Wisdom's Kiss by Catherine Gilbert Murdock
"How might we help thee, fair lady?" asked one soldier.
"If any man speak ill of thee, but say the word and I shall have his hide," put in another.
"And I!" chimed several more.
Alas, it is experience and not foresight that makes wise men of us all. Trudy knew the soldiers wished to help—she saw that well enough—but she had no idea how, precisely, to ask. A lady didn't inquire after soldiers ... Did she?
"Ah, yes ... I'm looking for—someone asked me to look for—she wants to know—do you have a soldier named Tips? Or Tomas; Tomas Müller?..."
The men made a great show of concentration. "I must confess the name speaks not to me," the first soldier answered at last, with much regret.
"Oh. I am so sorry—he works for—he is with—the imperial guard—"
At this the man shifted. "Ah, the imperial guard ... I know too well those swine."
His friends snickered. "Aye, and the flat of their swords!"
"Enough!" snapped the man. "If this fair lady seeks an imperial guard, her wish is my command. I shall escort her myself to their barracks!"
"And I!" interjected his companion, stepping possessively to Trudy's other side.
"Oh—thank you..." At least the men would bear her closer to her goal.
Which they did, one on each arm, and into Trudy's ears they poured a relentless assessment of their own fighting prowess, pausing in their grandiloquence only to belittle each other. It's like village boys with their wrestling, Trudy thought. So, knowing all too well the capacity and reasoning of village boys, through inquiries and flattery she played one off the other, thus deflecting attention from herself, until they reached a vast tented compound, bright with flaming torches, that could only belong to the emperor.
"We would speak to your man Tomas!" announced the first soldier to the entrance guard. "Tomas Miller!"
"Tomas Müller," whispered Trudy, noting that her escort's bluster heightened an impression of internal quailing.
"No one here by that name," the guard replied. He turned to someone inside the gate. "Get the captain, will you?"
Trudy's escorts blanched, the first gulping audibly. Trudy blanched as well, for whatever was about to happen looked quite horrible to her sight.
All too soon a grizzled warrior appeared, sword and polishing cloth in hand. "You again ... Here for another beating, or to bring me this wench in tribute?"
"I beg your pardon!" the first soldier exclaimed. "You have insulted grievously this fine lady, and as duke's representative I demand you—"
The captain sighed. "Shut it, will you? I've more important business—"
"You have insulted a lady!"
"Her? Lady?" The captain snorted. "Move on, all of you, before I smack you again."
The two soldiers flinched, but Trudy flinched still more. She could not tell what wounded her more: the imperial captain's dismissal—accurate, to be sure, but so humiliating!—or the deeper hurt at failing to locate Tips.
To their great credit, the duke's men escorted her back through the night to Phraugheloch Palace, though now without prattle. Trudy scarcely noticed. The man said Tomas wasn't there, but perhaps Tips still used his nickname. Or perhaps he didn't use Müller—given his brothers, it wouldn't be surprising ... She should have used his master's name—what was it? Felix? No, Felis.
But she could not ask now. She couldn't ask ever. Not these soldiers, anyway, or that captain. And soon, too soon, she would return to Bacio ... and might never see Tips again! Well, she'd see him someday, but not for years, and until that point she'd be all alone...
They arrived at last at an entrance, and Trudy, thanking the soldiers as best she could for their assistance, made her way with much stumbling and misdirection upstairs. Her weeping could no longer be restrained. Sopping at her nose—with Wisdom's handkerchief!—Trudy doddered down yet another corridor. They all looked alike. The passageways, the soldiers, the gentlewomen in their horrid fancy clothes ... And nowhere, nowhere, Tips!
A servant girl passed, and Trudy turned away, reflexively shielding herself from prying eyes.
"This way, m'lady," the girl whispered, pointing to a door.
Mumbling thanks, Trudy let herself in—then ducked as a glass statuette shattered against a nearby wall.
"I will not listen!" Wisdom shouted at Ben, and hurled herself into the adjoining room, thunderously slamming the door behind her.
Ben stooped, creaking, to extract glass fragments from the carpet. She glanced at Trudy and sighed. "Welcome back, child."
From the Desk of the Queen Mother of Montagne, & Her Cat
My Dearest Temperance, Queen of Montagne,
Granddaughter, what a night it has been. Our twilight arrival at Phraugheloch (how long ago it seems!) must by now be the talk of all the empire—I do think Escoffier is due a medal for bravery in the face of an incensed duchess and her dog! Much as I wanted to, I could not sing the cat's praises while yet in the company of Wilhelmina, so instead I sent him to bed and, feigning ignorance of our little duel of wits—or duel of pets, I should say!—set off to observe at last Circus Primus. To think the entire empire has had opportunity to see this spectacular and we have not!—in my more equitable moments I comfort myself that Montagne has not behaved badly enough to merit a visit—although given tonight's debacle, were I offered the option of going to my tomb rather than observing its charms, I would promptly choose eternal rest.
Allow me to elaborate...
