Chapter 9:
Maxwell’s Mirth
FIVE DAYS PASSED IN A FLASH. ON AUGUST 25th, it was time for Luciana and her entourage to officially “arrive” at the capital.
“I’ll see you shortly, my lady.”
“Be safe.”
Melody smiled at Luciana, then looked to the sky. “Hide—Trasparenza. Flight—Ali da Angelo.”
The maid vanished, and then a sudden updraft whooshed by as she took to the air.
Melody went to scout a location to connect her gateway spell to, for the purposes of their ostensible homecoming. They needed a quiet, deserted road to come in on. Were someone to see one of her doors appear out of thin air, her secret would be out, and her future as good as lost. They couldn’t have any witnesses surprise them on the other side.
Of course, this was easier said than done this close to the royal capital. Travelers roamed the highways everywhere Melody could see. “Hm. We may have to go a ways out.”
She had to travel two hours by carriage to find somewhere suitable. “This will do. Better hurry. Humble welcomes—Benvenuti Porta.”
A lavish pair of silver double doors appeared and opened on their own. A carriage rolled through them, Rook in the box seat.
“Continue straight down this road,” Melody told him.
“Will do.” A simple matter, thanks to her positioning of the gateway. The valet cracked the reins.
“Melody!” Luciana waved from the window.
The maid waved back. As the last of the carriage exited the door, Lect and his steed followed it.
“Thank you, Melody,” he said.
She giggled. “It was nothing, really, but I appreciate the sentiment.”
With that, Melody surveyed their surroundings one more time before dispelling the door and trotting after the carriage.
Two hours or so later, they reached the capital.
“Paltescia!” Luciana cried, one hand to her chest, the other skyward. “I have returned!”
“Where do you come up with all of these performances, my lady?” said Melody.
I wonder what play she got that from.
Luciana stuck her tongue out cutely. “Just came to me.”
You can’t spell “ignoble” without “noble.” As infamous as the Rudlebergs were, they were still aristocracy, and together with the knight, they breezed past the long line of commoners awaiting entry and gained access to the city proper.
“It’s so nice to finally go out in public again.” Luciana breathed deep. “The world is my oyster!”
“Is there somewhere in particular you keep finding these phrases, my lady?”
“My brain!”
I sincerely doubt you can trace the etymological origins of that idiom back to your brain, my lady.
This was not the only anachronism Melody had noticed since being reborn in this world. She chalked it up to a psychological trick, a sort of cross-reality translation that made certain concepts comprehensible to her.
“Thank you again for your hospitality,” Lect said, similarly bemused. “I’ll take my leave now.”
“Do you have somewhere to be?” Melody asked.
“I’m off to inform my lord I’ll be escorting you—Cecilia, rather—to the Summer Ball.”
“What about Paula? She’s still hard at work on the dress.”
“She can stay, if it’s no bother. Something tells me she wouldn’t listen to me even if I begged.”
He and the maid shared a knowing grin. They both understood Paula well enough to know he was right. They would not succeed in prying the maid from her work when fashion was at stake.
“I’ll insist she pace herself,” Melody said. “If only for her family’s sake.”
“Please do. I’m off.”
“Safe trip.” Melody smiled and waved goodbye.
As Lect trotted away, a thought occurred to him. He liked the sound of those words when they came from Melody. “Safe trip.” They rang with familiarity and care and a number of markedly more outlandish implications that the knight was nonetheless eager to explore on his way back to his lord’s estate.
Luciana practically jumped into the air. “Oh! I nearly forgot!”
“Yes, my lady?”
“I have to give Lord Maxwell my reply to his invitation!”
“Ah, that slipped my mind too. Shall we return to the estate and pen a letter? I can deliver it myself.”
“Yeah! Thanks, Melody! To the manor, Rook! With haste!”
“Right away,” the valet said.
This summer’s ball was shaping up to be a hectic one.
That same day, sometime before the return of House Rudleberg, Anna-Marie and Maxwell convened in Christopher’s room with the crown prince himself.
“Feminine articles? For House Leginbarth, you say?” Maxwell said.
