Senta closed the door behind her and stomped the damp snow off of her overs. It was getting near dusk and the lower room of the tower was filled with shadows.  Pointing at the lamp beside the chair, she brought it to life with a word. Several other lamps followed.  The room, now bathed in warm light revealed its contents, including the steel dragon lying in the corner.

“Hey,” Senta called.  “You’ve been asleep for two days.  Wake up.”

Bessemer opened his eyes and yawned.  “What?”

“You sleep too much, that’s all.”

“I am a dragon.”

Senta plopped down in the chair and kicked her overs off, followed by her shoes and her socks.  Tucking her legs up under her, she wrapped her coat tightly around her.

“It’s too cold.”

The dragon rose from his spot by the stove and climbed up onto the chair. He draped his body over the chair back and wrapped his tail around her.  Curling his long neck around so that he could look her in the face, he asked. “What is the matter?”

“I worked all day making those potions.”  She pointed to several small vials on the kitchen table.  “So when I finally get a chance to go out and play, everyone has gone home for the night.  What am I supposed to do now?”

“Your lessons?”

“Oh, you’re a big help.  Why don’t you do my lessons if they’re so great?”

“I do.”

Senta stuck out her tongue.  Bessemer mirrored her action.  She frowned at him for a moment, but then grabbed him around the neck and pulled his scaly face to hers.

“I’m sorry.  I’m just bored and tired, and I’m really ready for winter to be over.  It’s too damn cold.  By the way, where is Zurfina?  She’s supposed to tell me whether my dionoserin is any good.”

“Upstairs.”

“Where upstairs?”

“Her room.”

“Is she alone?”

“No.”

“Is Jex with her?”

The dragon nodded.

“Again?”

He nodded again.  Then he climbed down from the chair and headed for the door.

“Happy hunting,” said Senta, though she herself seemed anything but happy.

“Toodle pip,” said Bessemer, and then he was gone.

Senta made her way up the stairs, past the rooms designated for Bessemer but almost never used, up to her own room.  She peeled off her clothes and ran a hot bath for herself.  Once she was clean and warm, she put on her warmest nightclothes and headed back down to the kitchen for something to eat.  She stoked the fire in the stove and added two logs before heading for the froredor.  But something stopped her.

Sitting there on the kitchen table, just where she had left it that afternoon, was the small clear vial filled with silvery liquid.  Dionoserin.  A bottle just that big sold for thousands of marks.  Of course it was illegal in Brechalon, but they weren’t in Brechalon anymore.  Did it work? Did she grind the walnuts up enough? Did she maintain her aura?  Taking two quick steps to the table, she snatched up the bottle, pulled off the cork stopper, and drank it down.  What’s the worst that could happen?

“Well, I could die,” she said aloud.

She didn’t wait to see if she would die though.  She ran up the two flights of stairs to her room, and then crept up one more flight stopping just before she reached the level.  She slowly peered over the top step and into Zurfina’s room. She had a good idea what to expect. Senta had lived with the sorceress almost two years now.  During that time Zurfina had entertained a number of male admirers.

The first thing that Senta saw was Mr. Jex, standing in the middle of the room. She was happy to see that he was fully clothed.  The second thing Senta saw was Zurfina, and she was not.  She was posed upon her bed, her head hanging over the edge, so that she was looking at Mr. Jex and everything else upside down.  Her blond hair draped down almost to the floor, hiding her little bald spot.  Her crossed legs were sticking straight up in the air.  Mr. Jex stared at her for a moment before turning back to a large canvas and poking at it with the paintbrush.  He was standing between Senta and the painting, but she didn’t need to see it to know what it was.  Zurfina was having another nude painting done of herself.

Senta slowly climbed the last four steps and walked around Mr. Jex so that she could see the painting.  He really was quite good.

“What do you think Pet?” asked Zurfina, without moving from her pose.

Startled, Jex turned around to look at her.  He had a small paint pallet in his right hand.

“I think it’s time for you to go,” said Senta.

Jex looked like he was going to say something, but then stopped and setting his pallet and brush on the floor, turned and went swiftly down the stairs.  Just as the sound of the front door closing echoed back up, Zurfina sat upright and in a fluid cat-like motion got up from the bed.

“Put on some clothes, Fina.”

The sorceress made the smallest of gestures with her right hand and suddenly she was clad in a long, silky, black dressing gown.

“Are you ready for something to eat, Pet?”

“Yes,” replied Senta, a sly smile creeping onto her face.  “I don’t think you should magic it though.  I think it would be nice if you made me supper with your own hands.”

