor.
For many hours the premier minds of the duchy toiled to revive the princess, while I comforted her grieving grandmother, who sat with tears on her cheeks, stroking Wisdom's hand. Only when leeches were produced did Queen Benevolence suspend her mourning long enough to defend her granddaughter's tender flesh from those vampiric invertebrates and the equally vampiric physicians so ghoulishly wielding them. The banquet, laid out in anticipation of a reception that never came to pass, remained untouched on tables adorned with candles and white linens, the ice sculptures melting, the canapés cooling on their heavy silver platters—I reflect in particular on a savory meat pie flavored with raisins and honey that is apparently a great favorite in Montagne, which I can readily understand, as it was absolutely delicious—in fact irresistible.
At last, with many expressions of gratitude at my especial solicitation, the grieving old queen and and her equally grieving grandson-in-law sent us all away, requesting that they be afforded some privacy with the lifeless girl. The duke in fact declared that he himself would sleep in the banquet hall with a troop of his guards, that his bride not lie alone.
Weeping, he kissed her, and for a moment my hope rekindled that his kiss would revive her, as it does in so many children's tales. Oh, woe: it did not. The emperor, too, kissed her in his grandfatherly manner, to no avail. And so each of us went our
PART IV
THE ENDURING MIGHT OF WISDOM'S KISS
From the Desk of the Queen Mother of Montagne, & Her Cat
My Dearest Temperance, Queen of Montagne,
Oh, Granddaughter, I sit here a prisoner awaiting a verdict, not knowing if I will live or die—nor Dizzy, either!
I know you cannot better our crisis—indeed, I have little faith that these pages will ever reach your desk—yet I must do something, and transcribing the events of these past hours keeps my hands busy, and my mind somewhat preserved from madness.
My last missive, I believe, culminated with our most miserable discovery of the plot against Montagne. I had just sent your letter to the morning post when came a knock to our window: the acrobat Tips, returned at last from the duchess's balcony. He accepted Dizzy's efforts to remove the chill from his bones as I paced, so flummoxed I paid their embrace no heed.
"I could make a Doppelschläferin," Dizzy proffered at one point. Can you imagine? To mention witchcraft, particularly in the presence of one so close to the emperor! Her indiscretion was bested only by her illogic, for how in the world could an insensible double of Princess Wisdom ease the threat of your abdication, or Roger's claim to our throne? If anything, her unconsciousness would strengthen the case for his crowning!
I glared at her, hoping my fury would still her tongue. But too late, for the young man at once seized upon her utterance, saying it quite sounded like magic. Hastily I assured him it was not, causing the lad to chuckle. "Of course not! There's no such thing as magic. Not in Froglock or Bacio or anywhere."
"Nowhere?" your sister asked thoughtfully, as if it were the two of us alone ... then without warning, leapt into the air, overcome by a sudden and mysterious epiphany. Straightaway she seized the lad and demanded to be taken to the emperor! Well! The emperor—so I retorted—had far better pursuits at this hour, not least of which was sleep, and I most certainly did not intend to traipse about Phraugheloch like a burglar. Absorbing her fervor and mine, however, the young man extricated himself from Dizzy's grip, hurled himself out the window, and dashed off—down a ledge no wider than my two hands!
At once I turned on Dizzy. How dare she endanger herself and me and all our country by bandying words that could get us burnt simply by speaking them aloud! She hadn't the wit of Escoffier (who, wisely enough, slept through this) and frankly deserved to be bound to Duke Roger, as she was as stupid as he! Why should I waste my energy ensuring her safety when our kingdom would be far better served by my return to Montagne, where I would at least be heeded!
I might as well have shrieked at the wall, for your sister paid me not the slightest note, instead emptying every drawer and closet in the suite like a madwoman. When once I cornered and shook her, she only shook me in return: "Don't you see? Isn't it obvious?" No, dear Teddy, it was not. She then continued her frantic excavations.
At that point, quite at the height of my raging, the door of our suite cracked silently open and young Tips slipped in, accompanied most incongruously by an elderly laborer—a kindler, to be exact, complete with basket of twigs to lay the morning fire! Why in heaven's name either of them thought that we desired warming in the midst of this burning tragedy ... then, hearing Dizzy's gasp, I studied anew the old man outfitted in the drab rags of a backstairs domestic, and gasped myself. This was no minion: it was Rüdiger IV, disguised to pass the halls at will!
Little time did I have to absorb this realization, however, before the servant straightened, and with a most unservile air demanded an explanation. Curtseying, Dizzy proffered him the scrap from the Globe d'Or, whispering to herself, "If this burns, then so shall we." Too late I realized her intent, and with a cry of dismay leapt toward her ... as she with a word and a gesture performed the Spell of Elemental Fire.
