There they found the glen: a flat little clearing, lush with wildflowers no higher than Tips's boots. It was so different, so magical, that it scared Trudy until Tips asked her to see if they were in danger. But they were not, because when Trudy looked about the glade she saw only happiness in her future. So they settled down with their picnic, and Trudy spread her apron for a tabletop, and Tips with his flint and little ax made a fire though the day was too warm to merit it, and they ate and laughed and told each other stories they both knew by heart. With their bellies full, they inspected every corner of the glen and found the spring, so small it was more of a weep, really, though the icy water tasted fresh as creation.
"We could live here!" Trudy exclaimed, and with that they went to work on a homestead. Tips chopped four little trees into timber for a lean-to against a south-facing boulder, while Trudy gathered pine needles for bedding and planned how to collect seeds and berries for winter, and how to store them.
It was, without a doubt, the happiest afternoon of young Trudy's life.
But, inevitably, the sun slipped toward the western peaks, taking with it the heat of the day, until both children were chilled, and Tips had to rub Trudy's hands between his own to warm them. Their little house looked cold and dark and very damp, and they remembered their own beds, and the people who would—if only for the loss of labor—notice they were gone.
"Let's go back," Tips said, and Trudy nodded, and they began to descend. But they did not know this route, for they had never traveled it before, and the path looked increasingly foreboding.
Trudy would not cry, but she had to bite her lip against the tears, and Tips squeezed her hand and told her not to worry, though they both knew he was worried too.
At last they came to a place where the mountain split in two directions, and the path such as it was split as well, and the children knew they would have to choose and that the wrong route might take them all the way to Pneu or Paindecampagne or off the edge of a terrible cliff that they would not even see until much too late, because the sun was setting now and it would be dark soon, without a moon.
Trudy began to sob.
Tips put his arms around her and told her not to fret, that everything would be fine in the end, though he wasn't exactly sure how—"Trudy! You can see home!"
"No, I can't!" Trudy wailed. "If I saw Bacio, we could walk right up!"
"No!" He shook her excitedly. "Look! Look down that path! What do you see?"
Trudy swallowed, and obediently looked, even though she couldn't see anything ... except suffering. Sorrow and pain radiated up that path toward her. Reflexively she recoiled.
"Yes!" exclaimed Tips. "Now look down the other!"
No sorrow there, not that Trudy could see; only warmth, and the promise of sleep. She grinned at Tips, who was so clever to figure this out! "That way," she said simply.
Down they went, and at every branch, every possibility, Trudy saw the correct path in the repose awaiting her at the end. They stumbled into Bacio to find Eds with a torch calling their names, visibly relieved to see Trudy, and not just for her toil, either.
Tips went dashing off home—there was pain in his future yet, Trudy could see, though Tips didn't mind his beatings half so much as Trudy minded for him, and he spent every thrashing loudly protesting his innocence whether or not it was true.
She'd climbed into bed that night already planning their return to the glade, and the cottage that Tips would build her there someday. But then came work, and winter, and then the little swordsman came and took Tips away, leaving Trudy with no one.
When Trudy woke up in Phraugheloch Palace, it took her many minutes to remember where she was, and who she was, and that Tips was close—so close!—and yet even so, she could not find him.
She began to weep, and she did not sleep again that night.
A Missive from Tips
THE BOOTED MAESTRO
Dear Trudy,
Ive just returned from work guard duty and found your letter saying youre coming to Froglock—please I beseech you DO NOT COME—I cant explain but I would be in great danger if you came here to this city. I will write more when I have time + will send you something very pretty, I promise. PLEASE—STAY IN BACIO—I BEG YOU—
—Tips
The Supremely Private Diary of Wisdom Dizzy of Montagne
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.
Friday—dawn—
Join me & I shall crown you queen of all the heavens
All my existence has been a dream—a daze! Finally the fog has lifted—I see clearly at last!
I have not slept this night—my mind a whirl of impressions—confusion—wavering! But now I know. I would rather endure prison—death!—than the life I have been promised. Fashion—gossip—taxes—they interest me not in the least! I want none of it!
I saw him—our eyes met!—& Cupid's arrow pierced me through! I am in love. There are no words for this passion—I am on fire!
I shall crown you queen of all the heavens
I should flee—Roger appeals no more to me—to see him is to expire. Whither the emperor? In his trail I must follow.
Queen of all the heavens
Queen of all the heavens
Never have words moved me so! His whisper—his breath in my ear—I remember & I melt anew...
From the Desk of the Queen Mother of Montagne, & Her Cat
My Dearest Temperance, Queen of Montagne,
Granddaughter, would that you were here this morn to comfort the two puddles of misery occupying our suite. You could work your magic (by which of course I mean exercise your compassion and tact) with sweet Trudy and offer her solace that I cannot—perhaps by exchanging tales of both your suitors! I managed to cheer her somewhat by promising to assist in locating a village boy now working in the emperor's court. I do wonder if I am somehow placing that poor orphaned child in the path of terrible, even unspeakable, harm. The child regards Dizzy with unmitigated dread, and given her past pre-monitions, I cannot but believe she has legitimate grounds for trepidation. Unfortunately, we must have Lady Fortitude serve attendance at tonight's Circus Primus; convention demands nothing less of a lady-in-waiting at her lady's last performance. Whatever trauma it is that Trudy fears, it will surely not impair Dizzy; we both know your sister's long history of spreading harm, however inadvertently or well-intentioned, yet always emerging unscathed.
