LANTERNS FLOATED above the pool while Heirs crowded the surrounding area, as the busy pavement was filled with whispers as fertile as the night itself. The pool, once filled with crystal waters and drifting leaves, was now hollowed out. In its place, the solid ground had opened into a void, revealing a spiraling staircase that descended into the depths.
A frog adorned in a small black frock cap, buttoned sleeves, shorts, and sandals stood guard. A whistle was perched at the corner of his mouth, and he clutched a thicket the size of his own small frame. This was Mr. Frogvinsky, the transportation clerk, who croaked before sounding his whistle and waving his thicket.
"Fare, fare! Lend me your ears, heed my words!" he cried in a hoarse, elderly voice, leaping along the edge of the pool in a desperate bid for attention. "Coins, coins!" He croaked again, sighed, and blew his whistle once more. "All Heirs, and that one Orphan . . . are there any who have yet to grant me a coin?" he asked of the perimeter, but the crowd remained occupied with their own discourse. "The Cradle shall return momentarily!" He then withdrew a small parchment from his thicket. "Where in the heavens is my wife? She has been absent since forever!" He looked skyward as if prepared to surrender. "I require a smoke and a day of rest!" he whispered, then proceeded to read the script. "Two passengers for the Cradle! Two passengers for the Cradle!" He sounded the whistle yet again. "I repeat, two passengers for the Cradle! The names are Quintin and Hesperia!"
At his summons, two girls emerged from the scattered throng and approached Mr. Frogvinsky. One possessed a boyish crop of hair and the other a ponytail; both were clad in gold robes and cloaks. In their hands, they carried white wooden masks which resembled the skulls of avian birds with elongated beaks.
"I am Quintin," the latter introduced, gesturing toward her companion, "and this is Hesperia."
"Very well, Children, wait here." Mr. Frogvinsky cleared his throat. "I am the Cradle Clerk, Mr. Frogvinsky."
Both greeted him with a smile.
"Our conductor of the Cradle, Mr. Croakley, shall arrive at any moment. It requires some time to do so." The frog croaked as he produced the coins that Quintin and Hesperia had surrendered long before. "Two coins to fuel the Cradle," he murmured.
Meanwhile, Maze observed the lively scene that had been so isolated upon his arrival. Many Heirs waited in the vicinity while he leaned against the lychgate of his cabin. With arms crossed, he watched the frog converse with the two Heirs he recognized. They were the ones who had previously spoken with a certain lone Heir he knew.
Maze recalled the Chamber of Refinement, for the Statue of the Divine Frog had stood at the very heart of the training hall. If he were to be honest, Mr. Frogvinsky possessed somewhat of a similar countenance. He stood upon his own two feet in the manner of a human, though he lacked the stature, and he bore the three-fingered hands of a marsh-dweller.
"I beheld the Cradle but a moment ago, Mr. Frogvinsky, and it is most peculiar." It was Quintin who spoke, and Hesperia nodded in agreement. "Welfanshelm possesses no such odd vehicles! Why does the Camp utilize something so strange for transport? Pardon my inquiry, but if you would be so kind . . . "
"Within the Towers, we dwell in the Year of the Builders, but in Welfanshelm, there is no such thing. They have no conception of what the Towers are for." Mr. Frogvinsky squinted his eyes. "Did you not learn of this?"
The two were struck dumb by his words.
"And here I thought you were Heirs." He shook his head. "What Year is it in Welfanshelm, girls?"
Hesperia answered: "It is still the Year of Archon Lewis."
"Hmm, Archon Lewis, is it? How many years has he governed the Order?" His voice carried a tone of wonder.
"For nearly twenty."
"His demise may already be approaching." Mr. Frogvinsky blinked. "Oh, what a vicious thought!"
The observant Maze watched as Mr. Frogvinsky struck his own forehead. At that moment, a small figure of another frog appeared beside him. She possessed blonde, curled hair and a heart-shaped smear upon her lips, and clad in a blue blouse and sandals. Along the way, she opened a small paper umbrella and hummed a tune. As she walked with modesty, a portion of the crowd fell silent, for she had stolen their attention.
Even Mr. Frogvinsky was captivated.
"Toadellia!" the clerk yelled. "What took you so long!"
Quintin, with an intrigued expression, looked upon the approaching Toadellia. "Who is she, Mr. Frogvinsky?"
"My wife," he confessed plainly. "Our Farekeeper. Yet here I am, assuming the burdens of the office she was meant to hold. She is not even fearful of being dismissed!"
"Oh." Quintin pursed her lips.
