Wisdom's Kiss by Catherine Gilbert Murdock
The Imperial Encyclopedia of Lax
8TH EDITION
Printed in the Capital City of Rigorus
by Hazelnut & Filbert, Publishers to the Crown
MONTAGNE, CHATEAU DE
Situated at the mouth of the great fertile valley of Montagne, overlooking the switchbacked road that constitutes the valley's only point of entry, Chateau de Montagne has for centuries been the best-defended fortification in the empire, and possibly its most attractive. As the Kingdom of Montagne has historically been linked to sorcery, so, too, was its royal seat, and for many generations men whispered of magical passageways secreted within the chateau walls. The chateau's roofs and parapets, framed against the mountain of Ancienne and culminating in the high "Wizard Tower," present a most arresting spectacle. Within the chateau, the inner courtyard displays a neoclassical symmetry utterly devoid of repetitiousness or pedantry. Of particular note, and open to the public on state holidays, are the Great Hall; the Hall of Flags; the Throne Room; the Ballroom, paved in rose and ebon marble; and the Solstice Terrace. Recently erected on the north face of the chateau, the terrace projects over the high cliffs that define and protect the Montagne valley. Though most definitely to be avoided by acrophobics, the terrace provides an unmatched vista of the western mountains, particularly at sunset.
A Life Unforeseen
THE STORY OF FORTITUDE OF BACIO, COMMONLY KNOWN AS TRUDY, AS TOLD TO HER DAUGHTER
Privately Printed and Circulated
MINDWELL! Trudy had not thought of that name in twelve years!
It was wondrous, in fact, that she recalled it at all. Trudy could not have been more than five when she overheard a conversation between her mother and a handsome traveler as the Duke's Arms wound down for the night. Where are you from, the man asked, because your accent is not of Alpsburg. Normally Mina ignored such questions with a shrug, but this night she only laughed and replied, "My true name is Mindwell and that is answer enough."
Trudy's young mind could not fathom such a name, and Tips when she told him replied she must have dreamt it. And so Trudy agreed she had, and believed it until this moment. But it had been no dream. Her mother had been named for a virtue. Her mother—who had promised to tell her someday of her heritage but died before that promise could be fulfilled—her mother had come from Montagne.
Tips nodded. He had not forgotten Mindwell either.
Now Trudy stood in the basket of the Globe d'Or, pointing one shaking finger into the cloud that engulfed them—staring until her eyes ached and tears streamed down her face—and announced, "That way."
Escoffier pressed his warm body against her as he, too, peered into the blankness. Tips stood on her other side, though Trudy was far too preoccupied to concern herself with him, or Wisdom. She had more important concerns, for the vision of joy shining from those impenetrable clouds drew her with the same relentless power that draws the magnet north.
Escoffier began to mew, his tail lashing. Yet Trudy could see nothing in that oppressive white mist ... and then she could. "Look!"
A post loomed out of the cloud. No, not a post. An iron spire, attached to a steep conical roof sheathed in tile.
"It's a tower!" exclaimed Wisdom. "Good heavens, it's the Wizard Tower, of our chateau!" She could not resist a hug—though only a brief one—to Trudy. "You're brilliant! Now we can rescue Teddy, and Montagne!"
The cone shape slowly materialized ... revealing a platform carved into the slope as a pier is carved into seafront stones, edged with heavy iron rings.
"It's a dock!" Tips clapped Wisdom on the back. "How clever!"
Instead of elation, however, the princess blanched, her face clouding with something close to fear. "I've ... I've never seen that before. The Wizard Tower is—well, just be careful, will you? It's not—it's not human."
"Of course it's not; it's a tower." But Tips's fingers strayed to check the buckle of his sword belt, and he could not resist an anxious glance at Trudy.
She smiled back at him, beneficent in her newfound authority. To her, the tower radiated only peace. "It's fine."
So reassured, Tips leapt out as the basket scraped against the platform's slate pavers, helping Trudy (how nice it felt, his hands on her waist, however briefly!) and securing the balloon to the great iron rings.
Instinctively—for the tower, she could see, was expecting her—Trudy reached for a small door tucked into the platform wall, and before Wisdom could do more than strangle out a warning, she drew it open. Escoffier at once dashed into the dimness. With a reassuring glance at Trudy, Tips followed. Wisdom, on the other hand, kept a tight grip on the basket rail, testing the slate pavers against her weight. She smiled grimly at Trudy, then entered.
Marveling at her burgeoning confidence, Trudy ducked through the dark doorway herself. Almost at once she stumbled upon a spiral staircase, each step no wider than she was. She could barely make out a room—or roomlet, really—spread below her in the gloom. Vague shadows shifted in the corners as she descended.
Wisdom stood in the roomlet's center, staring at the spiral staircase as though she'd never seen it before. "I've never seen this before," she whispered hoarsely. "And I've been up here hundreds of times. Thousands..."
"It keeps going, you know." Tips stood, Escoffier mewing around his ankles, studying a hole in the floor: the spiral staircase continuing downward.
