There was chaos on the shore.  Practically every citizen of Nutooka was pressed into the confines of the harbor.  Some screamed.  Some cried. Some waved to get the attention of the battleship off shore.  No doubt all of them would have piled into small boats and rowed out to the ship, if Captain Mould had not already had all of the local boats scuttled.  Even so, some of the people on shore jumped into the water, trying to swim out to the ship.  The city of Nutooka itself was almost completely empty.  This was not surprising, once one looked at the size of the army advancing upon it.  For more than three years, the followers of the Ape god Guma and their allies, the antiforeigner Red Sashes, had built up their strength.  Now they were ready to eliminate the Brechs, whose single naval installation was, they felt, the greatest blight on their great land of Enclep.

On the bridge of the battleship H.M.S. Superb, the captain and his first officer watched the locals’ panic, while several other officers hunched over a map of the region surrounding the port.  Captain Mould was the youngest captain in the Royal Navy of Greater Brechalon, and looked every inch like a man capable of rising quickly in that prestigious service.  His sharp nose and neatly trimmed beard gave him the look of a predatory bird, which his black eyes did nothing to diminish.  He turned on his heel and looked at the men hunched over the map.

“Where are they exactly, Wizard Than?”

One of the officers, dressed no different than any of the others save a blue bar on the sleeve of his stiffly starched white uniform, waved his hand over the map and said, “Uuthanum.”  A hundred tiny red dots appeared grouped in three large bunches on the map, indicating three massive arms of the approaching army.

“Whenever you are ready, Commander,” said the Captain.

“Aye, sir.”

Commander Staff seemed almost the polar opposite of his captain in some ways.  Light blond and clean-shaven, his freckled face made him look far younger than his twenty-nine years.  His small nose and well-formed mouth made him almost too pretty.  For all that, he seemed nothing less of a naval man of action than his superior.  He leaned over the ship’s phone.

“Sixteen degrees, eight minutes.  Twenty-two degrees, five minutes.  Elevation, make it five thousand yards.  Load high explosive.”

The entire ship shook slightly as the two massive front facing turrets, each with three twelve-inch guns, turned into position. Once they were in place, Staff leaned back over the phone.

“Lay down a pattern of fire.”

Six giant guns fired, rending the air with a sound that thunder could only envy.  Huge gouts of flame and monstrous clouds of acrid smoke shot across the bay.  As soon as the flame was gone and the great sound began to die away, the guns fired off again.  And again.  And again. Three hundred massive shells were fired into the advancing army on the far side of the city of Nutooka.

“Hold fire,” said Staff into the phone.  The thundering of the cannons ceased.

“Are they getting the message, Wizard Than?” asked the Captain.

The wizard and the other officers watched the red dots across the map.  They began to spread out from the three masses of their original formation into an even dispersion throughout the jungle.

“Just what we hoped for, Captain,” said the wizard.

“You know what to do, Mr. Staff.”

Once again, Staff leaned over the phone.  “Raise elevation to seven thousand yards.  Load anti-personnel.”  Then turning back to Captain Mould.  “Ready, sir.”

“At your discretion, Mr. Staff.”

“Lay down your pattern of fire.”

The six giant guns began firing again.  While the first three hundred shells had just grazed the advancing forces’ front, this extended volley fell right in their midst.  The raised elevation spread the falling shells throughout the army.  The first wave of fire, laid down with high explosive shells that had blown up upon impact, created huge craters in the jungle battlefield and knocked down thousands of trees.  This second attack was made with anti-personnel shells, which burst upon impact releasing tens of thousands of flechettes, needle-like bits of iron, which then flew in all directions, slicing through the warriors on the ground and their terror-bird mounts, like hot tacks through butter.  Captain Mould and Commander Staff stepped back to lean over the officers and look at the map.  The red dots, indicating the cult fighters and the Red Sash terrorists were disappearing from the paper.  The red dots were fading away not in ones and twos, but in hundreds, in thousands.  By the time three hundred shells had been fired, only a tiny fraction of the symbols representing the enemy remained.

“All right Mr. Staff, hold fire.”

“Hold fire,” called Staff into the ship’s phone.  The great cannons became quiet.

“Mr. Rise.”  The captain turned his attention to the man inside the nearby wireless room.  “Signal Major Black to advance.”

Captain Mould stepped stiffly back to the other officers watching the map.  A line of blue dots began sweeping across the map from the far right side.  These dots represented the contingent of Royal Marines, whose job it would be to finish off the enemy and who ironically enough were dressed in their bright red coats and white pith helmets.  The captain nodded in satisfaction at the outcome of the operation.  With any luck, it would be a permanent blow to the forces of instability in Enclep. If not that, at least it would set them back years.

“Commander Staff, it looks as though you will be able to make your rendezvous with the S.S. Arrow.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Turning away from the street, Yuah Dechantagne made her way up the stone walkway to the family’s home.  The huge, stately structure was the largest building in the colony, and had taken the better part of two years to construct.  Featuring a large portico supported by four two story columns, a double gabled roof and more than a dozen stone chimneys, every side of the house was covered with large dual-paned windows.  Walking through the gardens and past the large reflecting pool, the fountain, and the sundial surrounded by white roses, she paused to hyperventilate for a moment before tackling the six steps to the portico. Standing at attention outside of the front door was a lizardman, naked except for a yellow ribbon with a gold medallion around its neck.  As she approached, the creature reached back and opened the door for her.

