Bluebeard Redux

She took a deep breath, and stepped across the threshold, clutching her valise tighter.

Why her? And what century was this again?

She had always known that she'd most likely be a contract bride. Her father had already sired his requisite heir and spare male; she was a come-along-behinder. She was largesse for a well-fulfilled contract, and treated accordingly.

Her mother had always wanted a little girl. What was gotten, instead, was not what was actually desired.

She had followed her brothers around like a puppy ever since she could crawl - at least, that's what her nurse claimed. Mother would dress her in nice dresses, even matching with herself, and wanted to parade with her up and down the long colonnade to show her how to walk in a dress with a train. She'd run away, train flapping madly like some possessed beaver's tail, and change into old trouser castoffs to hide in the kennels. Or horse barn, or mews, or cotes, or styes, it didn't matter. Anything to get away from her mother's suffocating expectations.

She was still trained "properly," whatever that means. And if that meant she pestered her brothers' tutors as well to learn all the fun skills they got to master, well, her thirst was tolerated. They had the money, after all, and any extra knowledge would just increase her bride price.

They were a livestock duchy. Her great-great-great-grandfather had made his money in developing land with the best grazing in the country. The meat they produced was well known for being flavorful, moist, juicy. No need to add extra flavorings, though some judicious spicing made the taste pop in a way that was irreproducible. Father made sure of that, swearing his sons to secrecy. He didn't tell his "weak-gendered" daughter.

Fine.

They had money. So she quietly experimented with aquaculture.

They were near-ish a coast. She could bribe some fishermen to bring her fresh specimens in their native water. She struggled to keep them alive at first. Fresh and salt waters do not mix well, though she was intrigued by the species that seemed to thrive in estuaries. She would make trips to the shoreline herself, and talk to fishermen and learn what she could. Her nurse hated all those smelly dirty taverns she insisted on frequenting, but she slowly learned. She now had two glass containers with a scattering of healthy, darting, living jewels. The guts of a miniature fountain with a hand pump added air. They made her happy.

Till she learned that she'd been sold to the Duc de Barba Blu.

She begged, she screamed, she cried. All her tears were met with parental indifference. What matter that she was the man's seventh wife? The others didn't work out. So what if they vanished mysteriously? She was made of better stock. If not, then she was weak, and should be culled. Besides, the papers were already signed, and the dowry sent by armed guard.

The worst was when her father made her dump her fish. It's not like she could travel with them anyway. At least she'd been able to bribe a servant to take them back to the coast instead of just spilling them into the garderobe.

She cradled her bulging valise. Except for one - she couldn't bear to part with Guppy. She'd fished him out of a tide pool herself, and raised him so carefully. He seemed fine in his mostly-sealed bowl, and she'd fed him tiny amounts of powdered crustacean on the journey.

While she stared into the gloom of her new home, her father's servants had been quickly and efficiently stacking her modest trousseau and effects to the side. And now the door was shut, and she was alone. Only she had been sold. Not her servants, not her nurse, not her furnishings.

A thin man nervously approached, bowed. "Welcome, Signora. I am the major-domo of the castle, would it please you to follow me? We can get you settled in your rooms." He turned, gesturing towards a flight of stairs.

She gulped and followed. She could hear porters scurrying behind her to collect her boxes.

At least there was sunlight outside the dark archways of the foyer. Ivy-bedecked porticos, verdant courtyards, pots of greenery tucked into surprising alcoves. Flowers bloomed out of season, attesting to their care and nurturing. The rooms she was eventually shown as belonging to her now led to not one, but two hidden atria, filled with exotic and redolent flora.

The scent clashed with the smell of fresh paint on the walls. Seven layers of differing colors, perhaps?

He wafted her towards a chair, took up the other plainer one at a desk facing her. He picked up quill and ink. "Signora, the manor lord requests that all your possessions be documented. In case they need to be returned." He gulped, and she noticed the fine sheen of sweat on his forehead.

