The author reads from For King and Country, book 10 in the series The Sorceress and the Dragon.
Book Reading: For King and Country
Reply
Category Archives: Excerpt
Brechalon – Chapter 4 Excerpt
It had been Pentuary too when it happened, sixteen years before. Iolanthe, Augie, Yuah, and Dorah were sitting in a circle on the floor around Master Akalos, who was making them recite the names of the books in the Modest Scriptures. That two of them were the children of aristocrats and two were the children of servants made no difference to Master Akalos. That three of them were Kafirites and one of them was a Zaeri did, and the tutor gained a perverse delight in drilling them on the set of scriptures that the Zaeri did not believe in. Terrence, who was watching from beyond the door, could see the queer laughter hiding behind the man’s eyes. Both twelve-year-olds, Terrence and Enoch, had finished their lessons for the day. Enoch had hurried off to his chores in the stable, while Terrence had made himself a sandwich.
He leaned against the doorframe and took a bite. From this location he could see both the other children at their studies through the door and the carriage sitting in front of the house through the open window. His mother’s friend, Simon Mudgett, was visiting again. His carriage was out front, the horses still harnessed. He squeezed the last two or three bites together into his mouth.
“Julien, Wind, March, Magic, Raina, Egeria, Dallarians, Zaeri…” the four children recited, almost together. Iolanthe missed Raina and went right from Magic to Egeria. Yuah was determined to recite the loudest. Augie was moving his mouth without actually saying anything at all. All of them were casting envious glances at the scant breeze blowing in through the window.
Then Terrence saw a movement out of the corner of his eye. It was his father down the hallway. Quickly heading down the hall after him, Terrence saw the shotgun in his father’s hand. This was a great opportunity. Terrence liked shooting as much as any boy. But his father was going the wrong way. He was headed up the stairs. Had he already been shooting? Was he going to clean his shotgun now?
Terrence followed, now just a few feet behind his father, and as the elder Dechantagne opened the door to his wife’s bedroom, Terrence followed right on in. Then it was as if everything was in slow motion. Terrence’s mother was in bed, the bedclothes covering only the bottom half of her naked body. Next to her was Simon Mudgett.
With agonizing slowness, Lucius Dechantagne raised the shotgun to his shoulder and fired. A red spray blossomed from the bare chest of Iphigenia Dechantagne, covering the bed in blood. A second shotgun blast hit the bed just to her left, but Mudgett was already on the floor running for the window. The snap of the shotgun being opened was drowned out by the crash as he broke the glass from the already open pane, crashing through and falling naked and bloodied from the sloped roof to the grounds below. Terrence’s father snapped the weapon shut again, having replaced the two shells. He walked to the window, only to find nothing to shoot at. He turned around to find his wife, her mouth and eyes wide open as she gurgled a few last dying breaths and his twelve year old son, his face gone white, staring at each other. He shot his wife once more in the chest, turned and gave the boy a long look, and then turned back and shot her in the head, leaving a corpse that no longer at all resembled a living human being.
Brechalon – Chapter 3 Excerpt
Iolanthe Dechantagne sat in her parlor and sipped her tea. Across the table her guest mirrored her activity. He was a tall sandy-haired man with deep-set, intelligent, blue eyes. His pin-striped suit was carefully tailored and his paper collar was tight around his neck. As he sipped his tea, he nodded appreciatively.
“Very nice. An Enclepian blend, if I’m not mistaken.”
“You are quite right, Professor Calliere,” said Iolanthe, her aquamarine eyes sparkling. “Not many people can pick it out so easily.”
“Well, I’ve made more than a few trips to Nutooka. Collecting specimens for the university, you know.”
“How is your work going?” Iolanthe didn’t need to feign interest. She found all knowledge interesting and it usually proved valuable as well.
“Oh, zoology is nothing but a hobby of mine.” Professor Calliere set down his teacup and leaned forward. “Not that I haven’t made a few interesting discoveries. But no, my real work is in the mechanical engineering lab. I just filed a patent on a very important invention and I expect to be able to live quite comfortably off the proceeds for the rest of my life.”
“You won’t stop your work?” asked Iolanthe with one arched brow.
“Of course not, but this will allow me to concentrate on my next project without having to worry about day to day finances. Money is so… bourgeois.”
“Careful now Mr. Calliere. People will think you are a socialist.”
He chuckled. “Of course not. I just prefer to have somebody else deal with the tiresomeness of money.”
“So what was this very important invention?”
“Brakes. Brakes for trains.”
“Don’t trains already have brakes?” wondered Iolanthe. “It seems that all the trains I’ve ridden on did eventually stop.”
“Yes, but the old brakes must be worked manually. My brakes are pneumatic, which is to say, they work on air power. They will be much safer and will allow trains to operate with a single brakeman instead of several. Best of all, engineers won’t have to start stopping so soon, so travel speeds will actually increase.”
“Professor Calliere, you amaze me. Brakes that actually make a train travel faster?” Iolanthe set down her own teacup and reached for a tiny cress sandwich. “Try one of these.”
“My next project is far more advanced,” Calliere paused to bite into the sandwich. “Mechanically speaking, I mean. I already have my assistant Mr. Murty doing the groundwork.”
“Oh? And just what is it?”
