Wisdom's Kiss (5 page)

At last we arrived, again, in Bridgeriver, where it took all our efforts to acquire a vehicle for crossing Alpsburg Pass. Given that their requirement of tribute has increased with every annum, the fine residents of Bridgeriver lose no love on the Duke of Farina, and fretted not at all that they were delaying the man's union with his betrothed. After two days of negotiation—the mayor of Bridgeriver puts to shame the haggling of every wool merchant I might name—we acquired a carriage and set out. Last night we sojourned in the manor house of the Baronet of Savory, a most ill-suited name given that the dinner he served would have disappointed a prisoner. Tonight—our last in Pneu, I dearly hope—we shall stay in the mountain hamlet of Frizzante, which I hear tell contains an excellent tavern, and a treat it will be to dine as I am so indulgently accustomed.

Dizzy—or
Princess Wisdom,
as the Baronet of Savory insisted on calling her ad nauseam, lingering each time over
Princess
—to my relief has demonstrated only enthusiasm for our journey, an energy that bodes well for her future in Farina. Escoffier as well has served as a most satisfying companion; it helps that unlike this stout old lady he can be easily toted when he wearies. I wish you could have observed the cat glowering at the baronet, so disappointed in the paucity of the meal that he looked quite prepared to put the man on a skewer and roast him for dinner. I made sure to keep my friend close at hand lest he attempt what he should not. I declare, I occasionally wonder if our past connection affects us yet, as Escoffier at times behaves as though he believes himself in possession of hands and nimble fingers, while I on entering our chambers last night detected the scent of mice—and my heart sped at the promise of pursuit! You may be certain I did not act on this hankering, however.

Enough! I drone on, and the carriage is at last ready to depart—why the ladies feel it necessary to primp for a day of passing sheep meadows, I cannot understand. Soon enough, I trust, I can return to Montagne and your side. I know how heavy the crown weighs upon your young head, and how you mourn the premature suspension of your studies. But inscrutable Fate has ambitions for us that we cannot possibly comprehend. The death of your mother—my daughter—i's the greatest tragedy of my life and a burden I will bear forever. We must strive, however, to shoulder the responsibilities thrust upon us with the eager determination that she would expect.

With that in mind, I shall scrutinize every bachelor in Froglock and return to you with a list of names ranked by their professed interest in, and knowledge of, horticulture. We shall find you a mate, my dear, one who will delight you as much as your father did your mother, and my Florian did me.

Your doting grandmother,
Ben

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.

Tuesday—

I cannot believe these people! I finally get to see the world—only to find myself encumbered with a veritable battalion of worrywarts & fussbudgets! Nonna drones on as if we were starving—the food is not spectacular to be sure but we are certainly in no danger of famine. And the Sprats as I have taken to calling our l-in-w (it is unfair to call Lady Patience "Jack Sprat" as the fellow in the rhyme never complains—but Lady Modesty v. much matches the dimensions of his dame!)—the Sprats almost had hysterics over a few tiny insect bites tho I could barely see the marks not that they value my opinion. And our secretary sees highway robbers at every turn & wrings his hands if we're even five minutes late. Well we're a lot later than that now! But so what? This is more adventure than I've ever had in my life & probably more than they've had all put together.

Yes that inn had mattresses older than Nonna Ben but I could see the river from my room & hear the boatmen—who know more curses than I shall ever be able to remember! One man in particular had a true gift—wouldn't it be wonderful if I could rattle off blasphemies so! He was a veritable poet—I could have stayed awake until dawn just to hear him! In fact I was wholly primed to smuggle myself down to the dockside bustle that I might better attend when Escoffier appeared quite glaringly on the windowsill relaying with every black whisker of his being that if I so much as stepped from my chamber I should be in Very Great Trouble. How he knew to materialize at that moment I can't imagine—Nonna Ben has vowed
never again
to link with him and means it with all her soul—nevertheless E must have some grandmotherly residue yet within as he is cleverer than ever a cat could be—too clever for my taste as I have chaperones enough as it is! So alas instead of strolling the docks incognito I was forced to pass the night perched at the window like a trapped princess (which of course is precisely what I am at present much as I may delude myself otherwise) listening from afar. At least E kept me company in his furry way.

I am sorely tempted to test my boatman vulgate on the Sprats who v. much deserve it as they complain so much—have they never ridden by carriage before? Of course we have to walk up the hills! The horses aren't mechanical devices—they have enough work just to drag all that ridiculous finery—I even explained to Jack Sprat that if she hadn't insisted on packing half the castle wardrobe she'd probably be able to ride—which she did not appreciate at all!

I was about to tell Mrs. Sprat that her walking was more helpful than Sprat & I put together as she weighs more than Sprat & I put together but it was clear the jest would fall short—instead I simply joined the horses & the coachman who is far better company than they & who is teaching me to spit—we make sure Nonna Ben & the Sprats are far to the rear before we practice! In return I am teaching him cartwheels altho he's too old to start—I think he asks simply because he enjoys watching me show him—it's great fun to demonstrate—he's amazed my skirts never once fall up—or would it be fall down if I'm upside down? But I'm so v. quick I remain a proper lady throughout—not that I'd ever let the Sprats appraise my behavior!

We are traveling now through mountains almost as high as Montagne's—we have to walk—& practice spitting!—almost all the day! I believe we're a week late at least—I've given up listening to the secretary's assessments as his every calculation forecasts calamity—but I don't care one dried-up old raisin! I've the rest of my life to be a wife—how many other opportunities will I have to experience such a delightfully wayward journey?

