Authors: Catherine Gilbert Murdock
Buckled to her knees, gagging into the mud, she struggled to remain calm. Think, think! How should she respond? What would her mother do? And who—or what—could it possibly be, headed straight for Bacio—and straight for the inn?
My Dearest Temperence, Queen of Montagne,
Granddaughter, where to begin! Last night we dined in Frizzante, where the lamb roast was excellent, if not quite on par with Montagne's, though of course I am too partial to judge. Our sleep, too, was quite satisfactory. When shall I learn, even in my dotage, to accept every favorable event with extreme caution, given that it will doubtless progress to disaster? It most certainly did in this case, for the tavern keeper this morning set out a great spread of
oysters.
Oysters, in mountains yet shrouded in snow! Only Dizzy, myself, and a coachman abstained, though in Dizzy's case it was ungodly curiosity and not common sense that preserved her. Escoffier and I breakfasted instead on the last of the lamb, Escoffier regarding the scraped bone with such longing that I feared he would metamorphose into a hound and drag it off to bury.
Our subsequent trip through Alpsburg Pass I shall never forget, much as I long to; I'd wager the kingdom that no member of our party will ever again dine on oysters. Within two hours of our passage the first guard collapsed from his horse. In the next thirty minutes every man and woman save Dizzy, myself, and—blessedly—our coachman was similarly afflicted; poor Modesty and Patience reclined with their heads hanging from the carriage windows, moaning piteously, while Patience's maid lay curled at our feet in a miserable pile, not that the others were cogent enough to object, or even to pay heed.
Dizzy of course fled the carriage at once. I grant she made herself more than useful by leading a string of horses while the guards drooped green-faced in their saddles, though her exhaustive questioning of the coachman on the art of bareback riding, his encyclopedic knowledge of which she has only recently become aware, demonstrated all too publicly her indifference to the suffering around her. Within the carriage, I kept a handkerchief—perfumed, you may be sure!—to my nose, removing it only to open the door at critical moments and to reassure my companions that they were not facing death, much as they might crave it at that minute. Escoffier dozed beside me, occasionally cracking one eye when the moaning grew too vocal.
When not serving as stopgap nursemaid, I distracted myself from this pageant of wretchedness by pondering how exactly—and when!—we are to arrive at Phraugheloch Palace. Our tribulations have left us seven days overdue at the Farina court; while rational minds accept this as ill fate, you and I both know that Duchess Wilhelmina does not gravitate toward rationality, or charity. As much as I fear the insult—or what she will doubtless take as insult—of our late arrival, I worry still more about the poor showing we will make at the palace gates. Though we of Montagne have little regard for protocol's more obscure constrictions, I recognize that our arrival sans retinue will leave us looking more beggars than sovereigns—which a queen must never allow, particularly when dealing with Farina! Patience and Modesty, and their maids, too, require several days' recovery—days
we do not have.
If only I could conjure footmen from mice! Fear not; I write only in jest. I would never seriously consider such a hazard. Sorcery would only multiply our quandaries. Perhaps I could dress Escoffier in livery and put him to work, though I'm sure he would fall asleep on his feet—which puts him in league with most castle staff!
Quipping aside, I cannot—
we
cannot—offend the duke and his mother; how awful it would be for Dizzy to face such prejudice at the commencement of her matrimony! Truly, I am absolutely frantic; our wretched delay, capped by this horrific oyster sickness, has put me in a state of disorientation such as I have not known in years. A solution will come, I am certain, to our desperate short-handedness. But how, or when, I have not a single indication.
