Saba Colbshallow rapped his knuckles on the front door of the five story structure, again, louder than he had before, but there was just as little response as there had been the first time.

“Police constable!” he called. He waited a bit longer, and was just about to leave when he heard a distinctly sultry voice from inside.

“Who is it?”

“Police constable,” he said again.

The door opened and Zurfina stood in the doorway, her strange little leather dress displaying a good portion of her breasts with their star tattoos as well as her long legs. Her thigh high boots had such high heels that she could almost look Saba in the eye.

“Yes? What is it?” she said, with the air of someone who had just been interrupted in the middle of something vitally important.

“May I come in?” he asked.

With an exaggerated sigh, the sorceress turned her back and walked into the house, leaving the door wide open. Saba followed her in and looked around the large room that formed the lower level of the structure. It was, he thought, a surprisingly mundane looking combination of kitchen, parlor, and dining room. The place was tidy and organized, none of the furnishings looking particularly worn or new, expensive or poor. Zurfina waved her hand and the door slammed shut behind him, causing him to jump a little.

“Well?”

Saba swallowed. He had known Zurfina for four years now, and found her just as wondrous, mysterious, and fascinating as he had when he was sixteen. He had of course grown up to be a police constable, but she had grown to be a legend. She was an attractive woman: not as beautiful as Mrs. Dechantagne of course, not as charming as Mrs. Dechantagne Calliere was at least capable of being, and nowhere near as adorable as Miss Lusk. Neither did she have the curvaceous figure of Dr. Kelloran. But as writer Geert Resnick wrote in his novel “The Pale Sun”, “the painting that most draws one to it, is not the most beautiful, but the one hanging to the wall by the most tenuous thread.” Zurfina held the same appeal as a fast horse, an unstable bomb, or a canoe in a river filled with crocodiles. And there was power. Power was always appealing.

Zurfina sensed his hesitation and moved to stand very close to him.

“Now, little Saba,” she said, with exaggerated slowness. “What brings you to see Zurfina the Magnificent.”

Saba had perfected his stare, a piercing look that let those he was interviewing know that he would brook no nonsense. He gave the sorceress one of these stares, but it didn’t seem to work as well as it was supposed to. She stepped a little closer and he suddenly realized he could smell her breath. It was minty.

“Little Saba.” Her charcoaled grey eyes seemed to be looking at something just below the surface of his face.

He swallowed.

“Police Constable Colbshallow,” he corrected.

She leaned forward so that the tip of her nose was only an inch from his.

“Little Saba,” she repeated. “There’s something you’ve been dying to tell me.”

“No there isn’t.”

“Then why are you here?”

“I’m here about a Miss Amadea Jindra.”

Zurfina leaned back and scrunched up her nose. “Now what business is that of yours?”

He retrieved the notepad from his coat pocket and flipped it open. Turning so that he had better light to read by, he took the opportunity step away from the sorceress.

“It was reported that you kidnapped, um… acquired Miss Jindra from the deck of the S.S. Arrow four days ago, and no one has seen her since.”

“I say again, what business is it of yours?” Zurfina spoke distinctly, chopping each word as if came out of her mouth. The temperature of the room dropped several degrees.

“You cannot simply snatch people off the street…” His voice trailed off as he noticed the sorceress’s eyes flashing.

Zurfina folded her arms across her chest and raised one eyebrow. At that moment the door swung open and Senta walked in. Her bright pink dress peaked out from beneath a heavy white overcoat, with a fur trimmed hood. She was carrying a large bed pillow under each arm. She kicked the door shut with the heel of her shoe, and walked over to stand next to the sorceress. She looked first at Zurfina and then at Saba.

“Okay,” said Senta. “What’s going on?”

“Little Saba was just telling me what I can and cannot do.”

“Well, this isn’t going to end up well, and you know who will have to clean up the mess? Me, that’s who. Here are your pillows,” Senta shoved the pillows into Zurfina’s hands.

Once the sorceress had taken the pillows, Senta took Saba by the hand and led him toward the front door.

“Let’s talk outside. I love the smell of pine trees and chimney smoke.” She led him outside, closing the front door behind her. “What exactly are you doing?”

“Conducting police business.”

“Stopping me from taking care of those wankers who shot Bessemer has gone to your head, eh?”

“This is my job. This is what I do,” said Saba. I protect the public peace.”

