Wisdom's Kiss (10 page)

THE BOOTED MAESTRO

Dear Trudy,

We are
home
in Farina—in the city of Froglock! I almost cried when I saw puddles again, I was so happy—the desert is
much too awful
not for me! Its nice to know youre only one days very long horse ride away—
You know that
I hope you know I would visit if I could, but its just too dangerous. Besides I have no time, we are working day + night without rest.

Yesterday we were crossing the Daft Bridge into Froglock—we have a very long
proccession parede
parade as the circus grows with every place we visit!—+ the river was so high + fearsome because of the flooding, + one of the camel mares (we have camels too now, another gift from the sultan) panicked + started pounding down the bridge knocking people left + right—camels are very tall + very fast so you can imagine how frightful it was,
partickul
particularly with everyone screaming. Luckily I was
walking
marching some ways ahead + could see her coming, + before I really had time to think I was standing on the bridge railing so I could jump on her, + as I was sailing thru the air I was thinking how much better this experience would be if you were
with me
here to see me safe! But I did manage to land on
her more or less, + then climbed up her back which must be like climbing a sea serpent she was thrashing so much, + finally got her eyes covered—not easy at that speed!—+ luckily she calmed down. Poor Felis didnt know whether to scold me for
endangering my talents
or praise me for
saving so many lives
—so he
comprimized
made do by simply patting me on the back +I was so covered in bruises I yelped! You wouldve laughed so hard if youd heard me.

Do you remember how you used to watch for Hans when we played by the mill? + how you cried when you first
set eyes on
saw Felis, but you said I had to go with him anyway? I still think about that, + how
signifikant
important that day was.

I will see you again someday I am sure,
I just dont know when
it might be years Im afraid before I make it back to Bacio.
I miss you I dont miss Bacio
I do not care for any of the ladies I meet as much as I care for you + how nice you have always been to me—

—Tips

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 UNPACKED as hastily as she could manage, desperate to go find Tips. To have this opportunity emerge—so fortuitously!—within minutes of her arrival in Froglock ... She might never have such a possibility again.

Hasty, however, by no means meant slapdash, particularly given the complexity of the luggage, their accommodations, and the palace staff. As the maitre du palais—a butler, Trudy gathered, not that she had any experience with such a profession—led her and Escoffier through the corridors in a parade of servants toting Montagne luggage, he explained the history and importance of the suite in which they were being installed, speaking to her as a peer, which—she realized belatedly—would be more than a little presumptuous if Trudy were in fact titled, and she was pleased to note that her blithe disregard for his familiarity greatly irked the man. Trudy's mother had always warned her that
ignorance never blesses a
tongue,
and Trudy now discovered the truth of this adage; the maitre du palais misinterpreted her silence as clever feint, and his arrogance decayed into a fawning that increased with every passing minute.

Even if she had known what to say, however, Trudy would not have had energy to speak, so engrossed was she in the embellishments, garnishes, gildings, and objets d'art that mantled the palace's every surface. Draperies and paintings, carpets thick enough to hide a snake, chandeliers and candelabras, vases and flowers and great potted palms ... What must these things have cost? And who was the poor soul assigned to dusting? How marvelous it would be to describe it to Tips! She smiled to herself (thus escalating the maitre du palais's bluster) at the thought of Tips sending his letters to faraway Bacio—perhaps even now penning words she would not read for many days hence, until the real ladies-in-waiting, restored to health, made their way at last to Froglock and she could return to her gilt-free life in Alpsburg.

The actual task of unpacking proved easier than Trudy had anticipated, for three palace maids labored over the trunks, occasionally asking where Her Highness or Her Majesty wished an item. Trudy answered their queries to the best of her ability, reminding herself that Nonna Ben would graciously tolerate any mistakes and that Wisdom probably didn't care. She agreed that Her Majesty desired warm milk before retiring (Trudy would drink it if Nonna Ben didn't) and that Her Highness would want a bath at, oh, eight o'clock the next morning.

At last the maids finished—Trudy certain she would never locate a single item in that maze of rooms and wardrobes and chests of drawers—and withdrew. With a start she wondered if she should have tipped them. Certainly she would have expected recompense for such a service, but this was palace staff, not paid lodging, and besides she had no coins to offer.

There was so much, so very much, she did not know. Almost everything, in fact.

For example: could she walk through the palace confines unescorted? And if so, should she cover herself? Trudy certainly did not relish the thought of traipsing about with her hair and much of her chest exposed. Peering out the windows, she espied several women, and the fashion did seem inclined toward bare heads and decolletage. She sighed. At least she was spared the trouble of locating an appropriate wrap, for her old cloak (held with two fingers by the maid who unpacked it) had no place over such a gown, and she would never wear one of the queen's.

Checking to ensure Escoffier was safe—he had dismissively sniffed at a dish of chopped meat before curling up in the middle of a vast white bedspread—and that Tips's emeralds were still safe in her ears, Trudy departed the suite, copying as best she could the nonchalant confidence of the gentlewomen she had observed.

Within minutes, she was hopelessly lost, her sight completely unobliging. Where the guards were housed she had not a clue, she now realized, nor whether Tips would even be present. Was there a separate location for imperial guards? If Tips was on duty—and given the descriptions of his long shifts, Trudy had no reason to suspect otherwise—would she be able to locate him? Would he even be able to speak to her? Perhaps he would not even recognize her! Now that she dwelled on the matter, Trudy was not sure she would recognize him—it had been six years, after all, since his departure from Bacio. Dark hair, brown eyes, long lashes, yes, but he was not a child anymore.

