Senta finished washing her face and brushing her teeth. She walked back to her bed and examined the dress that lay there. Even though Zurfina had not returned, clothing continued to appear each morning. Sometimes Senta ignored it and wore one of the dresses that she had purchased for herself at Mrs. Bratihn’s, but more often she simply slipped into whatever strange accouterments appeared. She had already put on her underclothes, including her bustle, when she lifted up the dress by the shoulders to examine it. This one was actually not too bad. It was black with puffy white sleeves and white lace trim around the neckline and the bottom. The only problem was that the bottom was just below her knees.

Senta rolled her eyes then slipped on the dress. She reached behind her and easily fastened the row of tiny buttons that ran up the back. Opening her top dresser drawer, she rummaged around and found her knee-high socks with one inch horizontal black and white stripes. She sat down on the bed and pulled them on, and then put on her black patent leather high heels. Looking in the cheval glass, she decided that it didn’t look too bad.

Once downstairs, she thought for a brief moment about preparing some breakfast, but decided she’d rather walk to Mrs. Finkler’s. It was a new month and her pockets were once again filled with her stipend. The desire not to have to clean the kitchen and the fact of her newfound wealth had both conspired to disincline Senta to cook since Zurfina had left. And as Bessemer didn’t seem to mind, preferring to catch and eat wild prey anyway, she scarcely took the time to prepare any meals at home anymore. She looked at the steel dragon’s empty corner and then headed out the front door.

Senta had almost completely crossed the yard before she noticed Graham standing at the gate. His brown hair was neatly combed and his freckled face had been recently scrubbed. He wore a tan and white horizontally striped shirt that made him look chubbier than he actually was and a new pair of dungarees cut extra long and rolled up into cuffs over his work boots. In his right hand, he clasped a handful of small white flowers.

“You look kind of ridiculous,” she said.

“You should talk. I mean… you look nice. Here, these are for you.” He shoved the handful of flowers in her direction.

“Thanks. I didn’t think there were any flowers in bloom yet.”

“These are the only ones. They grow in the dinosaur poo.”

“Pretty. So what made you decide to come around here?”

“I don’t know.”

“You must have some idea. I haven’t seen you in a whole month.”

Graham mumbled something.

“What?”

“I said I guess I missed you or something.”

Senta smiled and stepping over to him wrapped her arms around his left arm.

“I was on my way to Mrs. Finkler’s for breakfast. Come with me.”

“I’ve already eaten,” said Graham. He didn’t say this to decline her invitation and she didn’t take it that way. It was understood between them that for him two meals in a row was no problem. “I’m buying though.”

“Then it will be a real date,” said Senta.

“No, not really.”

Graham turned and headed toward town, Senta still holding onto his left arm.

“I think you’ve grown since I saw you last,” said Senta, who was several inches taller than Graham.

“Yep. Da says I’m in a spurt. Look. If we’re going to be friends…”

“We are friends,” she corrected.

“Okay. Yes, we are friends. But you can’t go fighting my fights for me. You have to let me take care of myself. I’m a man.”

“Nope. That’s not how it works. You are my friend and if anyone messes with you, I will crush them.”

Graham stopped and pulled his arm from her grasp so that he could put both of his hands on his hips.

“And,” she continued. “If anyone messes with me, you can do the same, just like you did with that Freedonian wanker Streck.”

The boy thought for a moment. “Well, that seems fair.”

They walked the rest of the way to town square and easily found a seat inside the bakery café. Graham surprised Senta by pulling out her chair for her.

“Well, well, well. Look what we have here.” Gaylene Dokkins wiped the table with a cloth, and then crossed her legs at the ankles, leaning with her elbow atop Graham’s head. “My little brother must have finally got up the nerve to go see his girlfriend. Did he tell you he’s been moping around the house for weeks, mooning over you?”

“Shut up Gaylene,” whined Graham.

“I think he’s just sweet,” said Senta.

“Well, as my Da always says, ‘to each his own’. What can I get you?”

Though winter was well on its way out in Birmisia, it was still cold enough at night—cold enough to bundle up tight, cold enough to blow steam in the air with your breath, and cold enough that the Lizzies moved with their characteristically slow gate. Police Constable Saba Colbshallow watched them from behind the corner of a warehouse building across the street from the dock. He didn’t know why they were working in the middle of the night, but he hadn’t spotted them taking from the ship any of the curious long crates which he had seen on previous occasions. He watched for more than thirty minutes as the reptilians moved freight.

