THE VOYAGE OF THE MINOTAUR

By Wesley Allison

Smashwords Edition

The Voyage of the Minotaur

Copyright © 2010 by Wesley Allison

Revision 2-08-15

All Rights Reserved. This book is not transferable. It is for your own personal use. If sold, shared, or given away it is a violation of the copyright of this work. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual people, living or dead is purely coincidental.

Cover design by Wesley Allison

Cover Image Copyright © 2010 Photowitch | Dreamstime.com

ISBN 978-1-4523-0655-1

For My Own Vicki

Senta and the Steel Dragon

Book 1

The Voyage of the Minotaur

By Wesley Allison

Chapter One: The Woman in the White Pin-Striped Dress

The woman in the white, pin-striped dress walked briskly across the plaza. She was easily the most beautiful woman there. Two carefully shaped brows above the most striking aquamarine eyes. A precise nose. Lips, that had they been one jot fuller, would have been too full. And she had a strong chin, which along with her lips were the only parts of her face uncovered by the gauzy veil, which hung down from her hat. That chin was held just high enough and at just the right an angle, to let everyone know that she knew how beautiful she was. None of her body was truly visible, though it must have been just as perfect as her face. Her form and posture was such that it could only have been achieved by the most rigid and tightly laced of corsets. The white, pin-striped dress fit tightly around her long neck and reached to her wrists, blossoming at both neck and wrists in finely wrought, black silk lace, which matched the black, silken gloves. Black silk trimmed the bottom of the dress, where it trailed along the cobblestone street. Behind the prominent bustle was a large black bow. A row of tiny, matching black bows decorated the bodice. Atop the beautiful woman’s head was a black top hat, a feminine imitation of a man’s top hat, with the gauzy black lace veil falling down from it to below those incredible eyes.

Eight-year-old Senta picked the woman out of the crowd easily enough. She had watched her on many previous occasions and she watched now as the woman stepped from the cobblestone street onto the cement sidewalk. She was just one of many women—many people—in the plaza this time of day. It was one of the busiest locations in the great city of Brech after all, only four blocks from the great train station, and just east of Avenue Boar, where the city’s banking district was located.

Senta didn’t need to stop work to notice all the people going here and there. She had spent so much time in the plaza, that it just came naturally for her to notice the people. It was one of the best things about working there. The horse drawn trolleys passed every three minutes, and they were full of commuters. A few people still passed in old-fashioned carriages—in one of them, a woman in a brilliant blue dress looked like she might have been a princess. And the street was thick with steam-powered carriages, spewing smoke, hissing steam, and constantly honking. Pedestrians either dodged the dizzying array of motorized and non-motorized vehicles on the street, or fought their way down the crowded sidewalks. Three women, two of them quite old, and the other very young, but wearing matching yellow dresses and matching floppy hats passed by Senta, carrying on an animated conversation about the “short men”.

Senta wondered what the woman in the white pin-striped dress was up to today. She saw her often, sometimes visiting the telegraph office across the avenue, sometimes visiting the alchemist next door. She supposed that the woman must be purchasing beauty potions or happiness potions, though why she would need either, the girl couldn’t understand. Often, the woman would visit Café Carlo, where Senta worked each afternoon, sweeping the sidewalks, cleaning the wrought iron railing, and polishing the brass dragon by the door. Today it seemed as if that was just what she was going to do, because she was walking directly toward Senta. The woman stepped to the gate of the café, paying no more attention to the skinny little girl pushing along an enormous broom than she had the horse drawn trolley, or the honking steam carriages, or the old-fashioned carriage with the brilliantly blue clad princess, or even of the old man pulling the little donkey laden with crates of carrots.

Senta looked up at that perfect face as the woman passed. The woman didn’t look back. She didn’t look at anyone. She didn’t even look at Carlo, when he rushed out of the entrance of the café, his starched white shirt, stained with sweat under the armpits and with a dribble of morning coffee just below the collar, and stretched to the limit by his corpulent middle. He ran to greet her with a bow. She didn’t look at him, but she acknowledged him with an ever-so-slight nod of her head.

“Would you like your usual table, Miss?” said Carlo.

His fawning, almost whining tone as he spoke to her was nothing like the booming voice he used when calling for one of his waitresses to get back to work, or when he ordered Senta to clean the brass dragon. It was nothing like the grunting noise he made when he paid Senta the fourteen copper pfennigs she received from him each week. It was the tone of a small child who wanted to be noticed by an adult, but who was seldom if ever noticed, and it would have surprised Senta to hear it come from Carlo’s great form, if she had not heard it from him when the woman had previously visited the café.

“No. We have a party of three today.”

The woman’s voice was a clear and melodic soprano. Senta thought that she must be a singer in the opera, though having never been to the opera, she really didn’t know what the voice of a singer might be like. The woman’s voice was authoritative without being harsh. It commanded respect. But it was lovely.

Carlo led the woman to a table near the wrought iron railing, which marked the boundary between the café and the sidewalk. He carefully pulled out a chair and dusted it with his dishtowel. Senta thought the woman would be angry. This wasn’t the seat that she would have chosen if she were her; if she could have demanded anything and expected to get it. This seat was too near the street. A passing steam carriage could conceivably blow smoke right on her. The woman didn’t complain, however, but spread her white, pin-striped dress with her hands, and delicately, so as not to damage her bustle, sat on the chair. Her chin remained high in the air, and her back remained ever so straight, a good eight inches from the chair back.

Continuing to sweep the walkway, Senta only occasionally looked over to see what the woman was doing. Carlo brought tea. He brought fancy cucumber sandwiches on white bread with the crusts carefully removed. His waitresses saw to the needs of the other patrons of the café—there must have been nearly two dozen, mostly people stopping while on their way to the train station, wearing wool traveling cloaks or business attire, but Carlo himself returned again and again to the woman. He even came back once to do nothing more than make sure that the white linen tablecloth was hanging down the same length on all sides of the table. By then, Senta had finished sweeping the sidewalk along the entire breadth of the café, so she took the enormous broom around the building to the janitorial closet in the back of the building—the one which could only be reached from the outside, exchanged it for a bucket of warm soapy water and a bristle brush, and then walked back around to the front of the café.

Having swept the dust and dirt and mud from the sidewalk, it was now time to clean the wrought iron railing. It was covered in soot. It was always covered in soot. Of course, everything in the entire city was covered in soot. The soot came from the smoke stacks of the factories that lined the waterfront. It came from the trains that rolled through the city to the great station four blocks north of the plaza. It came from the steam-powered carriages that drove about the wide streets of the city. Fortunately, there were plenty of children looking for work, so that at least the beautiful places, and the important places, and the places where beautiful and important people were likely to congregate could be cleaned of the soot on a daily basis.

Senta started scrubbing the wrought iron railing on the right hand side of the café. She might have been better able to watch the woman in the white, pin-striped dress drink her tea and eat her fancy cucumber sandwiches, if she had started cleaning on the left side of the café, but she had started cleaning on the left side the day before. She always alternated. One day, she cleaned from the left to the right. The next day, she cleaned from the right to the left. It wouldn’t be right to clean from the left to the right, when she had cleaned from the left to the right the day before. So by the time that she had finished cleaning all the wrought iron railing to the right of the entrance and had crossed over and begun cleaning the wrought iron on the left of the entrance, the woman had been joined by two men—two soldiers.

One soldier was sitting to the woman’s right. The other was sitting to her left. Both wore similar types of uniforms. Their jackets, which were tight fitting and came down to their waists, were dark blue. They both had gold epaulets on each shoulder. And both wore khaki trousers tucked into high, black boots. The soldier to the left of the woman had intricate, crimson, brocade piping at the ends of his sleeves, up along the single row of brass buttons from his waist to his neck, and around his thick, upright collar. His cap, which he had hung from the back of his chair, was the same color as his jacket, and featured the same crimson piping on the bill. The soldier to the right of the woman had no crimson piping on his jacket at all. In fact, with the exception of the brass buttons running up the front, in rows on either side of his broad chest, and the four brass buttons at the end of each sleeve, and of course those gold epaulets, it was unadorned. His hat, which was lying upside down on the table across from him, was a stiff, broad-brimmed hat, the same khaki color as his trousers. It was turned so that Senta could see a blue cord that was tied around the hat, with blue tassels at each end, now hanging limply toward the table top. She could also see the golden dragon symbol on its front, much more stylized and much less realistic than the brass dragon by the door. She thought this dragon looked unhappy to be flying upside down at the moment.

The soldier to the left, the one with the crimson brocade piping on his uniform, had a thick shock of light brown hair, and long sideburns. He had a slightly sleepy look on his face, half closed eyelids obscuring his light blue eyes. He leaned back in his chair, with one leg stretched out and the other crossed over it.

“I’m telling you, sister dear, we’ve made the right decision,” he said. “Birmisia is the promised land. There are riches there, just waiting for someone to go out and pick them up. No one is there yet. Mallontah is thriving, but it’s thousands of miles away. We’ll have to build our own infrastructure.”

“What do you know about infrastructure, Augie?” said the woman.

“I know you need it.”

The soldier to the right, the one with no crimson brocade piping on his uniform, was older, his darker brown hair showing the first bits of grey at the temples. He, like the woman, sat rigidly in his seat, though Senta doubted that in his case this was necessitated by a tightly-laced and rigid corset. His features spoke of his family connection as well as the other soldier’s words had. His dark blue eyes looked kind—kind but sad.

“So we aren’t considering Cartonia?” he asked.

“Cartonia was never a serious consideration,” the woman replied. “It was simply obfuscation.”

“Well, you had better be sure,” he said.

“I am sure. I’ve used every ounce of influence the family has, to set this up.”

“I’m sure too,” said the younger soldier. He and the woman both looked at their older brother.

“All right,” he said.

Senta didn’t hear any more of the conversation. She had moved far enough along, as she cleaned the wrought iron railing, that the conversations of other patrons, though to her mind far less interesting, obscured that of the woman and her two soldier brothers. There was also the noise of the street. So the eight year old girl continued scrubbing, now with nothing as exciting as the far away lands of Cartonia and Birmisia to occupy her. Soon enough she was finished cleaning the railing, and returned once again to the janitorial closet in the back of the building, where she exchanged her bucket of soot-filled water and scrub brush, for a clean cloth and a small jar of polish.

Her last job of the day was to polish the brass dragon at the entrance to Café Carlo. It was about three feet long, including its serpentine tail, and about four feet wide, its wings outstretched. It sat on a stone plinth, so that it could just about look Senta in the face. She didn’t know for sure, but it always seemed to her that the brass dragon was very old. She was sure that it had been sitting here in this very same spot long before Café Carlo was here. It might have even been here before the plaza. Maybe before the great city was even here. Senta polished the entire body, head, tail, and wings of the dragon, taking great care to get the creamy abstergent worked into every nook and cranny. Taking care of the dragon was by far her favorite part of her job. When she was done, she returned the supplies to the janitorial closet and went back around to the front to wait for Carlo. She was careful to stand in a corner, out of the way of any patrons, and clear of the path of the waitresses.

She had to wait several minutes for Carlo to notice her. He was busy delivering sandwiches to the two soldiers who sat with the woman in the white pin-striped dress. Not cucumber sandwiches on white bread. Their sandwiches were thick slices of dark bread, piled high with slab after slab of ham. This was no surprise to Senta. Soldiers were always hungry. She had seen them eating many times: the officers here at Café Carlo, and the common soldiers purchasing food from vendors near the park, or at the beanery in her own neighborhood. At last, Carlo noticed her and held out his hand to her, dropping her fourteen copper pfennigs for the week into her callused palm. They were small coins, with the profile of the King on the obverse side, and the front of a stately building, Senta didn’t know which building, on the reverse side. She stuffed the coins, a few fairly bright, but most well worn, into her pocket.

“See Gyula,” said Carlo.

A surprised Senta nodded and scurried back to the kitchen. This was an unexpected boon. Gyula was the junior of the two line cooks, which meant that he was the lowest ranked of the four people who prepared the food in the café. An order to see him was an indication that she was being rewarded with foodstuffs of some kind. When she entered the kitchen, Gyula looked up from his chopping and smiled. He was a young man, in his mid twenties, with a friendly round face, blond hair, and laughing eyes. He was chopping a very large pile of onions, and the fact that he had only his left hand to do it, seemed to hinder him not at all. When Gyula was a child, about the same age as Senta was now, he had worked in a textile mill, where his job was to stick his tiny arm into the gaps in the great machines and remove wads of textiles that had gummed up the works. In his case, as in many others, the restarting machine proved quicker than his reflexes and snipped off his arm just below the elbow.

“Hey Senta!” said Gyula, setting down his knife and wiping his left hand on his white apron.

“Carlo sent me back.”

“Excellent,” said Gyula.

He became a one-handed whirlwind, as he carved several pieces of dark bread from a big loaf, and piled an inch of sliced ham, slathered with dark, brown mustard between them. He wrapped the great sandwich, which Senta happily noted was even bigger than those the soldiers had received, in wax paper. He likewise wrapped a monstrous dill pickle, and placed both in the center of a large, clean, red, plaid cloth; folding in the four corners, and tying them in a bow, to make a bindle. Gyula handed the package to Senta, smiling. When he had the opportunity, the young line cook favored Senta with great, heaping bounties of food, but he dared not do it without Carlo’s permission. It wouldn’t be easy for a one-armed man to find a job this good, and no one in his right mind, however kind-hearted and happy-go-lucky he was, would endanger it for a child he didn’t really even know.

“Thank you, Gyula,” said Senta, and grabbing the red, plaid bundle, scurried out the door and down the sidewalk.

It was a beautiful day—though Senta didn’t know it, it was the first day of spring. She made her way along, dodging between the many other pedestrians. It was warm enough that she felt quite comfortable in her brown linen dress, worn over her full-length bloomers, and her brown wool sweater. The weather was very predictable here in the Brech. The early spring was always like this. Late in the afternoon, the sky would become overcast, and light showers would sprinkle here and there around the city. Most days, they were so light that a person would scarcely realize that he had been made wet before he was dried off by the kindly rays of the sun. Still, the ladies would raise their parasols to protect their carefully crafted coiffures from the rain, just as they now used them to protect their ivory complexions from the sun.

Summers here were warm and dry, but not so hot that people wouldn’t still want to eat in the outdoor portion of Café Carlo. Not so in the fall or winter, however. The fall was the rainy season. It would become overcast, and stay that way for months, and it would rain buckets every day. The streets would stay slick and shiny. Then winter would come and dump several feet of snow across the city. The River Thiss would freeze over and they would hold the winter carnival on the ice. And the smoke from all of the coal-fired and gas-fired stoves, and the smoke from all of the wood-filled fireplaces would hang low to the ground, and it would seem like some smoky, frozen hell. The steam carriages would be scarcer, as the price of coal became dearer, but the horse-drawn trolley would still make its way through the grey snow and make its stops every three minutes.

Senta skipped and walked and skipped again east from the plaza down the Avenue Phoenix, which was just as busy as the plaza itself. Travelers hurried up and down the street, making their way on foot, or reaching to grab hold of the trolley and hoist themselves into the standing-room-only cab. Quite a number of couples could be seen strolling along together, arm in arm; the man usually walking on the side closest to the street, in case a steam carriage should splash up some sooty water. Others on the street were shopping, because both sides of the Avenue Phoenix were lined with shops. There were quite a few stores which sold women’s clothing and a few that sold men’s, a millinery shop, a haberdasher, a bookseller, a store which sold fine glassware, a clockmaker, a tobacconist, a jeweler, a store which sold lamps, a florist, and at the very end of the avenue, where it reached the Prince Tybalt Boulevard, just across the street from the edge of the park, on the right hand side, a toy store.

Stopping to press her face against the glass, right below the printed sign that said “Humboldt’s Fine Toys”, Senta stared at the wonders in the store. She had never been inside, but had stopped to look in the window many times. The centerpiece of the store display was a mechanical bird. It worked with gears and sprockets and springs and was made of metal, but it was covered in real bird feathers in a rainbow of hues, and would sit and peck and chirp and sing as though it were alive, until it finally wound down, and the toy maker would walk to the window and say the word to reactivate the bird’s magic spell. Senta knew that the bird would remain in the window for a long, long time, until some young prince or princess needed a new birthday gift, because that bird would have cost as much as the entire Café Carlo. Arranged around it were various mechanical toy vehicles—ships, trains, and steam carriages. Some were magical and some worked with a wind-up key, but they all imitated the real life conveyances from which they were patterned.

None of these wonderful toys held as much fascination for Senta though, as the doll that sat in the corner of the window. It wasn’t magical. It wasn’t even animated by a wind-up mechanism. It was a simple doll with a rag body and porcelain hands, feet, and face. It wore a simple black dress. Its blond hair had been cut in a short little bob, and looked like real human hair. It had a painted face with grey eyes and pink lips. It may well have been one of the lesser-priced toys in the shop. It was definitely the least expensive item in the window, but Senta would never be able to purchase it. Had she been able to save every pfennig she earned, it still would have taken her more than thirty weeks to purchase the doll. And she could not save every pfennig she earned. Most weeks, she could not even save one.

Pushing herself regretfully away from the glass, and leaving two hand smudges, a forehead smudge, and a nose smudge, Senta ran across Prince Tybalt Boulevard, which crossed perpendicularly, making a T at the end of Avenue Phoenix. She ran in a zigzag motion to avoid being run over by any of the numerous steam carriages that whizzed by. Several of them honked at her with a loud “ah-oogah” but none of them ran over her. And then she stood at last on the edge of Hexagon Park. Senta had no idea that Hexagon Park was so named because of its six-sided shape. She didn’t even know what a hexagon was. She did not realize that Hexagon Park was the exact same size and shape as the Great Plaza, where Café Carlo was located. To her, the park had always seemed so much larger. Nor did she know that the park, the plaza, and the rest of the Old City had been laid out and marked, using a stick dragged through the dirt, by Magnus the Great, the King of the Zur, when he had conquered the continent almost nineteen hundred years before.

Hexagon Park was lovely in the spring. This eight hundred yard diameter wonderland was filled with delights. At the south end, to Senta’s right, the park was carefully cultivated, with large rose gardens, numerous small beds full of colorful annuals; ancient fountains spraying water from the mouths of mythical animals or pouring water from pitchers carried by statues of naked women; abundant fruit trees now in bloom behind their own little wrought iron fences, and still reflecting pools filled with tadpoles. At the north end, to Senta’s left, the park was kept more natural, with large expanses of beautifully green grass, large shade trees, now filled with more than enough leaves to do their duty, winding pathways, and small ponds full of colorful fish. Senta headed for the center of the park, following the flagstone path that led to the central courtyard. Here was a small amphitheater, a series of park benches arranged around a mosaic map of the kingdom inlaid in the pavement, and the wonderful, wonderful steam-powered calliope, which played joyful music from mid-morning to mid-afternoon.

The calliope, which had been between songs as Senta walked through the park, began toot-toot-tooting the next tune, just as she arrived in the center courtyard. Senta had heard this tune many times, though she didn’t know its name. It was lively and bouncy and made her feel even more like skipping than she usually did. The growls of hunger from her stomach overcame the urge to skip down the paths of the park though, so she sat down on one of the benches, unwrapped her red plaid bindle, opened the wax paper, and bit into her sandwich. Mouth watering with each bite of the course bread, the salty ham, and the tangy brown mustard, she had finished off more than half of it before she stopped to take a breath and to look around her.

There were numerous people in the park, walking down the paths, admiring the flowers, and lying on the large swaths of green grass. Several small boys, about five or six years old, tried to catch tadpoles in the reflecting pool some forty yards away. There were relatively few people in the central courtyard though. The calliope man was there, making small adjustments to the great machine. It was a large, square, red wagon upon four white wood-spoked wheels, with a shining brass steam engine, which bristling with hundreds of large and small brass pipes, each spitting steam in turn to create the wonderful music. A young man in his twenties—nicely dressed but not obviously rich—sat reading a newspaper while he ate fish and chips from a newspaper cone, which he had no doubt purchased from a vending cart just outside the park boundaries. On the bench closest to the one on which Senta sat eating, was an older man in a shabby brown overcoat. He was tossing bits of bread to several of the foot-tall flying reptiles that could be found just about everywhere in the city. Unlike birds—tending in these parts to be smaller—which hopped along when not in flight, these fuzzy, large-headed reptiles ran from bread crumb to bread crumb, in a waddling motion, with their bat-like wings outstretched.

“Anurognathus,” said the man in the shabby brown overcoat, when he noticed that Senta was looking in his direction.

“No, thank you,” said Senta, in the loud voice she used for people who were deaf or addlepated. When she did so, a piece of her sandwich flew out of her mouth. One of the flying reptiles quickly ran over and gobbled it down.

The older man in the shabby brown overcoat paid her no more attention, and the winged reptile soon realized that no more partially-masticated ham was likely to come its way and so scampered back to the sure thing of the man throwing pieces of bread. Senta finished her sandwich and then opened the wax paper that contained her dill pickle. Dill pickles were one of her favorites, not that she had a wide experience with produce. She chomped her way through what had once been a prince among cucumbers, and then wiped the remainder of the vinegar from her hands and face upon the red plaid cloth. Gathering everything together, she walked over to the dust bin and deposited all her waste. She didn’t see a policeman around, but they were always around somewhere, in their stiff blue uniforms, with their tall blue helmets, carrying their stout black cop clubs—just waiting to use them to thump someone littering or spitting on the street or (at other times of the year) someone picking the fruit from the trees which grew behind their own little wrought iron fences.

The steam-powered calliope was playing a different, though equally happy tune now. This time, Senta did not stifle her impulse to skip, and skipped her way north out of the park. The journey back home was quite a long one. One had to follow Prince Tybalt Boulevard through the Arch of Conquest, and out of the Old City. Then one turned east once again and followed the Avenue Hart until one reached Contico Boulevard. At the corner was the Great Church of the Holy Savior.

The Great Church of the Holy Savior was a massive and highly ornamented stone building. It was never referred to as the “Church” or the “Great Church” or the “Church of the Holy Savior”. It was always “The Great Church of the Holy Savior”. It was imposing from its lowest level, with its forty steps, festooned with columns across its entire front. It continued to be imposing on its first story, which featured sixteen immense stained-glass windows and was topped by dozens of statues of angels and saints. It became incredibly imposing, when above the highest story one saw the great dome, held aloft by still more columns, matching the columns on the ground level. And most imposing of all was the golden cupola at the very top of the dome, its square shape contrasting with the dome itself. Atop the cupola, was the golden statue of the crucified savior. Senta ran up the steps and peered into the open double doors. The interior looked dark and foreboding to her daylight-adjusted eyes, but she had been inside several times with her Granny. She wasn’t going to venture in alone however, so she made the sign of the cross, and ran back down the stairs to continue on her way.

Past the church, bounded on the south by Avenue Hart, the north by the railroad yards, the west by Contico Boulevard and on the east by what Senta didn’t know, was one of the city’s seemingly never-ending masses of tenement buildings. Here were countless brownstones, put up quickly and cheaply, with none of the artistic style, careful engineering, or safety considerations taken into account when the buildings of the Old City had been built centuries before. The shortest among them were seven or eight stories high, but most were at least fifteen. The highest among them, reached up into the sky more than twenty stories. Senta, still skipping despite the hour-and-a-half-long journey from the park, reached the entrance of her own building and skipped up the eight steps to the front door. From that point on, skipping was out of the question. Even a child with as much energy at her disposal as had Senta, was worn out by the time she reached the twelfth story. And the twelfth story was where Senta lived with her Granny.

She turned the doorknob as she leaned against the door, and burst into Granny’s apartment. Senta had always thought of it as Granny’s apartment, rather than her own. She was only one of the children who lived there. There were six. Bertice, who was a pretty and very quiet seventeen year old, worked fourteen hours a day sewing in the shirtwaist factory. Geert, a surprisingly husky boy of twelve, traveled each day to the King’s warehouse, where the government gave away bushels of apples. Then he took the apples to the train station to sell them for a pfennig a piece. Senta herself, at eight, fell next in line. Then was Maro, Geert’s eight-year-old brother, who worked in a printers’ shop. He had lost the two endmost fingers on his right hand playing too near the printing press. Didrika was a cute and precocious four year old. She and her baby sister, Ernst, were Granny’s only real grandchildren, Bertice being the granddaughter of Granny’s younger sister. Senta wasn’t too sure what the exact relationship was for Maro and Geert, or for herself either, but everyone in the house was somehow related, and everyone in the house was treated as though they were a cherished grandchild by the hunch-backed, grey-haired old woman who looked up from her washing when Senta entered.

The front door opened into the combination living room/kitchen. An old table and two chairs sat next to the coal-fire stove and just to the left of that was a large, two-basin sink with running water. This was used for washing clothing, washing dishes, and washing children. On the other side of the room, a ragged sofa sat next to a mismatched chair. At night, the room was used as a bedroom by Geert, who slept on a sheepskin, which was pulled out from under the sofa and rolled out onto the floor; and by Maro, who pushed the two chairs away from the table, and placing them side by side, spent the night lying across them.

In addition to this room, there was one other in the apartment—a bedroom. The double bed that had come with the apartment, was shared by Granny and Bertice and Didrika, who was small enough to curl up between them. Ernst had her own baby crib, which had arrived when she and Didrika had, two years before. Senta didn’t remember what had happened to the two girls’ parents, but they, like her own, were dead now. Senta had her own special bed which had been made by setting side by side three wooden crates, two which had originally held Geert’s apples, and one a carrot crate, given by an old man who with his little donkey, delivered carrots to the many eating establishments in and around the great plaza. Then the three crates were covered with a hand-stuffed mattress.

Granny had a bucket in the bottom of the right hand sink. The bucket was filled with soapy water and dirty clothes. The old woman picked up the washer, a device which looked like a large brass plunger attached to a broomstick, and placing it in the bucket on top of the clothes, began to plunge it up and down while turning it. This was a lot of work, but nowhere near as much as cleaning clothes with a washboard, and it was much easier on the clothes too.

“Payday,” said Senta, giving Granny a hug, and then handing over the fourteen copper pfennigs she had earned for the week.

“Thank you, dear,” said Granny, pausing from the washing to accept the money. She then handed two pfennigs back and said. “Keep one for yourself and put one in the meter. The gas went out this morning, and we’re going to need some light tonight. Maro will want to read to us, and I have to catch up on my knitting.”

High on the wall, above the coal fire stove was the gas meter. It was a square device about two feet across which controlled the flow of gas from the pipes in the wall to the two gas lamps on the ceiling. It had a coin slot and a knob on it. When a pfennig was placed in the slot and the knob was turned, the appropriate amount of gas would be allowed to flow out to be used by the family for evening light. It usually lasted about two and a half evenings, so the family, most weeks budgeting two pfennigs for artificial light, had five evenings lit by gas. The other two evenings were either lit by a single candle, or kept dark. Senta pressed the less shiny of the two pfennigs in her hand into the slot and turned the knob. She could hear the little copper coin fall down a pipe, making a little echo as it went down into the wall. A second later, she could hear hissing of the gas making its way from the meter toward the lamps. It hissed only a moment then stopped. They wouldn’t light the lamps until after dark. Waste not, want not.

“Would you like me to go get the coal for the stove, Granny?” asked Senta.

The coal supply was located in the basement—the lowest level of two basements. This meant walking down fourteen flights of stairs, and walking back fourteen flights of stairs with a bucket full of coal.

“Getting the coal is not a job for a little girl,” said Granny.

“I can do it.”

“Oh, I know you can. But Geert is already getting it.”

“How come he’s home so early?”

“Oh, he had a very good day today. He sold all of his apples so quickly this morning that he was able to go get a second bushel just for us. I’m going to make a pie this evening.”

At that moment, Geert entered with a bucket full of coal. He grunted at Senta and walking over to the cast iron stove, opened the small door at its very bottom, and shoveled in about a third of the bucket. He then took a sheet of newspaper from the stack nearby and wadded it up. Striking a wooden match, he lit the paper, tossing it in after the coal.

An hour later, the room was warm with the heat of the oven, Ernst woke up from her afternoon nap, Didrika returned from playing with her friend on the eleventh floor, and Senta helped Granny make an apple pie. By the time the apple pie was done, Maro had returned from his job at the print shop and had plopped down on the sofa, while Granny and Senta peeled potatoes. Dinner was ready when Bertice arrived home, completely exhausted, curling up in the mismatched chair, able to stay awake just long enough to eat her potato soup and apple pie.

The rest of the evening was spent together in the living room/kitchen. Bertice was quietly snoring, Granny was knitting, and the rest of the children were listening to Maro read, by the light of the gas lamps, from the broadsheet he had brought home with him from work. The broadsheet was just one of the many propaganda-based papers which were distributed around the city each day—some pro-government and some supporting various opposition groups. The main story in this one was about how the government was gathering all of the wizards in the kingdom and making them spend their time creating enchantments and weapons for use in a possible war with the kingdom’s hereditary enemies Freedonia and Mirsanna. This, according to the broadsheet, left no wizards to cast the spells needed by average citizens: to protect homes, to increase the crop yields of farms, and to create enchanted vehicles. Not to mention, thought Senta, to tell fortunes and create beauty or love or happiness potions. There were also local news stories—a fire had burned down a candle shop, someone had stolen a brand new steam carriage in broad daylight, and another young woman was murdered near the waterfront. Afterwards, someone nudged Bertice awake long enough for her to change into her nightgown. Everyone else changed into their own nightclothes, and they all went to bed.

Senta didn’t know what woke her up in the middle of the night, but she was awakened. Moonlight streamed in the tiny window of the bedroom. She lay on her bed, made of three crates and a hand-stuffed mattress for a long time, listening to Bertice quietly snore, and Ernst breathe. She couldn’t hear Didrika for a while, but then she heard the six-year-old quietly whimper as she sometimes did when she was cold. Thinking that the blanket must have come off of her, Senta quietly got up and tip-toed over to the bed to find that sure enough, Didrika’s knitted baby blanket had slipped down to her knees. Leaning over Granny’s form, she pulled the blanket back up to the girl’s shoulders and tucked her in. As she leaned back, Senta looked at Granny’s face. Granny’s eyes were open.

“Granny?” said Senta.

Granny didn’t answer. Senta put her hand near the old woman’s nose and mouth. No breath came from either. She then put her hand on Granny’s cheek. It was smooth and soft, but it was cold. She made the sign of the cross for the second time that day. Senta was young, but she was not naïve. No child living in the masses of brownstone tenement apartments in the great city of Brech could afford to be naïve. Life was hard. Life was unsympathetic. Life was a trial. But Granny no longer needed to worry about the trial of life. Granny was dead.

Chapter Two: At the Great Church of the Holy Savior

Iolanthe Dechantagne held onto the bedpost with both hands, while her dressing maid Yuah pulled with all her might on the lacings of Iolanthe’s new Prudence Plus fairy bust form corset. When the two sets of lacing holes reached as close a proximity as they were likely to, Yuah jerked the lacings down, pulling them into the crimping holes, so that they would stay tight until she managed to tie them into one of her patented infallible knots. Only when this knot, immotile as any which anchored a battleship to a dock, was tied, did Iolanthe let out her breath. Though still able to fasten her own bustle around her waist, the beautiful young woman was now helpless to bend over and pull on her own stockings, so Yuah carefully rolled each of the expensive silk garments up a leg, fastening it at the top to the several suspenders hanging down from the corset. Then Iolanthe stepped into her shoes, which were alligator skin high-tops with four-inch heels. The maid kneeled down once again, this time to fasten each shoe’s twenty-four buttons, using a buttonhook.

“The white, pin-striped dress today?” asked Yuah.

“No. I wore that just last week.”

“The chantilly dress?”

“Yes, I think.”

Yuah brought over the dress. Yards of sheer black lace overlaid a pink silk base that was as smooth as lotion. The dressing maid helped Iolanthe put her arms through the sleeveless shoulders and then fastened the dress up behind her. Then she helped her on with the matching jacket. Though the dress was sleeveless and had a fairly low neckline, the jacket had long sleeves with puffs of black lace at the end, and fastened all the way up and around Iolanthe’s long, thin neck. The hat that went with this ensemble was a black straw boater, and like so much of Iolanthe’s hat collection, imitated a man’s style. But in addition to the black lace veil hanging down to below her neck all the way around, the top of this boater was decorated with a dozen pink and black flowers and a small, stuffed bird. She wore no rings on her fingers or ears, but draped a cameo necklace carefully across her bosom.

Iolanthe turned and looked at herself in the floor-length cheval glass. The cameo necklace, the hat, jacket, dress, shoes and stockings, and the Prudence Plus fairy bust form corset were only the finishing touches of a process that had taken the first two hours of the morning. A hot bath and shampoo had come first, followed by shaving her body (with straight razor), and then applying four different types of body lotion and body powder. Next was a careful facial, culminating in the retouching of her very thin, carefully arched brows. Styling her long auburn hair into a bun, and constructing small ringlets with a curling iron to frame her face, had next occupied her. Then she had donned her panties, her bloomers, her underbrassier, her brassier, and her camisole. Yuah had careful manicured her fingernails and pedicured her toes. Finally came rouge, eye shadow, mascara, and lipstick—just enough to look as though she didn’t need any and thus had worn none—painted on with the care and attention to detail of the finest portrait artist.

“You look beautiful, Miss.”

“Yes, I know.”

“Will there be anything else, Miss?”

“No.”

Yuah left and Iolanthe continued to stare at herself for several moments in the mirror. Once she had decided that everything was perfect, she hyperventilated for a minute, before leaving. Doing so allowed her to make it all the way down to the steam carriage without having to gasp for breath, despite the small inhalations allowed by the Prudence Plus fairy bust form corset, though doing so exacerbated the possibility of her fainting. Women frequently fainted in Brech. It was just part of the cost of fashion.

The house that the Dechantagne family owned in the Old City was a large, square, four-story building occupying most of a city block. It was so large in fact, that two thirds of the rooms were unused, the furniture covered by white linen drop cloths, and the doors kept locked. Iolanthe had been tempted to sell the house, as she had much of the family’s other city properties, but then, finding a new place to live would have occupied far too much of her time, and she doubted that any place she found would have been appropriate for entertaining the class of people that she had needed to entertain during the past year. Since she had been essentially forced to keep it, she had spent considerable money modernizing the portions that she used. Houses built three hundred years before did not have the benefits of indoor plumbing, and there was no way that she would go without her bath tub, or for that matter, a modern flushing toilet. Stairs were fine as well, for making a grand entrance, but for the everyday up and down of three flights, an elevator was a must. Then there were the dumbwaiters, the gaslights, and the upgraded kitchen. The only things that hadn’t needed to be improved were the servants’ quarters, which were more than adequate.

Iolanthe walked from her spacious boudoir, stepping through the bedchamber, which was to her mind three or four times too large to be kept at a comfortable temperature, and then out into the hallway. The hallway was lined with large and small framed mirrors, so that she could have admired herself many times on her way out, had she chosen to do so. She did not. At the end of the hallway, she entered the elevator, which awaited her. She did not need to look at or address the young man of the household staff who controlled the elevator car. He knew what to do. Exiting the elevator on the ground floor, she walked through the spacious foyer, past the great sweeping staircase. She swept right on out the front door, not even needing to slow, as the head butler Zeah was there to open the door and hand her a parasol to match her outfit.

At the bottom of the steps, another young man of the household staff waited with the steam carriage running. He had already filled the tank with water and the firebox with coal, at least she assumed he had, and if he hadn’t there would be hell to pay. Placing her high-heeled shoe upon the running board, she stepped up into the seat, taking half a moment to make sure that she didn’t squash her bustle as she sat down. Then releasing the brake with her right hand and stepping on the forward accelerator with her right foot, she zoomed away from the curb, sending a dozen pedestrians diving one way or the other.

Her first stop of the day was the telegraph office in the great plaza, just across from Café Carlo, where she frequently had a light luncheon or tea. It was a short drive, almost no time at all before she pushed the decelerator, pulled the brake, and came to a stop in front of the building that must have once been glassblower’s shop or a bakery or some such, since telegraphs had not been invented when the structures around the plaza had been built. Now that she thought about it, the wooden poles leading away from the telegraph office were somewhat unsightly among the ornate stone and marble buildings. The government had even made an attempt to make the gas streetlamps attractive. The telegraph poles were just oily looking wooden sticks. Still, she supposed they were necessary. Stepping down from the steam carriage, she walked around to the rear of the vehicle and turned the steam relief cock, so that nothing as unfortunate as a boiler explosion would bother her while she took care of business. Then she made her entrance into the telegraph office.

The office was dark, despite having a very large window in its front wall. All of the walls were paneled with a very dark wood and were completely unornamented except for six brass gas lantern sconces. Two large wooden desks sat at odds with one another. In front of each, sat two uncomfortable looking chairs, and behind each sat a man with a stiff white collar and a green visor. Iolanthe stood holding her unused parasol in her hands and her chin high in the air, until both men in green visors jumped from their seats, ran around the desks to pull out a chair for her.

“Miss Dechantagne!”

“Miss Dechantagne!”

She chose the chair held by the older of the two men. He was about fifty, slightly fat around the middle, and was wearing a cheap wedding ring. Both men returned to their positions behind their desks, the older, slightly fat man with a look of triumph upon his face, the younger man with a look of dejection.

“My telegrams?” she said.

“Of course, Miss Dechantagne.” He produced them from a rack at the back of the room as if he had been waiting for her entrance all day, which he probably had. There were five. She read each of them carefully.

Telegram One:

My Dear Miss Dechantagne.

Will visit city three days hence. Would very much like to meet you for tea. Anxiously await your reply.

Prof. Merced Calliere, University Ponte-a-Verne.

Telegram Two:

My Dearest Miss Dechantagne.

Found you as ever, delightful, at the Opera. I still say you have the loveliest eyes ever. Can’t stop thinking about them. Would love to have you for tea.

Jolon Bendrin

Telegram Three:

Sister.

Have found two wizards that may be of some use. Need six thousand marks to settle personal accounts. Also have a girl for you to meet. Get something for Yuah’s birthday.

Augie.

Telegram Four:

Miss.

Finished closing up the house. Local business attended to. Personal baggage to arrive in three days. Staff and details will follow in five days. Your directions followed.

Macy.

Telegram Five:

Iolanthe.

Mustering out before the twelfth. Hope plans are going well. Have a full company. Leaving the rest in your hands.

Terrence.

“Take down my replies, please,” said Iolanthe.

“To Professor Merced Calliere, University Ponte-a-Verne, Regencia. My Dear Professor. I anxiously await your visit. I am understandably excited to see the results of your work. I insist that you stay with us at the house. I will meet you at the station myself. Of course, we will have tea together. Very sincerely, I. Dechantagne.

“To Mister Jolon Bendrin, Bentin, Cordwell. Mister Bendrin. Never contact me again. I do not accept invitations from men who think themselves entitled to take liberties. If your face is seen within my circle of acquaintances, and my brother does not shoot you, I will do so myself. Very sincerely, I Dechantagne.

“To Lieutenant Augustus Dechantagne, Bentin Cordwell. Augie. I am sending you five thousand marks to settle accounts, as I am sure you have exaggerated your needs by at least twenty percent. Leave the girl. I am well aware of your peccadilloes. Make sure not to leave any loose ends. Bring the wizards. If you see Jolon Bendrin while you are there, you may shoot him. Your Sister. I. Dechantagne.

“To Macy Godwin, Shopton, Mont Dechantagne. Good. I. Dechantagne.

“To Captain Terrence Dechantagne, Dorridgeville, Booth. I have secured munitions and equipment. Send your company directly to the ship. Expedite your return if possible. Your expertise is needed. Iolanthe.

“Do you have all of that?”

“Yes, Maam,” replied the telegraph operator. “You know, we can abbreviate these messages and save five pfennigs per word.”

Iolanthe gave him a withering look, until he dropped his eyes to the desktop.

“Grammar is so very important,” she said. “My man will be by to settle accounts.”

She stood up and started for the door. The younger man, who had been waiting across the room for just this moment, jumped up and rushed to the door so quickly, that he knocked over his own chair along the way. With a look of utmost triumph, he opened the door for her. She rewarded him with a nod of her head, and stepped outside. Turning the steam cock to its original position once again, she climbed back aboard the carriage and started once again on her way.

On an impulse, Iolanthe stopped at Durcy Square just off of Prince Tybalt Boulevard. This was a frequent gathering place for dealers of moldy old magical artifacts, and one could occasionally find would-be wizards. She hoped that she might find a lead on a promising specimen here—perhaps an apprentice who might lead her to his master—one not already scooped up by the government. She had even heard of particularly gifted hedge wizards that sometimes looked for work here. Perhaps she would find some self-taught thaumaturgist, who might not have yet been noticed by the over-zealous recruiters of the Royal Brechalon Army, and might surprise her with unexpected magical gifts. She saw only one wizard. He was showing off a variety of simple spells to the delight of a small crowd that had gathered around him. He had a bowler hat lying upside down on the pavement for the crowd to toss coins into. His grand finale was to levitate one of the spectators ten feet in the air. While the crowd thoroughly enjoyed it, Iolanthe knew that it was not a particularly potent spell as magic went.

Her next stop was across the city. The Great Church of the Holy Savior had once stood majestically on a hill some distance from the city, but the city had grown and swallowed it up. It now marked the border between that part of the city which was added on beyond the old walls but still maintained some of the respectability, if not the majesty of the original; and the part of the city, hastily slapped together and poorly maintained, which served as the generally disreputable havens for the teaming and unwashed masses. Iolanthe paused her steam carriage in front of the great stone edifice to look at its marble columns and famed cupola for a moment, and then pulled around to the side of the structure to park next to the sidewalk. She climbed down, once again set the steam cock to the release position, and walked around to the front of the building. She stopped to hyperventilate for a minute, before swiftly climbing the forty steps to the great, open double doors.

The impressive monument to Brech architecture and Kafirite power was laid out like every other church in the known world, in the form of a cross. The narthex was the main entrance hall of the church, and it along with the nave, where the worshippers stood during services formed the post of the cross. Beyond the nave was the chancel, which started at the junction of the left and right transepts that formed the horizontal portion of the cross, and continued on to complete the post. The altar stood at the top of the chancel, and it was in the chancel, where the two transepts met that the Priest stood during services.

Iolanthe stepped into the church narthex. It was much darker inside than it had been outside, on this bright, sunny day. The light streaming in through the stained glass windows, behind her, above the balcony on the second floor, created fuzzy images of events from scripture on the floor of the nave. Along the walls, both left and right, stood marble statues of the apostles, six on the left and six on the right. Their white pupil-less eyes did not follow her as she walked directly back toward the chancel. When she reached the crossing between the two transepts, she stopped, looking up at the alter to see Pallaton’s recreation, in the finest of Mirsannan marble, of the crucifixion of the savior. A movement to her right caught her attention, and Iolanthe turned to watch as a young girl, about eight or nine years old, in a dirty brown linen dress and a dirty brown wool sweater, lit one candle among many, and then kneeled down in prayer.

“May I help you, miss?” came a voice from her left. A young man in a white robe, with a blue collar, looked inquiringly into Iolanthe’s aquamarine eyes.

“I’m here to see Father Kerrdon.”

“Of course. Follow me, please.”

The young cleric led the beautiful woman in the chantilly dress to a door on the right hand side of the left transept, which opened to a spiral staircase going upwards. Once on the upper floor, he led her to an ancient wooden door, knocked, and then opened the door, allowing Iolanthe to enter. He closed the door from the outside, and Iolanthe found herself in an office. It was warmly decorated with rich furnishings, including two overstuffed chairs on either side of a small table, upon a round, decorative green rug, not too far from a small, black cast-iron stove. There were six or seven large paintings on the walls, the subjects of which were all of a religious nature.

“Miss Dechantagne,” said the priest, setting his book on the small table, and rising from his seat in the leftmost of the two overstuffed chairs. “I have been expecting you.”

Father Kerrdon was middle aged. He was thin. Though completely bald upon the crown of his head, he had thick graying hair around his ears. This had the effect of making his head look larger than it actually was. He had a hawkish nose, lessoned by his golden colored spectacles, as well as thin lips, and a rather weak chin. He was almost exactly the same height as Iolanthe in her four-inch heels, making him about five foot ten. He took her proffered hand, and shook it, and then as if suddenly remembering something, he rushed across the room to a small semicircular table against the outside wall.

“I have been waiting for a visitor, such as yourself, to show this off,” he said.

He cranked a small handle on the side of a device about the size of a hatbox, and then moved a small arm across the little machine. Suddenly music emanated from the contrivance. It was not the type of music that Iolanthe usually listened to, though it was not totally unpleasant. It was modern music, full of pep and energy—the type that was played in the taprooms and rathskellers where average people would congregate in the evenings to eat, drink, talk, and dance. Not being average, in any way that could be measured, Iolanthe did not frequent these locations. She was aware of their existence though, and the type of music to be found there. She wanted to say something mildly complimentary, such as “that’s very nice” or “how amusing”, but the appropriate phraseology simply did not come to her.

“Have you ever seen the like?” asked Father Kerrdon.

“My mother had a magical music box when I was a child.”

“Oh, this isn’t magic,” said the priest, his words coming faster and faster. “Those magical music boxes only play one or two songs. This is a mechanical device. It can play hundreds, maybe thousands of songs. You see each of the songs is on a cylinder, like this one. It has grooves cut all around its circumference, in which a needle travels as the cylinder spins. Tiny bumps in the grooves…”

“I really don’t care how it works.” Iolanthe’s interrupting voice was louder than she had intended in the small room. “I’m sorry, Father, but I have much to attend to. If we could get to the point at hand?”

The crestfallen priest turned off the mechanical music and walked back to the two chairs. With a wave of his hand, he indicated that Iolanthe should take the right chair. Once she had done so, he sat down in the left. He took a deep breath.

“The Bishop has explained to me that I am to assist you in any way possible,” he said. “But he did not give me any information as to what endeavor should require my assistance.”

“The Dechantagnes are a historic and distinguished family. In the past, we have held positions of great influence—economically, politically, and socially. Now all that remain of the family however, are my two brothers and myself. While still quite comfortable financially, we would like to restore our lineage to its former greatness, and my brothers and I have come up with a plan to do this in a single bold stroke.”

Iolanthe stopped to see if Father Kerrdon was following. He nodded to indicate that he was.

“The world has changed in the last two hundred years. Our beloved country, as well as Freedonia and Mirsanna, have become wealthy as trade has become available from distant lands. But the world is about to change far more than most people have the capacity to realize. Greater Brechalon will soon have colonies all over the world. Those who become part of this from the very beginning will have an opportunity to become rich beyond their wildest dreams, to become the aristocracy of entirely new regions of a burgeoning empire, to become the most important leaders since Magnus the Great. My brothers and I have invested our family’s entire fortune in an expedition to establish new holdings in Birmisia, in Mallon.”

“Mallon,” said the priest, quietly. “Good heavens, that’s twelve thousand miles away from here—twelve thousand miles away from civilization.”

“No, Father. We’re going to bring the civilization with us.”

“I see. And how am I to help?”

“A civilized people need a civilized church, Father. We will of course, establish a church in our new colony. We will need priesthood members. We will need those who can call upon the power of the savior. We will need all the accouterments required by a church. We will need copies of the scriptures. We will need crucifixes. We may even need missionaries to convert the aborigines, if they have either souls or the capacity to be redeemed. I admit to no great knowledge in this particular area.”

Iolanthe waited for the priest to process all of this information and was rewarded with quick nod of understanding.

“How large will this expedition be?” he asked.

“Somewhere in the neighborhood of a thousand souls on the first ship. I have already arranged for additional ships, one per month for six months to bring supplies and equipment. It is my expectation that we will have additional colonists on at least some of these vessels. I also expect that once the colony is established, more people will arrive.”

“So you will need at least one full priest, several acolytes, and perhaps a dozen church laymen,” he mused. “At least to start. I should think you will need forty to fifty tons of associated cargo.”

“Can you arrange for this cargo?”

“Yes, of course. It will take time to get it all together, and it won’t be inexpensive either.”

“You have two weeks.”

“Two weeks?”

“Yes and a budget of twenty-five thousand marks.”

“Hmm. All right. I think it can be done.”

“And can you find the priests and the others for us?”

“Oh that won’t be any problem, Miss Dechantagne. There are many individuals, both within and without the church, who would be thrilled to start their lives over in a new land.”

“That does not surprise me,” said Iolanthe. “My brothers and I are well aware of the service we are providing. Please note, that all will be held to a high standard.”

“Oh, I can see that.” said Father Kerrdon.

“Then I can leave this in your hands?”

“You already have the Bishop’s assurance of my help.”

“Yes, I do.”

Iolanthe stood up and Father Kerrdon led her out of the room, down the spiral staircase, and back into the crossing between the two transepts of the church. She stopped and looked to see if the little girl in the brown linen dress and brown wool sweater was still kneeling in prayer, but the child was nowhere to be seen. Once again, she looked up at the great marble statue of the savior.

“Magnificent, isn’t it?” said the priest. “I’ve always thought it was the most beautiful recreation of the savior I’ve ever seen. One can see the pain, the hope, and even the forgiveness in that face.

“Still,” he continued. “I would be willing to wager that all of the likenesses carved in marble by Pallaton the Elder are beautiful. I have not seen them all of course, but he is reputed to be the greatest artist of his period.”

“Perhaps,” said Iolanthe, continuing on through the nave. “But I have always suspected that the savior was quite simply a very beautiful woman.”

Outside the double doors of the church, Iolanthe paused to let her eyes adjust to the brightness, hyperventilated once more, and then made her way quickly down the steps, around the corner, and back to her carriage. She noted that the steam coming from the release was much less than it had been, and with a sigh, opened the coal bin and retrieved the small shovel that was lying upon the supply of extra coal. Using the shovel to lift the firebox latch, so that she wouldn’t burn her gloves, she shoveled a dozen scoops of coal from the bin to the flame. She then used the shovel to close the firebox door, tossed the shovel back into the coal bin, and closed the coal bin door. She flipped the steam cock to the engaged position and climbed aboard the carriage. Looking at her blackened gloves with disgust, she peeled them off and tossed them unceremoniously under the carriage seat. Then opening the glove compartment, she pulled out replacements from among several pairs of gloves, a small stack of handkerchiefs and two loose shotgun shells.

Iolanthe released the brake and pressed down with her foot on the forward accelerator. The carriage slowly rolled forward. The steam built up, and soon the vehicle had returned to its former vigor. She tried to drive around the block of the Great Church of the Holy Savior, and get back onto the main road to return to the Old City, but the roads in this area did not seem to follow the normal grid pattern. And there seemed to be nowhere to turn around. After half an hour of trying to negotiate the unfathomable maze, she found herself at a dead end. She pulled the brake lever and sat trying to figure out at which turn she should have made a left, and how to get back to that point.

Suddenly a figure approached the left side of her carriage. It was a dirty man, wearing dirty clothes, with a dirty bald head, and a big dirty nose. He stepped in close to her and ran his eyes down the length of her form. Another similarly dressed man stepped up behind him.

“Well, this is nice, ain’t it?” said the second man. “We can have us a little fun.”

“Yeah, fun” said the first man, pulling a long, thin knife from his belt.

“Careful though,” said the second man. “She might have a little pistol in her handbag.”

“Does you have a little pistol in your handbag, dearie?” the first man asked. He casually waved the knife in his right hand, as he pawed at her ankle with his left. Then he stopped when he heard the sound of two hammers being cocked, and looked up into the twin twelve gauge barrels.

“I don’t carry a handbag,” said Iolanthe, pulling the shotgun to her shoulder. She pulled the first trigger, disintegrating the head of the first man, and sending a fountain of viscous remains over everything within twenty feet. The second man had no time to react before the second barrel was fired at him. He was far enough away however, that though he was killed, people who had known him would still be able to identify his body.

Iolanthe pushed the lever, opening the shotgun’s breach with her thumb, and tilted the weapon so that the two used shells dropped out onto the carriage floor. She opened the glove compartment and pulled out the two replacement shells, stuffed them into the shotgun, and snapped the breach closed. She then returned the still smoking weapon to its place behind the seat. Reaching back into the glove compartment, she pulled out one of the handkerchiefs and wiped some of the blood and jellied brains from her face.

Looking down at herself in disgust, she said. “I’ll never be able to wear this dress again.”

Chapter Three: The Head Butler

Zeah Korlann watched as Miss Dechantagne spoke to the policeman. If he had come home covered in blood, and then called the policeman to tell him that he had just shot two men in an alley, he would be sitting in the deepest, darkest cell in Ravendeep by now. Miss Dechantagne on the other hand, took a careful sip of her tea, keeping her pinky straight, from a teacup that matched her dressing gown, as she told the blue-clad officer of her “adventure.” She then told him about how she had driven herself home and taken a long hot bath, after ordering her steam carriage cleaned and her clothing disposed of. Maybe the key was not being nervous. Policemen were used to dealing with guilty, twitchy, little people. Miss Dechantagne never felt guilty about anything, she never twitched, and she was most definitely not one of the little people. Then again, the policeman probably wasn’t listening to a word she said. She sat there with her luxurious auburn hair hanging loosely about her shoulders, her skin the very picture of porcelain perfection, her lips painted luscious red, and those unusual aquamarine eyes. And she was wearing what? Certainly not a bustle or a corset, just yard after yard of violet and silver silk dressing gown, from her neck to the floor. Maybe the key was that, as far as the policemen knew, there were no underclothes at all under that dressing gown.

“Normally in these situations,” said the policeman. “We would bring the journeyman wizard from Mernham Yard to cast a truth spell, but I really don’t see the need. Everything seems to be straight-forward enough.”

“Thank you officer,” said Miss Dechantagne. “You have been most considerate.”

“My pleasure, Miss.”

“Would you please leave your name and address with my man before you leave? I would like to send you a thank-you gift for your kindness in this trying time.”

“That won’t be necessary, Miss,” said the policeman, clicking his heels and bowing before he left, but he gave his name and address to Zeah anyway, revealing the true key to living an existence free from police trouble. The officer would receive a gift basket filled with fresh fruit, expensive jams and jellies, canned kippers, loaves of rosemary and garlic bread, some very nice cheese, a sausage, and four or five hundred one mark banknotes.

When the head butler had closed the front door behind the policeman, he turned on a heel and walked back into the parlor. Miss Dechantagne already seemed to have forgotten that she had been dealing with police business. She continued to sip her tea, but now she did so while reading the latest issue of Brysin’s Weekly Ladies’ Journal. Yuah entered carrying a small plate with three carefully arranged peppermint candies upon it. She gave Zeah a quick wink. It was just like the girl to get cheeky on her birthday.

“Are you ready to go about your duties for the day, Zeah?” asked Miss Dechantagne.

“Yes, Miss.”

“A little birdie has reminded me that it is your daughter’s birthday,” said Miss Dechantagne, biting into one of the peppermints candies. “I do hope you have plans to celebrate it.”

“The staff will be presenting her with a cake at dinner,” said Zeah.

“Excellent,” said Miss Dechantagne, then turning to Yuah. “Take the rest of the evening off. I shan’t need you.”

“Very good, Miss,” said Yuah.

“Birthdays are important,” said Miss Dechantagne. “They come only once every three hundred seventy-five days.”

“Yes, Miss,” said Yuah, and exited the room.

“Do you have a gift for her?” the lady asked the head butler.

“I’m picking up a scarf for her today.”

“Excellent. Pick up something appropriate from my brothers and me. Charge it to my account.”

“Yes, Miss.”

“I’m sorry to ask you to make an additional stop today, Zeah. I had planned on stopping by the docks this afternoon to consult with Captain Gurrman on how much space still remains in the cargo hold and what other equipment that we might need. Unfortunately, my ‘adventure’ pushed those plans completely out of my mind. I need you, after you have completed your other duties, to stop at the docks and complete this mission in my stead. I trust this will not make you late for your daughter’s birthday party.”

“I’m sure it will be fine, Miss,” he said. He well knew that taking a side trip to the docks, in addition to everything else he had to do, would make him miss any birthday celebrations entirely. What he couldn’t figure out was whether Miss Dechantagne didn’t understand the constraints of time on his schedule, or did understand and simply didn’t care.

Zeah left the house on foot. Anyone else might have called the abode a mansion, or a manse, or possibly even a palace, but Miss Dechantagne called it a house, and so it was a house. He walked with the brisk pace of a much younger man. He could have taken the steam carriage if he had wanted. Miss Dechantagne would have allowed it without a second thought. He had her complete confidence, as his family had held the complete confidence of her family for five generations. But he had never learned to drive, and he was too old to learn now. It didn’t matter. With the breadth of the horse-drawn trolley system in the great city, under normal conditions, he didn’t have to have to walk very far. Going to the docks in the evening would complicate things of course. He had carefully planned out his journey in his mind, to minimize his travel time and allow him the efficiency that always gave him comfort. He would follow that plan to the exact step. The first stop had to be the bank, and so he traveled due west.

When he stepped off the trolley in the center of Avenue Boar, he was in the heart of the city’s financial district. The great stone façades of the nation’s most powerful banks, stock brokerages, trust companies, and investment firms lined both sides of the street, and here, like nowhere else in the city, or in the entire United Kingdom of Greater Brechalon, could be found great numbers of the Short Men. He could see twenty or thirty walking down the street. Two brushed past him, without looking up.

The Short Men were not really men at all. They were an entirely different species, as evidenced by their historic inability to interbreed with ‘normal human beings’. If the articles in the Royal Geographic Society Journal were to be believed, they had descended from a completely different, though contemporary, group of prehistoric cavemen. They were, as their name implied, short. The average height for males was about four foot six, and the women were slightly shorter. They were not proportionally narrow however, and tended to be just as wide as a human being. Coming in not quite the variety of colors and variations of the taller people they lived among, most were tan to brown skinned, and had thick locks of dark brown to black hair, as well as thick, similarly colored beards.

The Short Men had stayed in the mountains, living their cave-dwelling lifestyles long after humans had moved to the river valleys to invent agriculture. This had served them well, for when the needs of civilization pushed technology beyond that of stone tools to copper, and then bronze, and then iron, the Short Man had been sitting atop these precious resources. At first, there had been wars fought to acquire the raw materials needed by man, and the Short Men had been faced with the real possibility of extinction, but they had learned compromise and accommodation and became part of the procurement process of the riches of what they called “the tall man’s world.” Over the centuries, they had parleyed their control of rich metals into the control of even more rich metals, and the paper representation of those metals. Today the Short Men were an integral part of the financial world of Greater Brechalon and most of the other nations on the continent of Sumir. They owned a great many banks and brokerage houses, and those they did not own, they managed.

Zeah walked up the steps of the most imposing of the structures on the street—the First Royal Charter Bank of Greater Brechalon. It was a stone building that dwarfed Miss Dechantagne’s house, as well as all the other bank buildings. A doorman opened the highly decorative, sixteen-foot tall door that led into the main bank chamber. This room alone seemed as if it might hold the Great Church of the Holy Savior. Three stories tall at least, with light streaming down from a glass-domed ceiling upon the hundred or more desks. At each desk sat a Short Man, his bearded face hunched over his accounting books.

The head butler stood for only a moment, before he was approached, seemingly from nowhere, by one of the Short Men. This individual was dressed in a tweed suit, with a velvet vest, and a stiff white collar barely visible beneath his great beard. The beard was braided together with beads and gold wire into three separate ligatures.

“I am Bergren Denholm,” said the Short Man. “How may I help you?”

“I am here to withdraw funds for my employer,” said Zeah.

“Follow me.”

The Short Man led him through the great hall to a desk about halfway back, on the right hand side, two desks away from the center aisle. This desk, like every other one in the room, was huge and would easily have served as a small boat, had it been dropped into the River Thiss accidentally. There were two chairs in front of the desk, and when Zeah sat down in one of them, the great desk was as high as his shoulders, and he sat looking at its mammoth and completely empty surface, as the banker walked around to take a seat behind it. The butler would have expected the Short Man to disappear behind the far side, had he not had the experience of visiting the bank on many previous occasions. But of course, the banker’s chair was much higher than his own, leaving the Short Man to look down upon the tall man from at least as high an advantage sitting down as Zeah had enjoyed when they were both standing up.

“The name on the account?”

“Miss Iolanthe Dechantagne.”

“And your name?”

“Zeah Korlann,”

“That is a Zaeri name, isn’t it?” the Short Man said. There was no sneer, nor even the slightest change in inflection to indicate that he thought less of a Zaeri than anyone else, but Zeah knew that the thought lay somewhere under the words and the lack of facial expression. And there was something particularly infuriating about being looked down upon by someone who was almost a foot and a half shorter than you. But then, in some ways, Zeah was more separated from the rest of mankind by his religion, than the Short Man was by his difference in race.

It hadn’t always been so difficult to be a Zaeri. At times, in history, ancient history yes, it had been an advantage. Two thousand years ago, Zur had been a flowering ancient civilization, one of many, like Argrathia or Ballar or Donnata. Then a single dynasty of kings, culminating in Magnus the Great himself, had conquered the rest of the known world, and taken Zur civilization with them. Then everyone was a Zaeri, or at least everyone looked like one. Zur architecture had become the dominant architecture. Zur dress had become the dominant dress. Zur custom had become the dominant custom. And yes, Zaeri, the Zur religion, with its belief in one god, had replaced the pagan religions of the civilizations that Magnus and his forebears had conquered. Even when Magnus’s empire had splintered into many successor kingdoms, the world had remained one where being a Zaeri meant that you were one of the elite.

Then a generation later, no not even a generation after the restructuring of the empire, a Zaeri prophet named Kafira had begun teaching a strange variation of the religion in the land that had been, and would one day again be called, Xygia. Kafira had preached the importance of the afterlife, an adherence to a code of conduct that she said would lead one to this paradisiacal existence, and a general disregard for temporal affairs. The last of these three tenets of Kafira’s teaching had put her at odds with the Zaeri High Priests and the Xygian King, for supporting the priesthood and paying the King’s taxes were, for them, priorities. They taught her the error of her ways by giving her an ignoble death, crucifying her on the cross, thereby from Zeah’s point of view, turning her from the leader of an obscure sect into a martyr. She had then, again from Zeah’s point of view, been elevated by her followers from martyr to savior, as the events of her life and the miracles attributed to her, both before and after her death, formed the basis of a new religion. This religion spread quickly to engulf all that had been the Zur civilization. In the following millennia, the Kafirites had converted the remaining pagans to the creed of their holy savior, thereby making it the only religion in the world of man—the only religion in the world of man, save those few ethnic Zur, like Zeah and his family, who held onto the ancient Zaeri belief.

“Yes,” he replied. “It is a Zaeri name.”

The Short Man nodded.

“How much is your withdrawal?”

“Twenty-five thousand marks.”

The Short Man raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything. Several minutes later, Zeah had signed the appropriate forms and had left the bank, his pocket thick with fifty, five hundred mark banknotes—a small enough denomination to pay off Miss Dechantagne’s accounts, but large enough that it would be extremely difficult to make change should anyone try to do anything else other than pay off Miss Dechantagne’s accounts.

The head butler’s first stop was the shipping agent. Miss Dechantagne had been shipping a great many goods and supplies, as well as people, into the city in the past several weeks, and she would be shipping even more. Then entire contents of the Dechantagne country estate, that portion which had not been sold, would be arriving in just a few days. The staff from the estate would arrive a few days later. Train tickets would also be needed for an entire company of soldiers as well.

Miss Dechantagne’s solicitor was the second stop. It would be he who would pay off the smaller bills—the telegraph office, the grocer, the baker, Café Carlo. The only individual store in which Zeah’s employer had garnered a debt large enough to warrant an individual visit by him was the dress shop. That would be his third stop. In fact, the bill here was larger than that of the shipping agent.

It was nearing sundown when Zeah made this third stop. Paying off Miss Dechantagne’s bill himself, rather than having the solicitor do so, was necessitated both by its amount and by his own need to purchase a gift for Yuah’s birthday. He carefully chose a white silk scarf with small yellow flowers around its finished seam for his daughter. He found a pair of white lace gloves that matched the scarf and purchased the pair as a gift for Yuah from the Dechantagnes. He knew the gloves would be the perfect gift in Miss Dechantagne’s eyes because they were just expensive enough to be beyond his own budget, so she wouldn’t feel miserly, which she considered beneath her. On the other hand, had they been any more expensive, she would have felt munificent with a servant, which she considered beneath her.

