I enjoyed The Two Dragons very much because it is the book in which Zurfina’s secrets are finally revealed.  I should say that they are finally revealed to Senta.  I revealed some of them in Book 0.  Believe me, I had a hard time deciding if that was the right thing to do.  In chapter four, we discover the secret of Zurfina’s mysterious tattoos.

The next morning, Senta was pressed so tightly between the dragon’s body and his head, that she had to fight to extricate herself.  Sometime during the night he had covered her with the barbed tip of his tail and now she was drenched in perspiration.  Who would have though a scaly reptile could produce so much body heat?  At last she made her way down onto the wooden floor of the barn.  Bessemer blew smoke from both his nostrils but gave no other indication that he had noticed her going.  She felt a now familiar stinging sensation just below the clavicle on the left and the right side of her chest.  Pulling the neck of the dress as far out as possible, she peered down inside to confirm her fears.  A two-inch star tattoo stood at the top of each of her small breasts.

“Blinking heck!”

Senta walked to the house and opened the front door to find Geert and Maro sitting at the table, staring in rapt attention at Hero, who was cooking at the stove.  Geert looked to the door when it opened and smiled at his cousin, but his younger brother refused to take his eyes off of the dark haired beauty cracking eggs into a cast iron skillet.

“What are you doing here?” she asked Hero.

“Making breakfast.”

“I remember a time when you wouldn’t have given me a glib reply.”

“And I remember a time when you slept indoors.”

Senta shrugged and sat down at the table.

“How come you were sleeping outside anyway?” asked Geert.

“I didn’t sleep outside.  I was just checking on something.”

Hero brought three plates to the table loaded with eggs over hard, sausages, black pudding, beans, and muffins.  She sat one in front of Senta and then one in front of each of the young men.

“No fourth plate?” asked Geert. “Aren’t you eating with us?”

“I ate already.”

“Then I hope there is a fourth plate for me,” said Zurfina’s sultry voice from the bottom of the stairs.

Both Hero and Geert visibly started.  Maro’s head for the first time turned away from Hero’s direction.  Senta was sure he was looking to see if the sorceress really did like to run around the house naked.  To his disappointment and her surprise, Zurfina was as clothed as she had ever been.  Her gown was a silky smooth purple one that Senta wouldn’t have been surprised to see Mrs. Dechantagne or Governor Staff wearing, despite its quite low neckline.  When Zurfina turned toward the stove however, everyone in the room could see that the dress had no side from the armpits to the waist, and Senta saw enough of the sorceress’s breast to remind her of the tattoos on her own chest.  She jumped up from her seat and pinching Zurfina under the arm, pushed her across the room into the far corner.

“Hey, what is… ow!  You little bint, that hurts.”

“What are you doing to me?” hissed Senta, pulling the top of her nightdress away from her body.  “Piercing my ears was one thing, but this…”

“Why didn’t you tell me your sigils are coming in?”

“My what now?”

“Oh my,” Zurfina smirked.  “Oh I had nothing to do with this, Pet.  Okay, well maybe it is a bit my fault.  But it’s really you.  Did you think I had someone tattoo me?  Did you think I had them sneak in and tattoo you?”

“Well… yes.”

“These are sigils, my dear girl.  They are a product of the magic you are using—specifically the high level conjuring and evocation spells.  It’s been my experience that enchantments and transmutations don’t leave much of a mark, but create, teleport, or summon and there you go.  Don’t worry.  I only have eight sigils and I doubt you’ll ever achieve the level of my art.”  She paused and rubbed her chin thoughtfully.  “How many do you have?”

“Three.”

“Three?  Already?  Well I may be wrong.  It just goes to show that you never can tell.  I wasn’t even sure it was about you, but now…”

“What was about me?  What the hell are you talking about?”

“I’ll tell you all about it when you grow up.”

“I’m grown up now.”

“Fifteen is not grown up.”

“I’m seventeen,” said Senta.

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Then it really is time we had a talk.”

“I know!”  Senta said, loud enough for everyone in the house to hear.

Considering the series is called Senta and the Steel Dragon, the steel dragon, especially in the early part of the series is a more minor character than some others.  As he grows, so does his importance to the story.  Bessemer, the Steel Dragon, plays a bigger part in The Two Dragons than he does the other books.  He is involved in quite a bit of action both at the beginning and the end of the story.  This scene is one that I had in my mind for months before I got to write it.

