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

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

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

“What are you guys doing here?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes. I did.”

“You’re Gyula. You were a line cook.”

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

“I’m Senta.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

It certainly didn’t feel like his house. Technically it was, even though it didn’t feel like it. Under Brech law, all of a woman’s possessions belonged to her husband. And Egeria had a great many possessions. The table that Zeah was sitting at, made of sturdy cherry wood brought all the way from Mirsanna and inlayed with jade and mother of pearl probably cost more than he earned in a year—than he had ever earned, in his best year. The teacup in his hand probably cost more than the table—at least the set that the teacup had come from. Another man might have been bothered by this feeling that he was living in someone else’s house, or felt a certain unease at owning so many things that didn’t feel like his own. Not Zeah. He had spent his entire life living in a home that didn’t belong to him, and even when he eventually had his own home, he had only lived there a week or two before he moved back out and began living out of a small room behind his office.

“What are you thinking about, Dearest?” Egeria had worked very hard to come up with just the right endearment to use after their marriage and “dearest” was apparently her choice. It seemed as though she used it every third sentence.

“I was just admiring this cup.”

“It’s from the Daliath Islands. They came overland to Brech, and then I had them shipped here.”

“Is that so?” said Zeah, taking a little more interest in the cup than he originally had. He only had a vague notion of where the Daliath Islands were—somewhere in southeast Sumir.

“It’s iron glaze over a colorless pigment. Tenth century.”

Zeah started and almost dropped the cup. He had to revise his estimate. The single cup cost more than he had made in his entire life. He looked around the table. There were one, two, three, four cups here, a saucer for each cup and a teapot. No wonder the teapot was so oddly shaped. That must have been the style nine hundred years ago.

“Careful Dearest, you don’t want hot tea spilled in your lap.”

“Yes, I mean no.”

Putting his teacup down, Zeah took a bite of toast. It was at least possible to get one’s mind around toast. A loaf of bread was 20P, an exorbitant amount if one were buying bread in Brech, but here in Birmisia, it was about half of what people had paid for bread only two years ago. Toast with a bit of honey; that was all a man really needed. What did a man need with thousand year old teacups? He ate the last bit of toast and washed it down with tea from his immoderate teacup.

Egeria stood up from the table and gathered the used dishes together. She had only just collected them, when Chunny, her lizzie servant, appeared at her side to take them from her. She swept back around the table and sat down opposite her new husband. Zeah could have forgotten all about cups and toast and spent the entire day looking at her. She was still in her dressing gown, layer upon layer of pink Mirsannan silk, which only hinted at the petite form beneath. Egeria’s long red hair hung loosely over her shoulders, framing her pretty face. Sparkling green eyes looked back at him.

“Seeing you like that makes me want to stay home.”

“You don’t have to go to the office. You could stay home with me. We could eat cake in bed and make love all day.”

Zeah felt the heat rise up into his face. “We could eat cake all day, but I don’t…”

“Grandpa! Grandpa!”

Shouts and the sounds of stampeding shoes on the fine wood flooring announced the arrival of Zeah’s grandchildren, and they piled on top of him before he had a chance to even turn around. Augie, a rough and tumble boy, who was proud to say he was “over four and a half”, grabbed Zeah around the neck, while his little sister Terra, a thin and rather pale three and a half year-old in a yellow dress, was satisfied with wrestling her grandfather’s knee into submission. When Zeah did manage to turn his head, he saw his grandchildren’s cousin Iolana standing demurely by the door. He held out an arm and she raced forward, giving him a big hug. Though her dress matched that of her young cousin, the tall and thin eight year old stood out, with her long, golden hair.

He expected to see his daughter with the children, but instead Chunny ushered Governor Iolanthe Staff into the room. She looked as striking as ever in a grey pin-striped dress, a very masculine-looking tie, and black boater. She smiled at the Korlanns. She seemed to be smiling a great deal lately, but to Zeah’s mind, it just never looked quite right on her. It was like painting a rainbow on the prow of a battleship.

“Good morning Mr. and Mrs. Korlann,” she said, reminding them that it was the first time she had seen them since the wedding.

