Tournament of Ruses

by Kate Stradling

  She received it with confusion. “What’s this?”

  “It’s a draft of the letter that the palace is going to send to all of the applicants for consort,” Charlie replied. He sounded a little disgruntled. “The Prince said that you should look it over first as a guide for how you organize the applications.”

  Flora skimmed its contents, and her eyes nearly fell out of her head. She had to read it a second time to make sure she wasn’t dreaming.

  To the Citizens of Lenore:

  In light of the many applications that the palace has received for the position of Consort to the Eternal Prince, the following procedure, developed with the approval of the Eternal Prince and Parliament of Lenore together, will be followed to select the most appropriate candidate:

  1. Each candidate will undergo a brief interview. A small committee appointed by the Prince himself will evaluate candidates based upon personality, appearance, and manner.

  2. Candidates will demonstrate their grace and poise in a modest walking course.

  3. Candidates will participate in a cultural exposition. This exposition will be open to the public of Lenore and take place over the course of one week.

  4. On the final evening of the exposition, the palace will host a grand ball wherein the Prince will announce his choice to the nation.

  The interviews will begin at the start of next week. We thank you at this time for your continued allegiance to Lenore and to our beloved Protector, the Eternal Prince.

  It was signed by the Prime Minister, with the consent of Parliament. Flora raised astonished eyes to Charlie’s face. “How…?” she began.

  “Looks like you’re saved,” he dryly replied. “Does that give you a better idea how to organize the applications?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re ordering them for the first evaluation. They’re to meet with the committee one by one for that interview, and they’ll go in whatever order you place the files.”

  “In other words, it really doesn’t matter what order I give them at all,” said Flora.

  He actually suppressed a laugh at this. “No, it doesn’t. Shall I collect all the files and return them to the Prince now, then?”

  “Shouldn’t I keep them at least one more night so that it looks like I’m taking this extra instruction to heart?” she inquired.

  For some reason, the question annoyed him. “As you wish,” he said, and he abruptly tipped his hat to her. He departed then with the ridiculous draft letter tucked under one arm.

  Flora wondered if she had somehow offended him. She also wondered if he was the one who had told the Prince about her fabricated assessments, or if Will or Viola was the culprit. Regardless, the Prince had seen fit to take pity on her. His version of the multi-layered judging system didn’t include any eliminations until he made his final choice, and it said nothing of him dancing with each candidate at the ball, but she thought that was probably for the best.

  Actually, his twist on her ridiculous idea was a much better one: essentially he was going to allow all of the eligible women of Lenore to display their talents for the country to admire. The cultural exposition would be something of a novelty, for such things were usually reserved to highlight the work of Lenorean scholars, all of whom were men. The more she thought on it, the more Flora liked the idea of Lenorean woman displaying their strengths for all to see, the ridiculous pretense notwithstanding.

  She had no clue what she might display, but from the broadness of the term “exposition” she thought she could probably get away with something small and tucked away in a corner. Expositions were supposed to have performances and standing displays alike, so there was no reason she would have to make a spectacle of herself in front of anyone.

  She had no hopes or desires of winning, of course. She would leave that to more suitable candidates like Viola or Georgiana.

  She was curious about Viola’s application—so curious, in fact, that she sat right down in the drawing room to look it over rather than sequestering it away to her bedroom. Viola’s vitals were predictable enough. Her age was a surprise, though: she was almost a full year younger than Flora, even though she seemed so much older and wiser.

  The descriptive paragraph that followed gave her even more of a shock:

  “Viola finds this process for choosing a consort repugnant, as his Royal Highness the Eternal Prince is well aware. The very idea that a number of women must clamor to marry one solitary man repulses her, and she participates under protest, and only because her father has advised her that it is the proper thing for her to do. She would much rather live quietly than subject herself to a spectacle such as this.”

  That was astonishing enough in its own right, but a second hand added after this, “She is a positive delight and already possesses the heart of a most arduous suitor who hopes very much that she will accept his adoration and disregard the ridiculous fanfare this competition is creating.”

  So Will had somehow gotten hold of Viola’s application. Flora wondered if Viola knew, or if she ought to bring this little addendum to anyone’s attention before she handed all the files back to the palace. She wasn’t even sure who would review the applications after her, though. Will was part of the Prince’s inner circle, or so she had been told, so the Prince was no doubt aware of his feelings towards Viola. Flora had no desire to be caught in the middle of a scandal, and scandal it would be if rumors circulated that the Eternal Prince and one of his advisors were locked in a rivalry over the same girl.

  A light knock sounded on the front door, breaking her from this Georgiana-esque line of thought. Flora was near the window and craned her head to see a dark, bundled figure on her doorstep. She closed Viola’s file and waited for Mrs. Finch’s footsteps in the entryway.

  They did not come.

  Again the knock sounded. Reluctantly Flora tucked the file and its companions away in an unobtrusive place—lest the visitor wish to come in—and went to answer the door. Mrs. Finch scolded her whenever she got caught performing this duty, as it was meant for a servant and not the lady of the house, but Flora always felt awkward waiting for someone else to do it when she was right there. Besides, she couldn’t very well leave someone standing on her doorstep on a cold day like this.

