Wisdom's Kiss

by Catherine Gilbert Murdock

  Terrible news!

  The witch's " lady-in-waiting"—a vain little tramp who clearly expects her hair to forgive her low birth; Handsome has far bluer blood than she ever hopes to—has fled Froglock! Eastward!

  If that fool by some miracle of competence manages to reach Montagne—this cannot be allowed!

  As I told my most brilliant agent—at the time speaking of Montagne, but the dictum applies generally—petty laws are designed for petty men; those who would achieve greatness must act greatly.

  I myself—a gentlewoman of impeccable breeding—could never condone anything so vulgar as murder.

  Yet not only Farina but Montagne, and indeed humanity as a whole, would benefit from the removal of one empty-headed young woman.

  Or several, should the situation warrant it.

  We would not be the first to barter a soul for a throne, and while such a decision is most certainly burdensome, it is not without ample reward.

  Ample reward indeed.

  Memoirs of the Master Swordsman

  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 *

  WRITTEN IN HIS OWN HAND~ALL TRUTHS VERIFIED~

  ALL BOASTS REAL

  A Most Marvelous Entertainment. Not to Be Missed!

  ***

  I AWOKE brimming with satisfaction at my excellent performance the night before, both onstage and as counselor to young Tomas. All of Froglock was abuzz over the duke's wedding, the imminence of the event adding a piquant urgency to the day. The emperor contributed further spice by ordering the Globe d'Or transported outside, beyond the protection of the great circus tent, that he might observe the couple's reception procession from the air. Naturally it was well within my authority to point out the imbecility of such a demand, for every fool in Lax knew that this most precious and delicate object had never once been exposed to the elements and would moreover be snatched away by the first gust of wind; only a suicide would take flight in that perilous basket, its coals poised to spill fiery death, its anchor line sundering at any moment, sending vessel and rider drifting away as helpless as a dust mote, impotent against the merciless heavens. Yet this dictate came not from just any fool but from the emperor himself, and I am far too faithful a servant ever to question His Majesty's judgment.

  Thus I diligently toiled, chiding the roustabouts whenever they criticized the great man's faculties, and with no little effort did we extract that golden sphere from its sanctuary. I myself tied the three—note the number, dear reader, my prescience once again sensing the catastrophe to come—three cables that secured the Globe d'Or to terra firma. Heartened that I had done everything possible to assure the safety of Rüdiger IV—and to this day I comfort myself that my considerate actions played no role in the subsequent tragedy—I returned to my chambers that I might prepare myself for the upcoming nuptials.

  While the gray day may have dampened the enthusiasm of some of the arriving guests, I myself have far too much regard for the establishment of wedlock ever to allow a few lowering clouds to dim my keenness for a wedding—certainly my many unions were every one of them a day of great celebration, though I cannot speak as positively about the months then ensuing.

  Given that the emperor himself would lead the service, I could don naught but my best, and quite a dashing figure I cut when at last I had luxury to examine myself in the full-length glass that accompanies me always. The slashed velvet doublet and hose of lilac and indigo contrasted most pleasingly with striped stockings of mustard and jade, while my cape's scarlet lining flashed delightfully whenever the polychrome brocade fell open. >The peacock plume in my toque—a well-deserved gift from the sultan of Ahmb—highlighted further the iridescence of the ensemble, and I must say I could scarce draw my eyes from the magnificence before me.

  Imagine, then, my surprise when I discovered Tomas still abed! And my stupefaction when he informed me that he had no wish to attend the wedding! When I probed most gently into the outcome of his nocturnal parley with Trudy, he retorted only that he was "done with love"! Perhaps their conversation had not proceeded as artfully as I had predicted. I implored him to arise from his cot and dress, for the wedding was not an hour hence and the emperor expected his most cherished performer (here taking the liberty of certain hyperbole, as certainly one other member of the cast was more valued than Tomas) to attend the blessed event. He could not allow his infatuation with the princess to cloud his judgment, and his future.