When Zeah stepped outside, it was already dark. The lamplighters were running slightly behind in their duties. Two of them were making their way up the street, one on either side, lighting the gas streetlights with their long-handled wicks. The trolleys were already shutting down for the night, so Zeah had to walk several blocks until he found a cab still on duty. This particular one was a shabby old carriage, with an unhappy and probably flea-bitten horse, not long for the glue factory, if his speed was any indication. The head butler gave orders to be taken to the docks, and sat back to ponder the fact that in the servant quarters at home at that exact moment, Yuah and the others would be finishing their evening meal and would be looking forward to one of Mrs. Colbshallow’s carefully crafted cakes.

The docks were located in the geographic center of city as it now stood. Hundreds of years ago, when the Old City was the entire city, the river had been a short distance to the south. The great city now continued to grow on both sides of the river, but the mighty River Thiss (pronounced tiss) had not been domesticated. It was still the awe-inspiring waterway it always had been. No bridge could span it, at least not anywhere near the city. It was wide and deep enough for the greatest of ships to sail in from the sea and make their way up more than a hundred miles to dock here. In the center of the Thiss, on Isle de Fortann, was Fort Tharbin, bristling with cannons, to insure that any ship that did so, would be a friendly one.

Zeah directed the cabby to dock zed four, where the ship chartered by Miss Dechantagne was moored. The ship was the H.M.S. Minotaur, impressive at more than four hundred thirty feet long, with a beam of seventy-five feet, and a draft of twenty-six feet. Zeah knew, having studied these facts, that at 13,200 tons, it had been one of the largest ships in the Royal Brechalon Navy. Yet, while it still flew the red, white, and blue Accord Banner of Greater Brechalon, it was now operating under the authority of the Dechantagne family. Zeah had to marvel at the behind the scenes political maneuvering necessary to make this happen. The cabby shook the horse’s reigns and the old nag clopped away down the cobblestone pavement, once the butler had climbed down from the carriage and paid his fare. Unfortunately it was at this point that Zeah realized he should have had the cabbie wait for him.

It was quite dark now, and Zeah was beginning to feel the chill air creep into his bones. A single gaslight on the dockside, fifty or sixty feet away, cast a scant glow. Zeah walked over to the Minotaur’s gangplank, which was guarded by a single sailor wearing a pistol and leaning on one of the railing posts. Hanging from this post was an oil-lantern, casting just enough light to reveal the seaman’s unshaven face. Fog, rolling in off the river, rose up from the ground like a foul smoke from hell.

“What do you want?” asked the sailor, the emphasis on the word “you”.

“I’m here to see the Captain.”

“What makes you think he wants to see you?”

“I’m here on the official business of Miss Iolanthe Dechantagne. Either let me come aboard, or notify Captain Gurrman that I am here. He should be expecting me.”

“Well, he ain’t expecting you,” said the sailor. “If he was expecting you, he would be onboard, which he ain’t.”

“Then to whom may I speak?” asked Zeah.

“Nobody.”

“What’s going on here, Gervis?” said a man coming down the gangplank through the fog. When he neared the dock, Zeah could see he was an officer.

“My name is Zeah Korlann. I was sent by Miss Dechantagne to speak to the Captain.”

“I see,” said the officer. “Officer of the watch, Lieutenant Staff, at your service sir. However, I really think it would be best if you return tomorrow. Captain Gurrman and Lieutenant Commander Frigeffresson have gone ashore and won’t be back this evening, from what I understand.”

“Bother,” said Zeah.

“Sorry, sir,” said Staff. “I could send an escort to see you home.”

“That won’t be necessary. If you can just tell me which direction I need to go to find a cab.”

“Turn around and walk straight back that way, sir. When you pass beyond the warehouses up ahead, you’ll find yourself on Avenue Pike. If you can’t find a cab there, make a right. A half mile up the street is a pub called the Mermaid’s Ankle. They have their own carriage for delivering patrons who become, um, indisposed.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant.” said Zeah. He didn’t deign to look at Gervis, the rude sailor, but turned with his usual stiff-backed polish and began swiftly walking away from the dockside, through the fog, toward several huge, looming warehouses. They seemed to grow larger like some monstrous beasts, as he approached, and the fog grew thicker and thicker.

Zeah had almost reached the corner of the closer warehouse, when from ahead, somewhere in the darkness, he heard a scream. It sounded like a woman’s scream. The butler was not armed, nor was he unarmed particularly dangerous or imposing in any physical way, but no one had ever accused any member of the Korlann family of cowardice, especially in a moment of crisis. He ran forward, toward the scream. There was no second scream, so he had to make his best guess at the origin of the one. He hurried past the large warehouse and on instinct, turned right down a narrow path between it and another, smaller warehouse just beyond it. This led to a narrow alley in what had become a maze of warehouses and dock buildings. The butler stopped for a moment to listen. He didn’t hear anything, but moved forward, now a little more cautious, as the adrenaline in his body began to wane. Even so, he came upon the two figures in the fog so quickly, that he nearly tripped over them.

Lying still in the swirling mists, and illuminated only by an oil lantern that sat upon the ground nearby, was a woman’s body. Her eyes were open, staring lifelessly up at the dark night sky, as if looking for the moon, which wouldn’t come up over the horizon for another few hours. She had in life, no doubt been pretty, in an average sort of way, with shoulder length blond hair and pleasant features. She had worn, perhaps a bit too much make-up. She had been stabbed repeatedly and her once blue, once decorated with pink flowers, once un-tattered dress, was drenched with her blood. Leaning over her, his hands stained with her blood, was a man wearing khaki pants, a khaki shirt, digger’s boots, and a wide-brimmed khaki hat. At first the man’s attention was totally transfixed upon the woman’s body, but as Zeah approached, he looked up. The butler stopped in his tracks.

“Zeah?” said the man.

“Master Augie.” said Zeah, looking down into the wide-eyed face of Augustus Dechantagne.

The butler was forced to wait almost four hours for the police inspectors to arrive. He had tried to ask Master Augie what had happened, but before they could hold a conversation, Lieutenant Staff and a squad of sailors had arrived, having heard the scream themselves. One of the sailors had been sent to summon a policeman, who in turn, had sent a message from the closest police-box telegraph, for the inspectors. By the time the two inspectors had arrived, the moon was high enough in the sky to reveal quite a crowd of onlookers: the sailors, several policemen now, more than a few dockworkers, and Master Augie and Zeah.

One of the police inspectors was a priest. This priest was a sandy-haired young man, who wore a long white robe with a blue collar, indicating that he was fairly low in the church hierarchy, not that Zeah was an expert in the organizational chart of the Church of Kafira. The priest had a large patch above his heart, with a shield containing both a cross and a star, indicating that while his first devotion was to his Savior, his work was primarily for the police ministry. A smaller version of the patch was on the front of his small blue skufia, or clerical hat. The second man was a little older. He wore a brown tweed suit and a brown tweed cloak. He also wore a brown tweed deerstalker hat, with a bill both in the front and back. He was puffing from a large, curved, briarwood pipe. He was a wizard. It was somewhat unusual, though not completely unheard of for two such specialized inspectors to arrive together at a crime scene. In most cases, at least one of them would have been a more traditional career policeman.

The wizard looked at everyone in the group, his left eyebrow cocked, as the first policeman on the scene, recounted to the two inspectors what he had learned of the murder scene. The priest seemed less interested in the living than he did in the young woman’s body, and when the policeman had finished telling what small bit he knew, the cleric knelt down and examined her carefully, looking in her hair, in her hands, and even her mouth. He carefully examined her clothing and her wounds. At last, he removed a small vial from a pocket in his robe, and opening it, he poured out a small pool of oil into his left hand. Then, dabbing the tip of his right index finger into the oil, he carefully drew a cross, in oil, on the dead woman’s forehead.

“In the name of the Holy Father, I anoint thee.”

The small crowd was carefully watching him.

“In the name of the Holy Savior, I command you to speak.”

The alleyway was completely silent.

“Who killed you?” asked the priest.

No life returned to the woman’s eyes, which neither the priest, nor anyone else, had closed. Her body lay in the same crumpled position. But then a kind of crackling groan escaped her and her dead mouth moved to form words that came breathlessly from her.

“I…don’t…know.”

“Why were you killed?”

“I…don’t…know.”

“What is your name?” asked the priest.

“Abelena… Gelford,” came the dead reply.

“Can you tell me anything else?” asked the priest.

“He… took… my… locket.”

The priest paused thoughtfully. Then he crossed himself and said. “Rest in peace.”

The woman’s body moved no more. Reaching down, the priest closed her eyes and began a prayer in Zurian. Then it was the wizard’s turn. He pulled the pipe from his mouth, and holding it by the bowl, began to trace symbols in the air with the mouthpiece. A tiny trail of smoke created characters, which hung in the mist for a moment before spreading apart to join the fog, which filled the rest of the air.

“Uuthanum,” said the wizard. “The truth alone will be spoken here.”

Once the truth spell was cast, the two inspectors began asking everyone in the alley questions. They were finishing with Lieutenant Staff and his sailors when the coroner arrived to take the body away. The policemen went on their way, as did the seamen. The crowd of onlookers, no longer having anything of interest to view, dissipated as well. Until at last, it was only the priest, the wizard, Master Augie, and Zeah and the oppressive, thickening fog remaining in the alley. The two inspectors asked a number of questions to determine the identities of the two men.

“So, how did you find the woman?” the wizard finally asked.

“I heard a scream,” said Zeah. “I came to see if I could be of assistance.”

“Yes, me too.” said Master Augie. “Zeah and I arrived about the same time.”

The butler glance quickly over to young Lieutenant Dechantagne to see what type of effect the truth spell would create to illuminate this obvious lie. Nothing happened. The wizard just nodded and continued on.

“Did either of you know the woman, Miss Gelford?”

“No,” said Master Augie and Zeah just shook his head.

“I think that’s about it,” said the priest. “We will contact you if there are any other questions.”

“One more thing.” said the wizard, again tracing symbols in the air with the mouthpiece of his pipe. “Uuthanum. Reveal the presence of magic.”

An area twenty feet around where the body of the dead woman had lain began to glow with an unearthly pale yellow light. Smaller patches of yellow were on the walls of the warehouse and dock building on either side of the alley, and a pale yellow trail led off from the crime scene, in the direction away from the river.

“Someone has been busy here,” said the priest. “Have you ever seen this much magical residue at the scene of a crime?”

“Yes,” said the wizard. “At the last two murders.”

“Well, I think it’s time that Zeah and I were getting home,” said Master Augie.

“Just a moment,” said the wizard, placing his hand on Zeah’s shoulder. “I hear that your mistress is looking for a practitioner of the arts.”

“The… the arts?” Zeah was puzzled. “I don’t think she… muh… my employer, is looking for an artist…”

“The magic arts,” said the wizard.

“My sister is, that is my sister and I, are looking for a wizard,” said Master Augie. “One of considerable talent. Are you putting yourself forward for consideration?”

“Not me,” said the wizard. “Oh, I have gifts enough for my duties at Mernham Yard. But Miss Dechantagne is not looking for a gifted local journeyman. She’s looking for the magical equivalent of Pallaton the Elder.”

“You know such a, what was it you said, a practitioner of the arts?” asked Master Augie.

“I do.”

“A wizard,” said Zeah. “What is his name?”

“Zurfina,” said the wizard. “And she is a sorceress.”

Chapter Four: The Sorceress

Iolanthe Dechantagne walked slowly down the wide, sweeping staircase that led into the vast foyer of her home. She had expected to make a rather grand entrance, but was disappointed to find no visitor awaiting her at the bottom of the stairs. The room was peopled only by several members of the household staff: the doorman, one of the maids, and a young man on a ladder cleaning the wall behind one of the gas lamps. Iolanthe turned slowly to look at Yuah, who stood just behind and to her right. The dressing maid, in a gray and white dress that made her look rather more like a governess than a maid, shrank back slightly. She knew how disappointed Iolanthe was, especially when she had purchased the new evening gown for just this occasion. It was white, and the skirt featured seven layers, one upon the other, each trimmed with red and black, the hem creating a circle more than five feet wide as it swept the floor. The bodice featured matching red and black trim. It was of course so thin at the waist that no one could have worn it without a patented Prudence Plus fairy bust form corset and it featured, as was the style, a prominent bustle in back. It was strapless, leaving an unobstructed view of Iolanthe’s long, thin neck, her smooth shoulders and the top several inches of her chest. Instead of a hat, she wore an arrangement of red and white carnations atop her carefully curled hairdo, which matched the rest of her outfit perfectly.

“She was here, Miss,” said Yuah.

It had been two days since her brother had learned from a police inspector that a powerful sorceress was available for hire. She had arranged a meeting, carefully setting the precise date to give herself plenty of time to prepare. When one met a powerful magic user, especially when one intended to hire a powerful magic user, one had to make a good impression. If Iolanthe was going to hire this woman, if this woman really possessed the gifts that she and her brothers would need in their great enterprise, she intended to show the woman, right from the beginning, who was boss.

Yuah scrambled down the steps of the sweeping staircase and whispered to the doorman. The doorman whispered back. Then Yuah ran back up the stairs to Iolanthe’s side.

“Master Augie just took her to the library.”

“Bloody hell, Augie, you idiot,” said Iolanthe.

She stomped her way down the remaining steps of the staircase and through the foyer, stopping just outside the door to the library. Hyperventilating for a moment, she stepped through the door with a stately and unhastened grace. Yuah followed her, several steps behind. The library was a relatively small room, about thirty by thirty feet, but with a ceiling two stories high. All four walls were completely covered in bookcases to the ceiling. Two railed ladders allowed access to the books at the very top. The room made quite an impression—when full of books. Unfortunately, the books had been packed and loaded onto the H.M.S. Minotaur. The resulting room, empty except for the three overstuffed chairs, two small tables, two oil lamps, and a single volume—Baumgarten’s Brech Stories—was noticeably unimpressive. Along the far wall, Augie leaned against one of the ladders with practiced nonchalance. In the center of the room stood the woman—the sorceress.

She looked like a demon or a deviant prostitute, or some combination of the two. Her shoulder length blond hair was styled as though it had been cut with garden shears and it stuck out in all directions. She had dropped charcoal dust into her large grey eyes, creating thick black borders around them like the ancient Argrathian queens, and she had framed them with green malachite eye shadow. Her lips were so dark that it was more the red of blood than that of the rose. Though her skin was alabaster white, as was Iolanthe’s own, she wore no rouge on her cheeks to give her that aura of health and vitality. She wore no hat, and to Iolanthe’s eyes, no clothing.

The woman’s ensemble was bizarre and lewd in the extreme. It was clearly meant to frighten and baffle at the same time. It was a collection of women’s undergarments transformed into outer clothing. Her arms were covered in fishnet gloves, though they couldn’t really be called gloves, because they didn’t cover her fingers. They simply attached to rings around her thumbs and her pinkies and then ran up almost to her shoulders, where they were held on tight with silken bows. She wore a corset made of black leather with a series of five belt-like straps with buckles running up the front, which Iolanthe suddenly realized would allow the woman to don and doff the device without the aid of anyone else. The low-cut brassier portion of the corset left much of the woman’s chest bared and exposed two tattoos, each a five pointed star, two and a half inches across, outlined in black but filled in with red ink. She wore a kind of leather skirt over the corset, but it reached down only about fourteen inches from her waist, leaving the tops of her stockings and the twelve suspenders connecting them to the corset, completely exposed. The stockings were fishnet mesh, matching the gloves. They were mostly unseen however, as the woman’s leather boots reached all the way past her knees to mid-thigh. These boots each had seven of the same belt like straps with buckles that her corset had, as though they were made to match, which they probably were. The boots had thick square four-inch heels. This last detail was the least striking, as high heels were the fashion. Iolanthe’s own shoes had similar heels, and owing to the fact that she could look the woman directly in the eye, the two women must have been of about the same height, with or without heels.

“Zurfina, I presume,” said Iolanthe.

“Zurfina the Magnificent.” The woman had a husky voice that put Iolanthe in mind of a teen-aged boy.

“Am I supposed to call you Zurfina the Magnificent?” asked Iolanthe. “Do I say ‘good morning Zurfina the Magnificent’ or ‘meet me for tea, Zurfina the Magnificent’ or ‘look out for that falling boulder, Zurfina the Magnificent’?”

“You are of course quite right, Miss Iolanthe Dechantagne,” said the woman. “We shall be on a first name basis, Miss Iolanthe Dechantagne.”

Iolanthe heard a small sound coming from behind her and to her right and suspected that Yuah was suppressing a laugh, or perhaps, worse, a smirk. She didn’t turn to look at the dressing maid, just aimed evil thoughts in her direction.

“Show us some magic, then,” she said. “I feel the need to be impressed. I know my brother is already.”

Augie, who had been so engrossed in the woman’s posterior, that he had not even noticed that his sister had entered the room, suddenly startled to awareness and stood up straight. The blond woman favored him with a sly smile over her shoulder. Then she raised her arm out straight in front of her, palm down. Turning her hand over, a flame sprang up in her palm. Within two or three seconds, the flame had coalesced into a humanoid figure, eight or nine inches tall, which immediately began pirouetting and spinning in a miniature ballet, all without leaving Zurfina’s hand.

“That’s it?” asked Iolanthe. “That’s your great magic?”

“Well I thought it was smashing,” said Augie.

“You don’t like fire?” said Zurfina. “How about ice?”

The tiny figure turned from fire to ice, but continued dancing, breaking off little pieces of itself as it did so, to fall to the floor like tiny snowflakes. Iolanthe pursed her lips.

“My brothers and I are preparing to embark on a great expedition,” she said.

“I know all about it,” said the sorceress.

“Then you know I need a magic user with real power. Just dressing like a necromantic whore doesn’t make you a powerful witch.”

“Oh, you are so right,” said the sorceress. “Clothes do not make the woman.”

She waved her hands in front of her own body, and her clothing became an exact match for Iolanthe’s own evening gown, right down to the red and black trim.

“Or does it?” Zurfina said.

She waved her left hand in front of her face and it became an exact match of Iolanthe’s. She even had the red and white carnations atop her head. The false Iolanthe gave a very flouncy and very un-Iolanthe-like curtsy, then raised her chin and said in a very Iolanthe-like voice. “Yuah, fetch me a white wine!” Yuah took several steps forward before remembering herself and stopping.

“Outstanding!” shouted Augie, clapping his hands.

Iolanthe took a deep breath. “Not bad, I do admit. But show me something that I won’t see one of our journeyman wizards do.”

The sorceress pointed her arm at Yuah, fingers splayed. “Uuthanum uastus corakathum paj.” There was a grinding sound, as though someone were walking upon gravel, and suddenly Yuah froze in place. She, her grey and white dress, and everything else she wore had been turned into a stone statue. She looked like one of the apostles that lined the nave in the Great Church of the Holy Savior. It was as though Pallaton the Elder had been brought from his time into the present to capture the essence of a Zaeri dressing maid.

“My God!” said Augie, absent-mindedly crossing himself.

“Now that is most impressive,” said Iolanthe. “We have to sit down and discuss your terms and my conditions.”

“Tomorrow,” said Zurfina, waving her arms and returning to her original appearance. Then she raised both her arms above her head, and not with a flash, not with a puff of flame or smoke, but with the smallest of pops, she was gone. Vanished. Augustus Dechantagne crossed himself again.

“Knock it off, Augie,” said Iolanthe. “You don’t even attend church.”

Then she turned and breezed out of the room.

The rest of Iolanthe’s evening was ruined. She had to find another staff member to help her undress, and the girl was so unskilled that she pinched Iolanthe’s skin several times as she helped remove her corset. Her tea was cold. Her dinner was cold. Her bath water was cold. It was if the entire household staff had simply forgotten how to do their jobs. And Zeah was no help. He would not tear himself away from the frozen form of Yuah in the library. Augie was just as bad, walking around, wringing his hands. Why didn’t they understand that Iolanthe would take care of everything on the morrow? After all, someone who knew how to turn flesh to stone would know how to turn stone to flesh.

The next morning proved to be no better at all for Iolanthe. Finally she sent Augie in her steam carriage to fetch Zurfina the Magnificent. Even though it took him several hours to return with the woman, Iolanthe was still in her dressing gown, unable to find skilled help to don her day dress. The sorceress arrived in her same bizarre black leather ensemble that she had worn the day before. It took her scant seconds to transform Yuah back to her original, flesh and blood form. Then Iolanthe and Zurfina sat down in the parlor.

“Two percent,” said the blond sorceress.

“Two percent of what?”

“Two percent of everything: the land, the resources, the trade.”

“All right,” said Iolanthe. “Assuming that real world application of your magic is at the same level.”

“You won’t be disappointed.”

“See that I’m not.”

“You are a remarkably confident woman, Miss Dechantagne. Make no mistake, I have great power. Remember that when you speak to me.”

“There are all kinds of power, Zurfina,” replied Iolanthe. “Remember that when I speak to you.”

The sorceress left once again, this time by conventional means. One of the staff drove her home. Yuah helped Iolanthe get dressed before going off to bed mid-day. Apparently from Yuah’s point of view, no time had passed between her being turned to stone and her being turned back again, so she was ready for bed as though night—last night in this case—had come. Iolanthe had chosen to wear a striking violet dress festooned with black bows. She mated it with a black boater, identical to the one she had worn with her chantilly dress, though that hat and the chantilly dress had both been burned after the ruffian in the alley had befouled it with his blood.

Augie met Iolanthe in the hallway outside of her boudoir.

“I have Zeah and young Saba getting the steam carriage ready,” he said. “They’ll go with us to the station.”

“You still seem out of sorts, Augie. Why?”

“Kafira’s blood, Iolanthe!”

Iolanthe pursed her lips.

“It was Yuah. Don’t you even care?”

“Yes, I know it was Yuah. And of course I care.”

“It didn’t seem like it. God, Iolanthe. I grew up with Yuah. We used to play together. She’s like our sister.”

“I know,” said Iolanthe. “I know and I care. I care just as much for her as I do for you.”

Augie looked her in the eye for a moment. “That’s what I’m afraid of.” He turned and started to walk away.

“Let me ask you something,” said Iolanthe. Augie turned back to her.

“Were you so upset about Yuah that you did not stop to bed our magnificent Zurfina before bringing her over?”

Augie looked at her unsteadily for a moment before turning and walking the rest of the way down the hallway, and then down the long sweeping staircase to the foyer.

The trip to the great train station was a quiet one. Augie drove the steam carriage with Iolanthe in the passenger seat. Zeah and Saba sat hunched in the pull down auxiliary seats behind them. It was a relatively short drive, though once at the station, finding a place to park the carriage took a great deal of time. Given the large number of steam carriages, along with those few vehicles that were still pulled by horses, Iolanthe reasoned that it might behoove the government to set aside a plot of land strictly for the temporary storage of such conveyances.

The great station, or the Princess Aarya Boulevard Station as it was officially known, was not particularly impressive from the front. It appeared to be, like many other buildings in the neighborhood, a large two story, columned edifice. One could not tell from the front that it stretched out hundreds of yards in the back to house the many loading platforms and track changes that were required of a central hub on the nation’s primary line. Once inside, one passed from one massive hall to another, moving through ticket offices, baggage storage areas, and boarding lounges. The four members of the Dechantagne household stopped near the information board outside one of the lounges. A workman on a ladder was using a long pole with a hook on the end of it to change the arrival times for some of the inbound trains.

“The B320 arrives at 11:15 from Shopton,” said Iolanthe. “Augie, you and Zeah locate the train. The teamsters that I hired should be there waiting. Make sure that all of our things have arrived, supervise the loading, and see that everything is taken directly to the ship and is put aboard.

“The G417 arrives at 11:05 from Ponte-a-Verne. I’ll go meet it and collect Professor Calliere.

“Boy, you come with me,” she said, addressing Saba Colbshallow.

Like many members of the Dechantagne household, Saba Colbshallow’s family had been among the family’s servants for generations. His mother was Miss Dechantagne’s cook, and his grandmother had been the dressing maid of Miss Dechantagne’s grandmother. Saba was a happy young man of sixteen, tall and lanky, with short blond hair and happy green eyes. Though his official position in the household was rather vague, he often performed duties as a runner and a step-n-fetchit.

Iolanthe started off in the direction of the loading platform, with Saba following quickly behind. She had gone thirty yards and was preparing to turn down a long corridor, when something made her turn around and look back at the point from which she had just come. Augie and Zeah were still standing where she had left them and seemed to be having some kind of heated debate. Augie was gesticulating wildly with both hands while saying something to Zeah. A moment later, Zeah was saying something back, pressing his right index finger to Augie’s chest. It seemed that they were shouting and Iolanthe expected to hear their words even over the noise of the crowds streaming through the station, but she didn’t hear either one of them.

“What could they be arguing about?” she wondered.

“Miss?”

“Come on,” she said absent-mindedly.

At the end of the long corridor was boarding platform eleven and the G417 already stood next to it, blowing billowing clouds of steam to the annoyance of the throngs of passengers disembarking, and the parties waiting to greet them. The train had four passenger cars, a baggage car, and a dining car, and an indeterminate number of boxcars. And sandwiched between the foremost passenger car and the coal tender, was a flatbed freight car. It immediately caught Iolanthe’s attention. Sitting upon it was a very large piece of equipment, covered by a canvas. She attempted to make out the shape of the object under the canvas, but was distracted by someone calling her name.

“Miss Dechantagne!”

She looked to see Professor Merced Calliere stepping down from the second passenger car, waving in her direction. She raised her hand in a return wave. The professor would have been easily spotted even had he not called out to her. At six foot four, he was almost a head above most of the travelers. He was a distinguished and handsome man, with blond hair and grey eyes and wore no facial hair. As he stepped onto the platform and made his way in her direction, Iolanthe noted with appreciation the perfectly tailored cut of his grey suit. He carried his white straw boater in his left hand. When he had reached her, she held out her hand, and he bent over at the waist to press it to his lips.

“Miss Dechantagne. What a great pleasure to see you again.”

“I am so pleased to see that you have arrived safely, Professor.”

“Please Miss Dechantagne,” he said. “We have already been through so much together. You must do me the honor of calling me Mercy.”

“Mercy,” said Iolanthe, as if trying it out on her lips. “Very well, Mercy, and you may call me Iolanthe.”

“I will endeavor to do so,” he replied.

“My boy here,” she said, indicating Saba “will carry your luggage.”

“I have a suitcase right over there. It’s the yellow one.” Saba hurried over to retrieve it.

“Mind the gap,” she called to the boy.

Mercy turned to Iolanthe. “They’ll be taking the freight cars to the docks. I’ve already made the arrangements.”

“That is one of the things I like about you,” said Iolanthe. “You plan ahead.”

“Stop. I’ll blush.”

“Is that it? Under the tarpaulin?”

“That is it,” said Mercy. “I’m surprised that you want to take the space for it aboard ship. I’m still working on ways to use it—in addition to the military applications we’ve discussed before.”

“I like to plan ahead too,” said Iolanthe. “Do you know what the first thing that the steam engine was used for? When it was first invented, I mean.”

“I suppose I should. Textiles, I’m guessing.”

“No. It was a toy. It sat on a table and just spun around. It didn’t power anything at all. It was a century before someone realized its usefulness. Your machine, Mercy, is going to revolutionize the world. It’s going to be used in ways that we cannot possibly even imagine now. But whatever those ways are, you and I are going to be the ones benefiting from their discovery, not some lucky fool who comes along after we are dead to build upon your work.”

“And that is what I like most about you, Iolanthe,” said Mercy. “You are a visionary.”

“Do you have a name for it?”

“Yes,” he said. “I call it the Result Mechanism.”

Saba, now carrying a large yellow suitcase rejoined them. Iolanthe led Professor Merced Calliere at a leisurely pace back through the great station. The professor, for his part, never let his eyes stray from the auburn-haired beauty more than was strictly necessary for maneuvering through the great building and the throngs of people in it. For that matter, neither did young Saba.

“Do you have everything with you for the trip?” asked Iolanthe. “Or are we expecting further baggage deliveries.”

“No, I have everything with me,” replied Mercy. “With the exception of my two assistants. Mr. Murty and Miss Lusk will be arriving later in the week.”

“Miss Lusk? I don’t recall ever hearing her name before.”

“You are quite right,” he said. “While Murty has been with me for years, Miss Lusk is the more recent addition to the project. She is vital however. She’s as sharp as a razor. She is developing a language, so to speak, which will enable us to communicate with the Result Mechanism.”

“It doesn’t speak Brech? Or at least Zurian?” asked Iolanthe.

“No, no. It has its own language—the language of numbers. However, once Miss Lusk has done her part, it should be able to understand us, at least after a fashion.”

“Most fascinating,” said Iolanthe.

She guided Mercy and the boy out the columned front of the great station, and down the steps to where the steam carriage was parked. Saba filled the furnace with coal from the coal bin, loaded the yellow suitcase into the back, and then climbed in with it. Mercy helped Iolanthe up into the driver’s seat, and then walked around to climb into the forward passenger seat. Iolanthe pulled the carriage away from the curb and slowly accelerated down the street.

“Did you eat on the train?” Iolanthe asked.

“Brunch.”

“Well,” she said. “I do believe that I owe you tea.”

“I believe you do,” said Mercy.

Iolanthe maneuvered the steam carriage through the busy streets until she reached the Great Plaza, and steered toward Café Carlo. She turned left, slammed on the decelerator, and pulled up on the brake, coming to a stop just to the left of the café entrance, with one wheel on the sidewalk. She waited for Mercy to climb down and come around to assist her in getting down, not that she truly needed any assistance. Once out of the carriage, she took his arm and the two of them walked in. As they entered, they passed a young girl on the sidewalk with an enormous broom. She seemed somehow familiar to Iolanthe, which caused her to wonder at herself. She usually didn’t notice people like that.

“This is my favorite spot for tea,” said Iolanthe. “It’s called Café Carlo.”

The fat proprietor, Iolanthe didn’t know his name, came out to greet her and her guest. Iolanthe had him show them to her usual table. It was outside near the black wrought iron fence that divided the dining area from the sidewalk. Iolanthe preferred it because she could be seen eating an expensive meal by important individuals passing on the street in their steam carriages. If unimportant people, walking by or riding the horse-drawn trolley, could also see her, well there was just no helping that. She glanced up at her own carriage parked along the street and noticed with annoyance that young Saba still sat in the backseat. He was waving at the little girl who was sweeping the sidewalk with the enormous broom. She waved her hand for the proprietor, who was there in a flash.

“How can I be of service?” he fawned.

“Have my boy there in the carriage taken in back somewhere and fed.”

“Will my suitcase be all right?” asked Mercy.

“I will have your vehicle carefully watched.” said the fat man.

“Very good,” said Iolanthe. “And bring us a nice tea spread.”

When the master of the café had left, she turned back to Mercy.

“I don’t think we need to worry about your suitcase. One reads about crimes in the city all the time, but honestly I’ve never been bothered.”

“Well it certainly is a magnificent city,” said Mercy. “I haven’t been here in almost two years… well, you remember.”

“Yes, well you should enjoy it while you can. It may well be more than a few years before you or I have a chance to return.”

“Yes. It is a beautiful sight to see, but I’m looking forward to the adventure. And of course with you absent, I doubt the city will be nearly as beautiful as it is currently.”

The fat café proprietor returned with an enormous metal platter covered with dishes, which he began to place carefully on the table in front of them. There were lovely cucumber sandwiches, with the crusts cut off the bread, just the way Iolanthe liked. There was a selection of fine cheeses, sliced apples and pears, and cream-filled cake-shell cookies. Iolanthe and Mercy were each poured a cup of steaming hot tea. Then on an impulse, Iolanthe ordered a bottle of champagne. Soon two sparkling glasses joined the rest of the repast on the white linen tablecloth.

“Here’s to our grand endeavor,” said Iolanthe, lifting her glass.

“Here, here,” said Mercy, smiling.

Chapter Five: The Steel Dragon

Senta stood on the sidewalk and stared at the palace where the beautiful woman lived, the one whom she had watched so many times in the plaza. It was exactly two weeks since Granny had died, and it was four days since the beautiful woman had almost run over Senta while parking her steam carriage in front of Café Carlo. That day had been Senta’s birthday, though she was sure she was now the only one in the world who remembered that. On her birthday, when the woman had almost run her over, Senta had spoken to the young man, older than she, who had ridden in the back seat of the woman’s carriage. From him, she had learned the woman’s name and she had learned where the woman lived. In the four days since, Senta had spent almost all of her free time watching the comings and goings of the many people who lived in the woman’s palace. It wasn’t as if she had anything more enjoyable to do.

The morning after Granny had died, she had gotten up and gone to work just as she always had. She had done so every day since. But despite keeping up her routine, Senta’s world did not stay the same. It began to slowly unwind. Bertice had arranged for Granny to be buried in Potter’s Field. Then the next day, she had announced that Geert and Maro would be going to live with a distant relation. The day after that, when the two boys had packed and gone, Bertice explained that she would be getting married to Tait Vishmornam, an older man who was one of the managers of the shirtwaist factory where she worked. She would be taking Didrika and Ernst with her, but there was no place in the household of the future Mr. and Mrs. Vishmornam for Senta. She would live with Mrs. Gantonin who lived on the third floor.

Mrs. Gantonin wasn’t mean or horrible, nor did she ever hit Senta or threaten to hit her. She gave her a place to put her bed made of three crates and a hand-sewn mattress. Mrs. Gantonin did smell funny though. And she took all of Senta’s money and didn’t ever give her back a single pfennig for herself. And all she ever cooked was cabbage. And she made Senta do all the cleaning and washing. And she wasn’t Granny.

So that day, when the beautiful woman almost ran over Senta on the sidewalk, and Senta had spoken to the young man who had ridden in the back of the beautiful woman’s steam-powered carriage, and she had found out the name of the beautiful woman and where she lived, Senta had gone to see for herself the home of this woman, whom she had so often watched. In the ensuing four days, Senta had watched the front of the palace so much that she could identify many of the people who came and went. She frequently saw Saba Colbshallow, the young man that she had talked to at Café Carlo. She also often saw the head butler, always tall and straight, and always looking as though something violently displeased him. Almost every day she saw the younger of the two soldiers she had seen have tea with the woman on the day that Granny had died, though he wasn’t a soldier any more. He liked to step out and talk to the maids while they worked and he stood with his hands in his pockets. Sometimes the tall blond man, with whom the woman had tea four days before, would come out with him, and then he would pretend the maids weren’t there, and instead talked to the tall blond man. Twice she had seen a very pretty maid with thick black hair, wearing a grey and white dress. She was so pretty that she could have been a princess if she was not a maid. Yesterday she had seen the older of the two soldiers, though he too was no longer a soldier, as he arrived with his duffel bag. She had yet to see the beautiful woman go in or come out of the palace though.

“What’s so special about that house?” came a voice from behind her.

Senta turned around to look at a strangely dressed woman standing in the shadow of the building. The woman wore knee-high black leather boots and black leather pants. She had a red and black corset, cut low enough to expose a large star tattooed atop each bosom. Her arms and shoulders were bare, though she wore a spiked collar. Her short blond hair was formed into spikes, pointing in every direction, and made her look frightening—an effect enhanced by her black-lined eyes and deep red lips. The most remarkable thing about the woman though was the ring of sparkly, brightly colored, gem-like objects which floated around her head, making a circle about three feet in diameter, like a large rainbow-hued halo.

“What’s so special about that house?” the woman repeated. Her husky voice reminded Senta of Geert. She wondered if he, now living with that unknown distant relation, still went to the King’s warehouse for apples.

“I just like to watch it,” said Senta. “I like to watch the people there.”

“Mm-hmm. Me too.”

“Are those real diamonds?” asked Senta.

“Are what real diamonds?”

“Are those things floating around your head real diamonds?”

“There’s nothing floating around my head.”

“Uh-huh. I can see them.”

“What do you see?”

“I see those sparkly things. They’re like diamonds. There are red ones and blue ones and green ones and clear ones. And there’s one purple one.”

“My, my, my…little girl. You are an interesting one.”

“My name is Senta Bly.”

“Yes, I know. And you live with your Granny.”

“Granny’s dead.”

“Oh? I see,” said the woman. “So who do you live with now?”

“I live with the neighbor… Mrs. Gantonin.”

“None of the rest of your family took you in? And you’re still looking at the glamours.”

“What are they?”

“You’ve seen magic spells used before, haven’t you? Hedge wizards showing off in the park?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I am a sorceress. I can cast magic spells—spells more powerful than you can possibly imagine. I can also cast spells that will wait until I need them to take effect. That’s what you’re seeing—my spells which are waiting for me to activate them. Except you’re not supposed to see them. No one else does.”

“They’re pretty.”

The sorceress stepped forward and knelt down in front of Senta. She stuck out a finger and poked Senta on the nose.

“You’re pretty, too. Are you afraid of me? No… you’re not. You should be, but you’re not.”

“I’m not afraid of too much,” said Senta.

“That’s very good. That’s very good indeed. Because, you see, my little Senta, you are going to come and live with me. And if you are very good and do everything that I tell you, I am going to teach you things. Ponderous things.”

“I don’t know what that means,” said Senta.

“I know you don’t. My name is Zurfina the Magnificent.”

Zurfina stood up and took Senta by the hand and led her down the sidewalk, away from the palace where the woman who had once worn the white pin-striped dress lived. By the time she had taken her fourth step, Senta no longer wondered at the strange turn of events that had overtaken her. By the time she had taken her tenth step, she no longer thought of pulling her hand from the grip of the blond sorceress and running away. By the time she had taken her sixteenth step, it seemed to Senta as if she was exactly where she was supposed to be, walking down the street at the side of her mistress.

“Come along, Pet.”

Zurfina led Senta on a long walk through the city, finally turning south on Prince Tybalt Boulevard and passing Hexagon Park. Throughout their trek, none of the many people on the street seemed to notice the strangely dressed woman leading a small child along by the hand. No one turned a head at all. Just past the park, they turned west on Prince Clitus Avenue and came to a small storefront. There was a sign above the door, but Senta couldn’t read it. It seemed to be written in a strange language. Zurfina opened the door and led her inside.

The shop contained counters and shelves filled with goods, though Senta couldn’t make out what they were. Several shopkeepers scurried about to help the half dozen customers making purchases. But something was very strange. The customers, the shopkeepers, the counters, and the shelves were all translucent, as if they were made of the same stuff as rainbows, gathered together and transformed into the semblance of people and things one would find in a city shop.

“What do you see?” asked Zurfina.

“I see ghosts.”

“They aren’t ghosts. They’re illusions. To everyone else, they seem real enough. To the people on the street, this shop is just one more emporium of useless mundania. No one ever questions it, and no one ever comes in.”

Zurfina, still holding Senta by the hand, walked through the shop, and through a doorway in the back, to a staircase leading upwards. At the top of the stairs was a landing and a door, but the sorceress continued up a second flight of stairs to the third floor, where the stairs ended in a blank wall. The sorceress waved her hand and a door appeared. She opened the door and led the girl in to a large and dark room, filled with all manner of strange things. More of the translucent people were moving about. Here they were packing away items in large black steamer trunks and stacking trunks into great piles. Unlike downstairs in the shop however, the steamer trunks and the items being placed within them were not, like the people, partially transparent. The items being packed and moved here were real, opaque, and completely solid.

The first thing that caught Senta’s eye in the room was the dragon. It was almost an exact replica of the dragon that sat in front of Café Carlo—about three feet long, with a wingspan of about four feet, sitting on a stone plinth. Instead of a burnished brass color, though, this dragon looked as though it were cast from steel. The effect was that this dragon looked far less lifelike than the brass one at the café. It looked far less lifelike until it moved. First it blinked its eyes, then it yawned, then it folded its wings and curled its neck up, exposing the underside of its chin. Zurfina rubbed the bottom of its long neck with her fingers, but when she pulled her hand away, it snapped at her with a mouth full of needle sharp teeth.

“Cheeky twonk!” said the sorceress.

It was difficult for Senta to pull her eyes away from the steel dragon long enough to look at the rest of the room, but she did so, glancing back at the small reptile again and again. Light in the room came from two sources. At the far end, beyond a large four-poster bed, was a round multi-paneled window, which brought in a stream of daylight illumination. Closer on the left was a glowing orb about a foot in diameter that gave off as much light as the gas lamp that had graced Granny’s apartment. The bed was placed in the center of the room and all around it, against the four walls, were bookshelves stuffed with books, scrolls, and strange artifacts, small tables covered with open volumes, maps, and unusual mechanical devices, and wardrobes, most with the doors hanging open and various articles of clothing, mostly black, hanging upon those open doors.

Zurfina let go of Senta’s hand and took her by the shoulders to lead her through the many steamer trunks and other objects in the room to a door on the far wall. Opening it, she pushed the girl into a bathroom. It was the first real bathroom that Senta had ever seen. Of course she had seen water closets with modern plumbing and flush toilets, but she hadn’t seen a room with a basin designed for no other purpose than to immerse a person. This room had such a basin, a great claw-footed tub large enough to drown in, as well as two small washbasins and a flushing toilet. The entire room was covered in tiled pieces of ceramic and glass; blue, green, aquamarine, turquoise, teal, and a number of other blue-green shades for which she had no name, forming a mosaic picture of fish and squid and dolphins and mermaids holding tridents. The knob on the faucet above the bathtub turned of its own accord and water began filling the tub and judging by the steam, this water was already hot.

“Get those clothes off and hop in the tub,” said Zurfina. “When you get out, we’ll get you dressed appropriately.”

The sorceress picked up a small bottle of bath salts, dumped them into the water, and then left, closing the door behind her. Senta peeled off her brown sweater, her brown linen dress, and her full-length bloomers, and then climbed over the edge of the great claw-foot tub. The water was now almost the same aquamarine color as one of the shades of ceramic on the wall—an effect of the bath salts. It was steamy and warm and Senta took her time enjoying the sheer luxury of being able to totally submerse her own body. When her fingers and toes began to look like prunes, she climbed back out. She was going to put her clothes back on, but Zurfina appeared, and pulled her still naked back into the main room, where the small steel dragon still sat on his plinth, watching. The sorceress stood the girl in the center of the room.

“Your hair is a mess,” she said.

Zurfina pointed with her index finger and drew a circle around Senta’s head. There was a gust of wind and the girl felt her hair fly up and then settle back down. She ran her hand through it and was surprised to feel that it was clean and smooth, and was now shorter than it had been—chin length all the way around. The woman handed her a pair of knee-length black bloomers with puffs of lace at the bottom of the legs and a black camisole, both of which Senta scrambled into. The dress that she was given next was smooth and rather amorphous, with no pleats, belts, beads, or decorations of any kind. And it was completely black.

“It doesn’t cover my legs,” said Senta.

“Don’t worry, you’ll have stockings.”

The stockings, or more accurately woolen socks, turned out to be knee-highs, which tucked under Senta’s bloomer legs, and had inch wide alternating horizontal black and white stripes. Then the sorceress handed her a pair of very shiny black leather shoes, with square heels, and leather straps with buckles for fastening them on.

“No button hooks for us, Pet,” said Zurfina.

Senta was not used to wearing shoes, but after trying them on, decided that they were not too uncomfortable. The final piece of her ensemble was a black ribbon, which Zurfina tied around the back of her neck and over her hair, forming a huge bow on top, as big as her head. The woman, again guiding her by the shoulders, moved her to stand in front of a cheval glass, so that she could see her own reflection. The girl could hardly recognize herself. There was certainly no doubt about to whom this child belonged. She, like her mistress, stood out as a shadow stands out at mid-day.

Zurfina called over one of the translucent people who were still wandering about the room, packing up books and objects d’magik. This ghostly person was a tall man in a stiff suit with a bowler hat. He had a stern face, through which Senta could see one of the bedposts. The sorceress handed her mystical servant an envelope. The tall man bowed at the waist, allowing Senta to look through his head at a row of books on a bookcase across the room from her. He then turned on his heel and left.

“That’s a letter for Mrs. Gantonin,” said Zurfina. “Along with a sizeable remuneration for the loss of your income. Now.”

Zurfina sat on the edge of the four-poster bed and, holding Senta by the shoulders, turned the girl to look her in the face. She peered deeply into the girl’s eyes for a long time as if searching for something. Just as she was beginning to feel uncomfortable with the staring contest, Senta felt something change in the back of her mind. It was as if something clicked in her brain.

“All right, let’s see what you can do. Repeat after me. Uuthanum.”

“Uuthanum.”

“Again, Uuthanum.”

“Uuthanum.”

“No, it’s four syllables. Uuthanum.”

“Uuthanum.”

“Good. Now hold out your hand.”

Senta held out her left hand, open, palm up. Zurfina placed a gold coin in it. Senta had never held a gold coin before. This one was very shiny and had a picture of a sad looking man with a mustache on it. After a moment she realized that she had been staring at the coin for an overly long period, and looked back at the sorceress’s face.

“Do you want to see the other side?” asked Zurfina.

Senta nodded.

“Point with your other hand. Then twirl your finger around above the decimark.”

Senta did so.

“Now do that and say the magic word.”

“Uuthanum,” said Senta, while twirling her right index finger over the coin.

The coin suddenly flipped over in her hand. The obverse featured a cross, wreathed in laurels. Senta stopped pointing and crossed herself.

“Yes, the Kafirites own the world,” said Zurfina, placing a finger on her chin. “But it wasn’t their savior that made that coin flip over. That power didn’t come from her or her father, the Zaeri God. It was magic: power left over from the gods of old—Omris and Siris, worshipped by the Argrathians who built great pyramids to honor them; Juton and Treffia, gods of the Donnata who held great games in their honor; and Worron and Tommulon for whom the Ixecians sacrificed human blood, long after people in northern Sumir had begun planting crosses in the churches. It was magic, and it was all channeled through here.”

The sorceress pressed her finger to Senta’s forehead.

“You can keep the decimark,” she said, and started to stand up, then quickly sat back down and looked into Senta’s eyes once more. “What would you buy with that?”

“A doll.”

“What kind of doll?”

“A girl doll.”

“What girl doll.”

“The doll in the window of the toy store.”

“Is it a mechanical doll? Do its eyes open and close when you lay it down or sit it up? Does it say ‘Mama’?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Good. Go get your doll. But practice your magic.”

Senta walked slowly to the door, holding the gold coin in her open hand, as if it might disappear at any moment. She stopped near the steel dragon, sitting on his plinth, and turned back around to look at the woman in the strange black apparel—waiting for additional confirmation that it was indeed all right to take the coin and go to the toy store. Zurfina waved her on. The steel dragon let out a long hiss.

“Cheeky twonk!” said Senta.

The steel dragon, with his mouth the size of a house cat’s, took a snap at her. She jumped back and squealed. Then she dashed out the door, down the two flights of stairs and through the shop filled with strange translucent proprietors and strange translucent customers. She found herself once again on the street. People were walking up and down the cement sidewalk. Steam carriages were driving up and down the cobblestone street. The horse drawn trolley was moving along at its same clopping pace. And Senta stood in her strange black costume, with black and white striped legs—the only new clothes she had ever owned—clutching more money than she had ever dreamed of holding.

Closing her fist tightly around the coin, Senta took off down the street, around the corner and down Prince Tybalt Boulevard. She was running faster than she had ever run. She thought that, to the other people on the street, she must appear nothing more than a black streak flying by like magic. Like magic! She was just about to reach the corner of Avenue Phoenix, around which sat the toy store, when her feet suddenly stopped and of their own accord, took her into the alley just behind the row of stores. She stood against the wall and opened her left hand to look at the coin. Magic! She pointed at the coin with her right index finger.

“Uuthanum,” she said, and twirled her finger.

The coin flipped over in her palm.

“Uuthanum,” she said, again twirling her finger.

This time the coin sat up on its edge and began to spin.

She could do magic!

“Hey, gimme that!” said a voice nearby.

Senta looked up to see a boy a few feet away from her. He had been sitting in a pile of trash, but now rose to his feet. He was a bit older and about twice as thick as Senta, but about the same height. He wore a pair of pants that might have once been white, but now were decidedly dark grey. His shirt, if the upside down writing on the front were any indication, had once been a sack of Farmer’s Best Grade “A” Flour.

“Gimme that.”

Senta closed her fist around the decimark and put her hand behind her back, but she didn’t say anything. The boy moved closer and balled up his fist. Senta pointed at him with her right index finger.

“Uuthanum!” she said.

She didn’t think it would really work, but if she could flip the boy over, like the coin, then she could run back out onto the street. The boy didn’t flip over. Instead, a blue cone sprang from her outstretched finger, expanding to engulf the boy. There was a crackling sound. The boy’s skin turned blue. Frost formed on his hair, his eyelashes, and his nose. Senta pulled her finger back, but the cone remained for a moment before fading. The end of the boy’s nose turned black. He opened his mouth to scream, but his lips cracked and began to bleed. He turned to run, and then fell screaming. He got back up and ran away down the alley, but he had left a frozen big toe on the ground where he had fallen.

Senta walked over and bent down to look at the frozen big toe on the packed dirt ground of the alley. She had a sudden urge to pick it up and put it in her pocket, but she didn’t. She did reach out and touch it with her finger. It wobbled slightly. Standing back up, she walked out of the alley and around the corner to the front of Humboldt’s Fine Toys. The same toys were in the window that had been there when she had last looked inside—the life-like, singing bird; the mechanical ships, trains, and steam carriages; and the doll. With a feeling she had never felt before and could not put a name to, Senta walked over to the door, pushed it open, and walked inside.

A bell hanging above the door chimed as Senta walked in. Though brightly lit, the room seemed somehow darker than it really was because it was so filled with toys. Overflowing counters left only tiny little aisles through which to negotiate. There was no shopkeeper to be seen, but the girl heard a muffled call from the back, and a moment later a man walked into the main shop. He was an older man with thinning grey hair and a bushy mustache, wearing a white shirt with brown suspenders. He wore gold-framed pince-nez glasses. When he saw the child standing in his store, with fine, new, frighteningly inky black clothing, he visibly started.

“Hello, young miss,” he said. “What can I do for you today?”

“I want the doll.”

“Which doll?”

Senta looked around, suddenly realizing that there were scores, maybe hundreds of dolls in the shop. There were dolls on the counters and dolls on the shelves along the back wall. There were even dolls hanging from the ceiling. Most, like the one in the window, were cloth-bodied dolls, with ceramic hands and feet. Some wore beautiful miniature gowns, though others wore day dresses. They ranged in size from a petit six inches to one that was nearly as tall as Senta.

“I want the doll in the window.”

Nodding, the man went to the window and retrieved the doll. He carefully held it by its cloth body, with its porcelain face peeking over the top of his hand and the cloth legs with black porcelain shoes dangling below it. He walked back to the counter and slipping back behind it, set the doll down in front of Senta.

“I can see the attraction,” said the toy maker.

Senta suddenly realized that the doll looked like her; or rather she now looked like the doll. She hadn’t this morning when she had gotten up, but now she had a new black dress, and shiny new black shoes, and a new short haircut.

“It’s four marks,” said the toy maker.

Senta placed the decimark on the counter next to the doll. The man looked at it for a moment, and then bent down to retrieve a box from below the counter. He opened the box, picked up the gold coin, and placed it inside. Then carefully picking through the contents of the box, he pulled out six one mark banknotes and put them on the counter. Senta picked up the banknotes and folded them until they fit snugly in her hand. She then tentatively reached out for the doll.

“Wait,” said the man, and Senta jumped.

Putting the box back under the counter, the man rummaged around for a moment below the counter, reappearing with a small piece of black ribbon. He tied the ribbon around the back of the doll’s neck and over the top of her hair, making a large black bow.

“There you go. Now it’s perfect.”

Senta picked up the doll. It was lighter than she expected. Its body was full of fluff, and its head, though porcelain, was empty. There was something special about it in any case—something weighty, but not in the way that real things weighed. It was connected somehow to the magic that had been turned on in her head. Or maybe the magic was there all along and Zurfina had made it so that Senta could see it. Senta suddenly realized that these were thoughts that she never would have had before. They were, like the doll, weighty but weightless. How could that be? For the first time in her young life she glimpsed an idea that seemed paradoxical, though she didn’t yet know that word.

“Uuthanum,” she whispered, and the doll seemed to smile back at her.

Stepping out of Humbolt’s Fine Toys, Senta heard the calliope playing from the park across Prince Tybolt Avenue. The six wadded up one mark banknotes poking her palm reminding her of their presence. If such fortune had passed to her in the past, she would have not thought twice about buying fish and chips or a sausage on a stick and sitting down on a bench in the park to enjoy it. Now however, she felt something pulling her in the opposite direction. She walked west down the Avenue Phoenix, past the women’s clothing stores and the men’s clothing stores, and the millinery shop, and the haberdasher, past the bookstore, and the store which sold fine glassware. She passed the clockmaker, the tobacconist, and the jeweler, the store that sold lamps, and the florist. She then reached the great plaza. Before she knew it, she was standing at the entrance to Café Carlo, looking at the menu that stood behind a pane of glass, just to the left of the brass dragon, which she had so many times polished.

From the vendors who worked from their carts, a single mark would buy a huge meal: three pieces of battered fish sitting on a cone of chips, or four sausages on sticks, but at Café Carlo, most of the entrees cost more than two marks. Senta however felt rich with the six one mark banknotes wadded up in her hand. She stepped into the doorway of the café. New clothes meant money, and it took only a moment for Carlo to notice someone with money, regardless of how young, standing in his doorway. He was suddenly there, his corpulent middle arriving just before the rest of him.

“Can I help you, young miss?”

Senta couldn’t believe it. Carlo didn’t recognize her. She knew that she looked different in her new clothing, draped in inky blackness. That couldn’t be enough for him not to know who she was, surely. Perhaps the strange new feeling that she was experiencing was having an influence upon her outside as well as her inside.

“Is it too late for tea?”

“Heavens no,” said Carlo. “We’re still serving the luncheon. Can I get a table for you and… your parents?”

“Just me.”

If Carlo thought it unusual for a nine-year-old girl to dine alone, he made no indication of it. He led her to a table several seats away from where the woman Senta now knew as Miss Dechantagne often sat. This seat was more to Senta’s liking than the one the woman preferred, further away from the wrought iron fence, which divided the outdoor portion of the café from the sidewalk and street. The wide restaurateur pulled out a chair for the girl, and she sat down. She didn’t think the chair was any more comfortable than any other chair she had ever sat on. He handed her a menu, then disappeared.

About half of the other tables in the outdoor portion of the café were occupied. Each of the tables, including the one at which she sat had four chairs arranged around it. Senta sat her doll in the chair to her left. It leaned its head back and look skyward. She didn’t need to look at the menu. She knew what she wanted. When Carlo returned, she made her order. Within a few minutes, Senta had a plate with a cucumber sandwich, carefully cut into fourths and with all of the crusts cut off. Next to that was a steaming pot of tea and a porcelain teacup. Senta poured herself a cup of tea and poured one for her doll as well, then let them sit to cool. Then she daintily picked up a piece of sandwich and brought it to her lips. It was cool and crispy and light—not like real food at all.

“Is it as good as you thought it would be?” asked a husky voice next to her.

Senta turned to find Zurfina at her right elbow. The sorceress pulled out a chair, opposite the doll, and sat down.

“Well, is it?”

Senta nodded and took another bite. Although he seemed strangely wary when he returned, Carlo nevertheless rushed to see to the needs of the additional patron seated at the table.

“Bring us some tea cakes and two glasses of white wine,” said the sorceress, and then she reached over and fed herself one quarter of Senta’s cucumber sandwich.

Zurfina, Senta, and Senta’s doll sat at the table in Café Carlo, in the great square and enjoyed their tea. Senta had her first taste of teacakes, which she loved. In fact, she ate hers and most of Zurfina’s teacakes. She also had her first taste of white wine, which she really didn’t like. In fact Zurfina drank most of Senta’s wine.

Chapter Six: The Minotaur Sails

Zeah Korlann stood on the dock and watched as the sailors prepared the H.M.S. Minotaur for launch. In his left hand, he carried a clipboard with numerous lists of people, equipment, and supplies that had to be on the ship when it left, as well as lists of things that needed to be done before the ship could leave. All of the papers were covered with pencil marks and notes. As far as he could tell, everything was finished. Miss Dechantagne, Master Terrence, and Master Augie had all boarded. The Dechantagne household staff had too. Professor Calliere and his two assistants had boarded this morning, as had the sorceress Zurfina, carrying some kind of animal in a travel case. The sorceress led her ward, a thin little girl, like her mistress decked out in black. The night before, more than two hundred soldiers, recently mustered out of the service, and transformed into a private army by Master Terrence had arrived and had found their bunks below deck. Shortly thereafter the settlers had boarded—families who thought they could find a new life in a new world—a total of two hundred sixteen men, two hundred eighty-eight women, and one hundred ninety-five children. They would be a vanguard of immigrants into what Miss Dechantagne hoped would eventually be a thriving colony. The very last on the ship, besides Zeah himself, were the clergy. A priest named Father Ian had arrived with two acolytes and a dozen church laymen.

“Are you ready to go, Mr. Korlann?” called Lieutenant Staff from the ship.

Zeah waved to the affirmative and made his way up the gangplank, which as soon as he was aboard was withdrawn to the ship by several sailors who had been waiting. Others hurried about to cast off lines. The H.M.S Minotaur, unleashed from the dock, slowly pulled away, the current of the river doing the work of a tugboat. Her great bow slowly swung around to the south, and the great engine began to throb, pushing the ship forward against the flow of the river, so that she didn’t drift into other vessels below her. It took the Minotaur twenty minutes to swing completely around, under the guns of Fort Tharbin on Isle de Fortann, and begin sailing west down the Thiss.

Zeah made his way down the length of the ship toward the stern. Because the Minotaur was a battleship rather than a liner, it was working with what was essentially a skeleton crew, in order to make room for over one thousand passengers. These passengers had to pitch in to complete the duties normally performed by the sailors. Zeah thought that this was probably all for the best. On a voyage that would take more than fifty days, people would need something to keep them occupied. He would have preferred it not to be his job to assign all the duties, but it was. When he reached the open deck near the stern, Zeah found the representatives of the settlers waiting for him. He dug through the papers on his clipboard and handed the lists of duties to each man. Then he climbed down the series of ladders to the cabin, which he shared with five other men. It was about the size of a small closet in the Dechantagne house, which they had left occupied by a small staff of caretakers in the great city.

Since Zeah had been up all night, supervising the final preparations for departure, he had scheduled for himself a much-deserved nap. The head butler found his bunk and fell immediately asleep. Later that evening he worked to make sure the needs of the three Dechantagne siblings had all been met. He was surprised to find that they needed very little help from him. Both of the men had served in the army and were used to the relative privation and restrictions of movement found on a ship. Miss Dechantagne had been given the Captain’s cabin for her use during the voyage. This gave her approximately sixty times as much space as Zeah enjoyed for the trip, though admittedly, even this was a tiny fraction of the size of her boudoir at home in Brech. She faced this hardship stoically. With his duties many, but manageable, Zeah was able to go to sleep with the rest of the passengers on the first night of the voyage, and so he was asleep as the great ship left the flowing waters of the Thiss and entered the open ocean.

Though he slept well with the droning engines reverberating through the metal bulkheads, when he got up the following morning, Zeah quickly became seasick as the Minotaur rocked back and forth in the ocean waves. He had thought the position of his cabin, roughly in the middle of the ship, as seen lengthwise, would help prevent sensations of movement. The ship didn’t sway end to end though, but rather side to side. He got dressed and made his way up the series of ladders, but had to stop and vomit into a bucket before he made it all the way on deck. Once topside, he saw that breakfast was being served to passengers and off-duty crew who were forming a queue near the stern. Zeah got in line, though he didn’t feel like eating. When he reached the front of the line, one of the Dechantagne household staff, whom Zeah knew well, handed him a bowl of porridge and a piece of pumpernickel. He tried to force his mind to take control over his stomach. Eating a little something would probably make him less sick, he reasoned. Taking the food, he wandered forward.

There seemed to be more people milling around on the starboard side of the ship, so he headed to the port, in hopes of finding a spot to sit. When he rounded one of the battleship’s great gun turrets, Zeah saw why most of the others were eschewing this particular location. Zurfina the Magnificent was standing near the railing. Her blond hair was its usual, carefully cultivated chaos. She was wearing a dress which completely covered her from head to heel, but which was so tight and so contoured to her body, that it was more lewd than if she had been standing there naked. Zeah would have sworn that it was made from rubber, had such a thing been possible. The girl that had accompanied the sorceress when she had boarded was with her now. She too wore a black dress, in a more traditional style, though made of the same shiny substance. And the question of what type of animal that the sorceress had brought aboard with her was now answered. The case that she had carried when she had arrived now sat beside the girl, and on top of the case perched a small, sinewy, winged reptile. It had a long, snakelike neck, and an equally long, snakelike tale, four legs and two thin wings. It was covered in scales the color of new steel, even its wings. When it suddenly flapped them, sparkling reflections caused Zeah to cover his eyes. It was a dragon, the first that the head butler had ever seen. The girl was feeding it pieces of raw, red meat with a gloved hand. Between bites the tiny dragon would make growls reminiscent of an angry housecat and the girl would giggle.

Zeah paused for a moment uncertainly. He was about to turn around and go back the way he had come, but the sorceress looked up and saw him. Not wanting to be seen a coward by one so powerful, he squared his shoulders and stepped forward with his porridge and pumpernickel. The girl was sitting on a case covering some type of shipboard equipment, and the butler moved to sit next to her only a few feet from the dragon and the obscenely dressed magic user.

“May I join you?” he asked.

“You are more than welcome, Mr. Korlann,” said Zurfina, in her smoky, sultry voice. “We are at our lessons. Perhaps you can benefit from them as well.”

Zurfina raised her hand and a glowing sphere rose up from the deck. It floated up until it reached the height of her shoulders, and then began expanding and becoming more opaque, until Zeah recognized it as a globe of the world, which stopped growing at eleven or twelve feet in diameter. As it slowly spun in mid-air, Zeah could make out the shapes of the landmasses and oceans of the world.

“This is Greater Brechalon,” said Zurfina, and the shape of the four islands making up the country glowed.

“It’s little,” said the girl.

“Yes it is, Pet,” said Zurfina. “It’s just one of many countries on the continent of Sumir and Sumir is just one of the twelve continents. We’re going to this one—Mallon.”

Another portion of the globe was illuminated as it slowly rotated around in mid-air. This was a large portion of a tremendous landmass made up of four continents, and was almost on the opposite side of the world from Greater Brechalon and the rest of Sumir.

“And this area right inside of Mallon, is the land of Birmisia”

“It’s little too,” said the girl.

“True, it is only a small portion of Mallon, and yet it’s larger than all of Greater Brechalon. You see, that’s why the King and the Prime Minister want colonies on all these other continents. There is all this land, just sitting there, filled with the riches of nature, and no one to reap them—a vast world without the benefits of civilization.”

“What’s so great about civilization?” asked the girl.

“You see, Mr. Korlann?” said Zurfina. “Out of the mouths of babes come great truths.”

“Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings hast thou ordained strength over thine enemies, that thou might slay them and lay waste to their lands and their flocks,” quoted Zeah. “For the kingdom of the Lord shall reign over all the other kingdoms of the world.”

“Yes, well,” said Zurfina. “She has plenty of time to become disillusioned later.”

The tiny steel dragon startled Zeah, as it let out a short growl. The little beast was undeniably beautiful. It reminded the butler of a statue that was heavily detailed—the pointed barb and the end of its tail, the whiskers around its face, each individual scale fitting neatly together as it moved.”

“You have a question, Mr. Korlann?” asked Zurfina.

“Is this a real dragon?”

“Most assuredly.”

“Aren’t they… well, dangerous?”

“Most assuredly.”

“How large will it get?”

“Far too large to sit where it is now sitting,” said Zurfina, her smoky voice punctuating the image.

The girl fed the dragon one last piece of meat, and then took off the leather glove that had protected her hand. The dragon, evidently unhappy that his meal was over, let out a particularly long and unhappy growl.

“Does it have a name?” asked Zeah.

“Of course,” said Zurfina.

“We don’t know it yet,” said the girl. “He’s too little to talk.”

Zurfina clapped her hands and the giant globe disappeared. She snapped her fingers and the carrier, on which the little dragon sat, popped open. The dragon squawked unhappily, but climbed down into the carrier, then tried to bite the girl as she reached down to close the door.

“Brassy berk!” said the girl.