The porters also appeared, and set her boxes to the side. Two came forward with one, it was opened, and they carefully spread the first gown for the major-domo to observe, describe, and capture in ink strokes on parchment.

She sighed. So it has come to this. She abetted in the dehumanizing process. Nothing but a pile of inanimate, but very rich, objects to describe the first sixteen years of her life. To be returned to previous owner when it was her turn to vanish.

Mercifully the pain was brief. She wasn't given all that much. She'd had better things to do with her time than be still for interminable fittings.

Before long, she was exhausted. The porters gave all her things over to maids, who had carefully stowed her items away in closets and drawers. Even the jewelry and coin was counted, sorted, and tucked away in lock boxes. The major-domo slid the key towards her on a beautiful blue ribbon.

She noticed they were all terrified. All of them. Too thin or too fat, and sweating like their lives depended on getting everything exactly right. They even moved carefully. She was over-using that word in her head while watching them work.

Finally, the major-domo pointed at her valise with the end of his quill. "Signora, all that is left is the personal effects in your valise, then you can take refreshment and choose how to order your maids to serve you."

She held her breath, but opened her valise. She cupped her only friend's home and set it on the table.

The major-domo's eyes widened. Even the servants gasped and drew back a little.

Guppy swam around his little plants, wiggling in the shade of the room. She breathed a little sigh of relief that he'd made it this far.

But the major-domo's reaction was far more agitated. He jumped up, the chair tipping and clattering on the marble floor. "Wait here," he gasped, and fled the room.

Where would she go? She looked around helplessly, to see the porters leaving hurriedly. The maids were clustered in a fearful knot. What was going on here?

It didn't take long for noise to return to the stairs. The major-domo came in first, snapped to attention, and bowed deeply. The maids gasped and curtseyed.

A man stepped into the room.

He was clothed in varying shades of blue, from the silk ribbon keeping his long hair tidy, to the blue-dyed suede of his indoor shoes. Silk velvet coat, cotton shirt, linen pants. All finest quality, all beautiful shades of cobalt and midnight.

Including his neatly-trimmed, but definitely blue, beard. It glittered in the light.

She hastily made to rise and dip her own curtsy, but he barely saw her. His eyes fixed on Guppy, and he lit up. He crossed swiftly to the glass bowl, cupped it gently, lifted it carefully to study occupant and environment. Guppy swam around, oblivious.

"Ahhhhh. Sparisoma cretense. In excellent health, I see. And enough plants growing to give him excellent nutrition. And corals as well! Also a most excellent method of transportation. I was told you dabbled in fishery, but not that you'd advanced so far. Your own design? But he needs meat in his diet, how have you accomplished that detail?"

She stared. This wasn't how she expected to be introduced to her betrothed. "A pinch of dried small shrimp, dusted on the water daily."

"Ah. Good for emergencies, but he needs a more balanced diet overall. His color's a touch faded, but I will show you a better way. Come." He swept from the room, expecting her to follow. And she did. He still had Guppy.

He finally stopped at a rather large impressive door, and finally relinquished Guppy to her hands. The chatelaine he pulled out of his pocket had many keys attached, and the key he selected looked shiny with regular use. He unlocked the door, and pushed it open with a flourish.

She peeked in, and her mouth dropped in surprise.

Her two little glass boxes of fish paled in comparison. He had dozens.

She stepped into a world of rippling blue color. The boxes lined the walls, securely clamped into sturdy shelves. Shiny flashes of color reflected the light in rippling spots and bands. She drifted to one side, put her hand up to one of the boxes, wiggled her finger. A handful of curious sparklies came to investigate.

She still held Guppy securely within the crook of her arm. He chuckled, and took the bowl from her. She followed him to another box, where she recognized other fish from her portion of the coast. She undid the latches that kept Guppy's home from spilling, and he tested the water temperature with a finger before nodding and submerging the bottom half into the bigger box. Guppy was out and snacking on bigger coral before he had a chance to remove his hand from the water.