“And do you ever think about how you would do that job if you were turned into, say, I don’t know, a pig?”

“A pig?”

“Maybe a pig. Could be anything really. I thought I was about to see a Police Constable shaped lawn ornament. But then I don’t have Zurfina’s wide experience and peculiar wit.”

“Well I have to go back in and talk to her.”

“Did they have to take your brain out to make that helmet fit?”

There was something of an awkward shuffle at the dinner table that evening. The spot at the head of the table rightly belonged to Terrence as head of the Dechantagne family. During his long absence, Iolanthe had assumed the seat, though by Brech tradition, she should have sat at her husband’s right hand. Terrence didn’t seem to care much one way or another, but Yuah insisted that he receive his due. So as several reptilian wait staff brought heaping trays of food to the table, Terrence sat at its head. Yuah sat at his right. Next to her sat Mrs. Godwin, then the professor’s mother the elder Mrs. Calliere, and then little Iolana in her bright red dress. At the far end of the table sat Professor Calliere, with Iolanthe to his right. Next to her sat Saba Colbshallow, then his mother, and finally Radley Staff.

A pork roast with potatoes, onions, and carrots was the major feature of dinner. There were also boiled chestnuts with melted cheese and breadcrumbs seasoned with caraway and parsley, winter squash fried in melted butter, and Mrs. Colbshallow’s own dinner rolls. It seemed as if there was a mountain of food, but it disappeared quickly from the large white porcelain platters.

“This is the best roast I’ve ever eaten,” said Saba Colbshallow.

“Quite right,” agreed Professor Calliere.

“How do you find our Port Dechantagne now, Mr. Staff?” asked Yuah.

“It’s certainly not dull,” he replied from directly across the table. “It’s been quite an eye opening day. I mingled with the locals. I saw a dragon. And I had a lovely conversation at the local dining spot. I seem to recall that you were part of the conversation.”

“Oh, well, I seem to be the subject of quite a bit of the talk around town.”

“Who would want to talk about you?” wondered Iolanthe from the other end of the table.

“Pretty young women are always a topic of conversation,” said Mrs. Godwin, pausing to wipe a stray drop of wine from her chin. “I’ve had quite enough of people always talking about me, I can tell you that.”

“That reminds me of what I heard from Mrs. Eamsham today,” said Mrs. Colbshallow.

“No gossiping at the dinner table,” said Iolanthe. “I want to hear about my brother’s many adventures in the great city.”

The heads of the diners all turned toward Terrence.

“Oh, good,” he said. “Nothing I like better than talking about myself.”

Yuah chuckled. She was the only one who did, but then she was in the best position to know the irony of such a statement. Of all the people at the table, it was probably Terrence who least wanted to talk about himself. Of course, he wasn’t much of a talker, regardless of the subject.

“Well, what did you do in Brech?” demanded Iolanthe.

“Yes,” said Yuah. “What did you do?”

“Nothing much.”

“You were invited to Crown Street, weren’t you?” asked Iolanthe.

“Yes, I met the Prime Minister.” He looked at his sister. “You and I can discuss my meeting with him, later.”

“How exciting!” exclaimed Mrs. Colbshallow. “What was his wife like?”

“She seemed nice.”

“I hear she has a face like a horse,” said the elder Mrs. Calliere.

Saba Colbshallow snorted and Iolanthe pursed her lips.

“Did you go to the theater?” asked Mrs. Godwin.

“No. Sorry.”

“You went to the Great Church of the Holy Savior, of course?” asked Mrs. Colbshallow.

“I was obliged to.”

“Well, I hope you at least did some shopping,” said the elder Mrs. Calliere.

“I did pick up a few things.”

“I’m full,” said a tiny voice from the other end of the table, reminding everyone that a child was there.

Yuah thought that this must be the quietest that Iolana had ever been.

“Iolana, come here to Auntie,” she said.

The conversation continued around the table as the little girl in her bright red dress climbed down from her chair and stepping past her grandmother and Mrs. Godwin, slipping up and into her aunt’s lap.

“Do you remember your Uncle Terrence?” she asked the child.

The little girl tucked her face into Yuah’s shoulder shyly and didn’t say anything. A single eye peeked over her auntie’s lace covered bosom at the frightening man. Yuah gently stroked her blond hair.

“Don’t be shy, dear.”

“I can’t believe how big she is,” said Terrence. “Talking real words, too.”

