Zoantheria soared above the lizzie city of Xiatooq. It couldn’t have looked more alien in her eyes if it had been on another planet. Surrounded by great walls of copper-colored stone more than a hundred feet tall, the city faced the empty plain that surrounded its northern side, while its southern side climbed up the slope of a great mountain, higher and higher, built upon terraces carved into the rock. Xiatooq was filled with round structures, large and small, that tapered near the top so that they resembled giant hornets’ nests dotted with windows. The higher up the slope one traveled, the grander these structures were. The city was all the more impressive because this was not just any mountain. It was a massive volcano with an open caldera at the top, out of which belched a constant stream of black smoke and white steam. Occasionally, blobs of red lava were tossed up into the air.

The coral dragon was still musing on the strangeness of the sights below her, when something shot out of the city directly at her. She swerved, but the object, nothing more than a streak of blue, swerved with her. Then it hit her in the midsection. It was another dragon, a little more than half her size: one with shining scales of dazzling sapphire. The newcomer opened its mouth and sank its fangs into the base of Zoey’s neck, while it’s claws raked her belly.

Zoantheria rolled onto her back, using all four limbs to pry the beast from her. She folded her wings and dropped from the sky. For nearly thirty seconds, the two struggled, the coral dragon trying to pry the other from her body, and the sapphire dragon seemingly determined not to let go. At the last moment, Zoey threw out one wing, flipping them both over and they crashed into the stone street, the coral dragon on top.

Dazed from the same amount of force that had not so long ago killed a kronosaurus, the coral dragon staggered to her feet. The sapphire dragon lay unconscious on the ground. She grabbed it at the top of the neck, wondering whether to cast a spell or merely bite its head off. But she paused. The shining blue dragon was beautiful. A dozen spikes poked back from behind its face, but unlike any other dragon that Zoey had seen, including the one in the mirror, this one had no whiskers. Instead, a small horn grew from its chin, pointing downward.

Suddenly two solid blue eyes opened. The sapphire dragon sucked in a huge breath. Zoey squeezed her claw until the airflow was cut off.

“Would you like to belch that fire in some other direction?” she asked. “Or shall I simply wait to see if you pop, like a big balloon?”

“I submit,” came a small, breathless voice.

Zoey released her hold. The other dragon looked at her for a moment, and then turned and breathed a huge gout of flame into the sky away from her.

“You’ve won this time, ugly one.” The sapphire dragon’s voice was clear and bright, like a silver bell.

“Ugly? Explain yourself, you blue freak!”

“You were flying over our city—an intruder.”

“I was invited, you half-wit.”

“Invited by whom?”

The coral dragon just pointed up at the top of the volcano.

“He didn’t tell me.”

“Why would he tell you anything, foolish child? What are you anyway?”

“I am Xenarra, the Goddess of War.”

“Some goddess! Some war! I beat your ass.”

Zoantheria looked around. A vast see of lizzies surrounded the two dragons. They were different than lizzies elsewhere. They were larger, with bumpier and darker skin, and they wore animal skins as clothing. The lizzies watched the dragons, whom they worshipped as gods, in silence. Then she saw him, sitting on the edge of a roof, above a crowd of lizzies, a dragon, no bigger than a pony, with emerald green scales, as bright and shiny as those of the sapphire dragon.

“And you, whelp? What are you?”

“I am Urie,” he said, his voice sounding like a teenaged boy. “I am the God of Life.”

Zoey rolled her eyes. “All around me—idiots with delusions of grandeur.”

Baxter threw the child up into the air as she squealed. He caught her, and holding her at arm’s length, made a silly face. Then he did the whole thing over again. Senta glided up behind them and wrapped a long white arm around his shoulder.

“I’m going to be jealous if you spend all the time with the child.”

“Children need attention if you don’t want them to grow up to be sociopaths,” he said, at last pulling baby Senta in and blowing on her neck.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“You don’t know how much a person can miss human companionship until you’re in that situation.” He placed the little girl on the floor and stood up. Turning around, he took the woman in his arms and kissed her deeply. “I suppose I should pay you some attention too. Why don’t I show you right now?”

