Wisdom's Kiss (36 page)

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."

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 do more than gibber in fright, he was swinging her through the air, grasping her with absolute familiarity as her skirts fluttered about in a most unregal manner—the entire audience saw her legs almost to the
knee
!

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

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

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.