“No more lessons today, Pet,” said Zurfina. “I’m going to take a nap. Put our boy away and then practice your magic.”

The girl picked up the animal carrier and began lugging it forward. Zurfina smiled at Zeah and winked. He half expected her to raise her arms above her head and disappear, but she didn’t. She just followed the child carrying the dragon, and all three passed through an open hatch and out of eyesight. Zeah ate several bites of his porridge; just enough to have something on his stomach, then poured the rest over the side and tossed his bread in the ocean after it. Then he walked back to the stern to return his bowl.

Zeah didn’t see Zurfina the Magnificent for more than a week after that day, but she was not the only purveyor of the mystical arts aboard. Two wizards had been hired by Master Augie, and had joined the expedition as part of the mercenary company commanded by Master Terrence. The first was a war wizard named Dudley Labrith, who had served with Lieutenant Dechantagne’s battalion in the Royal Colony of Birmisia. He was a tall, well-built man with dark black hair and a neatly trimmed mustache, and had been born in the great city of Brech. He dressed like the rest of the military men on the expedition, in khakis and pith helmet. The other wizard was from Mirsanna. His name was Suvir Kesi. His dark complexion and unusual comb mustache alone would have made him stand out among the crew and passengers, but he accentuated his differences even more by wearing traditional clothing of his homeland—a bright blue silk shirt and loose fitting black pants tucked into his high black boots, and a yellow fez with a blue tassel on top. Several days after his encounter with the sorceress, her ward, and the dragon, Zeah found the two wizards huddled together along the railing. As he approached, they both turned to greet him.

“Good morning, Mr. Korlann,” said Kesi, his pronounced Mirsannan accent making his words sound oily and slick. “It is Mr. Korlann, is it not?”

“Yes. And I have the pleasure of addressing the Great Wizard Labrith and the Great Wizard Kesi?”

Regardless of just how great they might be, Zeah assumed that it was a good idea to play it safe. Even low-level wizards could be quite dangerous for someone with no magical talent at all, like himself. The two wizards nodded in acknowledgement.

“Tell me, Mr. Korlann,” said Labrith. “Which cabin belongs to Zurfina the Magnificent?”

“It’s…why do you want to know?”

“To introduce ourselves,” said Kesi. “Give her a chance to get to know us.”

“Oh, I’ve long been an admirer,” said Labrith.

“I, as well,” said Kesi.

“It’s… you know,” said Zeah. “I’m afraid that I don’t remember which cabin she was assigned. I must have it written down in my notes, back in my cabin.”

The two wizards glanced at one another.

“Don’t worry yourself about it,” said Kesi.

“No. It wasn’t anything important,” said Labrith.

“You know,” said Kesi. “This Zurfina is quite well known among practitioners of the arts. I am quite surprised that she would sign on to this type of expedition. With power of her sort, she could be the royal wizard in any country she chose… if this is the same Zurfina of which I have heard.”

“Quite, quite,” said Labrith. “It was my understanding in fact, that the Ministry of War was looking for her in Brech, but was never able to find her. How were you able to find her, Mr. Korlann?”

“Miss Dechantagne contacted her,” said Zeah, “on the advice of a wizard from Mernham Yard.”

“Interesting,” said Labrith.

“Yes, indeed,” said Kesi.

“Well, I have much to attend to,” said Labrith, nodding. “Good day to you, Mr. Korlann. Good day to you, Wizard Kesi.”

“Yes. Good day to you, Wizard Labrith.” said Kesi. “Good day, Mr. Korlann.”

The two wizards turned and departed, each in a different direction. Zeah continued on his way. He had much to attend to as well, though he couldn’t help but wonder at the strange twists of fortune which would place an ordinary butler on a battleship in the middle of the ocean with several wizards and a dragon.

The very next day, Zeah had an enormous brainstorm. Almost a week in close confines with limited washing facilities was beginning to tell in the odoriferousness of the ambient air aboard the Minotaur. Organizing several dozen workers, Zeah arranged to cordon off the rear portion of the deck and divide it into a dozen rooms by hanging sheets strung up on lines. Each of these makeshift rooms was then supplied with a washtub. Hot water was pumped up onto deck from the boilers below, and cold water was pumped up from the sea. Soon a queue was formed and over the course of ten hours, hundreds of passengers and crewmembers alike were afforded the luxury of a bath. The occasion was so successful that it was continued the next day, and Miss Dechantagne, no doubt just as bothered by the unpleasant redolence as was Zeah, ordered that it be made a weekly event.

It was on the second day of the organized bathing event that Zeah was approached by a young woman about his daughter’s age, with red hair and large green eyes. She was quite lovely with a carefully sculpted nose and a delicate complexion. Somewhat on the short side, she was wearing a brown bonnet, and light blue dress with a dark blue shawl. Zeah knew that he had seen her before, but with all the people he had supervised boarding the ship, he couldn’t quite place her.

“I understand that we have you to thank for all this,” she said to the butler.

“Just doing my job,” he replied. “Miss?”

“Lusk. Egeria Lusk. I am Professor Calliere’s assistant.”

“Oh yes, of course,” said Zeah. “I should have remembered. How are you, Miss Lusk?”

“I’m fine, Mr. Korlann,” she said and smiled. “I’ve been able to get a great deal of work done.”

“Really? It was my understanding that the Professor’s machine was not going to be available until it could be set up at our destination.”

“That is correct,” she said. “But you see my work is more on the theoretical side.”

“Oh?”

“My job is to create programs for the Result Mechanism.”

“Programs?”

“A series of instructions. Mathematical calculations really.”

“Oh.”

“You see, Mr. Korlann. I’m not just a pretty face. The downside is, that I won’t be able to tell if my work is correct, until we get where we are going and I can input the programs into the Result Mechanism.”

“Then you can see if it follows the directions correctly?” asked Zeah.

“Precisely.”

“What if it doesn’t?”

“We shall have to wait and see,” she said. “Either the machine will get stuck somewhere, and I will have to go back through my work to find the error—that’s the better of the two possible outcomes. Or it might finish its instructions and the final results would be unreliable.”

“And would this have important consequences?” asked Zeah.

“Are you asking if my work is important, Mr. Korlann?”

“No, of course not. I am merely a butler. Such things are beyond my concern. I was just trying to understand so that I could be of service if needed.”

“My first program for the Result Mechanism was a mathematical formula to determine trajectories for firing large artillery pieces. It was just a test really. I’m working on all kinds of other mathematics now.”

“I see,” said Zeah, though he didn’t. “And can I do anything for you to make your voyage more comfortable?”

“Yes, Mr. Korlann. You could join me for a stroll on deck tonight after dinner. Meet me right here at, say, eight?”

Zeah was at a loss. He had been carrying on his conversation strictly as a butler and a servant, never suspecting that the young woman might have other motives. A dozen questions ran through his head at the same time. Was she really asking him what he thought she was asking? Why would she be interested in a man old enough to be her father? What was her social status relative to his? Was she wealthy? Was she poor? She wasn’t a Zaeri, was she? Was she a Kafirite? Did he have something that she wanted? Would it be appropriate for him to meet her? Would people talk? What would they say? Did he find her attractive? The last question at least was easily answered.

“I um… don’t know,” said Zeah. He paused to bite his lip. “If that would be appropriate.”

“Then you don’t know that it wouldn’t,” she said. “It is a public place. There will no doubt be other people on deck. And I happen to know that you usually have the evenings free.”

“You do?”

It wasn’t precisely true that Zeah had the evenings free; so much as it was that he made it a point to avoid the Dechantagnes in the evening. This was to give himself a chance to mull over his activities during the previous day and plan out what needed to be done the following day. While the two male Dechantagnes seldom added considerably to his workload, though Master Augie could often be good for an unusual request, their sister was of the opinion that any time she saw Zeah, she should add twenty or thirty new items to his list of chores. This was not usually a problem for him, as he was at least three hundred percent more efficient than she expected. But it was a fool who made unnecessary work for himself.

“I’ll tell you what,” said Miss Lusk. “I’ll be here on deck at eight. And if you choose to meet me for a stroll, so be it.”

Miss Lusk turned and walked away, and Zeah allowed himself to do something that he rarely did—to enjoy the beauty of the feminine form. Modern bustles and corsets did more to hide a woman’s body than to enhance it, yet there was little doubt the young lady was well constructed. Miss Lusk was quite slender, but no more than five foot four, and she was probably wearing heels, though her shoes were completely hidden by her dress. Her hair was up, but Zeah could see a few red tresses peeking out from beneath her bonnet. He saw the sway of her dress as she started to turn around, so he was able to look elsewhere when she turned to see if he was looking at her.

The butler busied himself ensuring that there were no problems with baths and later, that all of the tasks aboard ship had been properly assigned and were being properly carried out. His mind was not on his job however, and returned again and again to his conversation with Professor Calliere’s assistant. He was thinking of Miss Lusk, when he looked up and across the length of half the ship, he spotted her talking to someone. He couldn’t tell who it was at first, but then she moved and he made out the small black dress and black and white striped legs of Zurfina’s diminutive disciple.

That night dinner was served on the stern deck of the battleship—an area that had come to serve as a kind of common area for the passengers. Food was served from tables in what Zeah thought of as a lunch wagon style. Each passenger would take his plate and find some convenient place to sit or stand while eating, making a bit of conversation with those around them. Then many would stroll around the rear of the ship, while others would return to their quarters. If one were so inclined, one could easily find card or dice games going on below and above deck. Children played any number of games wherever they could find room, though running on deck was strictly prohibited.

Zeah had finished eating and just by accident found himself standing in the exact spot where he had met Miss Lusk earlier that day. It was just as much an accident that he waited in the exact location for eight o’clock—almost an hour. There was absolutely nothing to be construed by the fact that he had changed before dinner into his best jacket. And it was sheer luck that today was the day that he had chosen to polish his shoes this week. As fate would have it, just as Zeah’s better judgment was telling him to quickly slip away and forget about such an obviously bad idea, Miss Lusk arrived.

Professor Calliere’s assistant had traded in her bonnet for a small couture hat of mauve and black with mauve feathers streaming out the back. Red curls cascaded around her face. She wore a mauve evening gown with black trim, which left her shoulders bare and made it difficult for Zeah to breath. It couldn’t have been that easy for Miss Lusk to breathe either, with her waist cinched down to twenty inches, and her bodice so tight that each time she did breathe her breasts threatened to burst it at the seams.

“How pleasant to see you again, Mr. Korlann,” said Miss Lusk, without the least appearance of shortness of breath.

“The puh… pleasure is all mine, Miss Lusk,” he said, thinking that any moment he would pass out and fall overboard. When he realized that the stutter he had worked so hard to be rid of had reappeared, he bit his tongue to punish it.

He offered her his arm. That was what a gentleman was supposed to do. He was sure of it, even though he hadn’t done anything of the sort since before this young woman had begun learning her letters. Oh, he was definitely going to pass out now! If he did pass out and then died, he would probably go to hell. She wrapped her hands around his arm, and they strolled down the deck, until they reached the rear port gun emplacement, and then they turned back around and strolled to where they had started. For several minutes they did so in complete silence, and all Zeah could do was watch with horrible fascination, the looks of those people similarly engaged, as they passed. Mr. and Mrs. Luebking were walking hand in hand. Mr. and Mrs. Hollerith. The Widow Duplessis, swollen with her husband’s posthumous child. They all knew him. They were all talking about him. What was that old Zaeri doing, walking with that young girl?

“You seem quiet this evening, Mr. Korlann,” said Miss Lusk. “Is there anything wrong?”

“Nuh… No, not at all. I was just thinking about what a nice evening it turned out to be.”

They walked back and forth over the deck in relative silence. Every once in a while Zeah would point out some feature of the battleship and attempt to make conversation about it. Once or twice he asked her about her work, but it all seemed very complicated. He was beginning to think that this was an even greater mistake than he thought—perhaps the greatest mistake of his life.

“You know there is nothing wrong with you and me being seen together,” said Miss Lusk. “I am a single woman and you are a single man.”

“I’m a widower.”

“Precisely.”

Zeah was again silent.

“You think that I am too young for you?” asked Miss Lusk.

“The… That thought had crossed my mind,” he admitted.

“Our age difference is not all that great. Women in their twenties in Mirsanna routinely marry men in their fifties, and it’s not unknown in Brechalon.”

Zeah found himself unable to breathe again. Marriage! He had just met the woman. He hadn’t even imagined himself as a married man in almost twenty years. How could he possibly support a beautiful young wife with his salary? Those men in Mirsanna, with young wives, were all rich. How could he have a wife with all his duties in the Dechantagne household? How could he possibly keep a wife as young as Miss Lusk happy anyway? Of course a man his age could certainly do far worse than a beautiful woman like Miss Lusk. For that matter he wasn’t such a bad looking fellow himself. He was well put together and in good shape for a man of his years. She was so young, though! And she was beautiful.

“Lets walk over this way,” said Miss Lusk. “I’m getting tired of going back and forth over the same deck.”

They turned and walked around one of the great guns, and back up the starboard side of the ship, then through the passage between the superstructures. Though it was now dark, the moon left everything brightly illuminated. It was only six days past the full moon, and though not completely round, the orb was bright and right overhead.

As soon as they passed through to return to the port side, just in front of the rear port gun emplacement, Miss Lusk cried out in alarm. Zeah unthinkingly put a protective arm around her. Lying on the deck, not twenty feet away, was a body. Zeah moved forward, Miss Lusk at his side, to find that it was the body of a young woman. If her blood-drenched clothing was any indication, she had been stabbed repeatedly.

Chapter Seven: Augie’s Dirty Laundry

Iolanthe Dechantage, as she had every evening since leaving home on the H.M.S. Minotaur, held a dinner in her cabin. The cabin, which the Captain of the ship had vacated for her use, was quite tiny. It barely had enough room for a bed, a desk and chair. But it had a small private dining room attached, capable of seating eight for dinner. A rotating list of guests arrived each evening to be served Iolanthe’s favorite dishes prepared by Mrs. Colbshallow and served by two of her wait staff—for the room was only large enough to allow two waiters. Tonight’s guest list included Captain Gurrman. The captain was always included, after all it had been his cabin and he was nominally in charge of the ship. On those evenings when he was unable to attend, he sent an alternate. Iolanthe usually invited a second officer. This evening that second officer was Lieutenant Staff. The rest of the guest list included Professor Calliere, one of his assistants Mr. Murty, Father Ian, and Iolanthe’s two brothers Augustus and Terrence.

The meal this evening was roasted chicken with roasted potatoes, boiled broccoli, savory pudding, and thick brown gravy. It was a rather ordinary meal, but the necessities of travel required certain sacrifices. This would, in fact, be the last of the fresh produce until the ship made its stop at the island nation of Enclep. Iolanthe had seen to it that the colony to be established would have plenty of food. Modern packaging made it possible to supply food for a thousand people for an entire year. Granted, it was processed, canned food, but the colony wouldn’t go hungry. They had also brought huge quantities of seed in order to establish farms and plantations. But fresh vegetables were limited and had to be consumed anyway before they went bad.

“The meal was delicious,” said Father Ian.

Father Ian was a big man in his late fifties. He was six foot two and nearly three hundred pounds. He carried most of his weight in his stomach and chest. One might certainly call him fat, but he was also large in some indefinable way. Men who were taller, and even men who were heavier, were dwarfed when they stood next to Father Ian. He had white hair and a friendly, clean-shaven face, with somewhat rosy cheeks, that stood out above his black clerical robes and his white collar. When one shook hands with him, one couldn’t help but notice his long, but slender fingers and well-manicured nails. They seemed to point to him as an individual unlikely to take off on the great adventure of conquering a new continent and establishing a new colony. On the subject of his devotion, there was no word. Only a few had heard him pray, and none, to Iolanthe’s knowledge, had seen him perform the miracles that marked the truly favored in the Church of Kafira.

“Simply wonderful, Miss Dechantagne” agreed Lieutenant Staff.

A young man about the same age as Iolanthe, Lieutenant Staff was tall and blond, with the freckled face of a man far younger. His white naval dress uniform was starched and perfect, with a row of brass buttons running up the front, a stiff leather collar around the neck, and stiff leather epaulets on each shoulder. Iolanthe was quick to notice that he smiled appreciatively whenever his gaze landed upon her.

“If you keep this up, Miss Dechantagne,” said Captain Gurrman. “My officers will be ruined for normal navy food.”

The Captain might have been Lieutenant Staff’s father. Nearing sixty, he still had a boyish face and boyish charm. His white naval dress uniform was a little tight in the middle, but made up for it by being heavily decorated with gold brocade. A thick white beard minimized his heavy jowls, and thick white eyebrows almost hid his green eyes.

“From what I can see Captain, navy food would ruin anyone,” said Professor Calliere.

Everyone paused to see what the Captain would say, but he just chuckled heartily. Iolanthe pursed her lips. Even a sheltered academician should know better than to belittle the navy aboard a battleship. She had spent a great deal of time with the professor just before and now during the journey aboard the Minotaur, and she had to admit that she found his keen intelligence engaging. He wasn’t bad looking either. But the long period of inactivity seemed to have brought out in him a certain looseness of etiquette that simply could not be tolerated.

“It’s been two days, Captain.” Augie suddenly interjected. “What’s the news on the murder investigation?”

Iolanthe looked at her brother and narrowed her aquamarine eyes as she thought about the events of the previous morning. She had stepped into Augie’s apartment on an errand to discuss the supplies to be purchased upon arrival at Enclep, and found him lying naked on his bed. The room had reeked of alcohol. Iolanthe had grabbed the closest thing she could find, which were a pair of Augie’s trousers and beat him about the head and shoulders with them until he fought back.

“Kafira’s cross, Iolanthe!” He had shouted. “What? What do you want?”

“Go get cleaned up and dressed, Augie. I need to talk to you.”

Augie had jumped up and grabbed a pile of clothes, and as Iolanthe still whipped him with his own pair of pants, he had dashed out the hatch and down the hall to the water closet, which on the ship was called ‘the head’. While she had waited for his return, Iolanthe had looked around the tiny room in disgust at the mess. There had been clothes strewn everywhere and open and empty bottles of whiskey on every horizontal surface. Then she had noticed something in the corner. It was a pair of women’s bloomers, and peeking out from under them was something strange.

Iolanthe had bent down and picked up the bloomers, holding them at arm’s length, then retrieved the item of clothing beneath them, and examined it carefully. It was a man’s shirt, and on its front were two handprints, in what appeared to be blood. It was as if a man, his hands drenched, had wiped them on his front. Cognizant of the fact that a murder had been committed the night before, and mindful that Augie had been present at the site of a previous murder in the great city, she had quickly decided that this was a piece of evidence that could not be allowed to be found here. She had rolled up the shirt inside of the bloomers and then exited Augie’s cabin and walked through the hallway to the hatch on deck. Once there, she had quickly determined that she was alone on deck, and then had tossed both items of clothing over the side, watching them until they landed lightly upon the water and then trailed away into the distance. She didn’t believe that Augie could be guilty of murder, so any time spent investigating him would have been a waste, but murderer or not, it was in bad taste to bring it up at dinner.

“I’ve left the investigation in the capable hands of Lieutenant Staff,” said the Captain, and turned to look at his subordinate.

“And the investigation is proceeding with the help of Father Ian and Wizards Labrith and Kesi,” said Staff. “Beyond that, I’d rather say nothing.”

“Yes, quite,” said Terrence.

Iolanthe nodded in agreement. It was obvious to anyone who paid attention that this murder was related to murders, at least three, which had occurred in the great city. It was also obvious that if this fact became known among the passengers, there would be widespread panic and that could not be allowed. Better to keep the entire thing quiet, or if necessary, let on that it was an isolated incident—perhaps a crime of passion.

“Do we know the woman’s name?” asked Mr. Murty, in his unpleasant nasal voice.

“She was a Miss Astley,” said Staff.

“If I can be of any help, please let me know,” said Mr. Murty.

Lieutenant Staff’s look said more clearly than words that if he needed any help from Mr. Murty, it would be a cold day in hell. Professor Calliere’s assistant was a short, slight man with a pasty complexion and black hair plastered down with a great deal of oil. He wore horn-rimmed glasses and an expression that seemed to indicate that he had just sucked on a green persimmon. His charcoal suit was at least three years out of style, and wasn’t particularly clean. Iolanthe found just being in the same room as the man unpleasant and she mentally vowed to exclude him from future invitations.

“What is it that you do?” Captain Gurrman asked Mr. Murty.

“Oh, I just tighten nuts and bolts,” said Murty, looking down at his lap.

“Mr. Murty has been vital in the development of my inventions,” said Professor Calliere. “When I found him in Redgepool, he was already the most gifted clockmaker in East Wills. I could not have gone without his expertise in crafting the gears, springs, and works for our machinery.”

Mr. Murty smiled.

“Captain Gurrman,” said Terrence. “How long do you suppose before we dock in Enclep?”

“If we are able to maintain our current speed,” replied the Captain, “and I don’t see why we won’t be able to, we should arrive the morning of the twenty-fourth.”

Coffee was served when the last of the meal was eaten. Then the two waiters delivered small glasses of fortified wine. Iolanthe’s opinion ran counter to the popular sentiment at the time that a sweet fortified wine should be served as an aperitif at the beginning of meals. To her mind, the sweet, more heavily alcohol-laden wine made the perfect accompaniment for a bit of cheese after the rest of the meal was already in the process of digestion. She also saw that cigars were passed out to the seven men, but they were not allowed to smoke them in the dining room. They would have to wait until they were out on the open deck.

The following day, Lieutenant Staff invited Iolanthe to the forward observation deck. She had a standing invitation from the Captain to visit that and any other location onboard at anytime, but she didn’t take any pains to point this out to the Lieutenant. The forward observation deck was attached to the central point of the forward mast, which had the ship lost its steam power, could have been rigged, along with the rear mast, with sail. It was two stories higher than the main bridge, higher even than the two great smoke stacks, and had to be accessed by a series of steep staircases and a short ladder. Iolanthe climbed up after hyperventilating a bit, her bustled dress ballooning out behind her, like a great bell being rung. Had someone below her looked up, all that they would have seen would have been her shin-length white bloomers, and other voluminous undergarments. Still she was happy to see that a pair of petty officers had been stationed below her to discourage any such behavior on the part of the sailors.

Once she had arrived in the enclosed chamber, Iolanthe smoothed out her white pin-striped dress and offered her hand to Lieutenant Staff, who took it, and bending at the waist, pressed it to his lips.

“Good day, Miss Dechantagne.”

“Good day, Lieutenant. Thank you for inviting me.”

“I thought there was a sight here that you might enjoy.” He directed Iolanthe to the starboard side of the ship and pointed in the distance. Dozens of huge shapes pushed their way through the ocean waves on a course parallel to that of the ship. Every once in a while, a great white fluke or a tremendous black tale would break the surface. Here and there, spouts of spray shot up into the air.

“What are they?” wondered Iolanthe.

“Whales. They call them great whales. They’re much bigger than those found in the seas of home.”

“I can see that. How large do you suppose they are? The biggest whale I’ve ever heard of was sixteen feet long. And such unusual colors. I thought all whales were white.”

“Yes,” replied Staff. “The common Brech whale seldom surpasses a ton, and they’re white but as smooth as an inner tube. These whales aren’t like that. They’re skin looks rough. They’re mostly dark, though they have white underbellies and flukes. I understand that a ship from the Royal Geographic Society took one for study, and that it measured fifty-one feet long and weighed just over forty tons.”

“Amazing,” said Iolanthe. “They seem to have no fear of the ship.”

“They have nothing to fear. Ships from Sumir are still relatively rare in these waters and the people of Enclep actually worship, them along with other animals. I can’t imagine why anyone would want to hunt them anyway.”

One of the great whales shot out of the water, leaving no part submerged except its tail. It twisted in midair as if the monstrous beast was going to leap up into the sky and fly away, but as it turned, it slowly fell back to the ocean in a huge splash.

“I understand that this is their time of migration. They will be moving to the far north to spend the summer in colder waters. Then they will return in the winter. Of course once we sail past Enclep, the large whales give way to other ocean beasts that are as impressive, if not more so. You’ll have to come back up, Miss Dechantagne, and have a look at them as well.”

“I hope their tricks are as impressive,” said Iolanthe.

“Officer of the watch,” said a sailor on the port side. “Unidentified vessel two thousand yards off the port stern.”

Lieutenant Staff moved to stand behind the sailor. He retrieved a pair of binoculars from somewhere and looked out at the horizon through them. Iolanthe followed the young officer and after a moment, he handed her the binoculars to look through. At first she couldn’t find anything at which to look, but then she realized that she was scanning the surface of the waves, and the other vessel was far above them. Raising her sightline up, she saw a great, streamlined airship cruising along below the clouds. Its rigid structure was ribbed down its length, and it was almost as long as the Minotaur. Four great fins framed the back and a large steam-powered propeller, slung beneath, pushed it through the air, while the gondola in the lower front portion of the vessel appeared quite tiny.

“Do you see its colors?” asked Staff.

“Yes,” said Iolanthe “Black and yellow.”

“Freedonia,” said the officer. “If I’m not mistaken, that’s the L.Z. Essenbad. She’s been cruising around this area recently.”

“Is she following us?”

“Maybe, but I doubt it. Their colony Bamport is just north of Enclep. However, if they get a good look at us, they’ll realize were not a normal battleship. We have civilians crawling all over our stern.”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Iolanthe. “Subterfuge was only one of the reasons for requisitioning the Minotaur, and that time is now past. We wanted to keep Freedonia and Mirsanna from being able to mount an expedition of their own before we were able to sail. We’re well on our way now. As far as I’m concerned, let them come.”

As Captain Gurrman had promised, the H.M.S. Minotaur sailed into port in Enclep three days later. The island of Enclep was more than 1200 miles long and 350 miles wide at its thickest point. It was almost as large as the entirety of Greater Brechalon, but it was a very different place. The northern reaches, which were the only portions of the island visited by ships from Sumir, were lined with white sandy beaches everywhere except the rocky outcropping of the deep-water port that the Royal Brechalon Navy had leased from the natives for its use. The interior of the island held vast rain forests of tropical plants and tall sweeping palm trees and was filled with all manner of natural treasures. The brown-skinned natives in the north lived simple lives of hunting, gathering, and trading with the visiting ships, while the south was dominated by a number of feudal kingdoms.

The great ship spent most of the morning maneuvering through the relatively close confines of the port and into position for mooring at the cement dock. The port facility was large and modern and impressive—as fine as anything found in Greater Brechalon. It contained large cranes and loading ramps surrounded by warehouses with modern roads running between them. And beyond the port lay the small city of Nutooka, with a native population of perhaps twenty thousand living in homes made of bamboo and palm fronds. Its only roads, winding pathways of dirt filled with rickshaws, carts pulled along by oxen, and in a few cases by large pigs, and native women carrying bundles upon their shoulders.

Iolanthe watched all this from an unobtrusive point along the ship’s forward deck. For once, she wasn’t as concerned with being seen as she was with seeing. This was a new world for her, but she knew that it was only the first of many that she would be experiencing over the coming months and years. Even her clothing said that she was here to observe and not to be observed. Though her dress had the cut and form necessary to accommodate the very feminine shape of a Prudence Plus fairy bust form corset and a large bustle, it was made of the same heavy khaki material from which uniforms of soldiers and jungle explorers were crafted. After all, she was now an explorer herself, or she soon would be. She wore a pith helmet and the netting that surrounded it and draped down to her shoulders was even now serving its function to keep the pesky, biting insects at bay.

As she stood watching the sailors tying the final knots in the great ropes, as thick as a strong man’s arm, which would keep the battleship fastened to the dock, she felt a body standing on her right side. She knew who it was without even looking, but she turned to face her brother Terrence just the same. His outfit matched hers, with a khaki shirt tucked into khaki pants, which in turn, were tucked into high leather boots. He wore a wide-brimmed hat and had on a dual gun shoulder holster rig, with a large nickel-plated .45 caliber revolver under each arm.

“Expecting trouble, are we?” asked Iolanthe.

“I always do. And I’m usually right.”

“Yes, you are,” she admitted. “What are your plans now?”

“I have some people to talk to in town. And you?”

“I’m going to purchase provisions,” said Iolanthe.

“Good luck,” her brother said, setting off toward the gangplank, which was being erected at that moment between the ship and the dock.

A few moments later, Lieutenant Staff appeared at Iolanthe’s side. After exchanging pleasantries, the two debarked from the ship and made their way to the port authority building and then to the office of the port quartermaster therein. The quartermaster was an older heavyset man wearing a sweat-stained uniform of the Royal Brechalon Navy. He turned out to be surprisingly efficient and took the order for provisions that would stock the battleship for the remainder of its journey and which with any luck, would also help sustain the colony once established. He indicated that it would take more than four days to complete the order, which included 30,000 pounds of beef, 5,000 pounds of lamb, 12,000 pounds of pork, 4,000 pounds of sausage, 24,000 pounds of fowl, 15,000 pounds of fish, 1,500 pounds of crab and shrimp, 30,000 pounds of fresh vegetables, 25,000 pounds of potatoes, 20,000 pounds of fresh fruit, 40,000 pounds of wheat, 1,000 gallons of milk, 10,000 eggs, 3,000 pounds of sugar, 3,000 pounds of rice, 2,000 pounds of coffee, 4,000 pounds of tea, 1,000 bottles of red wine, 500 bottles of spirits, and 10,000 bottles of beer.

“There was another ship here three days ago,” said the quartermaster. “Although it wasn’t Brech and it wasn’t scheduled for supply, we felt we had to give them some provisions for the sake of compassion.”

“That was the S.S. Acorn?” asked Iolanthe.

“Yes, that’s right,” answered the surprised official.

The two men looked at the woman, but she gave no indication that she was willing to tell them what she knew of the strange ship or how she knew it.

As they left the port authority office, Lieutenant Staff slowed his military gate, and offered his arm to Iolanthe. She took it and they turned down a cobblestone path beneath a bamboo cover and through a small garden. Red roses surrounded a small patch of grass. In the center of this lawn was a small fountain: an abstract shape spraying water into the air and then down into a pool about three feet across. Arranged around the little pool were carefully set rows of tiny yellow flowers of a type that Iolanthe had never seen before.

“What are those?” she wondered.

“I believe that they are called ‘bird feet’,” said Staff. “I don’t know why. They don’t look like bird’s feet to me.”

“If anything, they look like little faces,” said Iolanthe. “They’re quite pretty, don’t you think?”

“You know that garden represents the last bit of civilization that we’re likely to see for some time,” he said. “I know you are a strong woman, but you are a woman. I thought you should see something pretty before we get where we are going. There’s going to be very little to see there that’s pretty.”

“I think you may turn out to be wrong there,” she said.

“Oh?”

Iolanthe took off her pith helmet, holding it in her right hand and primping the bun in which her auburn hair had been arranged, with her left hand. She looked into Lieutenant Staff’s eyes and felt a pressure in her chest that she had never felt before. It spread downward into her loins and out into her arms and legs. Her voice caught for just a moment.

“I like pretty things as much as any other woman,” she said finally. “But pretty things are just that—pretty things. Flowers in a vase will wilt in a few days. Those flowers by the fountain will be gone in a few weeks or months. The important things are the things that last. We’ll always be able to find a few pretties to place on a shelf or to plant by our door—but the shelf and the door, and the house and the city, and Kafiradom and Greater Brechalon—those are the important things we have to make sure we have.”

She watched his face to see what, if any, impact her words had on him. Then, when his eyes met hers again, she reached out with her right hand to grasp him by his shirt collar. Then pulling his face to hers, she kissed him firmly on the lips.

Chapter Eight: Terrence’s Jungle Adventure

The market in the center of Nutooka was filled with native people buying local fruits, nuts, fish, vegetables, fowl, pig’s feet, eggs of all sizes, and rice from dozens of vendor stalls. Some of the sellers had occupied their sites for many years, and were situated under large shelters made of wood and bamboo. Others were more temporary, yet even they had canvas awnings to protect from the noonday sun. Terrence Dechantagne walked past the area where raw foods were available and through the portion of the market where the smells of roasting chickens and stir-fried pork assailed his nostrils. Beyond that, merchants sold hand-made rugs and bolts of unusual cloth. And beyond them were tents where native prostitutes plied their trade, offering whatever sexual services a man would pay for, usually at prices that wouldn’t have bought a decent drink in the great city of Brech. And beyond that was the vendor for whom Terrence had been looking.

A large grey and black striped tent stood near the edge of the market, and in front of it was a table covered with animal furs, piled more than a foot thick. One would have thought the old, withered, native man, with the long, thin grey beard, big round bald head, and gap-toothed smile was a seller of furs, and he probably did sell a few now and then. But animal furs were not his stock and trade.

“Dechantagne.” said the old man. “You look good. Not like the last time I see you, eh? Then, you look like Guma eat your heart.”

“Oyunbileg, I’m surprised to see you,” said Terrence. “I thought you’d be dead by now.”

“I’ll be here long after you,” said the old man, smiling again to expose all four of his yellow teeth. “So, you want to see, or what?”

“Yes. I want to see.”

“Two hundred marks,” said Oyunbileg.

“Fifty marks, gold,” said Terrence.

“Dechantagne, you’re a good friend, so I give it to you for one hundred. You know I have to bring it all the way from Kutambata.”

Terrence fished a small, black, cloth bag from his shirt pocket and tossed it to the old man, who opened it and poured the contents into his palm. There were exactly ten gold decimarks. Terrence had brought no other money with him from the ship. Maybe this one time, he would be able to stop after just one. Oyunbileg reached below the table covered with animal furs and pulled out a tiny cylindrical bottle, made of dark indigo glass. It was only about an inch long and a half-inch in diameter. He handed the bottle to Terrence, who held it up to the light.

“It’s full!” said the old man.

“Yes.”

“You go inside. In back. Nobody will bother you.”

“If somebody does bother me, I start shooting.”

“Yes, yes, I remember.”

The little old man pulled open the tent flap behind him, and Terrence Dechantagne stepped around the stall table and through the opening, which was then closed behind him. Inside, a young native woman, Oyunbileg’s daughter, was washing herself with a sponge and water from a wooden bowl. She was naked from the waist up. She stared at him for a moment and then went back to what she was doing. He stepped past the young woman and walked to the back of the large tent and sat down cross-legged on a hand-woven rug. He looked at the tiny vial in his hands, his eyes already starting to water, and pulled the stopper from its mouth. Placing a finger on the tiny opening, he overturned the bottle to moisten his finger with the milky white liquid inside. Then he reached up and rubbed the liquid directly onto his left eyeball, and then his right. He had just enough awareness left to recap the bottle before he began to see it.

He was sitting cross-legged, though he was no longer sitting in a tent, or in Nutooka, or in Enclep. He was in the middle of a great field of purple flowers that stretched ahead and to the left and right as far as the eye could see. Each flower was a foot tall, with a blossom as big around as his hand, with five purple petals, each almost the same color of indigo as the little bottle he had purchased from the old man. And in the middle of each flower, where normally one would find the pistil, was a very human looking eyeball. Terrence stood up and turned around. Twenty yards away was a small yellow cottage, with a green roof and door and two windows with green shutters. And to the left and the right of the house, and beyond the house, the field of purple flowers stretched away to the horizon.

As Terrence walked toward the house, the flowers leaned away from him as if to get out of the way, though he still stepped on many. He walked up to the green door of the cottage, and knocked on it. He was just about to knock on the door again, when it opened. And there she was.

* * * *

It was mid-afternoon when Terrence stepped back out of the tent and back into the marketplace of Nutooka. He paid no attention to words of goodbye from Oyunbileg. As it always did afterwards, the color seemed to have drained out of the world and it now looked as monochrome as a picture from a photographic plate. And just as they always did afterwards, sounds seemed far more intense than usual, and he felt as though he could pick out individual voices from among the crowd of native merchants and their customers. He pulled off his slouch hat to mop the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve, and then started as two women brushed past him. They were two women from the Minotaur, and seemed too engrossed in their conversation to notice him.

He recognized both of them. One was Professor Calliere’s red-haired assistant. The other was a dark-haired woman, about two inches taller and thirty pounds heavier, who was a female medical doctor. Her name was something that started with a ‘k’ sound—Cleves or Keeves or something. Terrence stood and admired both women as they walked near the edge of the stall selling bolts of cloth in many colors. Both were women of class: dynamic, intelligent, determined. They were both the kind of women that he could have seen himself courting, in another life.

He was still watching the two women when the sounds of a great kafuffle somewhere on the other side of the market reached his ears. No sooner had this registered than seven or eight mounted men rode into the market near the two women from the Minotaur. These riders were dressed in various clothing of tan, brown, and white, but each had a red sash wrapped around his waist, and each wore a red hood completely covering his face, with only two holes cut out through which to see. The most remarkable thing about these mounted men though, wasn’t the men themselves, but their mounts. Terrence knew that horses were unavailable on Enclep, but it was still a shock to see riders upon huge, ferocious-looking birds. The birds were as tall as a horse, though unlike that noble steed, they ran on only two massive legs, and had tiny useless wings. Their clawed feet were almost two feet across and the massive beaks upon their mammoth heads looked as though it could easily clip off a man’s arm, or disembowel him in a moment. They were mostly covered with brown feathers, though there were black and white details on some of them. The men had them saddled, and though they squawked incessantly, they seemed to be under firm control.

One of the men on bird-back, reached down and scooped up Professor Calliere’s assistant as though she were a shapely bag of wheat. Another grabbed the female medical doctor. Still another grabbed a native woman from nearby. Two or three had already appropriated women from somewhere else in the market and two more tried to grab nearby native women only to be thwarted by their intended victims diving behind market stalls. The entire flock of riders raced to escape the market and the city, which led them down the path directly toward Terrence Dechantagne.

With one deft motion, Terrence pulled both his nickel-plated .45 revolvers from their shoulder holsters. He fired first one and then the other in rapid succession emptying all twelve cylinders. The first rider fell to the ground, hit several times, as did the great bird that he had ridden. The second rider, shot through the neck, tumbled to the ground. The woman that had been his captive plopped unceremoniously onto the dirt. The rest of the riders turned their birds, in a way that would have been impossible in the confined area had they been riding horses, and headed for the far side of the pathway between stalls, leaving their dead fellows and a single noisy giant bird behind.

Quickly popping the cylinders of his revolvers open and reloading them, Terrence barely noticed the short redhead at his side. He tasted the metallic cloud of gunpowder smoke that hung in the humid air. By the time he had finished reloading the guns though, the mounted men had turned the corner and vanished, and he had time to take notice that it was the professor’s assistant whom he had rescued from the second rider.

“Are you all right, Miss?

“Lusk, Egeria Lusk. You’re going after them,” she said. It was more a command than a question.

Not taking time to realize that it was an employee of an employee, as well as a woman, who was now ordering him about, Terrence just nodded, stuffed his two guns back into their holsters, and taking a running jump, leapt into the empty saddle of the now riderless bird. The bird turned its head around almost one hundred eighty degrees and snapped its mighty beak, taking off one of his shirt pockets and a little bit of chest hair. Terrence balled up his fist and punched the creature in the head as hard as he could, then grabbed the reigns and kicked the bird in the flanks, just as he would have done a horse. The monstrous avian, apparently now satisfied as to just who was boss, shot off through the marketplace.

The trail of the kidnappers was not difficult to follow. They had created a great deal of disturbance as they raced through Nutooka with their captives. Still, there were two problems. The first problem was that the people of the town had filled in the pathway behind the riders: people here, as anywhere else, wanting to see for themselves what all the commotion was about. The second problem was that Terrence had never ridden a bird before. He had ridden horses, mules, and once, when drunk he had even ridden a pig, but never so much as a chicken until now. Even though he was firmly seated in a saddle, it seemed as though the saddle was constantly about to slip off the rear end of the swaying animal. The net result was that even though they were many and he was only one, and even though they had the additional weight of their captives, these men, these apparent kidnappers were leaving him behind.

Following a narrow but distinct dirt pathway, the trail of the band of riders on their giant birds swept down a few nearby streets and then out of town and into the jungle. This pathway was one of the frequently used corridors through the dense jungle from Nutooka to outlying farms and villages in the area. Even to Terrence, relatively unskilled at tracking, the evidence of their passage was plain. Broken branches on the edge of the road, as well as large and distinctive footprints in the dirt, kept him on the right track.

Seven or eight miles from the city, Terrence heard the sharp crack of rifle fire and the whiz of bullets as they passed by his head. He pulled up sharp on the reigns of the great bird and tried to see where the shots had come from. He spotted two riflemen high in the jungle trees, just as they fired for a second time. One was to the right of the path and one was to the left. Both wore the scarlet sashes around their waists and the scarlet hoods of the gang that he was following. A shot went straight through his mount’s head. The monstrous bird reared back and fell; leaving Terrence on his back, with his left leg pinned by the avian’s neck. Pulling out both revolvers, he pointed one in the direction of each of the riflemen and fired six quick shots, three from each pistol. He was rewarded with a cry of pain from the rifleman to the right and saw the man plummet from the tree. He turned both pistols on the left rifleman and fired the remaining six shots. The second rifleman fell from his tree too, but he fell without a sound.

Still lying on his back, Terrence reloaded his guns. He expected to be shot at again at any moment, but no more gunfire erupted from the jungle. The gang of kidnappers had left only two of their members to deal with him. While he had to admire their ability to climb jungle trees and shoot rifles from their perches, Terrence was glad that they had underestimated him. He kicked his leg free of the giant dead bird, and stood up. Then he retrieved his hat, which had fallen off. He had a decision to make. Did he continue on foot, not knowing how many miles lay between him and those he was pursuing, or did he go back for help? Did he abandon a woman from the Minotaur to some unknown but undoubtedly horrible fate?

The sounds coming from the trail behind him relieved him of the need to make such a difficult decision. The unmistakable hiss and chug of a steam carriage was clearly audible before the vehicle itself appeared in the road. Driving was Augustus Dechantagne. Sitting next to him was a man that Terrence had never seen before. The two wizards, Dudley Labrith and Suvir Kesi, sat in the back seat. The vehicle came to a stop just in front of Terrence, who hopped up onto the passenger side running board.

“There you are, old man,” said Augie. “Heard you were having trouble. Miss Lusk told me what happened and I grabbed some help and here I am.”

“Right,” said Terrence, grabbing the man he didn’t know by the collar and pulling him from his seat. “You, out.”

“That’s Mr. Critt,” said Augie, as he watched his brother pull the man out of his seat and climb into his place. “It’s his carriage.”

“We’ll be coming back with at least three more people,” said Terrence. “We’re going to need the room. Let’s go.”

“Goodbye Mr. Critt!” called Augie, as he drove off, leaving the man sputtering incoherently, on the jungle road, in a cloud of dust. “Meet you back at the dock!”

Terrence worried that the road through the lush green undergrowth would become impassable for the steam carriage, but if anything it opened up a bit more as the four men rode onward. There was no doubt that the steam-powered vehicle was making better time than the large bird had. Augie had the forward accelerator pressed all the way to the floor. Dodging to the right and left around fallen branches and large rocks, he occasionally sent all four bouncing high out of their seats as he hit a bump in the road.

“So, what do you think these fellows are up to?” asked Augie. “Slavers, do you suppose?”

Terrence grunted.

The foliage suddenly opened up as the road led into a large clearing several hundred yards wide and just as long. Continuing across this clearing, the road led up to a large stone structure. It was obviously ancient. Roughly rectangular, it must have been either an ancient temple or palace. It had highly detailed carvings all across its front and three large towers shaped like hornets’ nests on top. To either side of the entrance was a massive stone statue twenty feet tall of a monstrous ape. The bumping and bouncing of the steam carriage made it impossible to make out any other details of the highly ornate façade, but standing in front of the building were at least twenty men dressed in the red hoods and red sashes with which Terrence had by now become familiar. When they saw the vehicle approaching, they grabbed their rifles and began shooting.

In the back seat, Wizard Kesi began reciting. “Uuthanum beithbechnoth.”

“Ape cult, do you think?” wondered Augie.

“I don’t know,” said Terrence, as he pulled out one pistol and began firing, while holding on to his seat with his other hand. One of the masked men fell.

The wizard finished his incantation and stretched out his hand past Terrence’s head. A missile of magical energy darted forth from his finger to strike one of the red-sashed men. Then a second and then a third magical dart shot out, striking down two more of the men in front of the temple. A shot from one of the riflemen shattered the windscreen of the carriage, and Augie slammed his foot down on the decelerator and pulled the brake, bringing the vehicle to a sliding stop twenty yards from the front of the ancient structure. The four men jump out and ducked behind the car. Terrence pulled out his second revolver and continued to fire. Augie and the two wizards produced guns of their own and did likewise. Four more of the hooded riflemen went down.

The remaining cultists, if Augie’s impression was in fact correct, finding themselves without cover in front of the building, turned and ran for the open entrance. All of them made it inside, save one, who took a hit in the back of the head from Augie’s .45.

“I don’t see those birds anywhere,” said Terrence. “Augie, you and Labrith circle around to the back and make sure they’re not getting away. Kesi, you come with me.” With that he started running toward the temple, firing every few steps to give himself cover.

“Why would they try to get away?” called Augie after him. “They outnumber us!”

Not bothering to respond, Terrence reached the building, and then dashed up fifteen steps to the entrance. One of the riflemen stuck his head out to fire, and Terrence shot him between the eyes. At the top of the stairs, Terrence ducked to the left side of the doorway and quickly reloaded his revolvers. Wizard Kesi reached the top of the stairs as well, and ducked to the right side.

“Uuthanum rechthinov uluchaiia,” recited Kesi, and then turned to face the open doorway. Lightning sprang from his fingers and arced down the dark hallway. The three men just inside the doorway were illuminated by the expanding electricity as it cut through them. They screamed inhumanly as it fried their insides and ignited their clothing.

“All clear now,” said Wizard Kesi in his unusual accent, but then he cried out in pain as a rifle bullet ripped through his shoulder, spraying a shower of blood behind him.

Terrence fired into the hallway, now illuminated by the three burning bodies on the floor, hitting the heretofore unnoticed rifleman twice, killing him. Kneeling down at Kesi’s side, he ripped a piece of cloth from the wizard’s shirt and stuffed it into the bullet hole.

“Thank you,” said Kesi. “I owe you.”

“Can you get back to the car?” Terrence asked.

The wizard nodded.

Terrence started into the corridor, jumping over the still burning bodies. The smell of cooked human flesh hung in the air. The passage went straight back twenty feet and then turned to the right. Another twenty feet and it turned to the left. It was lit by a torch in a sconce every ten feet or so. Rounding the corner, another gunshot went past Terrence’s head, and then ricocheted away behind him. One of the riflemen had stationed himself along the path, waiting for him. Quickly ducking back, Terrence fired four shots around the stone corner, and then looked to see if his intended target was dead. He was. The passageway continued on in a twisting series of turns until it came to an abrupt end.

Tucking his pistols back in their holsters, Terrence felt along the walls for some kind of lever or mechanism that would open a secret door. He could find nothing. He then backtracked ten feet to the last corner and searched both sides of the hallway. His hands found a stone sticking slightly farther out than its fellows. He pushed on it and felt the stone move inward. He heard a grinding noise as ancient mechanisms slid back a portion of the stone wall creating a doorway.

Clearly the inhabitants of the room beyond had expected any pursuers to be thwarted by the mysteries of the entryway, for they had placed no one on watch. Three more of the men with red sashes and red hoods were here, as well as two un-hooded, but red-robed men, with shaven heads. They stood on either side of a large flat stone, the ancient brown stains upon it spelling out only too clearly that this was a place of torture or sacrifice or most likely of both. Just behind this stone table was a huge statue of an ape that matched the two on the outside of the building. Nearby in a cage made of wood and bamboo were two native women and the Minotaur expedition’s female doctor. The doctor had been stripped of her dress and bustle, leaving her standing in only her underclothes. She still wore substantially more than either of the other women, in their simple but colorful native skirts and blouses.

Terrence pulled out his .45s again, and fired until he had emptied both cylinders and all five men had dropped to the ground. Running over to the cage, he found that it was locked with a large but old padlock. Looking around, he saw a six-inch piece of stone, which he picked up and used as a hammer on the lock. It turned out to be far sturdier than it appeared. It didn’t break. The hasp, into which it was situated however, fell apart and the door of the cage flew open. Another shot echoed through the stone chamber and one of the native women collapsed dead to the cell floor. Terrence spun around to return fire, but his pistols clicked on spent cartridges. As it turned out though, firing his rifle had been the last act of a dying gunman that Terrence had shot as he entered the room.

“Come on!” he urged the two remaining women, and led them through the doorway and down the stone passage.

They followed the twisting path of the hallway and were able to make it to the front entrance only because there were no intersections or offshoots of the main route. As they hurried along, Terrence reloaded his guns. Making the final turn, he suddenly looked up to see a red-hooded man, silhouetted in the light filled doorway, with a rifle pointed directly at him. Before either the rifleman could fire or Terrence could flip closed the cylinders of his revolvers, a hand reached out from one side and grasped the gunman by the neck. Flame erupted from the fingers, engulfing first the man’s head and then his entire body. The burning rifleman fell backwards and down the fifteen steps to the ground below.

“Hurry up!” shouted Wizard Kesi, sticking his face around the corner.

Terrence and the two women rushed out of the ancient temple and down the stairs. Kesi joined them and the four ran across the twenty-yard distance to the steam carriage. The two women climbed into the back seat, and Kesi pulled himself with difficulty into the passenger spot, as Terrence went to check the engine to see that it had enough steam. It was in fact, hissing with too much pressure, but he didn’t open the release cock. They would need all the steam they could get in a scant few moments.

As if that thought were their cue, Augie and Wizard Labrith came running from around the left side of the temple. Shots flew past them and a second later, ten or more red-hooded pursuers followed them. And at that moment, a previously unseen door to the left of the one through which Terrence had entered the temple, spewed forth a dozen more cultists. Some of these men carried rifles and others carried scimitars. Terrence jumped into the driver’s seat, and released the break. He wheeled the steam carriage around and aimed it for the pathway through the jungle and back toward Nutooka. Wizard Labrith jumped onto the right running board, and Augie dived into the back seat and across the laps of the two women. Terrence slammed his foot on the accelerator. Several bullets whizzed through the jungle trees and two slammed into the back of the vehicle as they drove out of the clearing and back down the jungle road.

“No sign of the birds,” said Augie. “They must have dropped these girls off here and continued on their way.”

Augie and the two women juggled themselves around until they were all sitting side by side, squeezed together. Wizard Labrith continued to hold on and ride on the running board.

“Thank you,” said the female doctor. “I shudder to think what they were going to do to us.”

“Well, there’s no trusting fellows who go about in hoods,” said Augie.

“We’re slowing down,” said Terrence. A high-pitched whistle could be heard above the normal hissing and chugging of the steam carriage. “We’ve got a hole in the steam chamber.”

“Premba uuthanum tachthna,” whispered Wizard Labrith, then reached forward and placed his palm on the steam carriage’s bonnet. The vehicle zoomed forward with renewed vigor.

“Doctor…” said Terrence. “I’m sorry, Doctor; I don’t remember your name.”

“It’s Doctor Kelloran, Captain Dechantagne,” she replied. “Though people who save my life have permission to call me Padgett.”

“Dr. Kelloran,” he continued, tilting his head toward Kesi “Take a look at his shoulder, please.”

The doctor pulled the wad of khaki cloth from the hole in Kesi’s shoulder and created a bandage from Augie’s handkerchief, tied on with a long piece of lace that she tore from her own bloomers.

“I think he’ll be all right,” she said.

The steam carriage slowed gradually until it was moving slower than a man could walk. Terrence slammed on the brake bringing it to a stop, just as the last rays of the sun faded away. The six people climbed out and continued on foot towards the lights and sounds of Nutooka, which proved to be only a few hundred yards further. They were met at the entrance to the town by no less than four steam carriages loaded with armed sailors and led by Lieutenant Staff, who were just preparing to start off after them as a rescue party.

Terrence, Augie, the two wizards, and Dr. Kelloran were all whisked back to the Minotaur. The young native woman was returned to her family. A squad of sailors recovered Mr. Critt’s steam carriage and returned it to its owner, who had walked back to town alone. The four other carriages were returned to the port, where the sailors had borrowed them. Wizard Kesi was given a healing draught by Sister Auni, one of Father Ian’s acolytes, and had gone to bed to recover. And Captain Gurrman, having learned that having women stolen off the street was a common occurrence in Enclep, at least of late, ordered that anyone from the Minotaur going into Nutooka should go in groups of four or more and carry firearms.

Terrence stood at the porcelain basin in his cabin and washed his face, drying it with a soft white towel. Emptying his pockets onto the nightstand, he looked in the hanging mirror on the wall. He scowled unhappily at the grey hair around his ears, and then took a deep breath and slowly exhaled, ballooning his cheeks. Someone knocked on the door. He stepped across the room and opened it. Dr. Kelloran stood outside, in a white, lace dress and white hat, held fast to her head by a wide ribbon of white lace, tied under her chin.

“Captain Dechantagne,” she said. “I wanted to thank you again for saving me.”

“Don’t mention it, Doctor.”

“I know this may sound forward,” she said, “but I was wondering if you had any dinner plans.”

“I had an invitation with my sister,” he said, “but I think I’m going to skip dinner this evening.”

“I see.” They stood in silence for a moment.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Would you like to come in?”

“Thank you,” she stepped inside.

No sooner had Terrence closed the door and turned around than he found Dr. Kelloran’s arms wrapped around his neck. She pulled his face to hers and kissed him frantically, as if trying to suck his soul from him. He returned her kisses, though with less enthusiasm. She kissed his neck and ears as her hands explored his chest and stomach. Suddenly she was kneeling in front of him, unfastening his belt and undoing his pants. Terrence leaned back against the door, sighed, and looked with half-closed lids across the room, at the top of the nightstand, where the little blue bottle sat, waiting for him.

Chapter Nine: Maalik Murty

Senta watched from the deck of the H.M.S. Minotaur high above, as Iolanthe Dechantagne paced back and forth on the dock, her hands clasped tightly behind her back. Senta clasped her own hands behind her back and paced back and forth across the deck, all the while keeping watch on Miss Dechantagne from the corner of her eye. Miss Dechantagne’s older brother, Captain Dechantagne, walked up to her and she stepped close to him and spoke, emphasizing whatever words she was saying by poking her index finger into his chest. Senta walked over to the small tiny steel dragon sitting near her. He had a tiny chain fastened around his ankle, attaching him to his carrier box. She poked her finger at the dragon.

“You listen to me,” she said. “I’m very important and you are only my brother, and I am the boss, and you’d better not do anything I don’t like.”

The dragon half-heartedly snapped at her finger, which she pulled out of the way.

“Don’t tease our boy, Pet,” said Zurfina, appearing behind her.

“He doesn’t want that chain on,” said Senta.

“We can’t let him loose right now,” said the sorceress. “He’s liable to fly off into the forest and not come back until well after we’re gone.”

“He can’t fly very good.”

“That’s just what he wants you to think. Now bring him inside. I have something for you.”

Senta opened the door of the animal carrier, but the little dragon just looked at her.

“Go on,” she said. “Get in.”

The dragon made a noise more like a cat yowling than a reptile. Senta reached out and rubbed the scales on its belly. The dragon bit her on the wrist, not hard, though its needle sharp teeth still drew blood.

“Ow!”

The dragon made an apologetic noise and then crawled down into its chamber. Senta closed the carrier and then sat down. The ship was starting to spin around her. She looked down without real comprehension at her wrist and watched as the blood flowed freely down her palms, down her fingers and dripped into a puddle on the deck.

“Cheeky twonk.” said Senta, woozily.

“Oh good grief,” said Zurfina.

She bent down and pulled the large, black ribbon from Senta’s hair and tied it around the girl’s bleeding wrist. Then she picked her up and heaved her over her shoulder. Leaving the dragon in his carrier, sitting on the deck, she carried the girl to the hatch. Senta couldn’t pay any attention to the direction they were going, once below deck. It didn’t really matter. Every time they went below, they went to a different door. Once inside the door though, they were always back in their cabin. Senta wouldn’t have been able to find her own cabin without the sorceress, but Zurfina was usually there to guide her.

The cabin was spacious. It was large enough to hold two comfortable beds and had its own bathroom. It also featured a great many pictures on the walls—a few were photographs, but most were painted, and all were of Zurfina. The biggest picture was taller than Senta, and was a portrait of the sorceress sitting on a blue day couch, naked except for a pair of dark silk stockings, a silver necklace with a large, dangly pendant, and a black feather boa around her neck. The painting hung just above one of the beds.

Zurfina tossed Senta onto the bed just below the great nude painting. She walked to the other bed and opened a huge wooden trunk at its foot, rummaged around for a moment, and then approached the girl with a small brown bottle. She unwrapped Senta’s wrist, took the stopper out of the bottle, and poured some of its contents onto the bite marks, which had immediately begun to bleed again upon being exposed to the air. The liquid from the bottle was cool and clear, but it bubbled and fizzed on the blood. After a moment, Zurfina poured on a second dose, and it washed away the blood, leaving not a single bleeding hole, not a blemish, not even a scar.

“That’s the fourth time this week,” said Zurfina.

“He didn’t mean to bite me,” said Senta.

“No, he didn’t,” said the sorceress. “He’s just too little to help himself when something that looks like food gets near his mouth. Just imagine if someone who looked like a giant teacake was waving her hands around your mouth. It would be hard to resist, now wouldn’t it?”

“Now I’m hungry,” said Senta.

“You’ll be very excited to hear then that we are having dinner with Miss Dechantagne. You’ll be able to watch her from up close,” Zurfina smirked. “Believe me. That will be even more fun.” She sat the small, brown bottle on the floor by the bed.

“Yay,” said Senta.

“Have a crumpet to tide you over.” Seemingly from nowhere, the sorceress produced a small plate with a steaming crumpet covered with melted butter and strawberry jam, and a small glass of milk. Senta ate the crumpet quickly, and wiped the excess butter on her dress. Then she drank the milk. When she was done, the plate and glass went mysteriously back to wherever they had come from.

“Now,” said Zurfina, producing a large sewing needle. “I’m going to pierce your ears, Pet.”

“Is it going to hurt?”

“Yes,” said Zurfina, grabbing the girl’s earlobe and sticking the needle through it.

Senta screamed. The sorceress didn’t wait for the girl to stop screaming. She took the needle and plunged it through her other earlobe. Then, while the girl’s crying lessened to a weeping, she pulled out two hoops of gold, about an inch in diameter, and placed one in each of the girl’s ears. Retrieving the brown bottle from the bedside, she poured a bit of the clear liquid on each of the tiny holes she had just made. Senta took a deep, sobbing breath.

“All right, stop crying. It doesn’t even hurt anymore.”

The girl stuck out her tongue. Zurfina returned the gesture.

“You’ll thank me later,” she said. “This will improve your eyesight.”

“Maro just got glasses,” said Senta.

“Boys don’t make passes at girls who wear glasses.”

“I don’t want any boys to make passes at me.”

“Good. Now pay attention. It’s time to learn a little something more about the art.”

“I can do lots of magic now,” said Senta.

“Yes you can, Pet. But those are all little magics. You want to be able to do big magic as well.”

“Like you and the two wizards?”

“Like me, and far more than our two wizard friends.

“You already know something of the basic nature of magic. It’s a residue of ancient power and it is spread across the world in an uneven pattern. Some places it’s very thick and other places very thin. Many people have found ways to draw upon that power, but they all do so in one of two ways.

“Wizards tap into the magic by using something called mathematics. They create long and complex equations that force their minds to work in a way that they normally don’t. When they’ve done this, they can see the magic forces and tap into them. Every time they want to cast a spell, they have to reset their minds to be ready for it, by studying their equations. And once they’ve cast that spell, they can’t cast it again until they get it ready. That’s why they love their mathematics almost as much as they love the magic.”

“Do I need to learn mathematics?” asked Senta.

“No, Pet,” replied Zurfina. “You and I have minds that already work the right way. They’re already attuned to the magic. You see, anyone can learn mathematics, if they have someone to teach them, but it’s a very rare thing to actually feel the power of magic. Our wizard friends would do anything to get the power that we have. They would lie, cheat, beg, steal, kill. If they could cut open our heads and eat our brains to get that power, they would. But they can’t. Their minds just aren’t right.”

“That’s sad,” said Senta.

“Sad for them. Good for us. Let’s see now, which spell will you learn first.”

She put her hands on either side of Senta’s face and looked into her eyes.

“Repeat after me. Blechtore Uuthanum.”

“Blechtore Uuthanum.”

“No, not quite. Blechtore Uuthanum.”

“Blechtore Uuthanum.”

“Yes, better. Practice that for a bit.”

Zurfina left her to recite the spell quietly to herself again and again. Senta had a tingling sensation on her forehead. She wondered if this was the power of magic—whether she was beginning to sense it, like her mistress had described. When Zurfina returned, Senta wasn’t sure whether she had been gone an hour or only a few minutes.

“It’s time to get dressed for dinner,” said Zurfina. “I have your clothes laid out”

Senta walked over to the other bed, the one not below the giant picture of a naked sorceress, and found the clothes selected for her. There were of course, black bloomers and a black camisole. And then there was a thin, black sheath dress that went from her shoulders straight down all the way to her ankles, making her seem even more pencil thin than she was. The dress was silky and smooth and shimmered a little bit when she moved, but the opening around her ankles was so small that she had to take small steps. There was a matching pair of long, thin gloves that went all the way past her elbows, and another black bow for her head. A pair of black high-heeled sandals finished the outfit.

“Why do we have to dress so weird?” asked Senta.

“What do you mean ‘weird’? You look just precious.”

“That’s just me. I’m cute,” returned Senta. “What about you?”

Zurfina stood in a dress similar to Senta’s. It was however completely transparent revealing a tiny black brassier and g-string beneath, which did more to enhance the sorceress’s nakedness than to hide it. The two stars tattooed above Zurfina’s breasts were clearly visible as was the rest of the constellation—a two-inch star on each of her hip bones and one around her navel. As she turned slowly around, she exposed the eight-inch flaming sun tattoo in the small of her back and the fourteen-inch crescent moon tattoo at the top of her back

“I can see your bum!” said Senta.

“Too much?”

“Are you wearing that just to brass off Miss Dechantagne?” asked Senta.

“No. Not ‘just’.”

Zurfina snapped her fingers and the dress became opaque. She pointed at her own head and swirled her index finger around. Her hair flew for a moment, and when it settled down, it was no longer the usual spiky jungle but the same chin-length page-boy style that Senta wore, complete with the large black bow on top of her head. She slipped on her own high-heeled sandals, and long silk gloves, and she was a larger, shapelier version of the girl.

“Now we can be twins,” said Zurfina.

The sorceress took the girl by the hand and led her out the cabin door, shutting it behind them. This time the door was in the hall next to the cabin of Miss Dechantagne. Striding down the hall toward them was a young naval officer with bright red hair and freckles. He tugged at his tight collar with one index finger. From the opposite direction came a shapely, dark-haired woman, slightly shorter than Zurfina, in a nicely made and fashionable white dress.

“Well, a good evening to all,” said Zurfina.

“Good evening,” said the woman. The young officer smiled unevenly and looked pale.

“Shall we make our entrance?” Zurfina knocked on the door, which was opened by a servant. The sorceress entered, followed by the others.

The servant led them to the tiny dining room and placed them at the table. Only then did Miss Dechantagne make her entrance, filling the last seat. Already present at the table was Augustus Dechantagne smiling happily, his eyes drinking in Zurfina’s shape. Next to him sat Miss Lusk, pretty and red haired, to whom Senta had spoken several times. And beside her, at the end of the table, was matronly grey-haired woman, whose eyes narrowed at Senta and her mistress. Miss Dechantagne introduced Zurfina, Miss Lusk, and her brother Augustus. The serious looking older woman she introduced as Mrs. Marjoram, who back in the great city, owned several bakeries. The shapely, dark haired woman was Dr. Kelloran. And the young, freckle-faced officer was introduced as Lieutenant Baxter.

“And what is the child’s name?” asked Miss Dechantagne.

“My name is Senta Bly,” said the girl, realizing a moment later that this was the first time she had spoken to the woman she had watched so many times before.

