Spatho

Spatho is the court's signal fire. The African tulip tree blooms in great scarlet torch-flowers — upright cups of flame-orange red, waxy and rainproof — and from a distance the whole crown looks lit from within. In the old days his bloom called the court to gather; now it calls them to celebrate, which is the same thing with better food. His flowers hold rainwater in their cups, and the court's children drink from them like chalices, a sacrament of the spectacular. "A torch," he says, "is just a flower that refused to be quiet." The Flowering Court, which mints its currency in bloom, spends his freely — there is always more where that came from, a whole crown of torches relit every season. He stands at the court's edge, burning politely, and waits for the next occasion. There is always a next occasion.