The deinonychus jumped up to its feet and whirled around, circling and hissing.  Zeah threw his hands up to make himself appear larger and made growling sounds.  The creature took two steps back and cocked its head to one side, listening to the man-thing’s unusual call.  After a moment it let out its own squawk.  There was an answering cry from the edge of the woods.  Zeah’s stomach sank and his loins tightened when he saw six more deinonychus rush out of the trees and run toward him.

Now it was Zeah’s turn to back up.  As he did so, he reached down and picked up Terra in one hand by the back of her dress.  He felt Augie and Iolana grab hold of the back of his jacket.  The foremost bird stood its ground and was joined by its fellows in scant seconds.  Zeah was about to yell for the children to run, and he intended to sell his life as dearly as possible to earn them their escape, when a giant shape dropped out of the air, landing directly atop the creatures.

The force of the impact knocked Zeah and Iolana from their feet and he dropped Terra into the sand.  Only Augie managed to stay upright.  They all found themselves in the massive shadow created by the wings of the steel dragon.  Zeah’s mind flashed back to eight years previous when an even larger dragon had saved him in a very similar way from a group of even larger predators.  The dragon’s two hind feet had crushed four of the deinonychus.  Two more were smashed beneath its right front hand.  A single unharmed bird made a run for the forest.  A flick of the long, supple, steel-colored tail mashed it into the beach.

Zeah picked himself back up, though his legs felt like they were made of rubber.  He reached down and pulled Iolana and Terra back to their feet as well.  All three children were sobbing, frightened by the attacking birds, though perhaps unaware of the real peril that had faced them. 

“Bessemer!” shouted Iolana, switching from one emotion to another as only an eight-year-old could.

She and the other children had known the steel dragon all their lives and took delight every time they encountered him.  Zeah had known Bessemer more than eight years, having first seen him when he was not much larger than a good-sized housecat.   He still felt about him the way he felt about the sorceress with whom the dragon lived—generally on good terms, but always wary.

“Hello children,” said the dragon.  His voice was deep and cultured, like a good Zaeri Imam or a guest lecturer at the university.  He picked up one of the squashed, bloody bodies of the deinonychus and tossed it whole into his large mouth.  Zeah speculated that the tyrranosaurus that had once chased him had a much larger mouth than the dragon did, though their overall body sizes were about the same.

“Do you have to do that in front of the children?” he asked sharply, as the dragon tossed a second deinonychus into his mouth.

“Oh, sorry.”  Bessemer raised his left wing to obscure his face as he ate a third and then a fourth bird.  “I’ve been flying.  You can’t imagine how hungry I get.”

“There’s sand stuck to those birds,” said Augie, wiping his face.  “You’re not eating sand, are you?”

“I imagine there is a bit of sand on them.  It used to bother me when I was your size.  I would wash and wash my food if it got on the sand.  It just doesn’t bother me anymore though.”

The dragon folded his wing back and lowered its face to get a better look at the children.  His face looked like the helmet of some primitive armor suit—smooth and shiny and for the most part expressionless.  He had four horns sticking back from the top of his head and a very small stub of horn on his nose.  They too added to the warlike visage.  Only his eyes and the thick whiskers on either side of his mouth hinted at the lively personality within.

“Let’s see.  I know you.”  The five and a half foot long head stopped in front of each of them in turn.  “Miss Iolana, how lovely to see you.  Young Augustus, you look well.  And who do we have here?  Terror?  Terrible?  Tyrranosaurus?”

“It’s –sob—Terra.”

“What’s the matter, Terra?  Did those ugly yet oddly scrumptious birds frighten you?”

“No, my –sob—hair got pulled!”

Zeah felt something squeezing his heart.

“I bet it didn’t hurt.  I bet it just tickled, like this.”

A long forked tongue shot out of the dragon’s mouth and flicked around the girl’s chin.  The unpleasant thought that Bessemer was tasting his granddaughter popped into Zeah’s head, but the little girl squealed with delight and ran foreward to grab a handfull of whiskers.

“Terra, get back,” said Zeah.