“It’s a calculating machine. It’s actually an expansion of a device I built several years ago. This one will be far more complex.”
“What exactly do you mean, ‘a calculating machine’?” asked Iolanthe.
“Just that. It will be a machine, steam powered of course, which adds and subtracts, multiplies and divides large numbers, both large in the sense of being very big numbers and large in the sense of there being a great many of them. It will calculate and it will do it hundreds of times faster than a human being. It will be a marvelous test of mechanics.”
“It will be more than a mechanical test,” said Iolanthe. “I can imagine that there will be quite a few applications for such a device.”’
“Really? Like what?”
“Well for one thing, you could calculate artillery trajectories, taking into account force and angle and such.”
“My dear Miss Dechantagne, I had no idea you were so well versed in the art of artillery.”
“My brother is an artillery officer.”
“Indeed. And may I say how attractive it is to see a woman who has such a keen intellect beyond the usual fields of art, music, and literature.”
“You may,” said Iolanthe.
Calliere looked toward the ceiling and stroked his chin thoughtfully.
“Yes. Charts. Tables. Artillery. Latitude and longitude. Train schedules. Surveying. Yes, this bears thinking about. I need someone to create a mechanical language. I may know just the person…”
“Professor?”
“Hmm? Yes?”
“This machine will be quite expensive, will it not?”
“I will need a bit of capital for the work. I was going to go to the University for the funds.”
“No need.” Iolanthe smiled and poured more tea into the man’s cup. “I will finance it for you.”
Brechalon – Chapter 2 Excerpt
Schwarztogrube sat atop the Isle of Winds, situated almost exactly in the center of the channel between Brechalon and Freedonia. Its massive stone walls rising high above jagged cliffs were not broken by a single door. The few windows visible were all far too small for anything approaching the size of a human being to pass through. The only entrance was through a secret passage at the water’s edge: gated, guarded, and locked. The towers rising up into the sky were topped with pointed minarets allowing no entrance from the air. The waters around the tiny island were constantly patrolled by Brech warships. Inside, Schwarztogrube was the harshest, ugliest, and most formidable prison in the world, yet few even knew of its existence.
Nils Chaplin had been a guard at Schwarztogrube for almost a whole week before he saw a prisoner. That wasn’t so surprising, considering the guards outnumbered them at least ten to one. An entire wing was devoted to incarcerating only about two dozen men. The prisoners carried out their lives, such as they were, never leaving their cells, but supplied with food and a few simple comforts such as a pillow, a blanket, or a book. None of them looked particularly dangerous, and they weren’t. At least they weren’t while they were here. Schwarztogrube was a magic prison. A prison set aside for wizards and sorcerers—the only place in the world where magic would not work.
It was his third week and Chapman was looking forward to a week off back in Brechalon, spending his paycheck, eating fish and chips, and enjoying life outside of massive stone bocks, when another guard, Karl Drury, at last led him to the north wing. Chapman didn’t like Drury. He told disgusting jokes to the other guards; viciously beat the prisoners, and when he could get away with it, he buggered the boys working in the kitchen or at the dock. He also stank. But as Chapman followed Drury though the deathly cold stone walls, he wasn’t thinking about the other guard’s shortcomings. He was wondering at the empty cells that they passed. Finally they came to the one door that was locked shut.
“Here we be,” said Drury. “That there’s the only one in the entire wing.”
“Special, huh?”
“Take a butchers.”
Chapman pressed his face against the small barred window. Most of the room beyond was dark, illuminated only by a square of light carried in from a four by four inch window high up on the far wall. The room had no pillows or blankets as did the rooms in the south wing. There was no bed. The only thing in the cell approaching furniture was a piss pot. Curled up in a fetal position against the far wall was a human being. The dirty ragged clothing and matted hair of unknown color gave no hint to the identity of the figure.
“Who is he?” wondered Chapman.
“That’s not a he. That’s a she. And that’s the most dangerous creature in the world, that.”
“Really?”
“That’s what they say. So dangerous, we’re not even ‘sposed to be here. Ain’t that right, eighty-nine?” he called to the prisoner. She didn’t stir. “Lucky for us the warden’s gone to the mainland, eh?” Drury pulled out a large key and placed it in the massive lock on the door.
“Maybe we shouldn’t ought to do this,” said Chapman.
Drury paid no attention. He opened the door and swaggered into the cell. The woman curled up against the wall didn’t move. When Drury had crossed the room to her, he nudged her with the toe of his boot.
“Get up, eighty-nine.” She remained still.
The sadistic guard grabbed a handful of the prisoner’s dirty, matted hair and dragged her to her feet. Chapman could finally make out that she was a woman. She was thin. She looked half starved, but he could still tell that she had once had quite a figure. Drury held her up by her hair, presenting her for view as if she were a freshly caught trout.
Suddenly the woman came to life, kicking the guard in the shins. Drury let go of her hair and knocked her to the ground with a back-hand slap. She looked up at him and even across the poorly-lit cell, Chapman could see the hatred in her cold grey eyes. She pointed her hand and spat words that might have been a curse in some ancient, unknown language.
“Uastium premba uuthanum tachthna paj tortestos—duuth.”