At last—the entire entourage with the exception of Dizzy and Escoffier quite woebegone—we arrived in Bacio, at a most extraordinary inn (the sign over the door reads
THE
ALPSBURG BARON'S COUNT'S
DUKE'S ARMS
—a history book in one weathered marquee!). There, to my astonishment, we were greeted by a dozen servants proffering buckets and blankets and damp, cool cloths. Lady Patience, the first to alight from the carriage (much splattered, I fear, though dusk hid the worst of it), fell into a swoon that was perhaps not entirely wretched given the strapping young man who caught her; the others were similarly assisted indoors. Dizzy, heaven help us, established herself in the stables, unsaddling horses and chattering away with the hostlers. How the staff knew to prepare for a dozen invalids, I cannot imagine. It was assuredly the most comforting reception I have ever met ... but so unnerving!
Your shaken grandmother,
Ben
Postscriptum: The Duke's Arms includes on its staff one maid whom I suspect is quite comely beneath her headscarf and homespun; certainly she has a pretty smile when not overwhelmed by shyness, and goes about her duties with enviable efficiency. Admiring her handiwork this evening, I commenced scheming how to include her in our retinue. If the task of a lady-in-waiting is to flaunt through beauty and breeding the good taste of our court, we could do worse; certainly no worse than our present ladies, who sprawl prone with their heads in dishpans. No sooner had this notion flitted through my mind, however, than the girl turned to me wide-eyed and said, "But Your Majesty, one is
born
to the position of lady-in-waiting!" Is that not unbelievable?
Post postscriptum: I apologize for droning on so about our troubles; this is
your
time, and please do not squander any of it worrying about us. Ruling a country is a most formidable responsibility, and too often dispiriting, particularly for one inclined to doubt her own abilities. You are doing so well, my dear; I beg you believe me on this. The chateau must be blessedly quiet with so much of the court away. Employ this time to spread your wings! Without your butterfly of a sister or goose of a grandmother, you may find your wings stretching very far indeed!
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.
Wednesday—
When I am ancient & writing my memoirs I shall entitle this chapter "The Puking Path." Or perhaps "The Retching Road"—that's more accurate as the Alpsburg Pass is quite clearly a decent road when it's not full of mud. Or in our case of vomit. The worst part is that no one else found it funny! Which it was! It was horribly amusing but I couldn't laugh—as Nonna Ben is forever repeating, I must strive
to present more graciously my innate compassion.
Also Mrs. Sprat would have smitten me dead. (Perhaps I could call my memoirs "The Sprats Go Splat.") So I walked with the coachman—he drove & I walked—thank goodness he was healthy or we'd yet be marooned in that godforsaken wilderness—& I found out he knows how to ride bareback! He can even stand at a canter! With no hands! I begged him to show me but he said it wasn't the proper time. Then once we arrived in Bacio everyone was so busy mopping up that we couldn't. Also it was dark by then.
There's a girl who works in the inn here who has the most spectacularly beautiful hair I have ever seen in my life. If I had hair like that I would keep it long & loose & not even bother with clothes because no one would notice the rest of me! This afternoon when we arrived she wore a little kerchief & then when she came to our room tonight she had it hidden by a v. pretty scarf—even I noticed it & I'm dim as a door knocker when it comes to that sort of thing tho I was careful not to say a word. But then the scarf slipped off for a moment & it took all my resolve not to scream in envy! Her hair is not carroty at all but just lovely red & it has the most beautiful waves ever. The Montagne wig maker would follow her around like a little lost puppy. I did my v. best not to stare but felt myself growing positively green. She's terribly aware of it you can tell by the way she covered it up at once. Nonna wanted her to travel with us as we are decidedly short of a retinue—a functional retinue that is!—but she said no. So would I in her shoes—with hair like that she doesn't need anything else in the world. Certainly not waiting upon this gaggle of gaggers. Nor would I wish her to join us for my own mousy locks do not come close to hers—& I shan't even begin to describe the difference in our figures!