Finally deciding that the activity represented nothing nefarious, Saba stretched his sore back, pulled a sulfur match from his pocket, and lit the oil lantern sitting on a barrel next to him. Then taking the lantern with him, he made his way across the street. There were half a dozen Lizzies loading wooden crates onto a pallet that was attached to the crane to be loaded aboard the ship. As he approached, several of the lizardmen eyed him. Half of them were taller than his six foot three, but all of them hunkered down to look shorter than they actually were. It was a demonstration of submissiveness that the constable had grown used to over the years. Coming to a stop beside the workers, he crossed his hands over his chest.

“Working awfully late, gentlemen.”

One of the lizardmen hissed. Even though Saba was not fluent in the aboriginal language, he could tell it was a non-verbal expression of anger or annoyance.

“Identification.”

The two closest lizardmen held out their arms. They each wore a wooden and twine identity bracelet. Saba held up the lantern and read the engraved information on each of the tags. “Finn: Serial Number 22211 BL”, and “Ishee: Serial Number 22214 BI”.

“Alright. The rest of you too.”

“Does there seem to be some problem, PC?”

Saba looked up to see the tall silhouetted form of a man walking toward him from the direction of the ship. When he reached the circle of lantern light he was revealed as Professor Merced Calliere.

“Good evening, Professor. Just checking identifications.”

“I would appreciate some haste then. These fellows have work to do.”

“So they’re working for you? I noticed these two don’t seem to have night passes, and my guess is that the others don’t either.”

“Yes, well I needed help on what you might call an ad-hoc basis. It’s very important business—government business. So I would prefer it if you not delay them any longer.”

“Then I had best let them get back to work,” said Saba. “As soon as I check the rest of their identification.”

“This ship is leaving first thing in the morning.” Professor Calliere hissed from between clenched teeth.

“I am aware of that, Professor,” said Saba, then to the other lizardmen. “Stick your arms out.”

The two reptilians who he had already checked stepped aside, and the remaining four held out their arms to show their identification bracelets. Calliere folded his arms and scowled. Saba read them off one by one.

“Maddy: Serial Number 19705 BL. Sassine: Serial Number 18234 BI. Guster: Serial Number 10100 BI. Swoosy: Serial Number 11995 BI. Oh, I know you, don’t I?”

Saba looked up at the last of the lizardmen. It was a hulking brute, at least six foot five, though it was doing its best to seem shorter. Its skin was deep forest green with large mottled patches of grey here and there. It looked nothing like the lightly colored, rather short female that the constable had seen saved by Graham Dokkins from the new arrivals.

“Hold on,” said the constable, grabbing the wrist with the bracelet.

With a hiss which bordered on a roar, the lizardman leapt forward, grabbing Saba’s helmet in its clawed right hand as its momentum carried both of them backwards. As he fell, Saba felt the alligator-like mouth clamp shut on his right shoulder. The gravel of the street flew as the man and the reptilian landed. The latter flipped completely over and onto his back. Saba jumped to his feet, his hand suddenly holding his truncheon even though he didn’t consciously grab it. With a speed belying its supposed cold-blood, the lizardman rolled onto his stomach, and without even getting up, launched himself into Saba. They both fell into the pallet of crates, one of which splintered, spilling its contents onto the ground. Saba swung his truncheon, but couldn’t tell if it connected. The next moment, his opponent was gone.

Jumping to his feet, the constable saw his attacker disappearing into the darkness, running south. All of the other lizardmen were either running or were already gone. Saba reached into his reefer jacket to feel his shoulder and pulled out a hand with several streaks of blood upon it. His pulse was pounding in his ears. Professor Calliere stood with his mouth open. The ground was strewn with papers.

Saba reached down and picked up a fist full of the papers. They were white, eight and a half by eleven inch papers, covered on one side with long strings of numbers. He kicked the damaged crate and it busted open completely, spilling out more of the number filled sheets.

“Papers? Just papers?”

Calliere looked unhappily at the ground.

“What the hell are these?”

“Just… just some calculations.”

“Are all these crates filled with these calculations?”

Calliere bit his lip.

“Professor, you’re going to need to come with me.”