“Good morning Iolanthe,” said Egeria, getting up and giving Mrs. Staff a hug.

This allowed Zeah to simply say “Good morning,” and not have to say “Good morning Iolanthe” which he found excruciatingly painful to do.

Zeah stood up, Augie still wrapped around his neck, Iolana wrapped around his waist, and Terra wrapped around his knee. He reached down and scooped the smallest child up under his left arm and he guided the oldest with his right hand behind her head. He took two steps forward and doubled over, letting the middle child’s feet hit the floor.

“You must let go of Grandpa, children,” he said. “He’s way too old for this.”

“Come with me and I’ll get you a biscuit,” said Egeria.

Only Terra yelled “Yay!” but all three followed her into the kitchen.

“My daughter’s not with you?” he asked.

“Obviously,” replied Iolanthe. “I don’t know where she is actually. Cissy had the children dressed, so I thought I would bring them along to my office. They can play in the garden.”

“I’m sure Egeria wouldn’t mind letting them stay here.”

“It didn’t take you long to start making her decisions for her.”

It certainly didn’t feel like his house. Technically it was, even though it didn’t feel like it. Under Brech law, all of a woman’s possessions belonged to her husband. And Egeria had a great many possessions. The table that Zeah was sitting at, made of sturdy cherry wood brought all the way from Mirsanna and inlayed with jade and mother of pearl probably cost more than he earned in a year—than he had ever earned, in his best year. The teacup in his hand probably cost more than the table—at least the set that the teacup had come from. Another man might have been bothered by this feeling that he was living in someone else’s house, or felt a certain unease at owning so many things that didn’t feel like his own. Not Zeah. He had spent his entire life living in a home that didn’t belong to him, and even when he eventually had his own home, he had only lived there a week or two before he moved back out and began living out of a small room behind his office.

“What are you thinking about, Dearest?” Egeria had worked very hard to come up with just the right endearment to use after their marriage and “dearest” was apparently her choice. It seemed as though she used it every third sentence.

“I was just admiring this cup.”

“It’s from the Daliath Islands. They came overland to Brech, and then I had them shipped here.”

“Is that so?” said Zeah, taking a little more interest in the cup than he originally had. He only had a vague notion of where the Daliath Islands were—somewhere in southeast Sumir.

“It’s iron glaze over a colorless pigment. Tenth century.”

Zeah started and almost dropped the cup. He had to revise his estimate. The single cup cost more than he had made in his entire life. He looked around the table. There were one, two, three, four cups here, a saucer for each cup and a teapot. No wonder the teapot was so oddly shaped. That must have been the style nine hundred years ago.

“Careful Dearest, you don’t want hot tea spilled in your lap.”

“Yes, I mean no.”

Putting his teacup down, Zeah took a bite of toast. It was at least possible to get one’s mind around toast. A loaf of bread was 20P, an exorbitant amount if one were buying bread in Brech, but here in Birmisia, it was about half of what people had paid for bread only two years ago. Toast with a bit of honey; that was all a man really needed. What did a man need with thousand year old teacups? He ate the last bit of toast and washed it down with tea from his immoderate teacup.

Egeria stood up from the table and gathered the used dishes together. She had only just collected them, when Chunny, her lizzie servant, appeared at her side to take them from her. She swept back around the table and sat down opposite her new husband. Zeah could have forgotten all about cups and toast and spent the entire day looking at her. She was still in her dressing gown, layer upon layer of pink Mirsannan silk, which only hinted at the petite form beneath. Egeria’s long red hair hung loosely over her shoulders, framing her pretty face. Sparkling green eyes looked back at him.

“Seeing you like that makes me want to stay home.”

“You don’t have to go to the office. You could stay home with me. We could eat cake in bed and make love all day.”

Zeah felt the heat rise up into his face. “We could eat cake all day, but I don’t…”

“Grandpa! Grandpa!”