“You can talk right to her, you know,” said Yuah.

Terrence flashed her an annoyed look, but then spoke directly to the child.

“I’ve got a present for you.” Then he looked up into his wife’s eyes. “I have a present for you too.”

“I should bloody well hope there’s more than one,” murmured Yuah.

Stepping out of the S.S. Arrow’s mid-deck hatch and onto the gangplank, Radley Staff looked around at the peninsula on which Port Dechantagne was built. He was amazed at the growth of the little colony. When he had left, a little more than three years ago, it was nothing but a few barracks buildings in a clearing in the woods. Now it was a real town. From where he stood, he could see hundreds of buildings, warehouses, apartment blocks, businesses, and the rooftops of more building off between the redwoods. A large dark cloud hung amid the white clouds, formed by hundreds of fireplaces and stoves. The smell of wood smoke overcame the smell of the seashore. He stopped for a moment and enjoyed the scene. Someone behind him cleared her throat. He turned around to find Miss Jindra, in a shimmering white and teal day dress with waves of white ruffles down the front. She wore a matching teal hat with a lace veil and carried a parasol, though she seemed unlikely to need one.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to hold you up.”

“That’s quite alright, Mr. Staff. I’m surprised you haven’t debarked yet.”

“I waited to avoid the rush.”

“I’m afraid I was expecting more,” she said, looking with a raised brow at the nearby buildings.

He followed her gaze.

“Really? I was thinking just the opposite.”

He turned back around to face her and started. Miss Jindra was just where she had been, but a second woman stood directly behind her—a woman who hadn’t been there only a second before. Though her hairstyle was different, Staff remembered the charcoal circled grey eyes and the wry smile. He had thought he remembered her scandalous dress too, but what she had on now went beyond the bounds of decency. Black leather covered only the lower half of her breasts, leaving her two star tattoos clearly visible. The dress reached down only to the top of her thighs. Two thick straps attached to a tight leather collar which seemed to be holding the whole thing up. Forget fitting a corset beneath this ensemble. One would have been hard pressed to fit a piece of lace in there.

“Well, Lieutenant Staff, I do declare,” said Zurfina in her unforgettable sultry voice.

“That’s Mr. Staff,” he corrected.

Miss Jindra spun around, getting a piece of her voluminous dress caught on a spur of the railing. There was a loud ripping sound as a four inch tear was opened in the beautiful teal cloth.

“Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear,” said Zurfina, placing a hand on each of Miss Jindra’s shoulders. Looking around the olive-skinned woman’s head, she said in a loud whisper. “Too long a dress. Bound to happen sooner or later.”

“What exactly do you want, Zurfina?” asked Staff. “I’m flattered, but surprised that you came to meet me.”

“Oh you are a pretty boy, but it’s your friend I’m here for.”

“Miss Jindra?”

Miss Jindra started to speak. “I don’t…”

“Don’t spoil the moment,” said Zurfina, placing a finger on the woman’s mouth.

“Perhaps I could bring her around to your home later,” said Staff.

Zurfina flashed him a smile that was only slightly more than a smirk. Then suddenly she was gone. Miss Jindra, her voluminous white and teal dress with matching teal hat and her parasol, were gone too. There was nothing to indicate that anyone had ever stood on the gangplank behind him, except for a single teal colored thread, clinging to a spur in the railing.

For a moment, Staff thought about finding Miss Jindra and rescuing her. On the other hand, she had never expressed a need or a desire for his protection. He didn’t really know her all that well. She was only a dinner companion, assigned by the ship’s purser at that. And it was not as if he had any knowledge of how to deal with a sorceress or knew Zurfina’s address. So he shrugged and continued down the gangplank, across the dock, and into the street beyond.

The two constables walked past the triceratops pen, and blew a happy cloud of relief in the cold air as the wind swung back around from the west again. The next pen was the home of the colony’s iguanodons, and most of the green and yellow striped beasts were in their barn. One specimen, more than half grown at about twenty feet long and weighing more than two tons, was running around on its hind legs, still hunched over with its tail sticking straight out the back. Upon its back was a heavy set pre-teen boy.
“Woo-Hoo! Look at me, guys!”

“Go boy, Go!” shouted Eamon. Saba slapped him on the back of the head.

“Get down, Graham! You’re going to get yourself killed!”

