Wisdom's Kiss (22 page)

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 slaughtered, he craved that document still more. He leapt upon the balustrade and grasped Tomas with one powerful hand while with the other seizing that priceless sheet. The two men grappled, swaying now over the gulf, now back, each refusing to release. The breathless crowd drew near, spectators pressed upon each other, yet no observer was foolhardy enough to reach out, for any attempt at rescue could as easily result in death. (If only I had been present to serve deliverance!) And then—

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.

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.

Sunday—dusk—

O! To imagine I would ever pen these words: today was too exciting. 'Tis miraculous I can even hold a quill my hand shakes so!—yet I must record these events while still they dominate my consciousness—forevermore when some indicting louse sneers that I do not live up to my name I shall comfort myself that at least once in my life I acted wisely.

Trudy—(it's absolutely astounding by the way—she has no sense of how lovely she is! Can you imagine? The silly believes the whispers & stares that greet her appearance stem from cruelty! How v. stupid some people are!) (altho now that I dwell upon the matter I see the link 'twixt cruelty & envy—I must commit to improvement on that front)—led us straight to Chateau de Montagne—to the Wizard Tower!—which once again dumbfounded me by producing out of veritable thin air a spiral staircase that pierced the building as a knitting needle would a stack of books—or a layer cake perhaps—my analogy suffers but I have not time to make it right—needless to say we were delivered faster than a dropping rock to ground level where we found Temperance in her precious greenhouse even at that moment signing away Montagne.

I, of course, could not reveal myself—were word to slip out that the poisoned princess was frolicking in Montagne we would quite have to forfeit this game—& so was left dancing in frustration behind a door while Tips & Trudy—& Escoffier!—rushed to save her. O, I near lost my mind as I waited! And then out rushed a stranger—handsome enough tho with evil in his eyes—whatever was Teddy thinking in losing her heart to him?!—grasping a sword!—with Tips hot on his heels shouting, "He flees! He flees!"

Well! I could not but think that this was a message to me—which indeed it was Tips assured me later he is so v. clever—& straightaway I decided—particularly since I could make no contribution otherwise—that it was up to me to pursue that fleeing scoundrel.

Dashing back up the staircase I hurled myself aboard the G d'Or & cast off driving that great lumbering orb toward the cliff that I might from above observe the fiend's escape & mark him much as an eagle gliding on high marks its prey—an image I quite relish I must say—& thus guide our soldiers to this evildoer.

So it was that I hovered over the switchback highway that descends Montagne's great cliff. Yet no fiend appeared & while I scanned the earth seeking him out I heard shouts—Tips & the villain above me engaged in desperate battle! Hastily I scaled the orb that I might watch more closely & good it was I did so for the two men—grappling for a scrap of paper that could not but bode ill for my kingdom—at that very moment plunged off the platform to their doom!

Tips—how brave he is!—in falling aimed for the balloon while I tossed him a cable which saved him I think. The fiend fell on the other side his clawlike hands scratching at the balloon but he could make no purchase & with a scream of horror continued his descent after many awful seconds striking the ground far below. Splat. And good riddance to any man who treats my sister so. Tips on the other hand quite nimbly scaled the G d'Or—giving me a hasty kiss which I did not make a single attempt to spurn—& sent me back to the basket (tho I could not resist first setting alight that despicable parchment) that I might return him & myself unseen to the chateau.

Which I did & while hiding in the basket observed his hero's welcome tho he did not linger as every moment in that crowd increased the chances I would be revealed—& now we journey together without a chaperone! Which would make certain tongues wag I am sure yet we are both the soul of decorum for we are too exhausted to behave otherwise! Tips is understandably drained from his great battle & after a little nursing on my part (little being all the nursing of which I am capable) collapsed asleep—a condition in which I shall quite soon join him.

This has been such an extraordinary adventure—someday perhaps it might be possible to share it with the world—it would make a most remarkable novel or even a play—tho one would need great skill with a pen to manage that feat! But I cannot dwell upon storytelling at the moment—I am off to dreamland then anon to dazzle the empire (that is I hope I shall dazzle & not fall on my prat!) as Violet la Riene! (Is that not a brilliant pseudonym? Rien means "nothing" & reine means "queen"—a perfect description of me! And violet of course is a lovely flower and a lovely color too, but most importantly it is not a virtue. No one in the history of Montagne would ever say "Oh, Violet, for once can't you just behave violetly?")

O I am so happy I can scarcely bear it.

T
HE
S
TORY OF
F
ORTITUDE OF
B
ACIO,
C
OMMONLY
K
NOWN AS
T
RUDY, AS
T
OLD TO
H
ER
D
AUGHTER

Privately Printed and Circulated

L
ATER
, Trudy would endeavor to recall her first impressions of Queen Temperance, to separate them from the insight and appreciation that she in the ensuing years developed. To be sure, their first encounter in the greenhouse—Temperance hysterical from embarrassment and grief, Trudy terrified for Tips's life—was not the most auspicious. Yet even then Trudy could see past the passion and tumult to know that Tips would probably survive and that Temperance was a precious soul indeed. They clung to each other through that epic battle, Trudy murmuring words of comfort, and as they listened to the death scream of that odious Farina spy, she whispered, "He is gone ... he is gone ... he is gone," as though it were an invocation, or a prayer, and it was not clear which man it was she prayed for.

Wisdom, and Nonna Ben more obliquely, had described Temperance as timid and shy, but such was not the young woman Trudy came to know. Even that first night, the young queen—while rightly cursing the duplicity of a man who would woo her with dogwoods—forbore from weeping over her own humiliation to query Trudy about Wisdom's wedding, the duchess's plot, and the whole of the Froglock experience. She had not received correspondence from Nonna Ben in four days and was desperate for the minutest scraps of information Trudy could provide. Escoffier sat with pricked ears as they puzzled out the chronology, so attentive that they could not but believe Nonna Ben was observing them through his eyes, and they took care to address the cat as if he
were
Ben, a courtesy to which he did not object in the least.

Together the two young women pored over Nonna Ben's latest missive (sent via the Globe d'Or and hand delivered by Trudy herself), describing Wisdom's display of magic to the emperor and his response, fragments of which Trudy had already heard aboard the balloon. Trudy listened in sympathetic horror as her new friend relayed the poisonous words that the duchess's agent had dripped in her ears, and she comforted her that no young woman could resist such sly manipulation. "It's perfectly shameful to tell someone you love her but she shouldn't be queen. If you truly loved someone, you'd tell the world she should be empress, even if she was only a featherbrained milkmaid! And someday someone will say that about you—although you're not a featherbrain, you know. Or a milkmaid."

Temperance laughed and said she knew
that
at least, and Escoffier lounging between them waved his tail contentedly as he purred.

Trudy even explained her sight, which she had never discussed with another soul except her mother and Tips (and, on that one awful occasion, Wisdom). Yet she sensed—she saw—that the queen would appreciate it. Indeed the queen did, though not without first expressing chagrin that yet another person had magic while she had none, and pressing Trudy for details on Mindwell's heritage, details Trudy was unable to provide. So instead they discussed Tips and Wisdom, whether the two at that very moment might be floating through the vault of heaven, and what Ben must be up to in Froglock, though whatever it was—they reassured each other—she was doubtless safe as evinced by Escoffier's phlegmatic demeanor.