We made our way to the "circus grounds," an amphitheater erected about a high raised stage. On one side sat our handsome, white-bearded emperor, sharp as an eagle, flanked by the duke and duchess. We were positioned opposite in seats of commensurate honor—either to separate us from the duchess or out of respect for Wisdom's unmarried status I could not tell, nor once the event began did I care. Oh, what a spectacle! A man juggled fire, and devoured it too, with a degree of finesse I could never have imagined. Another emerged from the stage depths with three tigers that he led through hoops and poses—I do wish Escoffier had been present to admire his stripy cousins, and to witness what a cat may accomplish. Then came a mob of boys hurling themselves through the air like so many monkeys, concluding with a tower six bodies high! They were followed by a lady snake charmer whose sinuous dance mesmerized not only the snake but every male in the audience; had she wand and powder, she could not have enchanted them more completely.
So engaged was I in this fantastic pageant that I tendered Dizzy only the scantiest attention, and realized too late that while other female viewers—and many male!—shrieked with fear and suspense at each breathtaking extravaganza, your sister's eyes only grew wider and her chin more determined, in that manner we both know too well; she had the visage of a man who after a lifetime of water at last tastes champagne.
Then—the floor pulled back to reveal the pièce de résistance: a golden orb that swelled until it filled the stage and rose into the vast circus tent. As magnificent as this globe was— balloon is far too meager to do it justice—even more mesmerizing was the young man posed atop it. Dizzy could not take her eyes from him, so it is all the more surprising that she alone did not react—though you may be sure that this old woman covered her head with a most unqueenly screech!—when he leapt off the structure and hurled himself toward us. Now I understood the purpose of the wide aisle wherein we sat, and saw the wire extending from his waist to the Globe d'Or. Coming to a stop directly before your sister, with great nonchalance he lowered his legs to the floorboards and, flourishing a golden rose, offered it to Dizzy with the emperor's compliments.
Dizzy accepted the rose with matching poise—her sang-froid all the more notable given that several women around us had fainted outright—and replied coolly that she should like to thank the emperor at once for his generosity—and held out her hand to the acrobat! Impudent girl! And he—with only a moment's pause at this doubtless unprecedented proposal—accepted her hand and pulled her from her seat into his arms!Before I could
So suspended from the basket of the Globe d'Or, they sailed together—not across the stage, as I had hoped, that she might be delivered to the emperor forthwith!—but in a great sweeping arc over the audience, the man's arms around her waist, her hands clasped on his. And then—I can scarce write the words!—Dizzy had the audacity (completely spontaneous I am sure, though it looked as though she had practiced for years) to point one slippered foot and, arching her back, extend one hand up to the sky as she rested against the man's shoulder, locking her eyes to his. Furthermore—they twirled! And as they did so, Dizzy leant back further still and somehow coaxed her skirts to flow most dramatically, accenting the circle they traced in the air—without a scintilla of concern that she might at any moment plunge to her death!
It was—I can use no other term—pure wantonness. That a princess would behave so—before the emperor and Farina! Had the option been possible, I would have fled, so profound my embarrassment and my well-justified fear that I would be blamed for Dizzy's renunciation of her position and all for which it stands.
At last—the escapade took only a few minutes, though my humiliation felt eternal—the two floated to a stop before the throne. Dizzy—yet holding the rose, I was glad to see; on top of all the other indignities she could not mislay a gift from the emperor himself!—with great aplomb curtsied to His Imperial Majesty.
For several long seconds the old man did not respond, and the audience—hundreds of people, from all ranks of life—sat breathless, goggle-eyed at this drama. The emperor had every right in his empire to condemn Dizzy's outrageous flouting of society's conventions. Her flippant presumptuousness could have—and, I will not deny, should have—earned her at the very least his disapprobation; imprisonment, or even banishment, would not have been out of the question.
Instead—to my surprise, and to the shock of Duchess Wilhelmina, who had observed her future daughter-in-law's performance with thoroughgoing outrage—he began to clap, his applause triggering a veritable thunder of accolades. The emperor, in fact, ordered a repeat showing at tomorrow's performance, which may explain why Wilhelmina departed the grounds soon thereafter with obvious ill-feeling, although Roger lingered to praise the princess's courage. For her part, Dizzy conveyed not an ounce of contrition; in observing her flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes I was reminded yet again of the fearless child who used to cavort, immune to our cries of horror and your tears, on the terrace railing.
While I held my tongue before the emperor, once we retired to the privacy of our rooms my ire knew no bounds. It will not surprise you to learn that Dizzy demonstrated no interest in my upbraiding, and indeed seemed deaf to my words—that is, until she hoisted a desktop ornament (tremendously ugly though that is no excuse for its destruction) and hurled it in my direction!
Not since childhood has she exhibited such tantrums, and I find myself at a loss as to how to proceed. Doubtless time will smooth this tension, and hours spent alone in her room will do her a world of good. Thanks to the emperor's fancy, she shall have one more opportunity to indulge her yen for flight or whatever it is she seeks in some acrobat's arms at the end of a wire. But after that: no more. Wisdom must devote herself to her station, and do so directly, for not all occupants of this duchy are as indulgent as the emperor, and he will not linger here forever.