  The knock came a third time, just as she was about to open the door. Flora wondered who could be so impatient and hoped that it was not Georgiana. That timid tap-tap-tap of a knock sounded nothing like Georgiana Winthrop, though. She swung the door open, curious to see who had come.

  The bundled figure was shorter than her and covered from head to toe in dark clothing. A hooded cloak obscured the head and wrapped around the person’s face, so that only a pair of large, gleaming eyes stared back at Flora. Her very first thought was of the Eternal Prince and his distinctive headdress, but this person’s raiment held none of that ornamentation. It was tattered at the edges and dusty even though most every inch of dust in the country currently rested under a blanket of snow.

  For a reason unbeknownst to Flora, her blood ran cold. Those large eyes blinked up at her. The pupils were constricted to what seemed like mere pinpoints. Silence stretched and enveloped her as she stared back. “Y-yes?” she finally managed to say. “What do you want?”

  Rumors of bandits and marauders coursed through her head. This was not the countryside or the highway, though. This was Lords’ Row. Even if the Daltons lived at the very end of the street, there was still a high wall between them and the forest. Lords’ Row didn’t receive shady visitors. It was too respectable for such things.

  The person did not immediately answer her question. The eyes blinked again and Flora heard an audible intake of breath.

  Then, “You are the new guardian?” the stranger asked. There was an odd resonance to that voice. Flora could not swear to whether it was a man or a woman that spoke; from stature and build alone, she had assumed a woman, but she realized now that that might not be the case. Either way, the question struck terror in her heart.<
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  The well was supposed to be a secret. No one was supposed to know she was a guardian to it.

  “I think you must have the wrong house,” she said, and she tried to close the door. A gloved hand shot out to catch it.

  The stranger was stronger than Flora had bargained. The door wouldn’t budge.

  “Don’t play dumb, little girl,” it hissed. “We felt the current shift. We felt the old well sever in two. We know it’s here. Are you the guardian?”

  She panicked and threw all her weight against the door. It slammed shut and Flora flipped the bolt into place. Heart racing, she leaned against the solid wood and tried to think what she was supposed to do in such a situation.

  A black-clad fist suddenly smashed through the panel right next to her head. Flora shrieked and scrambled from the door. She watched with growing horror as the fist retracted and those large eyes peered through the splintered opening.

  “Flora, what on earth—?” Mrs. Finch had appeared at last, but she paused in the hallway to stare at the hole in the door.

  “Get out of here,” Flora told her desperately. She turned back to the doorway, only to discover a thick, almost liquid-like smoke pouring in through the hole. The two eyes had vanished, but the puddle of smoke was forming into a familiar, bundled shape.

  Flora didn’t wait for it to finish. She snatched Mrs. Finch by the arm and ran for the kitchen. Cook would be there, the only other servant currently at home. More importantly, the kitchen would have weapons: knives, fire, and any number of projectiles.

  Flora could sense the strange creature behind her, though. A glance over her shoulder showed it in pursuit, flowing over the ground like a creeping fog. Impulsively she paused and tipped over a bookcase on the insidious pursuer. The case smashed to the floor. The creature scattered into that fluid smoke, but it began to gather again almost immediately.

  Flora kept running.

  As soon as she passed through to the kitchen, Mrs. Finch slammed the door shut behind her and Cook, who had ascertained the eminent danger, wedged a chair beneath the knob.

  “That’s not going to hold it off!” cried Flora. “It punched a hole right through the front door!”

  “What is that thing?” Mrs. Finch demanded.

  “I don’t know! Some creature from the forest, I think!”

  “Creatures in the forest are just a story!”

  “They’re not just stories in Lenore,” Cook interjected, and she thrust a huge knife into Flora’s surprised hands. “What sort of a creature was it?”

  “It-it turned to smoke at the front door,” Flora stammered.

  “And there it’s doing it again.” Cook grimly pointed to the floor, to the crack beneath the door, where black smoke spilled into the room. She threw a handful of the garlic she had been chopping. The smoke scattered but immediately began to coalesce again. “Not a vampire. Light a stick with the fire, Flora, quickly!”

  Flora exchanged her knife for a narrow piece of wood from the supply next to the fireplace. She thrust it into the flames. Behind her, that liquid smoke was building into the bundled figure while Cook and Mrs. Finch threw every projectile they could get their hands on to scatter it again. They were losing the battle.

  Her stick caught fire at last. Flora turned it on the creature just as it solidified. It hissed and recoiled away from her. She swung the flames closer, and it slid back again.

  “Fire’s the trick!” cried Cook.

  This might have been an encouraging sign, except that a fist suddenly smashed through the kitchen door from outside. Flora shrieked as the dark, fluid smoke began to pour in through that new opening. The first creature ducked and jarred the wood from her grip. It clattered to the ground, and Cook immediately punted it at the creature, which scattered into smoke again.

  The one at the outside door was already taking shape. Mrs. Finch snatched up the fire tongs and lobbed a couple of blazing coals toward it.

  Flora screamed. “You’re going to burn the house down! It’s not doing enough damage to them!”