Two waiters served dinner beginning with steamed shrimps on a bed of fresh lettuce with tart vinaigrette, and a light, crisp white wine. Chilled asparagus soup and a bubbly pink wine followed this. The main course was toad-in-the-hole: savory sausages, potatoes, broccoli, and small sweet onions baked in a savory pudding batter. This was served with a dark red wine from Mirsanna. Senta tucked in and ate quite a lot. Even so, by the time she took the first sip of her Mirsannan wine, she already felt her head wobbling from side to side.

“Do you think the child should be drinking wine?” said Mrs. Marjoram, clicking her tongue.

“Pish posh,” said Zurfina. “Wine is good for the soul.”

“I am sure that Father Ian would not agree with you,” said Mrs. Marjoram

“You would know better than me,” said the sorceress.

“Better than I,” corrected Mrs. Marjoram.

“Better than either of us then.”

“I am sorry to see that Captain Dechantagne is not dining with us this evening,” said Dr. Kelloran.

“He indicated to me that he wasn’t feeling quite himself this evening,” said Miss Dechantagne.

“Yes, poor fellow,” said Augustus Dechantagne, draining his wine glass, and waving for the waiter to refill it. “He’s been under the weather quite a lot. I don’t think the tropical air agrees with him.”

“Well I’m very glad to see you again, Lieutenant Dechantagne,” continued the doctor. “I haven’t had a chance to thank you for your part in my rescue.”

“Just doing my bit. Officer and a gentleman, and all that.” Gesturing with his wineglass, he sloshed some of it out onto the table. “And please, call me Augie. In fact, everyone here should call me Augie. And you should call me often.”

He laughed. Then Senta laughed. No one else did.

“Well I for one would like to see something done,” said Mrs. Marjoram. “Imagine, women being kidnapped off the street. And it’s not even an unusual occurrence! I mean, what do we have a military for? They should send in a battalion of marines and clear these cultists out.”

“Enclep is a big place,” said Lieutenant Baxter. “Over two hundred thousand square miles of mostly jungle and this is our only base. Our navy is stretched as far as it can be already—patrolling colonies on twelve continents as well as protecting the home front.”

“And I understand,” said Augie, pausing to take another drink, “that this ape cult is spread out over the entire region.”

“Well, I still think it is abhorrent,” said Mrs. Marjoram.

“Quite right. Quite right,” agreed Augie. “Still, we gave them the old what for.”

“Yes,” said Miss Dechantagne. “Thanks to my brothers there have been no attacks for the last three days reported in Nutooka or any of the outlying villages.”

“Oh, I don’t think they’ll be showing their faces in these parts any time soon,” said Augie. “Not that they showed their faces before, what with those hoods and all. Bit cowardly, that.”

Dessert was served and it looked wonderful. It was trifle, and Senta had seen but never tasted it before. Fresh fruit from the local market made it even more extravagant than similar preparations at Café Carlo. Strawberries, blackberries, raspberries, peaches, and kiwi were layered with sweet custard, whipped cream, and pound cake soaked in fortified wine. Even over the aroma of the wine, the smell of vanilla—which Senta had only learned existed two days before—rose up from the decadent dish. Each mouthful thrilled the girl to her core as she scooped it in and let the foison of flavor delight every taste bud. And when she finished, a waiter brought her another piece! Along with this wonderful dessert, they served tiny little glasses of blackberry liqueur.

“So, we will be able to leave tomorrow?” asked Miss Lusk.

“Tomorrow evening,” said Miss Dechantagne. “Our restocking has generally been a success, but I wanted to acquire some seeds of the local plants and some saplings of the fruit trees. These will be arriving, hopefully, in the morning.”

“To a successful voyage!” said Augie, raising his glass in a toast.

“To a successful voyage,” repeated most everyone at the table.

“I don’t feel good,” said Senta.

“Too much wine?” asked Mrs. Marjoram, pointedly.

“I think I’m going to overflow.”

“Not in here,” said Miss Dechantagne, sternly.

“Why don’t you go up on deck and get some air, Pet,” said Zurfina.

Senta got up from her chair and found that her legs were decidedly wobbly, her vision was wiggly, and the two helpings of trifle in her stomach were not getting along with the toad-in-the-hole. She started for the door, but found her feet making an inexplicable turn toward the wall. One of the waiters took her by the shoulders and guided her back on track, opened the door for her, and closed it once she was in the outside corridor. It was a short trip from Miss Dechantagne’s cabin to the main deck, which was a good thing; because Senta didn’t think she could have made it much further. She grabbed hold of the railing and walked twenty or thirty steps until she came to the steel dragon, still in his animal carrier box. She sat down on top of it, and scooted down so that she could lie back across it. She closed her eyes on the bright myriad of stars looking down upon her.

She didn’t know how long she lay there, but eventually she had the feeling that someone else was there with her. She opened her eyes to see a pasty-faced man with a very round face and horn-rimmed glasses looking down at her. His hair was slicked down and oily looking and he had a pinched expression on his face that made his mouth look unnaturally small. She looked at him for several moments and he looked back and blinked several times.

“Hello,” said Senta.

“Hello,” he replied. “Are you all right?”

“I don’t know.”

The man smiled without showing his teeth. His smile reached from his chin to the middle of his nose. His eyes, magnified by glasses, stayed the same. He had no facial hair or sideburns, but he had several small cuts on his face as if he had injured himself while shaving. His suit was charcoal colored, and slightly shabby; something that Senta wouldn’t have noticed a few weeks before.

“Do you want to try getting up?” he asked.

“All right.”

Senta sat up and immediately threw up at the man’s feet. Most of the vomit splattered across the wooden deck, though a bit of it ended up on his shoes and pants cuffs.

“Gawp,” said the dragon within his carrier.

The man’s mouth twitched to one side, but all he said was, “Feeling better?”

Senta nodded.

“Good,” he said. “We should get you somewhere where you can get washed up. Do you know how to get to your cabin from here?”

“No.”

“Then, I’ll take you to my cabin.”

“Um, I don’t know.”

“You wouldn’t want anyone to see you with vomit all over your shoes, would you?”

Senta looked down and, sure enough, she had gotten vomit on her own shoes too. The man took her by the hand and pulled her to her feet. She was still pretty wobbly. He began to walk slowly along the deck, pulling her along with him.

“Gawp,” said the dragon, louder.

They went in the doorway just behind the one through which Senta had exited, and walked down the corridor. Senta started to feel a little better. At the end of the hallway, a set of narrow steps led down to the lower deck. Senta didn’t really want to go down, but the pasty-faced man had her hand firmly in his.

“Senta!”

Senta and the man both turned to see Miss Lusk walking down the hallway toward them. Though she was the shortest of the women that had been at the dinner party that evening, Miss Lusk was almost the exact same height as the oily-haired man. Her hat, which was a large straw affair covered in pink chiffon with a flower accent, made her seem a bit taller than him.

“Where are you going, Senta?” asked Miss Lusk.

“We were just going to get her cleaned up,” said the man. “The poor thing got sick on deck and lost her dinner.”

“Good evening, Mr. Murty,”

“Good evening, Miss Lusk.”

“It was very kind of you to help out with a sick child.”

“Oh, it was nothing,” he replied. They stood looking at each other for a very long moment. Senta looked from one to the other.

“Well, we’ll go on and get the child cleaned up,” said Mr. Murty.

“I think I should take it from here.”

“Oh?”

“I’m sure it wouldn’t be appropriate for you to take the child below.”

“Wouldn’t be appropriate?” he asked. “Why not?”

“Taking care of children isn’t a man’s job.” Miss Lusk took Senta’s other hand and pulled until the child had both arms stretched out in either direction.

“I really don’t mind. I love children,” said Mr. Murty.

“You’ll make quite a father one day, I’m sure.”

“Let me take her.”

“I’ll take care of her,” said Miss Lusk. “I am a woman.”

“Yes, I keep forgetting,” said Mr. Murty, letting go of Senta’s hand. “Um, what with your, um, mathematics skills and all.”

“Good night, Mr. Murty!” Miss Lusk hurried down the hall with the girl in tow.

Miss Lusk led Senta forward and then down a different set of narrow stairs. They went quickly down three flights and then up the corridor a short ways to a door, which Miss Lusk unlocked and entered, pulling the girl in after her. It was a small room, only half the size of that in which Senta and Zurfina stayed. It held a single chair and a single bed. The redheaded woman set Senta on the mattress and had her lie back.

“Didn’t your mother tell you not to talk to strangers?” she asked.

“No.”

“Well, she should have. Somebody should have.” Miss Lusk bit her lip. “You are an orphan, aren’t you?”

Senta nodded.

“Zurfina should be watching out for you. And stay away from Mr. Murty. Do you understand? Mr. Murty is not a good man.”

Senta nodded in acknowledgement, but she was only half aware of what Miss Lusk was saying. As she lay on the bed, she felt the awareness inexorably leaving her body and a few moments later, she passed into dreamless sleep. When consciousness returned to her, it wasn’t as if she crossed a barrier between the sleeping and the waking world. She was just suddenly awake. The room was completely dark. She stood up and felt around, finding something leaning against the foot of the bed. It was a parasol.

“Uuthanum,” said Senta, touching the parasol with her index finger.

The handle of the parasol began to glow with magic, as bright as a gas-powered lamp. The slightly blue tinted light illuminated every corner of the tiny room. Senta realized that one of her shoes had fallen off, and she picked it up off the bed and slipped it back on her foot. Miss Lusk now asleep in her nightclothes was curled up in the only chair. Her pretty red hair was brushed smooth and hung loosely over her shoulders. Senta reached out and opened the cabin door just as the magic light faded out.

The hallway was illuminated from the far end by morning light streaming in a pair of portholes. Senta walked towards the staircase that led up to the deck. She had passed only two other cabins when the door right beside her opened and a man backed out into the hallway. He carefully and quietly closed the door after him. When he turned it around, Senta realized that it was Augustus Dechantagne.

“Oh, hello,” he said, when he saw the girl.

“Hello.”

“Are you feeling better this morning?”

Senta nodded.

“Good. May I be your escort up to breakfast?” He held out his arm for her, and she took it, feeling silly, but at the same time all grown up.

The door through which Augie had exited opened and a blond woman, whom Senta could see was completely naked, stuck her shoulder out.

“Lieutenant Dechantagne, you forgot your hat,” she said. A supple arm snaked out and held a khaki slouch hat.

“Oh, thank you, Miss Kilmurray, or as the lizzies in Birmisia say ‘Ssisthusso’” said Augie, taking the hat. “I um, hope we have another chance to discuss botany.”

Senta was not particularly worldly, having spent most of her life with her Granny, rather than living as many children did, in relatively confined spaces with parents who were openly affectionate. On the other hand, she had been living for several weeks with Zurfina, who was noted more for her indiscretions than her discretion. Senta knew that it was not necessary to be completely naked to study botany, even though she was not sure exactly what botany was. Miss Kilmurray closed the door though, ending such supposition, and Senta went arm in arm with Augie, as he had asked to be called, up to the rear deck of the ship, where breakfast was being served.

“I’ve been searching for you everywhere, Pet,” said Zurfina, meeting them beside the railing near the serving tables. “Imagine my exasperation at finding you in such disreputable company.”

“I beg your pardon,” said Augie.

“If you insist.”

Senta left both Augie and Zurfina who, despite having apparently been searching for her, didn’t seem to have anything urgent to say. For some reason she felt enormously hungry, so she stepped into the queue for breakfast. The meal was porridge with brown sugar and soldiers, slices of toast cut into thirds. The line moved quickly and Senta was able to grab her breakfast and step off to a relatively quiet corner of the deck. She sat down cross-legged and watched the other people.

Zurfina was still talking with Augie. Mr. Korlann was ordering people here and there to make sure that all of the people on deck were fed in a timely manner. Mrs. Marjoram was eating her breakfast with a large group of other women. And Dr. Kelloran was on deck as well, not eating at all, apparently looking for something or someone. After a moment, she interrupted Augie’s conversation to ask him something, which made Zurfina scowl. She didn’t stay though, and as soon as she left the Lieutenant’s attention was wholly back on the sorceress.

“Hullo.”

A boy had walked right up to Senta and stood in front of her while she had been busy watching the others on deck. Senta knew that there were other children on board. In fact she had seen many of them here and there around the ship, usually with their mothers, but she had not interacted with any of them. She was usually with Zurfina or the tiny steel dragon, both of which mothers tended to keep their children away from. This boy was about Senta’s own age. He had short-cropped brown hair and freckles. He wore pants that had probably fit him perfectly when he was three inches shorter and a slightly tight shirt with tan and white horizontal stripes. He was showing off his very large teeth in a broad smile.

“Hello.”

“What’s your name?”

“Senta Bly. What’s yours?”

“Graham. Graham Dokkins. I know where there’s a crab.”

“Is it alive?”

“No.”

Senta looked over at Zurfina, who was still talking with Augie.

“Let’s go have a look.” She said.

Chapter Ten: Yuah and Pantagria

The large field of purple flowers stretched in any direction as far as the eye could see. The one-foot tall flowers, each with five petals danced back and forth, enjoying the sunlight streaming down from above. In unison, they blinked the very human looking eye that was located in the center of each flower. Amid this endless field of purple flowers was a large flat rock, roughly disc shaped about ten feet in diameter. Lying on the rock, on a red blanket was Terrence Dechantagne. His nude body exulted, as did the flowers, in the warm rays of the sun.

“Are you happy?” asked a voice from above.

Pantagria floated down from the sky, her huge, feathered wings outstretched. They were twelve feet from tip to tip and as white as the clouds, as white as newly fallen snow, as white as faith and hope. The rest of her body was smooth and supple and sublime and beautiful and completely naked. Her feet came gently to rest beside Terrence and he gazed up at her lovely face and that perfect body. Her long blond hair cascaded down her shoulders, impossibly thick, almost to her waist. Her eyes were spaced wide above her prominent cheekbones and small but perfectly formed nose. Her full lips smiled crookedly exposing straight teeth as white as her wings.

It had been years ago that he had first met Pantagria. She had been as different as he had been. A beautiful child, an impossibly beautiful child with great white wings and cascading golden curls; she had been waiting for him in her little cottage. The little cottage had been there in the unearthly field of unearthly flowers in whatever unreal world the mind retreated to when milky magic was applied to young eyes. And Terrence had retreated there, with his boy’s body and old man’s soul, and Pantagria had welcomed him, and had enfolded his body in her own body which then had been only a bud and not the brilliant rose that it would later become.

“I am so glad to meet you,” she had said. “I have been waiting just for you.”

He had only sobbed into her shoulder.

“Tell me everything,” she had said.

“He shot her! He shot her right there!”

“Why? Why did he shoot her?”

“He found her. He found her with Mudgett.” He had broken into sobs again and she had pulled him tight against her.

“There, there,” she had said. Her large white wings had flexed out and folded back again.

“He shot them both.”

“Are they both dead?”

“Mudgett got away. He tried to shoot him, but he got away. Then he shot her again. And she’s dead.”

“But you’re all right. You’ll be all right.”

“How can I be all right?” he had wailed. “I don’t have a mother!”

“You won’t need a mother,” Pantagria had said. “You won’t need anything else but me. And I’ll always be yours.”

“Are you happy?” the fully-grown Pantagria asked again. Her wings folded behind her and she sat down beside Terrence.

“How could I not be?”

“You could have the sudden, stark, and horrifying realization that none of this is real.”

“I already know that none of this is real.”

“Do you?” she asked, stroking his cheek.

“Of course.”

“How about me?” Pantagria kissed him lightly on the lips.

“Oh, you’re not real either.” He sighed

She stuck out her lower lip, pouting. He laughed.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “I love you more because you’re not real.”

“How can that be?”

“You are unequalled. Nobody in the real world is unequalled. Everyone has a flaw.”

“I thought it was the flaws that made you unique. Isn’t slightly flawed and real better than perfect but unreal?”

“No,” he said. “Everyone has a flaw. Everything has a flaw.”

“Can’t something be good without being perfect?”

“I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “You’re going to make me wake up and I don’t want to waste a full dose.”

“Too late,” she said, as the world started to drain of its color around him.

That world faded away. Pantagria faded away. The rock and the endless field of purple flowers faded away. Terrence was once again lying on his bed in his cabin aboard the H.M.S. Minotaur. Someone was knocking at the door. He sat up and looked at the door but didn’t get up to open it. The person on the outside pounded on the door, changing from knuckles to the ball of the fist. Terrence just sat. Whoever it was finally went away.

Picking up the tiny blue bottle on the nightstand, he held it up to the light and gauged how much of the milky liquid remained. The bottle was almost completely empty. He had been rubbing the potion onto his eyes continuously and had almost used it up. He would have to go get another bottle from Oyunbileg. He couldn’t quit just yet. He just needed Pantagria a little bit longer. Maybe he would buy two bottles. Money was no problem. Maybe seven bottles: he probably wouldn’t be able to find any more in Mallon. Maybe one really big bottle. The ship suddenly rolled with a wave, and he had to steady himself with a hand on the nightstand, knocking over a drinking glass as he did so.

“Bugger!” he cried. Shoving the blue bottle under his bed pillow, he jumped up and ran out the door, down the corridor and out onto the deck. The ship was at sea. There was not a speck of land anywhere on the horizon.

“Bugger all!” he shouted.

A couple of female passengers stopped in their tracks and stared at him. He thought for a moment that they might be offended by his language, but then realized that they were probably staring because he was completely nude. He quickly went back to his cabin and closed the door. He punched the cabin wall with his fist and grimaced in pain. He wanted to throw something and break it, but it seemed that the only thing breakable in the cabin was the small blue bottle under the pillow, and now it was the only one he was going to have. Someone knocked on the door again.

“Sod off!” he bellowed.

The door opened and Yuah Korlann, his sister’s dressing maid stuck her head inside the room.

“Kafira’s fanny. You look like crap,” she said.

He grabbed a towel and threw it around his waist and then stepped over to look in the hanging mirror on the cabin wall. He did look like crap. He looked thin and pale and weak. His cheeks were sunken and his face was pasty white. Most grim of all were his eyes. The whites of his eyes no longer deserved that name. They were beyond bloodshot. The blood vessels had completely ruptured and every bit of surface outside of his irises was solid, uninterrupted red. He felt unsteady. His knees wobbled slightly.

“What day is it?”

“It’s exactly one week since anyone on the ship has seen you. That’s what day it is. Have you eaten anything in the last week? Have you had a drink, and I mean of water?”

Terrence looked over at the nightstand—at the pitcher of water, now empty, and drinking glass, now lying on its side.

“I had some water…earlier. Yesterday, I think.”

“Bloody hell, Terrence. I can’t believe you’re doing this again.”

“On a first name basis now, are we?” he asked.

“Don’t give me that crap. Who took care of you last time?”

“You’re not my sister.”

“No,” she agreed. “And you’re not your sister either, so shut the hell up. Get some clothes on. I’m going to get some water.”

Yuah picked up both the pitcher that had held drinking water, and the pitcher that matched the washbasin in the corner of the room and left the cabin. Terrence quickly moved the tiny blue bottle to the ammunition pouch of his pistol belt. The dressing maid returned after a few minutes with both pitchers full of water. She took the first and filled the glass from the nightstand, handing it to Terrence. The second pitcher she poured into the matching washbasin on its stand. Then she left once again. Terrence drank the water in the glass and then washed his face. Yuah entered again, this time with a plate containing a crumpet with jam and a glass of milk, both of which she handed to him.

Terrence sat down and ate, though this made his stomach a bit upset. Yuah stood over him and watched as he downed every single bite. Then she pulled a small brown bottle from her pocket.

“Lie on your back,” she ordered. “I nicked this from your sister.”

She pulled the stopper from the bottle and poured a little bit of the liquid within into his right eye.

“Ow, dammit! Are you trying to blind me?”

“Shut up. This is a healing draught,” she said, pouring more into his other eye. “You’ve got a lot of nerve, asking if I’m trying to blind you, when you’re rubbing that crap into your eyeballs.”

“What do you know about it?”

“I know it all,” she said. “Go ahead. Ask me anything. White Opthalium. Visio. See Spice. Made from rare enchanted lotus blossoms and blue fungus from Southern Enclep, whipped together with a little bit of witch-doctor magic. All designed to take you away from your problems in the real world.”

“How do you know all that?” Terrence sat up.

“I did my research a long time ago. Someone had to take care of you, you know.”

“Yes. I remember. So why did you take care of me… then, I mean?”

“I had quite a big crush on you then, not that you ever noticed.”

“Why would I notice? You were a skinny little kid.”

“Yes, well…”

“So why are you helping me now?” he asked. “Do you still have a crush on me?”

“Don’t you wish? You’re important to this expedition. Whether you believe it or not, your sister needs you.”

“Are you going to tell her about this?”

“Are you kidding me?” asked Yuah. “She would be right pissed if she found out about this. Not to mention, half the colonists would want to pack it in if they found out you were off your trolley.”

“You think I’m mad, then?”

“Yes, I do,” she said.

They sat in silence for a moment.

“It doesn’t matter anyway,” he said. “I’m all out. I didn’t even realize we had left port. I was planning to go back and get more at the marketplace.”

“That’s for the best then. Your sister wants to see you. She was trying to find you this morning and couldn’t. When I went to get her healing draught, I told her you had food poisoning, and wouldn’t be about for a few hours.”

“Thanks,” said Terrence.

“Come over to her cabin and I’ll draw you a bath. You need it. Then you can shave and have something more to eat and whatever else.”

“What about Iolanthe?”

“She was just leaving to go up to the observation deck and meet Lieutenant Staff. I doubt she’ll be down for hours. I think she’s going soft for him.”

“Iolanthe? Don’t be stupid. She’ll never go soft for anyone.”

Terrence gathered up his shaving kit, a freshly laundered set of clothes, and his spare boots and followed Yuah to his sister’s cabin, which was only a dozen yards away. Iolanthe’s cabin, which had once belonged to the captain, had its own bathroom with a small tub. Yuah filled the tub with hot soapy water and Terrence soaked in it while he shaved using his straight razor and a small handheld mirror. He had shaved on battlefields, and on trains, and once on the back of a horse, so he managed a close shave without cutting himself even once. He noticed in the mirror too, that his eyes were no longer the bloodshot mess they had been. He put on fresh underwear and a clean set of his tailor-made khaki jungle garb and stepped out of the bathroom to find his sister’s dressing maid awaiting him.

“They’re serving lunch on the aft deck now,” she said. “It might do you some good to get out in the fresh air. It might be good for some people to see you too.”

They walked out onto the deck together and stood for a moment by the railing. The warmth of the sun on his skin reminded Terrence of the sun on his body in that other place—the place where Pantagria awaited him. Something startled him as it leapt up onto the railing next to him. Judging by the shocked squeak that Yuah let out, she was just as surprised as he was. Terrence thought at first that it was a sea bird or one of the large flying reptiles common in the skies above Greater Brechalon, but it was Zurfina’s small steel dragon.

“Gawp!” it said.

The steel dragon was a magnificent little creature. About four feet long from the tip of its snout to the small barb at the end of its tale, it was completely covered in scales that were perfectly meshed together. All four of its feet had grasping claws that enabled it to crouch on the railing and keep its balance despite the rolling sway of the ship. Its head was just as covered by its armor as any other part of its body, but it had the beginnings of horns growing from the top and sides of its face, though they looked less like horns than they did metal spikes. Something that Terrence had not noticed before was the dozen or so cat-like whiskers around the little dragon’s long, thin snout. Its wings, which were folded neatly on its back, were also covered with shiny steel scales, far too heavy to carry the creature in flight. They were however as beautiful as the rest of the beast. This would have been a terrifying monster indeed, had it been ten times its size, and had it not been wearing a baby bonnet.

“Baby!” called a child’s voice and Zurfina’s young ward ran toward them.

“Gawp!” The dragon said. It leaped over the railing of the ship, opening its wings and soaring into the sky, disproving Terrence’s assumption that the beast was too heavy to be supported by the air. It flew several hundred feet up, circled, and suddenly dived down into the sea.

“Baby!” called the girl again, looking over the side at the waves.

The dragon shot back out of the ocean and beat its wings forcefully until it once again reached the ship’s deck. It settled down about twenty feet away. Its sharp teeth now held a small silver fish with golden fins—Terrence thought it was a perch, though he was no fisherman. The large reptiles that roamed above the seas near home often scooped up fish from the ocean then maneuvered them into position so that they could swallow them whole. The little steel dragon again defied Terrence’s expectations, by setting the fish on deck, placing its front right foot on it, and then ripping off the fish’s head and chewing it before swallowing.

The girl ran over and grabbed the dragon by the neck with her hands, and pressed her face to the side of its face. For its part, the dragon didn’t seem to mind. It simply pulled away, bent down, and took another bite of the fish. This time the soggy baby bonnet that the creature wore, slipped down over its eyes. The girl pulled it back into place and gave the dragon another hug.

“Do you think that’s safe?” asked Yuah.

Terrence grunted noncommittally. “Let’s go on back. I’m starving.”

Leaving the little girl to fawn over the dragon and the dragon to eat the last bit of remaining fish, Terrence and Yuah walked toward the rear of the ship. The sun was now nearing its zenith and the air was warm and humid. The ship swayed from side to side as it pushed through the relatively calm seas. More than a few people were coming out onto the deck to enjoy the sunshine, or to make their way back to the stern for their meals. Looking up, Terrence saw Suvir Kesi arm in arm with an attractive blond woman walking toward them.

“Captain Dechantagne,” said Kesi, with his unusual accent. “Good to see you again. Have you met Miss Kilmurray?”

“I have not until now had that pleasure,” Terrence said, reaching out to take her hand. “And you know Miss Korlann?”

“Of course,” said Kesi. “Your father is doing quite a job.”

“Thank you,” said Yuah.

“Wizard Kesi,” said Terrence. “I need to speak to you in confidence about some expedition business. Yuah, would you mind taking a place in the queue for me?”

“I’ll join you,” said Miss Kilmurray, and the two women walked away.

“Something your sister needs?” asked Kesi.

“No, it’s something I need. I want you to find me some white visio.”

“It would be easier to get you some blessudine.”

“Just get me the white visio. And no questions asked.”

“All right,” said the wizard. “I might know where I could find some onboard. It won’t be much, and don’t ask me how or where I get it.”

“I don’t care where you get it or how. I just want you to get it, and no one is to know that I have it.”

“Fine,” said Kesi. “I didn’t take you for a seer.”

“Never mind. How soon can you get it to me?”

“If I can get it, I’ll have it by tonight. Is that soon enough?”

“Fine. Thanks.”

Terrence left the wizard and followed the women. As they did three times each day, the expedition’s cooks had set up several tables and prepared huge quantities of food which they served to the passengers. Quite a few off-duty sailors took advantage of the offerings as well, which were well above the level of ordinary naval food. Terrence didn’t usually follow suit. He often went to dinner with his sister. At other times, he had food delivered to his room. And of course over the past several days, he hadn’t eaten at all. Yuah had already made her way through the line and brought him a plate piled high with golden fried fish and chips and a cold bottle of beer.

“Oh, that’s ace!” said Terrence. “I haven’t had fish and chips since we left home.”

“Don’t eat too fast,” said Yuah. “I don’t know how fried food is going to sit on the stomach of someone who’s been starving himself.”

The fish was delicious, flakey and white, battered and fried in oil, and the chips were perfect. Neither upset Terrence’s stomach at all, but he found that he felt full long before he had eaten half of what Yuah had brought for him. He handed the plate back to her and she began eating what he had not.

“Why didn’t you get yourself a plate?”

“It’s more fun to share,” she said.

“I’m really tired now,” said Terrence. “I think I need to go back to my cabin for a nap.”

“That’s fine,” said Yuah. “But I’m going to come and get you up in two hours. I don’t want you wasting away in there.”

“Yes, mother.”

Terrence stood up. He noticed that a crowd of passengers was standing near the rail, talking loudly. Some were pointing at something over the side. Walking over to join them and to have a look for himself, Terrence saw a huge turtle paddling through the water. It was traveling in the same direction as the Minotaur, but would soon be left behind by the battleship. With the possible exception of a very large alligator or two, the turtle was the largest reptile he had ever seen. It was easily as big as a steam carriage, each of its four flippers as long as a man. Terrence watched it swim along the surface, no doubt enjoying the warming rays of the sun, until the ship had left it far behind.

Making his way back to his cabin, Terrence kicked off his boots and washed his face and hands in the basin. He retrieved his tiny indigo bottle from his ammunition pouch and looked at it in the light. There was what looked distressingly like a single drop at the bottom. If Wizard Kesi couldn’t find him some more, there would barely be enough for a single dose. It would be another two weeks before they reached their final destination in Birmisia. Once there, it might be possible to procure a small amount. Black market items were usually available anywhere. The problem would be the price he told himself, even though a certain part of him knew that he would pay the price no matter what it was. He hid the bottle under his mattress and then lay down and went to sleep.

He woke up with the strange sensation of something right above his face. Opening his eyes, he saw that it was Yuah. Her face was less than a foot above his. They stared at each other for a moment.

“I thought I locked the door,” he said.

“You did.”

“And you’ve taken to breaking and entering?”

“In this case. I had to make sure that you were all right.”

“You mean that you had to make sure I wasn’t ‘seeing’,” he said.

“Well….” She shrugged.

“Are you going to be my nursemaid from now on, or just for the rest of the day?”

“I haven’t decided yet.”

“Well, what now?” asked Terrence.

“Let’s walk around the deck for a while before dinner,” she said. “You can be my escort and everyone can start talking about us.”

“See, I knew you still had a crush on me.”

“I don’t have crushes on addicts.”

“I don’t escort flat-chested bints,” he said. “And I’m not an addict.”

“You’ll have to prove that to me,” she said. “And I’m not flat-chested, not really. Come on. Get your boots on and let’s go for a stroll.”

Yuah continued to talk to herself while Terrence pulled on his boots. “Some people can get anything they want. Not me. I’m just the flat-chested dressing maid that keeps saving his life. He wouldn’t want to be seen with me though. I’m just another Zaeri that he wouldn’t give the time of day to.”

“I didn’t say anything about you being a Zaeri,” he said. “You know that’s not important to me.”

“It’s important to everyone.”

“It’s not important to me. I learned a long time ago—Kafirite God or Zaeri God, he’s a heartless bastard.”

They stepped outside and Terrence was surprised to find that the sun was going down. He had slept away the afternoon. Yuah slipped her arm into his, and they stood watching the great red ball that the sun had become fall behind the flat ocean horizon. It seemed to drop with incredible swiftness. Afterwards, they walked back and forth across the deck in the gathering darkness, and for the most part in silence.

“Gawp!” came a sound from around the corner, between two lifeboats.

“I have a feeling that little lizard is going to be trouble,” said Terrence.

He and Yuah followed the sound and found the baby dragon sitting beside the body of a woman. It was licking at the pool of blood forming beside her. Terrence kicked the beast aside with his boot, and knelt down to examine the body.

“It’s Miss Kilmurray,” he said. “She’s dead.”

“Did the dragon kill her?” asked Yuah.

“No. She’s been stabbed, repeatedly.

Terrence stood up. He noticed the dragon was doing something strange. It was sniffing around the ground as though it was a bloodhound.

“Wait right here,” he told Yuah, and raced back to his cabin to retrieve his revolvers. He checked both to see that they were loaded, and then strapped on his shoulder holsters. He jogged back to the scene of the murder to find Yuah, the body, and the dragon exactly where he had left them.

“All right dragon, let’s see if you can hunt.”

The dragon started sniffing along the ground. It moved along as though it were following an invisible line across the deck.

“Give me a couple of minutes,” he told Yuah, as he walked away following the small beast. “Then go report this to Lieutenant Staff.”

Yuah nodded, and then added. “Be careful.”

The steel dragon led Terrence into a nearby hatch, and then down a series of narrow staircases until they reached the lowest decks of the ship. The corridors were filled with steam and were dimly lit. The dragon continued on at a quickened pace, moving toward the stern section where the engines were located. Through a zigzag of hallways and cross-sections, Terrence tried to be as stealthy as possible. He thought it must be his imagination, but it seemed to him that the dragon was moving more stealthily as well. The hallway ended in one of the engine room compartments. Terrence didn’t know if it was the main engine room or one of the auxiliary rooms, but it was filled with huge machines, pumping and whistling and releasing steam from numerous vents.

Hearing voices ahead, Terrence drew one of his revolvers and moved forward cautiously. The dragon slowed as the man moved forward and it took a position near his right foot, as though it knew how to heal like a dog. Terrence rounded one of the large boilers and saw someone through a cloud of escaping steam. Stepping through the steam, he found Professor Calliere’s assistant, Mr. Murty kneeling down beside a young girl. Terrence didn’t know the child; no doubt she was from one of the passenger families. Murty was pawing at the girl as he spoke to her.

“This is a secret meeting place,” he said. “Don’t tell anybody about it.”

“Hold it,” said Terrence, and Murty stood up. Terrence spoke to the girl. “Go to your cabin now. Never come down here again.”

The girl skirted around Terrence and the dragon, more wary of the beast than of the man with the drawn pistol. Once past them, she ran away down the hall. A moment later she was gone. Terrence turned his attention back to Murty.

“You’re a busy man this evening,” he said. “First Miss Kilmurray and now a little girl. I knew there was something wrong with you the first time I laid eyes on you. A deviant and a murderer.”

“Murderer? What are you talking about?”

The dragon hissed. Its steely grey eyes were fixed firmly on Murty.

“You can’t prove I did anything,” said Murty.

“I guess I can’t,” said Terrence. “But I don’t care.”

The gun fired four times and a fountain of blood sprang from Murty’s chest before Terrence had even realized that he had pulled the trigger. A look of shock crossed Murty’s face just before his eyes went dark and he fell backwards to the ground—dead before he reached the steel floor.

The dragon hissed again, and then in an eerily human sounding voice said. “Pet.”

Terrence bent down to stroke the dragon’s head, then pulled his hand back quickly as it took a vicious snap at him.

“Bloody hell! Didn’t you want me to pet you?”

Several sailors rushed into the room, following the sounds of gunfire. They quickly reported to the officer of the watch, and soon almost the entire compliment of ship’s officers arrived. Two days later, Lieutenant Staff concluded his investigation of the affair. It was determined that Maalik Murty had lured at least half a dozen children to secluded parts of the ship for the purposes of gratifying his own sick desires. Though no murder weapon was found, and there was nothing to conclusively connect him to the murders of Miss Astley or Miss Kilmurray, Staff concluded that he was the likely culprit. Most everyone on the ship agreed. Captain Dechantagne became the recipient of many kind words and pats on the back as well as the subject of a great many stories. Here was a man that not only rescued kidnapped women from strange jungle cults, but hunted down killers and rescued children from molesters.

Terrence sat in his cabin on the bed, reading from the Testament of Kafira.

And the Lord of hosts spake unto Jarum saying “I have brought you out of the land of your oppression and I shall send my angel to guide you to a new land, and my angel shall guard over you and your offspring in this new land and your house shall be prosperous.

There was a knock and Terrence got up, walked to the door, and opened it. Suvir Kesi was outside.

“I’m not coming in,” he said, even though Terrence had not invited him. “Here.”

Kesi handed Terrence a small leather pouch. “This is all there is on the ship. Don’t ask for any more.”

Terrence nodded, took the pouch, and closed the door. He locked it and leaned back against it. Opening the pouch, he pulled out a small blue bottle, identical to the bottle stashed under the mattress of his bed except that this new bottle was about half full of white opthalium, white visio, see spice. Eleven, maybe twelve doses. He would have to be thrifty. He’d have to be careful too. Yuah had proven that she could break into his cabin any time she wanted. If she came in while he was seeing, she’d pour all of his supply overboard. The little sneak. And he didn’t want her to see him like that again anyway.

Chapter Eleven: The Dance

“Uuthanum,” said the girl, and the teapot rose slowly up into the air and floated across to the other side of the table, coming to rest in front of Egeria Lusk.

“Brilliant!” said the short, fire-haired woman. “I see you will soon be as great a sorceress as your guardian.”

Zeah Korlann sat back in amazement. When he was Senta’s age, he had barely been able to write his own name. This child was some kind of magical prodigy. Zeah had often heard of secret wizard colleges where young men and sometimes women, young adults really, at the age of majority, went to study magic. Afterwards they would presumably apprentice with a master wizard somewhere. But he had never heard of a child casting magic spells.

“Where is your dragon today?” asked Miss Lusk

“He’s sleeping today.”

“All day?”

“Yup. He stays awake for two days at a time, and then he likes to sleep for four or five.”

“He sleeps four or five days straight through?” wondered Zeah.

“Yup. Zurfina says dragons sleep a lot. The older they get, the longer they sleep.”

Miss Lusk picked up the tea pot and poured more tea into Zeah’s cup, then Senta’s, and finally her own. She passed the plate around to each in turn, allowing them to take their share of the tiny sandwiches, made with meatless sausage and cheese between two crisps. They had biscuits for dessert. Miss Lusk had catered the whole tea herself. Zeah marveled that a woman who could master complex mathematical equations and create what she called “programs” for the most advanced machine in the world, could also provide a fine repast, seemingly at the drop of a hat. She had only learned that he would be available for tea the day before. She had also invited the sorceress’s ward. Had the two of them dined alone, people would have talked.

Tea with Miss Lusk presented a welcomed change for Zeah. Each day seemed to be just like the day before it. Almost all of his time was spent organizing activities for the passengers, which would provide the necessities of life or a change of pace to prevent boredom or depression caused by long confinement on the ship. The first two days after their departure from the island of Enclep, he had been occupied seeing to the inventorying and storage of the supplies purchased there. The following day, he had to arrange for the priests onboard and Dr. Kelloran to deal with a fungus infection that had broken out among many passengers and crew. The day after that had been washing day, which always kept him busy. It had ended with the death of Miss Kilmurray and the summary execution of Mr. Murty by Master Terrence. Zeah would have liked to have seen Murty tried for his crimes, but he was as loud in his laudation for Master Terrence as anyone else on the ship. His daughter could have easily have been Murty’s next target, or Miss Lusk. The following day, Zeah had organized a memorial service for Miss Kilmurray. Two days after that, when Lieutenant Staff had completed his investigation, Murty’s body, which had been kept on ice, was dumped unceremoniously over the side.

It was surprising to Zeah, who had expected that there would be a somber mood among the passengers following the memorial, but the atmosphere on the Minotaur actually seemed to lighten. There had been a cloud hanging over the lives of everyone onboard since the murder of Miss Astley, though most had not realized at the time that the murder was one of a series. Now with the murderer dead, people were much freer with their smiles, their attitudes, and their actions. Zeah had originally planned a series of games and activities to slowly raise people’s spirits, but had changed his plans and instead scheduled a dance. It took place the evening of Pentuary ninth, ten days after leaving Enclep.

The danced proved to be a great success and everyone who was there seemed to have a wonderful time. Miss Dechantagne surprised everyone by attending. She wore a beautiful royal blue evening gown with large balloon sleeves and a white satin belt with embroidered blue and silver silk flowers. She had a bouquet of fresh flowers at her waist and atop her curled auburn hair. And the bare expanse of her shoulders and the choker of pearls she wore made her long, thin neck look even more so.

Everyone admired Miss Dechantagne’s beauty, but Zeah found Miss Lusk’s charms even richer. She had arrived in a buttercup yellow gown with butterfly sleeves. The skirt had little pleated waves of fabric falling straight on the sides, and was trimmed with vines of embroidery in gold and beads extending down each side of the front. It was ornamented on one side with a velvet panel, and on the other with two large velvet bows.

Zeah had not yet spoken to either of the two women when Master Augie arrived with Dr. Kelloran. Lieutenant Dechantagne was dressed in a fine cutaway coat, which exposed a red waistcoat embroidered with a dragon motif. He had a new grey felt derby, which he must have purchased just before leaving Brech, with a red carnation in the band. Dr. Kelloran’s Thiss-green silk gown might not have stood out as much as those of yellow or royal blue, but it was equally fine in an understated way. Decorated with beads of jade and tiger-eye, it was wonderfully offset by her long white suede gloves.

Every passenger attending, especially the women, came in their finest clothes. It seemed less like a simple dance staged rather quickly aboard a crowded naval ship than the social event of the season. More than a few officers and sailors attended as well, and all of them wore their dress-whites. Notably absent was Lieutenant Staff, who was on duty that evening. Master Terrence was not in attendance either. Zeah thought that this was a shame, as seventy-four unmarried women, and more than a few who were married, all seemed to be looking for him.

The two most talked about entrances were the wizard Suvir Kesi and Sorceress Zurfina, whom Zeah thought must have been meeting for the first time. Kesi wore traditional Mirsannan garb—a long brown robe, lined all along the open edge with ferret skins, and reaching to short, black boots. Beneath the open robe, he wore blue silk pantaloons and a yellow and red striped silk shirt. His ever-present yellow fez with blue tassel made him visible from anywhere at the dance. Zurfina wore, or Zeah would have said “almost wore,” a black dress that was cut much like the togas worn by the ancient coastal cultures. It was loosely draped across her front, continuing to cover her breasts only through the use of magic or perhaps some kind of glue. Between her breasts, it fell to her naval and there were no sides at all above the waist. Below her waist, the dress went all the way to the floor, but there was a slit cut up one side that reached to her mid-thigh. It was the type of garment to be worn only by someone who had no care what other people thought. Zeah noticed that while many scandalized looks were aimed in the direction of the sorceress, almost no one at the dance mentioned her dress, or lack there-of. The story of her having turned a dressing maid to stone had lost nothing in the telling.

As it turned out, there was no need for Zurfina the Magnificent to be the subject of conversation. There was much to talk of. Earlier in the day, many aboard had watched a small fleet of seven ships, Enclepian Junks, sailing west toward the land that the Minotaur had so recently left. They were probably on their way back from the Mullien Islands to the feudal lands in southern Enclep, with holds full of spices and strange trade goods. Zeah was rather peeved because he had been busy at the time and had not been able to reach the deck before the square-rigged, double-ruddered, wooden sailing vessels had passed out of sight. He always seemed to miss the great sights. He had missed both the Freedonian dirigible and the school of giant whales that many passengers had noted before they had reached Enclep’s port. Despite not being able to participate in the gossip about the many strange things that had been observed from the deck of the Brech battleship, Zeah thoroughly enjoyed the dance. He danced the night away in the presence of Miss Lusk, missing only one piece, when for some unknown reason Zurfina had insisted upon his accompaniment on the dance floor.

“Mr. Korlann, you seem distracted,” said Zurfina, in her deep, sultry voice.

“I am always distracted,” said Zeah. He was in fact, trying very hard not to stare at the vast expanse of skin, which the sorceress had left uncovered. Though the two star tattoos above her breasts, which were often seen by many, were now covered, a new one around her naval was now clearly visible.

“You aren’t afraid of me, are you Mr. Korlann?”

“Of course I am,” he replied. “Does that make me less of a man?”

“No, that’s just good sense. You know, I admire you, Mr. Korlann. You have proven to be a tremendous asset to the expedition. I don’t know that Miss Dechantagne would tell you, but I will.”

“That’s very kind of you.”

“It is in fact all the more impressive,” she said, “because of your social status.”

“That I’m a Zaeri, you mean?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I mean.”

He didn’t speak for a moment.

“Did you know that I’m a Zaeri?” she asked. “At least a Zaeri by birth.”

“I wondered. Zurfina was daughter of Magnus the Great, if I’m not mistaken.”

“She was, though few remember her name today.”

“Why are you telling me this?” asked Zeah.

“I don’t know. Just making conversation.”

“Do you want to become an active member of the Zaeri community?”

“Goodness no. I’ve no more interest in religion than I have in politics.”

“What are you interested in?”

“Only magic, Mr. Korlann,” said Zurfina. “Only magic.”

The day after the dance, Zeah had spent much of his time cleaning up after all of the excitement. He managed to do so before the ship arrived at its next stop. The Mulliens were an extremely long chain of islands, some quite large though none as big as Enclep, about two thousand miles east of their previous stop. None of these lands, at least none of those explored so far, had any appreciable civilization. None had important strategic resources, so far as anyone knew. For thousands of years they had marked the edge of the known world. But today the world was known to be far larger than once thought.

The Minotaur had lowered its anchor almost a mile out to sea and had launched several boats off the coast of the small island of Swentarra. There were no ports and no major settlements on the island, so the only expectation was to stock up on fresh water from the mouth of a local river. However, a dozen outrigger canoes filled with natives soon rowed out from the beach and pulled up alongside the Minotaur. They were filled with handsome brown-skinned natives of both sexes, none of whom wore more than the tiniest of colorful loin cloths. They had filled their canoes with shells and tropical fruits and in at least one case, with a bamboo cage filled with small birds. They happily bartered with the crew and passengers of the passing ship for manufactured goods and coins, using a few rudimentary Brech or Freedonian phrases and quite a bit of pantomime. Zeah had traded a few copper pfennigs and a tortoise shell comb that he had sat on and broken for pineapple, some bananas, some kiwis, and three other fruits he had never seen before. One was green and bumpy with black spots and white flesh filled with seeds. Another was a bumpy green fruit the size of a large watermelon with black flesh and tiny green seeds. The final fruit, of which he had a small bowl full, was rather like a blackberry, but instead of growing in a little clump a half-inch long, it grew out into a cylinder longer than his finger.

The next morning, when the Minotaur was once again making its way across the vast ocean, Zeah had cut and chopped all of these strange fruits and made a salad—something he had never attempted before. He had met Miss Lusk at her door and presented the salad for breakfast. They had enjoyed it on the deck of the ship, despite the rather windy conditions that morning. Miss Lusk praised Zeah’s salad so much that he could not help but be proud of himself. Then she offered to repay his kindness by inviting him to tea, and here he was sitting at the table Miss Lusk had set up in her cabin, along with the sorceress’s apprentice, enjoying tiny meatless sausage and cheese sandwiches.

“I’m going to go now,” said Senta.

“You should say ‘please excuse me, I enjoyed the tea’,” said Miss Lusk.

“Please excuse me. I enjoyed the tea.”

“Be good, sweetie,” said Miss Lusk, kissing the child on the forehead. Zeah felt his face flush with blood when he realized he was thinking about Miss Lusk kissing him on the forehead. A few moments later the girl was gone and Miss Lusk was returning to the table.

“I suppose that I should be leaving as well,” said Zeah, standing up.

“Don’t leave yet,” said Miss Lusk. “I think that we should talk about us.”

“I uh… I don’t think I want to talk about us.”

“Why not?”

“Because any discussion about us is going to leave me very unhappy,” said Zeah. “There can’t be any ‘us’, and so there won’t be.”

“Now why would you say that?”

“There are some insurmountable problems that you are refusing to see.”

“What problems are those?”

Well, the age difference for one thing.”

“The age difference is not insurmountable. I’m twenty-seven and you’re forty-eight.”

“I’m forty-nine.”

“You’re forty-nine. It doesn’t matter. Twenty-two years difference. Eight thousand two hundred fifty days.”

“You may be showing off your mathematics skill, but you’re not helping your argument. How many days in two years?”

“Seven hundred fifty. Why?”

“Because that’s how much the age difference is between you and my daughter. That number is actually a bit more comforting than I thought it would be.”

“Older men in Brech often marry younger women.”

“Rich older men.”

“Sometimes.”

“I’m just a butler.”

“You were a butler. Already you have moved on to a more important role in this expedition, whether you or Miss Dechantagne realize it or not. When we reach Mallon, you will find that you have far more to offer than you ever thought possible.”

“How can you know that?”

“Because I am very smart,” she said. “I am in fact, the smartest person on this ship, so you have to recognize that anything I tell you is a fact.”

“There are bigger things,” he said.

“Bigger thing, you mean,” she said. “The issue of religion.”

“Yes,” he said. “I’m a Zaeri. You are a Kafirite.”

“Do you want me to convert?” she asked.

“You have no idea what that means. You have no idea what it means to be a Zaeri.”

“No, I don’t. But I’m not really a Kafirite. My family were Kafirites. But my parents are dead now, and those family that are still alive, I haven’t spoken to in years. I don’t attend church, and quite frankly, I’m not one for ritual of any kind. I didn’t even attend my university graduation. Besides, do you know what it will be like being a Zaeri in Mallon? Is there even a Zaeri Imam among the passengers?”

“No and no.”

“Well, there you go,” Miss Lusk said, stepping to his side. “We are going to be the ones who create a life in this new world. I think we should do it together.”

She stepped up onto her tiptoes and gave him a kiss on the cheek. She said. “Personally, I think you should begin planning our courtship.”

The next day Zeah was busy organizing a community laundry activity. Though passengers were of course responsible for their own clothing, Zeah had noticed early on in the voyage that there was a tendency for this chore to fall behind with the majority of people. Like the bath day, he found that a community laundry day not only allowed people a chance to get caught up on their cleaning, but gave them an excuse for a social event—killing two shrews with one stone, as it were. He was issuing directions to the women who had volunteered for this activity and to the men who arranged the washbasins, hauled the water hose around, and carried the large bags of detergent, when he was approached by Wizard Kesi. The Mirsannan wore his usual flamboyant clothes. This time they consisted of bright red silk pants and shirt and a light blue silk waistcoat, in addition to his usual yellow fez.

“Good day to you, Mr. Korlann,” he said, his Mirsannan accent thick.

“Good day, Wizard Kesi.”

“Mr. Korlann, I was wondering if you have seen the sorceress, Zurfina, lately. I am still looking for her and after two fortnights, I have not been able to arrange a meeting.”

“I’m sorry. I thought that you had seen her at the dance three nights ago.”

“I was not aware that she was at the dance.”

“If you missed her, you must have been the only one.”

“I did not see her. What was she wearing?”

“Very little.”

“But I heard no one mention her.”

“Well, people don’t really speak of her, at least not when she’s nearby,” said Zeah. “They were certainly looking at her though.”

Several people near the ship’s railing suddenly called out. Zeah heard one of them cry “turtle!”

“Excuse me, Wizard Kesi,” he said. “I need to see this.”

Zeah stepped quickly over to join the passengers and the wizard followed him. Looking down into the deep blue water below, he saw an enormous turtle paddling along at a leisurely pace.

“It’s even bigger than the other one,” said one of the women nearby, which for some reason made Zeah happy.

Suddenly something shot out of the inky depths below the turtle, striking it just beneath the right front flipper and knocking it at least twenty feet into the air. An awesome alligator-like snout snapped shut, chopping off nearly a quarter of the turtle’s body. The creature that owned the massive head, which was mostly mouth, flipped over in a tremendous acrobatic display. It had a thick but sleek eel-shaped body, with four massive flippers and heavy tail. It swam in a circle and came back to strike the turtle a second time, chomping off another quarter of the animal in a great bite.

“A Kronosaurus,” said a voice over Zeah’s shoulder. It was Professor Calliere. “Amazing creature, isn’t it? The most terrifying beast in this ocean, and that’s saying something. They usually don’t travel any further north than this, though.”

“My God!” said Zeah, feeling his stomach turning over. “How big do you suppose that thing is?”

“I’d put it at sixty feet,” said Calliere. “I’ve seen bigger on my last trip to Mallon.”

“I was afraid to swim in the sea already,” said Kesi.

“This ocean is full of frightful things,” said Calliere. “Many different types of marine reptiles. Sharks. Fish the size of a trolley car. I wouldn’t swim in these water for all the tea in Mallontah, or travel them in a small boat for that matter.”

The Kronosaurus took one more huge bite of the turtle, and then swam away into the depths, leaving the last tiny bit, which included the head, to float along in the wake of the battleship. The crowd along the ship railing dissolved, but Zeah watched the turtle’s remnants float away, wondering how long it would be before some other frightful thing snuck up from the depths to eat it.

Days began to run together for Zeah, as they did for so many of the passengers. This leg of the trip, from the Mullien Islands to Mallon was the longest, and few major events broke the monotony of the journey, but there was plenty of work to do. Every waking hour of the day kept Zeah so busy that he had few opportunities to think. He was so exhausted that most nights he didn’t dream. When he did dream, one face was predominant. Two days after the Kronosaurus attack on the great turtle, Zeah finalized a plan to woo Miss Lusk. He knew that it was a plan doomed to failure, but it was at least a plan.

The first volley in the assault was a love token. Flowers would have been all but impossible to obtain aboard ship, at least for anyone less than Miss Dechantagne, and perfumes were in similarly short supply. So Zeah arranged for the purchase of a pair of white linen gloves from Mr. Parnorsham, a man who had brought a large supply of clothing and knick-knacks in hopes of opening a pfennig store in Birmisia. He then arranged for Mrs. Kittredge to monogram them with scarlet thread that just about matched Miss Lusk’s hair color. This required another two days to complete, but Zeah knew that Miss Lusk had almost as little time for idle activity as he himself had. She had been working with Professor Calliere on a daily basis, pressed into duties that had originally belonged to Mr. Murty, as well as her own. Zeah didn’t know for sure, as Miss Lusk was not one to gossip about her work, but he suspected that the professor was not very particular about what duties he handed over to his subordinates, so long as he was able to keep his own schedule light.

When the gloves were ready, he wrapped them up in a box and paper that Yuah had secured for him from Miss Dechantagne’s stock of party goods. He waited until just the right time, late enough that she would be up and dressed and early enough that she would not yet have begun her duties as a mathematician and engineer. He stepped to her door and knocked. The door opened and Miss Lusk looked radiant in a pure white day dress covered in lace.

“Good morning, Mr. Korlann,” she said. “How lovely to see you.”

“A pleasure to see you Miss Lusk,” he said. “May I present this small token of my affection?”

He handed her the box, which she opened to find the pair of monogrammed gloves. Her eyes lit up.

“These just match my dress,” she said. “How did you know?”

“No, it’s, I, um, a happy coincidence. I… I was hoping you could join me for dinner tomorrow evening at eight.”

“It would be my pleasure, Mr. Korlann. Have you arranged for a chaperone, or should I do so?”

“Um, please bring um, someone,” Zeah’s confidence began to crumble. “I have to go now. I will be by to pick you up, to escort you, then. Goodbye.”

He turned and escaped down the corridor and had the horrible impression that he could hear Miss Lusk laughing behind him. All his careful planning and he was fumbling already. He had to pull it together. This had all been so much easier when he was a young man, and his parents had arranged his marriage. He hadn’t even needed to meet Yuah’s mother before the wedding, let alone court her. By the next evening however, he had built back up his confidence for the endeavor and arrived at Miss Lusk’s door at eight o’clock sharp. He knocked on the cabin door, and it opened.

Standing in the doorway was Mrs. Phillida Marjoram.

“I’m sorry,” said Zeah. “I must have the wrong cabin.”

“Of course you don’t,” said Mrs. Marjoram. “I’m the young lady’s chaperone this evening.

“Oh, no,” thought Zeah. It wasn’t so much that he didn’t like Mrs. Marjoram, as he had no real use for the woman. But then he spotted Miss Lusk and all of his thoughts about Mrs. Marjoram vanished. Miss Lusk wore a different but equally bright white dress; along with the gloves he had given her. This dress left her shoulders and neck bare, both of which Zeah noted were absolutely perfect. She also wore a straw day hat covered and framed with lace, and she held a lacy folding hand fan.

“You look very nice,” he said, then added, “um, Miss Lusk.”

“Please call me Egeria,” she said. Mrs. Marjoram raised an eyebrow.

Offering Egeria his arm, Zeah led her to an area amid deck, where he had arranged a table and chairs, elegantly laid out with linen tablecloth and fine china. Saba Colbshallow was serving as a waiter and had already set up the salad course. Zeah pulled out a chair for Mrs. Marjoram and then for Egeria, and then he sat down himself.

The salad was an apple-cabbage slaw, with vinegar and egg. The three of them ate and mostly stared at each other. Zeah really wanted to say something, but his mind just seemed to stay blank. He knew there was something that he should be saying, but he just couldn’t think of what it was. As he stared mutely, Egeria opened her hand fan and drew it across her cheek.

“The salad is delicious,” said Mrs. Marjoram, making Zeah actually thankful for her presence.

“Mrs. Colbshallow is catering for us this evening,” he said. Mrs. Colbshallow, in addition to being Saba’s mother, was in charge of Miss Dechantagne’s kitchen. Her skill at planning, organizing, and executing fine dinners was well known.

They finished the salad and Saba removed the salad plates and forks. Before he had arrived with the soup, a gust of wind came up, blowing the tails of the tablecloth over and almost upsetting the remaining china and silverware. It required all six of their hands to keep everything from being knocked over and to hold down the blowing white linen. Once Saba had brought the steaming bowls of soup, a chicken broth with potatoes and celery, the heavy bowls helped to keep the tablecloth in place. Mrs. Colbshallow had not been able to provide bread to go along with the soup, and bread was becoming increasingly dear on the ship, where no large baking ovens were available. The ship began to noticeably rock more as the seas picked up in the wind and threatened to slosh the soup. Egeria again opened her fan, this time waving it in front of her breast, though Zeah, for the life of him could not figure out why. It was already windy.

“Delicious soup,” said Mrs. Marjoram.

“I’m sorry about the weather, ladies,” said Zeah, as another gust of wind tugged at Egeria’s hat, which was fortunately tied below her chin by the wide strap of lace.

“It’s not your fault,” said the young woman. “You can’t control everything.”

“I should have consulted the almanac,” he said.

“I don’t believe the almanac covers the weather this far away from Sumir.”

They finished their soups and once again Saba removed the dishes from the table and replaced them with the next course. Lamb pie with dry wine and Turippi cheese was a famous Zaeri dish that Zeah’s mother had often served in his childhood. Mrs. Colbshallow, though not a Zaeri herself, had just as many ethnic dishes in her repertoire as she did more mainstream cuisine. The tastes of lamb, tomatoes, potatoes, wine, cheese, rice, spearmint, and the other ingredients all blended together inside the pie crust, creating a taste and smell that would have warmed the heart of the coldest man. And Zeah was beginning to feel as though he was the coldest man, as the wind, which continued to increase in its velocity, dropped noticeably in temperature too.

“Delicious meal.” If Zeah had only had someone with whom to wager, he would have bet that Mrs. Marjoram was going to say those exact words, and he would have won too.

Saba poured each of the three diners a glass of fine red wine. Zeah knew wine quite well, though he drank less of it than most men. No one could have served as a butler in the Dechantagne home without knowing which wines were to be served when. Miss Dechantagne had very specific ideas about wine. This red was one that had been procured in Enclep, and surprisingly met the Dechantagne standards, so Zeah was more than pleased to serve it at his own table. It was quite good too, he thought, as he tasted it from his glass.

“This was a lovely idea,” said Egeria, sipping her own wine.

“Again, I apologize for the weather,” said Zeah.

“It’s not so bad,” she said, and slowly closed her hand fan in front of her face. Zeah just looked blankly on.

“Oh good heavens, young woman,” said Mrs. Marjoram in disgust. “Must you be so forward?”

“What?” wondered Zeah.

“She’s been sending you signals all evening.”

“Shu… She has?”

“Yes! A fan drawn across her face means ‘I love you’. A fan near her heart means ‘You have won me’. Shutting a fully open fan means ‘I promise to marry you’.”

“It does?”

“I’ve never seen such an ignorant man in my life,” said Mrs. Marjoram. “And you young lady, are behaving in a most licentious manner.”

Saba stepped in at that moment to clear the main course dishes. Just then a bright streak of lightning shot across the sky right above the ship followed a moment later by a tremendous boom of thunder.

“I don’t think we’re going to get a chance to eat our dessert outside,” Zeah said.

“Or be licentious,” said Egeria.

The words were no sooner out of their mouths than a sheet of water dropped upon them so suddenly and with such volume that for a moment Zeah suspected that someone had hidden a basin full of water above his head. Only the immense volume of the water and its near freezing temperature disabused him of this notion. The two women squealed, Egeria with laughter and Mrs. Marjoram with indignation, as all of them, including Saba, raced for the closest open doorway.

“Perhaps God doesn’t want me to court you,” said Zeah, when they had all reached shelter.

“I doubt God arranged this just to thwart our dinner plans,” said Egeria.

“Well, it’s not exactly a vote of confidence on his part.”

“We could eat our dessert inside,” she said. “That would be fine.”

Zeah looked at Saba. The boy’s stricken face said it all. The dessert had been left out in the rain, and there was absolutely no chance at all that the cream-filled teacakes could have survived such an onslaught.

Chapter Twelve: An Angry Angel

Lying on his stomach on the small single bed, Terrence Dechantagne breathed a heavy sigh as Pantagria rubbed his back. Her powerful fingertips found every sore muscle, every angry nerve ending, every spot filled with fatigue or stored unease, and kneaded it out of existence. He could feel her naked buttocks sitting on his and her naked legs on either side of his stomach. Both were warm, far warmer than a human body should be, as if she was running a fever, but then she wasn’t human. She wasn’t even real.

She finished massaging him and got up, walking across the small room.

“How was that?” she asked.

“Good. Very good.”

He closed his eyes and savored being here, where he felt so good. This was only the second time in a fortnight that he had been able to find a place for his real world body to lie undisturbed while he “saw” the world in which he truly felt he belonged. He drifted off into a slumber and wondered in his half-awake state, if he fell asleep here and began to dream, what world would he find himself in then? Would he dream himself back into the real world? He didn’t want that to happen, so he forced himself awake again, and sat up on the bed.

Across the room, Pantagria stood in front of a wall-mounted mirror. Her graceful, tanned body was the very picture of perfection. Her snow white feathered wings were outstretched, almost touching the walls to her left and right. Their broad expanse shielded her head from his view for a moment. He stood up so that he could see her perfect, beautiful face. Only then did he see what she was doing. She had a straight razor in her right hand, and with her left hand, she was gathering great bunches of her golden hair and slicing through it. Half of her head was already denuded. In some places the hair that was left was an inch or two long, in other places, she was left nearly bald.

“What are you doing?” he asked, more shocked by this unusual behavior than he would have been if Iolanthe or Yuah or some other real woman had done it.

“Do you remember when you came to me last time? It was the night of the dance.”

“Yes, I remember.”

“We didn’t dance,” she said, as she continued to hack away at her hair.

“I didn’t want to dance,” he said. “I wanted to make love to you.”

“Do you remember what you called me?”

“What I called you? No. I don’t remember.”

“You should. You call me the same thing every time you visit me.”

“What did I… what do I call you?”

“You called me ‘perfect’.”

“You are perfect.”

“I’m tired of being perfect,” her voice became a growl. “I want to be real. I want to be in the real world.”

“You can’t be,” he said. “I don’t want you to be. This is all just a dream. This is my dream. This is my haven. This is where I come, because I can’t stand life in the real world.”

She folded her wings and turned around. Only a few stray bits of long hair remained on her head. She placed the palm of her hand on his chest and shoved him back onto the bed.

“If I can’t be real because I’m perfect, then I’ll make myself real by making myself imperfect.” She turned back around and began to use the razor for its original purpose by shaving her head, starting on one side and moving across. Terrence watched her in stunned silence. She scraped the razor again and again across her head, leaving numerous small red scratches and a few cuts from which tiny red rivulets of blood flowed. She shaved her entire head bald.

“Pantagria,” he finally said. “I don’t think this is going to help you or me.”

She turned around once again, stepped toward him, and placed her left palm on his cheek.

“How do you know?” she asked, and then kissed him on the lips.

“This world isn’t the real world. It’s all in my mind. There’s no way to go from here to there.”

She hissed. “You do! You do it all the time!” She swung her right hand across his face. The blade of the straight razor sliced through both his nostrils.

He cried out in pain and was suddenly sitting in the corner of the supply closet where he had been when he had rubbed the white visio on his eyeballs. His eyes were tired but that was not why they were watering so profusely. His nose hurt like hell, and he looked down to see a huge amount of blood running down onto his shirt front.

Getting up, he grabbed a white towel from a stack on a shelf nearby and pressed it to his face. It was quickly turning red. It was the only bit of color in the room of white and grey. Still holding the towel to his bleeding nose, he opened the supply closet door and peered out into the hall in both directions. There wasn’t a person in sight. He stepped out into the hallway and closed the door behind him. He moved quickly away from his hiding place. He had to take the towel away from his nose in order to climb a ladder up to the next deck. The blood began to drip quickly again as he climbed.

On the next deck, he pinched his nose with the towel to try and slow the blood flow, but winced in pain. He looked around for a moment and then realized where he had to go. He stepped quickly along forward, but had to stop after a moment and lean against the wall because he was feeling lightheaded. He took a few deep breaths and continued on. At last he came to the cabin door he needed, and knocked. The door popped wide open and the broad body, big stomach, and round rosy face of Father Ian appeared.

