Governor Staff’s office was huge. The ceiling was more than twenty feet high and the entire south wall was made up of large windows that looked out over the burgeoning city. The opposite wall was filled with two large world maps. One featured Sumir and the western hemisphere, while the other featured Mallon and the rest of the east. More than a few citizens of Port Dechantagne who had never seen it, referred to it as “the throne room”. It did not however have a throne. It had an oak desk the size of a small battleship, and next to that a globe so large that it took two people to turn it on its axis. Those who had been there knew better than to refer to it as a throne room. This was not the domain of a queen. This was the room of an empress.

The black leather clad wingback chair behind the desk was not just a nod to comfort. It was designed with comfort, the comfort of a woman wearing a fashionably large bustle, in mind. Iolanthe Staff seldom sat in it however, and almost never when she was interviewing anyone in her office, as she was now. She paced back and forth behind her desk, with her arms folded across her chest. The two men, seated in equally black, equally leather, and equally comfortable chairs across the desk from her, watched her uncomfortably. One wore the uniform of a merchant seaman.

“There is no doubt about it, Lieutenant Burke?” Iolanthe asked.

“None what-so-ever, I’m afraid. The Mistress of Brechbay was hit by a torpedo.”

“It looks as though you were correct, Wizard Bassington,” she said to the second man.

Smedley Bassington was dressed in a stiffly starched black suit. His froglike mouth smiled without any pleasure and his beady eyes stared back.

“The torpedo was launched from a submersible boat.”

“Whose?”

“You know whose. Freedonia has more than a hundred of them, and I would be surprised if a tenth of that number wasn’t prowling the shipping lanes between Mallontah and Birmisia.”

“Then what are we to do about it?”

“We must utilize the great equalizer—magic. Ships making the voyage from Greater Brechalon must have a protective ward to hide them from the Freedonians, and anyone else seeking to do them harm.” He paused and licked his wide lips. “Fortunately we have the world’s foremost expert at concealment magic.”

“Zurfina?”

He nodded.

“Shall I leave it to you to arrange it with her?”

He nodded again.

“Lieutenant Burke,” said Iolanthe, finally stopping her pacing. “Do you have a place to stay until your company’s next ship arrives?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Then I’ll bid you good day.”

The officer stood up, bowed, and then exited the room. Bassington stood up as well. Iolanthe walked around the desk to stand face to face with him.

“Wizard Bassington, do you still feel that the Freedonians have a hold in Tsahloose?”

“I know they do.”

“Is my trade expedition in any serious danger?”

“I’ve given you my opinion on this matter before,” said the wizard. “Sending a dozen Brech citizens, however accomplished and resourceful they may be, hundreds of miles across uncharted territory and into the capital of a primitive, inhuman, and bloodthirsty empire was always, how did you put it—speculative. I call it bloody unsafe.”

“So you think I should call them back?”

“Absolutely not. There is a great deal of intelligence to be learned from such a trip. We both have high confidences in who we have sent into harm’s way, don’t we?” A smirk crossed his face from left to right. “You do have the fullest confidence in your latest bedmate, do you not?”

“Neither my husband’s abilities, nor his acumen are in question. I likewise have faith that those he has chosen for his team will all dutifully fill the roles to which they have been assigned. Can you say the same?”

“You mean my sorceress?”

“I mean your little girl.”

“Senta is practically a grown woman. She had already proven herself a steady soul when she helped rescue your brother years ago. She showed her power on her last trip to Mallontah. She can handle anything that should turn up. Besides, General Staff has indicated that he would take no other practitioners of the arts with him besides Senta, or possibly the steel dragon.

Iolanthe pinched the top of her nose.

“I ask a great deal of those I delegate any of my authority to,” she said. “I shall be asking the same of you. I need you to get that infernal machine running again.”

“As a matter of fact, I have a man coming in on the train from St. Ulixes who may be just whom I need to set the great machine to rights.”

“Can’t you just use your magic?”