Even here in Schwarztogrube, where no magic in the world would work, Chapman could have sworn that he felt a tingle in the air. Nothing else happened though. Drury kicked her in the face, knocking her onto her back. He kicked her again and again. And again. Finally he grabbed her once more by the hair and lifted her to her feet. With his other hand, he began unfastening his trousers. Chapman turned and left. He didn’t need to see this.
Brechalon – Chapter 1 Excerpt
There was no doubt about it. Brech was the greatest city in the world. Not best—but the greatest. It was the capital of the United Kingdom of Greater Brechalon and had been the center of Brech culture for almost two thousand years. Fifteen centuries ago it had been the largest city in the world and it still was. With a population of more than four million, it dwarfed Natine, Bangdorf, Szague, Perfico and the other capital cities on the continent of Sumir. The Great City, as most Brechs called their home, was filled with majestic buildings and monuments, magnificent parks, and spacious plazas. But beyond these were seemingly endless reaches of tenement apartment buildings, slapped up with none of the forethought and planning of the ancient structures of which the citizens were so proud. Though the vast system of horse-drawn trolleys and hansom cabs reminded one of the past, the oily black telegraph poles and the chugging, honking steam-powered carriages gave voice to a future bearing down at record speed.
Nothing about the Great City was lost on Captain Terrence Dechantagne. He had been back in the city for exactly one hour and fifteen minutes, but it seemed as if he had never left. As he strode down Avenue Phoenix, he looked at the shops on either side of the street, occupying the ground floor of buildings that had been old when his great-grandfather had been born. The cobblestone streets were filled with vehicles. Shiny new steam carriages swerved to avoid running over an old man pulling a donkey heavily laden with crates of produce. The trolley’s bell reminding everyone else on the street that, by law, it had the right of way, even though the massive horse pulling it was far slower than the newest marvels of technology. Turning sharply to his left, Terrence crossed the road dodging neatly between a horse-drawn carriage and one of the steam-powered variety, and entered one of the storefronts—Breeding Booksellers.
The interior of the bookseller’s shop was dark and crowded and it smelled of old leather, old paper, and old glue. Terrence took a slow, deep breath, enjoying the fragrance the way some people might enjoy the scent of a rose. An old bespectacled man lifted his head from behind a massive volume of Dodson. He raised his eyebrows when he saw Terrence’s blue and khaki cavalry uniform. Terrence removed his slouch hat and fished his wallet from an interior vest pocket of his tunic.
“What can I do for you, sir?” asked the bookseller.
“Revenge,” said Terrence without smiling.
A momentary look of panic crossed the older man’s face, but then his eyes widened.
“Garstone?”
Terrence nodded.
“Yes, I have several copies behind the counter. Not the type of thing I’d expect an army officer to be reading.”
“Don’t judge a book by its cover,” said Terrence. “One would think that a bookseller would know that.”
“Indeed.” The man paused and then pulled out several different editions of the infamous work of Kazia Garstone. He looked up to study his customer’s face. “So many people are interested in this one, either for its politics or its, um… indecencies.”
“You don’t have a first edition?” asked Terrence, his face giving nothing away.
“Oh, I do. But I’m afraid it’s not inexpensive.” Opening a small cupboard behind him, the bookseller pulled out a book wrapped in linen and placed it on the counter. With great care he unwrapped the cloth exposing a green leather-bound book with gold leaf edging. “Two hundred fifty marks.”
“I wonder what Garstone would say about such profiteering,” said Terrence opening his wallet and pulling out five crisp banknotes that together equaled the stated amount.
“I don’t think she would mind. You know, if you’re interested, I might have a lead on a signed first edition of Steam.”
“Really? How much?”
“Four thousand marks.”
“Kafira’s tit!” said Terrence, chuckling as the other man winced at his blasphemy. “I’m afraid that’s beyond my allowance.”
The man nodded knowingly. “Would you like me to wrap it up for you?”
“Nope.” Terrence took the book and tucked it under his arm. “Is there still a fish and chips cart by the park?”
“Oh yes.”
Terrence exited the store and turned left, heading for Hexagon Park. He had to jog across Prince Tybalt Boulevard, which was at least twice as crowded as Avenue Phoenix. He was almost hit twice, but arrived at the park’s edge unscathed. Hexagon Park as the name implied, was an expansive park built in the six-sided shape of a hexagon. It was filled with fountains, ponds, walkways, flower gardens, orchards, and at its center, a plaza with a steam-powered calliope. Terrence could hear the music playing even at this distance. Along the sidewalk at the edge of the park, several vendors were selling food from carts. He purchased a newsprint cone filled with fried fish and golden chips and made his way down the cobblestone path to the center of the park, taking a seat about fifty feet from the bright red music machine.
The calliope made as much music as an entire band playing. People clearly enjoyed it, though only a few were gathered to watch it. Most followed along by bobbing their heads or humming as they smelled the flowers, looked into the fountains, or strolled among the fruit trees. Terrence ate his fish and chips and propped open his new book on his knee. His attention was pulled away from the pages though by the other people and their various activities.