Calliere’s eyes shifted but then he nodded.

Senta strolled down the white gravel street toward her home, singing the latest song to arrive from Brech. The wax cylinder had come by ship exactly one month before, and it was already almost worn smooth by constant playing on the music box in Parnorsham’s store.

I’ll pay you a pfennig for your dreams,

Dreaming’s not as easy as it seems,

Images of her, are keeping me awake,

And so I’ll have to pay a pfennig for your dreams.

When Senta sang it, she replaced “images of her” with “images of him”. She thought that it made more sense for a girl to be kept awake with images of a boy than the other way around. If it had been her choice, she would have chosen a girl to sing the song, rather than the somewhat effeminate-voiced man on the recording.

“Not a very catchy tune.”

Senta turned to see a man emerging from behind a tree along the east side of the road. It was the same tall, dark man that she had seen arriving on the Majestic. His long, black rifle frock coat had made him blend into the background of the woods in the shadows of the late afternoon. She didn’t need to guess that he was a wizard. She could see the magic aura amorphously floating around him. She wondered if he could see hers.

“I’ve been waiting quite a while for you, sorceress.” He smiled broadly, his thin-lipped mouth seeming abnormally wide across his heavy jaw line.

“I’m not a sorceress. I’m just a little girl and you should leave me alone.”

“Ah, I know that game.” He pulled the horn-rimmed spectacles from his upturned nose and wiped first his eyes and then the lenses with a handkerchief, replacing the glasses on his face and the handkerchief in his pocket. “You make three statements. One is true and the other two are lies. Then I have to guess which is true. Right? Then I will have to say, you are a little girl.”

Senta crossed her arms and rocked back onto the heels of her shoes.

“My turn,” said the wizard. “My name is Smedley Bassington. I was born in Natine, Mirsanna. I know nothing about magic.”

“That’s too easy,” said Senta. “Smedley.”

“You should say Mr. Bassington. After all, I am your elder. One mustn’t be rude.”

“Okay, this one is harder,” replied Senta. “I’m going to have to say, number two, you are my elder.”

Bassington took a step forward, and then another.

“Uuthanum,” said Senta, waving her hand.

“Uuthanum,” said Bassington, waving his hand in an almost identical motion.

It might have seemed as though the two were exchanging some kind of secret greeting. In actuality, Senta had cast an invisible protective barrier between them. Bassington had dispelled the magic, destroying the barrier.

“I’ve been looking forward to meeting you, the chosen apprentice of the most powerful sorceress in the world. That is, after I found out Zurfina was here. I had no idea where she had gotten to. Here I was, checking out that idiot and his machine, and instead I find the two of you.”

“I think that’s too many statements,” said Senta.

He stopped in the middle of the road about five feet away from her. A little wisp of wind whipped his short graying hair.

“Did she leave you here alone to take care of yourself? That’s just what she does, you know? She’s totally unreliable.”

“Are you allowed to use questions?” asked Senta, thinking to herself that this wizard did indeed seem to have her guardian pegged.

“Let’s not play that game,” said Bassington. “Let’s play something a little better suited to our unique abilities.”

He held out his hand, waist high, palm down and said. “Maiius Uuthanum nejor.”

Red smoke rose up from the ground just below his hand. It swirled and coalesced into a shape. The shape became a wolf. Its red eyes seemed to glow and the hair on its back and shoulders stood up as it bared its dripping fangs and snarled at Senta. She held out her own hand, palm pointed down.

“Maiius Uuthanum,” she said.

Green smoke rose from the ground below her hand, swirling around in a little cloud, finally billowing away to reveal a velociraptor with bright green and red feathers.

“A bird?” said Bassington, derisively.

The wolf lunged forward, snapping its teeth. The velociraptor clamped its long jaw shut on the wolf’s snout, and grasped its head in its front claws. The huge curved claw on the velociraptor’s hind foot slid down the canine’s belly, slicing it open and spilling steaming entrails out onto the gravel. A moment later, in a swirl of multihued smoke, both creatures disappeared again.

“Prestus Uuthanum,” said Bassington, placing his right palm on his chest, and casting a spell of protection on his own body.

“Uuthanum uusteros pestor,” said Senta, spreading her arms out wide. She seemed to split down the center as she stepped both right and left at the same time. Where there had been one twelve year old girl a moment ago, there were now four twelve year old girls who looked exactly the same.