A P
LAY IN
T
HREE
A
CTS

PENNED BY ANONYMOUS

Act I, Scene v.
Interior, Frizzante Tavern.

Morning. A great spread of food.

TAVERN KEEPER
: It is the dream of my life to serve a queen—particularly one so receptive to the culinary arts! This meal shall be remembered forever...

Enter Benevolence carrying Escoffier, and Wisdom,
Lady Modesty, Lady Patience, and others.

BENEVOLENCE
: Good morn to you, my fine man. What glories have you prepared us? I vowed after last night's feast I should never eat again, yet my sable companion and I find ourselves ravenous once more.

TAVERN KEEPER
: My chefs toiled through the night ... I have for you fine omelets, sweet pastries, and my personal masterpiece: oysters.

PATIENCE
: Oysters! What a tremendous delicacy! O, they taste divine!

MODESTY
: The crust so delicate—the interior so creamy ... I believe I shall have four if it does not appear too greedy.

WISDOM
[aside]:
That is a spectacle well worth forgetting ... This roll is still warm. I am quite content with it alone for the moment.

TAVERN KEEPER
: Your Majesty, you do not dine? Are the oysters not quite to your satisfaction?

BENEVOLENCE
: My friend turns up his nose—this cat knows more of cookery than most men.

TAVERN KEEPER
: These oysters arrived only this morning, packed in ice ... I could not resist their purchase, however dear, as I knew my guests deserved the best.

BENEVOLENCE
: Of course you shall be justly compensated. But when traversing mountains, I prefer mountain fare. I recall a leg of lamb that left last night's table only half-consumed ... Wisdom! You cannot depart so soon! You have barely swallowed two mouthfuls!

WISDOM
: There is a man outside juggling! That entertainment is all the nourishment I require.

Exit Wisdom.

BENEVOLENCE
: His Grace will find it quite the chore to tame his feral bride ... Come, Escoffier, let us break our fast. Truly this meal will never be forgotten.

8
TH EDITION

Printed in the Capital City of Rigorus
by Hazelnut & Filbert, Publishers to the Crown

ESCOFFIER OF MONTAGNE

The history of the Empire of Lax would not be complete without the chronicles of its most revered pets: the elkhound Steadfast, whose life was immortalized in the ten-hour opera
Paws of Honor
(performed only once); the poodle Brownie, who in mistaking approaching soldiers for tree squirrels alerted Castle Underjoy to the imminent attack; the Pekingese Darling, who inspired the foundation of the Darling College for Women in Gebühr. None of these canines, however, matches the cat Escoffier, the only animal ever to be awarded the Medal of Lax for service to empire. His life story, much altered and embellished, may yet be found in fairy tales, and his visage observed in the black-cat emblem of the Imperial Department of Revenue. Born in a granary in Montagne, the mongrel was adopted while still a kitten by Benevolence, the elderly queen mother, in yet another example of that kingdom's peculiar eschewal of pedigree. His name derived from a famed chef, as the cat's appetite and tastes were legendary, and visitors to the royal seat learned to disguise their shock at the spectacle of queen and cat dining together at every banquet. Escoffier accompanied his mistress on her travels throughout the empire. He appeared to be unsettlingly cognizant of human speech, and his tendency to appear at occasions of portent—often without his mistress—led more than one unnerved observer to declare him bewitched. This accusation Benevolence contested most heartily, fearing for her pet's life, and in several royal proclamations declared that he was only a cat, and a lazy one, to boot.

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

POOR TRUDY was caught by surprise while attempting again to retrieve Soots.

The old fowl insisted on nesting under the gorse bush across from the inn; that her chicks remained unscathed after two weeks so encamped was strong testament to the hen's pugnacity, if not her sense.

Still, it did not require the gift of sight to see that one hen could not protect a dozen chicks from all the predators in Bacio or from the interminable spring rains. So Trudy—diligent, solicitous Trudy—found herself once more rooting through the thorns, avoiding as best she could Soots's glare and beak and muttered fowl curses.

"Just come out," Trudy sighed. "If you go back to the hen-house, you'll have food and water and no foxes ... Oh, baron's brains, I'm talking to a chicken!"

How Tips would laugh at this, if he were here! He'd laugh, but in a kind way, and wriggle through the gorse with no thought to his own discomfort. If he were here now, he and Trudy would be laughing together, just as they used to. Just as they would again, someday...

Trudy glanced about with a start. How long had she been staring into space, dreaming of a boy an empire away? Fortunately no one from the Duke's Arms had seen her, for every man and woman was occupied in tending the guests, human and equine, that had inundated the inn since the flooding began. Several local farmers, their fields too wet to plant, had been taken on as hostlers. Their female kin toiled in the kitchen and laundry, though the young women between them hadn't the sense of Soots, and with such featherbrains to manage, Trudy had even less chance to finish her own work. Which, by the way, she should be doing right now rather than tending a family of vagabond poultry. Tending it badly.

She stood, brushing dead leaves from her skirt, and could not help glancing west toward Tips's mill. Not that it was
his
mill; the solicitor had made that clear, as had Tips's brothers and Tips himself. But it would be his someday. How could it not, what with Hans and Jens both childless—not that there was any mystery to that one, nor grief either ... Tips had to end up with it. Gristmilling was in his blood, much as he'd washed his hands of the flour. However good a soldier he was, he'd be just as good a miller when the time came.

Still musing on Tips's future, and hers, Trudy turned east. No matter how many carts of quarry waste they spread, the sodden road was less highway than riverbed. The mud...

Without warning, Trudy staggered backward. Something was coming. Something bad—something very, very sick indeed—was coming down the mountain.