He smiled at her. She suspected he didn't smile often, and was amazed to see it reach his eyes. Most people, a smile never reached farther than the corners of the mouth. "My dear, you are a lovely surprise. No one else understands my obsession with my living gems. My family made their fortune in the indigo dye trade, which emphasizes the use of chemicals in a precise measurement and temperature and environment and timing. I have found that dealing with the ocean world is much the same. My... other wives didn't understand my fixation with this room, and our unions suffered. I think you'll fit in here excellently. Shall we dine?"

She didn't realize how hungry she'd become. For the compliments, not just for the food.

They dined on plainer fare, though she smelled some very rich food being cooked. It just wasn't served to her. Or him. Not that she wanted liver and fish, but it was strange to smell it and then not eat it. Who was it for, then?

They discussed all manner of things, from fish tending to her role in the new household, to fish tending and business opportunities. And fish tending.

And, late in the night, their marriage status. She knew what to expect; after all, she'd been trained well. He was passionate and tender, and she surprised herself by how much she was looking forward to more of the same. And he fell asleep breathing her name in her ear.

Months flew by in wedded bliss. She learned much about the business of harvesting and preparing indigo, turning fields of plants into blue-green balls of color to be shipped to the dyers. Some cloth dyeing was done in modest vats at a nearby village, and she learned why it was downwind of other towns and villages. She learned why there was a large population of red-headed villagers there, and though the thought of their ancestors being kidnapped and forced to live here was disturbing, that was far in the past. The villagers alive now seemed content with their meat-rich diet, to give better color to the dyes. She learned why their urine was carefully collected and fermented for the process.

She learned more of the ways of keeping fish, and how minute changes in their diet would keep them healthy and happy. Snips from the leaves so beautifully tended at the castle, dried, powdered, mixed with their meal. Rich fertilizer for those same plants. Most seemed to never realize that they were far from their homeland, much like the village of redheads.

She learned to manage the castle, and found that the liver-and-fish diet she constantly smelled was for the servants. It puzzled her - shouldn't the richer foodstuffs be given to the lord and lady of the keep? No, she and her husband were fed with well-seasoned chicken and beef and pork, with generous helpings of beans and vegetables and fresh-baked bread. She didn't ask, but something wasn't sitting right. And the poor servants still looked to fat or too thin, too greasy or too sweaty. And they were still terrified, and repeated questioning made them flee from her presence.

She was nervous to tell him she was pregnant, because she knew many men did not like squalling things interrupting their pleasure. But he couldn't help but notice eventually, and the delight in his eyes and the obvious joy in a new generation masked her fears, for a time.

Then he had to leave for a long business trip. Many months, he said. Something about one of his business associates needing to be schooled in the lessons of excessive thievery, and more of a particular fish food.

He left her the chatelaine of keys. They seemed to glow in her hand, like fish scales. Even the servants stared, but more as if their lives had suddenly taken them to a precipice of danger.

She sleuthed, of course. She would not deign to call it snooping. Ladies don't snoop.

She learned what each key opened. Spice cabinets, treasure rooms, storage supplies for the dyes and fish food. All things valuable and rare. A duplicate to the key to her rooms, though not to her lock boxes. The major-domo assured her that her key, on its own blue ribbon, was the only match to those locks.

Portcullis, his rooms, silverware cabinet. Copies of the standard keys that opened various wings of the castle, for coralling guests or business partners to more public areas. The various doors large and small that led to the defenses. Many shared with the major-domo's own formidable set.

But one, small and cast in red bronze, defied its match. She couldn't even find a room with the same colored doorknob.

One day, she sat in a comfortable chair in the fish room. It was soothing to see them swimming around, play of light and color, through the blue-glass panes to mimic their origins. She and her husband did this often together. The baby was being tended by the nurse for a time to give her respite.

And she saw it. One rack didn't quite match the others.