The wizard waved his hand and said. “Ariana Uuthanum sembor.” All four Sentas found themselves stuck in a mass of giant, sticky spider webs.

One of the blond girls fell down. One of them pulled vainly at the webbing. The third picked up a rock from the ground and threw it with all of her might at Bassington hitting him just above the temple. The fourth waved her hand, saying the magic word “uuthanum”, and dispelling the webs. The girl who had pulled at the webbing helped the fallen girl stand up, and then the two of them merged together. The other two girls merged into her, and once again, there was only one Senta.

“Uuthanum uusteros vadia,” said Bassington and he disappeared.

Senta stood there for a moment, and then out of the corner of her eye, she saw several pieces of gravel shift on the ground to her left. She pointed her finger in the direction.

“Uuthanum Regnum,” she said.

A ray of colorful, sparkling light sprayed from her fingertip in the direction she pointed. Bassington cried out in surprise and reappeared, though he didn’t seem to suffer any ill effects of the spell, which usually left its victims covered in painful rashes.

“Erros Uuthanum tijiia,” he said.

A huge spectral hand, more than five feet across, appeared in the air in front of Senta. The middle finger was bent back beneath the thumb, and then flicked Senta in the chest. She fell backwards onto her bottom, crunching her bustle, and sliding several feet across the gravel road. She struggled to suck in a breath.

“Time to say ‘uncle’, don’t you think?” Bassington crossed his arms.

Senta tilted her head back and at last managed to pull some air into her lungs. The wizard waited.

“Well,” he said, finally.

“The sky is purple,” said Senta. “My dress is orange, and my dragon is going to bite your head off.”

Bassington stared for only a moment at Senta’s blue dress, before diving out of the way, just as Bessemer landed with a huge whomp right where he had been standing.

Had her lavender top hat not been tied onto her head with a thick strand of lace, Yuah was sure that it would have been blown away and lost. The wind whipped around her face and she tightened her grip on the steering wheel. Scenery was flying past her on both sides at an alarming pace—trees, houses, lizardmen, a group of playing boys. Suddenly something appeared at her left elbow. She carefully turned her eyes left without looking away from the road. One of the boys that she had passed was running beside the carriage. A second later, the others had caught up and were running along beside her as well.

“Hey lady!” yelled one boy. “Why don’t you open her up?”

“Yeah!” called another. “We want to see this thing go!”

Yuah turned her attention back to her driving. She was sure that the steam carriage would outpace the children shortly, but they stayed right at her side, encouraging her to increase her speed. When she finally pulled up to the front of Mrs. Bratihn’s, the boys gathered beside the vehicle, scarcely breathing hard.

“Why didn’t you go faster?”

“Yeah, how come?”

Tears welled up in Yuah’s eyes.

“I was going as fast as I could!” She let out a sob.

“Don’t cry, lady,” said the oldest boy, apparently the one who had called out first on the road. “Here. Let me open the relief cock for you.”

Yuah pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and pressed it to her face, as the boy moved around to the back of the vehicle and turned the lever.

“Be sure and don’t –sob– burn your fingers on the steam.”

“What are you boys doing here!” yelled Mrs. Bratihn, shooting out from the door of her shop with her own head of steam. “Get out of here and leave Mrs. Dechantagne alone!”

“We didn’t do nothing!” yelled back one small boy, but they never-the-less went running.

“What did they do to you, dear?” asked the older woman, placing her arm around Yuah’s shoulder, once she had climbed down.

“They didn’t do anything. It’s this damned steam carriage. I hate it, but Terrence wants me to drive it.”

“Did he tell you that you have to drive it?”

“No, but he brought it all the way here from Brech.”

“Come inside and have some tea.”

Yuah followed Mrs. Bratihn into her shop where they both sat down on the couch. Mrs. Luebking, who was already in the process of pouring tea, added another cup and handed one to each of the other women, then took the last for herself and sat down in a chair. Yuah sipped the tea and took a deep breath.

“Now tell me all about it,” said Mrs. Bratihn.

“You know I used to watch the steam carriages zipping around Brech every day and I always thought it would be just ace to have one of my own. But it’s just so bleeding complicated. You have to push in the clutch to shift gears and you have to press down on the forward accelerator just the right amount when you let the clutch out. And you always have to watch the steam gauge or the whole thing might explode. It’s just too much pressure.”