At least Nonna is diligent—unlike me!—about writing to the Dearly Beloved Sister. Teddy—excuse me Queen Temperance—always complains most intemperately about being left out—I hope that for once she's happy to be somewhere else! Tonight at bedtime I had to help Nonna as no one else could—it makes me appreciate how much work it is to "keep us up" which is a pun on upkeep but it doesn't make much sense the way I put it—there's a joke in there somewhere I think—in any case I made a right hash of Nonna's gown—I had no idea folding was so hard! I'd always thought it'd be absolutely joyous to be free of staff but now I am not so certain—if I am expected to iron or dress hair then we might as well return to Montagne! Normally I would say I do not care about appearance—which I v. much do not!—but even brave Nonna is so fearful of Wilhelmina that now I fear her as well! I know we are royalty—Roger knows—his bothersome mother must know as she sent us cartloads of nonsense to sign—but for all those gallons of ink we must still display our regality to the court!
Just think! By tomorrow night—if we acquire fresh horses enough!—I shall be at Phraugheloch with my betrothed. "The Duke & Princess of Farina"—an awkward style but at least I can flaunt my princess over that conniving duchess!
Imagine—I am to be a wife.
I do hope I have chosen well.
8
TH EDITION
Printed in the Capital City of Rigorus
by Hazelnut & Filbert, Publishers to the Crown
FROGLOCK
Occupying the lowest fording point of the Great River, Froglock has served as a center of trade and defense for a millennium or more. Much of the city's great wealth derives from this ford, and more recently from the twelve-arch bridge built in the reign of Clyde, Baron of Farina. (Entitled by him a "Dazzling and Fitting Triumph," the span is better known by its acronym, the Daft Bridge.) It is not surprising that the city's premier industries—weapons and paper—relate directly to the defense and administration of this bridge, as well as to other tolls throughout the provinces and holdings of Farina. According to legend, the city's name was bestowed by residents grateful to the amphibians that would croak an alarm when nocturnal travelers attempted to cross the ford without payment; the frogs were the "lock" to the community's revenue. The name is alternatively ascribed to a local swamp, long drained, known as Frog Loch. The frog-lock icon is emblazoned on both the city seal and the Farina coat of arms; chocolate versions may be purchased at every local confectionery. The city has numerous significant buildings, including the Hall of Taxes, which features fortified windows and a crenelated roofline; the equally imposing Debtors' Prison; and the Ducal Armory, with its wide parade ground and attached Museum of Uniforms and Flags. When Edwig of Farina, then only a baron, married the Countess of Paindecampagne, he sought to mark his newly elevated rank by renaming Froglock with the seemingly more prestigious if meaningless homophone of Phraugheloch. The local populace, in a rare display of subversion, refused to comply, and after several years of escalating penalties and increasingly brazen acts of sabotage, Edwig relented. Today Phraugheloch refers only to the ducal palace, a neoclassical structure of singular dimension and finish even by the criteria of the city in which it stands.
THE BOOTED MAESTRO
Dear Trudy,
We are
coming home
returning to the Empire of Lax! Finally! The sultans wedding is over at last—I didnt know it took so many weeks + so many festivities just to get married—I am so tired! It will be nice to be back where there are clouds + rain + actual cold. I can barely remember what cold feels like.
I know you keep asking when you will see me + believe me I want to see you
just as
very much but Felis doesnt think its wise for me to return to Bacio given what Hans keeps
threatening
saying. Even though
he
Hans signed a contract with Felis, if I returned he could still make me stay + work at the mill. Felis gets so
furious
angry that Id be
wasted
like that—I dont know if Id be wasted but I surely wouldnt enjoy
working
milling the way I enjoy this. Felis got us new uniforms—I wish I could show you. I
know
think you would like them but I can just imagine what Hans would say!
I think about you every day + I hope you like these earrings they cost me
two months wages
a bit of money but dont worry, I dont have anyone to spend on but you. I have no one I
want
to spend on but you. I bet theyll be so
beuti
beautiful with your hair! Red + green
harmen
harmonize because theyre opposites—thats what Felis says + while I dont understand how colors can be opposites or how harmony works even in music let alone hair, I think hes right about this one. I wish I could see you wearing them. I will someday, I promise.
You are I will always
Affectionately—