“She’s fine,” said Bessemer.

“I uh… I wouldn’t want her to get under your feet.”

The dragon made a dismissive gesture with his hand that was an exact copy of the one that Zeah had so often seen Zurfina and her apprentice Senta make. 

“The birds seem to have injured you, Mayor.”  Bessemer tilted his head sideways as Terra tugged in earnest at the whiskers.

Zeah looked down at himself.  There was a clean rip right through the breast of his jacket and his shirt.  He felt his chest and looked at his hand to find a thin smear of blood.

“It’s just a scratch.”

“You’re going to need a tailor though.”

“Yes.”

“You seemed to have dropped your shoes too.”

The shoes, Zeah’s and the children’s were strewn here and there on the sand.  Zeah picked up all eight.  While he did, he listened to the children and the dragon.

“Are you going to eat the rest of those birds?” wondered Augie.  “Only my mother says you shouldn’t waste food because there are starving children in Enclep.”

“That’s what I hear,” said Bessemer, gobbling down the rest of his prey.

“Hey, put your wing down.  I can’t see you eat them.”

“Are they good?” asked Terra, in a squeaky voice.

“Not bad.”

“Can I eat one?”

“I think your mouth is way too small.”

“I don’t believe I thanked you for saving us,” said Zeah, his arms now full of shoes.

“Not to worry.  Perfectly understandable.”

“But still, thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Bessemer flicked out his tongue.  “Nothing else frightening in the area—if you wanted to finish your walk.”

“No, we’ve walked enough.”

“Well then, toodle-pip everyone.”  One second the steel dragon was standing on the sand and the next it was hundreds of feet in the air.  It made a quick circle around them and then sailed off to the west.

“I want to be a dragon when I grow up,” said Terra.

The Two Dragons was the end point of Senta’s original character arc.  It was for her a story of transformation.  Right from the beginning, I wanted to show that something was very different in her life than it was when she was 12 in The Drache Girl.  In that book, she was a popular character around town and everybody was pretty friendly with her.  By The Two Dragons, people were afraid of her.  I think you can see that pretty clearly in this excerpt from the beginning of the book.

The Church of the Apostles was a stately stone structure—no less imposing for the fact that it wasn’t yet complete.  On the first day of Septurary 1907, the church was filled to overflowing as the citizens of Port Dechantagne, dressed in their finest, celebrated a wedding that was the social event of the season.  Mother Linton, the High Priest of Kafira in Birmisia stood at the pulpit, unwilling to relinquish her position to anyone.  Behind her and to her right however, owing to the era of tolerance now in full flower, was the Zaeri Imam Mr. Francis Clipers.  The wedding party members were arrayed across the chancel.  The matron of honor, Mrs. Yuah Dechantagne, and the four bridesmaids Miss Hero Hertling, Miss Gabrielle Bassett, Miss Dutty Speel, and Miss Laila Melroy wore shimmering gowns of teal trimmed with white lace.  The groomsmen, Mr. Paxton Brown, Mr. Leopold Ghent, Mr. Isaak Wissinger, and Mr. Efrain Rochambeau were all dressed in black tails, though the Best Man Inspector Saba Colbshallow wore his blue police uniform.  In the center of the group was the groom.  Zeah Korlann unlike the building around him, could not be described as stately, though even in his days as a household servant, he had been dignified.  After nine years as mayor of Port Dechantagne, he had gained a kind of gravitas.  As the string quartet struck the first chords of Kafira’s Marriage he, like everyone else in the church, turned his attention to the back of the aisle where the bride appeared.

No cloud could have aspired to the whiteness of Egeria Lusk’s wedding gown.  The bodice was tight but simple and it blossomed out at the waist to a truly remarkable expanse at the hemline, the train following twenty feet behind her.  Though the dress was strapless and shoulderless, it had long, gauzy sleeves, split on the outside and held together by a series of small white bows.  She defied convention by not wearing a veil, but had a mass of tiny white flowers arranged within her brilliant red hair, which was swept up into a complex Mirsannan twist.  She slowly walked up the center aisle, unattended, in time to the music, arriving before the alter to join her beaming bridegroom.  Mother Linton began the litany.