Directly in front of him an older man in a brown bowler was throwing bits of bread to the flying reptiles that could be found all over the old city. Disgusting things. To Terrence’s mind, they should be shot rather than fed. Several small children played Doggie Doggie on the open expanse of grass. Their simple homespun clothing and the fact that they were unsupervised indicated they were from poorer, working class families. Beyond them were several large groups of people wandering past the fruit trees, among them, a man in a dark brown overcoat that looked far too warm for this time of year. As Terrence watched, several people approached the man and exchanged money for small packages pulled from the expansive coat. The man was a drug dealer.
The young officer felt his eyes itch and begin to water and when he stood up to drop his garbage in the dust bin, he could feel his hands starting to twitch. He took two steps in the direction of the drug dealer. Then the man in the overcoat looked in his direction and just seemed to melt away into a crowd. Terrence was just thinking about following when he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder. He turned to find a very large police constable holding onto him.
“Now, where are you off to?”
“All these people and you stop me?” Terrence wondered.
“Just keeping the peace. Someone from out of town might not recognize the fellow you were eyeing as trouble. Then again, he might. Either way, there’s no reason that a fine young officer in His Majesty’s service should be getting mixed up with the likes of him.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
“Do you have a place to stay in the city?” asked the PC, taking a small notebook and a short pencil from his pocket.
“My family has a house here.”
“And where would that be?”
“Number one, Avenue Dragon.”
The police constable’s eyes shot from his notebook back to Terrence’s face.
“That would be Miss… um, then she would be…?”
“My baby sister.”
Putting his notebook away with as much nonchalance as he could muster, the PC smiled and then bowed slightly at the waist.
“If I can be of any further service.” It wasn’t a question, and in any case, the constable left before Terrence could reply.
Terrence studied his own hand and noted that it was no longer shaking. Might as well go home. Get it over with. Then maybe he could find a quiet corner to sit and read Garstone.
The Voyage of the Minotaur – Chapter 20 Excerpt
The mood was light in Iolanthe Dechantagne’s tent. It was a bright, sunny day outside, though not too hot. A cool breeze was blowing in off the ocean. The colony had enjoyed a huge mid-day feast, and if eating the last of the fresh vegetables taken on at Enclep was not exactly a cause for celebration, at least everyone knew that they were safe from starvation. The canned food stored at the colony would last a long time, and there was still the promise of trade with the natives.
Yuah Korlann, Merced Calliere, and Phillida Marjoram sat around the desk counting ballots for the election of the Colonial Council. The paper slips upon which all adult members of the colony had written the name of their choice were divided up into piles. Though there were more than two dozen piles, one for each candidate, it was soon obvious which four piles would end up being the tallest. Calliere’s final pronouncement was a mere formality. The winners of the election and the chosen members of the Colonial Council were, in order of votes received: Zeah Korlann, Padgett Kelloran, Dudley Labrith, and in a surprise, a young Freedonian woman named Honor Hertling.
“Lovely,” said Iolanthe. “I was sure that Zeah and Dr. Kelloran would be elected, but I’m surprised at the wizard. Does anyone know this Hertling person?”
Yuah and Calliere both shook their heads.
“I believe I know of her,” said Mrs. Marjoram. “A dark-haired young woman, if I’m not mistaken. Pretty, in that Zaeri sort of way. I believe she’s known for her work helping the sick on that ship of theirs. No doubt that’s why she was chosen.”
“So she’s from the Acorn?” asked Iolanthe, ignoring Yuah’s look of shock at Mrs. Marjoram.
“Yes, if she’s whom I’m thinking of.” The woman seemed oblivious of the effect of her words.
“Excellent. One more chance to get the Freedonians integrated into our society. Before long, nobody will know they weren’t born Brechs.”
“Hmph,” said Mrs. Marjoram, but didn’t openly correct her.
“So it will be myself, Terrence and Augie, whoever replaces Father Ian, Zurfina, and these four. I think we can work with that.
“Yuah, why don’t you go bring your father in here? Mrs. Marjoram, would you be so kind to see if you can locate this Miss Hertling? And Mercy, perhaps I can persuade you to bring Dr. Kelloran.”
Twenty minutes later the three of them had returned with the three newly elected leaders of the colony, Wizard Labrith, of course being on the military mission with the Iolanthe’s two brothers, was not present. Zeah looked every bit the senior statesman, tall and straight in his charcoal suit. Dr. Kelloran on the other hand looked tired and drawn. Though still nicely dressed and stylishly coifed, she had lost weight since arriving in Birmisia and had dark circles under her eyes.
The young woman who arrived with them was, if not beautiful, certainly striking in appearance. She was so thin that Iolanthe thought her figure might have been mistaken for that of a boy without a corset and bustle. Her wavy black hair reached well past her shoulders, and framed a cute face with a small nose and extremely large, sad eyes. Her olive skin was far more tanned than was considered fashionable, no doubt due to the lengthy journey from Freedonia, and she had a deep scar across her left cheek down to her chin.
“Miss Hertling, I presume,” said Iolanthe, stepping forward to shake hands.
No sooner had she taken the young woman’s hand than a dozen gunshots rang out in the distance. It was obvious that they came from beyond the protective wall. Iolanthe broke into a broad smile.
“Wonderful,” she said. “Zeah, it looks as though we will be having a celebration tonight.”
“Yes, Miss. A welcome one.”
A young soldier burst into the tent, running into the back of Miss Hertling, and knocking her forward. She would have fallen completely to the floor had not Professor Calliere caught her.
