Tournament of Ruses

by Kate Stradling

  A light knock on the front door brought Flora in a hurry. To her surprise, Viola Moreland stood alone on the porch. Flora looked past her curiously.

  “The others have already gone around back,” Viola explained. “May I come in?”

  Flora immediately opened the door wider. A frozen wind streamed into the house alongside her visitor.

  “We had four birch saplings in the greenhouse, and another four alders that were meant to go along the back wall of the palace garden,” Viola informed her. “Eight should be enough, given the space in your garden. The other well has twice that many, but it has a lot more room around it, too. Do you want to go out back and watch what they’re doing, or shall we stay indoors where it’s warm?”

  “Can I watch?”

  “As the well’s guardian, you probably should,” said Viola. “It’s your decision, though.”

  She waited for a response. Flora impulsively snatched up a shawl from one of the coat hooks and circled it around her shoulders, even though she doubted she would need it in the increasingly warm backyard.

  As they approached the exit, Viola said, “I should probably warn you that we brought Gregor along—more specifically, he refused to be left behind. Don’t be alarmed if—”

  Flora had turned the knob on the door, and a massive body suddenly slammed against it, forcing it open. She shrieked as an enormous spotted jaguar zipped past her to tackle Viola to the ground. A boy, twelve or thirteen years old, quickly followed.

  “Gregor! No!” he cried, and he caught at a collar around the jaguar’s neck to haul him back. “Sorry, Vi! I only looked away for a minute, but he must’ve heard you coming.”

  Viola sat up and rubbed the cat-saliva from her cheek with one gloved hand. “Miss Dalton, meet Gregor the jaguar and my little brother Edmund, who was supposed to be keeping him in check,” she said dryly.

  Flora stared in terror at the enormous cat, which glared back at her with golden eyes. It licked its chops.

  “Oh, don’t be afraid,” said Edmund. He grabbed one of Flora’s limp hands to shake it in a rigorous greeting. Her eyes snapped to his face. “Gregor belongs to the Prince,” he explained. “He won’t hurt you! He just really loves Viola.”

  As if in answer to this, the huge cat suddenly rubbed itself against Viola, who was in the process of standing up. She nearly lost her balance again. “Gregor!” she rebuked. In answer, the jaguar butted its head against her hand. She conceded to rub him behind the ears. “He really is just a big baby, Miss Dalton,” she said.

  Flora was still having trouble reconciling the presence of an exotic predator inside her normal house. “I see,” she managed.

  “Take him back outside, Ed,” Viola commanded, and she turned sympathetic eyes on Flora. “Would you rather stay inside?”

  Sounds of digging floated in from the garden. The guardian should oversee happenings at the well, she thought vaguely. “No, we can go. Just… he’s really not dangerous?”

  “He won’t hurt you.”

  Flora did not fail to notice how she had avoided the original question.

  From the porch they could see four men in addition to Edmund, who was holding Gregor on a tight leash. Flora recognized Charlie, Will, and Prime Minister Moreland, but she did not know the fourth. He was the oldest of the group. “Who’s that?” she asked.

  “Dr. Grayson,” said Viola, her eyes trained upon the four workers. “Given the timetable, Father wanted as many people as possible to help, but of course we were limited in who we could bring. You see before you, Miss Dalton, the inner circle of the Eternal Prince of Lenore.” Her beautiful eyes shifted to the girl beside her as though to gauge her reaction to such an announcement.

  “You can call me Flora, you know,” said Flora impulsively.

  Viola smiled. “Then you must call me Viola as well. The formal titles are a little stuffy, but… Well, I’m afraid I’ve been a bit too secluded in my life to know when to use them and when to drop them. I tend to err on the side of caution.”

  Much as Flora wanted to ask about the cause for such seclusion—as the Prime Minister’s daughter, Viola should have been in a position to socialize at the very highest echelons of society—instinct told her not to. Instead, she hitched her shawl up around her shoulders and inquired, “Are we allowed to take a closer look, Viola?”