On the seventeenth of Festuary, the Windermere left port, sailing slowly out of Crescent Bay as the thick snow dropped down from the sky.  Though it had stayed a relatively short time, it was still three days behind schedule due to a boiler problem earlier in the journey. The very next day the S. S. Osprey sailed in to take its place.  The Osprey was a smaller, newer ship with sleek lines and a proud form.  The latest addition to the fleet of the Merchant and Shannon shipping lines, it carried relatively few immigrants but many visitors, particularly those who wanted to make business deals in the new colony.

Two days after the ship’s arrival, Corporal Saba Colbshallow had his last meeting with Archibald Brockton.  Brockton had given him assurances which he could pass on to the governor that she would be reimbursed for expenses incurred bringing immigrants from Freedonia. They had also discussed Streck, though Brockton had dismissed him as relatively unimportant.

“Unless he is significantly more capable as a spy than he is as a wizard, I don’t see him causing much trouble,” said Brockton.  “He struts around and makes himself the center of attention.  I don’t doubt that he is just what he says he is: a small time solicitor.  When and if the Freedonians decide to make a move in Birmisia, they won’t be so clumsy and they won’t be so easily detected.  You’ll have to keep your eyes open, young corporal.”

“I will sir,” promised Saba.

Brockton certainly seemed ready for an early departure, establishing himself in his cabin just five days later, a full week before the ship was scheduled for departure.  No doubt he was only too happy to be out of the drafty barracks building.  Saba knew that he was certainly looking forward to his last day in one.  He was already planning a cozy little house for himself, on which he intended to begin construction as soon as they snow went away.

Two days after that, on the twenty-seventh of the month, the sun came out. The stormy weather had lasted eleven days, almost all of those featuring measurable snowfall.  The people of Port Dechantagne dug themselves out and seemed giddy at the thought of a bright, cloudless day.  Saba made the most of it by walking down the hill to the dockyard, purchasing a sausage and a cup of tea and soaking up the sun while sitting on a half-barrel.

“Good morning.”

Saba turned around to find Eamon Shrubb.

“Oh, it’s you.”

“Well that’s a fine good morning.”

“Good morning then.  What do you want?”

“Sergeant Clark requires you.”

Saba quickly finished his meal and followed.  The two men walked past the warehouses and up Seventh and One Half Avenue to the militia base and into the office of Sergeant Clark.  Militiamen, like everyone else, were enjoying the sunshine, rolling around in the snow and building snowmen and snow forts.  A snowball narrowly missed Saba’s head as he walked into the building.

“What’s up,” asked Saba, brushing himself off inside.

Clark yawned and rubbed his eyes.

“I promised Mrs. Government that I would have someone meet with this hunter.”

“Haarhoff?”

“Yes, that’s him.  He’s anxious to go out and shoot a dinosaur, so she wants someone to make sure that he has everything that he needs.  And you know who her favorite soldier is.”

“You?”

“Not me.”  Clark leaned back in his chair.  “You.”

“Alright.  Where is he? Building six?”

“Yes.”

To say that Haarhoff was anxious was an understatement.  He and six other men were crowded into his room, leaning over a table with a large map spread across it.  Lined up along the wall was a mountain of packs and equipment, ready to be carried into the Birmisian wilderness.

“Ah, young Corporal Colbshallow,” he said.  “We are more than ready to set off.  Will you be coming with us?”

“That remains to be seen.  What I need to know right now is whether you have everything that you need.”

“We have tents, equipment, supplies, cold weather gear, and ammunition. All we need is a native guide to get us to this Iguanodon Heath, and of course some bearers to help carry all the equipment.”

“That won’t be any problem.  There are always plenty of lizzies ready to work.  Are you sure you wouldn’t rather wait until the snow is gone, at least.”

“We have been waiting long enough.  We have all been hunting in the snow before.  Collinghouse here was with me when we hunted gharhast apes in the Daglars.”

“That’s right,” said the man on the other side of the table.  “It was so cold that the bullets froze as they were coming out of the gun barrels.”

The other men in the room laughed.

“Alright,” said Saba.  I’m sure that I can have a guide and thirty bearers ready by tomorrow morning.  Will that be enough?”

“That will be enough,” said Harhoff.  “But we will want to leave at first light.”

“Fine.”

Saba left the barracks apartment and crossed the militia base to find Private Woodrow Manring sitting at the admissions desk, waiting for new lizzies to be brought in and registered.  Standing near him was Private Willy Cornish.

“Hello boys.  Do we have any short timers standing around?”

“Sure,” replied Manring.  “You finally going to get started on your house?”

“What are you doing out here?” asked a voice.