“Kafira’s eyes!” snapped Iolanthe. “Don’t you know how to knock?”
“Sorry ma’am,” said the soldier, nervously. “Sergeant Clark’s compliments, ma’am. There is a large force of lizardmen approaching from the southeast. The sergeant has already called for all troops to man the ramparts. And the lizardmen have rifles, ma’am.”
“Where the hell did they get rifles?” wondered Calliere.
“From our troops,” said Iolanthe, gravely. “How many lizardmen are there?”
“We don’t know, at least a thousand.”
“Tell the sergeant to hold the wall,” she ordered. The soldier then ran out of the tent. Turning to the women, she said, “Thirty-five men aren’t going to hold the wall for long. Get everyone moving. We’re evacuating out to the end of the peninsula.”
“What are we going to do there?” asked Dr. Kelloran.
“We’re going to make our stand. Zeah, get some of the men and distribute as many guns and as much ammunition as we have. Go. Mercy, come with me.”
Iolanthe stepped out of the tent and marched purposefully toward the wall. Professor Calliere followed along behind her. When she reached the wall, she gathered up her dress and extensive petticoats into her left arm and used her right to climb up the ladder to the walkway that served as a firing platform twenty feet off the ground. Sergeant Clark was there.
“Where are they?” she asked, panting for breath and peering out of a firing port.
“Still mostly in the trees, but they’re out there.”
“And your men?”
“I’ve got them spread out fifty feet apart, but that means we’ve only got a fifth of the wall covered.”
The Voyage of the Minotaur – Chapter 18 Excerpt
Many people on the shore were watching as the two ships steamed out of the bay and no doubt many people had many different emotions flowing around within them at the sight. Some might have felt frightened with the realization that their last tenuous lifeline to the world of civilization was now severed. Some might have been excited that the challenge of taming the new world was now theirs and theirs alone to pursue. Zeah Korlann didn’t know what he felt. He didn’t have time to dwell upon any feelings however, he had plenty to do.
By the time the sun set that evening, he had accomplished quite a bit. He had arranged for new work details for the former Freedonians. Like the colonists who had arrived eight days before them, these individuals would be expected to provide six months of service to the colony. After that, they could purchase land and begin whatever lives they wished. That was the theory, anyway. He had also overseen the clearing of the first bit of forest outside the protective wall. The first shops and stores would be built here hopefully, when that six month period had ended. Zeah looked forward to visiting a bakery there. Inside the walls, they had finished constructing a large smokehouse. And finally, that afternoon, the colony’s first fishing boat had floated out into the bay.
Zeah had two stops to make after dinner and before he went back to his own apartment. The first was to the headquarters tent of Miss Dechantagne. He would have gone to report to her in any case, but he felt doubly obligated to stop because the Royal Colonial Governor was alone. Her brothers had left at first light the day before with one hundred eighty soldiers and accompanied by a half dozen reptilian aborigines. Their mission was to elevate one of the local chiefs to dominance, and at the same time show off modern Brech firepower—put the fear of God into the locals, let them know who was the boss. Nobody expected stone spear equipped lizardmen to be able to face the power of four platoons of riflemen, and both brothers had spent their time in the army. Still, it was a combat mission, and things could happen.
Knocking on the tent pole that served as a doorjamb, he was rewarded with a “Come in.”
Miss Dechantagne was not alone. Zeah’s daughter Yuah was in the tent. She was sitting in one of the folding chairs in front of Miss Dechantagne’s massive desk and Miss Dechantagne herself was sitting in the heavy oak swivel chair behind it. The two women were sipping cups of tea.
“Hello Papa,” said his daughter, standing up to kiss him on the cheek.
“Good evening. I didn’t expect to find you here.”
“We were just having tea,” said Miss Dechantagne. “Would you like some?”
Only Zeah’s carefully regulated composure allowed him to reply without stuttering. Miss Dechantagne inviting him to tea? The heat must have somehow addled her.
“No, thank you. I just wanted to check in and let you know that everything is on schedule.”
“I’m quite excited about the smokehouse, myself,” said Yuah. “Mrs. Colbshallow is already planning sausages.”
Zeah looked at his daughter with a raised eyebrow. It seemed that the governor was not the only one who had lost her mind. Yuah was sipping tea and making small talk with Miss Dechantagne.
“Thank you Zeah,” said the governor. “I’m pleased to see that our new arrivals are proving to be more of an asset than a hindrance.”
“Indeed.” Zeah stood for a moment
“You should go get some rest.”
“Very well. Good night.” He nodded to the women and stepped out the tent flap. The two women laughed. Zeah shook his head and walked off.
His second stop was to see Egeria Lusk. She had completely recovered from her wounds at the hands of an unknown attacker and had in fact, spent much of the day supervising work on the Result Mechanism, though she had left the actual pressing of buttons and throwing of switches to someone else. He knocked on the door of her apartment and again was asked to “come in” and again found two women sitting and sipping tea. This time it was Egeria and Sister Auni, the Kafirite cleric. Sister Auni rose as he entered.
“Good evening, Mr. Korlann,” she said. “I was just leaving.”
“No need to leave on my account.”
