Your shaken grandmother,
Ben
Postscriptum: The Duke's Arms includes on its staff one maid whom I suspect is quite comely beneath her headscarf and homespun; certainly she has a pretty smile when not overwhelmed by shyness, and goes about her duties with enviable efficiency. Admiring her handiwork this evening, I commenced scheming how to include her in our retinue. If the task of a lady-in-waiting is to flaunt through beauty and breeding the good taste of our court, we could do worse; certainly no worse than our present ladies, who sprawl prone with their heads in dishpans. No sooner had this notion flitted through my mind, however, than the girl turned to me wide-eyed and said, "But Your Majesty, one is born to the position of lady-in-waiting!" Is that not unbelievable?
Post postscriptum: I apologize for droning on so about our troubles; this is your time, and please do not squander any of it worrying about us. Ruling a country is a most formidable responsibility, and too often dispiriting, particularly for one inclined to doubt her own abilities. You are doing so well, my dear; I beg you believe me on this. The chateau must be blessedly quiet with so much of the court away. Employ this time to spread your wings! Without your butterfly of a sister or goose of a grandmother, you may find your wings stretching very far indeed!
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.
Wednesday—
When I am ancient & writing my memoirs I shall entitle this chapter "The Puking Path." Or perhaps "The Retching Road"—that's more accurate as the Alpsburg Pass is quite clearly a decent road when it's not full of mud. Or in our case of vomit. The worst part is that no one else found it funny! Which it was! It was horribly amusing but I couldn't laugh—as Nonna Ben is forever repeating, I must strive to present more graciously my innate compassion. Also Mrs. Sprat would have smitten me dead. (Perhaps I could call my memoirs "The Sprats Go Splat.") So I walked with the coachman—he drove & I walked—thank goodness he was healthy or we'd yet be marooned in that godforsaken wilderness—& I found out he knows how to ride bareback! He can even stand at a canter! With no hands! I begged him to show me but he said it wasn't the proper time. Then once we arrived in Bacio everyone was so busy mopping up that we couldn't. Also it was dark by then.
There's a girl who works in the inn here who has the most spectacularly beautiful hair I have ever seen in my life. If I had hair like that I would keep it long & loose & not even bother with clothes because no one would notice the rest of me! This afternoon when we arrived she wore a little kerchief & then when she came to our room tonight she had it hidden by a v. pretty scarf—even I noticed it & I'm dim as a door knocker when it comes to that sort of thing tho I was careful not to say a word. But then the scarf slipped off for a moment & it took all my resolve not to scream in envy! Her hair is not carroty at all but just lovely red & it has the most beautiful waves ever. The Montagne wig maker would follow her around like a little lost puppy. I did my v. best not to stare but felt myself growing positively green. She's terribly aware of it you can tell by the way she covered it up at once. Nonna wanted her to travel with us as we are decidedly short of a retinue—a functional retinue that is!—but she said no. So would I in her shoes—with hair like that she doesn't need anything else in the world. Certainly not waiting upon this gaggle of gaggers. Nor would I wish her to join us for my own mousy locks do not come close to hers—& I shan't even begin to describe the difference in our figures!
At least Nonna is diligent—unlike me!—about writing to the Dearly Beloved Sister. Teddy—excuse me Queen Temperance—always complains most intemperately about being left out—I hope that for once she's happy to be somewhere else! Tonight at bedtime I had to help Nonna as no one else could—it makes me appreciate how much work it is to "keep us up" which is a pun on upkeep but it doesn't make much sense the way I put it—there's a joke in there somewhere I think—in any case I made a right hash of Nonna's gown—I had no idea folding was so hard! I'd always thought it'd be absolutely joyous to be free of staff but now I am not so certain—if I am expected to iron or dress hair then we might as well return to Montagne! Normally I would say I do not care about appearance—which I v. much do not!—but even brave Nonna is so fearful of Wilhelmina that now I fear her as well! I know we are royalty—Roger knows—his bothersome mother must know as she sent us cartloads of nonsense to sign—but for all those gallons of ink we must still display our regality to the court!
Just think! By tomorrow night—if we acquire fresh horses enough!—I shall be at Phraugheloch with my betrothed. "The Duke & Princess of Farina"—an awkward style but at least I can flaunt my princess over that conniving duchess!
Imagine—I am to be a wife.
I do hope I have chosen well.