Upon closer investigation, she noticed the rack could swing out enough to expose a small door. And the key fit perfectly into that lock.

It swung inward silently. She stepped inside.

It was a chemical lab.

Retorts, tabletop burners, charcoal, tongs and flasks and pots and bronze dishes. Walls of carefully labeled powders, Mn and Mg and Ca and Cu. Dried seaweed and chunks of coral and ornate seashells piled beside mortars, ready to be crushed and mixed with the food they fed to the fish, to keep them alive and healthy.

A separate rack of apothecary jars drew her attention.

Compared to the other containers, these were very large. The labels were strange as well - C. de MP, M. T., Pa. de F., A. de T-C, Ch A., Pa. de MB.

Her blood ran cold. She didn't need to run to the portrait gallery to know what those initials stood for. She knew the names of her husband's missing wives. She would be a fool not to have memorized them before she was bundled into the carriage.

Catherine de Monte Parna. Marisa Theresa. Paloma de Florenza. Anna de Trans-Compte. Charlotte Allonz. Paola de Monte Blanca.

Suddenly, clearly, a great many things made sense.

She left silently, thoughtfully. She had much to think about. And a letter to write to her brothers.

When her husband returned, he came home to a castle transformed. The servants were smiling, happy, and cheerful. Hollow-eyed children who had stayed hidden out of sight, now galloped around the courtyard with fuller faces. Windows were thrown open, allieviating the gloom in the servant's rooms.

His wife stepped forward to curtsy and welcome him home.

He was puzzled. Then he looked again: the servants looked healthier than they had ever been. Thin ones were filling out, and fat ones were shrinking to moderate size.

He looked at his wife. And he knew she knew.

But she smiled, and hugged him, and put the keys back into his hand. And drew him into the foyer, hung with colorful banners befitting a lord whose money was made by dyeing.

"You know."

"I do. We must talk."

"Indeed. But this is not the reception I expected."

"I am not like your other wives."

They sat down for a repast, and he was even more surprised that she took a bite of each serving of food before passing it to him.

He sat back, assessing the situation, and how much danger he was in.

She smiled again, chewed, swallowed. "Relax. I understand, but I would suggest that your experiments were aimed in the wrong direction. Human bodies do contain precious metal salts, it is true, but selectively feeding only certain foods to people just gives you sick unhealthy people. We need well-rounded diets to live and thrive. So we all now eat the same plainer fare, with maybe a special treat occasionally. Our fish will never notice the change in diet, and the servants don't have to tiptoe in fear that they will be next to be cremated. On the other hand, I have it from the highest authority - my brothers, who should well know - that pigs are so close to humans that their bones will be even better, and pigs eat anything. I have set up some styes in nearby towns with farmers that my brothers graciously allowed to migrate."

His blue-black eyebrows were raised so high they vanished into his hairline. Eventually he blinked, but it took some time. And a hearty swallow of ale.

She continued eating. "I fully expect you to tender most abject apologies to your former in-law families for your careless regard to their progeny. And refunding their bride prices with hefty bonuses for the 'accidents' you let befall them would be a further kindness."

He still didn't know what to say.

"Now, these wonderful servants would like to celebrate their freedom. They are long overdue for a party, don't you think? The chapel and ballroom need a good, fresh airing. And I must point out that we never had a wedding celebration. Signing some documents and sending them back via courier is not a celebration. So, what do you think of having the ceremony here, and inviting my parents? My brothers already tender their utmost regrets, but they will strongly urge our aging pater and mater to make the trip while they can. Remember them? Cold-hearted, overly concerned about breeding and appearances, but neither nurturing nor loving, and well fed all these years on the best beef and pork that their lands produced? My brothers would be most appreciative of the chance. And something about some special bottles of wine, which they assure me is a most efficient medium to convey heavy minerals. Lots of them."

His jaw dropped. When he finally found his voice, he guffawed loudly. He saluted her with his ale stein, she returned the gesture, and they drank deeply.