“No, no. We’ve had a lovely talk, but now I must get back to my own room.”
“Well, good night,” he said, as he held the door open for the clergywoman.
“I’m so glad you came by,” said Egeria, once Sister Auni had left. “Please sit down.”
“Thank you. What were you two talking about?”
“Oh, life, the universe, and everything.”
“And what was her take on it.”
“We were just chatting, really,” said Egeria. “I was sorry that we didn’t get to have supper together.”
“I didn’t really have time for supper today,” said Zeah. “I was hoping that you would join me tomorrow though.”
“I would be delighted,” she smiled.
Though he was quite as busy the next day as he had been the previous, Zeah had little thought for anything he was doing and much for that night’s supper. He took a fine haddock from the first load of fish brought in on the new fishing boat. Though Mrs. Colbshallow was not available, he found a Mrs. Finkler among the Freedonian immigrants, who by all accounts was a wonderful cook. He paid her two marks to prepare roasted fish. She proved to be as good as her reputation, and at the appointed time delivered not only two beautifully roasted fish fillets, but a large plate of potatoes, seasoned in a way that was completely new to former butler but was delicious, and roasted leeks covered in sweet butter.
The Voyage of the Minotaur – Chapter 17 Excerpt
“Look at all these lousy zeets,” said Graham Dokkins, as he and Senta walked between the hundreds of makeshift tents on the southwest side of the hill from the barracks.
“What are zeets?” asked Senta.
“That’s what they’re called. My Da says they’re evil, and they don’t even believe in Kafira.”
“Zurfina doesn’t believe in Kafira either. I mean, not like us. She says the Church is all bullocks.”
“Yeah, well my Da says she’s evil too.”
If Senta was offended at the idea that anyone would call Zurfina evil, she didn’t let on. She bounced ahead, her skipping steps seeming to defy gravity. In one hand she carried a stick and in the other her doll. Graham stomped after her.
“Why do you gotta carry that doll everywhere?” he asked.
“Cause I’m a girl, stupid.”
They reached the edge of the tent village. Some of the women from among the Freedonian refugees had set up a series of clotheslines and were hanging up clothes. Almost every piece was black, white, or grey.
“They don’t seem any different to me,” said Senta. “Except they talk funny.”
Suddenly several of the women who had been hanging clothes began to scream and they all began to run toward the tents. Looking up, the two children saw a steel colored streak flying downward from out of the sun. The steel dragon buzzed the tops of the women’s heads and then zipped along parallel to the clothesline and with a flick of its tail, knocked every other piece of clothing from the line into the dirt. Spreading its wings out to their full six-foot breadth, it stopped in mid-air and dropped to the ground at Senta’s feet. It opened its mouth to the sky and a small puff of smoke shot out.
“Funneee,” said the dragon.
“It’s not either funny, you potty twonk. You’re going to get everyone angry, and who’s going to get in trouble? Not you. Me, that’s who!”
Despite Senta’s declaration that the dragon’s actions were not funny, Graham was laughing heartily. The dragon hopped over to his feet and rubbed his head against the boy’s leg as if to share in his mirth. Graham, still laughing, slapped his knee. The dragon suddenly bit his hand.
“Sod it!” shouted the boy, his laughter suddenly gone.
The dragon looked up in the air, with feigned innocence.
“See, now you’ve made Graham angry too,” said Senta. Both the girl and the dragon looked at the boy, who had gone all white and sweaty.
“My Da didn’t say it, but I think dragons are evil.”
“Pet,” said the dragon, in a pleading tone.
“Yeah, all right,” Senta said, fishing a small brown bottle from the pocket of her baggy black dress. “But if you bite anyone else, I’m going to need a new bottle of this.”
She poured the draught from the bottle onto the wound on Graham’s hand. The liquid bubbled and fizzed on contact with the boy’s blood, but after a few moments nothing was left of the injury but a small scar.
Senta, Graham, and the dragon looked up to see they were completely surrounded by a crowd of people. The reptile leapt to the girl’s shoulder in one swift motion and curled up around her neck. Graham stood up next to Senta and took her hand in his. The people began to whisper amongst themselves. Finally one of the women stepped forward.
“Sorry about your clothes,” said Senta.
“Der drache is, how you say, vunterfull,” said the woman.
“Oh yeah, he’s great,” said Graham, sarcastically.
“He is bootifull. He is yours?”
“Yeah, sort of,” said Senta.
“You bet he’s hers,” said Graham. “She’s a really powerful sorceress and he’s her dragon. And they’re really scary and magical. Just look at them. And that’s her magic doll.”
He suddenly started laughing. The dragon made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a smirk.
“We’ve got to go now,” said Senta. “I’ve got to lock up my dragon and my troll here.”
“Hey!” shouted Graham, following Senta who was already hurrying through the opening in the crowd that magically parted before her. “Who you calling a troll, monkey face?”
The two children walked up to the top of the hill and parted without saying goodbye, but with the innocent expectation that they would see each other later and continue on just as they had. Senta made her way to a quiet place that she had found next to the protective wall. She plopped down in the grass and the steel dragon climbed off her shoulders. She stretched out and he curled up beside her and placed his whiskered snout on her stomach.