  “Of course. We should probably keep out of the way as best we can, though.”

  Together they left the porch for closer inspection of the work. The new well was nearer to one side of the yard than the other. The planned circle of trees would stand asymmetrical in the garden, at a radius of about ten feet from the well.

  “Will says that if we leave the well to develop on its own, the ring of trees will come up by itself,” Viola said as they approached the others. “We’d have no guarantee how wide the ring would be, though. This way, we can set the boundaries and tie them to the well, and thereby contain it.”

  “So it doesn’t extend to the neighbors?” Flora guessed.

  “Exactly.”

  “But how do you prevent them from seeing it from their back windows?” She pointed to the next house over, where the second- and third-story windows overlooked the Daltons’ garden. The curtains were all drawn at present, but there was no guarantee that they would remain so.

  “For now we’re in luck,” Viola replied. “That’s Lord Stratford’s house. He’s old and can’t walk up and down stairs anymore, so he only lives on the ground level, according to my father. His son stands to inherit the title and the house, though, and has a very large family that visits often—a couple of the granddaughters have applications in to become consort, I think. Anyway, someone’s going to see right into your backyard sooner or later. That’s why it’s best to get the ring in place quickly. There’s a charm that’ll hide the well from view once we’ve established the ring around it.”

  Flora turned her attention back to the workers. “I sort of feel like I should grab a shovel and help them.”

  “They’ll manage,” said Viola. “It’s only eight trees. Are they to your liking, by the way?” She pointed to the side of the yard, where stood the transplants. They were young and spindly and leafless.

  A wry laugh worked its way up from Flora’s throat. “Dad told me I could plot the new garden. This wasn’t what I had in mind, but strangely, I feel like it might be interesting. What’re we supposed to tell our servants?”

  “Nothing. Once the charm’s in place, they won’t notice anything amiss with the yard, and only you and those you authorize will be able to find the well. The fewer people that know there’s a well here, the safer it will be.”

  “I see,” said Flora. A sudden thought occurred to her. “Do I have to live in this house for the rest of my life, then?” she cried in dismay. The city was oppressive! She did not want to spend the rest of her life cooped up on this tiny plot of land, stuck on Lords’ Row, just because she happened to be guardian to the well of magic in its backyard. How was she ever to move? What if she wanted to marry and raise a family of her own? What husband would agree to live with her father, and what would happen after he died and the title passed on to one of her Dalton cousins?

  It was almost as though Viola could read her thoughts, for she gently placed her hand on the girl’s arm. “You’re not tied to this house forever, Flora. The guardianship can be transferred, once the new well is stronger. For now, while it’s still splitting and establishing itself, it’s in your care. I know it might seem overwhelming, but everything will work itself out properly, I promise you.”

  Flora nodded. She lapsed into silence as the men worked.

  Viola left her side to retrieve Gregor from Edmund, who promptly joined the others in their toil. From a safe distance Flora observed the spotted jaguar. It acted more like a puppy than a large, predatory cat with regards to Viola. If Gregor belonged to the Eternal Prince, then the Prince must have held Viola in great affection as well. Flora felt sorry for the love-struck Will, to have such a re
markable rival. On further consideration, though, she supposed that Viola was really the one to be pitied: between the Prince and Will, someone’s heart was going to get broken.

  The ground was pliable despite the frozen world beyond her backyard. Eight holes appeared with relative ease. The white, leafless birches went at each cardinal point around the well, with the darker alders between. They looked like an arrangement of large sticks poking up from the ground.

  “Are we going to be able to work a seal on any of these?” Charlie asked when everyone stood back to survey the finished circle. “They’re little more than twigs.”

  “Small fingers should be able to manage it,” said his father.

  All eyes shifted to Flora.

  She squeaked. “You mean me?”

  “If you’d like to defer the duty, Miss Dalton, we have Edmund,” Prime Minister Moreland said. “We had discussed establishing a secondary guardian as well. Will, do you think you could manage a seal on trees this young?”

