Authors: Catherine Gilbert Murdock
Tomas proffered the girl his goodbyes with a maturity and tenderness that moved my heart; with his every gesture I rejoiced further on the brilliance of my acquisition. Verifying that he would be able to correspond regularly with "Trudy"—indeed, demanding my word and handshake on this matter—he gave her a final embrace and set his pace to mine.
"I am ready," he announced with a most charming gravity, "to begin my adventures."
The Play (As It Were)
Commences
A P
LAY IN
T
HREE
A
CTS
PENNED BY ANONYMOUS
Act I, Scene iii.
Terrace, Chateau de Montagne.
An afternoon fete with musicians.
Enter Duke Roger of Farina and Queen Temperance of Montagne.
ROGER:
This terrace is lovely, is it not? Your Majesty?
TEMPERANCE:
Alas, my poor mother! She adored this terrace. My sister and I would play here and she, laughing, would applaud ... But that was before ... O woe!
ROGER:
Take my handkerchief. Please, consider it a token of my affection...
[Aside]
I also mourn for my brother, but life must move past death.
TEMPERANCE:
Were she alive, I would yet be cultivating herbaceous shrubberies ... Now I am obliged to rule, though the throne holds no magic for me.
ROGER
[
aside
]: How can I woo this Temperance? "Queen Melancholia" is a name more suitable.
TEMPERANCE:
And, they say, I must take a husband.
ROGER:
Surely some man would tolerate—er, desire you. I myself would delight...
[Aside]
No! I cannot speak the words! Rather bachelordom and my mother's wrath than this!
TEMPERANCE:
Behold—a weed amongst the rhododendrons. I must attend to it...
Exit Temperance.
ROGER:
What a miserable female! What a miserable day!
Enter Princess Wisdom of Montagne.
WISDOM:
A miserable day indeed. Your Grace, do not look so abashed! I do not envy you the challenge of courting my sister; 'twould foil Cupid himself.
ROGER:
Your High ness. The day grows brighter with your approach, and the very sun slows its descent to linger in your presence...
[Aside]
If Temperance is melancholia, then Wisdom represents happiness supreme.
WISDOM:
Your flirtation is more craft than art—though I am flattered nonetheless. In return I shall tender a confidence: I used to dance upon this balustrade when I was young.
ROGER:
Step back! You shall fall and perish!
WISDOM:
Your Grace, you are as green as this leaf! I shan't perish: observe how far I lean over...
ROGER
[
aside
]: Such courage! She has pluck enough for two. With her beside me...
WISDOM
: I send this leaf on a great adventure. Fortunate leaf! How I envy you floating away ... O, I yearn to see the world, yet never once have I left Montagne. Is that not piteous?
ROGER
: Piteous indeed, for the world has wonders past counting, and I'd delight in presenting them all to you. But please: I have too little valor. Step away from the precipice or I shall be ill.
WISDOM
[
aside
]: "Too little valor"—this I hear too much! All these suitors full of fear. But this one states it at least. And he has a handsome face...
ROGER
: Your Highness—I am overcome. I fall to one knee to beg your hand in marriage.
WISDOM
: To see the world is the richest of offers! Yet you mock me, Your Grace. It is my older sister you desire, not me. Farina has far too much ambition to wed a princess in lieu of a queen.
ROGER
: 'Tis true my mother sent me to garner a kingdom with my bride. But with brave Wisdom beside me, I know I shall sway her otherwise. My life rests on this moment. Say the word and I shall be the most blissful of men.
WISDOM
: I cannot resist such promise ... Yes, Roger. Yes.
The idiotic buffoon!
The
second
Montagne daughter! That is the ninny to whom he has promised his heart, and a miserable yellow heart it is—for all the beatings I administered, he remains a coward.
Yet he steadfastly refuses to concede his error—or revoke his proposal!
If only I had another to replace him—would that my firstborn had not perished!—and that the third had never been born, for
he
refuses even to
answer
my letters, no matter how often I demand it.
How many times have I explained to Roger (better to have dubbed him
Ignoramus
!) that we have a plan to which we must adhere?
One cannot take the imperial throne as a lowly
duke
—we must be
kings
to manage this—and that title comes solely via
marriage to a queen
—which that idiot
Wisdom
most certainly is not!
Although—Montagne, with all its bleatings about feminine parity, may yet be turned in our favor.
The fact that
Princess
Wisdom does not occupy the throne means only she does not occupy it
yet
—her listless sister
Temperance
is all that blocks her way—
I must muse upon this most artful course of action...
8
TH EDITION
Printed in the Capital City of Rigorus
by Hazelnut & Filbert, Publishers to the Crown
MONTAGNE
The Kingdom of Montagne is the oldest continuously held domain in the Empire of Lax, predating by 163 years the establishment of the imperial federation. Unlike its neighbors, Montagne accepted the empire's sovereignty without dispute, joining its mail service, adopting imperial currency, and, with one notable exception, espousing the principles of imperial jurisprudence. That exception is, of course, female succession, a convention the kingdom resolutely maintains despite its affront to every principle of decency and governance. Indeed, the kingdom will even crown a firstborn daughter over younger sons and send its queens into battle, Queen Compassion famously declaring during the Siege of Cheese that "any strumpet can brace a shield." For many centuries the kingdom claimed a connection to sorcery. Virtue, foundress of Montagne, asserted on innumerable occasions that she was a witch, and furthermore that magic flowed in the blood of her descendants. Early Montagne historians credited supernatural forces for the kingdom's victories in such battles as the Drachensbett Cloud Wars and the Magnanimous Goat Incident. Within modern Montagne, however, such babble of witchcraft is treated with derision, and its now-rational rulers ascribe past success to geography, military prowess, and not-inconsiderable—if inconsistent—good luck. The kingdom's long-standing pacifism has been repeatedly challenged, most notably by the surrounding kingdom of Drachensbett, whose many attempts at conquest were rendered moot during the reign of Queen Benevolence when Montagne, in a stunning turn of events, absorbed its larger foe.