“Now?” she pretended to be shocked. “Right here in the daylight? With the baby watching?”

“It won’t harm her to see two adults showing affection.”

“I meant that baby.” She pointed to the tiny coral-colored dragon balanced on the corner post of the bed.

“Gawp,” it said.

“Why don’t you put that damned animal back in its carrier?” he said, releasing her from his arms and stepping back, careful that the child was out from under his foot.

“Don’t be cross,” said Senta. “I’ll put her in the other room, then I’ll feed little Senta. She’ll fall right asleep and then we’ll have two or three hours all to ourselves.”

“Fine,” he said, only slightly mollified.

The sorceress ordered the dragon into the adjoining room, which was little more than a closet really. Even though they had the largest suite on the S.S. Windlass, which was the largest Brech dirigible—quite a bit bigger than the Frühlingshuhn—it was still only a collection of three very small rooms. Then she sat down with the baby and attempted to give her a bottle. She did take it, but fussed when her mother tried to burp her, until she was given over to Baxter, who completed the job and had her asleep inside of five minutes.

“Now where were we?” he asked, unbuttoning his shirt.

“I hate to spoil the mood,” she said, “but there is a man spying on us outside that door.”

“What kind of man?”

“A wizard.”

“A government wizard or a freelancer who’s out to get you?”

“Does it matter?” she asked.

“It does to me. King and country and all still means something to me.”

“Very well,” she sighed. “Uuthanum.” She waved a finger toward the door. “He’s from the Ministry of War.”

“All right.” Baxter went into the third room of the suite, the tiny parlor, and then out the door from there to the hall. Senta could hear a brief tussle in the hallway outside. Then Baxter entered through the bedroom door from the corridor. In his right fist he carried a man in pin stripes by the scruff of the neck. The man was clutching at his throat and fighting for breath.

“I doubt he’ll say any magic words for a minute or two. I don’t suppose he’ll be able to answer any questions either.”

“Oh, I don’t want to interrogate him. I just want him to go away.” She raised her hands above her head. “Rezesic edios uuthanum illiam vor.”

The man in the pin stripes disappeared with a pop.

“Where did he go?” asked Baxter, looking at his right hand.

“Away.”

“I was holding him.”

“Don’t worry. I don’t miss.”

“Did he make it back to Greater Brechalon?”

“Probably. If not, then somewhere between here and there.”

“We’re a hundred miles out to sea.”

“Then he picked an extremely poor time to spy at my door,” said Senta.

Once again she snaked her arms around his neck and moved her face very close to his. She breathed on his mouth, but waited for him to kiss her. He did. Then stepping away, he quickly undressed, but not before creating a little bed on the floor with two blankets and placing the sleeping baby there, safely out of the way. Senta snapped her fingers and seven layers of clothing seemed to just fall off of her and onto the floor. She was reclining naked on the bed when he joined her. They made love. She enjoyed the way that he made love to her. It was never the same way twice. Never the same touches. Never the same order. He must have had a lot of practice, she thought, though that didn’t bother her. As she lay bathing in the warm afterglow, just dozing off, it occurred to her that she might never get tired of this. She suddenly woke when he took her by her shoulder and thigh, flipped her onto her stomach, and pulled her to her knees. No, she might never get tired of this, she decided.

It was almost two hours later when she woke up. Baxter’s face was right in front of hers and he was awake, staring at her. She smiled.

“Satisfied?” he asked.

“What are you talking about? I don’t enjoy that. It’s horrible and I just put up with it because you’re a man and you have those horrible urges.”

“That wasn’t what it sounded like.”

“That was all for your benefit as well.”

Suddenly there was a crash and little Senta began crying. Both adults sat up to see that she had pulled a lamp off the occasional table along the wall and onto her head. The glass had shattered upon hitting the floor.

“Kafira damn it all!” shouted Baxter, jumping up, and in three quick steps scooping the baby into his arms.

With a wave of her index finger, the sorceress sent the pieces of the lamp back up onto the table where it reassembled itself.