  “You only need me for one of them,” Will replied. “If Ed and Flora can establish the ring, Flora and I can seal it—if that’s all right with you, Flora,” he added.

  Her brows arched. “Are you going to be a guardian as well?”

  “Just a secondary guardian. The well chose you as its primary, so you’re in charge of pulling magic from it. Speaking of which, we’re going to need some.”

  “A lot?” she asked.

  “A cup or two, wouldn’t you say, Prime Minister?”

  “If it’s not too much trouble,” Nicholas Moreland said.

  Quick as she could, Flora collected two teacups from the kitchen. Cook had returned but had her back to the door. Flora slipped in and back out again without disturbing her.

  One of the visitors outside had had the foresight to lay the gardening mat for Flora to kneel. The cover on the well, too, lay propped to one side.

  Flora stopped short when she saw the contents of the hole. “It’s risen another three inches at least!”

  “Best hurry,” said Prime Minister Moreland curtly.

  She knelt and dipped first one cup and then the other into the magic. She felt rather foolish amid the little crowd of spectators—jaguar included—but none of them seemed to find the situation funny or strange.

  Will stepped closer. “Is it all right for me to create a secondary bond with the well, Miss Flora?”

  “O-of course,” she stammered. “You certainly know more about it than I do!”

  “I know enough to ask the guardian first.”

  “You didn’t ask me,” Viola protested. “You just did it.”

  “That’s because you didn’t know what you were doing, darling,” he replied with a sunny smile. Belatedly he recalled her father’s presence. Prime Minister Moreland frowned at the familiar interchange. Will cleared his throat awkwardly and returned his attention to the well before him. Flora watched, wide-eyed, as he pulled a brass knife from his belt and promptly dug its sharp tip into his thumb. He let a drop of blood fall into the well, then collected the second cup of magic from Flora’s hands. He sipped first, then poured some of the magic over his wounded thumb back into the well. The tip of the knife, too, he swished around in the remainder of the cup before he replaced the weapon where he had withdrawn it.

  “Ready, Edmund?” he asked the youngest member of their party, and he extended the cup to him.

  The boy surged forward eagerly.

  “Don’t be too hasty, Ed,” Charlie admonished. “You have to get the pattern just right.”

  “I draw better than you do,” Edmund replied scornfully.

  A hand extended before Flora to pull her attention from this exchange. Will mutely offered to help her rise. She accepted his help and then stooped to pick up the second cup. “Does he not have to… to create a bond with the well?” she asked curiously. Edmund was already tracing magic onto one of the slender tree trunks.

  “No,” said Will.

  “You’ve drawn the magic from the well for him, so he’s acting under you,” Viola added.

  “Then why…?” she started to inquire, and her gaze flitted back to Will.

  “Because we need his strength to seal the well,” said Prime Minister Moreland grimly. “As guardian, you have to perform that act so that you can come and go as you please, but because you’re so new to magic, your spell won’t be very strong. This way, we’ll have a double-spell and double protection. Now, Miss Dalton, you should probably seal a few of these trees before Edmund has the whole ring finished. Dr. Grayson, do you have the book?”

  The older man pulled a crumbling volume from under his arm and turned it to a page that had been previously marked. Nicholas Moreland took it from him.

  “This is the pattern of the first seal, Miss Dalton. I’ll hold the book. You dip your fingers into the magic and trace it as exactly as you can onto the trunk of this tree here.” He motioned her to the third tree from where Edmund had started. Edmund had already completed the first two, but he paused to watch Flora’s instruction.

  She wished that she had watched Edmund perform the act before having to do it herself. She glanced nervously at her spectators but obediently dipped her fingers into the cup. The magic clung to them.

  “Just… here?” she asked, and she indicated a point on the thin trunk in front of her.

  “Anywhere is fine,” Prime Minister Moreland replied.

  She started to reach her hand forward but paused. “Does it need to be in one continuous line?” she asked. The book’s diagram had little arrows to indicate the direction for drawing the pattern.

  “It’s best if you can, but if you need to get more magic, it should still work,” he replied patiently.