Yet she persevered, all too aware that the moment might never return. Descending every staircase she encountered, Trudy presently found herself in the cavernous kitchens, where the harried staff moved around her blue skirts as if Trudy were only ill-placed furniture. A life of toil had left the lass not entirely without resources, and her eyes alighted on a column of porters unloading vegetables. She trailed the empty-handed fellows down a passageway and presently found herself in a service courtyard where great wagons of foodstuffs rolled up and a fishmonger scraped ice from a pyramid of glassy-eyed mackerel.

On the theory that guards need horses and horses need roads, Trudy headed out the gate and soon enough caught sight of a phalanx of uniformed men. Acutely aware of her low neckline and conspicuous hair, Trudy, as she approached, braced herself for the men's leers. Yet the appraising eyes that greeted her arrival brimmed with admiration, not lechery.

"How might we help thee, fair lady?" asked one soldier.

"If any man speak ill of thee, but say the word and I shall have his hide," put in another.

"And I!" chimed several more.

Alas, it is experience and not foresight that makes wise men of us all. Trudy knew the soldiers wished to help—she saw that well enough—but she had no idea how, precisely, to ask. A lady didn't inquire after soldiers ... Did she?

"Ah, yes ... I'm looking for—someone
asked
me to look for—she wants to know—do you have a soldier named Tips? Or Tomas; Tomas Müller?..."

The men made a great show of concentration. "I must confess the name speaks not to me," the first soldier answered at last, with much regret.

"Oh. I am so sorry—he works for—he is with—the imperial guard—"

At this the man shifted. "Ah, the imperial guard ... I know too well those swine."

His friends snickered. "Aye, and the flat of their swords!"

"Enough!" snapped the man. "If this fair lady seeks an imperial guard, her wish is my command. I shall escort her myself to their barracks!"

"And I!" interjected his companion, stepping possessively to Trudy's other side.

"Oh—thank you..." At least the men would bear her closer to her goal.

Which they did, one on each arm, and into Trudy's ears they poured a relentless assessment of their own fighting prowess, pausing in their grandiloquence only to belittle each other. It's like village boys with their wrestling, Trudy thought. So, knowing all too well the capacity and reasoning of village boys, through inquiries and flattery she played one off the other, thus deflecting attention from herself, until they reached a vast tented compound, bright with flaming torches, that could only belong to the emperor.

"We would speak to your man Tomas!" announced the first soldier to the entrance guard. "Tomas Miller!"

"Tomas
Müller
," whispered Trudy, noting that her escort's bluster heightened an impression of internal quailing.

"No one here by that name," the guard replied. He turned to someone inside the gate. "Get the captain, will you?"

Trudy's escorts blanched, the first gulping audibly. Trudy blanched as well, for whatever was about to happen looked quite horrible to her sight.

All too soon a grizzled warrior appeared, sword and polishing cloth in hand. "You again ... Here for another beating, or to bring me this wench in tribute?"

"I beg your pardon!" the first soldier exclaimed. "You have insulted grievously this fine lady, and as duke's representative I demand you—"

The captain sighed. "Shut it, will you? I've more important business—"

"You have insulted a lady!"

"Her? Lady?" The captain snorted. "Move on, all of you, before I smack you again."

The two soldiers flinched, but Trudy flinched still more. She could not tell what wounded her more: the imperial captain's dismissal—accurate, to be sure, but so humiliating!—or the deeper hurt at failing to locate Tips.

To their great credit, the duke's men escorted her back through the night to Phraugheloch Palace, though now without prattle. Trudy scarcely noticed. The man said
Tomas
wasn't there, but perhaps Tips still used his nickname. Or perhaps he didn't use Müller—given his brothers, it wouldn't be surprising ... She should have used his master's name—what was it? Felix? No, Felis.

But she could not ask now. She couldn't ask
ever.
Not these soldiers, anyway, or that captain. And soon, too soon, she would return to Bacio ... and might never see Tips again! Well, she'd see him someday, but not for years, and until that point she'd be all alone...

They arrived at last at an entrance, and Trudy, thanking the soldiers as best she could for their assistance, made her way with much stumbling and misdirection upstairs. Her weeping could no longer be restrained. Sopping at her nose—with Wisdom's handkerchief!—Trudy doddered down yet another corridor. They all looked alike. The passageways, the soldiers, the gentlewomen in their horrid fancy clothes ... And nowhere, nowhere, Tips!

A servant girl passed, and Trudy turned away, reflexively shielding herself from prying eyes.

"This way, m'lady," the girl whispered, pointing to a door.

Mumbling thanks, Trudy let herself in—then ducked as a glass statuette shattered against a nearby wall.

"I will not listen!" Wisdom shouted at Ben, and hurled herself into the adjoining room, thunderously slamming the door behind her.

Ben stooped, creaking, to extract glass fragments from the carpet. She glanced at Trudy and sighed. "Welcome back, child."

My Dearest Temperance, Queen of Montagne,

Granddaughter, what a night it has been. Our twilight arrival at Phraugheloch (how long ago it seems!) must by now be the talk of all the empire—I do think Escoffier is due a medal for bravery in the face of an incensed duchess and her dog! Much as I wanted to, I could not sing the cat's praises while yet in the company of Wilhelmina, so instead I sent him to bed and, feigning ignorance of our little duel of wits—or duel of
pets
, I should say!—set off to observe at last Circus Primus. To think the entire empire has had opportunity to see this spectacular and we have not!—in my more equitable moments I comfort myself that Montagne has not
behaved badly
enough
to merit a visit—although given tonight's debacle, were I offered the option of going to my tomb rather than observing its charms, I would promptly choose eternal rest.