Senta held her doll up and looked at it. The doll had on an outfit just like hers. She called the dress she was wearing her doll dress for that very reason. The doll had the same hairstyle that she did. She could almost imagine that the doll was made especially for her. But it hadn’t been. She had seen it many times in the toy store before she had purchased it.
“I wonder what Geert’s doing now?” she mused. “He’s my cousin,” she explained to the dragon.
She heard the approach of voices and pushed the dragon’s face off of her stomach so that she could roll over and see who it was. It was Miss Dechantagne. She was walking along holding the arm of the blond officer from the ship. She had on a stunning yellow dress with white lace trim. It had at least seven layers on the skirt, ruffles and fringes on the shoulders, and a magnificent bow on the bustle. The matching hat trailed a long piece of yellow silk down her back.
“That’s the kind of dress I want,” said Senta quietly.
“No,” said the dragon.
The Voyage of the Minotaur – Chapter 16 Excerpt
The shouting and gunfire brought Terrence out of the white opthalium induced state. He was sitting on the ground with his back to a massive redwood tree. It was in fact, that first tree that Iolanthe had tagged with a ribbon to save its life. It was completely dark all around him, and at first the lapping of the waves nearby was the only sound that registered with his befuddled mind. When he again heard the shouts and gunfire at the far end of the compound and he recognized them for what they were, he was actually happy. It meant that he hadn’t been awakened by someone discovering him while he was seeing.
Could you call it “seeing” if you didn’t really see anything? Terrence had used the drug from the small blue bottle several times since the arrival in Birmisia, but he had seen nothing in the other world except that endless fields of the ever-present purple flowers. Never before had he been there without meeting Pantagria. Now he searched for her and she was nowhere to be found.
Terrence picked up his helmet, which was sitting next to him, and then stood up and began trudging up the hill at a modest pace. When he saw a blood covered Zeah Korlann being escorted by two riflemen into Iolanthe’s headquarters tent, he ran the rest of the way.
“What’s going on?” he asked, as he burst into the tent. He stopped short when he saw Miss Lusk, lying on her side, bloodied, on the dirt floor. “Let’s get Father Ian in here.”
“Father Ian isn’t coming,” said Zeah shakily.
“Sister Auni, go get another acolyte to cast a cure wounds spell,” ordered Iolanthe. Then she opened the top drawer of her desk and pulled out a brown bottle. “Soak her bandages in this and poor the rest down her throat.”
She handed the bottle to Dr. Kelloran, who was kneeling over the red-haired woman’s prone form. The doctor did as directed and a moment later was rewarded with Miss Lusk opening her eyes. Sister Auni arrived after a few minutes with Brother Galen, who followed the exact same procedure that she had in casting a spell. Color returned to Miss Lusk’s face and she began to breathe freely.
“Who did this to you?” asked Iolanthe.
“I didn’t see them,” said Miss Lusk. It was an obvious labor to speak. “Someone was running the Result Mechanism. I went around the corner to see who it was, but…”
“There were papers coming out of the machine,” said Zeah.
“Go find those papers,” Iolanthe ordered her brother. “Maybe we can find out who was using it.”
Terrence nodded and left the tent. He picked up a gas lantern nearby and stomped down the hill toward the still chugging and clanking Result Mechanism. Just before he reached it, the machine stopped, letting out a long whistle of leftover steam. He pulled out one of his nickel-plated .45 revolvers and circled around the huge device. Standing at the controls was his brother Augie.
“What’s going on, old man?” said Augie, when he noticed Terrence.
“What are you doing here?” Terrence asked.
“You know you really shouldn’t answer a question with a question,” Augie replied. “The machine was running and nobody was here, so I shut it down.”
“You didn’t see anybody here?”
“No, and I waited around for a couple of minutes too.”
“Are there any papers coming out of the slot on the side of the machine?”
They both stepped around to the far side, where the printing slot was located, but there were no papers either sticking out of the slot or on the ground below.
“You don’t have anything to do with this, do you?” asked Terrence.
“Anything to do with what? A bloody machine making a bunch of racket?”
“The stabbing.”
“Stabbing? What stabbing?”
“Egeria Lusk has been stabbed. Right over there, by the look of the ground.”
“Kafira! And you think I had something to do with it?”
“No. But you were at three of the crime scenes, at least three, so some people are going to get the idea you could be involved.”
“What do you mean three? The murders on the ship? I thought you pegged Murty for that, and pegged him good too, I might add.”
“Yes, I did. And Murty was a bad sort; I don’t doubt it for a moment.”
“You know I wouldn’t stab a woman. What’s that all about? I was very fond of Danika.”
“Danika?”
“Miss Kilmurray.”
“Oh, Kafira. You knew her?”
“I knew her, but I didn’t do anything to hurt her. I certainly never killed her, and I didn’t kill Miss Lusk.”
“Miss Lusk is alive.”
“Well, thank heavens. Now she can tell you I didn’t stab her.”
“She doesn’t need to tell me,” said Terrence. “I know you didn’t stab her.”
“Good. A brother should trust a brother.”
“You don’t have any blood on you.”
“Oh.” Augie looked down at his clean clothes. “I could have changed clothes.”
“You don’t have any blood on your shoes or your face or your hair.”