THE BOOTED MAESTRO
Dear Trudy,
Its been so long I know I shouldve written sooner
Im sorry I havent written much in the last months—I didnt think we would be so busy! But I dont mind because Im making even more
tips
money. Felis works us so hard—he must say
work harder Tomas
50 times a day! Or he says that hes wasted the
last 6 years of his life on me
and that
the empire would be far better off if Id stayed home grinding wheat
but I know thats not true + hes just saying that to make me
consen consan
concentrate. At least I
think
hope he is! At least he doesnt mind my using his
stationary
stationerie
writing paper—maybe thats his way of saying hes not too cross.
I wish I could describe how
strange
different the Sultanate of Ahmb is, the smells + the feeling + the people. Its nothing like Bacio, thats for sure! Or anywhere in Lax for that matter! Its so hot here even at night—when I get back from
work
guard duty I cant bear even to light a candle. But today I have a holiday + Im sitting in the bazaar drinking tea with a bundle of presents for you + Hans + Jens—I think
its obvious
you can figure out who gets what!
Im so
disappointed upset
sorry to hear Hans didnt like the watch I sent, I can just hear him saying
why does a miller need to know the time?
Maybe someday he will like it. At least I
know
hope you liked the ribbons! No one here has hair
so red
your color, if you came here youd have to hide it or the sultan would
kidnap steal you away
make you one of his wives. I wish I could show you the gift he gave the emperor, its the most amazing thing Ive ever seen—I got to see him give it too, as I was
working
guarding the emperor that night. His majesty gave him a gift almost as nice: a clock made in Pamplemousse, with 12 gold birds with ruby eyes that sing the time. If everyone got wedding presents like that, Id
get married
be really happy for them.
You keep asking when Im going to return to Alpsburg + Im sorry but I dont think Ill make it back this year either.
Another
year, I know, but its
for the best
so difficult to get away. Please dont be sad. I think of you all the time + hope youre doing well. Im truly sorry Im not able to return. Maybe the fabric will help—
I know it wont make up for me
its the best I can do. Women here—rich women I think from the looks of them—use fabric like this for veils. They cover their faces but you can still see how pretty they are. But no ones as pretty as you—
The Imperial Encyclopedia of Lax—Tips
8
TH EDITION
Printed in the Capital City of Rigorus
by Hazelnut & Filbert, Publishers to the Crown
ALPSBURG
A province located in the central mountains of Lax, Alpsburg contains the only navigable pass through the Alpsburg Mountains south of Devil's Rift and is thus essential when the Great River is in flood or ice. The land has been inhabited since ancient times. For centuries autonomous, recognizing the imperial throne, the country was absorbed by the adjoining Barony of Farina after Roberto the Lonely died without issue in Year 3 of the reign of Rüdiger II. Alpsburg produces wheat, lumber, wool, and stone in abundance, although the bulk of the province's revenue has historically been drawn from tolls. The province's former capital, Alpsburgstadt, remains a center of trade, and the village of Bacio serves an important if seasonal function as the western terminus of Alpsburg Pass. The lyric poem "Bacio mi amore" by Rundel of Gebühr describes the peerless beauty of this village, though his words should be interpreted in light of the poet's relief at surviving a late spring blizzard while crossing the pass. The village is the birthplace of the renowned swordsman-artiste Tomas Müller and Fortitude of Bacio, the alleged seeress; and the two, remarkably enough, were childhood friends.
To My Dearest Temperance, Queen of Montagne,
Granddaughter, this slog toward Wisdom's nuptials, though not half-completed, has been most memorable—that I can assure you—and if by some blessing I manage to survive it, I shall regale you for hours with tales of our misadventures. I trust you are enjoying your newfound solitude, and I cannot wait to hear of your many successes as queen. As I have droned to you on occasions past counting, the decision to govern must come from within, and without your sister casting her gregarious if irreverent shadow upon the chateau, I know you will thrive as does a flower in fresh sunshine. Please comfort yourself with the knowledge that whatever matters of state might occupy you, they are surely more pleasurable than this trip.
You doubtless recall that our departure from Montagne was without incident, and the barge—quite handsome, freshly painted, with large and comfortable quarters—appeared undeniably regal even to my ancient and jaded eyes. Certainly the farmers and bargemen we passed seemed to think so, and it was uplifting indeed to accept their congratulations and best wishes. If there is any private resentment within our nation, it must be quite private indeed, to judge from the enthusiasm of the citizens—yea, and foreigners—we encountered.
Would I had curtailed my good cheer, for soon enough the fates punished my optimism. One day past Bridgeriver, the river was running so high that we feared to remain aboard our vessel, and only then did we learn that the spring rains, while abundant in Montagne, have been of historic and terrifying volume in greater Farina and that Devil's Rift was therefore navigable only to madmen. Why our pilot, hired in Bridgeriver, had declined to reveal this critical piece of information I cannot imagine, for the gold he hoped to gain for his service was most certainly not forthcoming. Our royal ancestors would have taken much pride in the lashing I gave the man—only with words, though had I possessed a crop the punishment would have done credit to a boatswain. In any event, thus stranded in the forests of Pneu, we were forced to return to Bridgeriver by foot and farmer's cart ( pig farmer, should you desire that olfactory detail), our trunks in a precarious and swaying heap. Nor was the riverfront inn in which we spent the night quite of Montagne's standards—I fear the ladies Patience and Modesty were quite decimated by bedbugs, or so it appeared the following morning.