Magic Casement

by Dave Duncan

Inos ground her teeth quietly, glaring hatred at her embroidery. They were sitting in the Willow Grove at Kinvale with many other ladies of quality, all sewing or crocheting or merely chatting in the heavy sunshine. It was afternoon in late summer and nothing was happening. Nothing, it seemed, ever happened at Kinvale. Nothing was supposed to—that was the whole idea.

  “Besides,” her aunt continued placidly, “something did happen last night. You lost a brooch.”

  That was a devastating and unwelcome truth, and an unusually pointed reproof from Aunt Kade. Inos was being as difficult as possible, but her pleasure at having punctured her aunt's maddeningly constant good humor was spoiled in this instance by the reminder of her own stupidity. Losing a dearly loved heirloom did not compare with painting one tooth black and smiling excessively at dinner.

  Embroidery was too intricate for Aunt Kade's eyes. She was knitting some useless garment that would undoubtedly be given away to a servant as soon as it was finished. The process was important, the result was not. Inos was making a horrible mess of stitching a nosegay pattern on the corner of a linen kerchief and suffering acute agonies of frustration and boredom. She had been at Kinvale for a month. She would be there for nine or ten more months yet and nothing ever happened.

  Except a few things she had made happen, of course.

  She could concede that Kinvale was beautiful, a very great estate set in rolling hills, lush and rich as she had never imagined a land could be. It lay northeast of Pamdo Gulf, near the great port of Shaldokan—of which she had seen nothing at all—but far enough from the sea that it had never been pillaged by jotunn raiders, even during the worst periods of disorder in the past when the Impire had been weak. She had seen little of the smaller manors and hamlets nearby, but enough to know that they were old and settled and dull. The nearby town of Kinford she had visited briefly, and it was also old, prosperous, and apparently dull. The huge, sprawling ducal estate was old, luxurious, and driving her crazy.

  The Willow Grove, where she was presently enduring a particularly acute boredom, was picturesque to a fault, flanking a lake that was itself resplendent with water lilies and graceful swans, set about with sculptures and little marble pavilions. Beyond the lake lay the park, where myriad servants tidied up the droppings of small deer and carved the boxwood trees into fantastic and amusing shapes. For someone who had seen exactly six trees in her life, Inos had tired of trees surprisingly quickly—they did not do anything. She had been impressed by the green hills, the farms, and the vineyards, but she had glimpsed all those only at a distance. Young ladies of quality were not encouraged to go mucking around in farmyards, and she had been swiftly intercepted on her one attempt to go exploring in that direction.

  She passed her mornings now in lessons—dancing, elocution, and lute playing. In the afternoons she would sit and sew and talk with Aunt Kade and other matrons. In the evenings there was dancing or listening to music and then bedtime. And that was all. She had been allowed to go riding a few times with other wellborn maidens, but their path had been restricted to a cinder circle through the park, the horses had been ancient hacks, and their riders no more interesting—well-educated virgins whose brains had been wrapped up in embroidery and tucked away in some safe drawer at birth. Inos was permitted to read books, provided she did not overdo it. She might stroll on the terrace, so long as she did not leave Aunt Kade's sight or talk to strange men. She could also sit and grind her teeth at needlework and wonder what would happen if one evening she were to tear off all her clothes and turn cartwheels across the ballroom floor.

  Amid the splendor and wealth she was miserably homesick for barren, shabby old Krasnegar. Amid nobility and personages of the highest breeding, she longed for the company of Father and Lin and Ido. Even dull old Rap would do.

  She was not supposed to be out of Aunt Kade's sight unless some other old . . . gentlewoman . . . had been designated her keeper for a short while. It was humiliating! Did they think she was some sort of wanton? That she could not be trusted? Of course she was trusted, Aunt Kade would explain patiently. It was appearances that mattered. Climbing out casements, sliding down banisters . . .

  Materializing in dignified silence, a young footman offered a tray of sweetmeats to Aunt Kade, who declined, and then to Inos.

  “Thanks, Urni.” She pointed to one of the yummy little cakes. “That one! Did Alopa bake these?”