The iguanodon slowed and came to a stop just on the other side of the fence from the two constables. Graham tossed his left leg over the back of the great beast and slid to the ground.

“Get on inside,” he said, slapping the beast on its side. It honked, and then walked toward the barn. “It’s alright. Stinky would never hurt me.”

“I know Stinky is friendly. I used to take care of him,” said Saba. “In fact, I’m the one who named him. But you could fall and break your leg. He might fall on you and crush you. Look around. There’s no one here to help you if that happened.”

“I had to come when nobody else was here. Otherwise they wouldn’t let me ride him.”

“Well, there you go. Rules are made for a reason.”

“Come on! Nothing’s going to happen to me.”

“Why?” asked Saba. “Cause you’re so jammy?”

“Huh?”

“I heard your girlfriend calling you Jammy Graham.”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” said Graham. “She’s just my friend—who’s a girl. She’s my friend-girl, not my girlfriend.”

“How come you’re not working at the dock, Graham?” asked Eamon.

“Don’t need me till tomorrow. They’re not going to put off any freight today.”

“Well, why don’t you head back with us anyway,” said Saba.

“Alright, it’s past lunch time,” said Graham. “Hold on a minute though. I’ve got to go make sure that Stinky’s back in his enclosure.”

Saba and Eamon waited as Graham jogged to the iguanodon barn. A few minutes later, they saw him closing the barn door, and then jogging back to where they waited. He climbed through the fence and stood beside them. Graham was on the short side, not even reaching Eamon’s shoulder. He was a sturdy boy though; no doubt from working on the docks, and muscles stretched the sleeves and chest of his shirt.

“Kafira. Don’t you have a jacket?” asked Saba.

“What are you—my mother?”

“Watch your mouth. Do you have a jacket or not?”

“Yes. Hold on.” Graham retrieved a light coat from the fence post thirty feet away, and threw it on. Once he had returned, the three made their way southeast from the animal pens.

“Might as well finish the circuit, right?” said Eamon.

“Sure,” said Saba.

“I’m thinking of becoming a cop,” said Graham. “I’ll bet the cops will all be riding dinosaurs in a few years when Stinky and Sparky get big enough.”

“They look pretty damn big already,” said Eamon. “They need a proper bridle though. You can’t steer them without a bridle.”

“I can make them go where I want most of the time. I steer them by pressing on their sides with my knees, and talking to them. If they would put me in charge of training them up, I could have them ready in no time.”

“Doesn’t your dad want you to work in the lumber yard with him?” asked Saba.

“Sure, but my Ma’s not so keen since Da sliced those two fingers off.”

“But she won’t mind you being a cop?”

“Na. Cops never get hurt.”

The area directly across from the park was reserved as the colony cemetery, though relatively little of it had so far been utilized as such. Though it had been denuded of ninety percent of the trees, there were still several large copses amid a park-like meadow. People used the cemetery in the summer for picnics and outdoor fun almost as much as they did the actual park, especially since it had easy access to a beach just to the east. Snowflakes were falling even more heavily, and a pattern like the waves of the ocean covered the empty spaces between the few trees. Though it was close to noon now, the sun was just a slightly brighter place in the cloudy sky.

The first building beyond the cemetery was a large workshop built to hold the many inventions of Professor Merced Calliere. It was a two story tall, dark and brooding edifice of stone and wood, more than two hundred feet on each side. It was usually easy enough to tell when the professor or one of his helpers was there working. Most of the machines inside made an ungodly racket. All was quiet now.

“I wonder where everybody’s at,” said Graham.

“They’re all at home, snuggling by the fire,” said Eamon.

“Oh, it’s not that bad,” replied Graham, though he sounded as though he didn’t quite believe himself.

“You know as well as anyone how the weather can change here,” said Saba. “If you expect to be a constable some day, you’ve got to keep your eyes open and your wits about you.”

“Eat more,” said Mrs. Colbshallow. “You’re skin and bones.”
“I’m full up, Mother,” said her son.

Saba Colbshallow was full up, too. He had eaten a full breakfast this morning at the Dechantagne family home, and sat back to enjoy his morning tea. Around the large pine table sat his mother, Mrs. Dechantagne, Mrs. Godwin, little Iolana Calliere and at the head of the table Professor Merced Calliere. Mrs. Dechantagne’s baby was in the next room, being rocked in a cradle by one of the reptilian servants, and Mrs. Dechantagne Calliere, who normally sat at the other end of the table from her husband, was not present at breakfast this morning.

