“Gods above, ‘undeveloped’ is one way of putting it,” Melody sighed under her breath. “Once more, just to be safe—steady. Orizzontale.”
Suspension was one of those marvels of engineering that one often took for granted. The unsung hero of automobile transportation, suspension systems helped nullify or otherwise ease the wobbling that would typically accompany high-speed travel. Without it, you would feel every bump in the road, the lurch of every brake, and the sway of every turn.
Medieval Europe had horse-drawn carriages, not suspension. They did not even know what suspension was.
That had been fine for the first day of the journey. The Avarenton March was a well-maintained area, being a borderland that needed to be ever vigilant for a military emergency. They quickly left that paradise behind, however, and on the second day, the descent into hell began.
To call the experience “culture shock” would be an understatement.
The roads beyond the march were unpaved, unmaintained, and unlike anything Melody was used to. It was not long before her stomach lurched in protest, leaving her queasy.
In an effort to spare her dignity, and her lunch, Melody had begun to soften the ride through spells. Force magic, which controlled physical phenomena such as gravity, to be specific. In effect, Melody could imitate a suspension system, virtually eliminating all the swaying and jostling. While the exterior of the coach shook like the earth upon the coming of the horsemen of the apocalypse, the interior may as well have been gliding over open ocean.
Truthfully, Melody had no idea how she was doing it, but she didn’t rightly care. She wasn’t dry heaving, and that was good enough for her.
In ten days’ time, right on schedule, the stagecoach arrived in the royal capital—Paltescia.
“Hats off to you, good sir. Absolutely incredible work. My heartfelt thanks for the smoothest journey I’ve ever had the privilege to go on!”
“Th-thank you kindly?” The box seat had not benefited from the effects of Melody’s magic, unfortunately, and the coachman was thus most confused by the praise levied upon him by his passengers. His staging career, however, would surely flourish under his newly inflated reputation.
Meanwhile, Melody was bidding farewell to her travel companion.
“You’re off to become a maid, yes?” Max said. “In that case, you should make your way to the Commerce Guild. I believe they offer employment with some common folks’ homes without the need for a referral. It would be a good place to start.”
“Thank you for the suggestion. I think I’ll do just that.”
“It was a pleasure, Melody. My thanks for the memorable journey.”
“Likewise. I hope we meet again someday!” Melody waved to the young man, beaming as she did.
Max watched her trot away, a smile of his own on his lips. “If only Father wasn’t so particular about the help we hire.” When the girl was gone, he turned away. “Apologies for the delay.”
“Your father will be glad of your safe return, Lord Maxwell.” A man that might as well have emerged from Max’s shadow stood behind him, garbed in a footman’s uniform. He bowed and gestured to a lavish carriage. “It went well, I hope?”
“As well as it could have. Let’s be off. I’m rather homesick, and the longer we prattle on, the longer His Highness must wait until he hears my report on the western highways.”
“Might I suggest appeasing your father first? He wishes to know whom you intend to escort to the Spring Ball.”
“No one,” Max said flatly.
“You are the lord chancellor’s son and heir, Lord Maxwell. Understand that he only worries for what society might think of one such as yourself arriving without a companion.”
“I understand well enough. Let him understand that I will escort the right woman when she appears to me and not a moment sooner.”
Max—better known to his footman as Maxwell Reclentos, eldest son of the Kingdom of Theolas’s lord chancellor—boarded the carriage.
The stagecoach had been more to his liking.