Wisdom's Kiss by Catherine Gilbert Murdock
It was also—in case this isn't clear enough—an absolute blast to write. Cuthbert's biography, for example ... bliss. Ditto the Elephantine Stiltdancers entry, which I could not fit into Wisdom's Kiss proper no matter how hard I tried, but at least it's preserved here for your reading pleasure.
For all its pomp and officiousness, The Imperial Encyclopedia of Lax is not all that accurate; in fact, it's often dead wrong. I did this for several reasons. Most important, I needed to make clear the challenges that magic poses (which I discuss elsewhere as well, including in my commentary on the Globe d'Or and Trudy's sight.) Study the encyclopedia and you'll learn that suspected witches are burnt at the stake, that the mere suspicion of magic endangers even royal pets, and that only fools consider magic feasible.
The message: magic doesn't exist; only madmen believe otherwise; talk about it and we'll kill you. This heightens the tension surrounding Ben and Dizzy's ultimate decision to break their vows and risk their lives by practicing magic, and it also explains why they wait so long.
As a one-time historian, I had a second goal as well with The Imperial Encyclopedia of Lax, a goal that can be summed up as "query all." Which is not to say you should disbelieve everything—or even most everything—of what you read, but don't accept an account as pure truth. (This sentiment is encapsulated in the book's epigraph.) Every writer has a bias; it's the human condition. The anarchy of the Internet has gone a long way to educate people—rational people, anyway—about the dangers of conspiracy theories, hoaxes, scams, and just plain craziness. I fear, however, that this might leave some readers, particularly younger readers, believing that books are even safer: "Well, it got printed so it must be good/correct." Um, no. Crackpots have been printing claptrap since long before Gutenberg; sometimes these crackpots run schools or countries, and at times they convince millions of people that wacko theories aren't.
Particularly astute readers might wonder at the "eighth edition" specified in the title. Most encyclopedias—the printed kind, anyway—come in editions, each new version an update featuring corrections, plus additions on whatever's happened since the last printing. By giving The Imperial Encyclopedia of Lax an eighth edition, I'm implying that it's been around for a while. This is one important book.
Not being able to leave well enough alone, I sought to exploit this concept by concluding Wisdom's Kiss with an entry from the ninth edition ... although even in my most delusional moments I recognized that no one would pick up the whole eighth-versus-ninth thing. So I deleted it, far preferring that the book end with our friend Puss. But you can still read here the supermeta explanation of Wisdom's Kiss.
The Imperial Encyclopedia of Lax entries included in Wisdom's Kiss
*=enhanced ebook only
Alpsburg >
Circus Primus >
Cuthbert of Montagne >
Doppelschläferin >
*Drachensbett Cloud Wars
Elemental Spells >
*Elephantine Stiltdancers
Escoffier of Montagne >
Fortitude of Bacio >
Froglock >
*Mar y Muntanya Border Crusade
Montagne >
Montagne, Chateau de >
Roger of Farina >
Rüdiger IV >
*Sottocenere
Wilhelmina the Ill-Tempered >
*Wisdom's Kiss
ALPSBURG
A province located in the central mountains of Lax, Alpsburg contains the only navigable pass through the Alpsburg Mountains south of Devil's Rift and is thus essential when the Great River is in flood or ice. The land has been inhabited since ancient times. For centuries autonomous, recognizing the imperial throne, the country was absorbed by the adjoining Barony of Farina after Roberto the Lonely died without issue in Year 3 of the reign of Rüdiger II. Alpsburg produces wheat, lumber, wool, and stone in abundance, although the bulk of the province's revenue has historically been drawn from tolls. The province's former capital, Alpsburgstadt, remains a center of trade, and the village of Bacio serves an important if seasonal function as the western terminus of Alpsburg Pass. The lyric poem "Bacio mi amore" by Rundel of Gebühr describes the peerless beauty of this village, though his words should be interpreted in light of the poet's relief at surviving a late spring blizzard while crossing the pass. The village is the birthplace of the renowned swordsman-artiste Tomas Müller and Fortitude of Bacio, the alleged seeress; and the two, remarkably enough, were childhood friends.