“There. All better.”

“I wasn’t worried about the bloody lamp,” he said, examining the growing lump on the child’s head. “What if that thing had been lit?”

“Then we would have all died in a horrible conflagration. You know the lamps on airships don’t even have oil in them. Calm down.”

Twelve thousand miles away from Birmisia and the rest of the huge continent of Mallon, on the other side of the world, was the much smaller continent of Sumir. Thousands of years earlier, it had been the home of the ancient civilizations of Zur, Argrathia, Ballar, and Donnata. Now it was home to the powerful kingdoms of Mirsanna, Bordonia, and most powerful of all, the United Kingdom of Greater Brechalon.

Nineteen year old Brech Prince Clitus sat in his office, carefully examining a map of the northern third of Sumir, which included the land of Freedonia, which was both in theory and in fact a vassal state of Brechalon. His finger traced a line from Bangdorf to the industrial cities of Butzbach and Hagerforte to the coastal cities of Friedaport and Eineburgh. He frowned.

“And these acts… these bombings are politically motivated?” he asked. “You’re sure of it?”

“Yes, Your Highness,” said a man in a dark suit and dark glasses, seated across from him. “They are political and they are organized. These aren’t random events. They’re designed to destabilize Brech power in Freedonia.”

“What is the Prime Minister doing about it?”

“He’s… he’s still waiting for guidance from the King.”

Clitus rolled his eyes. “And my father has nothing to offer.”

“He’s not concerned. He calls them ‘isolated events by a few ne’er-do-wells.’”

“What about my brother?”

“I doubt the Crown Prince knows anything about what’s going on in Freedonia, or elsewhere outside either Sinceree Palace or Madame Fleurchaud’s establishment.”

The prince closed his eyes and rubbed his temple.

“And what about Madame Fleurchaud’s?”

“Your Highness?”

“Are there loose ends to be attended to there, Mr. Meanie?”

“It’s an open secret that your brother is a regular there, but as of yet, none of his… um, companions have come up pregnant.”

“That’s something, at least,” said Clitus. “I feel like I should celebrate.”

“What do you want me to do, Your Highness?”

“About my brother—nothing. Keep an eye on things in Freedonia. Do we have any magic assets we could use?”

“Not much. I have a few people in the War Ministry, but we used to count on the Zenith.”

“Yes, well they’re gone and they’re not coming back.” He sighed. “We may need to build something like the Zenith for ourselves. One thing that we will make clear from the very beginning though, is that they are to stay as far away from the Birmisian Sorceress as possible.”

“I could locate one or two high-level wizards that could start such an organization. Your Highness could write to Lord Dechantagne. He could let her know that we’re no threat to her—it would help recruiting if we were proactive there.”

“Yes. I’ll write him,” said Clitus. “I’ll also go see his cousin. She can guarantee that our message gets to the Drache Girl’s ear.”

“Why must you embarrass me in front of the governor?”

“What are you on about now, Loana?” asked Saba Colbshallow.

“You, discussing those horrible books.”

“Well at least I didn’t bring up Sable Agria. Why don’t you go on up to your room before you get yourself any more worked up than you are already?”

Saba’s mother had turned in an hour earlier, and the remainder of the family had sat quietly listening to the mechanical music box as DeeDee’s eyes slowly glazed over. Now she was asleep in her father’s arms.

“Aren’t you coming up?”

“Yes, I’ll be along shortly. I just want to listen to this song one more time.”

Loana gave a curt nod before turning and starting up the stairs. Saba watched her enormous bustle, sway from left to right as she negotiated the steps. As soon as she was out of eyesight, he raised his hand and snapped his fingers. Risty, their lizzie butler, quickly slipped a cold bottle of Billingbow’s into his hand, the cork already removed. Then he rewound the music box and placed the needle back at the start of the cylinder. Saba finished his soda water just as the music finished, and Risty was there to take the bottle away. Rising to his feet, only difficult because of the added weight of his daughter, Saba headed for the stairs. DeeDee had her arms around his neck and her legs wrapped around his waist. Placing a hand under her bottom, he stepped slowly upward.