“Good to see you, Captain Dechantagne!” boomed Father Ian’s voice. “Don’t stand out in the hallway. Come in. Come in. Good gracious, what has happened to you?”

“I cut myself shaving,” said Terrence, pulling the towel away from his face. “I was hoping that you could help.”

“I should say you have!” Father Ian let out a long whistle. “Sit down. As a matter of fact, I have just the help you need right here. Sister Auni here is just the person to set you right again.”

In the corner of the room, unnoticed by Terrence until this moment was a very thin woman in the long white robes of a church acolyte. Her jet black hair was cut straight across her forehead, and hung down low in back. She had deep-set grey eyes and prominent cheek bones. She stood up from her seat and was several inches taller than Terrence, though only about half as wide at the shoulder. When she spoke, it was in breathy tones.

“I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance, Captain Dechantagne. May I take a look at your nose please?”

She placed long thin hands on either side of his face and tilted his head upward so that she could look at his injury.

“Razor slice,” she said. “I would expect to see an injury like this in a tavern brawl.”

“Sorry. No taverns available,” said Terrence.

“In the name of the Holy Father I see your pain,” she said. “In the name of the Holy Savior I heal your wounds.”

Terrence felt life flowing from her hands. Not only did his nose stop stinging, but the pain in the back of his head and in his shoulders that he hadn’t even noticed before went away. The residual stinging in his eyes also went away. He was sure that any redness caused by the white opthalium was gone now. Sister Auni pulled her hands away from his face and smiled.

“I knew I came to the right place,” Terrence said.

“Of course you did, my boy,” said Father Ian. “Perfect timing, too. The sister and I had just finished our prayer session. You are just in time to see her back to her cabin.

“You couldn’t be in any safer hands,” he said to Sister Auni.

“Oh indeed,” she said. “I know that already.”

Shrugging, Terrence offered his arm to the acolyte and led her out of the room.

“Good night to both of you!” Father Ian called out in his thundering voice, and then he closed the cabin door behind them.

Walking through the narrow halls of the ship, Terrence usually found it difficult to escort a lady and had to walk in a sort of shuffling sidestep to make room, and if the woman was wearing an evening gown, it was pretty much impossible to walk side by side in any case. This was not so with Sister Auni. Not only did her clerical robes flow straight from her shoulders to the floor, her entire form was scarcely as wide as his two hands splayed out side by side. Her shoulders seemed almost too narrow to hold up her normal sized head.

“Sister Auni!” A young woman Terrence didn’t know came running down the hall toward them. “Sister Auni! Mrs. Duplessis is having her baby, and the doctor wants you there as quickly as possible.”

“Lead the way, child,” said the acolyte.

The three of them made their way through a series of hatches and corridors until they came to a closed cabin door. A group of several women and girls were standing outside in the hallway. The door was quickly opened and the young woman who had fetched her, led Sister Auni inside. As she turned to close the door after her, she looked into Terrence’s face.

“Thank you, Captain Dechantagne,” she said in her breathy voice. “But I think I shall go on from here alone. Have a pleasant evening, and watch out when you are shaving.”

Terrence stood thinking for a moment. Then he gradually noticed that the six or seven females, around him in the hallway, were watching him. He felt as though he had stumbled onto a stage without a script, or stepped into the middle of some savage ritual whose codex he didn’t understand.

“Ladies,” he said, and slowly backed out of the hallway, and then turned and made his way up to the topside of the ship and out onto deck.

He was surprised to find that the sun had already set. It seemed that he no longer really had any concept of time. His stomach reminded him that he hadn’t eaten in a while. He had porridge for breakfast, but wasn’t really sure if that was this morning’s breakfast or some day in the past. This was just about dinnertime though, and he decided to take his sister up on her standing invitation to dine. So he stopped by his cabin to change into a clean shirt, then went and knocked on Iolanthe’s cabin door.

The salad had already been served when he arrived, and the wait staff were just setting out the main course of roasted chicken, creamed potatoes, and pea fritters, which was just fine as far as Terrence was concerned. The waiter set a very manly portion in front of him and the other staff member, a waitress in this case, poured him a large glass of sparkling white wine. He didn’t waste any time tucking in.

“So what have you been up to?” asked Iolanthe.

“Mph,” he shrugged non-committaly, his mouth full of food. He looked around the table. Iolanthe, Lieutenant Staff, Wizard Labrith, and an empty chair faced him. On his side of the table, Terrence’s was the only one of the four chairs occupied. He swallowed his mouthful of chicken.

“Losing some of our popularity, are we?”

Iolanthe wrinkled her nose, but didn’t answer.

“There seems to be a medical emergency that requires Mrs. Marjoram and Dr. Kelloran,” said Lieutenant Staff. “I believe they were all invited to dinner this evening.”

“Oh yes,” Terrence said. “Mrs. Duplessis is having her baby.”

Iolanthe blinked in surprise. She had evidently not expected for him to have any idea of what might be going on. She no doubt had assumed that he had sequestered himself away somewhere, which of course he had, but he wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of knowing that.

“Yes, I’ve just come from there,” he said. “Sister Auni is there as well. I’m sure they will take very good care of the woman.”

He smiled to himself and took another large mouthful of chicken, then followed it with a pea fritter, mashed up peas dipped in batter and deep-fried. He would have recognized the flavor of Mrs. Colbshallow’s batter, even if he hadn’t known that she did all of Iolanthe’s cooking.

“So Lieutenant Staff,” said Wizard Labrith. “When do you expect that we will see Birmisia?”

“Captain Gurrman is sure that we shall reach first sight of land in twelve days, and I wouldn’t bet against him. He is the finest seaman that I’ve ever served with. We’re expecting that it will take four more days to reach the site chosen by Miss Dechantagne for the colonial capitol.” He smiled at Iolanthe, and then quickly added. “Chosen by Miss Dechantagne and her brothers, I mean.”

Terrence waved the piece of chicken impaled upon his fork in acknowledgement.

“So you see, my brother,” said Iolanthe. “We have no more time to dally. You must start first thing tomorrow preparing.”

“Preparing?” wondered Labrith.

“There is a great deal to get ready,” she continued. “We already have the cargo labeled for unloading, but we must organize work details. In the first week, we must build temporary homes for the entire complement of the colony, storage buildings, and an infirmary, as well as a dock for the supply ships. Sanitary facilities must be taken care of. The area needs to be mapped and made secure. A party will have to be dispatched to contact the aborigines—what did Augie call them? Oh yes, the lizzies. Sources of local food must be located and we must have immediate access to fresh water. We need to decide who will lead each of these endeavors and we need to assign the colonists to each of these tasks.”

“I thought that Zeah was doing that,” said Terrence.

“Zeah has proven to be most useful,” she said. “More so than I ever thought possible, in fact. But this is not the Korlann colony. This is the Dechantagne colony. A Dechantagne must be in charge, and that Dechantagne is you, brother.”

“Augie can at least help me, can’t he?”

“Excellent idea,” Iolanthe said, with exaggerated emphasis. “See, you are taking command already. Use both Augie and Zeah. Get everything ready. Coordinate with Radley.”

“Radley?”

“Lieutenant Staff.”

Staff shifted in his chair, and he and Iolanthe passed an uncomfortable look between them.

“I see,” said Terrence. He shoved another pea fritter into his mouth. Maybe Yuah was right. Maybe Iolanthe did have a soft spot for the young lieutenant. Terrence wouldn’t have thought his sister had any soft spot at all.

“I personally can’t wait to see what I can get in my killing jar, once we reach our destination,” said Labrith.

“What is a killing jar?” asked Iolanthe.

“It’s just a jar for killing insects, with ethyl acetate” explained Labrith. “I’m a collector, you see.”

Dessert was a delicate crepe stuffed with a variety of fresh fruit and topped with clotted cream.

“This is different,” said Terrence, taking a bite. It was quite delicious.

“I asked Mrs. Colbshallow to do something before all of our fresh fruit went bad.”

After the dessert course, a heavy fortified wine was served, just as Terrence had expected. His sister’s quirks were no mystery to him, at least the ones associated with mealtimes. And just as expected, she passed out fine cigars to each of her three guests, though she would not let anyone smoke them in her presence. Terrence declined his cigar anyway. It was not his particular vice.

And he was already thinking about his particular vice. What a bizarre thing. Why had Pantagria cut off her beautiful golden hair? She had never done anything so strange. For that matter she had never done anything that he hadn’t specifically asked of her, other than breathe or keep her house or fly. She had certainly never attacked him before. She must be ailing in some way. He would have to find something that he could do for her. He had no way to take her a gift, but perhaps he could try to make her feel better, the way she had always done for him.

“What are you thinking about, Terrence?” asked Iolanthe, very close to his right ear.

“Nothing, really.”

“Is there anything I need to know?”

He looked into her aquamarine eyes. He had always believed that his sister was completely ignorant of his need for white opthalium. Yuah would never tell her. How else would she know?

“No. I’ve had some bad dreams lately.”

“Well, dreams can’t hurt you,” she said.

He said goodnight to Lieutenant Staff, Wizard Labrith, and his sister and went back to his own cabin to find Yuah standing by the door. She had been working, he could tell, for the strands of loose black hair falling down around her face were wet with perspiration. She also wasn’t wearing a corset, not that it made much difference with her slim figure. He looked at her large, round, brown eyes and thick lips and smiled. He had never really noticed Yuah when they had been growing up; she had been quite a bit younger than him. He had examined her a few times since, though. She had grown to be quite beautiful. She might not be the girl for him, in fact she wasn’t, obviously, but she was beautiful.

“I see you were at dinner with your sister.”

“Yes.”

“That’s good,” she said. “I was afraid you had fallen overboard.”

“Just getting a bit of rest,” he said. “I’ve got a lot of work coming up. In fact, I’m going to be working with your father for the next fortnight or thereabouts.”

“All right.” She nodded, then turned and walked away.

Terrence shrugged, then walked into his cabin and locked the door behind him. He pulled the small blue bottle from his pocket and looked at it. He thought about “seeing” right then, but thinking that Yuah had just been there, he thought better of it. So he hid the bottle in the box with his ammunition. Then he got undressed, washed his face in the basin, turned off the gaslight, and climbed into bed.

The next ten days, he was extremely busy. Zeah had given thought to which of the colonists would be assigned to what duties, but he was so immersed in organizing the current activities that he scarcely had time to plan for the landing. Also he felt that he did not have the authority to make such important decisions unaided. Terrence had no problem there. He knew that any decisions he made would be backed up by Iolanthe, even if she didn’t particularly agree with them. She had always encouraged her big brother to take the initiative and be decisive. He also inspected the rifle company he had organized back in Brechalon. Once they had landed and unloaded, the Minotaur would turn around and sail west to St. Ulixes, the largest city in Brech Mallontah. There were several hundred sailors waiting there from a cruiser that had been sunk in storm some months ago. When the Minotaur reached them, they would take their stations on the battleship and put it back in service as a full-fledged warship. It would be up to the men of the rifle company, under the command of the two Dechantagne brothers, to protect the colony once the ship was gone.

As Iolanthe had indicated, there would be a great deal of construction required during the first few months after their arrival. They hoped for an abundance of building materials at the site, but even so, the first thing to be built would be a sawmill. The steam powered saws and other equipment were arranged so that they could be taken off the ship first, and the harvesting of wood could begin even before the remaining supplies had been set off. Latrines would have to be dug, for which Terrence could count on the rifle company. Soldiers were used to digging latrines. The carpenters would have to make them a bit nicer than the ones that the soldiers were used to, for the women and children. Once temporary shelters and warehouses had been constructed, permanent buildings could be started on. Everything looked as though it would go off without too much of a hitch though.

Yuah had stopped by to see him several times, but Terrence didn’t find her waiting by his cabin door or snooping through his things. He suspected that she was just too busy to keep more than a cursory eye upon him. There was plenty for every person on the expedition to do now that they were so close to their destination. He locked his cabin door, pulled out his hidden blue bottle, and lay down on his bed. Opening the stopper he dabbed a dose of the milky white liquid onto his right index finger, then restoppered the bottle and tucked it under the pillow with his left hand. With practiced precision, he lifted up first his left eyelid and then his right, and rubbed the liquid into both eyes. The real world began to fade immediately.

Once again, he was standing in the great field of purple flowers. This time it was night. There was no moon and there were no stars, but nevertheless a soft glow illuminated everything. He could easily make out Pantagria’s little house, and he stepped through the flowers, which had their petals closed over their eyes, and walked to the front door. He hoped that Pantagria’s hair had grown out. In the real world it would have had time to grow out at least a little. Maybe here it could return to its full luxurious length. He knocked on the door. There was no response. He knocked again. Still nothing. He carefully reached out and turned the doorknob.

As he slowly pushed the door inward, there was a loud sucking sound and air rushed past him into the crack of the open door. A split second later, the door was blown shut, and then blown off its hinges and into him as a massive explosion sent Terrence, the door, and huge gouts of flame away from the house and completely obliterated the tiny structure. Terrence was only half conscious, but he realized that he was on fire, and began rolling across the field, flattening scores of the foot-tall purple flowers as he did so. His ears were ringing and he wondered what other injuries he might have, but he at least managed to smother the fire on his clothing. He lay on his stomach with his forehead pressed into the black dirt.

“Pantagria?” He lifted his head up. He had to find her.

Suddenly something heavy landed between his shoulders, completely knocking the wind from his lungs, and pressing his head back down so violently that he felt a large mouthful of dirt pressed between his teeth.

“Yes, lover?” hissed the thing on his back.

It grabbed him by the shoulders and violently turned him over. He spat the dirt out of his mouth and looked up at Pantagria, bathed in the light of the flame that was all that was left of her house. Her hair had not grown out. She was still completely bald. She had painted her head and face and entire body using some kind of greasy, gritty concoction, with black and red designs that in the darkness gave the impression of a skeleton. And she had cut, probably with the same straight razor she had used to shave her head and to slice Terrence’s nose, letters into her own breast. The wounds were gaping and bloody and he could easily make out the letters R E A L cut into the once perfect skin.

“You were looking for me?” she asked, and then licked his face from his chin to his forehead.

“Yes, Pantagria. I want to help you.”

“That’s not how it works though,” she smiled without humor. “You don’t get to help me. I’m here to help you. I always have been. I took care of you when you were sad.” Her voice turned mocking. “I took care of you when you were lonely. I took care of you when you were too afraid to live in the real world.

“I wouldn’t have been afraid of the real world!” she screamed. “I would have been ruling that world by now!”

“Pantagria, I love you. I can help you.”

“You love me!” she hissed. “I was at your beck and call. I made you feel better again and again and again. I taught you to live. I taught you to love. Without me, you were nothing! Then what did you do? You left me here! Here! There’s nothing here! There’s no one here! And for how long? For years! Where was my help then? Do you know how boring it was? Do you know how lonely it was? Do you know how hard it was for me to keep from going insane?”

She punched him in the face. He started to say something and she punched him again. Then she began to rain blow after blow down on him. He threw his arms up over his face and tried to protect himself from the pummeling, but he did nothing to fight back. Just as he was starting to feel as though he was going to lose consciousness, she stopped and got up. He watched her walk away in the faint glow of the coming morning and the light of the many tiny scattered fires left over from the explosion. Her body was still tall and thin and perfectly formed, and she moved with a grace that a cat would envy. On her back, where once wide, proud, snowy white wings had stood, now all that remained were two jagged shafts of bone. The flesh through which they protruded was scabbed and swollen and angry.

Chapter Thirteen: Birmisia

It was chilly and wisps of mist hung in the air. On the distant shore, beyond the wall formed by impossibly tall redwood trees, large spruces, massive maple and bay trees, filled in between by thick huckleberry and azalea bushes and wave upon wave of rhododendron, some giant and no doubt frightening monster roared out a challenge. From its tiny animal carrier on deck, the little dragon answered.

“Gawp!”

Senta stepped onto the deck and knelt down by the box. Zurfina had dressed her in another weird outfit, this one a floor length black dress with a white collar. A black ceramic rose right in the front of her neck that made it difficult to look down at the high-heeled black sandals on her feet. Of course Zurfina had on a matching dress, and cut a striking figure standing along the railing of the forward deck with the Captain, Miss Dechantagne, the Dechantagne brothers, and other notables, all of whom were dressed in light summer clothing, as they surveyed the coastline.

“Pet!” said the dragon.

“Yep, it’s me,” said Senta. “I’m going to take you out, but you have to have your leash on.”

The dragon hissed. She opened the door of the carrier and the dragon climbed out onto the top. He turned his head and pointedly looked the other direction as she snapped the little chain onto the ring around his ankle. Once the little clip had snapped shut, Senta attached the other end of the chain to a bracelet on her right wrist.

“See there. We’re both chained by the wrist. Nobody’s the boss.”

“Gawp,” said the dragon, and then spreading its wings to balance, it climbed up her arm and onto her shoulder. It slithered down to lie across her shoulders, one hand and one foot holding onto her dress and one hand and one foot holding onto her hair. Senta stood up. The little dragon was now over four feet long from nose to tip of tail, but he was only about six inches thick across the belly and he was surprisingly light.

“What do you want to do?”

“Gawp.”

“Me too. This is sooo boring.”

The ship had been sailing parallel to the coast for the past four days and Senta was getting tired of it. What was the point of sailing all the way to Mallon, if you didn’t get out and walk around on it? Twenty days was more than enough time to explore every square inch of the largest battleship and Senta had spent more than three times that length of time on the Minotaur. Not even murders, gunfights, and drinking wine until you threw up could take away the boredom forever.

“Fina,” said the dragon.

“All right.”

Senta walked toward the front of the ship. She had gone only about halfway to where Zurfina and the others stood watching the coastline roll past, when a figure stepped out of the shadows. A freckled face and striped shirt quickly identified the shady figure.

“Hey Graham,” said Senta.

“Hi Senta. What’ya doing?”

“Nothing. He wants to go up by the grown-ups.” She indicated the dragon with her thumb.

“Can I come?”

“Sure. Just don’t get too close, ‘cause he’ll bite you.”

“I thought he was tame.”

“You can’t tame a dragon. Zurfina says you can’t tame anything that’s smarter than you are.”

“Who says he’s smarter than me?” Graham was indignant.

“Not just you, stupid. Dragons are super smart. When he gets big, he’ll be able to talk and do magic and all kinds of cool stuff.”

“Brill,” said the boy.

Senta and Graham walked forward, the boy keeping several paces behind her at all times, until they reached the group of adults. Miss Dechantage was wearing a yellow dress with lots of lace and a matching hat, tied below her chin with a lace ribbon. Her dress was almost the same color as the suit Professor Calliere was wearing. It made him look like a very large banana. Mr. Korlann was much more dignified. His grey suit was so light that it would have seemed white, had he not been standing next to Miss Lusk in her white day dress. Senta saw Miss Lusk reach over discretely and touch Mr. Korlann’s hand. Wizard Labrith was wearing a light brown suit and Wizard Kesi, for once not in colorful silks, was dressed the same. They both stood near the back of the group, all four of their eyes boring holes into the back of Zurfina’s black dress. The two Dechantagne brothers were both wearing khaki safari clothes and pith helmets. The older brother looked like he was sick. Finally Father Ian had eschewed his traditional robes for a more modern suit with a clerical collar.

“This is it just ahead,” said Lieutenant Dechantagne, pointing. “You see the bay just here, and this land just beyond is the peninsula.”

“Children are limited to the aft deck of the ship,” said Miss Dechantagne, noticing Senta and Graham for the first time and looking down her nose at them.

“Children with dragons may go wherever they wish,” said Zurfina, without turning around.

Miss Dechantagne made a clicking sound with her tongue. Miss Lusk gave Senta a wink. Senta and Graham walked to the side, out of the way of the adults and looked at the forest moving past.

“Would you look at that!” shouted Father Ian.

A monstrous creature had stepped out of the trees and onto the shore. It was reptilian, and looked to be more than thirty feet long from its strange beak-like snout to the tip of its long thick, waving tail. It had a bulky body and though it walked on two stocky back legs, only sometimes using its lighter forelegs, it did so completely hunched over, using the long tail for balance. It was an olive color overall, but had yellowish vertical stripes down its back. No sooner had the creature presented itself than another and then another of the beasts stepped from the forest to walk along the beach. Soon an entire herd of nearly fifty of the monsters was tramping across the rocks and gravel. Most were as large as the original, but some were smaller and some were only half as big.

“What the devil are those?” asked Mr. Korlann

“They are a type of reptile common in Mallon,” said Professor Calliere. “They’re called dinosaurs.”

“They’re quite large,” said Miss Lusk.

“I’ve seen bigger,” said Lieutenant Dechantagne.

“There are hundreds of varieties,” continued Calliere. “They are related to dragons, in the same way that lemurs and monkeys are related to human beings.”

Both Father Ian and Zurfina made the same derisive sound.

“According to Mormont, this particular variety is called the Iguanodon,” said Calliere. “They take the place in the food chain here of antelope, goats, or sheep.”

“Bloody big sheep,” said Captain Dechantagne.

The leaders of the expedition headed off in a variety of directions. Senta and Graham stayed near the railing to watch the iguanodon herd. They could feel the ship turning into the bay, and since the dinosaurs were walking in that direction they could keep observing them from where they were. Some of the younger beasts were playing, tucking their forelegs up and running on their two back legs.

“Well, I don’t think they look anything like dragons,” said Graham.

“I don’t either,” said Senta. “But you do kind of look like a monkey.”

“Ha!” said Graham. “Your face looks like a monkey, monkey face.”

“Gawp!” said the dragon.

“He’s hungry,” said Senta. “I have to feed him.”

“Could you understand him?”

“Sure. He said ‘Gawp’, stupid-head.”

“Monkey face.”

“Stupid head.”

“Monkey monkey monkey.”

“Are you going to come with me, or not?” she asked.

“I’ve got to go do my bloody chores,” said Graham. “Ma says we got to get ready to get off the ship. There’s going to be lots to do then.”

Senta nodded in sympathy.

“Someday I’m going to ride one of those,” he said, looking wistfully at the iguanodon herd. Then he walked toward the nearest hatch, and was gone.

Senta headed back toward the aft deck of the ship. She stopped several times along the way. The ship was passing the edge of the bay’s mouth and the dinosaurs had reached the closest tip of the land. Now only a hundred yards away, the beasts were watching the massive battleship sail past, crying out in honking calls.

“I don’t think they look anything like you either,” she said.

“Gawp,” agreed the dragon.

Breakfast had already been served, but Senta was able to find several dozen sausages left over, which she began feeding to the little steel dragon, by tossing them and letting him snatch them from the air. He ate far more than any similar sized animal that the girl had ever heard of. Mrs. Gantonin had owned both a cat, smaller than the dragon though just as big around the middle, and a dog, which was pound for pound at least twice as big as the dragon. The dragon ate more than twice as much as the two of them put together. As if reading her mind, the dragon let the last sausage sail past his head and land on the deck.

“Full?” she asked.

The dragon leapt back up to her shoulder and curled once again around her neck like a chain mail scarf. The ship had come to a stop in the middle of the crescent-shaped bay, and for the first time since they had left the Thiss River in Greater Brechalon, it was surrounded on all sides by something besides water—in this case redwood forest. The sound of chains clanking bounced off the great trees all around, as the ship lowered its anchor. Senta picked up the sausage off the deck and heaved it into the air and over the side. She walked back to the animal carrier and found Zurfina lounging in a folding wooden chair.

“I want to know more about dragons,” said Senta.

“Of course you do,” said Zurfina. “Dragons are an interesting subject.”

Senta waited a few moments, and when the sorceress said nothing more, she prodded. “Where do dragons live?”

“Dragons are found everywhere in the world, on all twelve continents. They are seldom seen today in Sumir, but they are still there. There are probably dragons around here, and I don’t mean the things on the shore.”

“Do they all look like this one?”

“There are many subspecies of dragon. They come in different colors and there is some variation in appearance, though they are all structurally similar. They all live to be extremely old, grow extremely large, and are extremely smart. Even the dumbest of dragons is smarter than the average human being, not that that’s saying much. Dragons have a natural affinity for magic, though some never learn to use it properly.”

“Where did you get him?” Senta didn’t need to point to the dragon around her neck. Zurfina knew what she was talking about.

“I hatched him from an egg. In fact he hatched the day before I found you in Brech,” said the sorceress. “Now I don’t know which of you it is.”

“Which what is?”

“Never mind.”

“Where did you get his egg?”

“I bought it from a magister, a purveyor of magical artifacts,” said Zurfina. “I knew it was a dragon egg… well so did he, because he charged me an arm and a leg for it. I knew it was a dragon egg, but I didn’t know what type of dragon it was. The shell was a pearlescent color. When he hatched, I naturally tried to find out to which subspecies he belonged. At first, I thought he was a Silver, but they are supposed to be blue-grey when young, and he has no hint of a crest on his head. His little whiskers and spikes make him look more like a Gold, but his coloring is all wrong. I couldn’t figure out what he was.”

“So what did you do?”

“I had to consult some very ancient books. According to legend, Morizu, the great-grandfather of King Magnus fought a dragon thousands of years ago. He called this dragon a Mirlughth Dragon. I of course didn’t know what mirlughth was, but it seems it was steel. Steel was only invented in Brechalon fifty years ago, but apparently a few ancient swordsmiths learned how to make it by folding their iron over on itself again and again. Morizu related the strength and color of the dragon he fought to these swords. But to my knowledge, nobody has seen or heard of a steel dragon since, until now.”

“That’s brill. We’ve got the only steel dragon in the world.”

Lieutenant Staff stepped out of the nearby hatch and marched across the deck to stand in front of Zurfina.

“The landing party is preparing to leave, madam,” he said. “Your presence is requested and required.”

“Come on, Pet,” said Zurfina. “Let’s go take a look at our new home, shall we?”

“The child’s presence is not required,” said Lieutenant Staff. “We haven’t scouted the area yet. We don’t know how safe it is.”

“She is going.” Zurfina stood up and walked toward the passageway that led to the other side of the ship. Senta followed at her heels with the steel dragon around her shoulders.

On the port side of the vessel a launch was already in the water. Captain Dechantagne, Lieutenant Dechantagne, or Augie as Senta thought of him, and Lieutenant Baxter sat waiting along with a dozen soldiers in khaki uniforms with rifles slung over their back, and a dozen sailors dressed in white to man the oars. A temporary staircase had been erected on the side of the ship, which led from the upper deck, down six flights, with landings at the four lower hatchways, and terminating just above the waves. Once Zurfina and Senta had descended the stairs and stepped into the launch, the boat was pushed away from the ship, and the sailors lowered their oars into the water. The sorceress and her apprentice were the only females in the party.

The bay was calm and the water was still, reflecting the many clouds in the sky like a picture. Even the oar strokes of the sailors did not disturb the smooth surface for long. None of the men spoke, and the honking of the iguanodons could be heard in the distance, along with an occasional loud bellowing roar.

“Gawp,” said the dragon.

It didn’t take long for the boat to reach the shore, a twenty-foot wide band of rocks and gravel separating the water from the thick redwood forest. The sailors raised their oars straight up and Captain Dechantagne and several of the soldiers jumped out and pulled the boat up onto the gravel. Then everyone else climbed onto the land.

“What do you think Baxter?” asked Augie. “This looks like a good place for a dock right here. We can use the wood growing all around, build the dock and extend it straight out into the water thirty or forty feet, and build a couple of warehouses right up here.

“We’ll have to check the depth, but it seems fine,” replied Baxter.

Leaving six of the sailors with the boat, the rest of the party moved past the shore and into the woods. The redwoods were enormous. Some of them were twenty feet or more in diameter at the base. Senta thought it would be ace if one could be hollowed out and made into a house. There were plenty of small plants growing beneath the massive trees, but not so many that it was impossible to tramp through. Once away from the shoreline, the land rose up quickly.

“It’s hard to tell with all these trees, but it looks as though the initial survey was right on,” said Augie. “This ridge runs right out on the peninsula. We can build the lighthouse at the tip, and the fort on that hill to the right.”

“The peninsula is what, about four miles long and a mile wide?” asked Terrence.

“Yes, though there is a narrow spot in the middle of the peninsula, where it’s only as wide as the ridge, maybe a half a mile.”

“How far is the river?”

“About six miles east.”

“Why not build closer to the river,” wondered Lieutenant Baxter.

“The Manzanian isn’t like the Thiss or the Green River in Mallontah. It’s not navigable even around the mouth. Twelve miles upstream you find the first of a half dozen known cataracts. In the short term at least, this little bay will be much more valuable to the colony than the river would be. There are several small streams around here for water and we can pipe in more as needed.”

When they had walked up a few hundred feet, the land flattened out and opened into a clearing. Here was another great group of iguanodons, with several members of another species of dinosaur meandering along with them. This was a low, heavily built, mottled brown creature about twenty feet long, covered with thick plates of boney armor. Its beaked head resembled a horned lizard, with short, thick horns arranged around its face. At the end of its long tail, it sported an enormous two-lobed club.

“I wonder what the Mormont called this one,” wondered Captain Dechantagne. “Clubadon?”

“It’s called an ankylosaurus,” said Augie.

His brother looked at him in surprise.

“I’ve been here before, remember? I wonder if it could be domesticated. I’ll bet that thing could pull a pretty heavily laden wagon.”

Captain Dechantagne shrugged, then stopped and pointed.

At the far end of the clearing, the foliage parted and a massive red face pushed its way into the open. It was followed by the rest of a large blocky head, twenty five feet above the ground. Slowly the entire creature emerged from the woods. Two tiny forearms dangled uselessly, but two giant, clawed hind feet carried the beast, a great black body, balanced at one end by the enormous head and at the other end by a long, sweeping tail. It gave an awful roar and rushed forward to take a horrendous bite out of the back of the closest iguanodon. The iguanodon honked balefully and ran several steps, but it was wounded so grievously that it sank to the ground from shock and blood loss. The reptilian tyrant strode over to its victim and administered a killing bite.

“Bloody hell,” said Augie.

The steel dragon suddenly launched itself into the air. The chain attaching it to Senta pulled taut and jerked her off her feet. As she fell to the ground on her knees, a weak link in the chain parted, sending the dragon flying up toward the trees in the general direction from which they had come. Senta jumped to her feet and took off running after her wayward charge.

“Come back here!” she called.

The little dragon paid no attention to her as it flapped its way through the redwood branches. Senta ran as fast as she could, but was soon outpaced. She ran down the embankment that they had walked up earlier, but then turned as the dragon flew parallel to the shore. With a flash of steel, he shot up into the canopy and she lost sight of him. Stopping, she looked around.

“Come here boy!” she called.

She waited but there was no reply. She called again.

“Squawk!” The noise came from her left and she turned to view its source, but it wasn’t the dragon. It was some kind of bird, just a little bit too short to look Senta in the eye. It was covered with hairy feathers, yellow near its small arms, green everywhere else. Its tail stretched straight out almost five feet behind it. Each of its two feet had a five inch claw, curving upward, totally useless for locomotion, but frightening. Its long, flat, very unbirdlike snout was filled with large, widely spaced teeth. Senta had never seen a bird with teeth before. It looked rather like a killer turkey. The beast cocked its head to one side and regarded her with a large black eye.

“Squawk!” it cried again.

“Squawk!” came an answer. Senta turned and saw another bird to her right. Then she heard rustling behind her and turned and saw a third and fourth bird. The second bird hopped toward her and snapped its jaws. The first bird hopped closer too. It perched on a large rock and the big claws on either foot clicked against the stone as if it were testing them or sharpening them. She didn’t hear them, but Senta thought that the other two were probably moving closer as well.

“Uuthanum!” she shouted, pointing her finger at the first bird.

At the same moment she cast her spell, the creature and its closest companion both launched themselves at her. A cone of frost spread from Senta’s fingertip spraying the first small creature, covering it with ice and knocking it to the ground near her feet. The second beast was knocked out of mid-air by a metallic streak shooting from the sky. The steel dragon latched onto the bird’s neck with its needle sharp teeth, sending them both tumbling across the ground.

Senta looked down at the half-frozen bird by her feet and the one struggling to free itself from the grasp of the dragon, now holding onto it with all four feet in addition to its jaws. She completely forgot about the other two behind her until she felt a weight on her shoulders and sharp claws digging into her skin. She expected at any moment to feel the mouthful of teeth or the big upward curving claw. Instead, a flurry of gunshots rang out through the redwoods.

The bird let go of her shoulders and fell to the ground dead. Senta turned to see the Dechantagne brothers and two riflemen. They had shot the bird off her shoulders. They had also shot the other bird behind her and the half frozen bird that had just been able to stand up before it was killed. They hadn’t needed to shoot the beast fighting with the dragon. It was already dead.

“Gawp!” said the dragon, licking the blood from its whiskers with a long forked tongue.

Captain Dechantagne rushed forward and scooped Senta up into his arms. He looked at the tears in her dress and the tears in her skin beneath.

“These don’t seem too bad,” he said. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

Senta shook her head.

“Looks like we got here just in time,” said one of the riflemen.

“Velociraptors,” said Augie.

Zurfina stepped out from behind a tree, walked over and picked up the dragon, which wrapped itself around her shoulders just as it had Senta’s before. Captain Dechantagne sat Senta down and faced the sorceress.

“You’re this little girl’s guardian,” he said angrily. “She shouldn’t have been brought ashore.”

Zurfina stepped toward him and placed her forefinger on his chin.

“Guardian,” she said derisively. “My dear Terrence, we’re going to be living here. Children are going to be eaten.”

The captain’s mouth dropped open.

“She’s fine,” said Zurfina. “Let’s get back to the others.”

The five of them, six counting the dragon, walked back up the rise and through the woods into the opening. The big dinosaur, which was identified as a tyrannosaurus was still eating its kill. The iguanodons were staying away from it, but had gone back to clipping leaves and branches from the trees. Apparently as long as the predator was not hunting, they did not concern themselves with it. Several ankylosaurs grazed along amid the larger beasts. The sailors and other riflemen were waiting.

“These animals are big, but they’re on the skittish side,” said Augie. “I’ll bet we could chase them off this promontory with a few rifle volleys. Shall we give it a try?”

“What about the big fellow?” asked his brother. “I don’t know how many shots it would take to bring him down, and I don’t want to try and find out when he’s charging me.”

“I can take care of the tyrannosaurus, if necessary,” said Zurfina.

“Very well,” said Augie. “One volley over their heads. Ready. Fire.”

Eighteen rifles fired in unison. The herd of dinosaurs honked unhappily and began moving away.

“Another volley,” said Augie, then a moment later. “Ready. Fire!”

With the sound of the second volley the dinosaurs began to run. Even the tyrannosaurus roared defiantly and then began striding away toward the hills beyond the peninsula.

“All right, we begin unloading the ship immediately,” said Captain Dechantagne. “We’ll start with the saw mill, because the first thing I want done is a defensive wall across this hill, dividing the peninsula from the mainland. And until it’s done, I want to two squads of riflemen on guard duty at all times.”

“Right-oh,” said Augie, saluting.

“This child is to return to the ship immediately,” continued the captain. “And no women or children are to come ashore until that wall is complete.”

“We’re leaving already,” said Zurfina. She took Senta by the hand waved her other hand over her head. The world around them disappeared and Senta found that she and Zurfina and the dragon were once again on the deck of the H.M.S. Minotaur.

“Come on,” said the sorceress. “We need to get those cuts healed.”

Still holding Senta by the hand, Zurfina walked through the hatch and down the nearest stairway. They found their cabin, this time it was on deck four, and went inside. After setting the steel dragon back on his stone plinth, the sorceress had the girl take off her dress as she examined the six puncture marks with associated scratches.

“You wouldn’t let them eat me really, would you?” asked Senta, as Zurfina poured a small measure of healing draught on each of the wounds.

“You must rely on yourself, you know,” said Zurfina. “You can’t expect some handsome soldier to rescue you all the time. You should have used your spells to better effect. If you’re still upset, there’s a bottle of blessudine in the cabinet.”

“I don’t need a happiness potion.”

Senta lay down on the bed and after a moment was fast asleep. She dreamed that she was being chased by velociraptors. These dream dinosaurs grew as they chased her. Losing their feathers, they evolved into larger eight-foot tall dinosaurs with scaly skin the color and texture of the iguanodons. One of the monsters jumped on her and forced her to the ground. She opened her eyes and found the steel dragon sitting on her.

“Gawp,” it said.

“Get off.”

As she always did when she got up from bed, Senta found a new outfit laid out for her. This one was a simple black long sleeve dress that extended to just below the knees. It had two white stars on the breast, one just above the waist and two more at the hips. Along with it were thigh high white stockings. Senta put them on, along with her black sandals.

“How come you don’t have to wear weird clothes?” she said accusingly to the dragon.

“Pet,” he said, climbing back up to his stone plinth.

Senta left the cabin and the dragon and went back up to the deck. Dozens of people were standing along the railing looking at the shore. Senta pushed her way between them to see what was going on. The portion of the shoreline where the iguanodon herd had wandered as the ship sailed into the bay was now occupied by a single dinosaur. It was more than thirty feet long and ten feet tall, about the same overall dimensions as the iguanodon, but much heavier built. Around its neck was a large bone frill and jutting out from its face were three large horns, one above each eye and one on the nose. It was tossing its head up and down as if challenging the ship.

Pulling back behind the crowd, Senta made her way to the opposite side. Here, two boats were being loaded with cargo from the ship, and another was being loaded with settlers, all of them men. A fourth boat filled with men was being rowed toward shore and a fifth was already there. On the shore armed men were standing guard while others could be seen through the trees assembling some large pieces of equipment.

“My Da’s over there,” said Graham, stepping up behind Senta.

“Oh? What’s he doing?”

“He’s setting up the saw, so they can start cutting trees up into wood.”

“Huh. Did you eat yet?”

“Sure,” said Graham. “I’ll eat again though.”

This comment didn’t surprise Senta who had gone plenty of days without eating at all. They walked back to aft deck and were the last two to get into the luncheon queue. Black pudding and beans was both a surprise and disappointment for her, because the meal usually served at breakfast was not her favorite. The steel dragon would not have been disappointed. While he didn’t care much for beans one way or the other, black pudding, made from cooked blood, was his favorite. Senta sat down on the deck with Graham. She scooped some of the beans into her mouth.

“Hello Senta,” said Miss Lusk, sitting down with her own plate of beans. “Who’s your friend?”

“This is Graham.”

“Hello Graham,” said Miss Lusk. “Do you and your family have everything ready to set ashore?”

“Sure,” said Graham. “But my Da says it’s going to be days before we can get off the ship.”

“I’m sure that’s correct.”

“But I’m sick of being on the ship.”

“I’m sure you are. I know that I am. We must wait until Captain Dechantagne feels that everything is safe enough for the colonists. There could be any number of dangers in this new land.”

“You got that right,” said Senta. “Even the birds are scary over here.”

There was a sudden eruption of machinegun fire from amid ship. Women screamed and men shouted as they heard the heavy “bratta tatta tatta, bratta tatta tatta” for the first time. Senta and Graham jumped up and ran to the railing so that they could look forward and see what the gun was firing at. Miss Lusk followed after them.

“I’ll bet it’s that Freedonian airship!” shouted a woman.

The gun had not been firing into the air however, but into the water. Some great beast, perhaps a kronosaurus like the one which had butchered the giant turtle while the Minotaur was still at sea, perhaps something a bit different, but equally frightening, had come too near one of the launches. Whatever it was now was dead. The great body floated on the surface, though its tail and head were still submerged, making identification impossible. Red blood spread across the surrounding water. Within a few minutes, the water around the beast was splashing with sharks, other carnivorous fish, and smaller marine reptiles.

“Wicked!” said Graham in awe.

“Yeah,” said Senta, though without as much excitement.

“This whole place is scary,” said Miss Lusk.

“Yeah,” said Senta again.

She nodded goodbye to her friend, walked back and picked up the last of her lunch, and then carried it into the hatch and below deck. For the first time, she felt something drawing her, as if she knew how to find her cabin, something that she had always been unable to do without Zurfina’s help. The feeling led her to deck five in a forward corridor. There were a dozen doors here, but she knew that none of them was the right one.

One of the doors opened up and Lieutenant Dechantagne stepped out. A woman followed him into the hallway, and though she was completely without clothing, she didn’t seem to care if anyone saw her or not. She wrapped her arms around the Lieutenant and gave him a deep, long kiss. When the woman pulled away, Senta recognized her as Dr. Padgett Kelloran. With a final caress of his cheek, she left Augie standing in the hallway and returned to her cabin.

Augie took two steps and stopped short in front of the girl.

“Hello Senta,” he said. “It seems as if we’re always meeting in hallways.”

She nodded.

“Are you going topside,” he asked, offering his arm. “I could be your escort again.”

She shook her head.

“All right then.” He saluted with two fingers aside his slouch hat, and then strode down the hallway and around the corner.

Senta shrugged, and then looked around some more. She still had the feeling that the cabin belonging to Zurfina and herself was nearby.

“Blechtore Uuthanum,” she said.

A portion of the wall began to glow. A few seconds later she could make out the outline of a hatch, and a few seconds after that, it became a hatch all the way. Senta opened the door and found herself once again in her own room. The steel dragon sat on his plinth looking at her.

“Pet,” he said.

“Here.” She held out the plate with the segments of black pudding and a few stray beans. The dragon immediately gobbled them down.

Chapter Fourteen: Founding the Colony

Iolanthe Dechantagne had carefully chosen the dress to be worn on the day she set foot in Birmisia. It was a lovely olive green herringbone weave, finished with a line of twenty-four filigree buttons. The bodice was wool, with the lighter cotton overskirt gathered together into a bunch over the bustle, and the polished forest green foundation skirt peeked out from beneath it. She would have been as fashionably in style as any woman in Brech, had she been standing in the center of Hexagon Park. Here on the deck of a battleship, thousands of miles from civilization, amid several hundred travelers who had been locked up for fifty-five days, she was like a goddess.

She surveyed the view of the land from the prow of the ship. The dark blue waters reflected the beautiful redwood forest like a mirror. The rocky shore was scarcely moistened by the calm waters of the bay. A number of small birds, brown with flashes of black on their necks, hopped along among the rocks finding insects or small crustaceans. A large tract stretching from the coastline all the way up to the promontory had already been denuded of its trees, both large and small. The great chug of steam engines and the intermittent whine of power saws filled the air with so much sound that not even the throaty cries of the monstrous forests beasts could be heard above them.

Terrence Dechantagne stood slightly behind and to the right of his sister. His khaki clothes were stained at the knees with mud, around his waist with the chlorophyll of plant life, and upon the thighs with small streaks of blood, where he had wiped his hands. His sleeves were rolled up and his forearms were scratched. The perspiration that had made trails through the dirt on his face, had long since dried. It was the first time he had been back aboard ship in two days.

“Report,” said Iolanthe, with every bit of the hard nose and hard shell of a hard case Field Marshall.

“I’ve increased the standing guard to three squads. I’ve just finished taking two platoons up, around and back down the peninsula, chasing out the big animals. We had one casualty. One of the men, Dawson, tripped and fell down the embankment and those vicious little raptors were all over him before anyone could get down there. I think the fall killed him though. Augie left with two platoons first thing this morning to make contact with the natives. The remaining few men are supervising the construction of the wall.”

“How much of the wall is completed?”

“About a fourth.”

“So three more days?”

“Maybe four. We’re talking about a wall that’s almost three miles long. But I think we can let people come ashore the day after tomorrow. The gap can be guarded until the rest of it is built.”

“Zeah?” asked Iolanthe.

Zeah Korlann stood behind and to the left of her. His grey suit enhanced his stiff, tall form. He was every inch dignified, though lately his demeanor was less the dignity of a head butler than that of a skilled diplomat and administrator. He wore a white flower, native of the new continent, on his lapel.

“We have nearly one hundred men cutting timber and sawing it into lumber. Almost all of the rest are building the wall. Those women who are available are loading cargo into the launches. Captain Gurrman’s men are then unloading it.

“Radley?”

Lieutenant Staff shifted uncomfortably in his starched white naval uniform upon hearing his first name used so casually, but he gave his report as though nothing was amiss.

“We should be completely unloaded in the next eight days. Professor Calliere is supervising the assembly of one of the steam tractors at the top of the promontory. It can then be used to haul everything else up the hill on a wagon or a sledge. Quite ingenious really. My concern is more with the construction of the dock. There is just some cargo that can’t come over on the boats. We have to have a dock built that can accommodate a crane that reaches out into the bay far enough for the Minotaur to come abreast.”

“We start construction on that as soon as the wall is completed,” said Terrence. “Zeah and I will split the men from the wall into two groups. He’ll supervise the construction of the barracks, and I will take care of the dock. The big danger here is the marine reptiles, the sharks, and those quite frankly scary as hell fish. You can’t chase them off the way we did with the land animals. We start working near the water, and we’re going to lose men.”

“I think this is a job for Zurfina the Magnificent,” said Iolanthe, “if she didn’t go with Augie.”

“She didn’t,” reported Terrence. “I sent Wizard Labrith with him.”

“Good,” she said. “I will speak to her today. We will need a solution ready before we start work. Will we have enough lumber?”

“Yes,” said Zeah. “Lumber production is just ahead of usage. If we keep working at the same pace, we should have a plentiful supply. By the time we finish phase one though, there won’t be any trees left inside the wall.”

“That’s fine,” said Iolanthe. “The promontory is going to be the dock, the fort and the industrial area. We won’t need many trees. We will need a few though. I’ll go ashore later and mark those to be spared. It sounds as though everything is in order. What are you gentlemen doing now?”

“I have the bridge,” said Staff.

“I’m going to take a bath and a nap,” said Terrence.

“I have to speak to Father Ian about arranging a wedding,” said Zeah.

Iolanthe looked at him and cocked her eyebrow.

“Corporal Bratihn has asked Mrs. Kittredge to marry him. It will be the first wedding in the new colony.”

“See that it is done right,” said Iolanthe. “This has to be a big affair with the whole colony taking part—the perfect event to inaugurate our city.”

“What will your new city be called?” asked Lieutenant Staff.

“Port Dechantagne, of course.”

“Of course,” said Terrence quietly.

Iolanthe dismissed the three men and walked swiftly to the stern of the ship where Yuah was awaiting her. The dressing maid was wearing a simple grey wool dress over a white linen foundation. Her hair was pulled up into a tight bun, but even its severity didn’t take away from her obvious beauty. Though Iolanthe was accounted one of the most beautiful women in the great city of Brech, she recognized the truth that few did—Yuah was more beautiful. Their difference in wealth, status, and religion obscured the fact, but it was a fact, nonetheless.

“Did you see Terrence just now?”

“Yes, Miss.”

“You’ve been checking up on him, I know.”

“Yes, Miss.”

“He doesn’t look very good. Is he… all right?”

“Yes. I don’t know. I think so.”

Putting thoughts of her brother and of the relative attractiveness of her dressing maid aside, Iolanthe toured the ship from stem to stern, from the main deck to the lowest deck. There was much to do and she intended to make sure that it was all done and done properly. When an obvious need presented itself, she assigned the task immediately. When a need was less obvious, she gave Yuah a note to remind her about it later. When they reached deck four, Yuah stopped unexpectedly.

“What is the matter?” asked Iolanthe.

“This is my deck,” said Yuah. “My cabin is just up on the right.”

“Yes?”

“Well, there are too many doors in this hallway. The doorway… here,” she pointed to the second door on the left. “That door shouldn’t be here.”

Iolanthe smiled. “Excellent.” She walked over and rapped sharply on the door.

It opened and Senta, Zurfina’s ward, peered out with a puzzled look on her face. Iolanthe was sure that it was the first time during the entire voyage from Brechalon that anyone had knocked on the door.

“Is your mistress at home?” asked Iolanthe.

The girl nodded. A moment later she was replaced in the doorway by the sorceress. She had evidently just gotten out of bed, and was clad in an ankle length but completely sheer nightgown. With no shoes on her feet, she was several inches shorter than Iolanthe.

“Yes?”

“We have an assignment for you, sorceress,” said Iolanthe. “The creatures in the bay need to be driven away from the area where we are planning to build a dock. They need to be kept permanently away, or at least long enough for the construction to be completed.”

“I will take care of it,” said the sorceress, and closed the door.

Iolanthe turned around to look at her dressing maid with an uncharacteristically broad smile upon her face.

“That was most satisfying,” she said. “Thank you.”

“Yes, Miss.”

“I think it’s about time for lunch,” said Iolanthe.

“If you’ll let me know the menu and the guest list, I’ll contact Mrs. Colbshallow and the wait staff.”

“I was thinking that you and I could have lunch.”

Yuah stood looking blankly for a moment, and then placed the palm of her hand against the wall of the corridor as though she were steadying herself in uneven seas.

“No need to look as though you’re going to pass out,” said Iolanthe.

“No Miss, It’s just…”

“Consider it a weak moment.”

“You don’t have weak moments, Miss.”

“No, well. You see Yuah, I don’t have any friends here.”

“You don’t have any friends back home either, Miss.”

“Thank you for your merciless honesty, Yuah,” said Iolanthe. “Peers then. This is a new world. If I’m going to have any kind of social life at all, I’m going to need a new group with whom to socialize—a new class if you will.”

“I won’t fit into that class, Miss,” said Yuah. “I’m the wrong religion.”

“No one is going to care about that anymore.”

“People will always care, Miss.”

“People are going to have to change, especially when we start working with the natives. What religion do you suppose they practice?”

“They worship a pantheon of gods, most of whom have died,” said Yuah.

“Good heavens. Really? How do you know that?”

“Your brother told me, Miss.”

“Well, where did Terrence pick up that tid-bit?”

“Not Master Terrence, Miss. It was Master Augie. He served here while he was in the army.”

“Well, yes, of course I know that. He speaks the language. That’s why he’s going to meet with the natives now.”

Iolanthe and Yuah did end up together at the luncheon table. The repast consisted of cucumber and cress sandwiches and tomato soup. Most of the meal was quiet. There seemed to be very little that the two had in common despite their enormous shared experience. When at last they returned to the topic of the natives, the conversation for both of them relaxed somewhat and they engaged in a bit of idle speculation as to the various parts of the Birmisian lifestyle.

After dinner both women changed into khaki jungle outfits. These, though they resembled the men’s in color and sturdiness of the material, were still primarily feminine attire with long skirts cut large enough for an appropriate bustle. Iolanthe also belted on a holster with a .45 caliber revolver. Yuah had never used a firearm before and thought that if she had taken one, it would be more likely that she would discharge it into her own foot than into any threat. They didn’t need to go back topside. The external hatch on deck six opened onto the middle of the temporary staircase, which had been erected on the side of the ship. Here a launch was awaiting them, the sailors who had just come from the shore having been replaced with a fresh group of rowers. Also waiting in the boat was Wizard Suvir Kesi.

“Good afternoon, ladies.” His accented voice seemed naturally oily. “Do you mind if I accompany you today?”

“Not at all,” said Iolanthe. “In fact, this is my first trip ashore and I think Yuah would welcome the company of a magic user as much as I would. Have you been ashore already?”

“Yes,” he said. “I was with Captain Dechantagne this morning as he chased the dinosaurs off the promontory. I made a small contribution myself, and so I had to return to my cabin to replenish my spells. I am once again fully prepared now.”

The sailors pushed the launch away from the side of the ship and began rowing across the relatively calm water of the bay. Several hundred yards away, Iolanthe could see the smooth back of some enormous reptile sliding through the water as the beast cut the surface to take a breath.

“Not to worry, Miss Dechantagne,” said Kesi. “That’s not one of the big mouthed fellows. That is what Professor Calliere described to me as a plesiosaur. They have large bodies, but small heads suitable for eating only small fish.”

“I wasn’t worried,” said Iolanthe.

“I bloody was,” said Yuah.

As she said this a fish, a monstrous fish the size of a steam carriage, leapt completely out of the water and fell back with a splash thirty feet from the launch.

“On the other hand,” said Kesi. “I’m pretty sure whatever was chasing that little minnow has quite a large mouth.”

It became increasingly difficult to talk as they neared the shore because of the sound of steam engines and power saws. The boat reached the shore and two of the sailors jumped out to secure it to the land. All of the sailors were then ordered to wait as the two women and Kesi met two waiting riflemen. It felt remarkably good to walk on dry land. Dozens of men were working nearby, chopping logs into segments, pulling them to the massive power saw, and slicing them into boards. A large swath of the once beautiful forest had become a wide muddy path, and it was expanding.

“If we had arrived any later, there wouldn’t be any trees at all to save,” said Iolanthe. “Ribbon, Yuah?”

Yuah handed her a roll of inch wide red ribbon. Iolanthe started into the woods, working her way up the slope of the land and to the left of where the workmen were. The dressing maid and the wizard followed. After several dozen steps, she came to a particularly majestic redwood. It was about twelve feet in diameter, not the largest tree, but symmetrical and tall. Iolanthe handed the end of the ribbon to Yuah, and then circumnavigated the tree, letting the ribbon unroll off the spool as she went until she returned to the starting spot. Then she took the end from Yuah and tied the ribbon into a neat bow. The red band at eye level would serve as a note to the woodcutters that this tree was to be left undisturbed. The sound of the power saw continued in the background, only occasionally stopping as men adjusted the controls for the types of boards to be cut.

“That’s a nice tree,” said Kesi. “But why this one. There are plenty that are just as nice.”

“This one is going to give shade to the port office, which will be right over there,” explained Iolanthe.

“Do you have the entire city planned out in your head?”

“Of course not. I have a rough idea about the port. Of course everything can be adjusted as needs be.”

She continued up the slope followed by Yuah and Kesi, marking one tree in fifty to be saved as she went. When they reached the top of the promontory and the clearing, they could see the men working on the wall several hundred yards away. Calling the structure a wall was doing it a great disservice. It was a fortification, six feet thick, with an outer wall thirty-five feet tall and an inner wall twenty feet tall, and a walkway between them built atop the inner wall. Though they couldn’t be seen from this angle, two lines of sharpened stakes pointed outward, one at fifteen feet in height and the other at thirty. The spikes were spaced four feet apart.

“Your bother’s design is impressive,” said Kesi.

“I see now why all the trees are going to be gone,” said Yuah.

“The trees around here will be cut,” said Iolanthe. “But remember, we’re sitting on the edge of a forest a thousand miles across. There will be no shortage of lumber.”

Walking the length of the peninsula and tagging each of more than one hundred trees while doing so used the remainder of their afternoon and the remainder of their ribbon as well. Several times Iolanthe noticed Wizard Kesi speaking in low tones to Yuah. When at last she was ready to return to the ship, Iolanthe called the other two to follow her back to the shore.

“If you don’t mind ladies,” said Kesi. “I’m going to stay here and do a little bit of exploring.”

“Do be careful,” said Yuah.

“Don’t worry,” he replied. “I have no intention of becoming a meal for one of the local monstrosities.”

The two women were dutifully rowed back to the Minotaur without incident and they made their way up to the deck.

“I noticed that Suvir Kesi spoke quite a bit to you while we were over there,” said Iolanthe.

“Yes, Miss.”

“May I ask what he is plotting?”

“He was wondering if he could call on me.”

“Really? Can he?”

“I don’t know how I feel about him,” said Yuah. “Him being a foreigner, and all.”

“Yes, foreigner.” Iolanthe nodded in understanding.

The loud whine of the power saw stopped as the men using it made one of their adjustments. At that moment a horrendous roar reverberated through the trees in the distance, followed seconds later by a smattering of gunfire.

“I hope Master Augie is all right,” said Yuah.

Iolanthe nodded again. “I have half a wish that Terrence had gone with him.”

“He’s probably better off on his own. He’s more familiar with this country than anyone in the expedition. Besides, he’s not really alone. He’s got eighty men with him. With rifles.”

The women retired to their cabins and rested for several hours and then met again, having changed into evening dresses. Iolanthe hosted a dinner, and for the first time, Yuah participated as a guest. It was in fact, an all female party, attended by Egeria Lusk, Padgett Kelloran, and four other women, Mrs. Hollerith, Mrs. Luebking, Mrs. Goeking, and Mrs. Parnorsham, all of whose husbands were ashore, either sleeping in tents or working as part of the all night crew cutting lumber and assembling the protective barrier. Several of the off duty sailors had earlier in the day, indulged in net fishing in the harbor, a pastime that turned out to be remarkably lucrative. Dinner this evening was based around the fruits of this labor. A baked fish, no one seemed to know the exact variety, was served with garlic and onions. Scalloped potatoes and canned fruits rounded out the meal. And of course, afterwards, fortified wine and coffee were served.

That night, as she lay in bed, Iolanthe tried to listen to the waves hitting the shore. After a while, she could make them out, though they were distant. Much more easily heard were the various sounds of the dinosaurs in the forest—hoots, bellows, honks, and roars. Then the power saw roared into operation again, drowning out all other outside noises.

In the days that followed, things began to move more quickly. Early the next morning, Zurfina produced a small anchor, which the ship had carried for use on the launches. She claimed to have enchanted the metal so that all creatures would be repelled from it, not so far that they would be chased completely out of the bay, but far enough that it would be safe for people to work in or near the water. The anchor was attached to a rope and tossed out into the water and then the construction of the dock was begun.

Women began going ashore for the first time as well. Some of them worked along with the men, beginning construction of the first barracks, right in the clearing where Captain Dechantagne had watched the tyrannosaurus attack the iguanodons. Construction was quick and by the end of the first day, the first barracks was nearly complete. It was an elevated, pitch-roofed structure twenty-five feet wide and two hundred feet long. The barracks would be divided into twenty by twenty-five foot apartments for families or in some cases assigned roommates. For the soldiers, they would be left as single rooms and filled with bunks. Several extra buildings would be constructed to serve as kitchen, mess hall, bathhouse, laundry, and recreation areas. In all, thirty of the barracks buildings would be needed. The plan was that once the colony began to function as a real community, people would provide their own housing, and the barracks would form the basis of the fort. Some distance away, a row of outhouses was also built.

Though he had discussed slowing work on construction of the wall, once the women were able to supplement the work force, Captain Dechantagne in fact expanded the work, doubling the number of workers. By evening, the wall was essentially complete. All that remained for the next day was to construct some barricades at each end, where the wall met the sea, so that no one or nothing could get around the wall and into the compound.

Most agreed that the most enjoyable duty was the special squad of eight women who were assigned to help Professor Calliere. True, they had to tote around a certain amount of equipment, but it was worth it. They unpacked the professor’s gear, which included a large wicker basket, a heater, and a magnificent hot air balloon. The balloon was inflated and the professor sailed off into the sky, staying firmly attached to the ground by a very long rope. From his towering altitude, Calliere sketched out the surrounding countryside. Best of all, his helpers took turns riding with him.

Iolanthe toured the colony in the morning and in the late afternoon. But she spent most of the mid-day in the company of Lieutenant Staff. She was keenly aware that he was going to be parted from her in a matter of days, and when she thought of this she felt a strange tugging at her insides.

“If I promised to return, would you wait for me?” he asked.

“What do you mean?” Iolanthe asked, smiling.

“I think you know what I mean. I could be out of the service in eight months. I had planned to stay in longer and I’d never thought about starting a life in a colony, but I would if I had someone truly outstanding to be a partner.”

“It definitely bears thinking about,” said Iolanthe.

He grabbed her shoulders in his strong hands and lifted her face to his, planting his lips on hers. She felt her body respond. She wrapped her arms around his neck and fiercely kissed him back. Later that evening, in her cabin, she sat looking at a calendar. Was her life passing her by? Of course she would wait for him, if he were really going to return. Wouldn’t she?

The following day, work in the colony was expanded, both in quantity and in variety. With the wall essentially complete, there was no reason to bar anyone from coming ashore, or preventing most of the women and even some of the older children from working. Several dozen men worked to drive sharpened stakes into the rocky shore and even off into the surf at the end of the protective wall. Professor Calliere continued his examination of the area from balloon. Work continued on the dock. More trees were chopped down and converted to lumber. Five barracks were completed.

Two large groups of hunters were sent out. Ever since their arrival in this new land, there had been speculation as to whether or not the strange creatures, now known to everyone by the name dinosaur were edible, or could be made so. Many also wondered whether at least some of them could be domesticated and raised either as food stock or as beasts of burden. The first group of hunters was given the relatively simple task of killing and butchering one of the beasts. The second group had the much more difficult proposition of capturing a beast, and seeing if they could return it to the encampment.

It was just after noon when the first group returned. Each of the more than twenty men carried large slabs or huge joints of meat. They had shot and killed three iguanodons, though they had been chased away from one of those kills by a tyrannosaurus. This particular beast was smaller than the one that the soldiers had originally seen attacking the herd, which surprised Professor Calliere, who had previously expressed an opinion that the great predators must possess a tremendously large territory. The meat from only two kills though was enough to supply the entire complement of both the colonists and the crew of the Minotaur with a feast.

As it turned out the meat was more than palatable. It seemed to have more in common with poultry than with beef, though a few were heard to insist that it most resembled pork. That evening, on board ship, it was sliced thick and served with gravy over rice. For those who were living in tents in the new colony, which was by this time a larger number than those who had stayed behind on the ship, the meat was cooked over campfires and served as steaks and roasts.

The second group returned in late afternoon. They had captured a small ankylosaurus, one of the boney, armored dinosaurs that seemed to wander along with the iguanodon herds. The beast was thought to be an adolescent, about three feet tall and about fourteen feet from nose to the club at the end of its tale. Even so, it had been almost impossible to force back to the fortified area. By using a combination of shoving and coaxing with some local fruit, they had eventually guided it back. It seemed none too bright, but on the other hand, seemed to have no compunction against the company of these strange two-legged intruders.

The following day, it was decided that hunting dinosaurs for food would wait for more important activities to be completed, though a small team was dispatched to find whatever local plants might be useful. The possibility of domesticating the huge beasts and using their great power for the benefit of the colonists was too important to wait however. The same team that had captured the ankylosaurus was sent out again, while others bent themselves to the task of building an enclosure to house it and similar pets. For its part the armored creature seemed perfectly happy to stay where he was, provided with a large pile of vegetation to eat.

Things did not go as well for the group of hunters as it had the day before. Journeying some miles to the southeast, they had come upon a large group of the massive three horned dinosaurs known as triceratops. It was not simply a herd, but a large nesting area. Dozens of dinosaur nests covered the ground—great rings of rock and gravel arranged around the spot where piles of eggs had been deposited. Incubation had already occurred and the land was crawling with miniature triceratops, about the size of breadboxes, and already equipped with tiny frills and three little horns. The idea of capturing baby dinosaurs and raising them in the company of humans seemed an object worth some risk, so a plan was developed to lure the parents away from a nest and while they were occupied, to snatch away two or three of the offspring. Somewhere in the execution of this plan, something went wrong. No one who was not actually there ever found out exactly what happened, but when the group returned to camp they came with two baby triceratops and the bodies of three of the colonists and one sailor.

Only a few men were needed to make finishing touches to the wall and as it turned out a few repairs where dinosaurs had damaged it, apparently by running into the unfamiliar structure inadvertently. Fewer men were needed for work on the dock, and it was completed that afternoon. With all the equipment that had been brought for the colony and the great masses of supplies, the Dechantagnes had not waited for the dock. Unloading by boat had been going on all day. The dock’s completion though allowed the Minotaur to maneuver up to it and for cargo to be offloaded directly.

The lumber cutting teams and the sawmill operation continued at a full pace. More lumber was needed than ever as the number of colonists working on barracks was increased. By the evening of this sixth day in a new land, twelve of the temporary housing units had been completed and families had begun to move in. Equipment for both the kitchen and the laundry were installed in two of them. Iolanthe had even assigned eight of the older children the duty of raking the ground and forming pathways between the buildings.

Professor Calliere took his balloon crew once more into the sky, but it seemed to Iolanthe that he was having entirely too much fun. What’s more, she thought that his abilities could be put to better use elsewhere. Miss Lusk for instance took a team to take measurements and survey the entire promontory. She had developed, she said, a program for the Result Mechanism, which once the measurements were fed in, would create the best possible settlement layout, taking into account considerations for travel routes, water distribution, and sewer facilities.

Iolanthe, and truth be told, most everyone else, thought that much had been accomplished that day. All the milestones however were forgotten early that evening when Augustus Dechantagne returned with his eighty soldiers and a committee of fifty natives.