“So you trust me.”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
The Voyage of the Minotaur – Chapter 15 Excerpt
Ssichutuu was probably not nearly as frightening as his chief. He did not for instance, appear to be wearing any part of a skeleton as decoration. He also did not carry any obvious weapons, save a small stone knife with wooden handle. Nevertheless, Zeah Korlann found his new companion every bit as frightening as the tyrannosaurus that stalked the forests of the region. Ssichutuu was a little over six feet tall and looked more than a little like an upright alligator. His deep olive skin had few obvious scars or discolorations, marking him as a younger member of the fifty-strong group of visitors. He kept his dewlap for the most part tucked up against his neck. The truly unnerving thing was the fact that his yellow eyes never seemed to leave Zeah for long and they almost never blinked.
Most of the natives had left the compound to go on a hunting expedition with Master Terrence, but ten had stayed to observe the lifestyles of the newcomers. Each of these temporary visitors had two colonists to look after them. Zeah and Saba Colbshallow were both escorting this particular lizardman or lizzie around. Saba had already nicknamed the creature Sichy. The aborigine took a keen interest in almost everything that they were doing. They walked along the shore and watched the finishing touches being put on the dock’s crane, which once finished began lifting the last of the heavy cargo from the battleship. They walked up the hill, now mostly denuded of trees, which was being spread with gravel to form a roadway. At the top of the hill, they watched the construction of the barracks. Ssichutuu seemed fascinated by the smoothness of the wood used so they walked back down the hill, just south of the dock to observe the power saw slicing logs into boards.
At lunchtime, the lizardmen were brought together along with their hosts around a large table just inside the great protective wall. Two foot long log segments were turned on end to be used as chairs. This was functional enough for the colonists and even better for the natives than real chairs, which interfered with their thick tails. A kind of shish kabob, with pieces of meat, onions, and potatoes was served. The reptiles eschewed the vegetables for the most part, but ate the meat happily enough. Zeah suspected that they would have preferred it raw, and maybe aged to the point of rotting.
Afterwards the humans watched as the lizardmen gave a demonstration of their method of creating stone blades from the local flint and obsidian. They used large rocks to break off long slender flakes and then used pieces of bone to chip tiny bits off of these flakes and make them even sharper. When they were done, they attached the now very sharp stone blades to handles of wood. Ssichutuu presented his completed knife to Zeah and indicated by hand signals that he should keep it as a gift. The former butler marveled at the keen edge. He didn’t think that even the steel knives brought from Greater Brechalon could match them. The real advantage of manufactured tools would be their durability.
Late in the afternoon, the hunting party returned carrying massive amounts of dinosaur meat. Once again there was a great feast, with members of both races eating large amounts of the new world’s unusual meat. The natives seemed to have the ability to pack away gargantuan portions of food. Zeah overheard Saba remarking on this to Professor Calliere.
“I believe it to be a function of their reptilian nature,” replied the professor. “They can eat great amounts of meat at one time and then go without for perhaps weeks. I’m sure that this will be of benefit to us once they begin fulfilling their purpose as our natural servants.”
Zeah didn’t pay too much attention to the professor’s pronouncement—in truth, he seldom paid a great deal of attention to what Calliere said—but this time it was because of the presence of Egeria Lusk at Calliere’s side. She wore a teal brocaded dinner gown with large gold buttons from the neck to below the waist, and a straw boater with a teal ribbon around it.
“You look lovely Egeria,” Zeah thought he probably sounded as though he was gushing, but he didn’t care.
“Thank you, Zeah,” she said. “I must say you look ruggedly handsome.”
Zeah looked down at himself. He had been wearing the same type of khaki safari clothing that the soldiers wore. In fact, he had requested a set of the clothing from the mercenary company supplies when he found that he would be spending the day playing tour guide to an oversized lizard. He had to admit that the color accentuated his tall, thin form. And he thought the stone knife blade worn at his belt made him look manly. He took her hand and led her away from the crowd.
“I haven’t seen much of you the past two days,” he said.
“Don’t expect to see much of me the next few days either,” she said. “The Result Mechanism is being brought ashore tomorrow and the professor will need help getting it up and running. After that I need to input the measurements from the survey.”
After watching the look on his face for a moment, she burst out laughing. “You really are medicine for the ego! If you’re going to be all that broken up about not seeing me, you might as well come by and help me with the great machine.” She said the words “great machine” in an abnormally deep voice.
Zeah perked right up.
“I might just do that,” he said, guaranteeing himself in his own mind that he would.
The next morning, most of the colonists were amazed to find that the lizardmen had all left. Only the sentries had seen them rise early in the morning, gather together their meager gear and the collection of food and manufactured goods that the humans had given them, and exit through the gate in the wall. They took nothing that did not rightfully belong to them, and they left no word with anyone that they were leaving—anyone being Master Augie, who was the only one fluent in their language.
Zeah knew that Miss Dechantagne’s plans for the colony ultimately depended on the lizardmen. They would be needed extensively for manual labor. He also knew that Miss Dechantagne had negotiated well into the night with Chief Ssithtsutsu. He didn’t know what the outcome was. He had better things to do that listen to Master Augie’s back and forth translation. Better things being looking at and talking to Egeria. All the same, he was glad that the lizzies were gone. They were so very… well, reptilian.
City of Amathar 