Sandy, the nurse lizzie, was there to change DeeDee into her night clothes when Saba set her on her bed. He kissed her on the forehead and rounded the corner to his own room. Slipping into his nightshirt, he slid beneath the cool sheets, not even glancing at the door to his wife’s adjoining room.

Saba left early the next morning, before anyone in his family was stirring, including his mother. Even the five-story police station was quiet. The night shift was still on duty, and it would be another hour before the morning shift arrived. The desk sergeant, Corman, leaned against the counter, half asleep. A PC, Loewy, was taking notes from two women, apparently working girls, seated on the bench in the lobby. He gave a sloppy salute as Saba passed him on the way to the elevator. Throwing the lever, Saba sent the elevator car upwards to the second floor.

The chief inspector’s office was a large, beautifully paneled room with several huge windows along the outside wall. Another wall, this one behind the desk, was covered with photographs of Saba with various city officials at groundbreaking ceremonies and the like. Walking around the large desk, he sat down on the plush leather chair. Sitting on the right corner of the otherwise mostly clear wooden surface was a stack of folders. Each held the case files for an unfinished investigation. He pulled the top one from the stack and opened it, skimming the summary.

Nothing new had been discovered about the bomb that had been set off at the shipyard. Constables had found and questioned the lizzie that had placed it. He couldn’t identify the human that had hired him. To most of the lizzies, the humans were just as hard to tell apart as the lizzies were to most humans. Pieces of the bomb had been recovered, but they had led to nothing. All they had to go on was Wizard Bell’s description of a man about forty, with dark hair, whose name began with an “s” sound.

A knock at the door was quickly followed by it opening and Wizard Bell sticking his head inside.

“Are you busy, Chief Inspector?”

“Come in,” said Saba. “Now I know you’re a wizard, Bell. I was just thinking about you and here you are.”

“Fortunate happenstance,” replied the wizard, closing the door and starting across the room.

Bell wasn’t wearing his helmet and his uniform seemed, if anything, even looser than the last time that Saba had seen him. He sat down in one of the two chairs in front of the desk.

“I was just going over the case file for the bombing,” said Saba.

“Nothing new on that front.”

“Do you think our Mr. S managed to get out of the colony? Maybe he was on his way before the blast.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Have you learned anything else with your magic?”

“I have scried several times but haven’t been able to find out anything more,” said the wizard. “It’s more of a feeling that I have. I think he’s still here in Port Dechantagne.”

“I just hope we can find him before anyone else gets killed.”

Bell nodded his agreement.

“Have you eaten?”

“This morning?”

“This year. You look thin.”

“I’ve lost a bit of weight. It’s the magic. It puts me off my meals.”

“What would you say to a bit of breakfast now.”

“I suppose that would be all right.”

Stepping around the desk and walking to the door, Saba grabbed his coat and hat from the rack where they had been hanging for several days. He usually wanted them on the way to work this time of year, but didn’t need them in the afternoon when he went home, and so often forgot to take them. Bell followed as they travelled the length of the hallway and stepped into the elevator. At the bottom of the stairs they ran into Eamon Shrubb.

“We’re going to breakfast,” said Saba. “Interested?”

“I’m just coming on. I’ve got to take the desk.”

“Get Wilkes to take it,” said Saba.

“Well, if it’s an order.”

Senta rapped neatly on the white door of the little cottage on Ghiosa Way. She carefully straitened her necktie as she looked down to see that her black skirt and white blouse were both in order. Reaching up, she tilted her boater ever so slightly to one side, and then, as an afterthought, spoke the magic word that made a large white daisy appear in the hatband.

“Who is it?” came the call from the other side of the portal.

“It’s me.”

The door opened wide revealing a pretty young woman wearing an identical outfit, except hatless. Brown hair parted on the side, with a few curls in the back, she was a head shorter than the six-foot tall sorceress.

“Senta,” she said, displaying neither surprise nor pleasure.

“Am I in time for tea?”

“You know you are,” said the woman tersely, but stepped aside to allow the blond sorceress entry.