“I’m sorry that I missed Mrs. C,” said Saba, though he wasn’t sure if that was entirely true. He had known her all his life, and had been in love with her from the time he was five and she was a striking, sixteen year old beauty, until he was seven and she was a very bossy eighteen year old. Then his affections had been switched to Mrs. Dechantagne, who back then had just been Yuah Korlann, and who had grown up to be a bit prettier and much nicer.

“She’s quite busy this morning,” said the professor, setting aside the book that he had been reading. “You’ll be quite busy too, I dare say. Another ship came in last night.”

“So I heard. Mirsannan freighter. Mostly cargo, but I bet there’ll be a couple of poofs out causing trouble.”

“Quite,” said the professor, saluting with his teacup. “Don’t let us keep you from your duty then officer.”

“Right.” Saba drained his teacup and stood up, pushing in the chair as he left the table. He picked up his constabulary helmet from the small table in front of the window. It had gold braid around its base, a large gold star on the front, and a gold spike on the very top. Of course it was navy blue, just like his uniform.

“Look at my boy,” said his mother. “He looks like a right man, doesn’t he? An officer of the peace.”

“You look just dashing,” said Mrs. Dechantagne, which made Saba blush a bit. He bowed low to her, saluted everyone else, and then headed out the front door, which one of the lizardmen servants held open for him.

Saba was quite proud of his position as one of the first two constables on the police force in Port Dechantagne. In fact, he could well say that he was the first constable, since he had badge number one, and Eamon Shrubb had badge number two. Even though he was only twenty, Saba had worked hard for this position. He had signed on to the Colonial Militia when he was only sixteen, eventually becoming the youngest sergeant at any time before or since. He had served his two years with what he thought was distinction and had volunteered for an extra year. Now he was a copper. Anyone who knew Saba recognized that few deserved a spot in the new police department more than he did. Anyone who knew the royal governor knew that she would not have sponsored him for the position just because she had known him all his life.

“Good morning, Constable,” called a woman in a plain brown dress with a brown shawl thrown across her shoulders and a brown bonnet on her head, pushing a wheelbarrow down the gravel road.

“Good morning to you, Mrs. Eamsham. Do you need a hand with that?”

“Heavens no. I was just taking the slop from the neighborhood out to the pigs and dinosaurs.”

“That’s a good five miles pushing that thing. You be sure and take several rest stops along the way.”

Mrs. Eamsham nodded and turned the corner heading for town square. Saba continued walking into the southwestern part of the town, where the homes sat on larger lots, but were not necessarily larger themselves. The leaves had long gone from the maples and the other deciduous trees, but the pines and cedars were still glorious green. A chill wind whipped here and there, but did nothing to Saba but turn his cheeks a little redder. His wool uniform was exceedingly warm.

Suddenly he heard gunfire erupting from directly in front of him. One, two shots. Then a pause. Then one, two, three, four, five, six, pause. He looked up above the trees and saw a flash of steel shoot across the sky.

“Oh, bloody hell!” he shouted and ran at top speed in the direction of the gunfire. That he carried no other weapon than a heavy truncheon, worried him not a bit. Two men with military issue service rifles, but wearing expensive hunting clothes stood in the middle of the gravel road.

“Guns down!” yelled Saba, as he skidded to a stop in front of them. “Drop your guns now!”

“See here chap,” said the first man, his accent labeling him as plainly as if he had worn a placard that he was from Old Town Brech. He must have been very new to the colony, because Saba made it a custom to get to know everyone, and neither of these men he recognized.

“We’re doing nothing illegal,” said the second man. “Just shooting some pests.”

“What exactly were you shooting?”

“We heard from some of the neighbors that these velocipedes….”

“Velociraptors,” Saba corrected.

“Yes, them. They’ve been a menace lately, to the point of endangering the local children.”

“Quite,” said the first man. “We went out to put a few down and found a small group digging right into those garbage bins. We shot a few and killed two, I think, but one took off and flew into the trees.”

“If you listen to me very, and I do mean very, carefully,” said Saba. “I just might be able to save your lives. Lay your rifles down on the ground.”

“But I don’t under…..”

“Do it!”

The men leaned over and carefully placed their weapons on the white gravel road.

“Nobody told you velociraptors don’t fly?”

