“Unfortunately, someone used my displays of innocent deception for a less innocent purpose. For Princess Justa’s sixth birthday, the banquet was more resplendent than any I’d served the royals before. All the members of the court were there; the emperor and his wife and daughter were at the head of the table. I had made marzipan orchids for decoration, because the empress’s favorite flower was the orchid. You have heard of the Mark of the Vine?”
“A little. I don’t really understand it.”
Mazapán shook his head. “To my mind, it is simply one more of the infinite differences that distinguish us from each other. My hair is brown; your hair is fair; Theo’s is black. Simply different. In the Baldlands, there are some who take great pride in having a particular shade of hair or skin. I find it rather ridiculous. But to continue—the empress had the Mark of the Vine. Her hair was not hair like yours or mine; it consisted of orchid roots.”
Sophia wrinkled her nose. “Orchid roots?”
“To you, no doubt it sounds strange. The entire court considered it the height of beauty. They were thin, white strands, the orchid roots, which she wove and bound into towering designs. Naturally, it gave her a love and affinity for the orchid flower. Her daughter Justa inherited this trait.”
“She has roots on her head, too?”
“No, Justa’s hair also bears the Mark, but it takes the form of a grass—long and green. I have not seen her since she was a child, but I am told it is very beautiful.”
Sophia diplomatically said nothing to contradict him.
“I had created marzipan orchids particularly for the empress, and there were vases all along the table. As the banquet began, the guests sampled the food, the flowers, the utensils, and even the plates. At one point—I was watching from the side of the room, naturally, to ensure everything went smoothly—the empress took up a marzipan orchid and ate it. I knew she would; there were banquets when she ate nothing but the flowers! She had another, and another. And then—suddenly—I knew something terrible had happened. The empress’s face was horrible to see. She clutched her throat and then her stomach. She crashed forward onto the table, her fabulous hair cascading onto the plates. Immediately, the entire room was on its feet. A doctor came at once, but it was too late; the empress was dead. She had been killed by a very rare poisonous orchid that someone had placed among the marzipan orchids.”
Sophia gasped. “Did they accuse you?”
Mazapán shook his head. “Fortunately, no. I was questioned, of course, but they soon realized I had nothing to gain from the empress’s death.”
“How terrible,” she said sympathetically.
“Indeed. Though they did not blame me, the emperor never wanted another such banquet, naturally enough. And I, for my part, though I knew I had not been to blame, could not help feeling some responsibility. Had I not created the marzipan orchids, no one would have been able to plant the poisonous orchids among them.”
“But that’s ridiculous!” Sophia exclaimed. “They just took advantage of how real the banquet looked.”
“Yes.” Mazapán shook his head. “But why invite such danger? I gave up the marzipan and the spun sugar and the meringue. I stayed with the chocolate dishes and utensils, because they, at least, cannot be used for ill. The worst that can come from biting into a plate or cup substituted for one of mine is a broken tooth!” He laughed.
“I suppose you’re right.” After a moment, she added, “Princess Justa must have been heartbroken to lose her mother.”
“No doubt she was,” Mazapán said, but his tone was uncertain. “As I said, I haven’t seen her since her sixth birthday, but she was a strange child. She was—how to say it?—cold. I could not tell whether she was truly emotionless or simply very shy, but she seemed so devoid of the usual charm of children that I confess I never warmed to her. If what I hear is true, she has become a quiet, withdrawn woman.” He paused, lost in thought for a moment. “We’ll be changing horses soon,” he resumed. “There’s a place up the road.”
The land they were passing through was flat, the vegetation cut away from the road to prevent thieves from hiding and ambushing travelers. They passed a few peddlers with wooden cases on their backs and a pair of riders.
Sophia had noticed that the wind chimes, so prevalent in the Veracruz market, also hung at regular intervals on posts at the side of the road. Their constant ringing had become familiar—almost comforting. “Are those to mark another path?” she asked now.
“Ah—no,” Mazapán said, following her gaze. “Those are warning chimes. They warn travelers of a weirwind. Do you have those in the north?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Weirwinds can be long or short, wide or narrow, but they are all deadly. Powerful walls of pure wind that draw you in with a force of a cyclone.”
“Like tornadoes.”
“Yes, very similar; like a wall of tornadoes. For weeks now, they have forecast the approach of a weirwind from the south. The chimes will announce its arrival so that people on the road and in the cities can take cover underground. Ah—here we are.”
They had a quick meal at the inn, which to Sophia’s relief was all but deserted. While Burr and Theo changed the horses, Sophia stood with Calixta and Mazapán by the cart, keeping an anxious watch on the empty road.
A strange shape appeared on the horizon, moving toward them at a tremendous speed. She was about to call Calixta, but then she saw what it was and her jaw dropped in disbelief.
It appeared to be a sailing tree—a slim wooden vessel twice as high as Mazapán’s cart, propelled by broad green sails. Enormous leaves grew from the base of the mast and were tied at its tip, cupping the wind. The spherical wheels, woven like baskets from a light wood, were painted gold. The ship seemed to float, gliding effortlessly on its tall wheels. A girl not much older than Sophia leaned lazily over the railing at the stern.
Sophia watched, enthralled, until it was no more than a speck. “Mazapán, what was that?”
“Ah! You’ve never seen an arboldevela.”
She raised her eyebrows.
“Boldevela for short. It’s a vessel with living sails and a wooden hull.”
“Do you have one?” she asked eagerly.
He laughed. “They’re rather expensive for ordinary people. But they’re not uncommon. You’ll see more of them in Nochtland on the roads and in the canals.”
They changed horses twice more before stopping for the night at the halfway point between Veracruz and Nochtland. Sophia had been dozing off for the last several miles, resting her head against Mazapán’s arm. As the horses slowed, she opened her eyes and fumbled for her watch. It was one by the Baldlands clock and past two by the clock of New Occident.
“The innkeeper here saves a room for me,” Mazapán told her. “If we’re lucky, there will be another one empty. We’ll be tucked away and sleeping in no time.”
After stabling the horses, they made their way up the tiled walkway to the main building. The royal seal beside the door and an imposing portrait of the royal family in the foyer announced that the inn was a licensed lodging house. Mazapán lit a candle from the stack left conveniently on the foyer table and led them down the open corridor of the inn’s inner courtyard. Sophia and Calixta took one of the rooms that stood open and Burr, Mazapán, and Theo took another. As she stumbled sleepily out of her clothes, Sophia realized she hadn’t had a chance to speak with Theo all day. She shivered. The room felt cavernous, with its bare stucco walls and high, beamed ceilings, and the sheets were stiff from having hung to dry in the sun; but Sophia hardly noticed. She dropped into her narrow bed and fell instantly asleep.