“Thank you, Tisson,” she said, sweeping in through the doorway.

Once inside, she walked through the foyer and into the parlor, just in time to see her sister-in-law, the colonial governor, slapping her hand across the protruding snout of another lizardman.  The creature wore a similar medallion and ribbon as its counterpart outside, though it was a silver medallion on a green ribbon.  The reptilian was also slightly shorter and had darker green skin.  Even so, it towered over the woman in the olive green herringbone dress that faced it.

“One more time and I’ll cut off your tail and send you back to that mud hut you came from,” she snarled at the lizardman.  “Do you understand?”

“Yess,” hissed the reptile.

“What was that all about?” asked Yuah.

Iolanthe rolled her aquamarine eyes.  “How many times have I explained?  They still don’t get it.  When the flower petals fall off, the flowers are replaced.”

“I think they like the flowers better when they are wilted,” replied Yuah.  “It must be a lizard affectation.”

“Well, I’m not going to put up with it.  Say, where have you been all morning?”

“New dress.”

“Oh yes.  Very pretty.” If there was one thing Governor Iolanthe Dechantagne Calliere could appreciate, it was a new dress.  “The baby was crying a little while ago.  I had Cissy feed him.”

“Sirrik!” called Yuah.  Another lizardman, mottled yellow with brown stripes, stepped into the parlor from the doorway which led to the library.  “Go have Cissy bring down the baby.”

Sirrik walked through the parlor and into the foyer. The two women could hear the creak of the stairs as the heavy reptilian then made his way up.  Yuah set her large loaf of bread on the coffee table and sat down on a divan, recently brought by ship from Mirsanna.  Iolanthe carefully sat down across from her in a sweepback Prince Tybalt chair.

“I am surprised to find you still at home,” said Yuah.

“I will be going to the office later in the day.”

“Are you going to address the new arrivals?  I saw that the ship was being unloaded.”

“I will leave that to your father.  He actually enjoys that sort of thing, you know.”

“Yes, I know.”

The groaning of the staircase announced Sirrik’s return.  Following closely on his scaly heels was a smaller lizardman, this one wearing a yellow skirt just above its tail.  The ridiculous garment was only about eight inches long, hiding nothing because the reptiles had no external genitalia to hide.  Nestled carefully within the smaller lizardman’s arms was a small bundle.  The beast walked across the parlor and gently passed it to Yuah.  She carefully pealed back the blanket revealing the tiny, pink, perfectly formed face of a baby boy.  His tiny mouth was puckered and his eyes were closed.  He twisted slightly in his sleep, as Yuah tickled his chin.

“Who’s mama’s big boy?” she said, in the voice people reserve for babies, pets, and anything else that can’t actually hear or respond.

“How long has he been asleep?”  Yuah asked the lizardman in the yellow dress.

“Haff hour,” said the creature, rolling its yellow eyes toward the grandfather clock along the east wall.

“Half an hour?” confirmed Yuah.

“Yes.”

“He’ll be asleep for some time yet,” said Iolanthe.  “Why don’t you let her put him back in his crib?”

“No, I want to hold him for a while.”  Yuah turned to the lizardman.  “You may go now.  Why don’t you check back at three?”

Both reptiles bowed and left the room, Sirrik back toward the library, and Cissy through the foyer.  Yuah leaned back and gently bounced the baby boy in her arms while he slept.  She marveled at his dark eyelashes and the tiny bit of dark brown hair just sticking out below the blanket.

At that moment a little girl, almost three, in a bright floral dress ran into the room.  Her blond hair seemed thin around her chubby, round face, but was supplemented with a large red bow on the top of her head.  Bouncing along on her chubby little legs, she was not quite in control of her body, and bumped right into the stuffed arm of Iolanthe’s chair.  She was up again quickly, though she left the item she had been carrying, a doll with a dress exactly like hers, lying on the hardwood floor.

“Auntie Yuah,” said the toddler, running to the woman with the baby.  “I want to give Augie a kiss.”

“All right, but carefully.  He’s asleep and we don’t want to wake him.”

With the exaggerated movements that are so endearing in the very tiniest human beings, the little girl reached up on her tip-toes and puckered up her lips, stretching them out as far as they could go, and kissed the baby, held out by its mother, with a smacking sound.  She then rolled back on her heels, almost losing her balance and falling back onto the coffee table.

“Very sweet,” said Yuah.  “Now go see Mummy.”

“Don’t you dare jump on me,” said Iolanthe, as the child trundled around the table toward her.  “Your dress is filthy.  What have you been doing?”

“Making mud pies.”

“Making mud pies,” muttered the governor.  “Sirrek!”

The mottled yellow and brown lizardman returned.

“Who is supposed to be watching Iolana?”

“Kheesie,” hissed Sirrek.

“Remind her that the child is supposed to stay clean. If she can’t do her job, I’m sure that there are others who can.  And have her draw Iolana a bath.”  Iolanthe turned to Yuah.  “If there is one thing you can count on the lizards to get right, it’s bathing.”

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?”