“You should just tell your husband that it’s too much for you,” said Mrs. Bratihn. “Men love it when you act helpless anyway.”

“That may be fine for most,” replied Yuah, putting away the handkerchief. “But I’m a Dechantagne. At least I am now. There are different expectations for me than there are for most women.”

“Maybe you could tell him that you want a driver,” suggested Mrs. Luebking. “Back in Brech, most of the ladies have drivers. After all, driving is a lot of manual labor.”

Yuah was thoughtful for a moment.

“That might work,” she said. “Mrs. Calliere is always saying that women of our station should do less.”

“Mrs. Calliere, your sister-in-law?”

“Oh no, the professor’s mother.”

“Ah,” said Mrs. Bratihn. “There you go. Tell him you need a driver and Bob’s your uncle. Now what else can we do for you today?”

“I need another new dress.”

“My dear, do you even have room in your closets?”

Yuah smiled slightly. “I have spent rather a lot on fashion in the past few months. But this one needs to be different. I need a dress for shrine. It needs to be a little more subdued.”

Mrs. Bratihn and Mrs. Luebking looked at one another.

“I’ll be quite frank, dear,” said Mrs. Bratihn. “I don’t know anything about the requirements of your religion and what might be appropriate for your shrine.”

“Oh, there’s nothing special really. I just need something nice, but simple, without a lot of extras—you know, no feathers or flowers, and not too much brocade.”

“I don’t know…”

“Here. Just a moment.”

Yuah sat down her tea cup, got up, and stepping out the door. She was back a moment later, having retrieved a periodical from the steam carriage. It was the Brysin’s Weekly Ladies’ Journal from Magnius of last year, the newest issue likely to be found in Birmisia. Flipping it open, she showed the dressmaker a photograph of a woman wearing a new creation from Freedonia. The dress was black and simple, featuring black lace around the waist and in a square collar around the neckline. Though it was swept up in back and emphasized with a massive bow, the bow too was black and didn’t stand out from the rest of the dress.

“I think we may be able to do that,” said Mrs. Bratihn. “Yes, yes, I quite like that. It’s simple but elegant. You may become a real trend-setter. I imagine with you wearing that, many women here will want to copy it. Of course you are always good for business, dear.”

“I’m going to need a new hip-bag,” said Yuah, pointing to the enormous back-side of the dress.

“Please,” said Mrs. Bratihn. “Call it a bustle if you must, but here in the store we like to call them dress improvers. We certainly do not call them hip-bags.”

“Well, I’m going to need quite an improvement to my ass, if this picture is any indication.”

It was ten days later, on the fifth of Festuary that the construction train, loaded with hundreds of workmen and laying track as it went, reached Port Dechantagne. By the time the train was within eyesight of the station, there were already more than two hundred people standing by to watch history in the making, and when the last track was laid that would bring the train and all future vehicles like it, parallel to the station, there were more than twenty thousand spectators, standing on the station platform, filling the entire clearing, and lining the street in both direction as far as the eye could see. Most of those present were unable to see much of anything because of the crowds, however many of the children and a few of the adults discovered that climbing a large pine tree offered an excellent viewing opportunity. Forty feet off the ground, in the massive pine directly across Forest Avenue from the train station, four twelve year old children and a large steel-colored dragon perched on branches and watched the activity below.

“I’ve never seen so many people in one place before,” said Hero.

“It’s a pretty big crowd,” agreed Graham. “I’d rather come back when the first real train pulls in. Trains are ace, but this one hardly moves.”

“How fast do they go?” wondered Bessemer.

“Really fast. On a straight shot with full steam, I’ll bet you couldn’t even catch it.”

“Hey you guys, be quiet,” said Senta. “Mrs. Government is going to speak.”

The royal governor was indeed standing on the station platform ready to address the crowd. She wore a bright blue dress with a tuft of brilliant white lace over the bustle and cascades of white lace down the skirt. She was flanked on either side by the other movers and shakers of the colony including Mayor Korlann, Miss Lusk, Dr. Kelloran, Terrence and Yuah Dechantagne, and Hero’s sister Honor, as well as the new High Priest, Mother Linton. Even Zurfina, who usually eschewed crowded gatherings, was present. It was she who had provided the magical megaphone which Governor Dechantagne Calliere now brought to her mouth. It was much smaller than similar devices Senta had seen used by ship crews and officials at cricket matches, only about eight inches long, but when she spoke into it, everyone in the area could clearly hear the governor’s voice.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” she said. “Welcome to the dedication of the Port Dechantagne train station. I have a few very brief remarks.”