The S.S. Arrow left port only hours after the captain learned of the wrecked ship. The Ebon Forest unloaded its passengers and the shipwreck survivors that it had rescued, then refilled its coal hoppers and set out again the following morning to aid in the search. On board was an emergency team consisting of a doctor, several clerics, and two dozen volunteers. Mr. Radley Staff, who had planned and organized the team for just such an emergency, was in overall command of the rescue efforts. As the massive black ship slid across the calm waters of the bay, he could be seen standing on the deck. Next to him, dwarfing him, was the steel dragon, with gleaming scales reflecting the early summer morning sun.

Senta unhappily watched the ship going. Bessemer had only arrived home the day before and now he was already leaving. Though they had stayed up the entire night talking, the dragon had not had time enough to relay all of his adventures. The girl had certainly not had time enough to tell him about hers. It had been an unhappy few months, as it always was when she was separated from her steel-colored friend. She would have been on the ship with him if not for the fact that Zurfina, who seldom seemed to care what she did, had expressly forbidden her from doing so. Senta wondered about this as she idly rubbed her lower back where the dragon tattoo had appeared. Bessemer had agreed that it looked like him, though not as he was now. It was an image of him when he was not much bigger than a cat.

Senta heard her name called and turned to see Hero and her twin brother Hertzel running toward her.

“What are you guys doing here?”

“We’re with Honor, helping out at the governor’s warehouse,” said Hero. “We saw you over here and Hertzel wanted to say hello.”

Hertzel, who had never spoken a word as long as Senta had known him, raised his hand in a friendly wave.

“Hey Hertzel. You’re not working today?”

Hertzel shrugged, which Senta translated in her head to, “I was going to, but the ship I was to work on went back out to sea.”

“So what’s going on in the governor’s warehouse then?”

“That’s where they have the people from the shipwreck. They’re getting everyone identified and finding places for them. That’s not easy when they arrived at the same time as four thousand people from Freedonia.”

“I suspect they’re getting special treatment because they’re Kafirites, don’t you?” Senta said, voicing an opinion that would never have come out of the mouths of the twins, regardless of whether it had residence in their heads.

“They’ve been through an awful hardship,” said Hero. “Honor brought tea and cakes for them.”

“Your sister is pretty special,” said Senta. “You would think that Aalwijn Finkler would have brought some tea and cakes. He owns three cafes.”

The twins turned to look behind them and watched as Aalwijn Finkler in a fine new grey suit walked into the warehouse. He carried nothing with him. The three young people looked at each other and then walked down the short block to enter the building after the restaurateur. The large warehouse was filled with cots, though none were at present occupied by people. Rather, people wandered around the room in groups and pairs, those obviously from the ship making connection with those obviously from the colony. Aalwijn was speaking to a handsome man of middle height with a slight paunch in his stomach not quite covered up by a nice black pinstriped suit, now that it was wrinkled from long exposure to seawater. He had thinning blond hair and a happy though tired face.

“Here come some of your future diners now,” said Aalwijn. “This is my new chef come all the way from Greater Brechalon.”

“How do you do?” The man held out his left hand to Hertzel, and both girls could see that this was because he had no right arm below the elbow.

“Kafira’s tit!” shouted Senta, causing dozens of people around her to stare, open-mouthed. “I know you! You used to work at Café Carlo.”

“Yes. I did.”

“You’re Gyula. You were a line cook.”

“That’s right, Gyula Kearn. Do I know you?”

“I’m Senta.”

Gyula looked no more enlightened than he had been a moment before.

“I used to sweep the sidewalk and polish the brass dragon.”

“Oh yes, Carlo always had the local children doing odd jobs. It was his way of helping out, Kafira bless him. We had quite a few kids in and out of the café over the course of the years. I’m afraid I don’t remember any of them very well. They just sort of blend together in my memory.”

“You used to make me a sandwich, when Carlo said it was okay.” Senta’s voice sounded abnormally high in her own ears.

“That I did. Carlo had a soft spot for children, though he didn’t let it show. He would always have me load them up with food. I suppose that’s why he had me working there too. Who else would have hired a one-handed line cook?”

“Well, I hired a one-handed chef, and I expect great things from him,” said Aalwijn. “And I dare say if you don’t remember Senta now, you will soon not be able to forget her.”