Senta swept past her, through the parlor, and without an invitation, took a seat at the table in the small dining room. She removed her hat, which disappeared into thin air, crossed her legs, and folded her hands over her knee.

“Why, Bryony Byenthal, you look scrumptious today.”

“It’s Bryony Baxter… again,” said the woman of the house, closing the door and passing through the parlor on her way to the kitchen. She returned with a large tray filled with cups, dishes, and a teapot, all of which she began to lay out.

“I think I have a very nice tea for us today,” said Bryony.

“You always do.”

“Yes, well, as you keep showing up at teatime, uninvited, I might add, I feel compelled to serve you.” She poured two cups of tea. “Four lumps, isn’t it?”

“Yes. How kind of you to remember.”

“I’m not likely to forget.” She began filling two plates from several small pyramids of dainty finger foods. “I purchased these sausages from the butcher this morning. They look very nice. And I’ve made cress and cucumber sandwiches. I also made some stuffed mushrooms. I gathered them from the forest, so with any luck they’re poisonous.”

“I’m sure they are fine,” said Senta. “But fear not. I always carry a detoxicant with me.”

“A wise precaution, considering the number of people who want to kill you,” said Bryony, setting a plate in front of Senta and one at the place across from her. She carried the platter back to the kitchen, before returning and taking her seat. “Have you been poisoned before?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact. I’ve also been shot.” Senta paused to take a dainty bite of a stuffed mushroom. “Several times, and stabbed.”

“Some people might take a hint.”

“I’ve never been very good at that.”

“Oh, I know,” said Bryony, removing a cozy from atop a breadbasket. “Pumpernickel?”

“Yes please.”

“I’m afraid you’ve missed your daughter.” The brunette buttered two slices of the heavy, dark bread, passing one to the sorceress. “She’s spending the day and night with the Markhams.”

“Yes, I know. She has no interest in seeing me, so I return the sentiment.”

“She may say she doesn’t want to see you, but I think she really needs to.”

“Children don’t know what they need,” said Senta.

“That’s what I’m saying,” said Bryony, with a frown. “You should show her that you care for her. How do you think you would have turned out if you thought your mother didn’t love you?”

“I turned out fine,” said Senta. She took a bite of sausage. “Anyway, I would much rather see little Baxter.”

“He’s with the Markhams too, though Mr. Baxter will pick him up on the way home.”

“Why is it you don’t have another little one by now? Big Baxter not pressing the baby button?”

“What?”

“He’s not plowing the bean field? Not negotiating the chasm? You two not pressing your dangly parts?”

“You are horrible!” hissed Bryony, but then she narrowed her eyes. “As a matter of fact, I shall be pondering the unicorn as soon as we’re alone together.”

“What?”

“Blitzkrieg mit dem fleischgewehr.”

Senta blinked. “My… how very vulgar of you, Bryony Byenthal.”

“Bryony Baxter,” Bryony glared back.

Senta took a sip of tea and studiously ate her meal, as Bryony watched her. After several minutes of silence, she looked up.

“You should eat too.”

“Yes,” replied the brunette slowly, forking a sausage.

“You’re not going to tell me?”

“No. And you are to say nothing, or I’ll never serve you tea again.”

“But Bryony Byenthal…”

“Baxter!”

“… you know how much I enjoy our teatimes together, because of my deep and abiding affection for you.”

“You don’t like me at all, and I certainly don’t like you, and anyway, nobody must know until I tell Kieran.”

“I shan’t say anything at all.”

They finished eating and Senta leaned back to sip her tea.

“What would you think if I invited you to tea at my house, three days hence?”

“Oh?” wondered Bryony. “I haven’t consulted the almanac. Is that the day hell freezes over?”

Iolana opened her eyes to see another pair of eyes, these deep brown, staring back at her from a distance of six inches. She blinked twice and then leaned her head back far enough that her seven-year-old cousin’s face could come into focus.

“What are you doing in my room?”

“I want you to play with me.”

“I can’t play with you. I’m not allowed to interact with you until 11:00.”