The Imperial Encyclopedia of Lax
8TH EDITION
Printed in the Capital City of Rigorus
by Hazelnut & Filbert, Publishers to the Crown
FROGLOCK
Occupying the lowest fording point of the Great River, Froglock has served as a center of trade and defense for a millennium or more. Much of the city's great wealth derives from this ford, and more recently from the twelve-arch bridge built in the reign of Clyde, Baron of Farina. (Entitled by him a "Dazzling and Fitting Triumph," the span is better known by its acronym, the Daft Bridge.) It is not surprising that the city's premier industries—weapons and paper—relate directly to the defense and administration of this bridge, as well as to other tolls throughout the provinces and holdings of Farina. According to legend, the city's name was bestowed by residents grateful to the amphibians that would croak an alarm when nocturnal travelers attempted to cross the ford without payment; the frogs were the "lock" to the community's revenue. The name is alternatively ascribed to a local swamp, long drained, known as Frog Loch. The frog-lock icon is emblazoned on both the city seal and the Farina coat of arms; chocolate versions may be purchased at every local confectionery. The city has numerous significant buildings, including the Hall of Taxes, which features fortified windows and a crenelated roofline; the equally imposing Debtors' Prison; and the Ducal Armory, with its wide parade ground and attached Museum of Uniforms and Flags. When Edwig of Farina, then only a baron, married the Countess of Paindecampagne, he sought to mark his newly elevated rank by renaming Froglock with the seemingly more prestigious if meaningless homophone of Phraugheloch. The local populace, in a rare display of subversion, refused to comply, and after several years of escalating penalties and increasingly brazen acts of sabotage, Edwig relented. Today Phraugheloch refers only to the ducal palace, a neoclassical structure of singular dimension and finish even by the criteria of the city in which it stands.
A Missive from Tips
THE BOOTED MAESTRO
Dear Trudy,
We are coming home returning to the Empire of Lax! Finally! The sultans wedding is over at last—I didnt know it took so many weeks + so many festivities just to get married—I am so tired! It will be nice to be back where there are clouds + rain + actual cold. I can barely remember what cold feels like.
I know you keep asking when you will see me + believe me I want to see you just as very much but Felis doesnt think its wise for me to return to Bacio given what Hans keeps threatening saying. Even though he Hans signed a contract with Felis, if I returned he could still make me stay + work at the mill. Felis gets so furious angry that Id be wasted like that—I dont know if Id be wasted but I surely wouldnt enjoy working milling the way I enjoy this. Felis got us new uniforms—I wish I could show you. I know think you would like them but I can just imagine what Hans would say!
I think about you every day + I hope you like these earrings they cost me two months wages a bit of money but dont worry, I dont have anyone to spend on but you. I have no one I want to spend on bu
t you. I bet theyll be so beuti beautiful with your hair! Red + green harmen harmonize because theyre opposites—thats what Felis says + while I dont understand how colors can be opposites or how harmony works even in music let alone hair, I think hes right about this one. I wish I could see you wearing them. I will someday, I promise. You are I will always Affectionately—
—Tips
A Life Unforeseen
THE STORY OF FORTITUDE OF BACIO, COMMONLY KNOWN AS TRUDY, AS TOLD TO HER DAUGHTER
Privately Printed and Circulated
TRUDY COULD HARDLY shut her eyes that night, she was so exhausted and worried and—for goodness' sake, they had a queen at the Duke's Arms! A queen! Sleeping in the second-best room!
Which, Trudy could not help but note with a satisfied nod, was precisely how a queen should act, giving the best room to her suffering ladies-in-waiting. Truly, as Trudy pondered it, this old woman did everything as a queen should. She didn't even call herself queen! Her traveling companions—those fit enough to speak, anyway—called her Nonna Ben, an insolence that had stunned Trudy when first she heard it. To think that the queen of a country—or in this case the queen mother—enjoyed the same endearment as Bacio grannies, with that commonplace "Ben" tacked on the end ... remarkable. The queen had scurried for hours about the inn just like a grannie too, verifying that every member of her entourage was comfortable. Trudy hoped she herself would always be as solicitous, particularly (should such an anomaly ever come to pass) to those beneath her.
Princess Wisdom, on the other hand, was ... different. The featherbrained farm girls had described her as graceful and lovely and the best princess they'd ever met—which wasn't saying much given their life experience. They found it astonishing that a young woman of royal blood would enjoy currying manes and polishing harnesses. Hurrying across the courtyard, Trudy at last caught a glimpse of this celebrity laughing with the grooms as though they'd been friends all their lives. Trudy's reaction, however, wasn't amusement or awe or even dismay: it was horror. Misery flooded her so violently that she clawed at her throat for breath. It was her own misery that she saw, looking at the princess. Her own future unhappiness.
She fled the stable yard at once. However charming the princess might appear to others, Trudy wanted nothing to do with her.
So that night, while preparing the second-best room for sleep, Trudy deflected the suggestion that she join the Montagne contingent, much as it hurt to disappoint the queen. Simply standing near the princess—who by the way appeared quite unaware of Trudy's existence—made Trudy quake. She excused herself quick as she could and kept busy with countless other crucial tasks until she fell into bed.
No, she could not go galavanting off with these foreigners, no matter how much she enjoyed dear Nonna Ben, how desperately they required assistance, or how pleasant it was (when she permitted herself such vanity) to imagine herself a lady-in-waiting. She needed to stay as far from Princess Wisdom as possible; her sight made that fact abundantly clear. Besides, the Duke's Arms needed her too. Eds needed her, however infrequently he expressed his gratitude. Most of all, Tips needed her. She'd made a promise to wait for him, and wait she would: in Bacio. In two years' time he'd finish his apprenticeship and return to her. And if by some miracle he finished early, she would be here for him, as she'd vowed. Comforted beyond measure by the certainty of this logic, and by the peace of mind that came from knowing she would never, ever in her life eat an oyster, she drifted off to sleep.