Wisdom slipped to Trudy's side. "Is this safe?" she whispered. "Because there's another staircase over there, a real one, that's the one we're supposed to use—that's the one I always use, and I know exactly where I end up—I mean, I've always known up to now, anyway—I'm babbling, aren't I? But that hole doesn't look safe to me."
Trudy, mesmerized, moved toward the darkness. "We have to go down there."
Wisdom again shuddered and then, belatedly remembering her position, declared that she should lead; it was her castle, after all. With a flourish and a mutter, she produced a bright handful of flame that sent the shadows flickering.
And so, princess at the fore, they descended.
The descent lasted hours—no, that was impossible. It could not have been more than ten minutes, but in that sepulchral darkness it felt interminable, the dust and damp melded into a slime that coated the impossibly narrow treads, the rough walls abrading Trudy's skirt and fingertips, the incessant and nauseating turning ... and always the throbbing insistence, shining from the depths, that they hurry.
"Found it!" Wisdom called out at last, though "it" would have been quite difficult not to find: a wide, crude door with a latch fashioned from a shovel. Tips—who, Trudy now recalled, had always been a bit claustrophobic—at once pulled the door open a crack and breathed a sigh of relief at the daylight that seeped in. They all jockeyed to see, Escoffier worming his way between their legs.
"Where are we?" Tips whispered.
Wisdom snorted. "Of course! The gardening sheds. That's where she always is—she likes plants." Stating this as if the concept were absolutely inconceivable.
Hurry, hurry, yes—but where, exactly? Peering past Tips's elbow, Trudy observed a courtyard cluttered with flowerpots and wheelbarrows and great mounds of dirt; a greenhouse filled one wall. In the distance several men repotted flowers as a farmer led a horse and wagon.
"I can't go out there," Wisdom continued. "If word spreads that I was seen in Montagne when I'm supposed to be in Farina practically dead ... Besides, she never listens to me anyway."
I can't imagine why not, Trudy thought. She felt a pang of sympathy for this Temperance person; life could not be easy with a sister like Wisdom. Trudy peered out again past the clutter of rakes and shovels, examining the gardeners, the greenhouse—
A blast of emotion struck her, so powerful that she staggered back.
Tips caught her elbow. "What is it?"
"Something—someone—greenhouse—" Trudy gasped, overwhelmed by the sensation of crisis and by the imperative need for haste.
Wisdom yanked open the door. "Go!" She pushed Tip
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!
***
THE TRAGIC INCAPACITATION of the winsome Princess Wisdom—less than a day after Her Highness, to our most mutual satisfaction, had made my acquaintance—was a heartbreak not just to me, the duchy, and all the empire, but especially to poor Tomas, who was altogether destroyed by this crushing news. Departing his quarters in extreme wretchedness, he stumbled upon the Globe d'Or moored and lonesome in a field, forgotten in the tumult of tragedy. Despondently he climbed aboard (so he later reported to me), only to find the vessel occupied already by an impoverished lass seeking shelter from the lowering clouds, a lass who as it happened bore an uncanny resemblance to the poisoned princess. Perhaps it was this that caught the lad's attention, for soon he found himself conversing with the girl so intently that neither noticed the loosening of my well-tied knots, and the balloon floating, unmanned and without power (for someone, a miscreant whom I have never been able to identify, had removed the charcoal and the brazier!), into the heavens. So high were they when finally they realized their terrifying predicament that their shouts did not reach earth, and the two huddled in each other's arms, their fate in the sway of the pitiless elements, the wind taking them they knew not where.
I must pause here to clarify one matter, for rumors have circulated for decades that this maid, bearing the dull but respectable name of Violet la Riene, was none other than Princess Wisdom traveling incognito. This—as I more than anyone in the empire should know—is patently impossible. Her Highness had the pleasure of my company on two occasions, once for several hours, and Violet la Riene flourished for many years under my brilliant tutelage; I better than anyone can assert that the two young women were as different as is day from night. The princess had a radiance unmatched by any commoner. She spoke with grace, sweetening her words with noble gestures and kindly sentiments, in a manner that Violet la Riene, much as I enjoy the girl, could never hope to match. Indeed, Mademoiselle la Riene at times spouted a vocabulary more suited to sailors than lasses, words that would never soil the lips of a princess. The two differed in height, coloring, and the placement of moles. I concede that Mademoiselle la Riene's skill upon the stage, and her magnetic effect upon every audience before which she appeared, were quite reminiscent of Princess Wisdom, but that should be ascribed wholly to my skilled instruction and my ability to transfer the inspiration with which Princess Wisdom had filled me into another adept performer.
At that moment, however, trapped in that vessel of doom, the two could not possibly perceive the future success of Violet, or of Tomas, paired with her in the ring and out. Instead they sailed through the heavens—so they described to me later, with understandable pain—in the belief that every breath would be their last, for if the Globe d'Or did not crash to earth, killing them instantly, it would doubtless impale itself on a tree or mountainside, leaving them broken, slowly to perish of exposure. At one point Tomas, peering over the side, recognized the red locks of that ubiquitous Trudy, and tossed her a rope, that she might draw them to safety. Lamentably, the boy's good intent surpassed his reason, for the powerful sphere lifted the tavern wench at once, giving her no recourse but to join the duo in the basket.