A loud whomp made all three men jump, and they found themselves standing next to a pony-sized reptile with twenty foot wings, and more importantly a mouth open large enough to swallow a human head. Steel scales reflected the light from the winter morning sky like shields and swords on a forgotten battlefield. The steel dragon let out a huge roar, rending the air with a noise that must have been heard all over Port Dechantagne. Little puffs of smoke flew out of his mouth at the two men as well as bits of saliva which burst into little sparks in the air.

“They bloody shot me!” The dragon’s four word sentence disintegrated into another roar of rage.

When she stepped inside, it was like stepping into a different world. The room was warm from the fire burning in the cast-iron stove and the glow from three oil lamps made the recently tidied up room feel almost festive. A pot of tea on the stove was just beginning to whistle, and three white porcelain cups, painted with pink roses and green stems, sat on the table.

“Get that, would you, Pet?” said Bessemer, sitting on his pile of fluffy pillows with a large open book in front of him.

Senta sat her magazines down and picked up the teapot off of the stove. She poured the steaming water into the three cups. Zurfina’s sterling silver tea diffuser had already been filled with tea leaves, so she dipped it first into one cup and then another.

“What are you reading?”

“Night of the Snake.”

“Is it good?”

“It’s supposed to be. I haven’t got very far, but I’m already pretty sure that the snake did it.”

Zurfina stepped down into the room just as Senta was finished brewing the tea. She wore a robe that covered her from neck to ankles, but was composed of completely sheer black lace. The girl dropped three lumps of sugar into one of the cups and handed it to the sorceress. She put three more lumps in a second cup and carried it over to the steel dragon, who reached up and took it from her hands without looking away from his book. She took a sip of her own tea, and then decided to add one lump.

“And what are you about today?” asked Zurfina.

“We had a picnic at Battle Creek.”

“Which one is Battle Creek again?”

“It’s where you fought Wizard Kesi,” said Senta. “Don’t pretend you don’t remember.”

“I have some vague recollection,” said the sorceress, absentmindedly rubbing the bald spot above her ear. “You weren’t up there this whole time? You’re so late that I had to have Bessemer light the stove.”

“I was getting fitted for a new dress.”

“You have plenty of dresses right here. I went to the trouble to lay one out for you this morning.”

“It was black and it was made out of rubber.”

“It would have looked very pinnaped-like.”

“Aren’t I old enough to pick out my own clothes?”

“You’re only ten.’

“I’m twelve!”

Zurfina looked toward the steel dragon, who nodded in confirmation.

She sighed. “Do you think she is old enough to make these decisions?”

“The technological intricacies of stove lighting, I have mastered. I offer no expertise when it comes to fashion or adolescent human female development.”

“Alright. But you don’t have an unlimited budget. I’m not made of money.”

“She should have an allowance,” suggested Bessemer.

“She shall have a stipend,” corrected Zurfina. “As befits a student of sorcery. How about one hundred marks per month?”

“Too much,” said Bessemer.

“Oh, so you are an expert. Fifty then.”

“Fifty is fine,” said Senta.

“And since you have fifty marks left just floating around, I think I should have a stipend too,” said the dragon.

“You’re not even four years old yet.” Senta sputtered.

“Four dragon years.”

“Dragons live almost forever, which means you’re like what, a baby? A premature baby.”

“Have you ever heard of a dragon who wasn’t sitting on a hoard of riches?” he asked. “I feel so incomplete.”

“Do you want a pretty dress too?” wondered Zurfina.

“I want to buy Detsky’s other book, “Rabbits Under the Fence”. This one’s pretty good. And I want another pillow—a green one shaped like a turtle, so that I can cuddle it.”

“Alright,” said the sorceress in a pose that brooked no further arguing or demanding. “A twenty five mark stipend for the dragon. You can both get your money each month from the lower layer of the silver box.”

Senta went to the silver box and pulled out the tray with knives, forks, and spoons in it, setting it aside. The lower level was stuffed with money—coins from copper pfennigs to large silver marks to gold decimarks. In between there were bills of all denominations from single mark notes to five hundred mark Tybalts.

“Don’t take more than you are supposed to. Bad things will happen,” said Zurfina.

Senta picked out two gold decimarks and thirty marks in various bills.

“Toss me my twenty five,” said Bessemer.

“You heard what she said,” said Senta. “You get your own.”

“Good girl,” said Zurfina. “Now, what shall we have for dinner?”