  The tray wobbled dangerously. Scarlet flowed out of his high, tight collar, rising all the way to his powdered hair. “M-m-ma'am?”

  “Just wondering.” Inos flashed him a benign but triumphant smile. “I thought maybe it was her baking that you were after in the little pantry two nights ago?”

  Urni almost dropped her chosen cake from his tongs. The tray swayed again in his other hand, and he swallowed hard. “No, ma'am. I mean . . . No, ma'am.”

  She chuckled quietly and said no more, letting him beat a speedy retreat. Off duty, he was rather fun, was young Urni—or so the chambermaids reported.

  As Inos was about to pop the first morsel of cake in her mouth, Aunt Kade sighed heavily. “You really should not speak to the domestics like that, dear.”

  “Oh?” Inos laid down her fork in case she was tempted to throw it. “It upsets you that all these old crones will see me failing to live up to their mummified standards of nose-in-the-air snootiness?. You would prefer me to behave like a marble statue? Exactly what harm is there in treating a man like a human being?”

  Kade finished the row and turned the knitting. “None,” she told it. “Treat him like a human being by all means.”

  “I don't believe I understand that remark.”

  “You were not treating him like a human being. You were treating him like a tethered bear.”

  “I . . .” Inos fell silent, mouth open.

  “They can't fight back, my dear. They, at least, would certainly prefer marble statues.” Kade's eyes had never strayed from her knitting, but now she added, “And here comes the duke.”

  Inos looked up. Duke Angilki had emerged onto the terrace with a companion. That, Inos decided bitterly, probably qualified as an excitement. She had expected that a man who had buried two wives might be a monster, but she was now certain that they had died of boredom. Angilki was quite the dullest man she had ever met. He was tall and portly, with a flabby red face and a pendulous lower lip—the face of an overgrown, slow-witted child. He was utterly dominated by his fearsome mother, the dowager duchess, and his only interest seemed to be interior decorating.

  He was extending Kinvale in all directions, but the architecture was incidental. Neither the building activity nor the final purpose mattered. It was style that counted, and the process itself. So the duke spent his days with artists and artisans in blissful contemplation of plans, sketches, and swatches. His artistic taste was impeccable, his results impressive. Kinvale was beautiful. But what good was it, Inos would demand of her aunt when they were alone, if it doesn't do anything?

  At least she no longer need worry that Duke Angilki would force her to marry him so that he might become king of Krasnegar. Krasnegar would appeal to Angilki much less even than Kinvale appealed to Inos, and the duke himself had no visible interest in women. Had she been a roll of chintz, now, or a sample of wallpaper, then she might have caught his eye and brought a flush to his cheek.

  A conspiratorial twitter from the ladies announced that the duke and his friend were advancing toward them over the lawn . . . probably coming to ask his mother if he could take a bath, Inos decided, but a quick glance around showed that the dowager duchess was not present. And the companion was a man. That was unusual. Houseguests came and went by the dozen at Kinvale—friends and relatives to the farthest degree—and they were almost all female.

  Where were all the men? Possibly some were off soldiering somewhere, and perhaps others had soldiered at some time in the past and failed to recover from the experience. The few men who did show up at the banquets and balls were almost all much too old to
be of interest and all basically dull, as well. Their profession seemed to be the elegant doing of nothing, their only recreation the slaughtering of birds or animals. A few of them had admitted to having useful occupations like overseeing estates. One or two had even let slip the fact that they engaged in trade. There had been travelers pass through, and soldiers and Imperial officials and priests. But were there no young, interesting men in the Impire?

  Lately Inos had begun to perceive Kinvale as a zoo, a game farm, where the womenfolk were confined while the men stayed away and ran the world. This insight depressed her greatly. Already the ship road to Krasnegar would be closing down for winter and she had all those dreary months to look forward to before it opened again.

  Now Duke Angilki had reached the edge of the grove of ladies and was making introductions. He was beautifully dressed, of course, his bulging doublet gleaming white and his hose bright scarlet. His cloak was a rich bottle green with a narrow ermine trim—probably much too hot for this time of year, Inos thought, but the heavy material would disguise his stoutness better than a lighter fabric. He had an excellent tailor. He moved on to the next small cluster of ladies, and she caught her first good look at his companion.