"Fret no more." Mr. Frogvinsky wore a wrinkled expression. "As I have never fretted less."
Such irony, indeed!
Then, from the depths below, a bell was rung. Clank, clank!
Mr. Frogvinsky glanced underneath before he gestured for the two to walk the stairs. "Both of you, the Cradle is waiting, so you must haste! Several are still waiting for their turn." He shooed them away. "Go on! Go on!"
The two of them descended the stairs until they were no longer seen. Even Maze had no idea where they would go, or how such a Cradle functioned. If there was one thing he knew . . .
Maze withdrew the envelope from his pocket and exhaled in relief.
He was grateful that the envelope contained a coin, as mentioned in the post-script of the letter.
In truth, Maze was mindful of the Year in which he lived. During his time at the manor, he had heard of the current Archon, Sir Lewis, who reigned over the entirety of Welfanshelm. He was the sovereign leader of the Order of the Archons, deemed worthy of such a position and entrusted to govern the city.
Mrs. Toadellia, who leaped beside Mr. Frogvinsky, twirled her umbrella and ceased her humming before closing the canopy. "Oh, blessed be the Towers!" she exclaimed as she stared at her husband. "My dearest, spare me, for I have been late."
Mr. Frogvinsky surrendered the parchment to his wife. "You have never been early."
"My dearest!" The woman took the script from him. "Where is the quill?" she asked, offering a smile intended to endear her husband.
The latter remained stern. "What took you so long?" he probed once more as he, too, surrendered the quill.
"I have attended to some matters—"
"GOSSIPS!" Mr. Frogvinsky shouted, and several heads from the throng turned, stunned as they observed the fuming clerk.
Mrs. Toadellia silenced his lips with her umbrella. "You had best keep your mouth shut this instant, Frogvinsky!" she warned, then croaked as she glared at her stupefied husband. "Indeed, you must! Children are listening to us, you blasphemer!" She closed her eyes. "Dear heavens!"
Maze twitched his lips, for even from several meters away, he could clearly hear their voices. They seemed to favor the desire to shout even during casual discourse. Was this how wedded couples were meant to behave? The thought filled him with a quiet trepidation.
It was for the better that he wore the mask, unlike most Heirs who merely cradled theirs in their hands. As he looked about, he saw they wore the same garments as he, the only distinction being the color and perhaps the masks themselves. He observed that those of Hope bore the skull of an avian, while the others remained vague, for most had their backs turned or their companions obscured the frame.
"Just do your job." Mr. Frogvinsky blew his whistle. "Fare, fare!" he began shouting once more, and went on and on. "Coins, coins — croak! Every Heir, even that one Orphan, grant me your coin! A coin for a ticket! A coin for a pass! Without the coin, you shall not enter the Festival!"
Mrs. Toadellia leaped from the edge of the pool to the pavement and, with a smile, scanned the surroundings. She began to inquire, "Dear Child, I am Mrs. Toadellia, the Cradle's Farekeeper. May I ask if you have surrendered your coin?" Each time, the answer was a simple "Yes." Thus, she pursued every single one without falter, repeating the same inquiry after her introduction. Over and over she went, until she drew near the lychgate of the Cabin of the Widower.
Mrs. Toadellia noticed a figure that appeared to be looking in her direction. With a smile, she approached the one clad in the black robe and muttered, "Oh, dear Orphan, blessed be your god!" She paused, her smile widening. "I require your attention; may you answer me?"
Maze nodded, and before Mrs. Toadellia could utter another word, he had already presented a coin.
"Oh, such a brilliant Child indeed!" She chuckled and proceeded to write upon the parchment. "Fret no more, for you shall be the last to enter the Chamber." She nodded in affirmation. "The Cradle is yours alone. You would favor the idea of riding it in solitude. It shall be a very special journey." Mrs. Toadellia bowed, and Maze bowed in return. "My, my, I shall return and summon the next passengers." She croaked. "I thank you for lending me your time, dear Child! Praise the Widower!"
She touched her fingers to her left shoulder, then to the right, followed by a thumb to her left eye and then the right, performing a gesture of respect toward the Widower before she turned her back and departed.
Maze watched the woman walk toward her husband and chuckled. He considered the thought that perhaps Mrs. Toadellia was a devoted believer in the god of his tower, yet perhaps he was mistaken. It was simply that she performed a rite of which even he was unaware. It was not for a lack of time. Rather, his Orphan Siblings had never performed such a gesture in his presence, nor had he observed them doing so. It was strange to him.
Nevertheless, he found it amusing.
Perhaps it was due to Mrs. Toadellia's peculiar charm.