Shouts and the sounds of stampeding shoes on the fine wood flooring announced the arrival of Zeah’s grandchildren, and they piled on top of him before he had a chance to even turn around. Augie, a rough and tumble boy, who was proud to say he was “over four and a half”, grabbed Zeah around the neck, while his little sister Terra, a thin and rather pale three and a half year-old in a yellow dress, was satisfied with wrestling her grandfather’s knee into submission. When Zeah did manage to turn his head, he saw his grandchildren’s cousin Iolana standing demurely by the door. He held out an arm and she raced forward, giving him a big hug. Though her dress matched that of her young cousin, the tall and thin eight year old stood out, with her long, golden hair.

He expected to see his daughter with the children, but instead Chunny ushered Governor Iolanthe Staff into the room. She looked as striking as ever in a grey pin-striped dress, a very masculine-looking tie, and black boater. She smiled at the Korlanns. She seemed to be smiling a great deal lately, but to Zeah’s mind, it just never looked quite right on her. It was like painting a rainbow on the prow of a battleship.

“Good morning Mr. and Mrs. Korlann,” she said, reminding them that it was the first time she had seen them since the wedding.

“Good morning Iolanthe,” said Egeria, getting up and giving Mrs. Staff a hug.

This allowed Zeah to simply say “Good morning,” and not have to say “Good morning Iolanthe” which he found excruciatingly painful to do.

Zeah stood up, Augie still wrapped around his neck, Iolana wrapped around his waist, and Terra wrapped around his knee. He reached down and scooped the smallest child up under his left arm and he guided the oldest with his right hand behind her head. He took two steps forward and doubled over, letting the middle child’s feet hit the floor.

“You must let go of Grandpa, children,” he said. “He’s way too old for this.”

“Come with me and I’ll get you a biscuit,” said Egeria.

Only Terra yelled “Yay!” but all three followed her into the kitchen.

“My daughter’s not with you?” he asked.

“Obviously,” replied Iolanthe. “I don’t know where she is actually. Cissy had the children dressed, so I thought I would bring them along to my office. They can play in the garden.”

“I’m sure Egeria wouldn’t mind letting them stay here.”

“It didn’t take you long to start making her decisions for her.”

The train station, originally a wooden structure smaller than most homes, had been partially rebuilt of stone and marble. It was in fact, well into a program of construction that would require the better part of a decade. That was not to say that the station was not in service. Trains rolled in from distant St. Ulixes in Mallontah on an average, three times a day. Every other day, a coal train arrived from the south. Two trains were in station at the present time. One was sitting idle and would leave for Mallontah later that day. The other, the B-412, had arrived from St. Ulixes within the last half hour and its engine was still emitting steam from its boiler.

More than one hundred passengers had arrived on the B-412 and most of them were still at the station, collecting their luggage and waiting for friends and relatives to meet them, or hugging and kissing those friends and relatives who had already arrived. Graham Dokkins was just swinging off the steps of the passenger car, with a duffle bag over his shoulder.   A stocky young man of seventeen, a late growth spurt had brought him up to his full five foot eleven. He wore a grey wool suit straight from Greater Brechalon, but his bowler hat was all Birmisia, with its hatband made of velociraptor skin. Not what most would call handsome, he had a thick shock of brown hair and laughing eyes.

“You look quite dapper in that suit,” said Senta.

Graham smiled, tossed his bag on the cement platform, and stepped over to embrace her.   As she pressed her cheek to his, Senta closed her eyes and felt the warmth of his skin. After a moment, he took her by the shoulders and held her back at arm’s length, looking questioningly into her face.

“You’ve been gone too long.” She answered his unasked question.

“It’s nice to be missed.”

“I was at the docks. I thought you’d come by ship.”

“I could have, but I would have been another three days getting home. The new cranes are coming on the Gabrielle.”

“It’s good that you had the option. I suppose that comes from being an important muckey-muck.”

“Assistant Port Manager, at your service.” Graham doffed his hat and bowed at the waist.

“Do you want to go to the Café for tea?”

“Ma will kill me if I don’t go straight home. Walk with me?”

Senta nodded.

