Isle of Wysteria: Make Like a Tree and Leaf

by Aaron Yeager

  For her part, Erin laughed out loud and helped the guests near her relax by commenting that the Hilianos family was famous for their love of spirited drinks. Attempts such as this were what she lived for. The ultimate relief to boredom, providing far superior diversion to the playthings she normally spoke to in events like these. She had no real fear of any attempt succeeding, because The Eye had a secret known only to those who have at some point possessed it. It endows to its wearer the ability to know the desires of those nearby. So long as she wore The Eye, Erin could sense a potential thief a mile away. She could pick them out of a crowded room as if they were holding large squawking birds above their heads, and as a matter of fact, she sensed two more potential thieves that would hopefully keep her entertained for the rest of the night.

  * * *

  Celecard was famous for its open-air balcony restaurants, and Athel and Ryin were sitting in one of the nicer ones. Light posts were ringed around the edges, each hooked at the top with a beautiful crystal nest for the Beaconi, photo-luminescent insects that gave off the golden light that Stretis was famous for. Interspaced among the lavish hardwood tables were metal colanders that were stoked with small fires to stave off the night chill.

  This restaurant had been chosen not because it was so expensive, but because it happened to be located on the only tower in the city that held a good view of the cultural center where Duchess Erin was enjoying her mother-in-law’s birthday party. Using his spyglass, Ryin peered over the side of the railing and the flowers that had been planted in it, toward the open glass ceiling of the cultural center.

  “Man, when they make a fancy party they don’t kid around,” Ryin commented as he looked on intently. “They’ve got Stormcallers suspending rivers of glittery stuff in the air, swirling around the ceiling, and the banquet table is so big I think I could land our ship on top of it.”

  “Splendid,” Athel grumbled as she picked at the tines on her salad fork, causing it to ring pleasantly. “Have Alder and Margaret entered the banquet hall yet?”

  “Not that I can see,” Ryin said, “but it’s a bit early for that. They’re probably still in line.”

  Their waiter approached, his hair and mustache waxed to points so sharp Athel wondered if he could pierce bread with them.

  “May I offer the lady some fresh-ground pepper on her salad?” he asked smartly with his squinty eyes as he held up a mahogany grinder.

  “No thank you,” Athel said without looking up, flicking a piece of lettuce from one side of her plate to the other with her finger.

  “I will go ask the chef how much longer he will need to prepare your Deis-Nuberg,” he said curtly as he walked away.

  “Wow, Dice-Numberg,” Ryin commented, eyes alight “That sounds really tasty.”

  “It’s not,” Athel corrected. “It’s bison intestines stuffed with forest snails.”

  Ryin looked at her in disbelief, as if he expected her to begin laughing and admit it was a joke.

  “I’m not kidding,” Athel assured, flicking another piece of lettuce, this time sending it skidding off her plate and onto the edge of the table.

  “But I thought expensive food would taste really good,” Ryin said, deflated.

  “No, as food gets more expensive it just gets nastier,” Athel complained. “Mercifully, the portions get smaller as well.”

  Ryin slid shut his spyglass and regarded Athel strangely. “You know,” he began, “I thought you’d be a lot more into this stuff. You are a princess, after all.”

  “And what’s so great about being a princess?” Athel asked irritably.

  “Everything,” Ryin insisted. “You have access to the best teachers, the best doctors, the best houses.”

  “You mean money,” Athel corrected, “and having money just means you spend your whole life making sure you don’t lose it.”

  “You’re so ungrateful,” Ryin said disapprovingly, “like a spoiled child. You don’t understand how hard it is to be poor. Not having money means you can’t ever do what you want. It’s like a cage.”

  Athel laughed. “You think those with money get to do what they want? A princess is in just as much of a cage as anyone else. Her cage is just made of nicer stuff.”

  “At least you never have to go hungry,” Ryin added.

  “Wait until after you’ve had the Deis-Nuberg before you say that.”