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CIRCUS PRIMUS
Of all the achievements of Emperor Rüdiger IV, none was so memorable as Circus Primus. A lifelong passion for this entertainment led Rüdiger while still a lad to found a small circus for the entertainment of the imperial staff. In time he developed this private pleasure into a tool of statehood, challenging various fiefs and federation members to outdo each other within the ring. Controversies that in other reigns would have escalated to warfare now resolved themselves without bloodshed, though concussions and fractures were admittedly rife, and even the most recalcitrant of his vassals found themselves forced to accommodate and provision the ensemble. Circus Primus hosted myriad notable artists, including Raphael the Dancing Otter, the Flying Garbanzo Brothers, and the Elephantine Stiltdancers. Without question, however, the best-remembered performance remains the Globe d'Or, gifted to the emperor by the Sultan of Ahmb. This metallic hot-air balloon—allegedly gold, and ensorcelled—promptly became the centerpiece of the circus and proved so popular that the emperor would credit its powers of diversion in the suppression of two rebellions. In addition to the requisite basket that the balloon hoisted midair, the Globe d'Or served as platform for acrobats such as the Master of Air, a skydiver of peerless artistry, and the Blind Men of Mince juggling act. It was said that the emperor loved Globe d'Or more than his five sons, as they together could not lift him as high as did this marvelous balloon. Following the emperor's death, Circus Primus disbanded, many of its employees finding continued fame with other troupes or in other livelihoods.
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CUTHBERT OF MONTAGNE
The life course of Cuthbert of Montagne is surely without parallel in the Empire of Lax. Born to a charcoal burner in the then-Kingdom of Drachensbett, the boy from a young age exhibited a precocious aptitude in the natural sciences, particularly silviculture and mycology, and after studies abroad returned to establish the Department of Botany at the Universität Drachensbett, which had been founded after Drachensbett's absorption by its smaller neighbor Montagne. While on the faculty, he was introduced to Crown Princess Providence; it is safe to say that their courtship stunned the kingdom. Once married, Cuthbert absolved himself completely from politics, remaining on the faculty of the Universität Drachensbett to study his beloved fungi. When Providence's mother, Benevolence, relinquished her title of queen to retire and enjoy her two granddaughters, Providence was crowned ruler, and Cuthbert, following Montagne tradition, named prince consort. Nine years into Providence's reign, Cuthbert perished while tasting unnamed mushrooms, a death that even his grieving family agreed was more than fitting. To honor her late husband, Providence posthumously elevated Cuthbert to the unprecedented "king regnant," in effect transforming his position to that of sovereign. Such a radical alteration to the monarchy was accepted without challenge, though it had profound repercussions for the next generation of Montagne's rulers. Providence died mysteriously three years later, and the throne passed to their daughter, Temperance. Cuthbertii, a previously undiscovered subgenus of alpine mushrooms, is named in Cuthbert's honor, as is the savory mushroom pie Cuthbert en croûte, now the national dish of Montagne; the phrase "Cuthbert it," as in "to leave something," implicitly to perish or decay in a beneficial manner, was coined by Drachensbett students, and the court of Montagne to this day serves mushrooms with every banquet course, though recently making an exception for the dessert ices.
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DOPPELSCHLÄFERIN
Also known as "the sleeping double," the Doppelschläferin is
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Bonus Encyclopedia Entry
DRACHENSBETT CLOUD WARS
To understand the destruction wrought by ignorant folktales, one need look no further than the Drachensbett Cloud Wars. To this day, foolish souls in the illiterate backwaters of Lax whisper of this legendary siege, when—so it is muttered—the occult rulers of Montagne magicked an ensorcelled cloud that dissolved their attacking enemies. Yet the truth, however mundane it may sound to the simple-minded, is completely explicable within the laws of science and nature. Aware of the great age of King Henri I of Montagne and the tension between his twin sons (their birth order having been confused in a nursery mishap), King Fred "the Fierce" of Drachensbett assembled a massive army, with mercenaries from twenty lands, to besiege the smaller country. For eight months the siege proceeded, the Kingdom of Montagne sealed from all traffic and trade. Finally, the wool merchants of Montagne, fearful of the upcoming moth season, begged their king for resolution, even for surrender. Before negotiations could commence, however, a great bank of fog settled on the lower cliffs of the kingdom's entrance and the besieging forces there encamped. So thick was this fog that—countless soldiers later reported—a man could not see his hand before his face. While mist is by no means an uncommon occurrence in the mountains of Lax, it customarily dissipates within hours or days; this fog, however, lingered a month or more, and such was its density that sound traveled in unique and unpredictable manners: two men standing abreast could not hear each other shout, while another discerned far-off murmurs. Such was their disorientation that stolid men reported the voices of distant loved ones, and otherwise dauntless warriors fled the camp, fearing madness. Desertion eroded King Fred's great army into a scant handful of supporters, plus a deaf cook; the rest dispersed throughout the empire, and once returned to their homelands embellished the misadventure into haunting myth. Without doubt this brief freakish weather safeguarded Montagne far more effectively than any cannon or walls, for rumors of the horror dissuaded would-be conquerors for decades hence. Indeed, even the tax collectors of Lax avoided the mountainous kingdom until the reign of Gustav 1½, thus denying the empire valuable revenue while validating the superstitions of those too dim or stubborn to accept reason.