How they survived the terrors of that night I cannot imagine. Oh, the thirst! The hunger! The dark! The winged nocturnal predators seeking out their tender young flesh! Yet survive they did, and by the enigmatic hand of fate ended up marooned on the highest tower of the Chateau de Montagne. Alighting upon this famed castle, my ward Tomas learned that Temperance, queen of that fair kingdom, in a fit of despair was at that very moment abdicating the throne! This intelligence stirred every fiber within Tomas's manly heart, for well he recognized the desperate deeds that sometimes accompany loss of hope. The Globe d'Or had traveled so speedily that no word had yet arrived of the tragedy of Wisdom's Kiss; Tomas alone knew that with the princess stricken, the kingdom would be without heir and so pass to Roger. Fond as Tomas might be of the duke—and the lad through my wise counsel held the empire's nobility in highest esteem—he justly felt that Temperance should be alerted to this most recent circumstance ere she committed to any immutable course of action.
He sprinted to the young woman's assistance, only to find her sequestered with a gardener, inscribing the final signature on the page that would seal her fate and the kingdom's. Even as Tips and Trudy approached—Violet having adjourned elsewhere—the gardener snatched up the document and hid it on his person. Readily displaying the poise I had instilled in him, Tomas requested its return and hastened to inform the queen of the true breadth of this drama. The gardener responded by drawing a hidden sword and demanding that Tomas step aside so he might return to his real mistress. At this the young queen burst into tears, for she had evidently expected her abdication to be followed by an elopement with her pandering companion. Tomas to his distress could not offer comfort, for the man—a scoundrel, and certainly no gardener—at that moment attacked, and the lad barely had time to draw his own weapon.
Wretchedly, at that very moment I myself was in Froglock occupied with a not-inconsiderable drama of my own, the resuscitation (failed, alas!) of poor Princess Wisdom. Therefore, in recounting this epic skirmish, I shall present myself as notional witness, basing my narrative on others' fervid descriptions.
Around the greenhouse the two men battled. Pots shattered, palms toppled, the queen sobbed and wailed as Trudy did her female best to tender comfort and keep her from distracting these warriors. One time the man had Tomas pinned to a wall, blade at his neck, but at this moment the cat Escoffier leapt into the face of the wretch and scratched him so viciously that the man staggered back, releasing Tomas from certain death.
The villain raced outside, Tomas on his heels crying, "He flees! He flees!" his shouts attracting a crowd. Though the other fought hard, Tomas had the advantage of youth and resilience, and redoubled his parries. The coward responded by mounting his waiting horse and making for the courtyard gate. My training once again proved its excellence, for Tomas followed, leaping from cart to wheelbarrow to an angled plank that launched him, somersaulting, through the air. With a cheer from the awestruck spectators, Tomas landed behind the man, dragged him from his mount, and, having relieved him of that most precious document, dashed away.
By ill luck, the mist lingering like smoke in every corner overwhelmed my ward's sense of direction, and too soon the lad found himself on a broad terrace without means of escape, the scoundrel at his heels demanding both the writ of abdication and the lad's head. The fight grew ever fiercer. Twice Tomas faced death, and twice evaded it through strength alone (which is precisely why my daily regimen of calisthenics is so essential to any performer). He yet clutched the parchment, now damp from perspiration and flecked with blood, but with every swing of their weapons, the other drew closer to victory. Pressed against the terrace balustrade, Tomas had no choice but to climb upon it; should he tumble, only clouds would slow his fall.
Gasping and panting, my protégé fought on, his opponent striking at his legs and feet, intent on maiming, then butchering, our warrior. Never before had Tomas's half decade of training with the empire's most skilled swordsman served him so well, for few men could labor when backed against such vast emptiness. Still, he weakened. Desperate for respite, Tomas put to use his sole remaining asset and with a taunting phrase held the paper over the misty void.
The adversary paused. As tremendously as the man wished Tomas slaught
With a cry of triumph Tomas ripped the paper from the other's hand. The man roared in fury. Lunging at the lad, he reached too far—lost his balance—and plunged backward off the balustrade! Scrabbling at the air, he for a brief second caught Tomas's jerkin—and in so doing dragged my apprentice off the railing and into the void!
Their screams faded as the two men plunged into oblivion. On the terrace, each viewer absorbed in stillness this horror, the silence broken only by women's sobs. The brilliance of this duel, the unparalleled drama against an awesome backdrop, the last mist burning away to reveal that peerless vista of mountain peaks bedecked in the luminous green of spring!
And then—a gasp! Rising like a vision before that shattered crowd was none other than Tomas, standing astride a magnificent sphere of gold. In one hand he held the writ of abdication, flames lapping it into ash; as he reached the level of the balustrade, he—ever the well-coached showman!—with a smile blew the blackened fragments to the crowd, then leapt onto the terrace for a hero's welcome.
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.