  Their sharp-haired waiter returned carrying two beautifully embossed silver trays with equally impressive silver coverings. In a boldly theatrical move, he set down the plates before them simultaneously, and with each hand removed the silver coverings, allowing them to gently tap the edge of their wine glasses and leaving a steady tone as the crystal vibrated.

  Ryin’s countenance fell as he looked at the beautifully arranged plate before him. It was truly a work of art. Bits of green spices and red berries were judiciously placed around the steaming snake of meat, which wiggled and groaned as its contents moved within its greasy structure.

  “You mean the snails are still alive?” Ryin exclaimed, his face turning pale.

  * * *

  Alder was uncomfortable, and that was unusual for him, given the surroundings. He actually enjoyed formal gatherings quite a bit; the polite conversation, the attention to detail, the lavish surroundings. It all seemed effortless and natural to him, because it fit in perfectly with his meticulous nature. What he was not accustomed to was being a guest rather than a servant. Every time a patron finished off a glass of wine nearby, he had to fight the urge to walk over and exchange it, despite the fact that he did not have anything resembling a replacement to give them. A lifetime of training told him to go straighten the tapestries on the east wall, which were shamefully off by at least three degrees, and it took nearly all his concentration to keep himself from picking up a dropped fork on the ground nearby as they waited in line to greet their hosts.

  Still, he did his best to keep his discomfort off his face. Margaret, on the other hand, clung to his arm like a frightened kitten, and her shaking made the tassels on her gown shudder back and forth.

  “I want to thank you for escorting me to the event, Miss Gerstun,” Alder said warmly, trying to comfort her. “I doubt we would have been admitted otherwise. I know it must be uncomfortable for you to return here after so many years.”

  “Yes,” Margaret said, looking this way and that. “I feel terrified that I might bump into someone I used to know.”

  “Yes,” Alder said, wishing to himself that Athel was not so opposed to formal events. He would have loved to prepare something this extravagant for her. “I suppose it would be difficult to explain your absence and sudden reappearance.”

  I wish Athel was here, Alder thought to himself.

  “No, my family are merchants so it’s expected for us to only attend these kinds of things occasionally,” Margaret clarified, adjusting her glasses. “I just wouldn’t know how to explain why I’m hanging on your arm.”

  Her comment made Alder pause, and he chose his words carefully. “Excuse me, Miss Margaret, but am I to understand that you are ashamed to be seen with me?”

  “A little bit, yes,” she confessed.

  Alder sighed. Never mind, it feels exactly like it does when Athel is here.

  Meeting the Queen Mother went exactly as planned. Alder knelt formally and asked for her permission to remain at the event in the Stretian tongue, which was the custom for foreign guests. Queen Karie graciously allowed him to stay, and complimented him on his skill with their language. He thanked her as quickly as possible, since the line had to move along regardless of whether or not one was finished unless the Queen herself raised her hand to pause it. As they progressed, Alder tried not to look at the Duchess as she stood in her place in the line, but he could not help it. He felt wholly unqualified for what he was about to do, and despite reassurances from everyone including Athel herself, he felt the actions he was about to undertake were disloyal to his engagement to her.

  Alder stepped right, nearly
tripping on the hem of the lady next to him, and bowed formally before the Duchess.

  “I had been told that the Duchess was...um, I mean, I can’t tell you what an honor it is to finally meet you, my Duchess,” Alder said awkwardly, attempting to feign Evere’s casual disdain but instead looking like a twitching squirrel.

  “Is it?” The Duchess asked with a wry smile on her face. “And here I thought you were more interested in stealing my necklace.”

  Alder’s eyes grew wide and the color drained out of his face, causing the Duchess to grin from ear to ear.

  “Uh...I, um, would never do such a thing, my Lady,” Alder faltered in panic.

  At the head of the line Queen Karie raised her hand, and the guests ceased moving forward.

  “’Uh...I, um,’” Erin repeated, copying his squeaky tone. “Surely you can be more convincing than that.”