“Oh boy, here we go,” said Graham. “Any time they say they’re going to be brief, they’re not.”

“They who?” wondered Senta.

“Speech-makers, that’s who.”

As far as the children were concerned, Graham’s suspicions were well-founded. Mrs. Dechantagne Calliere spoke for more than twenty minutes, recounting the history of the colony from the arrival of the battleship Minotaur, followed by the refugee ship Acorn, through the great battles with lizardmen and the destruction of the lizardman city-state to the southeast. She went on to the recent expansion of the town, and continued with a list of the businesses that would soon be opening in the colony and the benefits that each would receive from the arrival of the railroad line from St. Ulixes. By the time she was done, all four of the children were completely bored. They were certainly in no mood to listen to additional speeches, but more speeches seemed to be on the agenda, because no sooner had the Governor stopped, than she passed the megaphone to Mother Linton.

“This is bloody awful,” said Graham. “Let’s go do something else.”

Hertzel nodded his agreement, though whether he was agreeing that it was awful, or that he wanted to do something else, or both, was unclear.

“What do you want to do?” wondered Senta.

“Let’s go ride the dinosaurs,” suggested Graham.

Hertzel nodded again.

“I don’t think that’s safe,” said Hero.

“Of course it’s not safe,” replied Graham. “It wouldn’t be any fun if it was safe.”

“Alright,” said Senta. “But you boys have to help us down.”

The two boys helped Senta and Hero, both of whom were prevented from being truly arboreal by their large dresses, from branch to branch, finally lowering them to the ground, by their hands. A moment later the boys dropped down beside them.

“Are you coming?” Senta called up to the steel dragon.

“No, I’m going to listen to the speeches.”

Shaking their heads at the inscrutability of dragons, the four children tromped through the snow, walking between the trees of the forest lot so that they could come out on the street beyond the massive throng of people. They stepped out onto Bay Street about a mile north of the station and they followed it another mile till they reached the town square, which was as empty of human life as they had ever seen it. A single lizardman was crossing from east to west, carrying a little package.

Yuah Korlann woke so suddenly that for a moment she didn’t recognize where she was. She was of course, in her own bed, in her own small room, in the servant’s quarters of Number One, Avenue Dragon—in Brech… in Greater Brechalon. She threw her legs over the side of the bed and stuck them into her house shoes. What a queer dream that had been.

She had been walking down a road. It had been winter. Patches of snow lay here and there on the ground and some of the trees were bare, although there were many evergreens. She had been bundled up in a thick fur coat, far more luxurious and expensive than anything she would ever really be able to afford. She even had a fur muff. The most extraordinary thing though, wasn’t where she was, but who or more precisely what, she was with. It was an alligator, walking upright and wearing a yellow evening gown. As they walked along, they talked about the strangest things: the state of the Kingdom, literature, and religion.

Reaching for the glass of water on her nightstand, Yuah saw the open book lying there. She had been reading Night of the Snake by Ebrahim Detsky. That was the problem. She ought not to read books like that right before bed.

Getting up and throwing the housecoat over her nightdress, she shuffled out the door, down the hallway and into the servant’s hall. It was just light enough to see and she realized it was a quarter past four when the wall clock sounded four sharp chimes.

Padding her way on into the kitchen, she thought about having a cup of tea, but that would have meant starting a fire in the oven. Instead, she opened the door of the icebox and withdrew a bottle of milk—one of six, and got a glass from the cupboard. She poured her milk, put the bottle back, and carried the glass into the servant’s hall, where she sat down at the great table. As she drank her milk, she could hear the clock tick-tocking in the other room. It seemed to get louder and louder.

“You’re up early.” At the sound of the voice Yuah jumped, dribbling milk down her chin.

“Heavenly days! What’s wrong with you?” Both the exclamation and the question were out of her mouth before she turned around to find Terrence staring wryly at her.

“Good morning,” he said.

“Don’t look at me! I’m practically naked!”

“You’re kidding, right? You’ve got more clothes on than an Argrathian virgin.” He stepped past her and made his way into the kitchen.