Simply put, the natives were not human. They had more in common with the giant dinosaurs that wandered their land than with the newcomers from Greater Brechalon. They were reptiles, six to seven feet tall, with gray, green, or brown scaly skin. They had long snouts filled with pointed teeth, and though they walked more or less fully upright, they sported a tail behind them six to eight feet long. Up and down their backs, as in alligators, they had a row of bumpy ridges, while in front they had a large flap of skin or dewlap below their faces. Their hands, though possessing stumpy claw-tipped fingers did feature an opposable thumb. Despite the fact that they wore no real clothing, just belts, assorted tribal jewelry, and decorative paint, it was impossible to tell the difference between males and females of the species.

Iolanthe, her brother Terrence, Captain Gurrman, Lieutenant Staff, Professor Calliere, Father Ian, and Wizard Kesi gathered to meet the returning mission and their guests. Quite a large crowd of colonists gathered around.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” said a haggard and dirty Augustus Dechantagne. “It is my privilege to present his majesty Chief Ssithtsutsu of the village of Tserich.”

The chief was a remarkable specimen. He was fully seven foot two and had to weigh in at more than three hundred fifty pounds. His green scales were mottled and he had a foot long scar across his face, passing through one eye. That eye was white and obviously blind. He wore an animal skull festooned with colorful feathers as a helmet, and had several belts that looked to be made of animal hair woven with bone beads, various sized teeth, and colorful stones. He stood and carefully sized up the crowd of humans. In his hand he held a sword made of a piece of highly polished black wood, cut flat like a cricket mallet, and inlaid all around its edge by what looked to be very sharp chips of obsidian. After a moment, he held out the sword, not in a threatening manner, but as if offering it up for a gift.

A number of the group no doubt expected Captain Gurrman to accept the weapon, but he made no move. Instead, both Iolanthe and Terrence took a step at the same moment. They stopped and looked at one another. Terrence stepped back and Iolanthe took one more step forward, accepting the proffered sword in hand. As she lifted it above her head, Chief Ssithtsutsu opened his mouth exposing his many teeth. At that point it was unclear what the significance of the expression was for the lizardman, but it looked very much to all of the human beings in attendance like a smile. Iolanthe returned the look with her own fierce grin.

Chapter Fifteen: The Result Mechanism

Ssichutuu was probably not nearly as frightening as his chief. He did not for instance appear to be wearing any part of a skeleton as decoration. He also did not carry any obvious weapons, save a small stone knife with wooden handle. Nevertheless, Zeah Korlann found his new companion every bit as frightening as the tyrannosaurus that stalked the forests of the region. Ssichutuu was a little over six feet tall and looked more than a little like an upright alligator. His deep olive skin had few obvious scars or discolorations, marking him as a younger member of the fifty-strong group of visitors. He kept his dewlap for the most part tucked up against his neck. The truly unnerving thing was the fact that his yellow eyes never seemed to leave Zeah for long and they almost never blinked.

Most of the natives had left the compound to go on a hunting expedition with Master Terrence, but ten had stayed to observe the lifestyles of the newcomers. Each of these temporary visitors had two colonists to look after them. Zeah and Saba Colbshallow were both escorting this particular lizardman or lizzie around. Saba had already nicknamed the creature Sichy. The aborigine took a keen interest in almost everything that they were doing. They walked along the shore and watched the finishing touches being put on the dock’s crane, which once finished began lifting the last of the heavy cargo from the battleship. They walked up the hill, now mostly denuded of trees, which was being spread with gravel to form a roadway. At the top of the hill, they watched the construction of the barracks. Ssichutuu seemed fascinated by the smoothness of the wood used so they walked back down the hill, just south of the dock to observe the power saw slicing logs into boards.

At lunchtime, the lizardmen were brought together along with their hosts around a large table just inside the great protective wall. Two foot long log segments were turned on end to be used as chairs. This was functional enough for the colonists and even better for the natives than real chairs, which interfered with their thick tails. A kind of shish kabob, with pieces of meat, onions, and potatoes was served. The reptiles eschewed the vegetables but ate the meat happily enough. Zeah suspected that they would have preferred it raw, and maybe aged to the point of rotting.

Afterwards the humans watched as the lizardmen gave a demonstration of their method of creating stone blades from the local flint and obsidian. They used large rocks to break off long slender flakes and then used pieces of bone to chip tiny bits off of these flakes and make them even sharper. When they were done, they attached the now very sharp stone blades to handles of wood. Ssichutuu presented his completed knife to Zeah and indicated by hand signals that he should keep it as a gift. The former butler marveled at the keen edge. He didn’t think that even the steel knives brought from Greater Brechalon could match them. The real advantage of manufactured tools would be their durability.

Late in the afternoon, the hunting party returned, carrying massive amounts of dinosaur meat. Once again there was a great feast, with members of both races eating large amounts of the new world’s unusual meat. The natives seemed to have the ability to pack away gargantuan portions of food. Zeah overheard Saba remarking on this to Professor Calliere.

“I believe it to be a function of their reptilian nature,” replied the professor. “They can eat great amounts of meat at one time and then go without for perhaps weeks. I’m sure that this will be of benefit to us once they begin fulfilling their purpose as our natural servants.”

Zeah didn’t pay too much attention to the professor’s pronouncement—in truth, he seldom paid a great deal of attention to what Calliere said—but this time it was because of the presence of Egeria Lusk at Calliere’s side. She wore a teal brocaded dinner gown with large gold buttons from the neck to below the waist, and a straw boater with a teal ribbon around it.

“You look lovely Egeria,” Zeah thought he probably sounded as though he was gushing, but he didn’t care.

“Thank you, Zeah,” she said. “I must say you look ruggedly handsome.”

Zeah looked down at himself. He had been wearing the same type of khaki safari clothing that the soldiers wore. In fact, he had requested a set of the clothing from the mercenary company supplies when he found that he would be spending the day playing tour guide to an oversized lizard. He had to admit that the color accentuated his tall, thin form. And he thought the stone knife blade worn at his belt made him look manly. He took her hand and led her away from the crowd.

“I haven’t seen much of you the past two days,” he said.

“Don’t expect to see much of me the next few days either,” she said. “The Result Mechanism is being brought ashore tomorrow and the professor will need help getting it up and running. After that I need to input the measurements from the survey.”

After watching the look on his face for a moment, she burst out laughing. “You really are medicine for the ego! If you’re going to be all that broken up about not seeing me, you might as well come by and help me with the great machine.” She said the words “great machine” in an abnormally deep voice.

Zeah perked right up.

“I might just do that,” he said, guaranteeing himself in his own mind that he would.

The next morning, most of the colonists were amazed to find that the lizardmen had all left. Only the sentries had seen them rise early in the morning, gather together their meager gear and the collection of food and manufactured goods that the humans had given them, and exit through the gate in the wall. They took nothing that did not rightfully belong to them, and they left no word with anyone that they were leaving—anyone being Master Augie, who was the only one fluent in their language.

Zeah knew that Miss Dechantagne’s plans for the colony ultimately depended on the lizardmen. They would be needed extensively for manual labor. He also knew that Miss Dechantagne had negotiated well into the night with Chief Ssithtsutsu. He didn’t know what the outcome was. He had better things to do that listen to Master Augie’s back and forth translation. Better things being looking at and talking to Egeria. All the same, he was glad that the lizzies were gone. They were so very… well, reptilian.

Zeah placed his khakis in the laundry and put on a grey suit. Without the lizardman at his side, it just didn’t seem right to be wearing jungle clothing, especially since they weren’t really in a jungle. Technically this was a rain forest, but the huge redwoods and spruce trees certainly did not constitute a jungle. Starting directly into his morning duties, as he always did, Zeah took his clipboard in hand and went to check on each of the individuals he was overseeing.

The need of almost one thousand individuals for fresh food was great. A number of different plans for supplying those needs had been developed. Hunters were again being sent out to procure meat and if possible to capture more local animals for domestication. Another group of men and women would search once again for edible plants, this endeavor having proven fruitful (Zeah laughed to himself at the pun), and another group had been assigned the job of fishermen. They would do their fishing from the shore of the bay. Finally, with a mind to the long term, several areas around the hill where the barracks were located were tagged as locations for gardens, and forty colonists would prepare them for planting.

Laird Luebking, a colonist who had been a mason back in Brechalon but who had attended two years at university studying engineering, had been given the task of planning and building an aqueduct system that would bring water from the river six miles away. Though there were several small streams that were closer and were already being used, the river which was named Manzanian on the map, but which most of the colonists had been calling the Minotaur in honor of the battleship which had brought them, seemed large enough to be the main source of water for an expanding colony for many years. Luebking had made a superficial determination that the water could be brought the entire way by cutting channels and building only three short stretches of raised aqueducts. Using a team of thirty men, he would plot out the course for the waterways and determine the manpower and equipment that would be needed in the coming weeks.

Once Zeah had checked in with those who had been chosen to lead the efforts at food production and gathering, and had discussed plans with Luebking, as well as checking on those groups who were constructing the last of the barracks housing, unloading the ship, and assembling some of the equipment brought along from Greater Brechalon, he made his way to the shelter that had been erected to house the Result Mechanism.

On the north side of the hill where the barracks were placed, about halfway up the slope, eight tall poles held up a pitched roof. Beneath was a machine about the size of a railroad car and looking something like a cross between a steam engine and the inside of a clock. There were pipes and pressure tanks, gauges and valves, but there were also thousands of gears and levers, pulleys and pendulums. On one side was a bank of controls, including a series of large buttons and a pair of levers. Standing beside the great machine was a petite redhead.

“Is it ready to go?” Zeah asked Egeria as he stepped up to her side.

“They’re lighting the coal on the other side now,” she replied, and then she reached out and enveloped his right hand in both her small ones.

“I have to admit that I’m expecting something grand,” he said.

“Then I’m afraid you’re going to be disappointed. We won’t be doing anything other than a few tests today. Tomorrow, I start working with the survey data.”

They waited until a small whistle of steam began pouring out of one of the release valves. Then Egeria turned a series of knobs. She pressed all of the large buttons, Zeah now counted sixteen of them. Then she pulled the first lever. The depressed buttons popped back out. Then she pressed every other button—the even ones, and pulled the lever. She then pressed the buttons she hadn’t pressed the last time—the odd ones, and pulled the lever. Once again she pressed all of the buttons and pulled the lever, but this time she then pulled the second lever. Gears began to turn. Pulleys began to move up and down. Then entire device acted as though it was about to get up and walk away. Zeah heard what sounded like typing, and he stepped around to the far side of the Result Mechanism to see a sheet of paper emerging from a slot in the side. Egeria followed him, and as she reached out to take the paper, the gears and windings of the machine came to a stop, though it still hissed with steam. She read the paper and then handed it to Zeah, who in turn read it.

Congratulations.

If you can read this information, you have correctly set up the Result Mechanism.

Serial Number: 000001

Data Format: HXD

Location:

Environment: EWL 1.0

Version: 1.001a

“Well, I guess congratulations are in order,” said Zeah. “Where is Professor Calliere, anyway?”

Egeria shrugged.

“One would think he would want to be here to unveil his wonderful invention to the world.”

“It’s just a toy to him,” said Egeria. “He came up with the idea of this machine—a machine that could do incredibly fast calculations, but he doesn’t really understand what this could lead to. As far as the professor is concerned, adding, subtracting, multiplying, and dividing is all that it does. It just does it incredibly fast.”

“Isn’t that all it does?” wondered Zeah.

“Yes. That’s the beauty of it. All God needed to do to make all of creation was to add, subtract, multiply, and divide. Math is everything. It underlies the universe. Numbers are everything. They’re colors. They’re shapes. They’re lengths, widths, durations. Calliere supposes that incredibly quick calculations will allow more accurate trajectories for artillery fire, and it has—I’ve already written that program—but if you replace numbers with colors and shapes, you could create your own world. You could define your own plane of existence. You could predict the future. You could be God.”

“Well now that you have tested the machine, and approached deification, what are you going to do?” asked Zeah.

“I thought I would go watch the little dinosaurs.”

“Then I shall accompany you.”

The little herd of dinosaurs penned into an enclosure southeast of the barracks had grown to six—one ankylosaurus, three triceratops, and two iguanodons. All were feeding from a large pile of local vegetation placed in the pen by their keepers and supplemented by vegetable and fruit scraps from the colonists’ tables. Several women and a few older children were working in rotating shifts, taking care of the beasties. Fetching fresh water and large piles of food was far less difficult than the other necessary task—shoveling out the pen. Today Mrs. Kittredge was on duty.

“Etta!” called Egeria, when she saw the other woman. “How are you? Are you ready for the wedding?”

“Oh yes,” said Mrs. Kittredge, bending over slightly to give Egeria, who was a head shorter, a hug. “I’ll be happy when it’s all said and done.”

“It’s just the day after tomorrow. Do you need help with anything? It seems so rushed.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t have waited this long if we had been back in Brech,” she said, and Zeah thought that she gave him a sideways look.

“You’re very lucky,” said Egeria. “I think Corporal Bratihn is a fine man.”

“Yes, Lawrence is a wonderful man.”

“I hope you’ll be very happy,” said Zeah, conscious that it was inappropriate to congratulate the bride.

“Thank you,” said Mrs. Kittredge. She looked wistfully off into the distance. “I hope we can start a family. I would love to have more children.”

Egeria placed a comforting hand on her arm.

“Mr. Kittredge and their two children died of fever,” she explained to Zeah.

“I’m sorry,” said Zeah. He was actually pleased that the conversation had turned in this direction. The topic of death did not make him nearly as uncomfortable as the topic of starting a family, so very near was it to the topic of sexuality.

“Well,” said Mrs. Kittredge, wiping away a tear. “I had better get back to my duties. You would be amazed at how much manure six little animals can create.”

“I really wish she wouldn’t use the word ‘manure’,” said Zeah, after the woman had stepped away.

“I think she used that word for your sake,” said Egeria. “The words I’ve heard her use for it at other times would make you blush. Not everyone. Just you.”

“I suppose you think I’m an old fuddy-duddy.”

“A fuddy-duddy, yes. Old, no.”

They leaned against the fence of the enclosure and watched the dinosaurs eat. After several moments one of them, an iguanodon, walked over to where they were, and stood up on its hind legs, resting its forelegs against the fence. It sniffed at the two humans. Egeria reached out and stroked the back of its head. The little creature closed its eyes and pressed against her hand.

“Watch out,” warned Zeah. “That beak could cause a lot of damage, I’ll wager.”

“It just wants some affection,” said Egeria, continuing to rub the leathery green skin.

“I’m amazed that they take so easily to humans,” said Zeah. “Professor Calliere seems to be of the opinion that their brains are too small to feel emotions. He thinks they might be raised for food stock, but they could never be beasts of burden.”

“I think that emotions aren’t to be found in the big human part of our brains, but in the older part—the part we share with all the animals. Why else would so many mother animals risk their own lives to care for their offspring? I also think the only thing larger than what the professor knows, is what he doesn’t know.”

“Isn’t that a line from Keiman?”

“Well now Mr. Korlann, you amaze me? You can quote Keiman?”

“No, not quote. But I recognize it when I hear it. I don’t remember what book it was.”

“It was The Quality of Damiano, though I substituted ‘the professor’ for ‘Damiano’.”

“I gathered that.”

“Have you read Hormby too?”

“Only The Government.”

“Oh, you should read The Barnyard. It reminds me a little bit of our life here, actually.”

“How so?” asked Zeah.

“In the novel, there is a strict hierarchy among the animals, just as there are among the people in this colony.”

“There is a hierarchy among people everywhere, not just here.”

“Maybe I just notice it more now.”

They watched the dinosaurs for another half hour. The other iguanodon, noticing the attention that his fellow was receiving from the strange two-legged visitors, joined him, and Zeah petted a dinosaur for the first time. The other animals remained where they were, content to munch on the pile of plants.

“Will you join me for dinner?” he asked.

“Are you asking me or the dinosaur?”

“It depends on which one of you says yes first.”

The iguanodon, which Zeah had stopped petting, suddenly let out a great “Honk!” Both of the humans began laughing.

“I hope you two will be very happy,” said Egeria.

“Enough,” said Zeah, still laughing. “I’m not good enough at this playful banter to keep it up any longer. Please just say that you will come to dinner with me.”

He waited for a long moment, as Egeria just looked at him.

“Oh, are you talking to me? I thought that you were still speaking to the dinosaur.”

“Enough! I never thought that in my advancing years I would end up as a plaything for a beautiful young redhead.”

“Beautiful, eh? Then I suppose it’s true what they say about flattery.”

“It’s not flattery. Not one tittle.”

“All right then,” she said. “I will meet you for dinner this evening. What time?”

“6:30?”

“Make it 7:00. You may find me at the Result Mechanism shelter. I still have some work to do there later today.”

The world couldn’t have been more perfect as Zeah walked along the path that had just been covered with gravel to the small tent that Miss Dechantagne was using as her office. The sun was warm and the clouds hanging in the moist air seemed so huge, fluffy, and low that one could reach out and fluff them with one’s fingers. Stepping up to the tent, he knocked on the foremost tent pole.

“Come in,” said Miss Dechantagne from inside.

Zeah entered and found her sitting at a large wooden desk, which had been transported around the world from the Dechantagne household in Brech. She was carefully sorting through a pile of papers.

“Sit down, Zeah,” she said. “I’m just making sure that everything I think is coming on the first supply ship is indeed scheduled to be on that ship.”

“It’s almost a month before that ship arrives isn’t it?”

“Yes, almost.”

Zeah didn’t ask anything else. He just sat down in one of several folding wood and canvas camp chairs that had been set out for visitors and waited for her to finish what she was doing. At last, she shuffled her papers aside and looked up at him.

“How are you today?” she asked.

Zeah almost swallowed his lip. In all the time he had known Miss Dechantagne, and he had known her since she was born, he couldn’t remember her ever having asked after his well being. At first he was simply at a loss. Then he thought that it might be some kind of trick, but looking on her face he saw neither a look of calculation, nor the façade of nonchalance that often covered a look of calculation, but which he had learned to spot many years ago. She was just quietly awaiting his reply.

“I’m… fine.”

“And how are the wedding plans proceeding?”

“Just fine. Food, entertainment; it’s all arranged for the fourteenth.”

“Most excellent. I think that this type of event is just what we need to inaugurate the colony, at least from a social perspective.”

Zeah nodded. To his mind a ‘social perspective’ was superfluous. Shelter, food, and water had to come first. They had semi-permanent shelter in the form of the barracks, but nobody wanted to live there longer than necessary. There was a team at work on an aqueduct, but for the moment they were still bringing water to camp from several small streams in buckets. They had plenty of preserved food in cans and they could hunt for meat, but edible local fruits and vegetables had turned out to be relatively sparse, and while they had planted, it would be months before they would be able to reap that which was sown. On the other hand, he knew that ‘social perspectives’ were not superfluous to Miss Dechantagne, and she had already expressed several times that she wanted the wedding to go off without problems.

“Do you know what arrives on the next ship?” asked Miss Dechantagne.

Zeah nodded again. “Heavy equipment.”

When he had seen the plans for the monthly ships bringing additional equipment and supplies back in Brech, he had expressed some reservation about having a ship full of heavy equipment sent before a ship full of additional food and other perishable supplies. He had been overruled; or rather he had been given no opportunity to express his opinion.

“Heavy equipment and two thousand more colonists.”

“Yes.”

“Do you know what we need?” asked Miss Dechantagne.

“Food,” said Zeah, still following his own thoughts about the preparations made back when they were all still in civilization.

“We need a functioning government. We need a governing body in place, before large numbers of colonists begin arriving.”

“You are the Royal Governor.”

“Yes I am. But we need a governing council. I shall sit on the council as the governor. Augie shall sit as the liaison to the natives and Terrence shall sit as commander of the garrison. Father Ian will represent the Church. And of course Zurfina will be there as well, as per our agreement. I want several seats filled by members of the colony who are popularly elected. ”

“Oh?”

“Yes. In fact, I would like you to gather a list of potential candidates for an election to be held in two weeks, say….the twenty ninth. That will give us time to meet and set up our basic rules of operation before the new colonists arrive. Stability is very important, and the appearance of stability is even more so.”

“How many candidates should we have?”

“I don’t know. Let anyone who has an interest in serving on the council, and isn’t totally undesirable, add his name to the ballot. His or her name.”

“Women too?” Zeah said, more to himself than to Miss Dechantagne.

“Yes,” she said, pursing her lips. “We shall be progressive.”

“Very well,” said Zeah. “I will garner a list and have it available in… two days?”

“That will be fine,” said Miss Dechantagne. “And make sure that your name is on the ballot.”

“Mine?”

“Yes. It has escaped no one’s attention that you are both valuable to the colony and popular among the people. I wouldn’t be surprised at some form of rebellion if your name were left off. And rebellion is something I simply do not have time for. I look forward to seeing the list before its general publication.”

“Of course.”

“Thank you, Zeah.”

Zeah left the tent and looked around. The world had lost none of the color and appeal that it had shown a few minutes before when he had walked down the path looking at the clouds. If anything, it looked even better now. He began his new task of finding individuals who would be interested in running for office. It was a relatively easy job, but several times during the course of the day, the air was rent by the frightful scream of the Tyrannosaurus, hunting on the other side of the high wall.

When evening approached and the cooling air began to give rise to the evening mists, Zeah freshened up in the barracks apartment he shared with Saba Colbshallow. The young man was there, lying on his bunk and reading a book by the light of a candle.

“What are you reading,” asked Zeah, as he changed his tie.

“Adventures in the Unexplored Land.”

“Seems to me that you are living that book; you don’t really need to read it.”

“Well, so far our life here isn’t nearly as adventurous as this book. In a Rikkard Banks Tatum book, people get attacked by monsters right and left. Danger lies at every turn.”

“Exciting?”

“Very.”

“So what’s happening in the part you’re reading?”

“Nance, that’s the hero, is following his arch enemy through the Forest of Screaming Death, and he’s being chased in turn by a monster.”

“Perhaps we could persuade Captain Dechantagne to leave a large hole in the protective fence for you.”

“The fence is fine. I just want to be able to get out on the other side of it.”

“Maybe you’ll get your chance.”

“Meeting your lady?” asked Saba, after a moment.

Zeah grunted.

“Fine. No adventure and no romance.”

Zeah smiled and finished straightening his tie and combing his hair. Then he stepped out the door, waving to young Saba who, already engrossed again in his book didn’t notice. He skipped lightly down the three steps and almost bounced down the path toward the shelter that held the Result Mechanism. The closer he came to the structure, the louder the noise was. The Result Mechanism was chugging along in operation. He didn’t see Egeria by the machine so he called out to her.

“Miss Lusk!”

There was no answer so he called out again. Still no answer, he walked slowly around the whistling steam pipes and turning gears. It was growing darker by the moment and the mist was rising from the nearby forest and the bay. A paper was printing on the side of the Result Mechanism. Several sheets had already fallen from the slot and were lying on the ground. Egeria was not there to gather them. Zeah stepped around the next corner to the back of the machine.

“Egeria!”

Miss Lusk was lying face down on the ground. The back of her white dress was stained dark. The failing light had drained all the color from the world, but Zeah knew that the growing spot was deep red. Blood red. He ran to her still form, dropping to his knees. She seemed to have several deep wounds. As he pressed his hands to them, he could feel the blood and the life pumping out between his fingers.

“Help!” Over the sound of the machine he could barely hear himself. “Help!”

No one was going to help him. No one could hear him over the whistle, clank, and grind. Zeah scooped Egeria up in his arms and ran around the corner and back up the hill. He made it about half way when he tripped, sending both Egeria and himself sprawling across the ground. He rose quickly to his knees, but she stayed in a bloody clump.

“Help Me!” he screamed.

Several soldiers came trotting down the hill. When they saw the blood covered young woman and the older man, they stopped for a split second. Then two of the soldiers scooped up Egeria, while a third helped Zeah to his feet and guided him by the elbow. The soldiers took them into Miss Dechantagne’s tent where a meeting was going on. Suddenly everyone seemed to be shouting and talking, but Zeah couldn’t follow any of it. The world seemed a blur of unconnected sights and sounds. Then he felt a slap across his cheek and everything came back into focus. Miss Dechantagne was looking into his face.

“What happened?” she demanded.

“I found her like this,” he said. “We were supposed to have dinner.”

“Get Dr. Kelloran and Father Ian,” she ordered the soldiers, who raced out of the tent.

“Where did you find her?” she asked Zeah.

Zeah just stared at Egeria, now lying on the floor of the tent. One of the officers from the Minotaur, he couldn’t place which one it was, leaned over to examine her wounds.

“She’s been stabbed,” he heard the officer say.

“Where did you find her?” repeated Miss Dechantagne.

“By the Result Mechanism.”

“It’s the same type of wound as the women who were stabbed on the ship,” continued the officer.

Doctor Kelloran burst in and immediately took over from the ship’s officer. She tipped Egeria on her side, and ripped open the back of her dress. Then she began pressing bandages to a series of horrible gashes in her back. A moment later the tent flap opened again and Sister Auni entered. She knelt down on the other side of the injured woman and pulled out her small vial of oil.

Tracing a cross with the oil on Egeria’s forehead, she said. “In the name of the Holy Savior, I heal your wounds.”

Egeria took a deep and sudden breath. Dr. Kelloran finished applying pressure bandages and began wrapping gauze around Egeria’s mid-section.

“Where is Father Ian,” demanded Miss Dechantagne.

“He went out,” said Sister Auni. “I don’t know where. But we need him. I’ve helped her, but we need him to cast a healing spell of full magnitude.”

Zeah suddenly felt the urge to get up, to run outside, and to find Father Ian. He had to save Egeria’s life. Father Ian could cast a healing spell. It didn’t matter to Zeah that it was Kafirite magic—not this time. He turned and bolted out the tent flap. He heard but did not register the voices that called after him to stop. He didn’t know what possessed him to run in the direction of the wall and the forest beyond, but he did. Just inside the gate, several gas-powered torches burned. In their flickering light, Zeah could make out the large form of Father Ian.

“Father Ian!” he called, running toward the man.

The Priest turned and looked at the man running toward him. A strange look of fear crossed his face, and he turned and unlatching the gate, passed through into the wilderness. Zeah ran even faster and in just a moment, he too had passed through the gate. There was a worn path between the trees, and Zeah ran onward, stumbling on tree roots and rocks, but staying on his feet.

Something happened then. It was beautiful. Had it been any other time, Zeah would have recognized it as such. The huge yellow moon rose up over the mountain to the southeast, illuminating the magnificent trees and the spaces between them almost as though it were day. Zeah could see Father Ian standing between several trees thirty or forty yards ahead of him.

“Father Ian!”

Suddenly a huge blocky head swung out from among the trees to the right of where the priest stood. A huge maw tilted down on Father Ian from above. The tyrannosaurus snapped its mouth shut around Father Ian, leaving only his lower legs sticking out from between the long, vicious teeth. The dinosaur stood up and gulped back its meal. A single shoe fell down eighteen feet from the beast’s mouth to tumble across the ground. Zeah couldn’t tell from the way it rolled whether it still had a foot in it or not. Slowly the tyrannosaurus turned its head to look at Zeah. It took a great sniff and then started toward him, slowly at first.

Zeah didn’t wait to see if it would speed up. He turned and ran back toward the gate. What the human didn’t realize was that the dinosaur had little need to hurry. He gained on his prey with every step. What the tyrannosaurus didn’t realize was that he had been spotted by sentries walking atop the fortifications. They fired their weapons, causing the dinosaur to slow just enough for Zeah to escape, rushing inside the gate and bolting it shut after him. The riflemen continued to shoot, causing the tyrannosaurus to bellow in pain, then turn and stagger back into the foliage.

Chapter Sixteen: Terrence’s Women

The shouting and gunfire brought Terrence out of the white opthalium induced state. He was sitting on the ground with his back to a massive redwood tree. It was in fact, that first tree that Iolanthe had tagged with a ribbon to save its life. It was completely dark all around him, and at first the lapping of the waves nearby was the only sound that registered with his befuddled mind. When he again heard the shouts and gunfire at the far end of the compound and he recognized them for what they were, he was actually happy. It meant that he hadn’t been awakened by someone discovering him while he was seeing.

Could you call it “seeing” if you didn’t really see anything? Terrence had used the drug from the small blue bottle several times since the arrival in Birmisia, but he had seen nothing in the other world except that endless fields of the ever-present purple flowers. Never before had he been there without meeting Pantagria. Now he searched for her and she was nowhere to be found.

Terrence picked up his helmet, which was sitting next to him, and then stood up and began trudging up the hill at a modest pace. When he saw a blood covered Zeah Korlann being escorted by two riflemen into Iolanthe’s headquarters tent, he ran the rest of the way.

“What’s going on?” he asked, as he burst into the tent. He stopped short when he saw Miss Lusk, lying on her side, bloodied, on the dirt floor. “Let’s get Father Ian in here.”

“Father Ian isn’t coming,” said Zeah shakily.

“Sister Auni, go get another acolyte to cast a cure wounds spell,” ordered Iolanthe. Then she opened the top drawer of her desk and pulled out a brown bottle. “Soak her bandages in this and poor the rest down her throat.”

She handed the bottle to Dr. Kelloran, who was kneeling over the red-haired woman’s prone form. The doctor did as directed and a moment later was rewarded with Miss Lusk opening her eyes. Sister Auni arrived after a few minutes with Brother Galen, who followed the exact same procedure that she had in casting a spell. Color returned to Miss Lusk’s face and she began to breathe freely.

“Who did this to you?” asked Iolanthe.

“I didn’t see them,” said Miss Lusk. It was an obvious labor to speak. “Someone was running the Result Mechanism. I went around the corner to see who it was, but…”

“There were papers coming out of the machine,” said Zeah.

“Go find those papers,” Iolanthe ordered her brother. “Maybe we can find out who was using it.”

Terrence nodded and left the tent. He picked up a gas lantern nearby and stomped down the hill toward the still chugging and clanking Result Mechanism. Just before he reached it, the machine stopped, letting out a long whistle of leftover steam. He pulled out one of his nickel-plated .45 revolvers and circled around the huge device. Standing at the controls was his brother Augie.

“What’s going on, old man?” said Augie, when he noticed Terrence.

“What are you doing here?” Terrence asked.

“You know you really shouldn’t answer a question with a question,” Augie replied. “The machine was running and nobody was here, so I shut it down.”

“You didn’t see anybody here?”

“No, and I waited around for a couple of minutes too.”

“Are there any papers coming out of the slot on the side of the machine?”

They both stepped around to the far side, where the printing slot was located, but there were no papers either sticking out of the slot or on the ground below.

“You don’t have anything to do with this, do you?” asked Terrence.

“Anything to do with what? A bloody machine making a bunch of racket?”

“The stabbing.”

“Stabbing? What stabbing?”

“Egeria Lusk has been stabbed. Right over there, by the look of the ground.”

“Kafira! And you think I had something to do with it?”

“No. But you were at three of the crime scenes, at least three, so some people are going to get the idea you could be involved.”

“What do you mean three? The murders on the ship? I thought you pegged Murty for that, and pegged him good too, I might add.”

“Yes, I did. And Murty was a bad sort; I don’t doubt it for a moment.”

“You know I wouldn’t stab a woman. What’s that all about? I was very fond of Danika.”

“Danika?”

“Miss Kilmurray.”

“Oh, Kafira. You knew her?”

“I knew her, but I didn’t do anything to hurt her. I certainly never killed her, and I didn’t kill Miss Lusk.”

“Miss Lusk is alive.”

“Well, thank heavens. Now she can tell you I didn’t stab her.”

“She doesn’t need to tell me,” said Terrence. “I know you didn’t stab her.”

“Good. A brother should trust a brother.”

“You don’t have any blood on you.”

“Oh.” Augie looked down at his clean clothes. “I could have changed clothes.”

“You don’t have any blood on your shoes or your face or your hair.”

“So you trust me.”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

Terrence and Augie climbed back up the hill to Iolanthe’s tent. Miss Lusk had been taken to her room, and Dr. Kelloran and the church acolytes had gone along to see to her. Iolanthe was standing in the center of the tent and Zeah was seated on one of the canvas camp chairs. His hands hung limply at his sides and his chin rested on his chest. Iolanthe slowly stepped around the room.

“What’s going on?” asked Augie.

“It seems that Father Ian has been killed by a dinosaur,” said Iolanthe, as if such things were common occurrence. “You two will go out at first light and kill that beast once and for all.”

“Which dinosaur?” asked Augie.

“The tyannothingy.”

“The tyrannosaurus,” corrected Terrence.

“Precisely,” said Iolanthe. “Kill it dead.”

“All right,” said Terrence, who then turned and exited the tent. His brother followed him.

“All right? That’s it?” said Augie, as he followed his brother toward the wooden barracks. “We just go hunt a tyrannosaurus in the morning?”

“Yes.”

“Well, all right then.”

“Meet me by the gate—first light.”

Terrence left Augie standing outside the door of the barracks. Closing the door behind him and hanging his helmet on the doorknob, Terrence stripped off his shirt and plopped down on the cot, which was the only piece of actual furniture in the room. The rest of his twenty by twenty-five foot apartment was filled with stacks of boxes. Looking up at the ceiling, he thought that hunting for the monstrous dinosaur would probably be easier than hunting Pantagria had proven.

At first light, Terrence and Augie let themselves out the compound gate. Both carried their pair of matching nickel-plated .45 caliber revolvers, but each also carried a B1898 magazine-fed bolt-action .30 caliber service rifle. Augie wore his slung over his shoulder and Terrence held his in the crook of his arm, but both had a cartridge in the chamber. They made their way through the massive redwood forest.

It wasn’t long before they located a trail of blood leading away from the protective wall. Consisting of six to twelve inch puddles spaced two to three feet apart, the blood trail led about three miles. At its end, the tyrannosaurus lay on the ground, on its belly like some great alligator. There was obviously life still in the cold reptilian eye, though its breathing was slow and ragged. The two men stepped up to within ten feet of the gigantic mouth filled with long knife-like teeth. The eye watched them.

Terrence put his rifle to his shoulder and fired a shot above and behind the eye. The dinosaur let out a grunt but didn’t move. He fired a second shot and the beast stopped breathing. He fired a third shot, and Augie fired one as well, just to make sure.

“What do we do now?” asked Augie. “Do we gut it, so Father Ian can have a proper burial?”

“I don’t think I’ve got the stomach for that,” said Terrence. “We need to get out of here before more predators come.”

Terrence pointed off to the right of the tyrannosaurus’s tail, where already a half dozen velociraptors were waiting. Augie nodded and the two men began walking back toward the wall.

“What’s the status with the locals?” asked Terrence.

“Well, it’s like this. You see there are four villages nearby: Tserich, Chusstuss, Tsuus, and Chullu. The Tserich are friendly, the Chullu aren’t and the others fall in between. The real trick though is showing them that we can take on the great power to the southeast.”

“What is that?”

“There is a great lizzie city. I suppose the best translation is city-state. It controls all the trade in northern Birmisia and demands tribute, not only from these four villages, but from hundreds of others. If we can show that we can protect them from this Suusthek, then they’ll come over to our banner.”

“How many do you think we can get?” wondered Terrence.

“Hundreds in the short term, eventually thousands, maybe tens of thousands. And they’ll work for pfennigs—literally. It seems that our little copper pieces can be made into all kinds of jewelry and spear points. They love them. They’ll spend much of what they earn with us too. Our manufactured goods really impressed them and I think they’ll soon be unable to live without them.”

“Good.”

“We are going to have to show them that we’re someone they want on their side.”

“Good,”

“You can’t blame them for being skeptical. After all, compared to them, we’re not very physically imposing—soft and weak really. Iolanthe did make quite an impression on them. I think they’re a little afraid of her actually.”

“Well, at least we have that in common with them,” said Terrence, dryly.

“Hold on,” said Augie.

“What is it?”

“It’s a shoe—size seven I’d say.”

“Is there a foot in it?”

“Yes.”

“Bring it along,” said Terrence. “They can bury that.”

They reached the gate and entered. Several of the men of the rifle company, Sergeant Landcaster and Corporal Bratihn among them, were waiting to hear about the demise of the local monster. The fact that it had almost been dead when the two Dechantagnes had put it out of its misery did nothing to lesson their joy at news of its death, nor the congratulations handed out to the two men who ensured its finality. They clapped both brothers heartily on the shoulders.

“Don’t let up your guard though,” advised Terrence. “We know there is at least one more tyrannosaurus in the region, and for all we know, there might be something even worse running around here.”

“Don’t worry,” said Landcaster. “We have a regular posted watch now, day and night.”

Terrence and Augie returned to Iolanthe’s Headquarters tent, but found it empty.

“I could use some more sleep,” said Terrence.

“Why don’t you go back to your cabin, old man?” Augie walked around the desk and sat in Iolanthe’s chair. He opened her top right drawer and withdrew a cedar cigar box. Placing it on the desk and opening it, he withdrew a fat Enclepian cheroot. He lifted it to his nostrils and took a deep breath.

“That’s fine. Rolled on the thighs of brown-skinned virgins.”

Terrence just looked at him.

“You going to take a nap or not?”

“Yeah. You?”

“I’m going to wait for sister.” He bent over and began moving things around in the drawer. “What other goodies do you suppose she has in here? Freedonian chocolate?”

Terrence shrugged and walked back out of the tent. Several children were busy pouring down gravel on the walkway from the tent to the barracks. He stepped around them and then used the trail they had created to return to his own apartment. Once inside he again plopped himself down on the bed and went back to sleep, this time fully clothed and with his boots on.

There was pounding on the door. Terrence opened his eyes and began to climb out of bed. The pounding continued. He stepped across the room and threw open the door. The bright light outside silhouetted the form of Yuah Korlann in the doorway. Her skirted lower half was wide and completely filled the door frame, but her upper half reminded Terrence of how thin she actually was.

“Good. You’re awake.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Look what I’ve got.” She pulled a picnic basket out from behind her. “You’re going to take me out for lunch.”

“Why would I want to do that?”

“Because I have been working my ass off. Between your sister and the wedding plans, I haven’t had a moment to myself all week. If I don’t have a moment to relax and share a bit of pleasant conversation with someone, I’m going to go barmy.”

“Can’t you find one of the women to waffle with?”

“I could if I wanted to,” Yuah said. “Get dressed.”

“Get dressed?”

“Yes. Preferably something without blood splattered all over it.”

Terrence looked down at his shirt and found that it was indeed the case that blood was splattered across the front. The disclosure, that it was only dinosaur blood rather than human, would probably not matter to her so he simply turned around and began to remove his shirt. Yuah stepped inside and closed the door behind her.

“Don’t forget to wash your face and shave.” She leaned against the door. He stopped and looked at her. “I’ll wait,” she said.

Terrence washed his face in the bowl of water sitting on a large crate. He didn’t know how it had gotten there. Then he pulled out his straight razor and shaving powder. Once his face was smooth, he peeled off his undershirt and replaced it with a clean one, then covered it with a clean shirt. He ran a comb through his hair.

“You look almost smart enough to be seen with me,” said Yuah.

“Shouldn’t you be seeing to your father or Miss Lusk? You heard what happened of course?”

“My father is sleeping and there are more people seeing to Egeria than will fit into her room.”

Terrence shrugged, and then offered her his arm, as they stepped out into the bright sunlight. Yuah led the way down the hill in a northeasterly direction. A leisurely walk of about a mile found them on a small grassy knoll overlooking the sea. Here on the opposite side of the promontory from the small bay where the HMS Minotaur was anchored, the waves crashed against a long sandy beach.

Setting down the picnic basket, Yuah opened its top and removed a small yellow plaid blanket, which she spread out. The two sat down side by side, and she began removing wrapped package after wrapped package from the basket.

“Curried egg?” she offered.

He took one and bit into it.

“Mrs. Colbshallow’s?”

“No, I made them.”

“I had no idea that you could cook.”

“Oh, I’m talented.” She unwrapped a sandwich and handed it to him. He lifted up the dark rye bread and examined the thinly sliced but thickly piled meat, onion, cress, and mayonnaise.

“I didn’t think we had any bread.”

“That is thanks to Mrs. Colbshallow. She baked two dozen loaves yesterday in the first oven set up here. I was just lucky enough to get one of them.”

Terrence took a bite of the sandwich. It was good. He looked at it and realized that the bite he had taken out seemed abnormally large, so he took a second smaller bite to cover it up. As he chewed, he looked up and watched a group of circling winged reptiles being pestered by equally numerous small birds.

“So, do you have a date for the wedding?” asked Yuah.

“What wedding?”

“The wedding of Corporal Bratihn and Mrs. Kittredge. The wedding everyone is talking about.”

“Why would I want to go?”

“You have to go. You are one of the founders of the colony.”

“Iolanthe is the founder of the colony.”

“You are very important. People look up to you. You have to be there.”

“All right, I’ll be there.”

“Who will be your date?”

“Why do I need a date?”

“It’s a social event. Everyone needs a date.”

“I don’t want to take anyone.”

“Then you can take me.”

“You want me to take you to the wedding?”

“Sure. Why not?”

“First a picnic lunch and now a date to this alleged social event. You’re daft if you think you can get me to marry you so that you can move up in the world.”

Yuah jumped to her feet, balled up her fists at her side, and gritted her teeth. Then she kicked the picnic basket and sent it flying across the grass, trailing sandwiches and desserts.

“I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last man in Birmisia!” she screamed, and then she shook for a moment as if she needed to scream and nothing would quite come out. Finally she hissed at him. “You pathetic, rat-assed tool.”

She kicked again. This time planting the pointy toe of her shoe in the meat of his shoulder, she knocked him onto his back. By the time he sat back up, she was stomping her way up the slope. As he watched her disappear over the top of the hill, he fumed over her inability to take a joke. Then he fumed at himself because he knew he hadn’t been joking. He picked up the sandwich and angrily tossed it towards the sea. It flew apart into its various components in the air, one of which was caught by one of the flying reptiles swooping down from the sky.

Terrence lay back on the blanket and tried not to think about anything, particularly not Yuah. He really wanted her to come back. He wouldn’t apologize and neither would she. They would just pretend nothing had happened and go back to the way things were. But she didn’t come back. Finally he stood up, gathered together the few utensils lying here and there, wadded up the blanket, and picked up the picnic basket, placing everything inside. Instead of following Yuah’s direct path back up the hill, he started a slow circumnavigation, anti-clockwise, somewhat following the shoreline.

He could hear the sounds of the Result Mechanism, once again chugging away, long before he reached it. The clanking of gears and the hiss of steam was clearly audible over the louder but more distant whine of the power saw, a sound that was now ubiquitous. As he approached the giant calculating device, he could see Professor Calliere working the buttons and levers along the side and an adolescent boy standing at the close end catching papers as they spewed forth from the printing slot. When the Professor saw him, he waved and stepped away from the machine to meet him.

“I say, my good fellow,” said Calliere. “You’ve come along at just the right time.”

“Why is that?”

“I really need a break from working these plungers. This isn’t really my cup of tea, you know. I designed it, but the idea was to have my assistants actually working the Result Mechanism, and now I don’t have any.” He paused. “No offense. I don’t blame you a bit for shooting Murty. Always knew there was something wrong with the man, but I never pegged him for a deviant and a murderer. Still he was a fine watchmaker and a decent mechanical engineer too.”

“How is Miss Lusk?” asked Terrence.

“Oh, I understand she’s going to make a full recovery, thanks to the Church acolytes and Dr. Kelloran. Talk about your brilliant mind. Miss Lusk actually designed this program, you know. Take a look at this.”

He stepped over to the boy waiting with a stack of papers and took the top few from the pile. Moving to stand beside Terrence, he held two of the sheets side by side.

“Miss Lusk measured out the entire peninsula with a survey team. I punched in her data and voila. You see, these output files fit together to form a map, very detailed too. It shows where the best locations for water and gas lines are, which areas should be zoned commercial and which residential. Just think what a city Brech would be today if only Magnus, the King of Zur, had a device like this.”

“Very impressive.”

“I have my eye on a nice little piece of real estate, you know.”

“Oh?”

“Right over in that direction,” Calliere pointed to some distant spot. “Just beyond where the promontory meets the ridge that runs east, there’s a very nice piece of land. I intend to file a claim and establish my family estate right there.”

“Have you sent for family to join you here?”

“No, but that brings up something that I wanted to talk to you about.”

Terrence waited.

“I wanted to ask your permission, formally as it were, to court your sister?”

“Iolanthe?”

“Yes.”

Terrence laughed. “If you think you’ve got the bullocks for the job man, jump in.”

“Really?”

“By all means,” said Terrence. “Welcome to the family.”

Calliere beamed with pleasure and bounced back to his monstrous machine, which was beginning to whistle a bit from the build-up of steam. Terrence shook his head and strolled up the hill. He had just about reached the top near the northern most barracks, when he heard the sound of a ship’s horn. A moment later, another ship’s horn sounded. The different tones indicated that they were from two different ships at two different distances from shore.

Turning on his heel, Terrence headed back down the hill again, this time in the direction of the harbor dock. Quite a few others, having heard and recognized the sounds, were doing the same thing. By the time he reached the dock, quite a crowd of colonists had gathered there. The lone little dock office, nothing more than a shack in reality, swayed with the weight of four boys sitting atop it for the view.

Slowly cutting its way through the still water of the bay, a dark grey ship slid up alongside the HMS Minotaur. It was a smaller ship and did not possess the many guns both great and small of the battleship. All along the prow of the vessel stood scores of men, women, and children staring in silence at the colonists on shore, who were in turn, staring right back. With a loud bang, which made many of the people, both on shore and onboard, jump, and then a long series of clangs, the ship dropped its anchor. Terrence looked at the flagpole sticking up from the vessel’s stern. Just visible, hanging limply in the still air, was a black and yellow flag.

“This is interesting,” said Iolanthe, just behind his right ear.

“You shouldn’t sneak up on a person. You could frighten them to death.”

“Don’t be silly. You’re never frightened.”

“Almost never. What do you think is so interesting?”

“You’ve been picnicking.”

“And that’s worthy of the adjective ‘interesting’?”

She shrugged. “That’s a Freedonian ship.”

“Yes,” agreed Terrence. “That is interesting. It’s full of Freedonian immigrants, by the looks of it. Why aren’t they going to a Freedonian colony? Why come here?”

“Well, they must have their reasons.”

The two siblings and more than a hundred others watched as an officer from the Freedonian ship began speaking with a megaphone directed at the Minotaur. A reply came back from the battleship, also from an officer with a megaphone. An echoing conversation continued for several minutes. Though Terrence’s Freedonian was limited mostly to phrases such as “which way to the gentleman’s club” and “how much if you stay the entire night” and of course “where can I find some white opthalium”, he could tell that the officer from the Brech ship was inquiring as to the destination and the business of the newcomer.

When the conversation was done, Terrence and Iolanthe watched as an officer from the Minotaur left the ship in a launch and headed toward the dock. When it arrived, he stepped out and walked toward them. It was Lieutenant Staff. He acknowledged Terrence with a nod, but his eyes were only for Iolanthe.

“It’s the S.S. Acorn. Thirty-five hundred settlers,” he said. “They left Freedonia almost two months ago, but none of the Imperial colonies will take them.”

“Why not?” asked Iolanthe.

“They’re Zaeri, and Zaeri are not very popular in Freedonia right now.”

“They’re not popular anywhere,” said Terrence.

“Tell them they may stay here,” said Iolanthe. “We’ll have to rig up some tents in the short term.”

“You were expecting them, weren’t you?” Staff asked her.

“Was I?” But she said nothing more.

Staff lingered for a moment, watching Iolanthe, then nodded and returned to his boat. Terrence turned and looked at his sister with a raised brow.

“What?” she demanded.

“Zaeri?”

“What difference does it make to you?”

“None, really.”

“Are you going to start crossing yourself like Augie? The only time I’ve heard you mention Kafira was when you were cursing.”

“I’m not the one who petitioned the Church to establish itself in the new world. How do you think they’ll feel about this becoming a Zaeri colony?”

“This is a crown colony. As for petitioning the Church, that was expedient, and so is this. Besides, I thought you were an atheist.”

“Oh, I believe in God,” said Terrence. “Kafira too, for that matter. I’m also pretty sure they both hate me.”

Chapter Seventeen: The Refugees from Freedonia

“Look at all these lousy zeets,” said Graham Dokkins, as he and Senta walked between the hundreds of makeshift tents on the southwest side of the hill from the barracks.

“What are zeets?” asked Senta.

“That’s what they’re called. My Da says they’re evil, and they don’t even believe in Kafira.”

“Zurfina doesn’t believe in Kafira either. I mean, not like us. She says the Church is all bullocks.”

“Yeah, well my Da says she’s evil too.”

If Senta was offended at the idea that anyone would call Zurfina evil, she didn’t let on. She bounced ahead, her skipping steps seeming to defy gravity. In one hand she carried a stick and in the other her doll. Graham stomped after her.

“Why do you gotta carry that doll everywhere?” he asked.

“Cause I’m a girl, stupid.”

They reached the edge of the tent village. Some of the women from among the Freedonian refugees had set up a series of clotheslines and were hanging up clothes. Almost every piece was black, white, or grey.

“They don’t seem any different to me,” said Senta. “Except they talk funny.”

Suddenly several of the women who had been hanging clothes began to scream and they all began to run toward the tents. Looking up, the two children saw a steel colored streak flying downward from out of the sun. The steel dragon buzzed the tops of the women’s heads and then zipped along parallel to the clothesline and with a flick of its tail, knocked every other piece of clothing from the line into the dirt. Spreading its wings out to their full six-foot breadth, it stopped in mid-air and dropped to the ground at Senta’s feet. It opened its mouth to the sky and a small puff of smoke shot out.

“Funneee,” said the dragon.

“It’s not either funny, you potty twonk. You’re going to get everyone angry, and who’s going to get in trouble? Not you. Me, that’s who.”

Despite Senta’s declaration that the dragon’s actions were not funny, Graham was laughing heartily. The dragon hopped over to his feet and rubbed his head against the boy’s leg as if to share in his mirth. Graham, still laughing, slapped his knee. The dragon suddenly bit his hand.

“Sod it!” shouted the boy, his laughter suddenly gone.

The dragon looked up in the air, with feigned innocence.

“See, now you’ve made Graham angry too,” said Senta. Both the girl and the dragon looked at the boy, who had gone all white and sweaty.

“My Da didn’t say it, but I think dragons are evil.”

“Pet,” said the dragon, in a pleading tone.

“Yeah, all right,” Senta said, fishing a small brown bottle from the pocket of her baggy black dress. “But if you bite anyone else, I’m going to need a new bottle of this.”

She poured the draught from the bottle onto the wound on Graham’s hand. The liquid bubbled and fizzed on contact with the boy’s blood, but after a few moments nothing was left of the injury but a small scar.

Senta, Graham, and the dragon looked up to see they were completely surrounded by a crowd of people. The reptile leapt to the girl’s shoulder in one swift motion and curled up around her neck. Graham stood up next to Senta and took her hand in his. The people began to whisper amongst themselves. Finally one of the women stepped forward.

“Sorry about your clothes,” said Senta.

“Der drache is, how you say, vunterfull,” said the woman.

“Oh yeah, he’s great,” said Graham, sarcastically.

“He is bootifull. He is yours?”

“Yeah, sort of,” said Senta.

“You bet he’s hers,” said Graham. “She’s a really powerful sorceress and he’s her dragon. And they’re really scary and magical. Just look at them. And that’s her magic doll.”

He suddenly started laughing. The dragon made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a smirk.

“We’ve got to go now,” said Senta. “I’ve got to lock up my dragon and my troll here.”

“Hey!” shouted Graham, following Senta who was already hurrying through the opening in the crowd that magically parted before her. “Who you calling a troll, monkey face?”

The two children walked up to the top of the hill and parted without saying goodbye, but with the innocent expectation that they would see each other later and continue on just as they had. Senta made her way to a quiet place that she had found next to the protective wall. She plopped down in the grass and the steel dragon climbed off her shoulders. She stretched out and he curled up beside her and placed his whiskered snout on her stomach.

Senta held her doll up and looked at it. The doll had on an outfit just like hers. She called the dress she was wearing her doll dress for that very reason. The doll had the same hairstyle that she did. She could almost imagine that the doll was made especially for her. But it hadn’t been. She had seen it many times in the toy store before she had purchased it.

“I wonder what Geert’s doing now?” she mused. “He’s my cousin,” she explained to the dragon.

She heard the approach of voices and pushed the dragon’s face off of her stomach so that she could roll over and see who it was. It was Miss Dechantagne. She was walking along holding the arm of the blond officer from the ship. She had on a stunning yellow dress with white lace trim. It had at least seven layers on the skirt, ruffles and fringes on the shoulders, and a magnificent bow on the bustle. The matching hat trailed a long piece of yellow silk down her back.

“That’s the kind of dress I want,” said Senta quietly.

“No,” said the dragon.

“Shh.”

“The house will be just over there,” said Miss Dechantagne. “There is a beautiful piece of land just south of the beach.”

“That will be nice,” said the officer.

“Tell me you’ll be back and it will be waiting for you. I will be waiting for you.”

“I’ll be back.”

The couple walked past, eyes only on one another, never noticing the girl on the ground. Senta crawled on her knees like a commando and followed them.

“Come on,” she whispered to the dragon.

Though Senta was crawling, she could keep up with the two adults, who strolled arm in arm at a leisurely pace. The dragon slithered along on its belly right beside her. The couple stopped at one of the barracks. The woman opened the door and stepped inside. The man followed her, but not before looking around to see if anyone was following. Senta flattened herself out. The man went inside, closing the door behind him.

“Come on,” said Senta again.

She stood up on her feet and ran over to the barracks door. She could hear Miss Dechantagne and the officer inside talking, but she couldn’t make out what was being said. The barracks was built on a wooden frame that raised it up above the ground by just over a foot. Three steps led from the ground to the door, though the distance involved really only required two. Senta looked around just as the officer had, then crawled under the edge of the barracks. The steel dragon followed.

It was shady under the building, but plenty of light still came in from all four sides. The grass that had been on the ground before the building was constructed was still there, having not had time enough to die from a shortage of direct light. Senta crawled on her belly toward the center of the room above her. Every so often, she stopped to determine if she had reached the optimum listening location. When she had about reached the center of the room, she judged that she had done so.

“How many bloody buttons are on this dress?” the officer asked.

“Patience Radley,” said Miss Dechantagne. “The reward is worth the effort.”

Senta looked at the dragon and shrugged.

There was the sound of shuffling feet for several more minutes. Just as Senta had decided that there would be nothing more of interest to hear, the officer spoke again.

“My God, you’re dishy,” he said.

“Oh, shut up,” said Miss Dechantagne.

Senta heard the sounds of bodies landing on bedsprings, and then of loud breathing and soft moans, and then more bedsprings and the sounds of a bed frame sliding about on the wooden floor. Senta looked at the dragon, her eyes wide open and her mouth making a very large ‘O’. The dragon looked back, nonplussed.

“They’re bonking,” she whispered loudly.

The dragon looked slightly more interested. Senta rolled over on her back and listened. She had heard the neighbors bonking on many occasions when she lived with her Granny. It always seemed to take about a minute and a half. But the two in the room above her seemed as if they would never stop. Maybe they weren’t doing it right. After a while the dragon slithered out from beneath the barracks, and with a shrug, Senta followed.

The steel dragon didn’t wait for her, but took flight and headed for one of the tall trees near the bay. Zurfina had not insisted on him wearing his leash for days now, and if Zurfina wasn’t going to insist on it, Senta wasn’t going to enforce it. He always seemed to return to her after a while, so the girl no longer worried about him permanently leaving. He was probably just going to take a nap on a branch anyway. Sleeping was his favorite pastime.

As if thinking about her summoned her, Zurfina appeared next to Senta. She was wearing the same red and black leather pants and corset outfit that she had been wearing when Senta had first met her. She had done something new with her hair though. It was swirled around her head and formed into a cone with a pointy top. It had to have been magic. There was no other way to make it stay like that.

“The boy went up to his tree,” said Senta, pointing in the direction the dragon had flown.

Zurfina waved her hand impatiently.

“That’s not important now. You have to learn your next magic spell.”

“Right now?”

“Yes.”

“All right.”

“Repeat after me, ‘Sembor Uuthanum’.”

“Sembor Uuthanum.”

“Good. Practice that.” Zurfina walked away in the direction of the bay.

Senta watched her, and she noticed that a good many other people did as well. She half wondered at the sorceress’s sudden appearance and insistence on her memorization of the spell, as she turned the sounds of the magic words over in her mind. She was beginning to come to the conclusion that Zurfina cared about what she cared about when she cared about it and there wasn’t much chance of sussing out why that was the case.

Picking up a handful of gravel from the walkway, Senta walked slowly between the wooden barracks, every so often throwing one of the tiny rocks against the outside wall of one of the structures and every so often, repeating aloud. “Sembor Uuthanum.” She turned the corner and saw a tall, straight figure exiting a door. She ran forward.

“Hey Mr. Korlann,” she said. “How is Miss Lusk?”

“Feeling better. I’m sure she would enjoy a visit from you. Would you like to go in?” He opened the door that he had just come out of and stepped to the side allowing Senta to enter.

The room inside was well lit, unlike most of the barracks. Though the twenty-five by two hundred foot buildings had been built with a series of small single pane windows, this twenty-five by twenty foot apartment had clearly been modified with an extravagant curtained window that was as tall as Senta and just as wide. The walls, though they were the same bare wood as similar apartments, had been graced with five or six paintings and two small round tables sat to either side of the bed and were covered with vases filled with flowers. Though the flowers were all local and therefore wild varieties, they were nonetheless beautiful. Miss Lusk was sitting up in her bed, a mountain of pillows supporting her.

“Senta. What a wonderful surprise,” she said.

Senta, who had been somewhat worried that Miss Lusk would be pale and would seem frail, bounced over to the bedside, and hopped onto the edge of the bed next to the vibrant and rosy-cheeked redhead. “Hello.”

“What have you been doing?”

“Learning magic and stuff.”

“And keeping an eye on Miss Dechantagne?”

“Guess what she was doing?”

“I don’t want to know.” Miss Lusk held up a hand.

“Can I see where you got stabbed?”

Miss Lusk pursed her lips. “Maybe later.”

“It’s too bad you missed the wedding.”

“Yes, I’m quite sad about that. Not for myself, but for Mr. Korlann. It seems that it requires some type of unusual festive event to break him out of the stiff form that he so often hides in. I was hoping to get him to loosen up a bit.”

“Were you hoping to get rumpy-pumpy with him?”

“Senta! Young ladies should not talk in that course manner. Mr. Korlann and I observe the strictest social customs and mores in our relationship. There will be no rumpy-pumpy for quite some time, though I do have to admit that the term tickles me.”

“Well you shouldn’t have to wait long. You don’t look bad at all.”

“Thank you, Senta. I suppose that really is a tribute to the value of the Church. If Sister Auni and Brother Galen had not been here then neither would I.”

“Do you think it was the ghost of Mr. Murty that stabbed you?” Senta jumped back down off the bed.

“I don’t…”

“Maybe he came back out of the sea as a zombie.” Senta put her arms out straight and began to shuffle around the room in a circle. “Oooh, I’m zombie Mr. Murty.”

“Senta don’t!” cried Miss Lusk. “That’s most disturbing, not to mention disrespectful of the dead.”

“I thought you didn’t like Mr. Murty.”

“I didn’t. Still the man is dead. We must maintain some sense of decorum.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“Besides, I doubt a living Maalik Murty would have been able to swim here from the middle of the ocean where he was dumped, and I’m doubly sure that a dead one wouldn’t.”

“When do you get to get out of bed?”

“Oh, I’ll be up and around in a few days. We’ll have tea.”

“Brilliant. Well, I’m going to go now.”

“Where are you headed?”

“I think I’m going to go eat lunch. I used to almost never eat lunch. Now I eat it all the time. I bet I’m going to get really fat.”

“I doubt it,” smiled Miss Lusk. “Just stay out of trouble.”

“I will,” called out Senta, as she skipped out the door.

Though more and more of the original colonists were sharing private repasts with their loved ones, the colony was still serving communal meals. The events had grown even larger than before with the addition of the Freedonian Zaeri. Senta stepped into the queue. The two men in front of her were chattering away in Freedonian, which was enough like Brech for her to pick out a word or two, but she still didn’t understand the gist of the conversation.

“Sembor Uuthanum,” she said, and touched one of the men on his elbow with the tip of her index finger.

“The battleship was going to have sailed already,” said the man she touched. “But it is staying on until the Acorn leaves.”

Senta looked up at the man and watched his mouth move. It didn’t move with the words she was hearing. He was still speaking Freedonian, but she was hearing it in Brech. The other man said something and it remained just as incomprehensible as the first man had been before she cast her spell.

Senta tugged on the first man’s sleeve. He looked down at her.

“The queue is moving,” she said.

“I’m sorry. I don’t understand you,” she heard, though his lips said something else.

She pointed ahead. He nodded in comprehension and moved forward. When Senta arrived at the front of the line, she was disappointed to find that the meal was black pudding and beans, again. She had no sooner taken her plate, piled with food, than she felt a familiar weight plop onto her shoulder.

“Pudding,” said the steel dragon, as he settled down around her neck.

“Yes. Great for you.”

Finding the closest out of the way spot, Senta sat cross-legged. The dragon slithered down and rolled onto its back with all four legs in the air. The girl dropped one piece of the pudding after another into its open mouth.

“Did you get into trouble while you were out?”

“No,” said the dragon.

“Did you take a nap in the tree?”

“No.”

“Did…you knock down any more clothes?”

“No.”

“Did…you fly over to the baby dinosaurs?”

“No.”

“Did… you want another pudding?”

“No.”

“Hah!”

“Gawp,” said the dragon, and a little cloud of smoke came out of one of his nostrils.

“I’m just kidding. Here.” She dropped another piece into his waiting jaws. “Do you want the rest of my beans?” she asked when the pudding was all gone.

“No,” said the dragon, carefully.

Dumping the leftovers on the ground in a spot with some taller than average grass, Senta took her plate back to the service area. The dragon, rather than hopping back on her shoulder, followed along on the ground, heeling like a dog. He followed her back to the barracks apartment that she shared with Zurfina. The sorceress was still out. When she plopped down on her bed, he curled up around her knees, and soon both were fast asleep.

When Senta woke up, Zurfina was lying on the bed next to her. The sorceress was still wearing her corset outfit, but it apparently didn’t inhibit her breathing. Lying on her back with her mouth open, she took long, deep, snoring breaths. When she exhaled, she made a sad little sighing sound.

While Senta, and apparently Zurfina, had slept, the steel dragon had shifted his location from the little girl’s legs to the woman’s. His body was curled around the sorceress’s knees and his chin rested on her thigh. When Senta sat up, he rolled his eyes to look up at her without moving.

“I’m going to go find Graham,” she said. “Do you want to go?”

“No,” the dragon whispered.

“Okay.”

As there always was, another outfit was positioned at the end of the bed. It was something of a puzzle to Senta that Zurfina seldom paid much attention to her, but she apparently had an infinite amount of time to pay attention to her potential wardrobe. If she was not particularly fond of the clothing that the sorceress had chosen for her, she could at least be glad that none of them were as bizarre as the clothing that Zurfina had chosen for herself. This particular dress was almost normal. It was black and shin length, which only a little girl could get away with, and had white lace around the collar and the cuffs. It was fairly loose all around, but the bottom portion puffed out wide due to the expansive crinoline petticoats. Lace booties and black leather shoes, slip-ons, no laces, completed the ensemble.

When she had changed into the new clothing, Senta stepped out the door and almost ran right into Graham.

“Hey,” he said. “I was just going to get you.”

“What’s up?”

“Some of those lizzy blokes are back.”

“Yeah?”

“Yup. There’s six or seven of them and they’re eating over on the east side of the hill. The Dechantagne’s are going to meet with them.”

“How do you know?”

“I was listening by the tent,” he said, as if he was stating the obvious. “You should see the lousy zeets staring. I know none of them has seen a lizardman before.”

“I don’t think we should call them ‘lousy zeets’,” said Senta.

“That’s what…”

“I know that’s what your Da calls them,” she continued. “But look. I mean they’ve been washing clothes and bathing since they got here. I don’t see how they can be any lousier than anyone else around here. I bet your hair could use some kerosene and a comb.”

“I don’t have any lice,” said Graham, indignantly. “My Ma checked me and Gaylene yesterday.”

“Well, you see what I mean.”

“All right, but can we still call them zeets?”