***
The next morning, Trudy awoke before dawn. There was so much to do! Could she possibly turn six-month-old pumpkins into a dish fit for royalty—or at the very least a dish fit for breakfast? And the second-best tablecloths (the best had been used at dinner)—what if the mice had gotten into them? She hadn't thought to check! What about the lunch roasts, broth for the invalids, flowers for the tables...
Trudy was pondering pudding recipes with the cook and attempting to get some labor out of the featherbrains—had none of these girls ever folded a napkin?—when the mail rider arrived from Froglock. Normally Trudy would drop every task, but today she was far too busy even to pay the man notice. He, however, sought her out especially and extracted from his greatcoat a soiled, much-stamped package no larger than his cupped palm—a package from Tips!
Almost quivering in frustration, Trudy diligently verified that the cook understood the task before her and that the featherbrains weren't making too great a hash of the linens before she slipped outside for a moment of peace.
She ducked into the laundry shed. No one would dare follow her there—they might get put to work! But laundry had not yet begun that morn, and Trudy, alone at last, studied the small package tied with string, neatly knotted (oh, Tips), and addressed in his schoolboy hand.
Using the wee scissors she carried always for a thousand different emergencies, Trudy cut the string and drew open the paper. Nestled inside, like an egg in a nest, was a dark wooden box carved with leaves and berries. What a lovely, lovely gift! Trudy cradled it tenderly, and it took her some time to realize that the box had a hinge and clasp.
Slowly she lifted the lid. Rich velvet of the deepest blue lined the inside, cupping the most beautiful earrings Trudy had ever seen. Had ever even imagined. Fine-spun gold, so delicate it could be the work of fairies, clasped two tear-dropped jade stones. Trudy held one to a sunbeam to study it more clearly, then exclaimed as the polished facets captured the light, glowing with the brilliant, depthless green of life, and spring.
The stones were not jade. They were—they had to be—emeralds.
Overcome, she crumpled down on a bucket. The bucket, luckily, was inverted, though she probably wouldn't have noticed if she'd ended up hip deep in suds. What girl in Bacio—in all of Alpsburg—had ever been so privileged? Emerald earrings! She would save them—hide them away where no one could ever find them!—and wear them for Tips's return.
Tucking the earrings back into their elegant little case, Trudy noticed at last the scrap of notepaper folded beneath the velvet: he was returning! Not to Bacio, to be sure (though simply thinking these words set Trudy's heart beating), but at least to the empire. Oh, to know he would be that much closer.
If only Hans and Jens weren't so absolutely horrid! Tips had every right to fear being seized; his brothers were lazy and stupid and utterly unsuited to someone as wonderful as he. No wonder Tips never wrote them; it was bad enough that Trudy had to pass along his gifts, which they treated so rudely, and her as well ... At least this time Tips wasted no words on them. Trudy had enough responsibility today without a trip to the mill.
She should return to work; she'd squandered too much time already. But she lingered a moment more. Blushing at her immodesty, she released a curl of hair from her kerchief and held it beside the gem. Red and green did go together; she'd heard this before. But her hair, with emeralds? It was hard to tell. If Tips said it, though, then it must be true. Tips knew everything.
Tucking the letter and box into a deep pocket, and her hair beneath its cloth, she hurried back to the inn.
The disorder she had left not ten minutes earlier was now thrice as loud, the small kitchen seething with people ... Trudy elbowed her way through the crowd, angry now at those silly, stupid farm girls. What had they done, on today of all days, to cause such a ruckus?
The commotion did not center, however, on the featherbrains, who stood to one side with gaping mouths, but—Trudy would never have believed it were she not observing it with her own eyes—on Princess Wisdom and old Nonna Ben, yet in their dressing gowns, looming over the mail rider, who sat huddled on a stool like a snared truant.
"Tell me!" The princess shook the man. "Where is he exactly, and when did he get there? Speak, man!"
The mail rider stuttered, overwhelmed by this onslaught.
Trudy's eyes met the queen's, and in that instant she knew what the mail rider had told them, what the queen would ask of her, and what—inevitably—her answer would be.
The Gent
le Reflections of Her Most Noble Grace, Wilhelmina, Duchess of Farina, within the Magnificent Phraugheloch Palace in the City of Froglock
Well! My frail nerves cannot—simply cannot—survive such trauma!—I would collapse were it not abundantly clear that without my firm hand this duchy would dissolve into chaos.
The emperor—Rudiger IV himself!—has appeared at the gates of Froglock with his entire ridiculous menagerie!—which Farina is expected to feed!
Tigers and elephants—and soldiers!—and accountants! And we're to feed them!
All those prying men with their prying questions—as though the wealth moving through my duchy belongs to anyone but myself !
I am of course already on tenterhooks awaiting Roger's betrothed—who has still not arrived—she cares not a whit for the lengths to which I have gone to prepare Phraugheloch for royalty.