“I’m sure I wouldn’t know,” said Yuah.

“About Argrathians or about virgins? Shouldn’t there be some cheese in the icebox? Oh, here we go. Now where’s the breadbox?”

“Why didn’t you just press your buzzer?”

“What?” He poked his head back in through the doorway.

“You have a buzzer in your room next to the bed. When you press it, whoever’s on duty, I think it’s Eunice, will bring you whatever you want.”

“When did I get one of those?”

“Your sister had it put in a few months ago.”

“How much do you suppose that cost? Oh, here’s the bread.”

“You would think that you would know. After all, it is your money she’s spending.”

There was a clattering of knives and plates, but Terrence said nothing else until he emerged back from the kitchen with a cheese sandwich on a plate in one hand and what was left of Yuah’s bottle of milk in the other.

“If I’m not worried about it, you shouldn’t be,” he said, sitting down.

He took a bite of sandwich and they were both quiet for a moment.

“That’s your problem, you know,” Yuah said quietly. “You never worry about anything.”

“You’re overstepping yourself, little maid. It’s not your job to worry about what my problem is.” He drained the milk bottle and set it down, hard, on the table.

“Somebody has to. You’re hiding out somewhere poisoning yourself, aren’t you?”

“Shut the hell up,” he said, getting to his feet.

“You’re not taking care of yourself and nobody else is either. I nursed you when you were little, but who’s looking after you now?”

“And just who did you think you were, when you were nursing me? My sister or my mother?”

Yuah flushed.

“I see,” Terrence stepped close and leaned down to look her in the face. “You thought you were my woman. Well, you’re not.”

Yuah felt tears flooding unbidden down her cheeks. She wanted to scream that she wouldn’t marry an idiot like him in a million years, but all that came out was “I hate you!”

“Yeah, welcome to the club.” He stood up and tossed the sandwich onto the table, where it fell apart and scattered.

Yuah jumped to her feet and rushed toward the doorway, pausing just long enough to yell once more at Terrence. She wanted to tell him that he hated himself so much that he would never be able to love anyone else, but all that came out was “You can’t have me.”

“Why would I want a skinny little bint like you?” shouted Terrence after her.

Avenue Boar ran west from the Great Plaza of Magnus to St. Admeta Park, which was a lovely square expanse of fruit trees and green swards open to the public only on holidays or special occasions. To the north of St. Admeta park was Palace Eidenia, home of the Princess Royal, though since the death of Princess Aarya some ten years prior it had been unoccupied by any member of the royal family. To the west of the park was Avenue Royal which led to Sinceree Palace, where King Tybalt III spent his days while in the city, and to the south was Crown Street which led to the Palace of Ansegdniss where the Parliament of the United Kingdom of Greater Brechalon met. Along either side of Crown Street were the official homes of the King’s ministers.   Number 3 was the home of the First Lord of the Treasury while number 4 was the home of the Second Lord of the Treasury and Chancellor of the Exchequer.   The Foreign Minister lived in number 7 and the Judge Advocate General lived in number 8, but the largest of the homes on Crown Street was number14: that of the Prime Minister.

Stepping out of her steam carriage, Iolanthe Dechantagne retrieved her parasol from behind the seat and opened it, even though it was a walk of only thirty feet to the door. She tucked a small envelope of papers under her arm. The parasol matched Iolanthe’s outfit, a grey pin-striped day dress framed with waves of antique lace. The single police constable stationed at the Prime Minister’s door nodded affably and made no mention of the fact that Iolanthe’s parking skills had resulted in both tires on the right side of her car being well up onto the sidewalk. He opened the door for her, and she stepped into the vast foyer of the official residence. A maid was waiting to take the parasol and lead her into the offices of the Prime Minister.

Iolanthe had not expected to be kept waiting and indeed she was not. The PM, The Right Honourable Ewart Primula stood up from behind a massive oak desk that had been fashioned from the timbers of the ancient battleship H.M.S.Wyvern. He was a tall, balding man with a thick middle and rather loose jowls that tightened up when he smiled.

“Lady Dechantagne,” he said, hurrying around, but waiting for her to shake his hand.

Iolanthe pursed her lips. “Prime Minister, you know that title is not appropriate.”