“It’s okay for now,” said Senta, in her most official sounding voice. “But I’m going to ask Mr. Korlann, and if he says it’s a bad word, then I’m not using it.”

“Fine… Fine….”

“So what are we doing?” wondered Senta. “Are we going to go watch the lizardmen? Or are we going to watch the Dechantagnes?”

“Let’s get our place close to the lizards. That way, when the others join them, we’ll already be there waiting.”

Senta nodded and the two started off down the east side of the hill. The lizardmen were seated in a circle, with pieces of log serving as chairs, along with seven or eight humans—officers and noncommissioned officers of the colony’s military contingent. Around the group, fifty or sixty colonists had arranged themselves on the ground, ready to watch their military leaders interact with the strange, cold-blooded locals. The two children found a spot between the adults about ten feet below the reptiles and their hosts. They had just settled down when the two Dechantagne brothers arrived.

Augie Dechantagne placed his hand on the front of his neck, palm out, in a sign that was a greeting among the lizardmen. Several of the lizardmen returned the gesture. Immediately the largest of the visitors began his hissing language. Augie nodded in understanding and turned to his brother.

“His name is Thisstick, at least as close as I can pronounce. He gives us the usual greeting from his great chief and sends his best wishes blah blah blah.”

Captain Dechantagne said something back to his brother, but even though every single person in the entire area was staying as quiet as possible, he was speaking so low that neither Senta nor Graham could hear more than a murmur.

“This is bollocks,” whispered Graham. “I can’t hear the Captain, and I can’t understand the lizard guy.”

“Wait here,” said Senta. She crawled forward like a commando, between the seated colonists, and right up the long tail of the closest lizardman.

“Sembor Uuthanum,” she said, touching the tail with her forefinger. The tail twitched, but the lizardman didn’t turn around. Senta crawled back to her spot with Graham.

“What was that all about?” he wondered.

“Magic.”

“Oh, all right then.”

The first reptilian spoke again. Anyone could tell that it was more than a formal pronouncement or a greeting. It was long and required hand gestures. But no one could understand what the beast was saying—no one other than Senta, and possibly Augie Dechantagne. It was Dechantagne who translated aloud.

“He says that we are to bring our forces to a rendezvous spot, seven to eight days march from here. Once there, the Chief will meet us.”

Senta turned to Graham and said. “That’s not exactly what that lizard guy said.”

“What did he say?”

“He said ‘the Chief will see you’, not ‘meet you’.”

“So what difference does that make?”

“I don’t know.”

“Once our enemy is defeated,” Augie continued the translation. “We will get all that we want.”

“He said ‘you will get all you deserve’, not ‘all you want’.”

“Well, this is boring,” said Graham. “It’s almost supper. Let’s get something to eat.”

“I’m still full from lunch.”

“I didn’t get lunch.”

“All right,” said Senta. “It’s getting too crowded around here anyway.”

The two children walked away from the meeting between the military leaders and the reptilians. The crowd had grown from an already large group to a veritable multitude as the colonists tried to catch a glimpse of the inhuman locals. Most of the colonists who had arrived on the H.M.S. Minotaur had seen them before, but the novelty had not worn off. The new arrivals from the S.S. Acorn had never seen the like and were abuzz with excitement. So many people were observing the meeting in fact that Senta and Graham found almost nobody in the queue for dinner.

“Yes!” shouted Graham. “Toad in the hole! Still not going to eat?”

“I don’t like toad in the hole anymore. It makes me dicky.”

“Too bad for you,” said the boy, accepting a huge plate of food.

They sat down in the grass. Graham wasted no time transferring the food from the plate to his stomach. Senta positioned herself so that she could watch the sunset and not have to see her friend shoveling sausages and pudding into his face. The sun sank beneath the shore across the bay, silhouetting the two ships floating side by side just before it disappeared.

“Oh! I almost forgot.” Senta blurted out suddenly. “Guess what Miss Dechantagne was doing.”

Senta began relating her observations and adventures of earlier in the day to Graham, who let his still partially full mouth fall open in shock. As she was finishing, she turned and looked at two children, standing and watching her. They were a boy and a girl, about the same age as Graham and herself. The boy wore grey pants and a white shirt, the girl a grey dress. Both were barefoot. The girl had black, wavy hair hanging past her shoulders. The boy’s hair was also black and wavy, but covered only the top of his head, as he was close-shaven around his ears. The facial features of the two were so alike that they seemed male and female versions of the same person, which was almost magical to Senta who had never seen twins before.

“You are the drachemädchen,” said the girl.

“Huh?”

“You are the drache girl.”

“Dragon,” offered Graham, then to the newcomers. “Yep, she’s the dragon girl.”

“I’m Senta Bly and this is Graham Dokkins.”

“Mein name ist Hero,” said the girl. “Und dies ist mein bruder, Hertzal.”

“Too bad for you two,” said Graham.

“Oh, like Graham is such a wonderful name,” said Senta.

“Hey. My Ma says Graham is a name with class. Are you zeets?”

“Be nice Graham.”

“I am nice,” he said, then addressed Hero. “Is ‘zeet’ a bad word?”

Hero shrugged.

“You are zeets though, right?”

“We are Zaeri.”

Graham nodded then tucked back in to the last bit of his supper. Senta looked at the dark-haired children.

“Did you eat already?”

“Yes. We eat,” said Hero.

“Do you want to sit down?”

The siblings looked at each other, and then both sat down cross-legged.

“Where ist your drache?” asked Hero.

“Dragon. Drag Uhn,” corrected Graham, tossing aside his now empty plate.

“Where ist your drag uhn?”

Senta laughed at the girl’s exaggerated emphasis on the second syllable. “He’s back in our room.”

“Did you guys see the baby dinosaurs?” wondered Graham.

“No,” said Hero. “You show us?”

“Does your brother ever talk?” asked Senta.

“In our village, soldaten come. They drag our mutter into die street und shoot her. We have to leave. Later, when we get on die ship, more soldaten come und shoot our pater. Now we live with our schwester und now mein bruder, he does not speak.”

“That’s bloody awful,” said Graham, standing up. He put his fists on his hips. “Well, you don’t have to worry here. We’ll make sure nobody messes with you. Senta is a real live sorceress, and I’m… well, I’m the jammiest guy there is.”

“How do you figure you’re so jammy?” wondered Senta.

“Remember that time I found that dead crab?”

“Yeah.”

“And did you see how short the queue always is whenever I go to get my supper?”

“Okay.”

“Well, there you go. Jammy.”

The three still seated children stood up next to “jammy” Graham. He still held his powerful pose and stuck his chin out as if daring anyone who should come along to even so much as hint that he wasn’t the cock of the walk. The twins looked around. With the sun completely behind the bay and the distant western shore, it was beginning to get dark quickly.

“Can we still see die baby dinosaurs?” asked Hero. “It gets dark now.”

“They’ve got gas lanterns over by the pen,” explained Senta. “Find me a stick or something we could use. Graham produced a two foot long piece of a branch and hefted it up as though he were presenting the sword of King Magnus himself. Senta accepted it.

“Uuthanum,” she said, touching the tip of her index finger to the end of the stick.

The stick began to glow as though it was on fire, but it was unconsumed by flame. The magical light created an area of illumination twenty feet in diameter. Both the twins showed their amazement with wide eyes.

“How long will that last?” asked Graham.

“Just long enough for us to get over to the dinosaur pen,” replied Senta.

The evocation was as good as Senta’s word, for it faded away, and the stick became an ordinary stick again, just as the four children reached the pen. Darkness was now falling for real and Saba Colbshallow was lighting the four gas lanterns attached to posts along one end of the enclosure.

“Hey kids,” he said, though he was scarcely more than a kid himself.

“Hey Saba,” said Graham.

“How come you make die light?” asked Hero.

“It’s getting dark.”

“She means why keep a light by the dinosaurs,” Graham clarified.

“People like to come over after they finish their work for the day,” Saba explained. “Of course all they want to do is watch the dinosaurs or maybe feed them. Nobody ever offers to muck out the pen. Mr. Korlann has to assign people to do it. That’s what I spent the last couple of hours doing. You wouldn’t believe how much poo five dinosaurs can make.”

By the time the young man finished his explanation, the children were no longer listening to him. One of the baby iguanodons had walked over and stuck his face through the fence. All four pushed forward to stroke the creature’s shoebox sized head and sinewy neck.

“Watch out,” warned Saba. “He hasn’t bitten anybody yet, but I bet that beak could take off a finger or two.”

The children were heedless of the advice, as children so often are. The truth of the matter was that of the one hundred ninety-five children who had arrived in the colony from Greater Brechalon, thirty-seven had missing digits, hands, or in some cases whole arms. The great age of industrialization and machinery that had taken over the country a century and a half earlier had brought the new hazard of the industrial accident. Almost all of the children old enough to walk had, at one time, worked in a factory. Factories were hazardous. Though the children from Freedonia had faced many hardships, some like the twins, hardships much worse than the loss of a finger, few had ever worked in a factory. Almost all could at least count to ten on their fingers.

“Do they have names?” wondered Senta, as she rubbed her hand along the yellowish green skin.

“We’ve been calling that armored one Sparky, but I don’t know if it suits him or not,” said Saba, and then he pointed to the iguanodon being petted by the twins. “I’m calling this one Stinky, I don’t care what anybody says. If you had scooped his poo, you would understand. The other one like him is Molly, mind you I don’t think anyone is sure which is a male and which is a female. The three with horns are Harriet, Rusty, and Meg.”

“They ist not biting,” said Hero.

“They’re good dinosaurs,” said Graham. “But if you see any others, be careful. Some of them will try to eat you.”

“Really?”

“Yup. Senta almost got eaten on the first day and there’s nothing left of our priest but one foot.”

Hero and her brother looked at Senta, who nodded in confirmation.

“What do you do vit die dinosaurs?” asked Hero.

Saba explained. “I don’t know about Stinky and his mate. Ride them, maybe. As for the other, Mr. Hollerith is already working on a harness and a little wagon to teach them how to pull things. When they’re grown, they’ll be bigger than a trolley car. Can you imagine seeing one pulling a wagon along a city street?”

“That will be smashing,” pronounced Graham. “I’m going to get a dinosaur of my own some day and ride all around.”

Chapter Eighteen: Zeah’s Proposal

Many people on the shore were watching as the two ships steamed out of the bay and no doubt many people had many different emotions flowing around within them at the sight. Some might have felt frightened with the realization that their last tenuous lifeline to the world of civilization was now severed. Some might have been excited that the challenge of taming the new world was now theirs and theirs alone to pursue. Zeah Korlann didn’t know what he felt. He didn’t have time to dwell upon any feelings however, he had plenty to do.

By the time the sun set that evening, he had accomplished quite a bit. He had arranged for new work details for the former Freedonians. Like the colonists who had arrived eight days before them, these individuals would be expected to provide six months of service to the colony. After that, they could purchase land and begin whatever lives they wished. That was the theory, anyway. He had also overseen the clearing of the first bit of forest outside the protective wall. The first shops and stores would be built here hopefully, when that six month period had ended. Zeah looked forward to visiting a bakery there. Inside the walls, they had finished constructing a large smokehouse. And finally, that afternoon, the colony’s first fishing boat had floated out into the bay.

Zeah had two stops to make after dinner and before he went back to his own apartment. The first was to the headquarters tent of Miss Dechantagne. He would have gone to report to her in any case, but he felt doubly obligated to stop because the Royal Colonial Governor was alone. Her brothers had left at first light the day before with one hundred eighty soldiers and accompanied by a half dozen reptilian aborigines. Their mission was to elevate one of the local chiefs to dominance, and at the same time show off modern Brech firepower—put the fear of God into the locals, let them know who was the boss. Nobody expected stone spear equipped lizardmen to be able to face the power of four platoons of riflemen, and both brothers had spent their time in the army. Still, it was a combat mission, and things could happen.

Knocking on the tent pole that served as a doorjamb, he was rewarded with a “Come in.”

Miss Dechantagne was not alone. Zeah’s daughter Yuah was in the tent. She was sitting in one of the folding chairs in front of Miss Dechantagne’s massive desk and Miss Dechantagne herself was sitting in the heavy oak swivel chair behind it. The two women were sipping cups of tea.

“Hello Papa,” said his daughter, standing up to kiss him on the cheek.

“Good evening. I didn’t expect to find you here.”

“We were just having tea,” said Miss Dechantagne. “Would you like some?”

Only Zeah’s carefully regulated composure allowed him to reply without stuttering. Miss Dechantagne inviting him to tea? The heat must have somehow addled her.

“No, thank you. I just wanted to check in and let you know that everything is on schedule.”

“I’m quite excited about the smokehouse, myself,” said Yuah. “Mrs. Colbshallow is already planning sausages.”

Zeah looked at his daughter with a raised eyebrow. It seemed that the governor was not the only one who had lost her mind. Yuah was sipping tea and making small talk with Miss Dechantagne.

“Thank you Zeah,” said the governor. “I’m pleased to see that our new arrivals are proving to be more of an asset than a hindrance.”

“Indeed.” Zeah stood for a moment

“You should go get some rest.”

“Very well. Good night.” He nodded to the women and stepped out the tent flap. The two women laughed. Zeah shook his head and walked off.

His second stop was to see Egeria Lusk. She had completely recovered from her wounds at the hands of an unknown attacker and had in fact, spent much of the day supervising work on the Result Mechanism, though she had left the actual pressing of buttons and throwing of switches to someone else. He knocked on the door of her apartment and again was asked to “come in” and again found two women sitting and sipping tea. This time it was Egeria and Sister Auni, the Kafirite cleric. Sister Auni rose as he entered.

“Good evening, Mr. Korlann,” she said. “I was just leaving.”

“No need to leave on my account.”

“No, no. We’ve had a lovely talk, but now I must get back to my own room.”

“Well, good night,” he said, as he held the door open for the clergywoman.

“I’m so glad you came by,” said Egeria, once Sister Auni had left. “Please sit down.”

“Thank you. What were you two talking about?”

“Oh, life, the universe, and everything.”

“And what was her take on it.”

“We were just chatting, really,” said Egeria. “I was sorry that we didn’t get to have supper together.”

“I didn’t really have time for supper today,” said Zeah. “I was hoping that you would join me tomorrow though.”

“I would be delighted,” she smiled.

Though he was quite as busy the next day as he had been the previous, Zeah had little thought for anything he was doing and much for that night’s supper. He took a fine haddock from the first load of fish brought in on the new fishing boat. Though Mrs. Colbshallow was not available, he found a Mrs. Finkler among the Freedonian immigrants, who by all accounts was a wonderful cook. He paid her two marks to prepare roasted fish. She proved to be as good as her reputation, and at the appointed time delivered not only two beautifully roasted fish fillets, but a large plate of potatoes, seasoned in a way that was completely new to former butler but was delicious, and roasted leeks covered in sweet butter.

Borrowing a small round table, Zeah covered it with a make-due tablecloth that was actually a short scrap of baby blue dress cloth lost from someone’s luggage. He pulled out a decorative bud vase, one of the few pieces of household glass that had survived since his wife’s death, filled it with water, and stuffed a handful of white wildflowers inside. He made this the centerpiece. Though it was far from the fancy porcelain that graced the Dechantagne table, it made his chipped plates and old silverware look very sad indeed. He was happy that at least he owned two nice chairs. They too had been purchased long ago by his wife.

A knock at the door announced Egeria’s presence and he hurried her in to sit down. Though she seemed completely recovered, he still treated her as though she was as fragile as the bud vase. He had yet to spend an entire night without his mind flashing to her lying on the floor of Miss Dechantagne’s tent covered in blood. On several occasions he had awakened from a nightmare version of those events.

“Well, you’ve outdone yourself, Mr. Korlann,” said Egeria, looking at the food. “You must have been cooking all day.”

“I… didn’t cook it.”

“I know, silly,” she laughed. “Even if cooking was one of your many talents, I doubt you would have prepared Potatoes Kasselburg.”

“Is that what they are?”

“Yes. I had them last time I was in Freedonia.”

“Last time?”

“Mm-hm. I’ve had to travel Kasselburg and Bangdorf several times.”

“I’ve never been to Freedonia,” mused Zeah. “I guess I’m not very well traveled.”

“Are you kidding? Look where we are. We’re in Birmisia, for heaven’s sake.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

The fish was excellent. All in all, Zeah thought the meal could have rivaled Mrs. Colbshallow’s cooking, maybe not Mrs. Colbshallow at her best, because at her best she was unrivaled, but Mrs. Colbshallow on an average day. He thought that he could become used to the Potatoes Kasselburg, sliced and baked and layered with cheese and pepper and some spices that he wasn’t familiar with. It was a more than satisfactory meal. They drank water with dinner, but near its end, Zeah uncorked a bottle of fine red wine.

“I was thinking,” said Egeria as she brought the red wine to her red lips. “The day after tomorrow would be the appropriate day to become engaged.”

“Why is that?” asked Zeah, not really realizing what she had said.

“You know. It’s the twentieth. It’s the traditional day of starting new tasks. It would be a fine time to become engaged.”

“Engaged in what?”

“Engaged to be married.”

“Muh… muh… married?”

“It was good enough for the Bratihns.”

“I wonder… I wonder if Corporal Bratihn went off to fight alongside Master Terrence?”

“Don’t change the subject,” she said.

“I’m not trying to…”

“We don’t have to get married right away.”

“We don’t?”

“No. We can be engaged just as long as you like. We need to announce our engagement though so that all of the other men will know I’m taken.”

“Uh… Other men?”

“Many other men. They’re hovering around everywhere. They’re like bees.”

“Bees?”

“Yes. They’re like bees, and I’m the honey. I can see them just waiting to get their stingers into me.”

“We have to announce our engagement,” he said.

“You have to ask me to marry you first.”

“Will you…”

“Not now.”

“No?”

“No. You have to think up some very romantic way to propose marriage to me. You have two days.”

“The day after tomorrow.”

“Good,” she said. “Now that that’s out of the way, we can enjoy our wine.”

Zeah ran over this conversation in his head again and again the next day, and was never quite sure how exactly Egeria had maneuvered him into agreeing to ask her to marry him. He knew that jealousy had been the key, but who could blame him for being jealous. She was young and beautiful, and he was… well, him. He also knew that she was way too smart for him to outsmart her. She had said it herself. She was the most intelligent person in the colony. So after twenty-four hours he was forced to go from wondering how it had happened and how to fix it, to trying to think of a romantic way to propose.

On the morning of the twentieth of the month, he had still come up with nothing and he was forced to conclude that he was just not cut out for this sort of thing. He needed help, but from whom? There was only one person he knew who was both intelligent enough and romantic enough, but he dreaded bringing up the subject of his possible, or maybe it was his inevitable remarriage with Yuah.

He found his daughter, as so many people seemed to find others they were looking for now days, by the dinosaur pen. She was watching as one of the steamer trunk sized three-horned creatures was being fitted with a harness connected to a child’s wagon. The beast scarcely seemed to notice either the harness and wagon or the man attaching them to it. It continued to happily munch away at a pile of brush placed there for its benefit.

“What is he supposed to haul with that little wagon?” asked Zeah.

“It’s a she,” replied Yuah. “At least that’s what Mr. Hollerith said. He was the only one brave enough to look. They call her Harriet.”

“Well what is Hollerith going to have Harriet haul?”

“Nothing really. It’s just a way to get her used to it. That way, when she gets bigger, she can pull a truck or a trolley or some such.”

As she spoke, the little monster suddenly realized that she was attached to something besides her own tail. She went galloping across the enclosure in a way that looked far beyond the capabilities of such a heavily constructed being. The wagon went right along with her, and when she saw this, the dinosaur began to swerve and spin in an effort to lose her pursuer. Mr. Hollerith dived to one side. The wagon flew up in the air and landed with a crash, scattering parts in all directions. Within seconds, the appendage had been completely destroyed, although now feeling the pull of the harness, the triceratops didn’t stop. She continued to run here and there until all remnants of man-made restriction were gone. Though there were several other men in the pen with Mr. Hollerith at the time of this tirade, all had jumped out, unwilling to try to slow or stop a beast with not one but three, rudimentary but nonetheless present, horns jutting from its face. Hollerith himself was also unharmed.

“I guess she won’t be pulling trolleys anytime soon,” said Zeah. “Just as well. I don’t think I would want to see that thing coming down a street at me.”

“I think she’s just precious,” said Yuah.

“I have to tell you something.” Zeah changed the subject. “I’m going to ask Miss Lusk to marry me.”

“Oh.” Yuah seemed genuinely unsurprised.

“That’s it? ‘Oh.’”

“I was expecting it would happen sooner or later.”

“You were?”

“Yes.”

“Well it’s sooner. And I need your help. I have to propose in a way that’s appropriately romantic.”

“And you don’t have a romantic bone in your body.”

“That’s right.”

“All right Papa, I’ll help you.”

Even Zeah, who was a master organizer, was hardpressed to get all of the components together in the few hours that he had remaining. He had to meet with a number of individuals for goods and services, work out the timing, and do everything but draw up diagrams. At one point he was sure that he would require the services of the Result Mechanism for everything to fall in place the way that Yuah said it should, but at last he showed up at the step outside Egeria’s door, wearing his best charcoal grey suit.

Egeria opened the door, wearing a dress that Zeah had never seen before. Zeah thought that this was remarkable, as they had essentially been living out of trunks for seventy days. She must have been saving this one aside for a special occasion. He mentally kicked himself. Of course she was saving it. She was saving it for the day she maneuvered a man into asking her to marry him. It was a lovely dress made of a heavy material in deepest red. White lace trimmed the neck and wrists, but the dress was cut in a way that made it seem deceptively simple when viewed from the front. Only when Egeria turned to close the door behind her was the layer upon layer of drapery accentuating the bustle apparent. The lace ribbon, which held on her white straw hat, matched the dress, as did her parasol which remained closed, since it was nearing sundown.

Escorting this beautiful vision along the gravel paths that now covered the settlement in a careful criss-cross pattern, Zeah could feel many eyes upon him, and for once in his life he enjoyed it. There was no doubt in his mind that the fiery red-haired beauty in the magnificent red dress was the most beautiful woman in a thousand miles and he was lucky enough to be with her. This realization steeled his resolve about the events of the evening’s remainder.

They strolled down the hill, past the tent city that had sprung up to accommodate the Freedonians, to the dock in the bay. Here, on the wooden deck extending out into the calm water was a table and two chairs. They were the same table and chairs that had graced his apartment two days before, but the table was now covered with a fine linen tablecloth and that in turn, was covered with two place settings of the finest porcelain dinnerware and brilliantly shining silver. He pulled out one of the chairs for Egeria and she sat down. He sat down across from her.

As soon as they were seated, Saba Colbshallow followed them out onto the dock, carrying two glasses and a bottle of wine. With the stiff appropriateness of a waiter in Brech’s finest establishment, he uncorked the bottle and poured a small sample into Zeah’s glass. Zeah carefully tasted the wine, and then paused as if deciding if the wine was good enough. In reality, it was a bottle from Miss Dechantagne’s collection and he wouldn’t have been able to afford it if he had to purchase it. Deciding that it met his demanding expectations, he nodded to Saba, who then filled his glass the rest of the way and filled Egeria’s.

“To the most beautiful… woman in all of Birmisia.” He paused in the middle of his toast as Saba, walking back to the shore caused the wooden dock to sway unpleasantly to one side.

“I hope that’s me,” said Egeria.

“Of course it’s you.”

Saba returned a moment later. This time he pulled a small cart, which Yuah was pushing from the other side. Despite the wheels getting caught on the wooden planks of the dock a time or two, they managed to wheel it to the tableside. The cart carried a large bowl with a tossed salad. While Saba walked back to the shore, Yuah dressed the salad and served it into white bowls with thin blue lines trimming the edges.

“Is this a subtle indication that impending events are approved of by your family?” asked Egeria.

“It’s not a subtle indication that you are young enough to be my daughter.”

Both Egeria and Yuah burst out laughing.

“Sorry,” said Yuah. “Pretend I’m not here.”

A moment later she was gone and they ate their salad.

“This is lovely,” said Egeria, looking at the sun setting across the bay. “I knew I could count on you.”

By the time that they had finished the salad course, darkness was beginning to overtake them. Saba returned and lit two candles in the center of the table. Egeria sniffed the air.

“They’re magic.” Zeah answered the unasked question. “They are supposed to keep the insects away.”

“Excellent,” she nodded.

Zeah raised his index finger, in a “watch this” gesture. Reaching into the pocket of his coat, he pulled out a small cylinder. He tapped the end on the table. Nothing happened. He turned it around and tapped the other end. Immediately, dozens of tiny lights shot out and began to dance around the table in the air.

“Ooh,” said Egeria.

“Yes,” said Zeah. “The romance of fireflies without the unpleasantness of their being insects.”

Saba collected the salad bowls and salad forks and Yuah served them their supper. Pleased with Mrs. Finkler’s cooking two nights previous, Zeah had engaged her again and given her liberty to cook the most spectacular thing that she could come up with. She had produced a pork shoulder roast with a crunchy crust, seasoned with salt and pepper, and served in a dark sauce, made from the roast stock, meat broth, dark beer, onions and carrots. This was accompanied by plump dumplings and red cabbage. Though different from anything he had eaten before, Zeah enjoyed the meal. This was notwithstanding the fact that he thought it might come up again at any moment.

“This is a lovely meal,” said Egeria.

Zeah nodded.

“I can’t wait to see what you have planned for dessert.”

Dessert was indeed spectacular and again was something that Zeah had never seen before, let alone eaten. It was a custard that just about matched Egeria’s dress, made from black and red currants, raspberries, strawberries, and cherries cooked in juice with starch as a thickener. It was topped with clotted cream, flavored with vanilla. From that evening forward, the taste of the dessert was intricately linked in Zeah’s mind with the image of Egeria carefully spooning the confection into her perfect lips. He also remembered the monstrous splash created by some horrible submarine beast as it burst from the water in the middle of the bay and his fervent hope at the time that the potency of Zurfina’s spell preventing such beasts from coming near the dock remained in effect.

As Egeria approached the last bit of her dessert, Zeah picked up the small cylinder he had used to create the magical fireflys. He tapped the device twice on the table and said “bechnoth”. The dancing little lights that had been a fixture during the meal began to coalesce over the water. Within twenty seconds they had formed letters spelling out “marry me”, except they didn’t quite spell out “marry me”. The second m was a z, so the magical fireflies spelled out “marry ze”.

“Bugger and blast,” said Zeah.

“Marry Ze,” said Egeria. “Yes, I will.”

Zeah jumped and quickly reached into his coat pocket, the wrong coat pocket. Then he reached into his other pocket and pulled out a small box. He opened it to reveal an engagement ring. It was a meager little ring made of silver with a very tiny chip of real diamond. Taddeus Vever, a jeweler who had arrived on the Minotaur, had high hopes of opening a shop in the new colony. He had brought a small stock of basic supplies and blank rings with him. He had been able to produce a ring for Zeah and had mounted the stone that the former butler had supplied that very afternoon. The stone, if such a term was indeed appropriate for the tiny chip of diamond, had been in Zeah’s possession for more than twenty years. He had scraped and saved as a young man to purchase it to be placed into a necklace setting for Yuah’s mother. Then she had died, and he had kept it folded in a handkerchief in his sock drawer ever since.

Egeria pulled the ring out of the box and carefully slid it onto her ring finger. She smiled at it as if it were the Brech royal jewels. She looked up at Zeah and the light danced in her eyes. Zeah thought that the entire evening had worked out as well as could be expected.

The following day, Zeah felt alternately as though he was on top of the world, and as if the world was on top of him. All prospective grooms felt that way he realized, but he was just way too old for the feeling. He was tempted to stay in bed and pretend he was ill. He didn’t know why. It just seemed the better part of valor not to be seen. Of course it wasn’t an option. He had to get up. He had a thousand things to attend to, from the washing of the colony’s clothing to the washing of the colony’s dinosaurs.

His accomplishment of the former was easy. The procedure had been set up way back when they were aboard the Minotaur. Hauling the water was a little more difficult now, but at least there was plenty of manpower available. Zeah had to assign duties and make sure that everyone was doing what he was supposed to be doing. Cleaning the dinosaurs was something new, but was something that several of the colonists who were skilled in animal husbandry all agreed needed to be done. As it turned out this was easier than washing the clothes, not only because the little beasts actually liked being washed, but also because many more people volunteered for the duty. In the end, there were ten or fifteen people attempting to wash each of the six reptiles, and there was scarcely room to turn around in the animal enclosure.

By the time mid-morning had come, Zeah was already thinking about his duties later that day. Mr. Dokkins had asked him to find two more men to work the power saw and work was finally going to begin in earnest on the aqueduct. As he walked from the dinosaur pen toward the tents of the Freedonians, he noticed that Church was in session under one of the remaining trees to the northwest of the barracks buildings and northeast of the dock.

The construction of a church was still high on the priority list, even though now more of the colony were Zaeri than Kafirites. With no church building the church acolytes were holding services on the grass, just as they had done a week ago on the morning of the Brahtihn wedding. It was Zeah’s understanding that this was according to Father Ian’s instructions, though the first of these proceedings didn’t happen until two days after he had watched the priest swallowed by the tyrannosaurus.

Almost three hundred people were seated on chairs of canvas and wood in neat rows with a large dividing aisle between them. In the center of that aisle ten or eleven people stood in line, waiting to be blessed by Brother Galen. He watched for a moment as the church acolyte, standing in for a full priest, read a blessing over the person who kneeled at the head of the line. From his vantage point he couldn’t see who it was, only that it was a woman with a large hat. Brother Galen crossed himself and so did the woman. He then passed a communion wafer down into her mouth and let her sip from a silver chalice. Then the woman carefully got to her feet and walked back to join the others in the congregation. Only when she did so, could he recognize Egeria’s sharp features and fiery red hair.

“I don’t attend church, and quite frankly, I’m not one for ritual of any kind,” she had said, but here she was. Zeah didn’t know exactly what kind of problem this was going to be, but he knew that it was going to be a problem of some kind.

Chapter Nineteen: The Battle of Suusthek

The long, snaking line of soldiers marched through the forest. Incredibly tall redwood trees, large spruces, maples and bay trees, gave shade, but offered little in the way of obstacles. Though azalea and huckleberry bushes pulled at the men’s legs, their heavy canvas pants and leather boots protected them. At the head of the group was Terrence Dechantagne, who was followed by a lizardman named Sarkkik. Sarkkik wore a feathered headdress and his body was painted all black along the right side and red along the left. Next in line was Augustus Dechantagne who was followed by another lizardman. This second lizardman, Szuss, was far less ornately adorned, with just a few stripes of ochre around his neck and arms. Behind him was the wizard Dudley Labrith. Behind Labrith were one hundred eighty well-trained soldiers in khaki.

“Blast!” shouted Augie, as a small dinosaur jumped up from the brush near his feet with a twitter and shot away through the woods.

Terrence turned back and gave his brother a look, though he didn’t say anything. They had journeyed by his calculation, more than one hundred sixty miles. Along the way, Augie had frightened, or been frightened by, at least half a dozen dinosaurs. To be fair, some of the beasts had been genuinely frightening.

When they had crossed a seemingly innocuous stream two days earlier, several creatures decided that some of the humans would make a pleasant lunch. Familiar with alligators along the southernmost rivers in Brech, Terrence had read of similar creatures called crocodiles that lived in Mallon. That’s what these animals were—crocodiles. Neither Terrence nor anyone else had expected them to be so large. The three beasts in the meager little river were each more than fifty feet long and must have topped the scale at eight tons a piece. It had taken the rifle fire of more than fifty men to discourage the crocodiles.

The lizardman next to Augie hissed something in his language.

“What did he say?”

“He said not to worry. That dinosaur was harmless.”

The reptilian hissed again.

“He says it’s only a short walk to our destination.”

“Anything else?”

Augie spoke again in the lizard language. Again came a reply.

“He says we should be ready to fight.”

“All right. Tell the men.”

“Check magazines. Full loads,” said Augie to the sergeant behind him, who transmitted the order back down the line.

Less than half a mile past the point at which the small dinosaur had jumped up from the brush, the forest ended and a huge savannah spread out before the soldiers. Terrence had the men tighten up into a two by two formation and continue on. Here on the open grassland, tremendous beasts roamed. In the distance the men could see a large herd of triceratops, which they had grown used to seeing at home, but even closer was a troupe of nine or ten beasts whose size defied all logic. Their huge bodies were more than thirty feet tall, and they possessed a long serpentine tail and an equally long serpentine neck that placed their heads more than one hundred fifty feet from their other ends. The monsters walked along in a line toward another distant edge of the forest far to the east.

“My god!” exclaimed Augie. “They’re magnificent.”

“Seismosaurus,” said Terrence, and when his brother gave him a look, he said. “I’ve been reading.”

“Look what’s following them,” said Labrith.

A discreet distance behind the giants, were the huge black bodies and horrendous red faces of four large tyrannosauruses. All four turned to eye the humans making their way across the grassland. They might have sensed a fearlessness among the humans, or they might not have been hungry. For whatever reason, they turned back around and continued to follow the seismosauruses.

Crossing the great grassland, Terrence could see a line of rolling hills on the far side. It was only after they had marched through the waist-tall grass for more than an hour however, when the hills revealed one of the greatest sights that he or any of the soldiers had ever seen. Framed between two closer hills and sitting atop the larger, rockier promontory behind, was a city. Even from a distance of many miles, it was easy to see that this city was something spectacular. Huge gleaming white pyramids rose from its center and giant walls surrounded it, as if keeping it from flowing down the sides of the hill. Thousands, maybe tens of thousands of houses and other buildings were contained within its confines.

“I didn’t think they were capable of anything like this,” said Augie, obviously speaking of the lizardmen.

Without thinking, Terrence had stopped to stare at the magnificent sight. He didn’t say anything, but he hadn’t been aware that the reptilians were capable of anything along this line either. The other soldiers moved up and formed a group, rather than a line. All stared in rapt fascination and open astonishment at a city that might very well have rivaled Brech in size.

“Dechantagne,” said Wizard Labrith, pointing.

Terrence followed his gaze and saw spread out across the savannah, a line of lizardmen. They were so well camouflaged that they blended right into the rising landscape behind them. They stretched out to the left and the right so far that they created a half circle around the humans, and this at a distance of more than a mile. Many of the lizardmen were painted red and white and black, and most wore feathers. Most also carried the swords, made of wood and flint, that the men had seen before.

“Kafira,” said one of the soldiers. “There must be a thousand of them.”

“More like five thousand,” said Labrith.

“Talk to them,” said Terrence to Augie, indicating the two lizardmen with them. “Find out if these are our friends or the enemies.”

Augie hissed. Sarkkik hissed back. Augie translated.

“We know of your people. Though it is far away, we know of your people living in Mallontah. We know how they have enslaved the natives there. We know you intend to do this here. We have shown you to Suusthek.”

“What does that mean?” asked Terrence. “We have shown you to Suusthek.”

“Oh, sorry. My mistake,” said Augie. “Not ‘show’. It’s ‘delivered’. ‘We have delivered you to Suusthek’. Oh, that doesn’t sound good.”

“We have dealt with you in good faith,” said Terrence.

“Your blood runs warm. You cannot be trusted. We have heard your talk. Szuss can hear your speech. He hears how you want to rule the land.”

“Bugger!” shouted Terrence.

Sarkkik hissed again.

“He says ‘now you die’,” translated Augie.

Terrence turned around and walked two steps then turned around again. Then he pulled out his .45 revolver and shot Sarkkik in the head. It seemed as if the reptilian would fall backwards for a moment, but this was prevented by his tail. He rocked back, then from one side to the other, and then collapsed in a heap. Before Sarkkik had hit the ground, Terrence had fired a second time, and Szuss had a hole through his skull as well. He fell forward onto his alligator-like face.

More than a mile away, a deep rumbling sound rose up. It was a low gurgling, growling noise. It came from the massive army of lizardmen and it grew louder and louder as five thousand warriors joined in.

“Formation!” shouted Augie. “Get into formation!”

The soldiers rushed to form two lines, one behind the other, ninety men wide. The formation looked pathetically small compared to the line of reptilians that dominated the landscape.

“First rank, kneeling positions!”

The front row of soldiers knelt. The rear row stayed standing.

“Fix bayonets!”

Each soldier pulled a wicked looking dagger from a sheath on his belt and attached the six and three quarter inch blade to the end of his rifle.

The throaty sound of the lizardmen continued for several minutes. Suddenly and seemingly without a signal, it stopped. Then like a wave moving from the ocean onto the beach, the lizards surged forward. They moved quickly, at a sort of slithering trot, brandishing their stone-encrusted swords as they came. And they were silent—eerily silent.

“Ready!” called Augie. “Aim!”

“Fire!”

The one hundred eighty soldiers fired their rifles in unison and more than a hundred reptiles fell to the ground. The hole created in their moving line quickly filled in with others of their kind, and kept moving forward.

“Ready! Aim! Fire!”

The soldiers fired again, and another hundred reptile warriors fell. Running headlong into thundering death, the lizardmen directly in front of the humans began to falter, while to either side, they surged forward. Terrence had holstered his pistol and pulled the .30 caliber rifle from his shoulder.

“Uuthanum rechthinov uluchaiia,” said Labrith, and a lightning bolt, beginning at his fingertip, spread out shooting through the bodies of a dozen reptile warriors.

“Fire at will!” shouted Augie. The soldiers began to pick their own targets.

“Watch your flanks!” he shouted. Fanning out slightly on either side, the humans began firing on the lizardmen coming in from the sides.

“Uuthanum beithbechnoth,” said Labrith, and a missile of magical energy darted from his fingertip, striking one of the lizards square in the chest, killing him. A half second later a second magical dart shot forth, and then a third.

Seconds later similar magic missiles shot from the lizardmen’s lines, hitting two of the soldiers. Terrence aimed his rifle in the direction from which they had come. The reptiles had their own magic user. He was easy to spot too. Unlike the others whose greenish skin was painted black or red, he was covered in blue. Terrence shot him through the throat.

Suddenly the lizardmen stopped coming and dropped down into the tall grass. So sudden and so well coordinated was the move that it seemed that they had just vanished into thin air.

“Hold your fire!” shouted Augie. “Are they crawling? Watch the grass!”

The men kept watch where the lizardmen had disappeared, but it was as though they had never been there at all. Suddenly on either side of the humans, dozens of reptilian warriors stood up. Still more than fifty yards away, they heaved short spears using spear-throwers. These devices were shafts with a handle at one end and a spur at the other against which the butt of the spears rested. The spears flew high into the air and then down onto the human soldiers. Six men were hit in the chest or the head and fell to the ground silently. One was hit in the shoulder and one in the stomach, and both of these fell to the ground screaming. Several of the humans fired in return, but the lizardmen had dropped to the ground immediately after launching their missiles.

“Steady!” cried Augie. “Shoot when they show their heads!”

“Prestus Uuthanum,” said Labrith.

Several dozen more reptile warriors on either side of the humans and eight or ten in front of them stood up and launched their spears. This time almost half of them were killed either before or after they were able to cast their projectiles. Half a dozen of the spears that were thrown bounced off an invisible shield in the air above the soldiers, but five more men were hit. This savage and deadly game continued as again and again, lizardmen stood to launch spears on their clever little spear throwing sticks and the humans attempted to shoot them with their rifles before they could do so, though sometimes settling for shooting them afterwards.

Terrence heard Labrith casting other spells, though he didn’t see what effect they had. He was busy dealing death with his rifle and was inwardly pleased with the knowledge that so far at least, every bullet he had fired, had met its mark. Though they were causing far more casualties than they were taking, it was a nerve-wracking business, and some of the men were beginning to grouse and swear.

“Steady men,” said Augie. “If we break, they’ll pick us off. Stand fast.”

The lizardmen to the right jumped up—not a few dozen spear throwers, but hundreds rushing forward with swords. The humans began rapidly picking them off, their rifles pumping new shells into the chambers as fast as they could fire. The lizardmen advanced, but at a cost of several hundred. Suddenly they dropped back into the grass.

“Watch your other side!” called Augie.

“That was a test,” said Labrith. “They’re testing our firepower.”

“Kafira. We must have killed nearly a thousand already,” said Augie.

“That only leaves four thousand to go,” said Terrence, looking at the bodies of more than forty of his men, dead or dying.

The spears flew into the air again, this time in even greater number than before. Ten more men fell. Next to him, Terrence heard Labrith scream and saw him fall to the ground. One of the spears had pierced his right kneecap and was sticking about sixteen inches out the backside of his leg.

The lizardmen to the left jumped up and ran forward, just as those on the opposite side had done before. This time fewer were shot as there were both fewer humans left to fire and they were less ready than before, despite having experienced the previous rush. And just as before, the reptiles dropped back down into the tall grass.

“Ready men!” shouted Augie. “Watch for the spear throwers!”

The spear-throwing reptiles popped up just as predicted on three sides. Rifle shots rang out. Terrence shot three. Suddenly he felt a weight on his back and turned around, jerking it off him. He looked directly into his brother’s face. Augie had a surprised look in his eyes. He opened his mouth to speak and thick red blood ran down his chin and onto his chest. One of the spears had hit him in his left shoulder, driving down through his chest, and poking out of his right side near his hip. It had pierced his heart and at least one of his lungs. The light left his eyes and his body took two steps backwards as if it was attempting to continue on even without a soul in it, then it crumpled to the ground.

Terrence made a sound not unlike a man punched in the stomach. He watched dumbly as eleven or twelve more men fell from thrown spears. He saw another spear hit Labrith in the neck, pinning the already prone wizard to the earth, like an insect pinned to a mat. Terrence felt himself beginning to shake uncontrollably. It was at that moment the lizzies on every side made their final charge.

The lizardmen raced across the last fifty yards separating them from the humans. Though dozens more of the reptile warriors were shot, the massive wave crashed into the soldiers. A few of the humans attempted to run, but to their credit, most met the overwhelming cold-blooded enemy head on. The hand to hand combat that ensued was terrible to behold. The Brech soldiers had been trained to stab the bayonet, slash, and smash with the rifle butt, and this they did with the skill of trained soldiers. The lizardmen swung their swords, flat blades of wood, encrusted all around with chips of flint or more often of volcanic glass. When these weapons hit their targets, they sliced huge gouges in their victims. More than a few humans and lizardmen slipped in the thick red blood that covered the ground, matting down the tall grass trampled in the fight.

Terrence turned to see several hissing reptiles rushing forward at him. He smashed the face of one with the butt of his rifle. Continuing the same motion, he blocked the downward swipe of a primitive sword. Another cold-blooded warrior tackled him, knocking him to the ground. Using the momentum of his attacker against him, he kicked the lizardman over him and jumped back to his feet, losing his rifle in the process. He pulled out one of his revolvers and fired at one painted savage after another until the hammer clicked on an empty chamber. He dropped the pistol and pulled out its twin. Before he could fire it, a great mouth clamped shut on his wrist.

As quickly as it had bitten him, the reptile dropped to the ground dead. Terrence turned his head to see that one of his own soldiers had shot his attacker. The lizardman’s teeth had ripped two long gashes in his wrist as it had fallen off of him. He tried to lift his right arm, but couldn’t. He looked around on the ground for his pistol, but he couldn’t see it. Two soldiers stepped past him on either side, for a moment blocking the reptiles coming at him. He couldn’t tell who the soldiers were, but they killed at least four lizards before being killed themselves.

Grabbing a rifle from the ground with his left hand, Terrence attempted to point it at one of the reptiles, but at that moment he was hit it the back. The impact of one of the native swords left a gash across his back, but did not sliced in deep enough to cause internal damage. It knocked all the air from his lungs though, and sent him slipping on the bloody ground. He landed on his side. He looked in the direction of his men and saw only three soldiers still fighting among the swarm of the enemy. Then a large reptilian foot stomped down on the side of his head and everything went black.

Terrence passed in and out of half consciousness. He felt motion, but he didn’t know if he was being carried or being dragged. He didn’t even know if he was facing upwards or downwards. In those few moments when he was awake enough to have a thought; it was centered on the dull aching pain across his back and the sharp stabbing pains in his right wrist.

His face was doused with water and his mind swam up into awareness. He was on his knees, being supported on either side by the rough, clawed fingers of two lizardmen. His arms were tied behind his back at both the wrists and elbows. He was scarcely aware of it, but his knees and ankles were also tied together. His clothes were stained red and dried blood was caked to the side of his head.

He looked around. He was inside a stone building surrounded by a score of the most highly ornamented and decorated lizardmen he had yet seen. The room was festooned with colorful feathers and brightly died animal skins. The only open door was directly ahead, and as Terrence’s eyes adjusted to the light streaming in, he could see the tops of a multitude of buildings in a strange and inhuman city, and he realized that he must be in the top of one of the great white pyramids that he had viewed from so far away.

A flood of unanticipated memories flowed into his brain. Gunfire. Battle. Spears. Blood. Death. Augie.

“Bastards,” he said. “Bloody bastards.”

The reptile men all around him began hissing. One of the brutes, a monster more than seven feet tall, stepped forward. Terrence immediately recognized him. It was Ssithtsutsu, the chief who had visited the colony many weeks before. With dark mottled scales and the foot long scar across his face, passing through one white eye, even a human with little experience among the local peoples could identify him. He had on far more ornamentation than he had when visiting the colony, including a huge cape of bright red and blue feathers.

“I know you, you bastard,” said Terrence. “So you’re not just a village chief.”

“I gno yew too,” said Ssithtsutsu. “I gno yew. I gno yew want. Yew want slave the lizzies. Slave us for yew copper bits.”

“Bastard.”

Another lizardman appeared next to Ssithtsutsu. He was a shrunken, shriveled reptile, whose skin had faded away with tremendous age or maybe disease. He wore a necklace of human hands held together with woven grass. In his own hand he carried a small lizard, its four legs sticking straight out, mounted on a stick like some strange lizard lollypop. He moved in close to Terrence and shook the lizard at him. He shook it all around the bound man’s face.

“Get away from me, you cold-blooded freak.”

“He gno freak,” said Ssithtsutsu. “He strong witch-doctor. He take away yew power. Then we take away all suuwasuu. We take away all yew tools. We wipe you off the land.”

Terrence began to laugh mirthlessly.

“You have no idea what you’re dealing with. You don’t know what we are. My people bring death and destruction wherever we go. It doesn’t matter what you do now. Within a year, they’ll be nothing left of this city but a dark stain on the top of a hill.”

“Yew gno see it.” Ssithtsutsu stepped forward and grabbed the man across the top of the head with his huge, clawed left hand. Terrence tried to turn his head one way or the other, but the lizardman’s grip was like an iron vice and the claws dug into the flesh of his temples. All that he could do was scream, as the lizard king gouged the claws of his right hand into Terrence’s left eye, scraping out his eyeball. Then he did it again, gouging out Terrence’s right eye.

Chapter Twenty: The Assault on the Town

The mood was light in Iolanthe Dechantagne’s tent. It was a bright, sunny day outside, though not too hot. A cool breeze was blowing in off the ocean. The colony had enjoyed a huge mid-day feast, and if eating the last of the fresh vegetables taken on at Enclep was not exactly a cause for celebration, at least everyone knew that they were safe from starvation. The canned food stored at the colony would last a long time, and there was still the promise of trade with the natives.

Yuah Korlann, Merced Calliere, and Phillida Marjoram sat around the desk counting ballots for the election of the Colonial Council. The paper slips upon which all adult members of the colony had written the name of their choice were divided up into piles. Though there were more than two dozen piles, one for each candidate, it was soon obvious which four piles would end up being the tallest. Calliere’s final pronouncement was a mere formality. The winners of the election and the chosen members of the Colonial Council were, in order of votes received: Zeah Korlann, Padgett Kelloran, Dudley Labrith, and in a surprise, a young Freedonian woman named Honor Hertling.

“Lovely,” said Iolanthe. “I was sure that Zeah and Dr. Kelloran would be elected, but I’m surprised at the wizard. Does anyone know this Hertling person?”

Yuah and Calliere both shook their heads.

“I believe I know of her,” said Mrs. Marjoram. “A dark-haired young woman, if I’m not mistaken. Pretty, in that Zaeri sort of way. I believe she’s known for her work helping the sick on that ship of theirs. No doubt that’s why she was chosen.”

“So she’s from the Acorn?” asked Iolanthe, ignoring Yuah’s look of shock at Mrs. Marjoram.

“Yes, if she’s whom I’m thinking of.” The woman seemed oblivious of the effect of her words.

“Excellent. One more chance to get the Freedonians integrated into our society. Before long, nobody will know they weren’t born Brechs.”

“Hmph,” said Mrs. Marjoram, but didn’t openly correct her.

“So it will be myself, Terrence and Augie, whoever replaces Father Ian, Zurfina, and these four. I think we can work with that.

“Yuah, why don’t you go bring your father in here? Mrs. Marjoram, would you be so kind to see if you can locate this Miss Hertling? And Mercy, perhaps I can persuade you to bring Dr. Kelloran.”

Twenty minutes later the three of them had returned with the three newly elected leaders of the colony, Wizard Labrith, of course being on the military mission with the Iolanthe’s two brothers, was not present. Zeah looked every bit the senior statesman, tall and straight in his charcoal suit. Dr. Kelloran on the other hand looked tired and drawn. Though still nicely dressed and stylishly coifed, she had lost weight since arriving in Birmisia and had dark circles under her eyes.

The young woman who arrived with them was, if not beautiful, certainly striking in appearance. She was so thin that Iolanthe thought her figure might have been mistaken for that of a boy without a corset and bustle. Her wavy black hair reached well past her shoulders, and framed a cute face with a small nose and extremely large, sad eyes. Her olive skin was far more tanned than was considered fashionable, no doubt due to the lengthy journey from Freedonia, and she had a deep scar across her left cheek down to her chin.

“Miss Hertling, I presume,” said Iolanthe, stepping forward to shake hands.

No sooner had she taken the young woman’s hand than a dozen gunshots rang out in the distance. It was obvious that they came from beyond the protective wall. Iolanthe broke into a broad smile.

“Wonderful,” she said. “Zeah, it looks as though we will be having a celebration tonight.”

“Yes, Miss. A welcome one.”

A young soldier burst into the tent, running into the back of Miss Hertling, and knocking her forward. She would have fallen completely to the floor had not Professor Calliere caught her.

“Kafira’s eyes!” snapped Iolanthe. “Don’t you know how to knock?”

“Sorry ma’am,” said the soldier, nervously. “Sergeant Clark’s compliments, ma’am. There is a large force of lizardmen approaching from the southeast. The sergeant has already called for all troops to man the ramparts. And the lizardmen have rifles, ma’am.”

“Where the hell did they get rifles?” wondered Calliere.

“From our troops,” said Iolanthe, gravely. “How many lizardmen are there?”

“We don’t know, at least a thousand.”

“Tell the sergeant to hold the wall,” she ordered. The soldier then ran out of the tent. Turning to the women, she said, “Thirty-five men aren’t going to hold the wall for long. Get everyone moving. We’re evacuating out to the end of the peninsula.”

“What are we going to do there?” asked Dr. Kelloran.

“We’re going to make our stand. Zeah, get some of the men and distribute as many guns and as much ammunition as we have. Go. Mercy, come with me.”

Iolanthe stepped out of the tent and marched purposefully toward the wall. Professor Calliere followed along behind her. When she reached the wall, she gathered up her dress and extensive petticoats into her left arm and used her right to climb up the ladder to the walkway that served as a firing platform twenty feet off the ground. Sergeant Clark was there.

“Where are they?” she asked, panting for breath and peering out of a firing port.

“Still mostly in the trees, but they’re out there.”

“And your men?”

“I’ve got them spread out fifty feet apart, but that means we’ve only got a fifth of the wall covered.”

“I can do the math,” she snapped. “You aren’t going to fight them from here. Just make them think you are. I want you to keep them cautious long enough for the colonists to get out onto the peninsula. Send four men to break the machineguns out of storage and set them up at that bottleneck four hundred yards north of the dock. That’s the only place we have a hope of holding them off.

“Mercy, you know the place, don’t you?”

Calliere nodded.

“Good. You supervise. Get those machineguns set up.”

Calliere nodded again and rushed back down the ladder. Sergeant Clark called four men and ordered them to follow the professor. Iolanthe turned back to the soldier.

“I’ll send word to you when to fall back,” she said. “Remember Clark. You cannot fall back until those colonists are out near the coast. If those tribesmen get past our trap, it will be a bloodbath.”

“I understand.”

Iolanthe climbed back down the ladder and walked briskly back to the tent. Hundreds of people were now rushing here and there. Children were crying. Men were swearing. There was some panic. At least the bulk of the people were already moving north up the length of the headland. Stepping past the tent flap, she went behind the desk and opened the lowest drawer to pull out a large revolver. Turning around, she opened a trunk on the ground behind the desk and pulled out a belt with an empty holster. She slung it around her hips, tightening it to the furthest belt hole. Then she stuffed the pistol into the holster. Finally she reached back into the chest and pulled out her twelve gauge shotgun. Popping it open to make sure it was loaded, she flipped it shut again and headed out of the tent.

Outside, Iolanthe ran into Suvir Kesi, almost literally. The wizard, dressed as usual in his bright colored Mirsannan clothing and fez, looked befuddled, as though he had no idea of what was going on.

“Get up on the wall!” she yelled at him. “Make yourself useful, for Kafira’s sake.”

She marched north along the white gravel path that led to the tip of the peninsula. Along the way she called out orders to colonists nearby. “This way! Hurry Up! Somebody get that child! Move!” As she walked, she overtook Saba Colbshallow, who was leading a string of children, locked hand-in-hand, northward.

“Saba. As soon as you get these children to safety, find me.”

“Yes, Miss,” he said.

She reached the point in the finger of land jutting out into the sea, where it narrowed to half a mile. Professor Calliere and the four soldiers were already there with two large wooden crates. She pointed.

“One here and the other at the other side of the rise. I think that will give us the best possible coverage.”

A sudden volley of gunfire erupted to the south.

“Hurry up,” she ordered.

The rush of people passing the bottleneck in the peninsula thinned and then slowed to a trickle. Saba Colbshallow popped up at Iolanthe’s elbow.

“I have a dangerous mission for you. Are you up to it?”

“Yes, Miss.”

“Good. Run up to the wall and inform Sergeant Clark that it is time for him to fall back. Then get yourself back here as quickly as you can run. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Miss.” Saba took off at a full run, directly toward the attacking lizardmen and the defending soldiers.

Iolanthe watched the young man running south, and then turned to examine the progress of the soldiers. The two men near her had set up a machinegun on a tripod and were busy loading the end of a belt of ammunition into the side. The two other soldiers along with Mercy Calliere had just reached the distant spot for the second machinegun. As she well knew, having paid for both, the two gunmetal blue and gold weapons were Victory M1896 water-cooled .303 calibers, capable of firing two hundred sixty-two rounds per minute. Turning and spotting Zeah, Iolanthe ordered him over to her.

“How many guns did you find to pass out?”

“A few dozen. Most of the rifles went with Master Terrence and Master Augie.”

“Have them line up across here.” Her fingers formed a line between the two machineguns and some thirty feet behind.

No sooner had she said this than she observed Saba Colbshallow running back towards her from the south. Close behind him came the first of the soldiers, though he soon left them behind. Sergeant Clark’s men hurried along, but there was quite a bit of space between them, and only twelve had reached her when she saw the first of the lizardmen headed in her direction. The aborigines were moving much more cautiously and hence more slowly than the humans. Even so, Iolanthe saw a couple of the men cut down from behind as they ran.

“Take charge of the firing line,” she ordered Sergeant Clark, when he reached her.

Glancing to her left, she saw that Calliere had the machinegun station ready at the far end. There were no more soldiers headed her way, but the lizzies were advancing en masse now. They had apparently breached the protective wall, which after all had been designed to keep out roaming dinosaurs, and not as a military fortress. Many of the reptiles were moving through the barracks and storage buildings and the tents, no doubt looking for plunder, but hundreds were moving on the colonists.

“Fire,” ordered Iolanthe, when the reptiles were within fifty yards of her.

The deep staccato sound of the machinegun split the air and a wave of death spread across the promontory. Seconds after the first had begun, the second machinegun joined in. The lizardmen had faced gunfire before. Some of them even carried rifles, which they pointed and fired awkwardly toward the humans. None of them had faced the horrifying devastation of a machinegun. Some turned to run. Scores were cut down. The rest dropped to the ground and found cover where they could. The closest began to launch their own missiles in the direction of the machineguns. Some of those were cut down. Hundreds of other lizardmen moved forward, now low to the ground, to join their fellows.

“My turn?” said a deep voice in Iolanthe’s ear.

She turned to look into Zurfina’s large grey, charcoal-lined eyes.

“It’s time you earned your keep.”

“Very well.”

Using both hands, Zurfina plucked the air near her face, as though she were plucking invisible objects from around her head. Then she squared her feet, straightened her shoulders, and raised both hands. When she spoke, her voice seemed to reverberate through the air as though it were mechanically enhanced.

“Uastium uuthanum destus pourthanium paj uutestos err.”

Nothing seemed to happen for a moment. The machinegun continued to fire. The colonists with guns, and the soldiers who were sprinkled amongst them, fired their guns. More lizard men began throwing spears. Iolanthe looked at Zurfina with a raised brow.

“Wait,” said the sorceress, smiling serenely. “This will be really good.”

Iolanthe wouldn’t have noticed how it started except that she just happened to be looking at a particularly garishly colored lizzie warrior, painted one side completely black and the other side with red and black stripes. Blood began to run from his large mouth and both nostrils, and she thought he must have been hit by a bullet. Then pustules began forming all over his body, which burst, spraying a ghastly purple ooze on the warriors around him. Finally his eyes popped out of his head, and he sprayed the same purple ooze from the eye sockets. Those tribesmen who had been near him began to experience the same symptoms and then others spreading out from that spot. Soon scores and then hundreds of the lizardmen were perishing in a most disgusting way. Iolanthe noticed that even the plants around the unfortunate victims were dying and decomposing into rot and decay.

“I need some survivors,” said Iolanthe.

“Oh, there are always a few,” replied Zurfina. “I’m going to go lie down. Oh, don’t go over there for a while.”

Two hours later most of the colonists were back near their barracks. The soldiers were again manning the walls and watching for trouble, this time with the machineguns mounted and ready on the battlements. More than a hundred people had been detailed to pile up and burn the rapidly decomposing reptilian bodies. As instructed, they wore heavy gloves and didn’t touch the purple puss oozing from the corpses. The final count was one thousand twenty dead lizardmen. Nobody knew how many had run away back into the redwood forest. Iolanthe couldn’t even stand to think about the putrescent bodies. When she had seen them close up, she had lost her breakfast. Twenty-seven humans had died—sixteen soldiers who had fought to hold off the cold-blooded hordes and eleven colonists who had not managed to get to safety.

Fifteen captive lizardmen, tied hand and feet, knelt in a line near the headquarters tent. Iolanthe stood in front of the first, her shotgun cradled in the crook of her arm. Sergeant Clark and two of his men stood behind her. At a greater distance, dozens of colonists watched, many of them still armed.

“Do you know Brech? Do you understand me?” she asked. The lizardman made no move of recognition. Pulling the shotgun stock to her shoulder, she shot it in the face. If flopped over dead, with little left of its head. Heedless of the splattering of blood on her face and dress, Iolanthe took one step to the right and faced the next lizzie, who was fairly dripping with the blood and bits of brain of the first aborigine.

“Do you know Brech? Do you understand me?” she asked. The lizardman began to hiss. She shot it in the face too.

“This is going to take forever,” she said, opening the breech of the shotgun, dropping the two spent shells on the ground and reloading it.

“I can probably help,” said a small voice behind her. Iolanthe turned around. “Senta, right?”

“Yes,” said the sorceress’s young apprentice, like her mistress, all decked out in black.

“How can you help?”

“I can understand what they say.”

“That’s right! She can!” called a brown-haired boy from thirty feet behind the girl.

“If you can understand what I am saying,” said Iolanthe to the lizardmen, slowly and with emphasis. “Nod your head.” Two of the painted creatures nodded.

Turning to Sergeant Clark, she said. “Take these two to my tent. Kill the rest.”

Iolanthe guided Senta by the shoulder into her headquarters tent. She took the girl with her behind her desk. Two soldiers dragged one of the lizardmen into the tent and Sergeant Clark and two colonists dragged the other in after. Moments later a flurry of gunfire announced the execution of the remaining reptiles. Sergeant Clark stayed, but the others went back outside. They were replaced by Zeah, Yuah, Mercy Calliere, and Egeria Lusk, who stepped into the tent and moved to stand in a row along the side.

“Can I speak to you, Miss Dechantagne?” asked Zeah. He stepped close enough to whisper in her ear. “One of the bodies, I mean, one of the women found dead. She wasn’t killed by a spear. She was stabbed. She was stabbed like Egeria and the women on the ship.”

“I don’t have time to deal with this now,” said Iolanthe.

Zeah looked unhappy, but he stepped back in line with the others.

“What do you need to do?” Iolanthe asked the girl.

Senta stepped out from behind the desk and walked fearlessly over to the lizardmen.

“Sembor Uuthanum,” she said, then touched first one lizzie and then the other, on their shoulders, with her right index finger.

“Do you know what happened to the soldiers that left here thirteen days ago?” Iolanthe addressed the lizardmen.

They both began hissing in their language. Senta listened and then translated.

“They say the soldiers fought their king and his warriors near the city of Suusthek. All of the soldiers were killed, except two, who were captured.”

“Terrence,” said Iolanthe and Yuah at exactly the same moment. Then at the exact same moment, they both said. “Augie.” The two women looked at each other.

“Are the two captives still alive and uninjured?”

“They said that something happened to them or something was done to them, but I can’t figure out what they mean. They say that ‘their power’ was taken away.”

Yuah made a sound halfway between a gasp and a sob.

“They say,” continued Senta. “The men will be sacrificed to their god Hisssthisss….Histuthuss… I can’t pronounce his name. Anyway, they say they will be sacrificed to him on the next bright face. I think that means the next full moon.”

“How long till the next full moon?” asked Iolanthe.

“Thirteen days,” replied Calliere.

Iolanthe turned around and opened the trunk on the floor. She pulled out the wooden sword, encrusted with tiny blades made of volcanic glass, which had been presented to her by the lizzie chief. She hefted it in her hand to test its weight. She slowly stepped around the desk to stand in front of her two prisoners.

“Now we are going to find out exactly where the two soldiers are being held,” she said, “and we are going to find out exactly how to get there.”

Chapter Twenty-One: The Rescue

Senta walked up the steps of the stone pyramid, her bare feet making no sound. She moved quickly and carefully. Though there were lizardmen guards placed on either side of the stairs on every tenth step, they did not see her. Her body was completely invisible and didn’t even cast a shadow in the bright light of mid-morning. Up ten more steps, between two more guards the little girl continued, constantly watching to see if the reptiles would notice something—a sound, a moving pebble, her scent. But they didn’t notice anything. The sounds of the vast city drowned out any small sounds that she made. The smell of wood fires burning, beasts of burden on the streets, and most of all the waste of fifty thousand primitive people safely obscured her smell. Up two hundred forty steps, past forty-eight guards, she finally reached the top of the bloodstained, stone staircase.

At the top of the pyramid, Senta looked around and shivered. The square, white stone temple that sat on top of the immense structure was carved with bizarre and inhuman forms—combinations of lizardmen and other animals, engaged in all manner of disgusting activity. Far more distressing however, were the human body parts hanging above and to either side of the open doorway. Human arms and legs and human heads, attached by the hair or through protruding tongues were tied up with thin ropes made of woven grass. The temple entrance was dark and frightening, like the gaping maw of some bloody and horrible creature.

Shaking, Senta moved into the darkness of the structure anyway. The horrifying look of the place outside was nothing next to the horrifying smell of the place inside. The stench of urine, both human and reptilian, was overwhelming. She could also smell sweat, human sweat, since the lizardmen being cold-blooded did not perspire. And she could smell blood, mammal blood, reptile blood, new blood, old blood, forever blood.

As her eyes adjusted to the light, she could see that the walls were decorated with carvings very much like those on the outside of the temple. Here in many places they were covered up though by colorfully painted and died animal skins, stretched wide, and in a few places by blankets of brightly hued bird feathers. Two men were in the middle of the room on their knees; their arms stretched straight back behind them. Ropes bound the men’s wrists and then stretched up to a stone in the ceiling, twisting the men’s arms back cruelly. Looking up, Senta could see that the stones in the ceiling, one directly above each man, had been carved into the likeness of a lizardman or dinosaur face. Each face had its mouth open and a tongue sticking out. The ropes that held the men in their kneeling positions, no doubt at the cost of tremendous pain in their arms, shoulders, and chests, were attached through holes in the tongues of the carved faces.