  Mmm! Not bad at all!

  The stranger was a comparatively young man, a rarity. Inos had met almost no men of her own age at Kinvale. Apparently males still in their acne and Adam's apple metamorphosis were kept out of the sight of genteel company, and now she thought she might even settle for early twenties. This one would do for a start. He was as tall as the duke, dark and slim, and his deep-blue doublet and white hose outshone even the duke's tailoring. He was wearing no cloak, which was daring of him—it emphasized his youth. He moved with grace. Yes! A little older than she would normally have preferred, but . . . not . . . bad . . . at . . . all.

  “Don't stare, dear,” Aunt Kade muttered, holding her knitting at arm's length and screwing up her eyes. “They're coming as fast as they can.”

  “What! I mean, beg pardon?”

  “It would appear that they're heading toward us,” Aunt Kade told her needles. “But of course they must pay their respects to the others first.”

  “That's what they call a young man, isn't it? I think we used to have some of those around Krasnegar.”

  “Sarcasm is not ladylike,” Aunt Kade said mildly. “Try not to drool over him too much. He was at the ball last night.”

  “I didn't see him!”

  “He noticed you.” Aunt Kade's smile registered satisfaction.

  Angrily Inos pretended to concentrate on her embroidery. Mention of the previous night reminded her yet again of the tragedy—she had lost her mother's ruby brooch. She could not forgive herself for being so careless. She was certain that it had still been there when she retired to bed and that she had unpinned it and laid it on her dressing table. Yet that was obviously impossible, because there had been no brooch there in the morning. Of course the door of their suite had been bolted—Aunt Kade always insisted on that. They had even considered burglary as an explanation, but had been forced to discard it. A team of circus cats could not have reached their windows. Of all the heirlooms that her father had given her, her mother's ruby brooch had been the most precious to her, and now she had been so unthinkably careless and stupid and ungrateful and—

  The duke! She bounced up hurriedly from her chair.

  “Sir Andor,” Duke Angilki explained. “Princess Kadolan of Krasnegar.”

  The young man bowed over Aunt Kade's hand. Yes, very nice indeed! He was an imp, of course—and how Inos longed now for the sight of a tall, blond jotunn just to break the monotony—but he was not short and he was not swarthy. His hair was black, but his skin showed a gleaming, healthy tan, a smooth complexion with just a hint of blue chin to save the perfectly regular features from any hint of femininity. Handsome! Then he straightened and turned to her and she saw smiling dark eyes and perfect white teeth. Handsome did not do justice.

  “And Princess Inosolan,” said her portly host, “may I present to your Highness my friend Sir Andor? Sir Andor, this is Princess Kadolan's niece.”

  “I shall always remember this day,” Sir Andor said, “when all my standards of beauty and grace had to be discarded as inadequate, when all other ladies faded in my sight, when my highest dreams and aspirations were suddenly made worthless by my first glimpse of feminine perfection in the divine form of the Princess Inosolan.”

  He stooped to touch his lips to her hand. Inos was still trying to think of some equally outrageous reply when their eyes met again and she saw that he was laughing. She was so surprised that she did not hear what she said, but apparently it was satisfactory.

  “You have just arrived at Kinvale then, Sir Andor?” Aunt Kade inquired.

  “Two days ago, ma'am.”

  “I have been trying to persuade him to spend some time with us,” the duke huffed, “but he insists that he must rush off.”

  “A month at the most!” Andor said. “I have most urgent responsibilities to call me away, although I know already that my heart will never leave. Even the presence of such celestial beauty is insufficient . .”

  Inos resumed her seat as the flowery phrases were tossed around, the duke and Aunt Kade apparently serious, while she was quite certain this young Andor was treating it all as ludicrous nonsense and offering to share the joke with her. It was a wonderful surprise to discover that she was not the only sane person in the world. Then the duke made some excuses and moved off, pausing to dispense more greetings. A miasma of disapproval arose from the company in general—obviously the sensational young Andor had been brought out especially to meet Inos, and that was being regarded as sneaky favoritism.