“Well, it should be,” the PM replied. “It is most unfair that you should suffer because of… well, because of your father. If it were up to me, your title would be restored and your brother would be viscount.”

“We both know it’s not up to you, and the one man that it is up to is not likely to share your inclination.”

“Let’s not speak of it then,” said Primula, gesturing toward a comfortable antique chair. As Iolanthe took it, he walked back around the desk and sat down. “What can I do for you today?”

“As you already alluded to, my once historic and distinguished family is not quite what it was.” Iolanthe licked her lips. “No viscounts in the house at present, I’m afraid. My two brothers and I could of course live comfortably for the rest of our lives on our household income, but we have bigger plans. We are going to bring the greatness back to our name.”

The Prime Minister nodded.

“Our plan is not just to help ourselves though,” she continued. “Freedonia and Mirsanna are building colonies in distant lands and are becoming wealthy as a result. Greater Brechalon must do the same thing. We propose to build a Brech colony, assuming a royal charter is available”

“In Birmisia,” the PM said, nodding.

“We have as yet not decided. Birmisia is one possibility. Cartonia is another.”

“I think you have settled on Birmisia. You went to a great deal of trouble to have your brother stationed there.”

“Why Prime Minister,” said Iolanthe, with a thin smile. “I didn’t know that we warranted such attention.”

“If anything, I believe I have not been paying enough attention. You are quite a remarkable person, particularly for a woman.”

“And you are quite a perceptive person, Prime Minister, for a man.”

Primula chuckled. “So what is it that I can do to facilitate this expansion of our empire?”

“First of all,” said Iolanthe. “There is the question of the aforementioned charter.”

“I see no undue complications there.”

“Then there is the question of transportation.”

The Prime Minister looked puzzled. “You will charter ships, yes?”

“I will arrange for a number of ships to deliver both settlers, and equipment and supplies. But in order to assure the safe transit of the first settlers and to guarantee the establishment of the colony, I would like the use of a Royal Navy ship, preferably a battleship, along with its crew, of course.”

“Of course,” Primula laughed. “You know you just can’t charter a battleship like it was a yacht for the Thiss Regatta.”

“Talking of which, congratulations on your victory yesterday.”

“Thank you. The regatta is one of the few pleasures I still allow myself.”

Iolanthe leaned forward, her hand reaching out with a heretofore unnoticed small envelope, which she gave to the Prime Minister. He accepted it, opened it, and unfolded the document inside.

“Sweet mother of Kafira,” he gasped, his face turning white. “Where did you get this? No. I don’t want to know. Does anyone else know about this?”

“No.”

“But they will if I don’t accede to your demands?”

“Don’t be silly, Prime Minister.” Iolanthe leaned back, folding her hands in her lap and smiled. “This is the original. There are no facsimiles. This is a gift.”

Ewart Primula jumped up from his seat and pulled aside a large portrait of His Majesty on the wall behind him. He quickly turned the combination on the safe, which was revealed, and in a moment he had placed the paper and the envelope inside, closed and locked the safe, and replaced the stern portrait of the King. Turning around, his face took on a wary look, as if he only just realized that there was a tiger seated across the desk from him.

“I don’t know what to say,” he said slowly.

“Don’t mention it, Prime Minister,” Iolanthe smiled. This did nothing to drive the image of a tiger from his mind. Neither did her next words. “I consider it my duty, one I can perform again. There are a great many similar documents drifting about, you know.”

The PM dropped heavily into his chair.

“As I understand it,” he said with a sigh. “There are two battleships coming in for extensive refit in the next few months—the Minotaur and the Indefatigable, if I’m not mistaken. One of them could be held until you are ready. It is of course, in the best interest of the empire to establish this colony.”

“Oh, indeed it is,” replied Iolanthe.

“Is there anything else?”

“Oh, export papers and manifest waivers, and things of that sort; nothing we need to discuss face to face.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to give you a government wizard?” More than a hint of sarcasm was present in these words, but Miss Dechantagne appeared not to notice.

“No. When the time comes, we will hire our own spellcasters—ones we can trust.”

She stood up and the Prime Minister walked around the desk to take her hand, though he seemed far less enthusiastic about it than he had on her arrival.

“You can’t trust any of them,” he said.

“It is not a question of whom one may trust, Prime Minister,” said Iolanthe. “It is a question of how far. I will trust them precisely as much as I trust anyone else.”