Graham picked his duffle back up and threw it over his shoulder. He held out his elbow and Senta took it as they walked through the half constructed station, down the stone steps in front, and down the brick-lined street to the trolley stop. The southbound trolley arrived only seconds after they did. It was pulled by a triceratops, but not Harriet. Senta didn’t recognize the animal, but Graham did. He knew all the city’s dinosaurs.

“Hello Meg,” he said, slapping the beast on its right hind leg before climbing into the trolley cab.

“Hey Graham,” said the driver.

“Hey Gideon.”

Gideon gave Senta a sidelong glance but didn’t meet her eyes. Graham pulled two pfennigs from his pocket and dropped them into the glass box next to the driver’s station before leading Senta by the hand to the middle seats and sitting down. After Meg had been fed, and with a clang of the bell, the vehicle began rolling down the grass pathway in the center of Terrence Dechantagne Boulevard. The triceratops let loose of five or six gallons of dung, which dropped onto the tracks beneath her tail, and which the trolley subsequently ran over.

“They have steam-powered trolleys in St. Ulixes now,” said Graham.

“Were they nice?”

“Oh, heck no. Too much smoke and soot everywhere.”

“Not as many dung pies though?”

“That’s good fertilizer. I always said it was a shame to let the lizzies have all of that. We should keep some of it for our own gardens.”

“Don’t you have enough fertilizer already?”

“I meant all of us—all the soft-skins.”

“How did you find the lizzies in Mallontah?” she asked, remembering her own visit years before.

“They’re not really lizzies at all, are they? Different animal altogether. They call them trogs.”

“That’s right,” remembered Senta.

The trolley stopped four times on the main boulevard before it turned east onto Whipple Avenue. The second stop after the turn was Graham’s, and both he and Senta stepped out. Two years before, the Dokkins family, reveling in new wealth, had purchased a family estate in what seemed at the time, a remote location. The city had quickly expanded though to gobble it up. Had it been in Greater Brechalon, the two-story house would have been the home of some gentry, and indeed though from common enough stock, here in Birmisia, that was just how the Dokkins family was thought of. An unusually high wrought iron fence surrounded the estate, which encompassed some twenty acres. Graham opened the gate and allowed Senta to enter before him, then closed it after them. Almost immediately the ground began to tremble.

The rumbling grew stronger and stronger and bursting from behind a stand of bushes, a monster raced toward them. The creature was an iguanodon, almost thirty feet long and weighing more than three tons. Roughly the same size as Harriet and Meg, it was much sleeker than a triceratops and ran on its hind feet, though it remained bent over like a quadruped. It trumpeted loudly as it ran at the two humans.

“Whoa, Stinky!” shouted Graham. “Whoa!”

The Church of the Apostles was a stately stone structure—no less imposing for the fact that it wasn’t yet complete. On the first day of Septurary 1907, the church was filled to overflowing as the citizens of Port Dechantagne, dressed in their finest, celebrated a wedding that was the social event of the season. Mother Linton, the High Priest of Kafira in Birmisia stood at the pulpit, unwilling to relinquish her position to anyone. Behind her and to her right however, owing to the era of tolerance now in full flower, was the Zaeri Imam Mr. Francis Clipers. The wedding party members were arrayed across the chancel. The matron of honor, Mrs. Yuah Dechantagne, and the four bridesmaids Miss Hero Hertling, Miss Gabrielle Bassett, Miss Dutty Speel, and Miss Laila Melroy wore shimmering gowns of teal trimmed with white lace. The groomsmen, Mr. Paxton Brown, Mr. Leopold Ghent, Mr. Isaak Wissinger, and Mr. Efrain Rochambeau were all dressed in black tails, though the Best Man Inspector Saba Colbshallow wore his blue police uniform. In the center of the group was the groom. Zeah Korlann unlike the building around him, could not be described as stately, though even in his days as a household servant, he had been dignified. After nine years as mayor of Port Dechantagne, he had gained a kind of gravitas. As the string quartet struck the first chords of Kafira’s Marriage he, like everyone else in the church, turned his attention to the back of the aisle where the bride appeared.

