Wisdom's Kiss (34 page)

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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

TRUDY GAPED
out the carriage window at
Froglock
: more people, more buildings—and more soldiers!—than she had seen in her entire life! How could people live so crowded together, like ... like bees in a hive? And, most important, how would she ever locate Tips?

The princess and Nonna Ben, packing up their papers and fussing with their gowns, paid Trudy no heed, though Ben did glance out at an avenue draped in the imperial colors, each banner paired—every dimension and detail matched—with Farina's flag and coat of arms. The old woman smiled. "Thank heavens that the emperor himself is in Froglock ... Now she has someone else to tie her gloves in a knot about."

Trudy had spent hours enough in the carriage to know who
she
was, and no longer to goggle at any mention of Rüdiger IV. To think: only one day ago she had been tending wayward hens, and now she was
Lady Fortitude.
Once more she touched her earrings. Perhaps, she thought hopefully, the emeralds would keep people from staring at her hair—not to mention the expanse of skin between her chin and the lacy top of her gown. She had never in her life dressed so! Were she in need of lavish tips, such exposure might be appropriate, but Trudy preferred penniless modesty ... Yet again she blushed, though this time at least she did not look down.
You'll only draw attention,
Ben had kept warning her, as Princess Wisdom glowered.

Much as it hurt to look at Wisdom, Trudy could not resist another glance in her direction. The princess's restrained gown emphasized her slender beauty, and with the wig—so perfect, so
fitting,
thought Trudy—she resembled nothing so much as a china figurine, though one alive with verve and wit and incontestable authority. Even motionless and scowling, standing without effort in the swaying carriage, the princess glowed.

Is it possible to fear and admire simultaneously? Trudy wondered. She would ask Tips. Soon—oh, blissfully soon!—she would see Tips, and ask him.

Escorted by the ducal men-at-arms, the carriage passed through another magnificent gate, into a courtyard crowded with glittering courtiers.

Nonna Ben chuckled. "I wondered how our arrival would be handled..."

Just for a moment, Trudy saw fear cross Wisdom's face. Then the princess composed herself into an inscrutable regal mask. She looked over Trudy's shoulder. "That's Roger in purple, on the left."

Of course that's the duke! Trudy thought. Even
I
know that! She really must think I'm dim.

The carriage slowed to a halt. Trudy touched the beaded reticule hanging from her wrist: handkerchief—eau de toilette—fan—extra gloves ... So much responsibility! Not that the princess needed anything—nor doubtless would ever ask
her
—but Trudy intended to do her best. If the duty of a lady-in-waiting was to tender her lady assistance "before she even knows she needs it," then Trudy was probably more competent than most—or so she hoped.

The carriage door swung open. Ben exited, then Wisdom. Trudy found herself stepping down, a wigged footman at each elbow, as she struggled to remember if she should thank them.

No one—such a relief!—paid her the slightest attention. All eyes were on Nonna Ben, Princess Wisdom, and an older woman who cradled a lap dog and without moving her head managed to convey that she was looking down her nose at the newcomers: Duchess Wilhelmina. The entire court, it appeared, was arranged behind the duchess, gilded lanterns illuminating the jewels and gold of their ornaments. Roger beamed at his betrothed.

"Your Majesty. Your Highness." The duchess uttered this without emotion, though several listeners—queen and princess included—stiffened.
>

"Your
Royal
Highness," Roger interjected quickly, stepping forward. He bowed to Nonna Ben and kissed her hand. He kissed Wisdom's and beamed even wider.

Ben dropped her head, ever so slightly, toward Roger. "Your Grace—Your Most Noble Grace—may I proffer our heartfelt apologies for this catastrophe of a journey. I beg forgiveness and pray you take no insult from it, for 'twas the elements and the gods, not ill intent, that delayed us so."

The queen mother's words hung in the air. The crowd—or so Trudy sensed; certainly
she
held her breath—waited to observe how the duchess would react to such eloquent and earnest regret.

The silence was shattered, most abruptly, by
Wilhelmina's terrier
, who barked and squirmed for release, glaring behind Trudy. Turning with the others to ascertain the basis of this canine fury, Trudy observed Escoffier leisurely descending the carriage steps, his tail in the air.

"Think nothing of it," said the duchess, responding at last to Nonna Ben. "We would that you—valued safety—over speed"—here struggling to maintain her grip on the dog.

Tail swaying, Escoffier strolled to Ben's feet and sat. He licked one paw.

"How kind of you; your mercy speaks well of Farina, and the empire," Ben continued—her voice raised over the dog's hysterical barking, though her regal tone did not change.

The dog howled, and squirmed like a hooked fish, while Wilhelmina clung to his jeweled collar. Behind her, several members of her court were suddenly taken ill, or so it seemed from the coughing that broke out. Duke Roger—quite handsome, Trudy thought; even statelier than his representation—stroked his mustache repeatedly, and with unusual force.

Oh, Trudy realized at last, they're not sick: they're simply trying not to laugh! From the corner of her eye, Trudy could see Wisdom clenching her jaw, and the knuckles of the princess's fists were so white that her fingernails must have sliced her palms. Yet she otherwise remained serene—inordinately serene—and neither queen nor duchess, in voice or visage, gave the slightest acknowledgment of the great charade taking place between them.