Senta stepped gingerly toward the men. Neither moved. Both had faces caked with dried blood and wore torn and tattered shirts covered in blood. She bent down to see if she could recognize either face, but they were both too badly swollen and torn. Standing directly in front of one of the two men, she reached around her own neck and lifted one of three silver necklaces over her head. Each necklace had a pendant representing the shape of a bird. She carefully draped it over the man’s head. He didn’t move. She stepped quietly over to the second man and slipped the second of the three necklaces from around her head and started to place it over his. He moaned and turned his head slightly, startling her, and she dropped the necklace to the stone floor. When she reached down to pick it up, she found the stones almost carpeted with layer upon layer of dried blood. She stared at the brown surface for a moment, and then noticed another change in the room.

The square formed in the center of the room by the light streaming into the temple doorway had changed. There was a shadow in it. Senta stood up and looked at the doorway. Framed in the brightness was a lizardman. He was not as frightening to the girl as the other lizzies she had encountered, though she was still frightened that she would be seen and captured. This lizardman was shrunken and shriveled, and its skin had faded away to a dull grey. It wore a necklace of human hands, and it carried a small lizard attached to a stick. Keeping one eye on the creepy reptile, she slipped the necklace over the second man’s head. This time he didn’t move.

The shriveled lizardman began to shake the lizard on the stick. It rattled as though it was a dried gourd. The lizardman began to hiss. Senta could feel magic in the air around her. She could see it swirling like a purple mist.

“Your magic’s not as strong as ours,” she said.

The old reptile stopped. He stared into the room for another moment. Then he started shaking the lizard and hissing again. Senta looked down at herself. Though invisible, she had been able to see herself, and of course she still could. But something seemed different about her. The grotesque lizardman suddenly hissed loudly and looking up, Senta saw that it was pointing right at her. She was visible.

She grabbed the bird talisman on her necklace and shouted. “Now Zurfina! Now!”

For a moment, nothing happened. Then the room around Senta began to shimmer as though it were being seen through the curtain of a waterfall. Finally the room, the lizardman, and everything else vanished.

* * * * *

From the great field of waist-high grass, the party of colonists looked up at the massive walled city on the hill in open astonishment. Outside of half a dozen human cities, capital cities, there was nothing like this in the world. Or was there? Maybe there were dozens of cities, or even hundreds, beyond the reach of human eyes, in regions of the world waiting for civilization to discover them.

Compared to the force of soldiers that had fought and died on this same savannah twelve days before, this current group of human visitors would have seemed much less threatening. Twelve men and three women dressed in khaki jungle clothes and a woman in black. They had journeyed six days through the forest, following a trail of bloated and disgusting, decomposing lizzie bodies. There had been hundreds of them. Unwary predators had eaten a few, but then the predators had experienced the same grotesque eruptions of pestilence that had killed the lizardmen. The trail of bodies had stopped two days before, but the fifteen humans had well-described directions to guide them.

“Do they know we’re here?” asked Iolanthe Dechantagne.

“I’m sure by now they do,” said Zurfina. “They’re going to be a lot more cautious now. The king must have learned that he lost two thousand men.”

“That’s not much of a loss, relatively speaking,” said Zeah Korlann. “That city is nearly as big as Brech. They must have ten thousand warriors. I’d love to walk around and look at it, under other circumstances.”

The air in front of the group shimmered and out of nowhere, three people appeared in the grass. Two horribly brutalized men, the ropes that had held them in an upright position now falling limply beside them, plopped over onto their faces. The young girl dressed in black, stood in front of them and clutched her necklace pendant.

“That was so scary,” she said.

Iolanthe, Dr. Kelloran, and Sister Auni rushed forward to the two men on the ground.

“Kafira Kristos,” said Dr. Kelloran, “They’ve been blinded.”

“Terrence,” said Iolanthe, cupping her brother’s face in her hands. “Terrence, can you say something?”

“Iolanthe,” he croaked.

Iolanthe looked at his battered face and his destroyed eyes, and then stepped away to throw up in the grass. Wiping her mouth, she looked toward the other man being examined by Sister Auni.

“Augie?” she asked.

“It’s Corporal Bratihn,” said the Acolyte.

While Dr. Kelloran opened the lid of a small brown bottle and carefully poured some of the liquid inside into Terrence’s mouth, Sister Auni drew a cross upon Corporal Bratihn’s forehead and began reciting a cure wounds spell. Iolanthe stood up and walked over to where Zurfina stood.

“I can feel their witch-doctor scrying us right now,” said the sorceress.

“Good. I want them to know who it was.”

“Does that mean you want survivors?”

“You said that there were always a few.”

Zurfina shrugged.

“Do it now,” Iolanthe ordered.

Just as she had done six days ago, on at the narrow knuckle in the finger of land extending into the sea north of the colony, Zurfina plucked the air near her face, as though she was playing an invisible harp. Only Senta could see that she was picking from the air the little gems which floated around her head.

“The purple one?” Senta wondered.

Zurfina winked at her. Then she squared her feet, straightened her shoulders, rolled her head around as if loosening the tension from her neck. She raised both hands high into the air, wide, and with palms up. Just as it had on that day on the peninsula, her voice carried a gravity that seemed to reverberate on the air.

“Uastium peregorum uuthanum destus trejur beithbechnoth err eetarri.” No sooner had she stopped speaking than her body became completely limp and she fell to the ground. Zeah rushed to her and lifted her head. Her eyes were open but they had gone completely steel grey, as if they had been replaced with hematite gemstones.

“Get the stretchers ready,” ordered Iolanthe.

“We’ve only got two,” said one of the men unpacking the folded assembly of wood and canvas from a backpack.

“She’ll be all right,” said Iolanthe.

“Ooh, pretty,” said Senta, raising a hand and pointing up at the sky.

A cascade of shooting stars was falling across the sky from southeast to northwest. They left long trails of glowing stardust as they shot across the atmosphere. More and more of them appeared.

“It would be prettier at night,” said Zurfina, being helped by Zeah to her feet, her eyes now returned to normal.

“Should we be concerned?” asked Iolanthe.

“We should be fine here,” said the sorceress.

The land all around suddenly became much brighter, as if the sun had somehow been doubled. From high in the sky, a massive and beautiful shining meteor flew across the heavens leaving an awesome trail of smoke and cinders behind it. A huge ‘boom’ shook the land as the glittering jewel shot toward the lizard city.

“We should be fine here… I think,” said Zurfina.

“Get them on the stretchers,” ordered Iolanthe. “We need to go.”

Terrence and Corporal Bratihn were each loaded aboard a stretcher. Both had now received a mouthful of healing draught from the doctor and a spell from Sister Auni. Four men lifted each of the stretchers.

The giant, gleaming bright falling star slammed into the city on the hill, erupting in a brilliant flash, and causing a huge mushroom-shaped cloud to rise high up into the sky. The men and women on the savannah could see a shockwave flowing down the hill and across the land toward them.

“Come on!” shouted Iolanthe, and the entire company began running toward the line of trees three miles to the southeast.

Though they moved as fast as they could, the shockwave overtook them long before they reached the trees. It was as if a great wave spread across the land, less like the wave in an ocean than like a flag blown by the wind. When it overtook them, they were tossed into the air and deposited back down in a heap. Standing back up, Iolanthe looked to see that there was nothing left of the hill upon which the lizardman city had sat. In its place was one great fiery conflagration. Molten pieces of the earth, thrown up in the blast were dropping across the landscape for miles around. Wildfires were spreading through the grass. A huge rolling cloud of smoke and dirt was moving toward them with the speed of a railroad train.

“Come on,” she repeated, and scooping up their charges once again, they made for the trees.

“Everybody grab hold of somebody else,” she said, and she grabbed the edge of the stretcher on which her brother lay, still unconscious and grievously wounded.

They were still a short distance from the trees, when the billowing veil overtook them and immersed them in a sea of brown air. It was impossible to see and difficult to breathe, but they continued forward. They reached the edge of the forest without even knowing it, because they passed between the first trees unnoticed. As they moved deeper and deeper between the giant redwoods and thick maples, the air began to clear. Finally they stopped.

Iolanthe looked at the members of her party. They were all covered with dirt, and trails of mud ran down from their eyes, nose, and mouth. Terrence and Corporal Bratihn were both still safely on their stretchers. Sister Auni and Dr. Kelloran both checked on them. The eight men who carried them were there as well. Zurfina and her ward were plopped down beside the base of a huge tree, both so covered in dirt that it was impossible to tell that they were wearing clothing any different in color from anyone else. One more soldier was on hands and knees spitting mud from his mouth. She counted the party members—two, four, seven, fifteen.

“Blast,” she muttered. Zeah and three other men were missing.

* * * * *

Terrence slowly became aware that he was awake. The first thing he noticed was grit between his teeth, and he tasted dirt on his lips. He realized that the pain in his arm and his back and his face was no longer as bad as it had been. His arms and legs felt stiff, but even as this knowledge came to him, he realized he was on a cot of some kind. Someone carefully lifted his head and began wrapping a bandage around it. He reached up with his left hand and grabbed the human hand with the bandage.

“Who is it? Who’s there?” he said, with a choking voice.

“It’s Padgett, Padget Kelloran.”

“Oh.”

“Have a drink,” she said, putting a canteen to his lips and pouring in a small amount of water. Then she used her fingers to wipe the dirt and mud from around his mouth.

“More,” he said.

She gave him another sip.

“Terrence?” It was a new voice. It was so tender that it took him a moment to realize that it was his sister.

“Iolanthe?”

“Yes, it’s me.”

“Where are we?”

“We’re on our way home. We just rescued you.”

“Am I going to live?”

“Yes, dear. Dr. Kelloran says that both you and Corporal Bratihn are going to recover.”

“Bratihn? Alive?”

“Yes.”

“I didn’t think there was anybody else. Augie…”

“I know. He’s dead.”

“He was brave,” said Terrence.

“Of course he was.”

“Are they following us? Don’t let them catch you. They would rather have you than me, I think.”

“They aren’t going to be following or catching anyone. I promise you.”

“Doctor?”

“Yes,” said Dr. Kelloran, now finishing up the bandage around his head.

“My eyes?”

Dr. Kelloran paused for a moment.

“They’re gone.”

“Don’t worry,” said Iolanthe. “It’s a single restoration spell. We’ll have Zurfina do it as soon as she’s rested.”

“Do you think she can?”

“Well I had my doubts up until a week ago, but yes. I’m sure she can do it.”

“Okay. Bratihn? How is he?”

“Pretty much the same as you,” said Dr. Kelloran. “His arms aren’t as badly swollen, but his eyes...”

“Him too, Iolanthe.”

“Of course.” His sister’s voice was still tender. “Rest now.”

He knew that it wasn’t her order to rest that made him drift off into unconsciousness, but it seemed as though it was. As he drifted off, he could hear her issuing more orders.

“Get them ready to travel. I want to get further into the woods before nightfall. You take point. Keep an eye out for the others.

* * * * *

Zeah woke with a start. He felt his head. There was a large goose egg on his right temple. He thought back for a moment to reconstruct what had happened. He was running. He couldn’t see because of the dust. He had tripped. Well, that was that. He spat, something that did not come naturally to him, but his mouth was coated with mud. He looked around. He was in the middle of a forest. The ground was rocky. And all around him, all he could see were large trees.

He stood up, supporting himself with a hand on the trunk of a tremendously large redwood. He wondered if he should call out for help. It was possible that the other members of the party were relatively close. Then again, there might be lizardmen relatively close too, and they probably would not be inclined to offer him any form of aid, since he had been present when their city had been wiped off the face of Birmisia. He knew the direction that he needed to go was northwest. He would walk that direction, and if after a while it seemed prudent, he would start calling out to see if he could locate the others.

Taking a quick observation of the sun, Zeah started off, the land sloping gently down as he walked. He was in the middle of the flock of creatures before he even realized they were there. He didn’t know if these were birds or dinosaurs. They had feathers. It didn’t make a great deal of difference to him. He had grown wary of the large birds, like the velociraptors, which roamed the ground in this new world. A quick look at these however revealed that they did not have the long jaws of the velociraptors or the razor sharp teeth. They had short beak-like mouths. Other than that they were very much like the creatures that had almost eaten Zurfina’s apprentice on their first day in this land. They were about the same size, two feet tall and three feet long from nose to end of tail. They had downy soft feathers covering their bodies, and tufts of longer colorful feathers on their forearms and at the ends of their tails. There were dozens of them, and they watched Zeah with big round eyes as he walked between them.

Zeah thought that he had completely passed through the flock of creatures, when he noticed a group of four more. It took him a second to realize that these four were running. They weren’t running at him and they weren’t running away from him. But they were running away from something. A group of five predators was following the running birds. They were not huge beasts like the tyrannosaurus, but they looked plenty big to Zeah. Six to seven feet tall, they were almost twenty feet long, with a bony ridge running down their back and a horn on their snout. They ran along, hopping over logs and rocks with a grace belying their crocodilian appearances. Zeah turned and ran too.

He knew with absolute certitude that the pack of predators would forgo chasing the creatures they had been chasing, and would go after him instead. For one thing, he was a nice, soft, juicy animal. For another, he would be much easier to catch. Finally, it was just the way his luck ran. He chanced a glance back over his shoulder, and sure enough, the entire pack was right behind him. It would be only a second or two before they leapt upon him and began ripping his flesh to pieces.

A huge bump shook the land and bounced both of Zeah’s feet into the air. When he came back down, he thought that he would be able to keep his balance and continue running, but one of his feet slid and he crashed down into a small redwood sapling. Rolling over onto his back, he looked behind him. The predatory dinosaurs, all of them, lay broken and crushed in a pile. As Zeah sat watching opened-mouthed, an impossibly huge claw reached down from the sky and picked up one of the dead beasts.

The appendage was obviously that of a reptile, though it was less like the stubby pawed claws of alligators, lizardmen, and the dinosaurs that had been chasing him, and was more like the hand of a man, though the fingers were slightly webbed and they had claws rather than nails. The hand was more than four feet across the palm with three fingers and an opposable thumb. Tiny metallic scales tinged with deep forest green began just behind the claws and were intricately meshed together like a suit of ancient chain mail. Zeah followed the scales with his eyes, up the long arms, past a gigantic shoulder, and up a long sinewy neck to a massive head more than twelve feet long hanging forty feet off the ground. Atop the head was a long spiny crest, and hanging down around the face were long whiskers. Unlike the dinosaurs, and even the lizardmen here in Birmisia, the eyes of this gigantic reptile were lively with intelligence. It was a dragon, a monstrous dragon. Being only the second dragon that Zeah had ever seen, he naturally compared it to the first. It was similar to Zurfina’s steel dragon, in the way that a triceratops is similar to a horned toad.

Zeah realized that the dragon had crushed the whole pack of dinosaurs with one blow of its massive foot. The dragon lifted up the crushed body of one of the predators almost daintily to its nose and took a whiff. It casually tossed the body aside, which crashed to the ground far out of the man’s view. Bending down it looked Zeah over.

“You speak Brech? Sprechen sie Freudan? Zvilat Zaeri?” asked the dragon. Its voice was like the rumbling of an earthquake.

“I speak Brech,” said Zeah, his voice sounding unnaturally high in his own ears. “I speak Zaeri too. Some Mirsannan. A little bit of Freedonian.”

“I never learned to speak Mirsannan,” said the dragon. “It’s not a language conducive to a forked tongue.”

“I didn’t know there were any dragons in Birmisia.”

“Hmm.” The deep rumbling sound was like boulders rolling down a hill. “You mean besides that little speck living with you?”

“Yuh… Yes, besides him. How did you know about him?”

“I can smell him on you. What is he, a dragon of gold or a dragon of iron?”

“I… I don’t really know. Dragons are not my field of expertise. You know the um… lizardmen didn’t mention you.”

“Of course they did. They call me Hissussisthiss, the god of the forests, and of fear, and flowers.”

“Fla… Flowers?”

“You don’t like flowers?”

“Flowers are very nice,” said Zeah. “Thuh… thank you for rescuing me. Can… Can I go now?”

“Oh, no.”

“Wha… Why not?”

The dragon’s monstrous head lowered down until it was directly in front of the man. The dappled light falling through the broken trees reflected beautifully off the green-tinged metallic scales.

“Why do you think?”

“You’re not going to eat me?”

“Look at me,” said the dragon. “Do you have any idea what the calorie requirements are for a warm-blooded body my size… that can fly… and talk… and think? You’re scarcely big enough to pick my teeth with. Besides I ate several very large dinosaurs just this morning.”

“Then what do you want?”

“Information.”

“In… In… What kind of information?”

“It’s been a long time since I’ve seen humans, hundreds of years, and here you are… in my land… with strange weapons… and magic, oh yes, magic powerful enough to concern even me… and you have another dragon. Why a dragon? Is he a pet?”

“I really don’t know what I can tell you.”

“You can tell me everything. And you will tell me everything—everything you know.”

Chapter Twenty-Two: The Wizard

“It isn’t working,” said Zurfina. “I tried a regeneration spell on the way back to the colony and now I’ve tried a wish. Neither one of them are doing a bloody thing.”

“Why not?” demanded Iolanthe Dechantagne. “Aren’t you the world’s greatest spellcaster?”

“It’s not a question of magic. At least it’s not a question of arcane magic. I think you’ve been cursed.” She looked at Terrence Dechantagne, sitting in a chair in his apartment, his eyes still covered with bandages. “I’m thinking your little reptile friend with the lizard talisman was responsible. You’re going to need a priest to exorcise that kind of curse.”

“And Father Ian is dead,” finished Terrence.

“Dead and dead,” said Zurfina. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to talk to a man about a dragon.”

Iolanthe’s party had made its way back through the forests to Port Dechantagne the way they had come, and for Terrence it had been a particularly long trip. After only a few days he had felt much better. He had insisted on trying to walk, but walking blindly through the dense redwood forest, even with a guiding hand to help him, turned out to be much slower than having four men carry him on the stretcher. So he had relented and lain silently while he was transported along by others. Of course he wasn’t the only one. Corporal Bratihn was in the same boat. On the second day of their trek, they had found three missing soldiers, who had become separated in the great cloud of dust from Zurfina’s destruction of the lizardman city. They were uninjured and the addition of their labor in carrying the two wounded men, meant that a rotation of bearers could be established.

It had taken ten days to return home. On the night of the full moon, just more than halfway back, Iolanthe had told Terrence the story of the attack on the colony, how Zurfina had created a magical pestilence to destroy the lizards, how she had discovered that he was a captive and was going to be executed, and how she had mounted a rescue mission, leaving to the sorceress just how he would be extracted and just how retribution would be laid down upon his captors. He made few comments. His mind was on how he had been duped into leading one hundred eighty men to their deaths. How his brother had been killed.

Just before they had reached the colony, they had found Zeah Korlann. The way he was wandering around in the woods, seemingly dazed and quite confused, it had seemed impossible that he could have traveled faster than they had, even considering the burden of carrying men on stretchers. When Iolanthe had asked him where he had been and how he had traveled all the way back to the colony so quickly, he began muttering something about being carried across country by a dragon.

“If you don’t want to tell us,” said Iolanthe, “then don’t.”

As they had finished the last few miles of the journey, Zeah had related in an uncharacteristically erratic and undetailed way, the story of being captured by a dragon and being delivered to this spot in the forest, after having been carried in the monstrous claw of the beast as it flew across country. Terrence wasn’t sure whether to believe the story or not, especially without the benefit of looking into the man’s eyes, but Zurfina apparently believed it and planned to interrogate Zeah when they finally returned home, which they had, safely, the day before.

“It will be another month before we find out if the church plans to replace Father Ian with another full priest, and I don’t know how much longer it will be before they send a replacement,” said Iolanthe. “You could wait.”

Terrence didn’t say anything.

“On the other hand, the S.S. Dormouse leaves for Brech tomorrow. You could be on it.”

“The Dormouse? When did it get here?”

“It arrived on the sixth. It was sitting in the harbor when we got home.”

“I didn’t see it,” he said, knowing that this would hurt his sister, and knowing that she didn’t deserve it.

Iolanthe was quiet for a moment, and then said. “You have to decide what you want to do.”

“Do I?”

“I think you should go back with the Dormouse.”

“Blast it, Iolanthe! Leave me alone. I’ll decide when I decide.”

His sister didn’t say anything. A moment later, Terrence heard the door close and he knew he was alone in his room.

After sitting and struggling with himself for a few minutes, Terrence got up and shuffled across the floor to his trunk. He lifted it open and pulled out the tray inside, setting it on the floor. Reaching down to the bottom of the clothing stacked neatly within, he squeezed each roll of socks, searching for the one in which he had hidden the small indigo bottle. Finding the correct pair, he pulled out the bottle and removed the cork stopper. Holding it with one hand, he used the other hand to pull the bandages over his head. He tilted his face up to the ceiling and poured the contents of the bottle into the empty holes that were his eye sockets. He had been afraid that without eyes, he wouldn’t feel the effect of the drug, but his head began to swirl in the usual way, and he fell back to the floor. The tiny bottle fell from his hands and rolled to the far side of the room.

Terrence woke up and felt a sinking sensation in his stomach. Everything was black. He was still blind. Still, something was different. He was not lying on the floor of his room. He was lying in the dirt. He sat up and felt around with his hands. They immediately brushed against plants. He knew what they were. They were the purple flowers that resided here in this strange alternate world. They were the purple flowers with a human looking eye in their center.

He felt for a stem. When he found it, he followed it up the flower and felt for the eye. The flower closed in a conscious attempt to stop him from touching the orb. Peeling the petals back, he found the eyeball and ripped it from the flower, but it just squished into jelly in his hands. The plant let out an all too human sounding scream. He reached for another flower. This time he tried to be gentler as he removed the eye, but it too just squished into goo. Again and again, he tried to pry out one of the eyeballs. He knew that if he could just get one of them loose, he would be able to press it into his empty eye socket and his sight would be restored. But he couldn’t do it. He must have destroyed fifty of the flowers, but in every case, the eyes had been destroyed along with them.

He felt a thump on the ground nearby, and then steps coming toward him. He heard a deep and gravelly voice.

“What do you want, blind man?”

“Who is it? Who’s there?”

“Don’t you know?” The voice was right beside his ear.

“No. No, I don’t know.”

“There is no one else here. There has never been anyone else here. Who else could it be?”

“Pantagria? You’re not Pantagria.”

A sudden blow struck him on the side of the head and he was knocked over, rolling across the ground. He rose up on his hands and knees. The voice was right next to his ear again.

“Yes, my dear Terrence, it is me. It is your Pantagria.”

Terrence reached up his left hand and tried to touch the face speaking so close to his own. A hand grabbed him by the wrist. It was large and heavy and calloused. With his right hand, Terrence grabbed the wrist of the hand that was holding his. The wrist was thick and muscled and covered with long shaggy hair. Another blow landed upon his face, tossing him across the ground and sending blood flowing from what he was sure was a broken nose.

“You’re not Pantagria!” he shouted.

“No, I’m not Pantagria.” The voice was right next to his other ear now. “Not anymore. I’m all that’s left of her. I’m what Pantagria became.”

“No, no, no. You can’t be Pantagria. Pantagria loves me. She would never hurt me.”

“She hurt you the last time you saw her, when she struck you. She hurt you the time before that, when she cut you. And she hurt you before that—long before that. She’s always hurt you. She hurt you… I hurt you by making you love me. Don’t you see? You can’t love me. I’m not real. I’m just the drug—just the White Opthalium. That’s all I’ve ever been.”

“No. That’s not true. This is a place I can come, a safe place. Safe.”

“No. It’s never been safe. And now it will never be safe. I will never be safe. This is how I am now and how I will always be for you.”

“But what happened to you?”

“Poison.”

“Who poisoned you? How could anyone poison you?”

Terrence was hit again, hard, this time on the right ear. He fell crumpled to the ground.

“They didn’t poison me,” said the gravelly voice. “They poisoned you.”

“Poisoned me?” he gasped.

“Yes, poison.” A massive clawed foot hit him in the side.

“When? How?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Kesi,” said Terrence. “Suvir Kesi gave me the white.”

“It’s time for you to go back now,” said the deep and gravelly voice again. Again he was kicked in the side.

“Pantagria, I can help you.”

“We’re done. If you come back again, I’ll kill you.” Another blow hit his side. He started to say something else. Another kick. He rolled across the purple flowers, crushing dozens. Another kick. He struck his head against something solid. He waited to be kicked again, but the kick never came. He reached out a hand to touch the thing that had struck his head. It was the bottom of a steamer trunk. He felt a wooden floor. He was back in his room again.

Terrence felt around for the tray that he had taken out of the trunk. When he found it, he rummaged through it until he found the spare .45 caliber revolver he kept there. Opening the cylinder, he used his thumbnail to pull out one of the shells. It was good. He could smell the sweet taste of gun oil from the last time the pistol had been cleaned. He couldn’t remember when he had cleaned it last, probably when he had cleaned his other two pistols. It didn’t matter. He stood up on unsteady legs, feeling the pain of at least one broken rib. He staggered across the room, threw open the door, and stumbled out into, what for him, was darkness.

Terrence staggered across the ground. He had a general idea of where Wizard Kesi’s apartment was in relation to his own, but he had taken no more than a dozen steps before he realized he wouldn’t be able to find it. He was totally disoriented and lost. Then he staggered right into someone. It was a man or an older boy, as tall as Terrence, but much more lightly built. He grabbed the man or boy’s arm.

“Do you know where Wizard Kesi lives?”

There was no answer. The person tried to pull away. Terrence pulled him back. Then cocking the pistol, he pressed the barrel into the unseen face.

“Do you know where Wizard Kesi lives?” he demanded again.

“Yes, yes. I know where he lives.”

“Take me there now.”

The boy, Terrence now surmised a boy of sixteen judging by the voice, guided him along through the barracks buildings. It wasn’t far. After only a few score steps they stopped.

“It’s here,” said the boy.

Terrence let go of him and reached forward to find a door and a doorknob. He could hear the boy starting to sob as he ran away. The door was locked. He took two steps back and kicked, intending to bust open the door, but he had stepped back so far that, though his booted foot hit the door, the force wasn’t enough to open it. Growling in anger he rushed forward bashing his shoulder against the door.

The door did not splinter, as he had expected it to. The force of his body broke open the latch. But as Terrence went sprawling across the floor inside, the door swung on its hinges until it reached the wall behind it, then bounded back, slamming shut again. The wind was knocked out of Terrence’s lungs, and he heard the gun skittering across the floor.

“Captain Dechantagne?” said Kesi’s accented voice. “I didn’t hear you knock.”

“You son of a bitch!” shouted Terrence from the floor. “You poisoned me!”

“Oh, yes. That. I had forgotten all about that.” Kesi chuckled. “That was funny.”

“I’m going to kill you, you bastard.”

“No. I’m going to kill you. But you’ll have to wait a moment. You caught me right in the middle of something.”

“Mmph.” The sound was a voice, a woman’s voice, strangely muffled.

“Quiet now,” said Kesi. “I’m talking with the Captain.”

“Who is that?” demanded Terrence, getting to his feet.

“You know, this is perfect in a number of ways. It’s almost poetic. You see if it hadn’t been for you, I would never have been able to continue this little hobby of mine. You were so useful, pinning the blame on Maalik Murty. I was going to frame your brother, but you were right. Murty was a much more believable killer.”

“You? You killed those women?”

“Far more than you know. Uuthanum.”

Terrence’s body was lifted up and tossed across the room like a rag doll. He hit the wall and then crashed down onto a chair, right onto the spot where Pantagria, or the thing that had been Pantagria, had kicked him again and again.

“Mmph mmph.” The woman tried to speak again. She must have been gagged.

“You killed all those women? The ones in Brech?”

“Yes, I’ve been killing pretty young women as long as I can remember. It’s just good clean fun. It’s also been a sort of preparation, though I never realized it until now.”

“Preparation for what?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

“Why did you poison me?”

“I can’t tell you that either.” Kesi chuckled again. “Mostly, because I can’t remember. Uuthanum.”

Terrence felt himself fly up so hard that he hit the ceiling. This time, when he hit the floor, his crotch landed right on something hard and pointed. He doubled up into a fetal position. Both hands went to cradle his testicles, but instead found the object that had injured them—his own pistol. He grabbed hold of the grip, but couldn’t force his body to unbend.

“Now, listen to this,” said Kesi. There was a ripping sound.

“Didn’t catch it? Listen again.” Terrence heard the ripping sound again. The woman’s muffled voice screamed. It sounded somehow very far away.

“What are you doing?”

“This is the really poetic part of it all. I’m killing the only woman who ever loved you.”

“Iolanthe?” Terrence got to his knees once again.

“You poor, stupid bastard,” said Kesi. “You still think your sister loves you?”

Terrence lifted the revolver in his hand and fired in the direction of Kesi’s voice. The pistol was thunderously loud in the small barracks apartment. The wizard let out a shriek like a little girl, though Terrence couldn’t tell if it was because of fear or injury. He heard shoes running across the room. He fired again and heard glass breaking, then the sound of the door opening. He fired again. He knew Kesi was gone, but he didn’t know if he had managed to hit him or not. He could hear people shouting outside. He could taste the metallic cloud of gunpowder. Then he heard a whimper.

Crawling forward, Terrence felt the body of a woman lying on the wooden floor. He felt her face. She had long hair, pulled up. She was blindfolded and gagged. He ran his hands over her face, but he couldn’t tell from her features who it was. He couldn’t think straight. He couldn’t remember what noses and chins should be shaped like. He was not good at being blind.

He ran his hands down her body. She was thin and her dress had a lot of lace. She was wearing a corset and a bustle. Then he felt the warm, slick feeling of blood. He more carefully felt her torso. There were two wounds cutting through dress, corset, and stomach. With each beat of her heart, blood oozed out of the two holes. He ripped the blindfold from around her head and stuffed it into one of the knife wounds. Then he pulled the cloth gagging her down over her chin and found another wad of cloth in her mouth. He took this and pressed it into the second wound.

“Terrence,” the woman said, weakly.

“Who is it?”

“It’s only me.”

“Yuah?” It had taken him a moment to recognize the strong dressing maid in the fragile response, but now he knew. “Yuah?”

“Yes.”

“Yuah, you love me?”

“Yes,” was the almost inaudible reply.

Suddenly it was as if a hundred people had burst into the room. The sounds of voices were all around—people shouting, people swearing, people asking questions. Yuah was ripped from his hands and pulled away. He was pulled to his feet and shuffled aside. Somebody, he didn’t realize whom, but in retrospect he thought it was Mercy Calliere, had shaken him and asked him what had happened.

“It was Kesi,” he managed to say. “Kesi stabbed her.”

He didn’t say anything about Pantagria or the drug. Who would care? Who would care that a drug addict had been poisoned. Who would care that Kesi had… changed someone who didn’t even exist.”

Taken by the shoulders, Terrence was led away from Kesi’s apartment. He didn’t know where he was being taken until he got there. Once there, he knew he was being ushered into Iolanthe’s headquarters tent. He was guided to a chair and sat down. Then he was left alone for some time. He wasn’t sure how long it was. He knew that it wasn’t as long as it seemed. His adrenaline was up and his heart was racing and he was in pain. Finally the tent flap swished aside and someone stepped in.

“Kafira, Terrence,” said Iolanthe. “He really beat the crap out of you. You look awful. Let me go get someone.”

“Iolanthe?”

“Yes?”

“Nothing.”

His sister left. Again he was alone in the tent. His body was beginning to feel pain again and there were few parts of it that did not partake of that activity. What hurt the most were the ribs on his left side. This was no surprise since both Pantagria and Kesi had managed to strike them or to have him fall on them again and again. The pain was steadily increasing. Suddenly he couldn’t breathe. He tried to cry out but couldn’t. He tried to stand up, but instead slid down from his chair onto the ground, passing into unconsciousness before he hit the ground.

“There’s not really much left of him, is there?”

Terrence knew the speaker was speaking about him, before he knew who the speaker was, or that he was awake, or even that he was alive. He thought that if he were really dead, he’d be in hell, probably with Pantagria. He tried to look around, forgetting that he had no eyes. He clicked his tongue on his teeth in resignation. He continued listening to the voice.

“How long until he wakes up?” It was Zeah Korlann.

“I don’t know.” It was Padgett Kelloran.

“I’m awake,” said Terrence.

“Master Terrence. Thank God you’re alive.” Zeah placed his hand over Terrence’s. “We were all so worried. The Doctor had to cut into your chest and bleed you.”

“I didn’t think doctors did that anymore.”

“It was a collapsed lung,” said Dr. Kelloran. “You were bleeding into your chest cavity. I had to release the pressure or you would have died.”

“Yuah?”

“Yuah will be fine, thanks to you,” said Zeah. “I owe you for that, Master Terrence, I truly do.”

“She’s okay?”

“Yes, she’s fine. It’s been… Well, you’ve been unconscious for four days.”

“Kesi?”

“There’s been no sign of him. Miss Dechantagne… your sister thinks that he escaped into the forest. Nobody saw him leave, but the sentries we have are watching the wall for lizzies trying to sneak in, not someone trying to get out. Most are untrained, too.”

“So the Dormouse has already left port?”

“Yes.”

“One more decision made for me.”

“Now Terrence,” said Dr. Kelloran. “We need to get you to eat something.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You need to eat,” she said. “You look like you haven’t eaten in almost a month.”

“That’s probably about how long it’s been.”

“Really, Master Terrence,” said Zeah. “You have no idea what you look like.”

“I have no idea what anything looks like.”

“Put that self-pity away,” said a voice from across the room. Terrence realized he didn’t even know what room he was in at the same time he realized who the speaker was.

“Yuah?”

“Yuah, you should still be in bed,” said Zeah.

“I’m fine, Papa. I’ve had enough healing draughts poured down me to bring a rump roast back to life.”

“All right. At least sit down.”

Terrence could hear a chair being pulled over to the side of his bed.

“We’ll just leave the two of you to sit and talk for a while,” said Zeah. “Maybe you can convince him to eat something.”

“They are serving soup right now,” said Yuah. “Why don’t you send up a tray? Make sure you get some of those yellow fruits that they found along the coast. I’ll get him to eat.”

“I’ll be back to check on you,” said Dr. Kelloran, and then Terrence could hear her and Zeah leaving and could hear the door closing after them.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” he said to Yuah.

“I’m fine. After you’ve been turned to stone, a little stabbing is nothing at all. They’re right. You really do look horrible.”

He reached up self-consciously to see that his wretched eyes were bandaged over. They were.

“You always say that,” he said. “I’ve probably looked worse before.”

“No. You really haven’t. If you don’t eat and regain your strength, you won’t make it.”

“What difference does it make?”

“It makes a difference to me.”

“Why?”

“Because I love you.”

“Why?”

“Criminy, I don’t know. God knows there’s no good reason. You’ve done nothing but insult and ignore me my whole life. I mean you were either insulting me or ignoring me, not that you were insulting and ignoring me at the same time, because that wouldn’t be possible, really.”

“I can’t tell if you are smiling or not.”

“How cruel of me. So, what happened?”

“With what?”

“With Kesi. You didn’t come to rescue me, although you did rescue me. Thank you, by the way. Why did you come to find him? I heard you say you were poisoned.”

“We left Enclep and I hadn’t had a chance to get…”

“White opthalium,” she completed his sentence.

“Yes.” He stopped for a moment. “I asked Kesi to get me some. He did, but he poisoned it with something.”

“Why did you get it from him?”

“I just happened to run into him. You know he killed all those women.”

“I know. I was almost one of them. He probably stabbed Egeria Lusk, too.”

“That means I killed an innocent man.”

“Murty wasn’t innocent. If he wasn’t guilty of murder, he wasn’t innocent. Don’t forget about all the children he… oh, I can’t even say it.”

“Well, he was just one of the ones I killed.”

“Augie’s death was not your fault.”

“Yes it was.”

“No, it wasn’t. Augie’s death was Augie’s fault.”

“Don’t say that.”

“I will say it, because it’s true. You know it, and I know it, and even your sister knows it. Augie was the one who was in charge of communicating with the lizardmen. He should have seen what was coming and he didn’t. He was too busy, well, being Augie to pay attention. He never really considered anything on this continent to be a threat to us with our rifles and steam engines.”

“You should have seen him,” said Terrence. “I never saw him in action before. When we were in the army, we were stationed apart. I was in cavalry and he was artillery, you know.”

“Yes, I know. I never understood that.”

“What?”

“He just doesn’t… didn’t seem like an artillery officer.”

“Maybe. But you should have seen him against the lizardmen. He was brave. He was in command. I wasn’t even there. I was…”

“With Pantagria?”

“Yes. How do you know her name? I’ve never said it aloud.”

“Yes, you did, a long time ago, when we were children. Well, I was a child. You were almost a man. I heard you say her name, when you were taking the cure.”

“I never did take the cure. I never did stop. I kept using it. Now I can’t.”

“Because of your eyes?”

“No. Because Kesi destroyed her.”

“What was she like?”

“She was like an angel. She was perfect. I guess she had to be. She was what my own mind turned the drug into.”

“Was she beautiful?”

“Yes, but she was just the drug.”

“I know that. I’ve always known that.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You would have never listened to me.”

“I’m not going to see her again,” said Terrence after a moment. “I can’t even if I wanted to. I do want to, but I can’t.”

“I think that’s good. I think you should live your life without ‘seeing’.”

“I don’t know if I can.”

“Of course you can,” said Yuah. “I’m going to help you.”

Chapter Twenty-Three: What Happened by the Stream

“I don’t like being outside of the wall,” said Senta, sitting on a rock and rubbing her hand along the supple neck of the steel dragon.

“There is absolutely nothing to fear, Pet,” said Zurfina, taking off her shoes, and stepping into the cool water of a small stream. “Between the two of us, we have rescued Captain Dechantagne and brought down an entire empire. Granted, it was an inhuman, stone-aged civilization. What exactly are you afraid of?”

“Velociraptors.”

“Don’t start crying about that again.” Then she mocked, “Velociraptors. Velociraptors.”

“They tried to eat me.”

“I was once almost eaten by a hydra—a hydra with nine heads. That’s much more frightening than a few glorified turkeys. Come here and put your feet in this water. It is delightful.”

“Turkey,” said the dragon. “Turkey pot pie.”

“You’re not hungry,” said Senta, moving to a rock closer to the stream and dangling her toes in the chilly water.

“Turkey. Turkey. Turkey.”

“What do you think of this spot?” asked Zurfina. “Well, that spot over there, really.”

She pointed to a place just above the west bank of the stream where several large maples grew.

“It’s fine,” said Senta. “Why?”

“I’m thinking we should build our home right here.”

“This is a long way from everybody else.”

“Not really. It’s less than six miles to the gate. We need to be far enough away from everybody else to maintain a sense of mystery.”

“I’m tired of being mysterious. I want to be near my friends.”

“Friends,” said the dragon. “Friends pot pie.”

“That’s just disturbing,” said Senta.

Zurfina sighed. “I suppose we could find someplace closer to the gate.”

“Besides,” said Senta. “This place is probably going to flood when it rains.”

Zurfina looked down at the water running over her feet, and then at the spot she had suggested for their home, and raised her eyebrows.

“Huh,” she said.

“Hello beautiful ladies,” said an accented voice from the east side of the stream.

Senta and Zurfina both looked up to see Suvir Kesi standing beneath a large pine. He wore his usual bright blue clothes and yellow fez with a blue tassel on top. He held his right hand straight out and dangled an 8 ½ x 11 inch sheet of paper.

“Uuthanum,” he said, and the paper burst in flame from the bottom, burning upwards as if it had been soaked in lamp oil.

“What the hell was that supposed to be?” asked the sorceress.

“A bit of mathematics,” Kesi giggled. “A result of the mechanism, you might say.”

“Silly thing to die over,” said Zurfina, “Uuthanum.”

She pointed to him with her right index finger, but nothing happened.

“Uuthanum uluchaiia uluthiuth!” shouted Kesi, raising both hands, and pressing them together, palms up.

A sphere of flame formed as he pulled his palms apart. Only two inches across, it surged and swirled there for a second, then shot toward the sorceress. In the thirty feet or so between the two of them, the ball of flame grew until when it hit Zurfina, it was six feet across. It exploded into a huge flash, knocking Senta away and into the water. When she looked back, she saw Zurfina completely on fire, her clothing and even her hair in flames. She too fell into the water, in a cloud of steam and smoke. Kesi let out another shrill laugh.

Senta couldn’t believe it, but Zurfina climbed back to her feet. Most of the black leather pants and leather corset she was wearing were gone, as was most of her blond hair. Her skin was scorched and when she moved, it cracked hideously. She pointed her finger again at Kesi.

“Uuthanum uastus corakathum paj,” she hissed. Again nothing happened.

“Bechnoth uuthanum pestor paj,” said Kesi, stretching out his hand.

A cone of cold, like the simple spell that Senta had learned her first day with Zurfina, but much larger and more powerful sprang from the wizard’s hand. The frosty air cut through the space between the two spellcasters, centering on Zurfina. In seconds, frost formed to cover her entire body, even freezing the stream for ten feet or more around her.

Senta let out a shriek and ran for the protection of the nearest tree on the opposite side of the river from where Kesi stood. She ducked behind a redwood three feet in diameter and dropped to her knees.

“Don’t go far!” called Kesi. “I have something I need to show you!”

It wasn’t the wizard, but a crashing sound that made Senta look around the tree. Just as she had suspected, Zurfina had broken out of the icy prison, melting the frost on her body and the ice in the stream. Senta had always thought that Zurfina could not be harmed by magic, but now the sorceress looked very unsteady. She reached up and snatched something out of the air near her face and threw the invisible object at Suvir Kesi. Whatever it was must have hit near him, because from out of the ground around his feet sprang a dozen black tentacles, each more than ten feet long. They immediately began grappling with the man. Zurfina dropped backwards into a sitting position in the chilly water.

Senta watched as Kesi pulled out a large curved dagger and began to hack at the tentacles, which wrapped themselves around his legs, arms, and neck. There was a real look of panic in his face, but after a moment, he began cutting more of the slippery black tentacles than grew to replace the ones lost. A look of triumph came over him and he slashed with renewed vigor until the last of the squiggly conjurations were gone. Throughout it all, Zurfina sat unmoving, the six-inch deep water flowing around her.

“Nothing to say?” asked Kesi, looking down at the sorceress. “Power all gone? I don’t think so. You still look a little feisty to me.”

“Uuthanum rechthinov uluchaiia,” he said.

Even as he did so, the sorceress grabbed another of the glamours floating around her head and threw it. It looked as though it took all her energy to do so. A bolt of lightning shot from Kesi’s hand directly at her. But a misty form, shaped like the spectral hand of some ghostly giant appeared out of nowhere, palm raised up like that of a police constable directing traffic, and the lightning bolt ricocheted away at a sharp angle.

“That was it, wasn’t it?” said the wizard. “Now you’re done. Thank goodness for that mechanical contraption. Without it, I never would have been able to formulate a spell powerful enough to counter magic that, well let’s be honest, is normally greater than mine by a factor of four.”

Suddenly a steel streak shot out of the sky and hit Kesi in the chest so hard it knocked him to the ground. The steel dragon dug all four claws into the wizard’s flesh, and sank sharp fangs into his neck. Kesi shrieked and crawled around pulling at the dragon with both hands, but it was as if he was fighting with a buzz-saw. Claws raking across his chest and teeth attempting to rip out his jugular.

At last, as if realizing he was a wizard, Kesi shouted out. “Uuthanum.”

The little dragon went flying away from the man, taking fistfuls of flesh with him and trailing blood. It crashed into a large tree, and even across the distance of thirty feet or more, Senta could hear the snap of one of the small wing bones breaking against the tree trunk. The little armored creature landed in a clump on the ground.

“Ah! You scaly mongrel bastard!” shouted Kesi in an unnaturally high voice, getting up to his knees, and pressing his hands over his wounds. “Oh, you’ll pay for that!”

Senta looked over at Zurfina, who sat exactly as she had been sitting. The tiny jewels that floated around the sorceress’s head, that had been invisible to everyone but Senta, circled around. Then as the girl watched, they began to pop, like so many soap bubbles, one after the other. With what seemed to be a great deal of effort, Zurfina tilted her head up and watched the glamours disappearing. Pop, pop, pop, they went, until there were six, five, four, three. The sorceress shook herself. The last three little sparkly jewels continued to circumnavigate her head. Reaching slowly up, she plucked one of the last three and looked at it in her hand.

Kesi stood up.

“It’s time,” he said. “It’s time I had your power. I have just the thing here to pull every bit of that delicious magic out of you.”

He reached into his shirt and pulled out a second sheet of paper. This sheet was folded into fourths and when he unfolded it, Senta could see that large portions were covered with his blood. He held it outstretched in his hand, as he got to his feet. Just as he did, Zurfina crushed the glamour between her thumb and forefinger, and a tiny ball of flame appeared in its place. It looked much like the fireball that Kesi had hit her with, but when it flew from her fingers, it didn’t grow much larger than it originally had been. It also didn’t hit the wizard. It instead hit the paper he was holding, which burst into flame.

“You bitch!” screamed Kesi. “Do you have any idea how many buttons I had to press, how many levers I had to throw? Do you know how hard it was to get that machine to create this spell?”

Zurfina pulled the next to last hovering magic bit from around her head and tossed it at the wizard.

“Tell it to him,” said Zurfina weakly, and then she fell back into the streambed.

Senta could see that the glamour would miss Kesi by more than fifteen feet, and when a cloud of smoke arose in the spot in which it had landed, the wizard realized it as well.

“You missed!” he shrieked.

The smoke slowly sprouting from fifteen feet ahead and to his right exploded in a huge burst, and then almost immediately dissipated. In its place was a monstrous shape. A tyrannosaurus just as large as the one which had hunted the area of the peninsula before the coming of the Dechantagne family and their colonists, just as large as any which Senta had seen roaming the plains below the lizard city, whipped its body around, scattering the few last whiffs of smoke. Several small trees fell, their trunks snapped by the great black body and tail of the creature. The beast rose up to its full thirty-five foot height and roared out a mighty challenge. Kesi screamed. The tyrannosaurus tilted its blood-red head to one side, to look down with one yellow eye upon the human being below him.

“Uuthanum beithbechnoth,” said Kesi, spraying the underside of the dinosaur with half a dozen magical bolts of energy.

It seemed to Senta as if the monster didn’t even feel the missiles hitting it. It reached down and grabbed the wizard in its teeth and lifted him up. Into the air, it tossed his body, which did several end-over-end flips. Then as it returned to earth, the beast snatched it like a terrier snatching a dog treat. The creature chomped down once, twice, then tossed its head back and swallowed, with what seemed to be a self-satisfied grin. The beast took two steps forward, barely missing the crumpled form of the steel dragon, then another cloud of smoke exploded around it and it vanished, returning, no doubt to wherever it had come from.

Senta waited just a moment, and then popped out from behind the tree that had been her protection. She ran down to the stream, dropped down into the water, and cradled Zurfina’s burned and blackened head. The sorceress’s body was floating in the chilly water of the stream. She opened her eyes, both of which were blood-shot, and one of which stared off to the left. She said something, but Senta couldn’t make it out. Leaning down, she put her ear next to the Zurfina’s mouth.

“The boy,” Zurfina said.

Senta carefully set the sorceress’s head down, and then scrambled through the rocky stream bed and up the small embankment to where the steel dragon lay. She could see that one wing was bent back abnormally. Carefully scooping his body with her hands, she lifted him up. He opened his eyes and looked at hers.

“Owie,” he whimpered.

Slipping a little on the round river rocks, Senta returned and took her place next to Zurfina again. The water swirled around her. She carefully placed the little dragon on the woman’s stomach. One single green glittery jewel hovered in front of Zurfina’s face, no longer able to orbit her.

“What do I do now, Zurfina?”

Zurfina didn’t answer. It didn’t look as though she were breathing. The little green object began to float down toward her face, shifting left and right, like a little green snowflake. Senta stuck out her hand and the jewel landed on her palm, then dissolved right into her skin. The world turned black. A moment later, Senta found herself sitting on dry dirt, though her dripping clothes soon made a muddy mess. She was still cradling Zurfina’s head and the steel dragon still sat on Zurfina’s stomach.

Looking up, Senta realized she was in Miss Dechantagne’s headquarters tent. Miss Dechantagne was sitting behind her desk in a white pin-striped dress. When she saw the two people and the dragon suddenly appear she jumped to her feet. Already on his feet, standing just behind Senta, was Zeah Korlann, who was holding a clipboard in his hand. The clipboard clattered to the dirt floor, the papers attached to it coming loose and scattering around the tent.

“Don’t just stand there with your mouth open, Zeah,” said Miss Dechantagne. “Go fetch Dr. Kelloran and Sister Auni.”

The former butler raced out of the tent and Miss Dechantagne walked carefully around her desk. She placed her hand on Senta’s head and looked down at the ravaged face of the sorceress.

“Zurfina, I presume.”

“Zurfina the Magnificent,” croaked the burnt and cracked lips.

* * * * *

It was exactly two weeks later that the S.S. Trumpet sailed into the little harbor of Port Dechantagne. It was the second of six transports that the royal colonial governor had arranged before ever leaving Greater Brechalon. Unlike the Dormouse, which mostly carried heavy equipment, the Trumpet was filled with supplies immediately of use to the colonists, including wheelbarrows, ammunition, hand tools, pots and pans, copper pipes, wooden barrels, metal pails, spools of cordage, and grinding wheels. Several hundred sheep and more than a hundred pigs had made the long journey and found homes at the very northern tip of the peninsula, right next to the five domesticated dinosaurs, whose pen was moved. Finally an additional nine hundred thirty colonists gladly stepped onto the soil of the new land.

A group of tribal lizardmen appeared at the gate a few days later. The destruction of Suusthek almost two hundred miles away, had created a political and commercial void in the region and Chusstuss, Tserich, Tsuus, and even Chullu now looked to the only remaining territorial power for protection and trade. The Colonial Council met and worked out a series of agreements that would allow the humans to deal directly with the lizzies.

Though told it would be months before a priest to replace the deceased Father Ian would likely arrive, Terrence Dechantagne and Lawrence Bratihn both decided to stay in the colony and wait, at least for the time being. They hoped that the new Father or Mother could remove the curse placed upon them by the lizardman and return their sight, saving them from making the long journey back to Brech. Corporal Bratihn, no longer able to serve in the militia, began working with the lumber crew. Even without his eyes, he became quite useful sharpening saw blades and repairing other tools. By the time the Trumpet left port, he had regained most of his vigor, much to the delight of his new wife.

Terrence spent much of his time, sitting beneath a tree on the hill just above the docks, the same tree that his sister had once marked so that it would not be cut down. He carried a pad and pencil and wrote most of the day, though he refused to let anyone read what he was writing. He seemed less and less like the heroic captain that he had been, and seemed to shrink away. Many people would see him writing or sitting in contemplation and they almost always noticed Yuah Korlann, whom some thought the most beautiful woman in the colony, watching over him.

The dark haired Honor Hertling became as well known among the original colonists and those who arrived on the Dormouse and the Trumpet as she was among the refugees who had arrived on Acorn. She continued to take care of the sick and be a friend to those who had lost loved ones, either before or after reaching the colony. She served on the colonial council, and she and her two young siblings Hero and Hertzal moved into one of the first full-sized houses constructed at the colony, southeast of the gate in the wall.

Both Brother Galen and Sister Auni worked hard to fill the shoes of their fallen superior. While it was Brother Galen that most of the Kafirite colonists came to for spiritual matters, it was his female counterpart that they came to for her excellent care and powerful healing draughts. While this put her in the esteem of most of the colony members, it left her little time for anything else. So it was Brother Galen who at least temporarily, filled Father Ian’s place in the Council.

When the first shop buildings were completed beside the gate of the protective wall, many people expected Mrs. Colbshallow to open a bakery. Her skill in the kitchen was well renowned. Many were surprised and saddened when she instead, decided to remain in the employ of the Dechantagne family, for whom she had cooked so long. Her son Saba joined the Colonial Militia and upon the recommendation of the Governor and due to the fact that the force had been quite depleted, advanced quickly to the rank of corporal.

The day after the Trumpet left port, Mrs. Phillida Marjoram was found dead. She had died in her bed with an open copy of the Holy Scriptures on her lap and her eyeglasses still on her nose. She was buried in the new cemetery on the east side of the colony, overlooking the sea. There were already almost forty others interred there.

Zeah Korlann and Egeria Lusk continued their engagement, and spent many hours together walking through the forest and along the beach. They continued to be in no hurry to set a date for a wedding. Miss Lusk, who had long since recovered from the injuries inflicted on her, continued to program the Result Mechanism with Professor Calliere’s help. Using her program, she was able to create a long-term plan for the expansion of the colony. She presented this to the newly formed colonial council.

The evening after Mrs. Marjoram’s funeral, Professor Calliere surprised everyone by announcing that he had asked Miss Dechantagne to marry him and that she had agreed, and furthermore that they were setting a wedding date for the very near future. Plans were set into motion and the whole colony looked forward to the event.

Zurfina the magnificent, who fully recovered her health and attitude, supervised the construction of her new home on a hill some three hundred yards outside the wall. Though few dared to look at her for fear of her magics, those that did frequently noticed the bald spot just above her right ear, the only place where she carried a permanent scar from her confrontation with the wizard Suvir Kesi. Most wondered that she didn’t magically repair the defect. Only one or two thought that she might prefer to keep it to enhance her frightening and mysterious persona.

Senta seldom played in front of the five-story house where she lived with Zurfina. She usually preferred to go inside the protective wall, where she could play dolls with Hero or comb the beaches with Graham and Hertzel. The rest of that fall, she grew several inches taller, though she filled out not at all, remaining tall, thin, and gangly. Even the newest colonists knew the ‘Drache Girl.” The steel dragon was usually wrapped around her neck, except when he was sailing off on some mission of mischief. Her little metallic playmate continued to expand his vocabulary and grew at least as fast as she did. One day, when the first fall breeze blew across the bay to the shores of the colony, he told her his name—“Bessemer”.

The End

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About the Author

Wesley Allison is the author of more than twenty science fiction and fantasy books, including the popular His Robot Girlfriend. He has a Bachelor of Science degree from the University of Nevada, Las Vegas and a Master of Science degree from Nova Southeastern University in Florida. He has taught English and American History for the past 21 years in southern Nevada where he lives with his lovely wife Victoria, his two grown children Rebecca and John.

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Books by Wesley Allison

Look for them wherever fine ebooks are sold. Paper editions are available at the City of Amathar Blog and by special order from your favorite bookseller.

Princess of Amathar

Transported to the artificial world of Ecos, Earth man Alexander Ashton struggles to understand the society of his new friends the Amatharians. As he does so, he finds himself falling in love with their princess and being thrust into a millennium-long war with their mortal foes the reptilian Zoasians. Princess of Amathar is a sword-swinging novel of high adventure.

His Robot Girlfriend

Mike Smith's life was crap, living all alone, years after his wife had died and his children had grown up and moved away. Then he saw the commercial for the Daffodil. Far more than other robots, the Daffodil could become anything and everything he wanted it to be. Mike's life is about to change.

His Robot Wife

In His Robot Wife, the novella-length sequel to His Robot Girlfriend, it is the year 2037 and Mike has been married to his robot wife, Patience, for five years. Troubles are on the horizon though. Prop 22 promises to annul marriages between humans and robots. And Patience hasn’t quite been herself. Is there something wrong, or does she just need a software upgrade?

His Robot Wife: Patience is a Virtue

It is the year 2037, when men are men and robots are cute.  Patience, the robot wife, has a new friend– Wanda.  Wanda, another Daffodil, has been having difficulty bonding with her human, the recently divorced Ryan.  She hopes that with Patience’s mentoring, she’ll be able to help Ryan accept her into his troubled life.  But even Patience isn’t prepared for what happens when they take a joint vacation cruise to Antarctica.  His Robot Wife: Patience is a Virtue is a science fiction story in a world where technology is more than just a pretty face.

Eaglethorpe Buxton and the Elven Princess

Eaglethorpe Buxton, famed adventurer and story-teller, friend to those in need of a friend and guardian to those in need of a guardian. He is a liar and braggart, not to be trusted, especially around pies. Who are we to believe? Buxton himself leads us through his world as he comes to the aid of… a poor orphan? An elven princess? Who can guess with Eaglethorpe himself telling the tale?

Eaglethorpe Buxton and the Sorceress

Eaglethorpe Buxton, famed adventurer and story-teller is back, this time to put on a play about a sorceress. When the sorceress, subject of his play arrives with fire in her eyes, Eaglethorpe must pretend to be his good friend Ellwood. Will he pull off this charade and survive? And what happens when the real Ellwood shows up? One can never tell, especially when Eaglethorpe tells the story.

The Many Adventures of Eaglethorpe Buxton

Eaglethorpe Buxton, famed adventurer and story-teller, friend to those in need of a friend and guardian to those in need of a guardian. He is a liar and braggart, not to be trusted, especially around pies. Who are we to believe? Buxton himself leads us through his world in The Many Adventures of Eaglethorpe Buxton, which include the two previously published tales and three all new adventures.

Senta and the Steel Dragon Book 0: Brechalon

Brechalon is the novella-length prequel to The Voyage of the Minotaur and the books which follow in the story of Senta and the Steel Dragon. Meet the people who will change a world-- the Dechantagnes, wealthy siblings from a disgraced aristocratic family who plot their revenge; the imprisoned sorceress Zurfina; and Senta, the orphan girl who will one day rise to great fame and power.

Senta and the Steel Dragon Book 1: The Voyage of the Minotaur

In a world of steam power and rifles, where magic has not yet been forgotten, an expedition sets out to establish a colony in a lost world. The Voyage of the Minotaur is a story of adventure and magic, religion and prejudice, steam engines and dinosaurs, angels and lizardmen, machine guns and wizards, sorceresses, bustles and corsets, steam-powered computers, hot air balloons, and dragons.

Senta and the Steel Dragon Book 2: The Dark and Forbidding Land

Two years have passed since Senta, the sorceress Zurfina, and Bessemer the steel dragon arrived in the strange land of Birmisia. Now it is up to the settlers to build a home in this dark and forbidding land, ruled by terrifying dinosaurs and strange lizardmen. Ten year old Senta must discover which is the greater threat, a would-be wizard or the ever-increasing presence of the tyrannosaurus.

Senta and the Steel Dragon Book 3: The Drache Girl

More than three years have passed since the colonists arrived in Birmisia, and Port Dechantagne is a thriving colony, with the railway line almost complete. Twelve year old sorceress's apprentice Senta Bly, Police Constable Saba Colbshallow, and former maid Yuah Dechantagne must deal with wizards, prejudice, steam carriages, boys riding dinosaurs, and the mysterious activities of the lizardmen.

Senta and the Steel Dragon Book 4: The Young Sorceress

Everyone in Port Dechantagne seems to have an agenda of their own, from mysterious sorceress Zurfina, to agents from the enemy nation of Freedonia, to the kings and witchdoctors of the mysterious lizardmen. On the eve of her fifteenth birthday, sorceress’s apprentice Senta finds herself being pulled first one way and then the other. Will she actually have to split herself into four in order to deal with all her responsibilities?

Senta and the Steel Dragon Book 5: The Two Dragons

War has come the Birmisia. The newly settled colonists contemplate war on two fronts. The mysterious lizardmen from far away Tsahloose, led by their monstrous dragon god, threaten from the south. And from across the sea, the totalitarian kingdom of Freedonia threatens to invade their world with wizards and steam-powered war machines. Can even 17 year old Senta and her mistress Zurfina the Magnificent stop them? Find out in the thrilling conclusion to the Senta and the Steel Dragon Series.

Senta and the Steel Dragon Book 6: The Sorceress and her Lovers

It’s been three years since the war and the world has changed. Port Dechantagne, once a distant outpost of civilization, has grown to be a large city, the center of prosperous Birmisia Colony. Steam-powered carriages share the streets with triceratops-pulled trolleys, fine ladies in their most fashionable bustle dresses lead their lizardmen servants through the shopping districts, and an endless stream of immigrants pours into the region.

Eleven-year-old Iolana Staff, daughter of the colonial governor, has important things on her mind, namely the mysterious Result Mechanism. Meanwhile, sorceress Senta Bly returns from the continent with a new male companion, an illegitimate daughter, and a long lost brother. Hated and feared for her magic, she must face wizards, assassins, and an old enemy from another reality.

Tesla’s Stepdaughters

In a world where men are almost extinct, someone is trying to kill history's greatest rock & roll band. Science Police Agent John Andrews must negotiate a complicated relationship with Ep!phanee, the band's lead singer; drummer Ruth De Molay, bassist Steffie Sin, and the redheaded clone lead guitarist Penny Dreadful, as he protects them and tries to discover who wants to kill the Ladybugs.

Women of Power

The life of a superhero is tough. All American Girl fights supervillains, alien invaders, and terrorists as she tries to get product endorsements and a magazine deal. That's nothing compared to her private life though. She's only just broken up with her super boyfriend Perihelion when he's scooped up by Omega Woman, and now rival Skygirl has moved into her territory.

Blood Trade

Vegas is going to hell-- literally. Werewolves run through the streets and the vampires are taking over. Former army ranger/Goth tattoo model/private eye Xochitl McKenna doesn't like it either, especially when it comes between her and her clients. But are the vampires and werewolves the greatest threat, or is it something or someone much closer to her? Warning: Adult Content.

Astrid Maxxim and her Amazing Hoverbike

From the 180,000 acre campus of Maxxim Industries, fourteen year old girl genius and inventor Astrid Maxxim works alongside her father, Dr. Roger Maxxim, on projects to make the world a better place. Her latest invention is a flying scooter—the hoverbike. Is it the target of an international spy ring, or are they after secret Project RG-7, or Astrid herself?

Astrid Maxxim and her Undersea Dome

Girl inventor Astrid Maxxim and her friends are back.  This time Astrid is building an observation dome beneath the sea.  Will she complete her amazing construction project, or will she be sidetracked by underwater monsters, the evil organization known as the Black Hand, or her snotty cousin Gloria?

Astrid Maxxim and the Antarctic Expedition

Teen inventor Astrid Maxxim is back in her third adventure as she makes a journey to the bottom of the planet to uncover the secrets of a mysterious lost expedition. Meanwhile, troubles plague her friends and family as a hostile takeover threatens Maxxim Industries. Join Astrid and her friends as she faces the frozen dangers of the Antarctic, wild animals, mad bombers, and corporate high finance.

Astrid Maxxim and her Hypersonic Space Plane

Everyone’s favorite girl inventor is back. The Maxxim space program is in full swing, ferrying supplies to the International Space Station, as Astrid perfects her ground-launched rocket plane. To finish it, she must first deal with Maxxim’s new automotive division, a terrifying vision of the future, and an English class essay, and her cousin Gloria coming for Thanksgiving.

Desperate Poems

Desperate Poems is a collection of seventy poems (some more desperate than others), written over a period of forty years about life, love, desire, being young, and growing old.

Table of Contents

Book 1

Chapter One: The Woman in the White Pin-Striped Dress

Chapter Two: At the Great Church of the Holy Savior

Chapter Three: The Head Butler

Chapter Four: The Sorceress

Chapter Five: The Steel Dragon

Chapter Six: The Minotaur Sails

Chapter Seven: Augie’s Dirty Laundry

Chapter Eight: Terrence’s Jungle Adventure

Chapter Nine: Maalik Murty

Chapter Ten: Yuah and Pantagria

Chapter Eleven: The Dance

Chapter Twelve: An Angry Angel

Chapter Thirteen: Birmisia

Chapter Fourteen: Founding the Colony

Chapter Fifteen: The Result Mechanism

Chapter Sixteen: Terrence’s Women

Chapter Seventeen: The Refugees from Freedonia

Chapter Eighteen: Zeah’s Proposal

Chapter Nineteen: The Battle of Suusthek

Chapter Twenty: The Assault on the Town

Chapter Twenty-One: The Rescue

Chapter Twenty-Two: The Wizard

Chapter Twenty-Three: What Happened by the Stream

About the Author