Senta turned around to find Graham looking oddly at her.  They were at the edge of the roadway in front of the Dechantagne mansion.  Senta had spent most of the morning watching for any sign of Streck, but so far he hadn’t shown his Freedonian face.

“Nothing.  What are you doing?”

“Well, I was looking for you.  I thought we could go over to Hertzel’s house and have a nice low tea.”  He held up a canvas bag in one hand.  “I brought bread and butter.”

“Where did you get butter?”  Senta’s eyes narrowed.  “You didn’t steal it, did you?”

“How in the name of Kafira can you ask me that?”  Graham squared his shoulders and stood up as tall as he could. “When did you ever hear of Graham Dokkins stealing anything?”

“I’m sorry.  Where did you get it then?”

“My Ma sent it,” he replied, not at all mollified.  “We had an extra tin and she said I could share it with the Hertlings.”

“That was nice.”

“You don’t have to come if you don’t want to,” he said, starting down the road.

“I said I was sorry,” Senta said, stepping quickly to keep up.  “I could make it up to you.”

“How would you do that?”

“I could give you a kiss…”

“That magic is making you lose your mind, that’s what,” he said, not slowing down.

“Alright then, I have a secret mission that I might let you help me with.”

“What secret mission?” he asked, glancing at her but not stopping.

“I’ll tell you, Hero, and Hertzel together.”

“Why?  Did you brass them off too?”

“Say, how come you mother is sending butter over?  I thought your folks didn’t like Zaeri,” said Senta, changing the subject.

“We’re not like that Freedonian wanker.  We don’t call people dogs for no reason.”

“Oh, you heard about that, eh?”

“That’s right.  If he’d called Hertzel a dog in front of me, I would have popped him in the breadbox.” The quickest way to anger Graham was to threaten his friends.  “Besides, Ma’s grown quite fond of Honor, really.  They’re in the Ladies’ Auxiliary together.”

They arrived at the Hertling home in short order, but when they knocked on the door there was no answer.

“You don’t suppose they’re at shrine, do you?” wondered Graham, looking around.

“Only if they’re the only ones.”  Senta pointed to neighbors working on their houses or in their yards, all of whom were Zaeri.

A moment later though, the mystery was solved.  The three Hertling siblings came walking down the road from the east. Hero and Hertzel carried large baskets filled with foliage, while their older sister had something that looked like a cricket bat casually slung over her shoulder.  The twins saw their friends and waved, calling out greetings. Hero ran ahead and Senta met her at the road, giving her a great hug.  Though he waved to his friends, Graham’s eyes were fixed on the instrument that Honor carried.  When she was close enough that he could see it clearly, he found that it was not a cricket bat at all, but a lizzie sword.  The main hand to hand combat weapon of the lizardmen was a thick sword made of wood but encrusted all around the edges with flint, obsidian, or sometimes even shark’s teeth.  This one had shiny black obsidian flakes that appeared razor sharp.

“Where’d you get that?” asked Graham enviously.

“It was a gift,” Honor replied.  “The chief of Tserich gave one to each of the members of the Colonial Council. I imagine most of them are hanging on display somewhere, but I like to carry mine when I have to go away from the town.”

“So where have you all been then?” asked Senta.

“We went to gather winter berries,” replied Hero.

“Perfect, we can have them for tea.”

“Oh, you can’t eat them,” said Honor.  “They’re for decoration only.”

“We had loads of them hanging all around our house,” said Graham.  “But it’s way past Kafira Mass now.”

Senta shot him a frown.

“What?”

“As a matter of fact,” continued Honor.  “I got the idea from your mother, Graham.  I think the red and green will brighten up the house and as I understand it, according to Brech tradition, they are often kept over the winter and not just on, um… holidays.”

“Can we go inside now,” asked Hero.  “I’m just frozen.”

Honor opened the front door and they all stepped inside the home, which was only marginally warmer than the outside.  Hertzel, with Graham help, got right to work lighting a fire in the stove, while the girls went into the other room and exchanged damp clothing for dry and wrapped up in thick blankets.  Hero lent Senta one of her two housedresses, which was only slightly baggy and only slightly too short.  The boys removed only their boots and socks, which they dried by the stove once the fire was going, but Hero brought each of them a blanket, and in a few minutes they too were feeling warm and cozy.  The four ten-year-olds sat around the stove, Senta and Hero sharing a chair, while Honor placed the green branches filled with red berries festively around the small room.

“I brought bread and butter for tea,” said Graham at last.

“That’s his way of telling you that he’s hungry,” said Senta.

“No it isn’t.”