Senta Bly sat in the third row on the groom’s side.  She wore a dress of deep purple silk, gathered together in bunches so that if fell in pleats.  With thin straps over bare shoulders and no sleeves, it showed off her tall, lithe body to best advantage.  It was completely unadorned with brocade, beading, or fringe and didn’t even have a bow over the bustle, though none could tell that with her seated.  No one else sat on the pew with her despite the fact that every other seat in the building was taken, and more than sixty people stood across the narthex.  It might have been that her disappointment at not being invited as part of the wedding party caused an unpleasant expression to sit upon her countenance, or it might have been something else entirely.

As Mother Linton approached the portion of the service in which she explained the duties of a husband and wife, Hero turned around and waved two gloved fingers discreetly to Senta, who returned the gesture.  She smiled, but her hurt feelings didn’t go away.  They had hung on for six weeks now.  She had known Egeria Lusk for more than eight years.  They got on well too.  She was closer to her than Gabrielle Bassett or that Speel girl, or even Hero.  Senta was a good friend of Mayor Korlann too.  It had to be the mayor’s daughter Mrs. Dechantagne.  The woman had hardly spoken to Senta in five years, and then only a few terse words.   This was all the more strange since they had been quite friendly before.  Senta didn’t know precisely what the problem was; only that it had something to do with Mrs. Dechantagne’s husband Terrence, who had been killed in a lizzie attack.  Occupied with such thoughts, Senta realized that she had lost track of the ceremony, when the priest began asking the bride and groom if they would each take the other.

The entire congregation seemed to hold their breath when Mayor Korlann was asked if he took “this woman”.  It was not as if he had bolted from the alter on some previous occasion, but the wedding had been postponed at least twice, and at more than eight years, this was one of the longer engagements.  The tall grey-haired gentleman pulled through however with a hearty “I will,” and as the string quartet began the Ode to Celebration, the couple moved quickly down the aisle and out of the church.  Forty or fifty pairs of old shoes were tossed into the aisle as they passed for good luck. The congregation all stood, cheering and applauding.

Senta stood too, though she didn’t rush to follow the newlyweds out, as did much of the congregation.  She gazed around at the splendor of the new religious center of the colony.  It was her first time visiting.  It was even larger than the Great Church of the Holy Savior in Brech.  Others were looking at the ornately carved trim, the stained-glass windows, and the marble statuary too, but far more were observing Senta.  At six feet tall, she was literally head and shoulders above every other woman there and many of the men.  Her long blond hair framed an oval face with distinctive cheekbones, large expressive eyes, a broad mouth with voluptuous lips, and a strong chin.  She would never have been called pretty; rather she was beautiful in the classical sense of the word, like the women that artists created to portray personifications of freedom or grace or nobility.

Hero bounced toward her.  Though the two of them had been nearly the same height when they were twelve years old, Hero had stopped growing six inches before Senta had.  With incredibly thick, naturally curly, long black hair and doe eyes, Hero had more than her fair share of admirers.  She was so popular in fact that several young men sidled up to her even here.  As Senta noticed them, they took a step back in unison.

“Wasn’t that a lovely ceremony?” asked Hero.

“It seemed very nice from down here.”

“Don’t be cross.  Benny and Shemar both invited us to ride in their steam carriages to the reception.  Who do you want to go with?”

Senta rolled her eyes.  “Quite frankly I’d rather take the trolley.”

“Are you sure?  Benny’s car is brand new and candy apple red.”

Senta looked over Hero’s shoulder at Benny Markham, who was puffing himself up with pride.  She liked Benny, Shemar too for that matter, but she wasn’t too fond of steam carriages.

“Do as you wish.  I’m taking the trolley.”

When Senta stepped out of the pew, all four of the young men who were waiting jumped to get out of her way.  And though most of the congregation had by that time already exited the church, those that remained quickly cleared the aisle for her.  She heard Hero behind her.

“Sorry boys.  You can give me a ride later.”  A moment later, her friend was at her right elbow.

“Isn’t this dress beautiful?” asked Hero, as they stepped out of the church into the bright sunshine.  “I couldn’t believe it when Egeria had me try it on and then she said I could keep it.”

“What else would she do with it?”

“Well, she could keep it.  I bet we’re about the same size.”