Immediately flame appeared—dazzling, lapping and flickering, illuminating all the room—cupped in her two hands within the golden cloth, which held the searing fire without mark or stain. We all of us froze as if under enchantment, mesmerized by this spectacle, and myself at least by terror. Slowly the emperor stepped toward your sister, and slowly he reached toward the blaze—though not slowly enough, for his hand jerked back, and he stuck his finger into his mouth. Dizzy at once crumpled the fabric, snuffing the flame. He ordered her repeat her trick, which she did—then commanded she demonstrate whatever other witchery she might know!
Scrupulously avoiding my horrified eye, Dizzy sped through Elemental Air, producing a breeze that lifted the flame-filled cloth. "More," he directed, Tips gasping and marveling at this wonder. Dizzy murmured anew, and the golden cloth bearing its implausible freight of fire rose further into the air. Buoyed by the current emanating from her spread hands, the vessel floated high about the room, the flame's heat scorching the ghastly pink cherubs painted upon the ceiling.
The emperor turned to me, his face unreadable. He had not yet—I reassured myself—screamed for guards and executioners; perhaps we might escape this together, unscathed ... but no. For at that moment—as baldly as though my granddaughter were a piece of meat or a flowerpot!—he informed me that he was "claiming this child for circus and empire" (again those dreadful words!) and demanded to know what compensation I wished in return—implying that his generosity in this regard should be swiftly and fervently acknowledged.
Panicked and appalled, terrified for your sister's life, I was unable even to conceive of a response to this cold-blooded monster, but could only collapse, overcome, onto a divan.
Dizzy on the other hand, who by this point was smiling so triumphantly that I feared her face would split in twain, turned to the man and in a most docile and obliging tone responded that Montagne wanted very little: only peace and sovereignty, forever.
Thank goodness I was already seated or I might have fainted outright! The emperor, however, did not flinch. "We should all of us like to see Farina's feathers cut. I had never imagined 'twould be Montagne wielding the shears, but it might work..."
The three of them huddle now plotting, too cautious even to call for water for fear the Phraugheloch staff might learn of their conclave. I would recount their whispers, but the triad refashions their grand plan by the minute. I have been declared too morbid —that is, too practical —to participate in their strategizing; I can only scribble to you.
Granddaughter, never in my life have I so begged the heavens that my words be read! Dizzy vows she will do everything in her power to see this letter delivered. If you do not receive these pages, it can mean only one thing: your sister has died in service to her country, and you and I and all of Montagne—or what is left of Montagne—shall be left to mourn her passing. Gracious, now I am weeping.
Emperor Rüdiger informs us that our suspicions of the mail service are well founded; it is probable that Wilhelmina's tentacles extend into every mail sack, and that you have not been sent any of my letters—and so have no knowledge of the nefarious scheme hatched against our kingdom! It is terrible, my dear—it breaks my heart to report it—but your charming suitor is no more than a poison-tongued viper sent to wheedle you off the throne and place Duke Roger in your stead! Your suitor's wickedness may extend even further, for we can only imagine the murderous lengths to which that hellcat Wilhelmina will go to acquire her family a royal title. Protect yourself, Granddaughter! Put your suitor under constant guard, preferably in a locked and windowless cell, until I return! Test your every mouthful for poison! Trust no one!
Oh, that our family might survive the days to come—you, with an entire kingdom to defend from infernal conspiracy; your sister, who in the next few hours shall face countless awful and unimaginable tribulations; myself, who through Escoffier shattered my vow against magic, a vow I made on pa
Pray for us all, Teddy! Pray hard!
Your terrified grandmother,
Ben
The Supremely Private Diary of Wisdom Dizzy of Montagne
Any Soul Who Contemplates Even Glancing
at the Pages of this Volume Will
Be Transformed into a Toad
Suffer a Most Excruciating Punishment.
On This You Have My Word.
Saturday—afternoon—
We are reunited at last! 'Tis a miracle we have muddled our way thus far—if I survive I shall never again complain about anything & shall paint DO NOT COMPLAIN on the wall in great letters to remind me of how v. bad life can get. Also to remind myself of that moment last night (this morning? It was either v. late or v. v. early) when he said nowhere but in a manner that inspired me to great thought about other countries & Ambh & its Globe d'Or & at once I saw The Truth which has never once before happened in my life that I can recall.
I was not certain however that it was The Truth nor were Tips and His Maj & we had no time whatsoever to test our theory as every subsequent moment was taken up with preparing for the wedding! Which I may state was horrible in every possible way! My gown was homely & ill-fitting & so uncomfortable—the Doppelschläferin is welcome to it. And the crowds were terrible—hordes of people goggling b/c they knew I was miserable & trapped—or b/c they were happy for Roger which is just as awful. Plus he spent the entire service whispering how his mother & I would be great friends—words he uttered with a straight face!