  Untouched by my pleas, he refused. Not even my offers of coins—of the show's finale—swayed him, and he expressed not a modicum of sympathy for my fate should he abandon his responsibilities at this most consequential moment.

  I had lingered as long as I dared. Devastated as I was by this turn of events, my long career had hardened me to such slings and arrows, and I accepted with worldly toleration the pain that would crush another man. Imploring him one last time to reconsider his impetuousness, I departed, as disappointed in his rash juvenility as in the fact he had not offered one word of praise on my attire. So it was that I hurried, alone, to the cathedral.

  ***

  Volumes have been penned on that pivotal ceremony, sovereigns and scholars and common men pondering its every nuance, the significance and consequences of the vows—the toast—the kiss ... It is therefore only fitting that I improve upon that wealth of speculation by providing the world an unbiased chronicle, for I was—I state modestly—a superlative if not perfect witness, observing unblinking every detail of that event, from commencement to tragic conclusion, with an informed and learned eye.

  Experienced as I am at the performance of matrimony, I delighted in the setting, for the Froglock cathedral is a magnificent edifice, its marbled chapels and gilded statuary incorporating the full spectrum of architectural styles and artistic décor. The duchess's servantry had toiled through the night to-gather every available Froglock blossom, which they to the best of their ability presented in vases and garlands about the altar and along the aisles. Banners emblazoned with the duchy's coat of arms hung from every column, and it was perhaps in response to this that the emperor hung his own seal on a curtain behind the altar. I confess that I studied this display with a certain pang, for—and I write these words in full acknowledgment of Rüdiger's ability, and his many years as showman and ruler—the effect was not as artistic as I would have achieved, the imperial indigo needlessly darkening the sanctuary (or "stage," if I may introduce so temporal a word into a place of worship) wherein the ceremony would take place.

  It is remarkable as well—and here I reiterate that I communicate as only a witness, and in no way seek to criticize the event—that a function of such import had so few participants. His Imperial Majesty officiated without assistance, while Duke Roger was presented only by his mother, and Princess Wisdom by her grandmother, bride and queen both with grim visages. Her Most Noble Grace, on the other hand, radiated satisfaction and performed her ceremonial duties with alacrity. Had I been closer, I would have prodded Princess Wisdom to smile occasionally, and smooth the wrinkles from her brow; sadly, Duke Roger had not such skill with words but could only in the manner of grooms through the ages look worriedly from bride to mother, clearly agitated about how henceforth to mediate between the two.

  The emperor spoke the ritual from memory, having performed it countless times, several for me, and while his words on this occasion may not have carried the same passion that they did at my nuptials, he held the attention of every observer. Roger, too, with firm confidence uttered his vows, his voice reaching the farthest corners of the colossal edifice. Wisdom, I am sorry to report, for I had heretofore held her showmanship in high regard, stumbled repeatedly, and once failed to speak altogether, so anxious did she
seem, so that Rüdiger was forced to repeat himself, though he handled this with finesse.

  The vows completed, the ceremony moved to a tradition unique to Farina, in which the groom's mother presents wine to the couple that they may toast each other, and her. The tradition (it is sometimes insinuated) demonstrates that hereafter the bride will be serving the every need of her husband and mother-in-law; surely such was not the case at this wedding, however smug Wilhelmina may have appeared, and however quickly it was that she trotted across the stage with her two goblets, thrusting the smaller into Wisdom's limp hand. The princess consented to wet her lips, but Wilhelmina lifted the goblet again and insisted that the girl as custom dictates swallow every drop. Only after Wisdom, struggling, achieved this did the duchess proffer the larger bejeweled vessel to her son and nod in satisfaction as he drained it.

  Rüdiger then escorted the couple—Wisdom stumbling slightly—onto a low dais directly before the imperial coat of arms, driving home with gesture as well as word the supremacy of empire over duchy. He spoke at length on the history of Lax and of Farina's tradition of subservience. The duchess absorbed this narrative with a visible scowl, Queen Benevolence with apprehension, while Wisdom, ever paler, wrung her hands, and Roger radiated naive delight. The finale of the emperor's speech is recorded here verbatim, as I transcribed it for use in a future production.

