Thus it was that I entered the village of Bacio lost in my own thoughts and ambitions, and thus would I have departed had I not paused to rinse the dust from my brow in a tributary that flowed aside my route. The residents of Bacio, industrious as ants, had dammed the stream with rocks and earth, creating a pond that fed a mill, the wheel of which turned with inexorable solemnity. I was descending the bank to dip my cravat, my weathered boots almost touching the dark water, when all other notions were chased from my brain by a most extraordinary sight.
Crouched on the opposite shore on the edge of the mill race were two children perhaps of twelve years, a redheaded girl and a boy with hair as sleek as an otter's, each sporting an expression of profound anticipatory mischief. The boy, nut brown with only a scrap of cloth about his middle, kept his eyes locked on the girl's face, his body taut with expectation. The girl in turn focused on the window of the great stone mill abutting the pond. Though I could perceive no activity within the structure, she shook her head slightly, and the boy settled back on his heels. Within a few heartbeats—and much to my surprise at her keen foresight—a scowling young man appeared, his hair dusted with flour. He glared out the window at the children, who feigned ignorance of his presence. The man lingered, doubtless hoping to witness their disobedience; the girl, I noticed, kept watch from the corner of her eye, and after a bit made a slight hand gesture to her companion. What she observed I could not tell, but the sullen man soon after disappeared from sight. Without warning, the boy leapt from his crouched position and landed, balanced as a cat, on the water wheel. As the massive wheel rose, dripping water like a leviathan, the boy effortlessly adjusted his footing on the mossy boards, his arms spread wide; reaching its apex, he launched himself into the air, arcing arrow-straight over the pond. He flipped twice and plunged into the dark water, scarcely raising a ripple.
Breathless as a maiden awaiting her lover did I watch for that black hair to reappear. Never in my life had I witnessed such capability, such physical acumen, in an individual so obviously untrained. That a village imp could conduct himself with so much strength and power left me dumbstruck. Once again, destiny had led me to my El Dorado.
***
The boy—christened Tomas Müller, though in this small hamlet known by the curious sobriquet of Tips—had sprung from a family of loutish millers much as a glorious rose might bloom, most remarkably, in a thicket of thorns. Indeed, the contrast between his talents and his two sulking older brothers reminded me so much of myself at that age that I redoubled my commitment to rescue the boy from this dismal hinterland and present him to the world and the acclaim that were so clearly his due.
Unfortunately, the brothers considered Tomas not so much sibling as slave. The eldest son, who had recently inherited the mill, demanded in no uncertain terms that Tomas remain in their service indefinitely. Emulating in every way the ass that was the second brother's prize possession, the two young men stubbornly declared that he could not depart their workplace for even a day.
Yet again, my singular powers of persuasion were put to the test; polishing my silver tongue, and recognizing all too well that descriptions of glory would only set their heels more firmly in opposition, I appealed to the young men's patriotism—and to their purses. Would not the career of a ... soldier—guardian of empire, defender of justice, well compensated in victory—serve the family fortunes? Observing the attention paid my talk of compensation, I pressed the point by offering remuneration for their brother's labor. Haggling commenced. For a few gold coins it was determined I would take the boy for my apprentice—as I at that point bore no knighthood, he sadly could not serve as page—for a period of eight years. His future beyond that day would lie in his own two hands. Having no regard whatsoever for the boy's talent, the brothers left the table convinced he would then return to their service, a misconception I made no effort to rectify, as it would have only magnified the price of Tomas's indenture.
Our conference concluded, I stepped outside to find the boy awaiting me, his few possessions in a sack that had quite recently held flour. How he learned of our negotiations I cannot say, as the room was quite preserved from eavesdroppers, but learn he plainly had, for he was now outfitted in stout boots and traveling clothes, a worn cap on his damp locks. His companion, her sweet face marked by tears, clutched his hand, and well could I understand her pain: the boy was already as handsome a specimen of humanity as ever I have observed. Attracting benefactresses, I could see, would not be a problem; the challenge would lie in the delicate deflection of female admirers.
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."
WISDOM'S KISS
PART I
SIX YEARS LATER
The Play (As It Were)
Commences
Queen of All the Heavens
A PLAY IN THREE ACTS
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 Gentle Reflections of Her Most Noble Grace, Wilhelmina, Duchess of Farina, within the Magnificent Phraugheloch Palace in the City of Froglock
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...
The Imperial Encyclopedia of Lax
8TH 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.
A Missive from Tips
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—
—Tips
The Imperial Encyclopedia of Lax
8TH 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.
From the Desk of the Queen Mother of Montagne, & Her Cat
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 w
e 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.