“So the Guild says,” Anna-Marie corrected. “They tell us there’s been a sudden surge in sales of products meant for women.”
The Commerce Guild benefited from generous subsidies, courtesy of the prince, and in return the prince enjoyed the occasional tidbit of information. The most recent discovery particularly interested him.
“I understand Lord Leginbarth’s sister is widowed,” Maxwell pointed out. “You’re certain these things aren’t meant for her?”
“These are items meant for ladies our age. The orders included things like underwear, nightgowns, and the like.”
“Are such garments not typically custom-made?”
“Which leads us to the next conclusion: Someone purchased these items in a hurry. They needed them suddenly and immediately.”
“You mean to say she’s appeared, this all-important ‘Saint’ of yours?”
As far as Maxwell knew, Christopher and Anna-Marie had dreamed of portentous things in their youth, seen visions of the future. This girl, their Saint, was supposedly the centerpiece of the visions, but had been missing for some time. She would supposedly rescue them from some doombringer called “the Dark One” or some such.
But circumstances had just changed. Was this her? Was she the one for whom they waited?
Anna-Marie wore a hard frown. “Given how different all this is from our visions, I’m frankly hesitant to set my hopes too high, but that’s all the information I could gather. House Leginbarth has suddenly and very recently become excessively secretive.”
“My guess is the count hopes to make the Summer Ball the venue for her grand debut,” Christopher said.
Maxwell wrinkled his brow. “That’s troublesome.”
“Troublesome how? It gives us the perfect chance to find out if she’s the real deal or not. Granted, we have to worry about the imperial princess too. Fantastic timing.”
“I’ve yet to see her,” Anna-Marie said. “Has she not arrived?”
“She won’t until the day before the ball. Not even I have had the chance to ponder her beauty just yet.”
Maxwell glanced at the prince. “Awfully presumptuous.”
“We’ve dreamed of her brother, Schroden, and he’s as handsome as they come. I’m willing to bet on family resemblance. It’s keeping me going, really.”
Anna-Marie pressed her fingers to her temples, fighting off an oncoming migraine.
“A princess and a potential Saint. And the ball hasn’t even started!” Christopher griped. “Why couldn’t she have shown up at the last ball like she was supposed to? The girl I did bump into on the day of the opening ceremony was cute but no Saint. Just a black-haired maid.”
“You mean Melody,” Maxwell and Anna-Marie said in unison.
“Wait, you two know her?”
“We’re friends,” they harmonized yet again, then looked at each other. Coincidences.
“Why am I the odd one out?!” Christopher wailed. “Is there some Comely Maiden Club I’m not aware of?!”
It was a good thing Anna-Marie had secured this room with her Silence spell ahead of time.
“My condolences, Your Highness,” she said. “Anyway, on to more important matters.” She fixed Maxwell with a look.
Sensing the change in tone, Maxwell straightened up in his chair. “Those being?”
“Monsters will invade the capital soon.”
“What?!” The young lord recoiled. He had braced himself, but not for something like this.
“The danger may very well reach you, Lord Maxwell. I’m sorry for keeping it from you for so long.”
“What exactly have you foreseen?”
“An ambush. As best as we can tell, the Dark One will send them after the Saint,” Christopher said, recovered and thoroughly normal again. “It happens on her way home, while she’s in her carriage. That’s how it went in the, er, dreams anyway.”
“Impossible,” Maxwell refuted. “Monsters? In the royal capital? In the Upper District no less? How?”
“Can’t say. All we know is that it happens and the Saint makes it out alive. We don’t even know who orchestrates it.”
Maxwell’s shock rendered him mute.
“What complicates matters,” Anna-Marie continued, “is we don’t know for certain who the Saint is. All signs point to the girl the Leginbarths are supposedly sheltering, since that lines up with the Saint we know. But so much has diverted from our original visions, we can’t put our faith in assumptions. It’s entirely possible a totally unrelated third party might be the victim.”
“A third party?” Like who? Maxwell pondered for a moment, until Anna-Marie’s quiet stare finally brought him realization. “Lady Luciana?”