  "And so with a kiss will this ceremony be concluded," the emperor stated. "The kiss is the seal, rendering immutable the vows so recently exchanged between this princess and this duke"—here looking from Queen Benevolence, who after a moment nodded, to Duchess Wilhelmina, whose scowl transformed into a triumphant smile. "If there be anyone who challenges this union in the name of statecraft or love, speak now, or for ever after will these two souls and their realms be bound."

  The emperor paused to look across the crowd, and every man held his breath to listen. I heard a step and a rustle, and my heart beat fast at the drama of my young Tips so theatrically claiming the woman he loved...

  But no, it was only a banner rustling, and the step belonged to no one. My brilliant imagination had once again bested my reason. Onstage, Wisdom bit her lip, her eyes squeezed tight. I can only infer the great emotions surging within her lovely young bosom.

  Rüdiger continued: "Gentlemen and ladies, men and women, children among you, family members"—here gazing firmly at Wilhelmina—"remove your hats and withdraw your handkerchiefs that we may all of us mark this marriage." He nodded at Roger, who, beaming, stepped toward his bride. For a long moment the princess stared into his face. With a deep and expressive sigh, she leaned forward and touched her lips to his.

  At once the hush erupted into deafening cheers, as everyone present—including even Her Majesty and Her Most Noble Grace—tossed hat and handkerchief into the air. What a glorious moment and what a fantastic spectacle, that multitude of cloth and feathers (though none of the hats quite so glorious as mine) fluttering through the air like a heavenly flock of birds. How we applauded! How we saluted! For who does not enjoy a wedding, even one with a bride as reluctant as this?

  It was only after some minutes that the great room grew quiet, and I began to ponder the length of that matrimonial embrace, the duke clutching his bride so tightly. And then—oh, how my heart breaks to write this!—Roger turned, Wisdom in his arms, and howled in sorrow, his anguish silencing the last revelers.

  "She is dead!" he cried. He held her out to the assembly, and as one we gasped to observe her head loll back and one shapely arm swing dully. "She kissed me and she died! Help me! Help me, someone! Help me to restore Wisdom's kiss!">

  The Imperial Encyclopedia of Lax

  8TH EDITION

  Printed in the Capital City of Rigorus

  by Hazelnut & Filbert, Publishers to the Crown

  WILHELMINA

  THE ILL-TEMPERED

  (CONTINUED)

  As per Wilhelmina's demands, Rüdiger the following day married the Duke of Farina to Wisdom of Montagne. Wisdom's collapse at the exact moment of the couple's nuptial kiss remains one of the great unsolved mysteries in the history of Lax. Alchemic investigation of the goblet and the wine with which the princess had enacted the traditional Farina wedding toast revealed no trace of poison, nor could the empire's physicians and autopsists explain her expiration. Yet all evidence pointed to Duchess Wilhelmina, who had filled the goblet, presented it to the bride, and forced her to empty the glass. Despite her most vehement protestations of innocence, the duchess was tainted forevermore by the scandal, and it is believed the term "the willies" derives from a vulgar threat to "give someone the Wilhelmina treatment"—that is, to poison them. However disgraced she may have been to her countrymen and peers, however, Wilhelmina was never tried for the crime; indeed, she succeeded in her objective of binding the Duchy of Farina in perpetuity to the throne of Montagne. Nor, it emerged, was this the full extent of her far-reaching and devious stratagem...

  A Life Unforeseen

  THE STORY OF FORTITUDE OF BACIO, COMMONLY KNOWN AS TRUDY, AS TOLD TO HER DAUGHTER

  Privately Printed and Circulated

  TRUDY WAS SO TIRED that she could barely remain upright. A night without sleep and a full day of travel had left her with a brain of sand, and in her exhaustion and strain she saw danger behind every sapling and low-hanging cloud. So it was that she crept to the kitchen entrance of a roadside tavern and begged a bowl of soup before the evening rush. With food in her belly, she'd have strength enough to push on to the next lodging place, for she had three more days of walking to reach the border of Bacio.