Your sister ... While Trudy altered another of Lady Modesty's dresses, Dizzy spent the morning staring out the window, clutching that silly golden rose. When a footman arrived to request her presence at an audience with Duke Roger, she was ill-mannered enough to blurt out "Who?"—as if she had never heard of her fiancé! Hastily I interjected an explanation, claiming—not inaccurately—that the princess was yet drained from last night. But if word of this insult should reach His Grace—or Her Grace!—I fear the repercussions. One moment—
An imperial page has just arrived with a missive requesting a private audience with the emperor. Dizzy leapt up, euphoric—until the page clarified that His Imperial Majesty wanted to see me. For a moment I feared Dizzy would burst into tears—she is clearly taken with Rüdiger, to an extent I would never have imagined possible. I must extricate her from this performance!
I will write later demanding information on your beau, and your life—but now, off to the emperor!
Your determined grandmother,
Ben
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 WOULD NOT be the first to assert that the arrival of Wisdom in Froglock provoked a most unwise reaction within the court, the emperor himself not excluded. My long-standing companionship with the great man permitted me an intimacy that few ever knew, and thus could I discern that the young woman's impromptu performance captivated him utterly. That a member of the royal class, born to buttress every tenet of society, should display such natural ability—occupying the ring as though trained from infancy for performance!—inspired profound reflection on both our parts. Not since my chance encounter in Bacio six years previous had I witnessed such inherent finesse, and my tumult of emotions included no small volume of regret that such a gifted soul was too highborn for the emperor's troupe.
Curiously enough, I faced another crisis in Tomas, who was suddenly overcome with a paralyzing and unprecedented malaise. While he strove to keep it locked within his strong young chest, I deduced that relations with his childhood friend in Bacio were not as amicable as they once had been. For years the boy had carried a torch for this innkeeper's wench, a flame I had not seen fit to extinguish, as it offered him comfort in lonely hours, and moreover their relationship of letters provided Tomas a modicum of security against unwanted suitors; on countless occasions I would hear him inform an amatory and determined lady or lass that, sadly, his heart had been promised to another. Yet I was beginning to find this pretense tiresome, for all childish passions dim with time, and I had encouraged him to respond more positively to such advances, particularly from women of high birth or deep pockets. He, however, refused.
His lack of interest in the fairer sex was in fact a subject I had resolved to broach afresh that very morn, but ere I could present this concern I was called to the emperor, and found His Majesty with the queen mother of Montagne, the two of them deep in a discussion, curiously enough, on customs duties. Concluding their conversation as I arrived, the emperor requested that I give Her Majesty a tour of Circus Primus if I was not otherwise occupied. As his wish is but my command, I could not conceive of refusing.
The regal old woman occupied my attention for some time, and while I did indeed have multitudinous other responsibilities, I must confess I found her delightful, her flattering queries providing me copious opportunities to display my mastery of dueling, an expertise I now brought to Circus Primus. She expressed an extraordinary interest in the Globe d'Or and my considerable efforts to put to use the Sultan's Throne. (Here I pause in my transcriptions to curse yet again that damnable sultan, who in all his alleged generosity failed to include instructions with his gift; though I play the fool brilliantly, I prefer to do so of my own volition, and that bewildering collection of twigs and cables, the entirety as insubstantial as a kite, baffled even my substantial genius.) Displaying the seamless tact of the true patrician, she murmured sympathy for the ineptitude with which I was surrounded, and politely focused her attention elsewhere during this latest fruitless battle with that impossible device. Departing at last, she thanked me most graciously for my many anecdotes, and with haste did I finalize the night's performance, my acumen all the more visible given the brief time frame Her Majesty's visitation had imposed upon my genius.
From the Desk of the Queen Mother of Montagne, & Her Cat
My Dearest Temperance, Queen of Montagne,
Granddaughter, despondency fills me so, I scarce have strength to pen these words. Oh, what I would give for a letter from you at this moment, some cheer to gladden my heart! The mail riders, however, continue to arrive at the city gates empty-handed, or so it is reported to me by Phraugheloch's staff. I know you to be a most diligent correspondent, and moreover—as I reassure my suspicious soul—I cannot imagine who besides myself would have interest in your news, were anyone in Froglock so diabolical as to steal mail. Thus stranded, I am left instead to cheer myself, and at this task, too, I fail utterly.
His Imperial Majesty, as you may recall, having called me to his quarters, once I arrived did not delay a moment in querying me about ... taxation! Truly! Were the situation any less dire, his interest in finance would be most endearing. Apparently he considers Montagne a model of equitableness, and had prepared a great sheaf of questions, pausing in his interrogation only long enough to assure me that he "labors unfailingly for circus and empire."
