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.

“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 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.

“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.

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.