  Wearily she sat to eat, laying beside her the sack holding her few clothes, the earrings, and Tips's letters—all her possessions in the world. Staff soup it was, and well she knew such amalgams of leftovers and yesterday's meat, in this case gamy if not yet turned, though she was too spent to care. She ate quickly, struggling not to dwell on Tips and the aching hole he had left in her heart. How would she bear Bacio? His letters, the promise of his return, of their union, had made her life—if one could call so colorless an existence a life—worth living. Without him, she had nothing.

  Hoofbeats pounded toward her, and suddenly horses and men crowded the graveled yard. Trudy gasped: these were the duke's men-at-arms, the very soldiers who had tried to help her find Tips! Oh, she could not bear the embarrassment of being recognized! She pulled tighter the kerchief around her head and drew her rough cape close.

  The soldiers, however, did not notice the girl cowering in the shadows, but instead tramped through the main entrance calling for victuals. A babble of voices rose within as guests questioned the new arrivals. Had they any news of the duke's wedding?

  The wedding had taken place, confirmed one man. But his voice was heavy, and somberly he reported that the princess had collapsed at the service, and that certain busybodies with no loyalty to their state whispered of poison.

  Wisdom poisoned? Trudy could not believe it! Certainly she did not care for the princess (to put it mildly), but she would never wish her ill, or ... or dead. This was shocking news. Shocking and awful.

  The man continued speaking, silencing the jabber. He and his men had raced from Froglock on a crucial mission. Had anyone seen a red-haired lady-in-waiting? This ... female had departed Froglock before dawn, and Her Most Noble Grace feared the lady carried information she should not. For the safety of the duchy—of the empire—she must be found, and returned to the capital to be tried and punished!

  Listening to this, Trudy quaked in fright. Against her better judgement, her legs trembling, she eased herself up until she could see inside the tavern. There, past the harried kitchen staff, she managed to catch sight, just for a moment, of the speaker, who so filled Trudy with horror that it was all she could do not to shriek.

  She must run—fly!—escape this place! If they dared assassinate a princess, what might they do to a simple orphaned...

  No, she could not panic! Not with her life hanging in the balance. Clawing her kerchief ever ti
ghter about her face, she slid down the wall, praying with every fiber of her being that the movement not be spotted.

  Gingerly she set the empty soup bowl on the doorstep, and gingerly she lifted her sack. Oh, how she wanted to sprint away! But such haste would draw the attention of every soldier within the tavern. Her only hope lay in anonymity, in making herself so nondescript that these murderous men could not possibly pay her notice.

  And so Trudy, though her heart screamed to bolt straightaway, instead dawdled across the courtyard and out to the road.

  Up the muddy way she trekked, keeping to the shadows as much as she could, forcing herself not to look back. She could imagine their probing eyes studying her, wondering who that lass might be, why she traveled alone, and what was under that kerchief ... Stop! she scolded herself. If the soldiers didn't dispatch her, her own frenzied terrors would.

  She scrutinized the steep hill before her. If she could just make it to the crest, that would be success enough—she could see it. Then she could take refuge in the woods without raising alarm by creeping off the road. Once over this hill, she knew, she would be safe...

  Walking as quickly as she dared, panting at the effort, Trudy began to climb. The breeze intensified—and her kerchief blew off! Trudy lunged, but already the accursed wind had snatched it away, and snatched her hair as well, sending her long locks—brilliantly red, even in the cloudy gloom!—fluttering in all directions.

  Trudy struggled to restrain her hair. Now released, however, every strand whipped about maddeningly. How could they not notice her with hair flying like a crazed flag! Hot tears of frustration stung her eyes—she was at wits' end—and then she heard a distant shout. She had been spotted!