  Alder hung his head in defeat. He felt completely ridiculous and a little resentful being placed in this situation. Despite gentle promptings from Margaret as she squeezed his arm, he decided to abandon the entire charade.

  “Yes, I was sent to take the necklace, and I am very sorry,” he apologized.

  “Oh, such an honest thief,” she teased. “That’s quite refreshing, actually.”

  “I would only ask that you not throw out my escort as well. She was pressured into bringing me to attend, and would rather not be seen with me any longer than is necessary.”

  “Now, why would we throw you out?” Erin asked, eyes sparkling. “If I threw out everyone in here that wanted to steal my necklace someday, I’d have no guests left at all.”

  “I suppose that makes sense,” Alder agreed.

  “Oh, you’re so sweet,” Erin commented, pinching his cheek as if he were a child. “Please tell me, what kind of person would send someone as honest as you to try and steal The Eye?

  “A woman of royal birth,” Alder answered honestly, “expertly trained in all the social graces.”

  * * *

  Athel concentrated as one of her seasoned snails slid slowly across the edge of her plate, making a break for freedom. She flicked her fork and sent it sailing across the table and through the goal zone that Ryin had made with a knife and two water glasses. The snail skipped off the edge of the table and slid along the floor until finally disappearing into the bushes along the railing.

  “Goal!” Athel screamed, raising her hands up. She plucked a grape from a bowl of fruit and set it down next to three others near her empty wine glass.

  “That’s four to one, Colenat,” Athel boasted. “You’re gonna’ lose if you don’t get your head in the game.”

  “It’s not my fault,” Ryin defended, taking a bite of bread stick. “My snails keep breaking and landing in the centerpiece.”

  “That’s because you’re aiming for their shells. You want the fork to hit them low and scoop them up like a catapult.”

  Their game was interrupted by a curt cough and they looked up only to realize that their waiter was standing over them, looking aghast with disgust.

  “May I get the lady yet another glass of wine?” he asked snootily.

  “An excellent suggestion, I’ve not had nearly enough wine to countenance your tone,” Athel ordered, meeting his cold glare with one of her own. The waiter turned away sharply and walked off. Athel and Ryin began giggling as soon as he was out of earshot and prepared for the next volley.

  “You were right,” Ryin praised as he took a bread stick from the basket and took a bite. “These bread sticks are really good.”

  “Trust me,” Athel reassured, “always order the bread sticks and the fruit bowl. They’re the safest things on the menu.

  “I like the grapes particularly,” Ryin said, popping one into his mouth.

  “These are okay, but grapes are best when peeled,” Athel said, pushing an escaping snail back onto the center of her plate.

  “You can peel them?” Ryin asked, opening his spyglass and looking down at the banquet hall.

  “Yes, apparently Alder is very good at it.”

  “Hey, Athel,” Ryin asked as he looked through the spyglass, “you’re a woman, right?”

  “What gave it away, Ryin?”

  “No, seriously. When you’ve slept with women from as many different places as I have, you start to forget which signals belong to which island. What does it mean here when a man is surrounded by every woman in the room?”

  “What?” Athel asked, snatching the spyglass away from him to look through it herself.

  * * *

  Alder couldn’t help but feel flattered. He was in a sea of proper ladies, both young and old, each of them hanging on his every word as he told his story.

  “And then,” Alder continued, “can you guess what she did after that?” Heads shook innocently as they awaited his disclosure with baited breath.

  “She made me dance in that woman’s Navy uniform for three hours.”

  The flock of women collectively gasped, and some of them fanned themselves as they exchanged stern glances with each other. A few women breathed out words of sympathy, and a couple offered the use of their personal masseuses to help him recover. Alder answered each one of them politely, assuring them that there were no physical or emotional scars that needed to be attended to.

  “Well, I didn’t think it was funny at the time, but I appreciate your commiseration,” Alder said, smiling despite himself. Far away, beyond the sea of gowns and perfume that surrounded him, he felt the cold stares of the men in the room as they postured themselves aggressively.