No cloud could have aspired to the whiteness of Egeria Lusk’s wedding gown. The bodice was tight but simple and it blossomed out at the waist to a truly remarkable expanse at the hemline, the train following twenty feet behind her. Though the dress was strapless and shoulderless, it had long, gauzy sleeves, split on the outside and held together by a series of small white bows. She defied convention by not wearing a veil, but had a mass of tiny white flowers arranged within her brilliant red hair, which was swept up into a complex Mirsannan twist. She slowly walked up the center aisle, unattended, in time to the music, arriving before the alter to join her beaming bridegroom. Mother Linton began the litany.

Senta Bly sat in the third row on the groom’s side. She wore a dress of deep purple silk, gathered together in bunches so that if fell in pleats. With thin straps over bare shoulders and no sleeves, it showed off her tall, lithe body to best advantage. It was completely unadorned with brocade, beading, or fringe and didn’t even have a bow over the bustle, though none could tell that with her seated. No one else sat on the pew with her despite the fact that every other seat in the building was taken, and more than sixty people stood across the narthex. It might have been that her disappointment at not being invited as part of the wedding party caused an unpleasant expression to sit upon her countenance, or it might have been something else entirely.

As Mother Linton approached the portion of the service in which she explained the duties of a husband and wife, Hero turned around and waved two gloved fingers discreetly to Senta, who returned the gesture. She smiled, but her hurt feelings didn’t go away. They had hung on for six weeks now. She had known Egeria Lusk for more than eight years. They got on well too. She was closer to her than Gabrielle Bassett or that Speel girl, or even Hero. Senta was a good friend of Mayor Korlann too. It had to be the mayor’s daughter Mrs. Dechantagne. The woman had hardly spoken to Senta in five years, and then only a few terse words.   This was all the more strange since they had been quite friendly before. Senta didn’t know precisely what the problem was; only that it had something to do with Mrs. Dechantagne’s husband Terrence, who had been killed in a lizzie attack. Occupied with such thoughts, Senta realized that she had lost track of the ceremony, when the priest began asking the bride and groom if they would each take the other.

The entire congregation seemed to hold their breath when Mayor Korlann was asked if he took “this woman”. It was not as if he had bolted from the alter on some previous occasion, but the wedding had been postponed at least twice, and at more than eight years, this was one of the longer engagements. The tall grey-haired gentleman pulled through however with a hearty “I will,” and as the string quartet began the Ode to Celebration, the couple moved quickly down the aisle and out of the church. Forty or fifty pairs of old shoes were tossed into the aisle as they passed for good luck. The congregation all stood, cheering and applauding.

Senta stood too, though she didn’t rush to follow the newlyweds out, as did much of the congregation. She gazed around at the splendor of the new religious center of the colony. It was her first time visiting. It was even larger than the Great Church of the Holy Savior in Brech. Others were looking at the ornately carved trim, the stained-glass windows, and the marble statuary too, but far more were observing Senta. At six feet tall, she was literally head and shoulders above every other woman there and many of the men. Her long blond hair framed an oval face with distinctive cheekbones, large expressive eyes, a broad mouth with voluptuous lips, and a strong chin. She would never have been called pretty; rather she was beautiful in the classical sense of the word, like the women that artists created to portray personifications of freedom or grace or nobility.

Hero bounced toward her. Though the two of them had been nearly the same height when they were twelve years old, Hero had stopped growing six inches before Senta had. With incredibly thick, naturally curly, long black hair and doe eyes, Hero had more than her fair share of admirers. She was so popular in fact that several young men sidled up to her even here. As Senta noticed them, they took a step back in unison.

“Wasn’t that a lovely ceremony?” asked Hero.

“It seemed very nice from down here.”

“Don’t be cross. Benny and Shemar both invited us to ride in their steam carriages to the reception. Who do you want to go with?”

Senta rolled her eyes. “Quite frankly I’d rather take the trolley.”

“Are you sure? Benny’s car is brand new and candy apple red.”

Senta looked over Hero’s shoulder at Benny Markham, who was puffing himself up with pride. She liked Benny, Shemar too for that matter, but she wasn’t too fond of steam carriages.

“Do as you wish. I’m taking the trolley.”