“Egeria Lusk is probably one of three women on the continent who have more dresses than I do.  She doesn’t need another one.”

“Egeria Korlann,” Hero corrected.

“Egeria Korlann,” Senta agreed.

“What do you suppose they’re going to do with all those shoes?”

“Throw them away, of course.  People only throw old shoes at weddings—ones they were going to throw away anyhow.  Why?”

“It just seems kind of wasteful.”

By this time they had traversed the twenty-four great stone steps down from the front door of the Church of the Apostles to the street level.  Crowds of people were milling around on the sidewalk and on the front lawn, despite the signs warning to stay off the grass.  Both sides of Terrence Dechantagne Boulevard were lined with steam carriages—more than Senta remembered ever having seen at one time.  The bright summer sun reflected off of their bonnets and the cobblestone that lined all four lanes of the street. 

“I wish that I had brought my parasol,” said Hero, looking up at the sky.  “If we’re out her very long, we might get a tan.”

Senta held out her hand.  “Sieor uuthanum sembia,” she said.  Two parasols appeared in her palm, one teal and one purple.  She handed the teal one to Hero.

“Hey, that’s nice.  Where did you get these?”

“Created them.”

“They’re really pretty.”

“Minor creation.  It’s not that powerful a spell really.”

“But these have lace,” marveled Hero, as she spread her parasol open.  “It has a complex opening mechanism and the spokes are made from bamboo.”

“That’s why it will only last a few hours.”

“Oh.”

“It’s just as well.  We don’t want to destroy the economy for makers of parasols.  Look, let’s get down to the trolley stop.”

The trolley was coming.  Terrence Dechantagne Boulevard had been built in an area set aside early on for expansion of the transportation system.  It served as the spine of Port Dechantagne, consisting of two northbound lanes and two southbound lanes, separated by a twenty foot wide grassy median through which the trolley tracks ran.  Marching along this grassy sward, pulling a green and yellow trolley car was a monstrous three-horned beast.  The triceratops was easily as large as the trolley car that it pulled, even though it was only about ten years old.  It showed little interest in either the steam carriages or the pedestrians, but moved purposefully toward the marked ground at the trolley stop, where it had learned it would be rewarded with tasty shrubs and tree seedlings.

Senta and Hero walked down the cement sidewalk to the edge of the road, across the red brick lanes of the street, to the small awning over four bench seats that served as the stop.  The trolley had already halted and the conductor was feeding the triceratops by the time they arrived.  Senta stepped around behind the conductor and stroked the dinosaur just behind the nose horn.

“Careful,” said the conductor, as he turned around.  “She doesn’t often bite but… oh… sorry.”

“How are you today, Harriet?” Senta spoke to the triceratops.  It seemed to take no notice.

She and Hero climbed up the steps and into the trolley car.  Senta dropped two pfennigs into the glass box.  Then she sat down next to her friend just behind the driver’s position.  More and more people stepped up into the car, filling in the seats from the back forward.  By the time the conductor had finished feeding Harriet and had climbed back inside, all of the seats with the exception of the two next to Senta had been filled, and eight people stood holding on to the handrail.

“Did everyone pay their pfennig?” asked the driver.  A few people nodded, but most ignored the question.  Only about half the passengers had in fact dropped a coin into the container.  Picking up a small crop, he whacked the triceratops on the rear end, and it jerked the trolley into motion.  Then he rang the bell.

A tall young man in a grey business suit jumped up onto the running board and swung into the cab after the vehicle had already started moving.  The conductor flashed him a look of annoyance, but didn’t say anything.  Truth be told, people frequently jumped onto the trolley at the last minute and it wasn’t unheard of for people to leap on while it was moving at full speed, though one or two serious injuries had been caused by just such action.  The young man brushed his sandy hair back and spied the two empty seats next to the girls.  Smiling, he looked down at Senta.

“How lucky can you get?” he said.  “An empty seat next to the two prettiest young ladies in town.  Do you mind if I sit here?”

“You are welcome sir,” said Hero.

The young man sat down next to Senta, a bit closer to her than she thought strictly necessary.  As the trolley moved along, it rocked slightly from left to right.  She looked down to see the young man’s knee touching hers.  When he saw her looking, he grinned roguishly rather than apologizing.