  “Are all of the women on Wysteria like that?” Margaret asked in confusion as she hung on his arm cozily.

  “Oh, heavens no,” Alder reassured. “In fact, my former matron was...”

  “Well, I think you are looking at all of this in the entirely wrong way,” Duchess Erin said as she slid a gloved hand though his free elbow. “With all of that practice, I’m sure that you have improved your dancing skills.”

  “Uh, I suppose so,” Alder agreed suspiciously.

  “Then it is settled,” Erin said with a sultry tone. “I insist that you demonstrate your skills on the dance floor with me this instant.”

  Many of the women around them groaned, upset that they had not thought of it themselves. Several of them called out, requesting a spot on his dance card, and from somewhere near the edge of the crowd a dance card was tossed into the air with the hope that it would land in his hands.

  Alder nodded respectfully to the Duchess in acceptance, but as he began to walk away, he was jerked backward and held in place. Turning his head, he saw that Margaret refused to let go of his arm.

  “I’m sorry but as his escort, his dance card and partners are at my discretion,” she said firmly.

  “How right you are,” Erin said with a smile on her face, tugging Alder toward her. “The Ländler is my favorite dance of the evening. Surely you can lend me a partner for one dance.”

  “I’m sorry, but this first dance is already spoken for,” Margaret insisted, pulling Alder back. “I’m sure there are many more eligible men in the room.”

  “But the dance is about to start,” Erin stressed, tugging on Alder. “There wouldn’t be time to find a new partner.”

  “He doesn’t know The Ländler,” Margaret persisted, yanking Alder nearly off his feet.

  “I will teach him as we dance,” Erin insisted, yanking Alder so hard that he opened his mouth in pain.

  “Please, ladies,” Alder pleaded. “You are all of polite society, and I am certain you can find a way to resolve this to the pleasing of all if you merely cooperate for a moment.”

  The women around them began grumbling at this tug-of-war. A few placed gloved hands on Erin’s and Margaret’s shoulders, threatening to restrain them if the fight continued, and one woman grabbed onto Alder’s coattails, attempting to pull him backward for herself.

  For a brief moment, Margaret and Erin smiled politely at one another. Then, as if a starting whistle had been blo
wn, they each grabbed Alder with both hands and pulled with all their strength, causing the poor young man to yelp in pain. The other women threw themselves on the scene, and all decorum was lost. The scene became a multicolored wiggling pile of kicking feet, flinging hair, and slapping hands.

  At that point the music stopped. That is not to say that all those present ceased what they were doing and looked on in disbelief, it means that the band actually stopped playing their music. With no more white noise to dull the sounds of feminine struggle and fighting, the sharp screams of the women reverberating off the walls and ceiling caused the crystals of the chandeliers to sing sharply.

  Their patience expended, the men in the room took action, setting upon the mass of fighting ladies. Such was the mass of bodies that all they could do at first was pick away at the edges of the scrum, tearing away one or two kicking females at a time, passing them on to other men who restrained them as well as decorum would allow, often taking them to another room altogether and locking the doors to prevent the shrieking ladies from breaking free and returning to the fight.

  The process was neither quick nor simple. Just as the mass of fighting females seemed to be diminishing, servants sadly reported that all the adjacent rooms were full, and attempts at placing two or three women to a room had resulted in smaller fights breaking out in the individual rooms.

  It was then that Duke Leitai organized some of the men to tear the heart out of the fight as a last resort before being forced to call in the local police forces for additional support, a dreadful prospect to men of their class.

  Retrieving the rope edging from a tapestry that had been torn down early in the brawl, the Duke tied it around his waist and waded into the mass of fighting women in the center of the room. As he pressed deeper into the fray, the men anchoring him lost sight of him, and when he had disappeared for some minutes, some began to fear that he had been lost to the violence. His newly organized rescue team began wondering if they would need to organize a second rescue team to rescue the first.