Note, dear Teddy: circus and empire, not Princess Wisdom or Montagne! The consequences of your sister's slatternly exposure, particularly in regard to Farina—which she will ultimately be expected to rule!—concern him not in the least. Never once, no matter how I strove to turn the conversation, did I have opportunity to demand Dizzy be excused from performing. Instead, satisfied that he had extracted all possible information, he dismissed me without adieu. Gaping rather like a fish, I found myself returned to the tent's threshold with instructions to tour Circus Primus—a rare boon, or so I was informed by the guide inflicted upon me. Oh, was I distraught at my failure! And for the emperor to send me off like a schoolchild to busy myself admiring his dratted ensemble ... He could not have flaunted any more clearly—and yet in so indifferent a manner—his authority over Dizzy and me and all of Montagne!
So it was that I most indignantly found myself conducted through the circus bowels by a short little man who has the highest opinion of himself of any individual I have ever encountered, the sole possible exception being Escoffier. This Felis el Gato—or, as he prefers, "the Booted Maestro"—possesses a voluminous knowledge of both Circus Primus and combat. He pontificated at length on an upcoming battle scene he was plotting while I stood, dozing upright like a cow in the shadows of the Globe d'Or. A makeshift brazier, bolted to the Globe d'Or's basket to heat the balloon, occasionally drifted ash upon us, and I would have far preferred scrubbing soot from the Globe's golden skin to feigning interest in this monologue. So desperate was I for diversion that I entertained even wicked thoughts of magic—how might my captor react were I, say, to wield Elemental Fire to singe off his waxed and well-perfumed goatee? (Rest assured, though, that I kept my fingers to myself, however much my brain craved otherwise!)
The Booted Maestro at last halted his oration to oversee several laborers attempting to attach a so-called Sultan's Throne to the Globe d'Or's basket, though why the stout old sultan would elect to sit midair, dangling like the last bite on a kebab, I can't imagine. I employed this time to converse with the acrobat who sailed your sister about the stage last night, intending to scold him for enabling Dizzy's extravagant display; I am glad I held my tongue for he proved to be remarkably charming. In fact he was quite eager to share the secrets of his magical flight, showing me the Globe d'Or's block and tackle that effortlessly lowers and lifts him, and describing how he calculates the length of wire needed for each jump. He was about to reveal the harness beneath his clothes when he caught my baffled look. "You seemed so worried about your granddaughter," he explained, "that I wanted to assure you she is safe." Oh, irony! I had not heart to explain it is her reputation and not her bones for which I fear! He even presented me with an extra scrap from the skin of the Globe d'Or, assuring me that the patch was otherwise useless, as no one could get a needle through it—one small reassurance that perhaps the Globe itself is immune to punctures. Let us hope so, at least until Wisdom survives her display this evening.
Yes, Granddaughter, her performance will happen. I cannot halt it. Hoping to bend his ear, I even returned to Rudiger's quarters after my tour, but the emperor was otherwise occupied with the duke and duchess. My grief doubled when I returned to our suite to find your sister stitching with unprecedented enthusiasm her white gown for the upcoming performance. The blush that came to her cheeks when the page arrived to escort her to "practice" made my heart sink all the further.
Needless to say, I refrain from discussing with her the wonderful news of your romance, for infatuation smot
hers empathy, and your sister bears too little of that virtue as it is. But trust me, Teddy: you are in my thoughts. While my inked words require five days to reach you, I hope that their spirit crosses forthwith the plains of Farina and the mountains of Sottocenere to touch your heart. I await your correspondence with bated breath and beating heart, and can only hope that the delay means the letters, once arrived, will be even more elating.
Your useless grandmother,
Ben
The Imperial Encyclopedia of Lax
8TH EDITION
Printed in the Capital City of Rigorus
by Hazelnut & Filbert, Publishers to the Crown
ELEMENTAL SPELLS
Chemistry, meteorology, mineralogy, hydraulics: these and myriad other natural and applied sciences grew from mankind's understandable curiosity about the four natural elements. This same impulse, unfortunately, has also led to distasteful shortcuts and outright chicanery. Into this latter class fall the Elemental Spells. First cataloged by itinerant storytellers during the reign of Gustav I, this alleged magic purportedly gives its wielder the ability to create elements supernaturally via the spells of Elemental Fire, Elemental Water, Elemental Earth, and Elemental Air. The Kingdom of Montagne, sullied for many generations by association with witchcraft, was the initial locus of this myth, though similar tales emerged in other corners of the empire; raconteurs in the Sultanate of Ahmb describe a flaming-haired demoness who draws water from the sky, an understandable illusion for that arid country. In the last century two separate and respected imperial committees devoted to the eradication of fantastical thought proved the impossibility of the Elemental Spells, which subsequently faded from popular consciousness and today serve as little more than an amusing anecdote, when they are remembered at all.