  “How many are there?” Mrs. Finch cried. A third batch of smoke had begun to pour through the opening. The three women clustered together at the hearth. Flora caught up a second piece of wood and Cook picked up the poker that had been resting in the flames. The creatures, formed in their humanoid shapes, advanced upon the trio, but they seemed loath to come close to the glow of the fire.

  “Don’t be foolish, little guardian,” the first one sneered. “You cannot sustain that light forever!” It swung its arm and a frozen gust of air ripped across the kitchen. The fire sputtered in the hearth.

  Cook answered this attack by hurling her poker like a javelin. The creature spilled away into smoke again. The other two hissed in fury. A fourth started to pour in at the side door.

  “What do we do?” asked Flora in a rising panic. Her heart beat in her ears and her hands were none too steady around the flaming wood she held.

  “We set the house on fire,” Cook retorted, and she snatched up the little shovel that was kept to scoop the coals.

  “We can’t!”

  “Would you rather have them blow out the fire and consume us?”

  The fourth creature had formed and another poured through the hole behind it. Flora’s head swam. They couldn’t burn the house down, not with the three of them still in it! “What do you want?” she finally shouted. “What do you want?”

  The first had coalesced again. “We want the well, little guardian. A trifling thing to ask for, as it rightfully belongs to us! Take us to it, and no one will be harmed!”

  She froze at this command. Logic told her just to comply. What was a fledgling well of magic that she didn’t even understand when compared with her life and the lives of two others? Even so, something within her utterly refused. She had sworn to protect it. She was the guardian. She may not have given that role much thought before this very moment but her bond with the well held substance beyond her control. Something within her compelled her to refuse.

  “I won’t,” she whispered, horrified even as the words crossed her lips.

  “Then your friends will die,” said the creature malevolently.

  From beyond the side door, a cluster of voices suddenly shrieked in agony. The creatures that had gathered within the kitchen wrenched toward the sound, just as a heavy kick smashed the door wide open.

  “Ablinda thu!” a new figure shouted, and pure, searing light burst throughout the room.

  Flora dropped her burning stick of wood and instinctively covered her eyes. She heard the clatter of Mrs. Finch’s fire tongs and Cook’s shovel in chorus with five agonized screams. Then, all was silent.

  A pair of hands gripped her by the shoulders. “Are you all right?” asked a familiar voice.

  Painfully she wedged her eyes open. The blinding light had receded, but not entirely. Flora squinted up at Will, who seemed almost as radiant as the room around him. His golden eyes were ablaze and his hair floated around his head as if it carried a charge. His expression was one of concern.

  “Flora, are you all right?” he asked again.

  Her stomach twisted. She doubled over and retched.

  The logical part of her mind gave thanks that her stomach was already empty, that she had not purged its contents onto Will’s shoes. Cook had regained her senses and was stamping out the live coals they had flung across the room. A few had come into contact with wood and were smoldering. Mrs. Finch gathered her wits enough to join in the effort, now that they no longer needed to burn down the house.

  Indeed, the dark creatures had vanished completely. Flora lifted bleary eyes to confirm that. Her gaze shifted to Will, who had crouched next to her and watched her very closely.

  She shuddered and fought against another bout of dry heaves.

  “Come on. Let’s sit you down,” he said. He pulled the chair from beneath the kitchen door knob and guided her to it. “You all did a magnificent job holding them off. I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner.”
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  “Who exactly are you?” Mrs. Finch demanded.

  “I’m—” he started to say, but the explanation cut off in his throat, to be replaced with an awkward laugh. “Well, how best to put this? I’m sort of in charge of keeping creatures like that from entering the city. Is there a drink of something handy for Miss Flora? Tea, perhaps?”

  Cook hurried to a kettle on the stove. “It’ll take a few minutes to steep,” she said as she poured the water into a teapot.

  “The hot water by itself might do her some good in the meantime,” Will replied.

  “What were those things?” Mrs. Finch demanded. “And if it’s your job to keep them out of the city, why didn’t you?”

  “They haven’t tried to get in before,” he replied defensively. “Honestly, creatures like that typically keep to the forest without any coercion from me.” He took a cup of hot water from Cook and pressed it into Flora’s limp hands. She looked up at him with miserable eyes.

  “I really did come as quickly as I could,” he told her quietly. The contrition in his voice triggered her emotions to break free of their stupor. She looked away as the first of many tears tumbled down her cheeks.

  “What did they want?” asked Cook. “They said something about a guardian and a well.”

  “They’re raving, crazy little creatures,” he answered glibly. “Something must’ve stirred them into a frenzy, for them to come into the city like that. Your house is closest to the forest wall. Bad luck, I’m afraid.”

  Flora knew he was lying for her sake, but that didn’t make it any better. “Get me out of here,” she whispered and her three listeners fixed their gaze upon her. “Get me out of here,” she said again. “I want to go home, back to the countryside where things like this never happen! Get me out of here!”

  “Flora, you’re in shock,” said Mrs. Finch. “Pull yourself together. We’re not in danger anymore, not since… er, what did you say your name was?” she asked of Will.