Worse, as dismal finale to this mess, the girl Trudy—the "easy" member of my brood!—now weeps in her room as well! She dressed me for bed as if her world were ending, though my inquiries (tendered reluctantly, to be sure, for I have worries enough crowding my brow) produced little in the way of explanation. I gather she has some sort of family in Froglock and that a reunion had gone badly. It never rains but it pours, does it not—in this case a shower of salty tears!
I am relieved beyond measure that you remain in Montagne, Granddaughter—not only for the safety of our kingdom but because I fear that your very heart would have quit beating in mortification at your sister's performance at the circus and afterward. Speaking of which (and is this not a clever segue by your feeble old nonna?), how does your heart fare? I realize it is too soon for me to expect another letter, particularly given the speed and drama of the last delivery, but I dearly wish to be apprised. In the few moments this evening when I had opportunity to gather my thoughts, foremost has been joy at your happiness over your new suitor—and I hope I shall soon learn far more about him! I cannot wait to read of his family, his mien, his name! What a remarkable coincidence that he arrived in our kingdom the very day we left. Would that our departure from Montagne had been delayed that I might have met him—perhaps even served as Eros by introducing you both!
Let us hope that the mail riders find speed heretofore unknown and race to me your every happy word. Such favorable news will brighten considerably the gloom currently pervading our suite.
Your harried grandmother,
Ben
A Life Unforeseen
THE STORY OF FORTITUDE OF BACIO, COMMONLY KNOWN AS TRUDY, AS TOLD TO HER DAUGHTER
Privately Printed and Circulated
THAT NIGHT Trudy dreamt of Bacio, and Tips.
It wasn't even a dream, but a memory. Trudy had been eleven years old, Tips twelve, and the fever by that point was six months gone, the dreadful sickness that had orphaned them both. Eds the innkeeper had kept her on in her little room under the eaves, but he made clear that she'd have to toil, and toil hard, for her board.
That autumn forenoon, however, with the inn empty for a week and no customers but the sots who preferred the Duke's Arms to their own carping wives, Eds decided he needed a bit of a holiday. Handing Trudy a loaf of bread, he told her to go off and leave him in peace for the day. Which she did, scampering to the mill to share her good fortune with Tips, who immediately abandoned his task of sewing sacks, sticking his needle like a sword into the pile of burlap, and with a shout of laughter purloined from his brothers' larder a ham butt and a crock of fresh cider—the season's first pressing!—so that he and Trudy could go exploring.
Up they climbed into the Alpsburg mountains, higher than ever they'd been, until they stood in a bowl of sky so blue it took one's breath away, with the Alpsburg Pass in the distance, a great crack in the rim of the world.
There they found the glen: a flat little clearing, lush with wildflowers no higher than Tips's boots. It was so different, so magical, that it scared Trudy until Tips asked her to see if they were in danger. But they were not, because when Trudy looked about the glade she saw only happiness in her future. So they settled down with their picnic, and Trudy spread her apron for a tabletop, and Tips with his flint and little ax made a fire though the day was too warm to merit it, and they ate and laughed and told each other stories they both knew by heart. With their bellies full, they inspected every corner of the glen and found the spring, so small it was more of a weep, really, though the icy water tasted fresh as creation.
"We could live here!" Trudy exclaimed, and with that they went to work on a homestead. Tips chopped four little trees into timber for a lean-to against a south-facing boulder, while Trudy gathered pine needles for bedding and planned how to collect seeds and berries for winter, and how to store them.
It was, without a doubt, the happiest afternoon of young Trudy's life.
But, inevitably, the sun slipped toward the western peaks, taking with it the heat of the day, until both children were chilled, and Tips had to rub Trudy's hands between his own to warm them. Their little house looked cold and dark and very damp, and they remembered their own beds, and the people who would—if only for the loss of labor—notice they were gone.
"Let's go back," Tips said, and Trudy nodded, and they began to descend. But they did not know this route, for they had never traveled it before, and the path looked increasingly foreboding.
Trud
At last they came to a place where the mountain split in two directions, and the path such as it was split as well, and the children knew they would have to choose and that the wrong route might take them all the way to Pneu or Paindecampagne or off the edge of a terrible cliff that they would not even see until much too late, because the sun was setting now and it would be dark soon, without a moon.
Trudy began to sob.
Tips put his arms around her and told her not to fret, that everything would be fine in the end, though he wasn't exactly sure how—"Trudy! You can see home!"
"No, I can't!" Trudy wailed. "If I saw Bacio, we could walk right up!"
"No!" He shook her excitedly. "Look! Look down that path! What do you see?"
Trudy swallowed, and obediently looked, even though she couldn't see anything ... except suffering. Sorrow and pain radiated up that path toward her. Reflexively she recoiled.
"Yes!" exclaimed Tips. "Now look down the other!"
No sorrow there, not that Trudy could see; only warmth, and the promise of sleep. She grinned at Tips, who was so clever to figure this out! "That way," she said simply.
Down they went, and at every branch, every possibility, Trudy saw the correct path in the repose awaiting her at the end. They stumbled into Bacio to find Eds with a torch calling their names, visibly relieved to see Trudy, and not just for her toil, either.