Iolana had been placed on restriction. She wasn’t allowed to leave the house without permission. She wasn’t allowed to see any of her friends. The only time she could interact with Augie and Terra was during their tutoring sessions. And she had not been allowed to take meals with the family. She had endured this punishment for nine days, spending her time writing long letters to Dovie and Willa and reading everything she could on the early days of the colony in preparation for her book. She had even written to Sherree Glieberman, though that had only been to politely decline an invitation to a slumber party. She wouldn’t have been allowed that, even had she wanted to go.

“I don’t want to wait and I don’t want to do my times tables,” said Terra’s scratchy little voice. “I want to play Argrathian checkers.”

“I’m sorry, I’m not allowed.”

“Yes you are.”

“What?”

“You’re not on restriction anymore.”

Iolana sat up and looked toward her desk.

“I gave your mother the letter,” said Terra.

“You what?”

Iolana’s father had made it very clear. She wouldn’t be allowed back to resume her life until she had apologized to her mother. Two days earlier, in a week moment, she had composed the required document.

Mother,

I regret my actions of last week.

Sincerely,

1. Staff

Mr. Staff would have never accepted such a letter, but Iolana knew that her mother would find it adequate. She had decided though not to send it. She would endure her punishment until her father broke down and gave in. Iolana expected him to crack any day now. She was surprised he had lasted this long.

“You little bint! I’m going to fix you.”

Terra squeaked, jumped from the bed, and ran from the room. Iolana climbed out of bed and stomped around in a circle for a minute, not remembering that she could have chased after the girl if she wanted. Then she stopped and placed her hands on her hips. Well, what was done, was done. No sense moping about it.

“Esther!”

The young lizzie entered through the still open door.

“Help me get dressed.”

The clothing that young girls wore in traditional Brech society was almost as heavily layered and almost as complicated as that worn by grown women. Though she was able to eschew the double layer of brassieres, a bustle, and a corset, most of Iolana’s dresses required at least four petticoats and more usually six. She also wore a shift and a double set of bloomers. Once all the underwear was on, it was time to step into the dress. Her charcoal day dress, like almost all of her dresses, fastened up the back with dozens of small buttons. She could almost reach them all using the fermeture, a magical button fastener, but let Esther use it on her. It was simply a matter of running the device up the row of buttons, which magically jumped into their hooks. Running it downward likewise unfastened them.

“Have they served breakfast yet?”

“In ten,” replied the lizzie.

“Good. Let’s go down.”

The only diners in the Dechantagne Staff home that morning proved to be the three children of the house. Each took their traditional spots, widely spaced around the table, despite the many other empty places.

“Where is everyone?” Iolana wondered.

“Your parents are both working,” said Augie. “Mother is doing some charity work this morning with her friends from shrine.”

“Honor McCoort, do you mean? She doesn’t have any other friends. None of us really have many friends.”

“I do,” said the eight-year-old boy. “I’m quite well thought of.”

As one of the lizzies set down a plate with eggs, sausages, and beans in front of her, Iolana looked carefully at her cousin. He seemed to have grown just since she had seen him three days before. Of course it might have been the khaki gear he was wearing.

“What have you been up to then?”

“I just went for a walk in the woods across the road.”

“You’ll get yourself eaten. There are velociraptors and who-knows-what in those woods.”

“I need some soldiers here,” Augie ordered the servant, and then looked back at Iolana. “Not to worry. I took two of the lizzies with me, and I took my rifle.”

“Your mother will have a fit if she finds out you were using a weapon without father there.”

“Then don’t tell her,” he replied calmly, before stabbing a sausage.

“I won’t.”

“I’ll tell her,” said Terra, her little voice almost shouting.

“Don’t,” said Iolana. “It will only upset her for nothing. Besides the three of us should stick together. We’re the three heirs—like my mother, and your father, and Uncle Augie.”

“Then you have to play with me,” said Terra.

“I will, but after lessons.”

“And I don’t want eggs. I want porridge.”

“Get my sister some porridge,” Augie ordered another servant.