“You two must have come from that wedding.  Who was getting married?  I heard it was the city magistrate or something.”

“I’m guessing you’re a new arrival,” said Senta.

“That’s right.  Been here just two weeks.  My name is Oswald, by the way, Oswald Delks.”

“Oswald Delks?  Not the famous Oswald Delks?”

“I didn’t know there was a famous Oswald Delks.”

“There isn’t.  My name is Senta.”

“Senta?” he said, the blood starting to drain from his face.  “The um suh… sorceress?”

“Yes.  That’s me.”

“I’m… pleased to meet you.”  He scooted back so that he was half in his original seat and half in the other empty seat.

“I’m Hero Hertling by the way,” said Hero, poking her head around Senta.  “So why have you come to Port Dechantagne Mr. Delks?”

“I’ve um, just moved here to live with my aunt and uncle.  My uncle has a shop here, but now he’s looking to retire and needs somebody to take over the family business.”

“The Parnorshams are your aunt and uncle?” wondered Hero.  “Aren’t they a little old?”

“Actually Uncle Herb is my mother’s uncle.  Say, did you just read my mind?”

“I don’t do that,” said Hero, nodding toward Senta, who just glared at Delks.  “We’ve been shopping at Parnorsham’s for years.”

The trolley quickly slowed down and came to a stop.

“Well, I suppose this is my stop.”  Delks started to stand.

“Sit down,” Senta ordered.  “This isn’t your stop.”

“You did read my mind.”

“I’m not interested in short stories.”

“We know where the store is,” said Hero.

“Well, um.”

“We know where the Parnorshams live too.”

Though Oswald Delks didn’t exit the trolley, about half the people on board did.  More people, though not as many as had gotten off, climbed in, and the triceratops began pulling again.  The conductor rang the bell.

“How old are you, Mr. Delks?” asked Hero.

“Do you want to trade places with me?” Senta asked her.

“Do you mind?”

Senta stood up and waited while Hero slid over into her just vacated seat.  Then the sorceress carefully sat down in the seat closest to the conductor.  Delks apparently preferred the change in seating arrangement too, as a bit more color came back to his face.

“I just turned twenty-one last month.”

“And do you have your own steam carriage?”

“Not yet, but as soon as I get my own place, I’m going to order one.”

Senta paid no more attention to Hero and her new friend, instead occupying herself by looking out of the window.  They were passing through the heart of Port Dechantagne.  New buildings had gone up at a tremendous rate over the past five years and many of them were here between the Church of the Apostles and the train station.  Dozens of apartment buildings, between eight and ten stories high, rose into the sky.  They weren’t pressed tightly together like the tenements back in Brech, but were separated by empty lots, most still filled with pine and maple trees.  There were fewer steam carriages to be seen, but many more pedestrians here than there had been to the south.

And here there were lizzies—almost as numerous as the humans.  Just beyond the apartments was Lizzietown, the portion of Port Dechantagne where the aborigines made their home.  In the last two years in particular, more and more of the lizardmen of Birmisia had given up their daily commute to work in the city and had built their own homes there.  Unable by law to own their own land within the city limits, they rented it from a number of human landlords and built small, square wooden homes very much like the ones in which they had lived in their distant villages.  As Senta watched, she saw an adult lizzie with two juveniles.  Looking like two upright alligators, the curious little creatures were tied to the adult by ropes around their necks.  They strained at the bonds, giving much more the impression of pets than offspring.

“Funny little blighters aren’t they?” asked Oswald Delks, bringing Senta’s mind for a moment back into the trolley car.

Harriet made two more stops, the second at the First Avenue intersection along the southern edge of Town Square.  The conductor climbed out of the vehicle and began feeding the triceratops from a large green bin filled with tree shoots and shrubbery.  Even as he was pulling plants from the box and letting the dinosaur chomp them from his hand, a pair of lizzies were lugging huge bales of similar herbage to refill the bin.

“This should be your stop,” Hero told Delks, pointing first to the eastern side of Town Square and then west down First Avenue.  “The Pfennig Store is right over there, and your aunt and uncle are straight down that way.”

“Thanks.”  He smiled broadly at her, then stood up and stepped out the door.

“What a wanker,” said Senta.