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ELEMENTAL SPELLS
Chemistry, meteorology, mineralogy, hydraulics: these and myriad other natural and applied sciences grew from mankind's understandable curiosity about the four natural elements. This same impulse, unfortunately, has also led to distasteful shortcuts and outright chicanery. Into this latter class fall the Elemental Spells. First cataloged by itinerant storytellers during the reign of Gustav I, this alleged magic purportedly gives its wielder the ability to create elements supernaturally via the spells of Elemental Fire, Elemental Water, Elemental Earth, and Elemental Air. The Kingdom of Montagne, sullied for many generations by association with witchcraft, was the initial locus of this myth, though similar tales emerged in other corners of the empire; raconteurs in the Sultanate of Ahmb describe a flaming-haired demoness who draws water from the sky, an understandable illusion for that arid country. In the last century two separate and respected imperial committees devoted to the eradication of fantastical thought proved the impossibility of the Elemental Spells, which subsequently faded from popular consciousness and today serve as little more than an amusing anecdote, when they are remembered at all.
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Bonus Encyclopedia Entry
ELEPHANTINE STILTDANCERS >
This renowned circus act—one of the best-known routines of the Circus Primus, and possibly the most beloved—originated in the dismissal of the Swinging Stilt Sisters from the competing Circus Magnifico on the grounds of their persistent corpulence. Emperor Rüdiger IV, founder and director of the Circus Primus, happened to encounter the three penniless sisters, and at once envisioned their potential. Believing that the circus world contained too many sylphs and far too few "ladies of substance," as he tactfully phrased it, he encouraged the three women to indulge themselves utterly in what came to be known as the Cake and Bacon Diet, while augmenting their training in dance, acrobatics, and stilt walking. The resulting performance, when unveiled at the Rigor of Lax annual festivities, produced such an outpouring of enthusiasm that Circus Primus sold out performances for the next several years. The act began with the three obese women lumbering onstage. After much comic struggling and audience disbelief, they succeeded in mounting stilts, and their wobbled shuffling evolved into walking, then dancing, then pirouettes, their drab garb falling aside to reveal brazen costumes. The contrast between their weighty mass and sprightly exuberance was both hilarious and uplifting, and the trio enraptured audiences throughout the empire. Leona, the middle sister, eventually married the Baronet of Feldspar, achieving great acclaim as a hostess and ambassador, while Lucrezia and Nancy retired to a manor in Pamplemousse, where they entertained guests in a gilded ballroom built expressly for that purpose.
Author commentary on Elephantine Stiltdancers
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Author Commentary: Elephantine Stiltdancers >
The concept of Elephantine Stiltdancers began as ingloriously as the sisters themselves. I was writing up Circus Primus for The Imperial Encyclopedia of Lax and doing my best to fabricate other interesting-sounding acts as a buildup to the Globe d'Or. "Elephantine" seemed to epitomize that frantic hyperbole of circus prose—you know, "death defying," "gargantuan," "jaw dropping," that sort of thing. ("Elephantine," by the way, means characteristic of elephants, not necessarily elephants themselves. You could, for example, have elephantine toenails. Barf.) Combining this word with stilts and dancing—neither of which goes with elephants at all—made the circus act sound that much more notable and hilarious. A complete "say what?" moment buried in the middle of a sentence in the middle of a paragraph in the middle of an obscure digression. I loved it. I didn't know anything else about this act, but I loved the name.
Then, while preparing a presentation for my publisher on a possible enhanced e-book edition of Wisdom's Kiss, I set myself to the task of writing the official Elephantine Stiltdancers encyclopedia entry. This raised a mess of questions, such as: What are Elephantine Stiltdancers, exactly? How many of them exist(ed)? What are their names? The answers turned out to be blissfully fun (O how I adore writing lies), and the trio's names, I decided, could be nothing other than Lucrezia, Leona, and Nancy, the names of the three foxes in a thrift-store fur stole I owned in graduate school. (It takes almost nothing to be glam in grad school; look at the competition.) This was very funny at the time, but now the three names are quite dated, and you'll have to find someone born before 1970 to explain the joke, if anyone today even remembers Leona Helmsley. But the poisoner Lucrezia Borgia is immortal. And now too, perhaps, are these dancing fat ladies.
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Escoffier Of Montagne
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