Iolana looked at him only to see him staring at her as if she was some kind of strange creature that he had only just now discovered.

“We’re going to Grandpa’s house after lessons,” he said. “Would you like to come with us? You know he said you were always welcome.”

Yuah Dechantagne slowly opened her eyes, wondering how she got sandpaper on the inside of her eyelids. She stared up at the unfamiliar blue ceiling for several minutes before realizing she should look around to see where she was. As soon as her head moved, she was sorry. Somebody had hammered a big spike into her head, she decided, as she rubbed her temples. Climbing out of bed, she staggered over to the washstand and poured the pitcher of cool water into the basin. Setting the pitcher on the floor, she reached into the water with both hands and lifted it to her face. She did this several more times, the last time with her eyes open, trying for some relief of their itching. They hadn’t felt this bad since… well, since she had abused them. After drying her face, she looked down at her body. She wasn’t wearing nightclothes. She had on her foundations from the day before.

Looking around, Yuah saw a big, fluffy robe hanging from a hook on the inside of the door. Staggering across the room, she pulled it off the hanger and slipped it on. Then she opened the door and stepped out. Immediately, she was blinded by shaft of light beaming in through a window at the end of the hallway—her stepmother’s hallway, she realized. Her father had been married to Egeria Korlann née Lusk for some fifteen years now, but she still thought of it as Egeria’s house.

“Good morning, sister,” said a sweet voice from behind her.

She turned to see a thin girl, with alabaster skin and vibrant red hair, standing at the top of the staircase. She had on a pretty white play dress and carried a large emerald egg in the crook of her arm.

“Good morning, Olivia. What time is it?”

“It’s quarter to the hour. Mother said that I was to come bring you to breakfast.”

“A quarter to what hour?”

“A quarter to nine. I’ve been up for hours.”

“And what is it you have there?” wondered Yuah.

“It’s my troodon egg,” replied the girl.

“Is that what’s for breakfast then?”

“No, silly. I’m hatching it. Mother said I could only have a troodon if I hatched it myself. That way it would know I’m it’s mum.”

“All right. Breakfast then. Lead the way.”

The girl hopped down the stairs in a way that Yuah thought would ensure that the egg didn’t make it, but it did. She followed her half-sister down to the dining room.

Olivia had been born to Yuah’s father and his second wife almost seven years into their marriage. She had been a surprise to everyone, especially her mother who had been told by doctors and priests that she would never be able to conceive. It had bothered Yuah that her father had married a woman only two years her elder, but she found it surprisingly pleasant to have a sister who was only seven. It made her feel younger. She felt for Egeria. She wouldn’t have wanted to raise a child at forty-nine. It was hard enough being forty-seven, and her children were essentially grown. Terra would turn nineteen soon, and Augie twenty just a few days later.

“Good morning, Yuah,” said Egeria, as her stepdaughter plopped into a chair at the table. “Would you care for a scone?”

“Oh, just tea please. What happened to me anyway?”

“You had quite a bit of wine last night, so I thought it better that you stay the night with us.”

Yuah looked around, noticing that it was only Egeria, Olivia, and she in the room.

“Where’s Papa?”

“He’s already gone into work.” Egeria poured the tea and then stirred in several ingredients before handing it over. “Here you go, dear. It has honey, lemon, and ginger. It will make you feel better.”

“Thank you,” said Yuah. “What do you mean, he’s gone in to work. He’s retired.”

“He has an office at Uni. He likes to go in and keep an eye on things.”

“Mm-hm. Did I hear Olivia say that you were going to allow her to have a troodon?”

“Yes, but she has to take care of it herself and keep up her studies.”

“You could have just had one of ours. Augie has at least a dozen of them. I can’t go in or out of the house without feeling like they’re going to leap on me and attack.”

“They aren’t aggressive, are they?” asked Egeria. “If one is aggressive towards a human, it should be put down.”

“Well, they don’t actually do anything, but I can see in their eyes that they want to.” Yuah sipped her tea. “I will have that scone now, thank you.”