"When word came of your approach, Your Majesty," Wilhelmina explained loudly, over the barking, "We were en route to the circus grounds to enjoy a performance by His Imperial Majesty's private troupe. We beg you join us..." The terrier twisted in her hands.

Escoffier took this opportunity to yawn—the longest yawn Trudy had ever observed. His pink tongue curled and his white teeth gleamed, and just for a moment, as his jaws closed, he looked straight into the eyes of the dog.

At once the yapping trebled in volume.

Ben smiled serenely. "That would be lovely." She turned to Trudy. "Lady Fortitude, perhaps you might attend to our trunks? It has been such a long journey—"

At last the terrier, losing control completely, bit Duchess Wilhelmina. She dropped it with a hiss. At the same instant, Escoffier leapt into Trudy's arms.

"Also, see that the cat's fed, will you?" With that, the queen swept her gown away from the lunging dog and took Roger's elbow. "I did not know you had
circus grounds,
Your Grace," she murmured, sounding perhaps too sincere. "I am quite curious to observe them..."

Quickly a nobleman stepped up to escort Wisdom, who engaged the man in a conversation on their travels, which, she assured him, had passed without incident.

Rubbing her wrist, Wilhelmina sent her pet a dagger-eyed glare before stomping to the front of the procession, the glittering crowd behind her. Several footmen circled the little dog, none too keen to approach, and when Trudy tried to nudge the dog away from her precious skirts, it snapped at her ankle.

Escoffier adjusted his position in Trudy's arms and blinked at her. Trudy was quite convinced that had he been human, he would have been laughing.

FELIS EL GATO

Impresario Extraordinaire ♦ Soldier of Fortune
Mercenary of Stage & Empire

LORD OF THE LEGENDARY
FIST OF GOD
Famed Throughout the Courts and Countries of the World
&
The Great Sultanate
*
THE BOOTED MAESTRO
*

W
RITTEN IN
H
IS
O
WN
H
AND
~A
LL
T
RUTHS
V
ERIFIED
~
A
LL
B
OASTS
R
EAL

A Most Marvelous Entertainment,
Not to Be Missed!

***

I MUST HERE RELAY a singular incident that transpired whilst we domiciled in Froglock. Unfortunately the vast responsibilities of my position—for by this point I was nothing less than
second in command,
which Emperor Rüdiger IV himself called me, in the presence of bystanders—did not allow me to observe this event directly. The repeated recountings by others, however, over many weeks subsequent, permit me to relay the tale within these pages.

From the moment of our entry into Froglock, we had heard talk of Wisdom of Montagne, the princess betrothed to the Duke of Farina, whose arrival had been much delayed; rumors swirled that the royal delegation had been sickened en route. At last they were sighted, and when their carriage that dusk passed through the gates of the palace of Phraugheloch, 'twas a dusty and mediocre showing it made.

Anticipating their entrance, Dowager Duchess Wilhelmina assembled a welcoming party in the palace courtyard. I myself could never speak ill of such a noble and handsome woman and have sought to defend her from various slanders, such as how she kept her youngest son in military service in hopes that his death would gain her more land, which is a vicious falsehood I would never under pain of torture repeat. Froglock's more critical citizens similarly whispered that in orchestrating this public greeting, Wilhelmina sought to put Montagne's dishevelment—inevitable after a journey of such length, and so ill-fortuned—to her own advantage. Moreover, in greeting the
queen mother
while standing, the duchess would circumvent the convention of offering one's seat to royalty, a point of protocol which the woman—or so her unsympathetic subjects implied—particularly resented.

The carriage came to a rest, and the two Montagne royals and their lady-in-waiting exited its confines—again, I only quote the witnesses there present—in remarkably good form given the stress of many days' travel and the speed with which they had hurried. The usual pleasantries commenced but were interrupted almost at once when a sable-haired cat emerged from the coach to join his mistress, the queen mother. The duchess as it transpired was holding her own small terrier, which promptly and in the inevitable manner of its breed attempted, with much vocalizing, to leave her grip and pursue the feline.

The duchess—here again I only repeat others' reports and in no way seek to impugn the nobility of Her Most Noble Grace—was thus presented with a dilemma of no small significance. Were she to acknowledge the misbehavior of the creature sounding in her arms, she would be forced in the most literal manner to
retreat
before her rival in order to remove the offending creature. Therefore she ignored the disturbance, which increased by the moment as the cat, via an escalating series of provocations that appeared to be almost intentional, drove the dog to near madness. Only a corpse could have been expected to maintain composure in the face of such hilarity, and while no member of the duchess's retinue lost complete control, it would be many hours before the last of them was fit for presentation, and a month at least before the dog—a great favorite of the duchess's, sadly—could appear in public without upsetting the solemn equilibrium of the court.

The queen mother and princess of Montagne, on the other hand, emerged from this skirmish unscathed (as, I might note, did the cat). Intimations of witchcraft had shadowed Benevolence of Montagne since her girlhood, and though I myself would never heed such denigrations, the uncanny and artfully timed behavior of the black cat did nothing to still the tongues of those gullible or instigative enough to fuel such hearsay.
Yet even those of us too wise to swallow tales of sorcery recognized that the queen departed the scene of battle as the unquestioned
victrix
.