  “You might want to dip your fingers again,” Charlie piped up. “Magic has a tendency to seep into whatever it touches, including your skin.”

  With a rising blush she dipped her fingers again. She glanced at the book as she tried to trace a similar pattern to the slender tree. It was nerve-wracking, knowing that everyone was watching her. Her fingers shook and the rough, curved surface of the bark did little to help.

  “Good enough,” said Prime Minister Moreland when she had finished. “Now, lick your fingers and touch them to the center of the seal.”

  She obeyed, though a hundred questions coursed through her mind. The sweet, rosy flavor seemed to infuse itself upon her tongue.

  “The spell-word is ‘contegito,’” he told her the moment her fingers touched the bark. “Speak it distinctly. No stuttering.”

  She looked at him wide-eyed, unsure if she could ask him to repeat the word, or if that would ruin what she had already done.

  “Con-te-gi-to,” Prime Minister Moreland said perceptively.

  “Con-te-gi-to,” Flora repeated.

  A rush of warmth streamed from her heart to her fingers and into the tree. Flora instinctively gasped and wrenched back her hand protectively to her chest.

  “Pretty well done for a first time,” Will remarked from behind her. “You might have a knack for this.”

  Flora didn’t know what he meant. She couldn’t see any difference in the tree before she had spoken and after, except that the thin pattern of magic had vanished.

  “You did well, Miss Dalton,” the Prime Minister assured her.

  Edmund crossed around to the next tree with Charlie on his heels. She watched a little enviously as he expertly traced the pattern. “Contegito!” he announced the next moment. Then he turned curious eyes to Flora. “Aren’t you going to do another?”

  “Ah,” she said, and she nervously looked around at the others. “I… suppose.” She crossed around him to the next tree, traced the pattern again under Prime Minister Moreland’s watchful eyes, and spoke the spell word a second time. The thrum of magic was stronger this time. She pulled her hand away again on instinct.

  Viola read the distress on her face. “Ed can finish up if you don’t want to. You don’t have to set the ring yourself. You just have to seal the area.”<
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  “Go ahead,” Flora told Edmund then. He gladly complied. “I’m sorry,” Flora said to the others.

  “There’s no need for that,” said the Prime Minister. “Ordinarily, new students have to study for at least a year before I would let them cast even a practice spell. Thanks to extenuating circumstance,” he added, and his critical eyes shifted in Will’s direction, “that wasn’t an option here.”

  Will, otherwise wary of the Prime Minister, on this occasion stood his ground. “We had to complete the bond,” he replied firmly. “Not only did the magic itself want it, but it was the right thing to do.”

  Nicholas Moreland waved careless fingers as though dismissing the younger man from his sight. In the background, Edmund pronounced the spell yet again. “This is the other seal you’ll need to trace, Miss Dalton,” the Prime Minister said as he turned the page in his book. “You can practice tracing it for a couple of minutes, if you’d like. It’s a little more difficult than the other one.”

  By “a little more” he meant “a lot more.” This pattern had many more curves and twists. Flora absently traded the cup of magic in her hands for the book and frowned at its contents. Words that surrounded the diagram drew her focus. They were in a foreign language. The whole book was hand-written, which was astonishing on its own, but the script and language both were indiscernible to her. She traced her fingers over the pattern on the page. It seemed to burn against her eyes.

  “Done!” Edmund announced proudly.

  Nicholas Moreland gently removed the book from Flora’s hands and replaced it with the teacup. “Ready?” he prompted.

  “Which tree do you want to mark the entrance?” Will asked, and he took Edmund’s cup from him.

  Everyone looked to Flora, and she realized that she was meant to answer the question. “Th-the birch there, I suppose,” she said uncertainly. “Is that one all right?”

  “Perfect,” said Will. “Ladies first.”

  Obediently she stood before the chosen sapling. Again Prime Minister Moreland held up the book as she nervously traced this second pattern upon the pale bark. She tentatively licked her fingers and placed them in the center of the seal, then looked to him for further instruction.