  Aunt Kade took the hint and asked him if he would care to sit. He did so, studying her with an expression of wonder.

  “Of course that is your portrait in the gallery,” he said. “I noticed it at once. It quite puts all the other so-called beauties to shame, and yet it does not do you justice.”

  Aunt Kade preened. “It was painted many years ago.”

  “But a silver setting enhances the finest gems, and nothing else has changed. Your coloring . . .”

  Inos had heard some outrageous flattery sessions in the previous month, but nothing that could have touched the performance that followed. With quick, deft strokes, like a skilled fishwife filleting, Andor reduced Aunt Kade to simpering blushes. Compliments so excessive could not possibly be intended seriously, yet that did not stop them being effective in the hands of an expert.

  Then he turned his attention to Inos. She wondered what heights of hypocrisy he would scale now, but the cynical twinkle was back in his eye again, and he surprised her once more. “But you, ma'am . . . on reconsideration, I find your appearance most displeasing.”

  Inos had been preparing a small smile of ladylike modesty; taken unaware, she stammered. Aunt Kade opened her mouth to protest, then closed it.

  “To come so close to perfection,” Andor said, putting his head on one side and pretending to study her, “and then fail to achieve it is a sin against all art. It offends one's sensibilities. A much lesser beauty that confined itself within its own limitations would not impart this aura of failure, of excessive ambition unrealized.” He leaned back to consider her further. “What is required, I think . . . yes . . . what is really needed . . . is a touch of fire. Then we should see divinity!”

  He held out a hand with Inos' brooch on the palm.

  Speechless with astonishment, Inos examined the brooch. Aunt Kade expressed pleasure and demanded an explanation.

  “A most curious tale!” Andor said solemnly. “Just after dawn this morning I was putting a hunter over a few jumps, over on the far side of the park there, when I saw a bird fly overhead with something shiny . . .”

  Had he told it with a straight face, Inos thought, she would certainly have believed him, but every time Aunt Kade's eyes left his face he gleamed a secret grin at Inos and she found she was sliding closer and clo
ser to an attack of giggles.

  “I believe you can even see the very tree in which the jackdaws have their nest,” he said, rising and peering over the lake. “Yes, there.” He pointed and of course Inos had to rise to see where he was pointing. “No, farther to the left . .” He led her around one of the willows.

  In a few moments, still trying to see the tree with the jackdaws' nest, Inos found that she was out of earshot of Aunt Kade.

  Still pointing, Andor said, “Doesn't this place make you want to puke?”

  “Oh, yes!” Inos peered along his arm for the benefit of the many disapproving watchers and said, “Raving mad. Is there really a jackdaw tree?”

  “Gods, no! I found your brooch on the rug last night. The pin was loose. I had it repaired. Do you like riding?” He was looking back and forth from her to the horizon and she was nodding as if he were pointing out landmarks, leading her eye to the mythical jackdaws. “Fishing? Boating? Archery? Right!”

  He led her back to her chair and gave Aunt Kade a disapproving frown. “Your niece tells me she has not yet seen the water caves!”

  What water caves?

  “Well, we have only recently arrived at Kinvale,” Aunt Kade protested.

  “But this is the best time of year to see them, when the river is low. Don't you agree?”

  He skillfully cornered Aunt Kade into conceding that she had visited the water caves in her youth. Thus she could hardly object when Andor announced that he would organize a party of some young ladies and gentlemen to view the water caves. He went on to discuss the annual salmon run, when the rivers were red from bank to bank with fish as large as sheep, to grape tramping in the vineyards, to the giant sequoias, to treasure hunts, to royal tennis, to hayrides and waterfalls and boating expeditions with picnic lunches, to bathing in the natural hot springs, to falconry and fly fishing, to a dozen other entrancing possibilities. There was no suggestion that any of these ventures would involve less than a dozen people and he tossed out the names of very respectable companions, evidently being on terms of friendship with almost everyone at Kinvale and most of the surrounding countryside as well. It was a staggering presentation and it left Inos' head whirling.