“I don’t think you want to move that piece there,” said Iolana, peering across the vast gaming table.

Dozens of square wooden playing pieces were arrayed across the oak surface, only half of which faced her. The other pieces belonged to her opponent. Esther hissed softly and moved the piece back to its original spot.

The gaming table sat along the west wall of Iolana’s bedroom, the largest bedroom in the house. Just behind Iolana’s seat was a stone fireplace, and beyond that was a writing desk with chair, and in the corner a cheval glass. Across the room from the fireplace was a beautiful canopy bed, the cover and the drapes of which matched the Thiss green area rug beneath it. Rich oak nightstands, hand-crafted here in Birmisia, matched the oak chest of drawers and the six tall bookcases. At the other end of the room, a comfortable sofa, striped green and gold, sat facing two comfy armchairs. Beside them was a hutch filled with dolls and toys and a mechanical music box, which even now was playing a Freedonian waltz.

The lizzie placed her chin on the table and hissed again.

“You see I’ve got you beat, don’t you?” said Iolana. “Unless you have Insane Witch Woman, there is no way you can win.”

“Cheat,” said Esther quietly.

“How dare you!” growled Iolana, jumping to her feet.

“Ssiss zat techiss szessit suuwasuu dakkuk wasuu wasuu eesousztekhau.”

“Well of course I do. Who’s going to make the pieces for the game if I don’t? Answer me that.” The human girl put her hands on her hips. “All the other players in town copy my pieces and nobody has complained that they weren’t fair, ssisthusso very much.”

The lizzie slid her chin off the table and climbed beneath it.

“Oh, do get up. Maybe I should let you win sometimes. Perhaps that would be good for your self-esteem, but it just sends the wrong message, doesn’t it? How would you ever know if you truly were good enough to beat me?”

The door suddenly burst open and Iolana’s cousin Terra came shooting in. Though dressed in a frilly little outfit of burgundy and silver, the seven-year-old was barefoot and both her hands and feet were extremely grimy. Her thick brown hair was a mess. Iolana held up her hand like a traffic cop.

“You know you’re supposed to knock before you come in that door.”

“I only want to play with your lizzie,” said Terra’s scratchy little voice.

“How in Kafira’s name did you get so dirty? Your mother is going to have a dinosaur when she sees you.”

“I want to play with your lizzie,” Terra repeated. “Can I take her out to the swings?”

Iolana tilted her head to look under the table. “Do you want to go outside with Terra?”

Esther bobbed her head up and down.

“Say the word.”

“Yess.”

“All right then,” she told her cousin, “but don’t bring her back all dirty.”

“Come on, lizzie,” called Terra, as Esther scrambled out from under the table and followed the girl out the door.

After carefully washing her hands in the basin on her nightstand, Iolana checked her dress in the cheval that stood in the corner. Then she retrieved a straw boater from her closet and added a small red achillobator feather that just matched her red dress. Leaving her room, she ran into her mother’s dressing maid at the top of the stairs.

“Narsa, have one of the males go watch Terra and Esther. They’re playing out in the garden. And when they’re done, have them cleaned up, preferably before Auntie Yuah sees them.”

“Yess.”

At the bottom of the stairs, Iolana passed through the dining room where several servants were cleaning up after luncheon and getting the room ready for tea. In the kitchen, others were already preparing finger sandwiches. Here she found Walworth Partridge, sitting on a stool, stuffing his face with them. Walworth, a somewhat gangly youth of seventeen, was the latest of a string of young men who had worked for the Dechantagne and Staff families as drivers.

“Fancy driving me to the pfennig store, Wally?”

“That’s what they pay me for,” he said, shoving the last little sandwich into his mouth whole and hopping to his feet.

He started for the back door and Iolana followed.

“I lit the boiler while ago,” he said over his shoulder, his mouth still full. “Should be nice and ready.”

The shiny red steam carriage, one of seven cars in the family’s possession, poured out black smoke from its chimney and steam from the pressure relief. As Iolana climbed into the passenger seat, Walworth made the necessary checks and adjustments to the engine before climbing into the driver’s side.

“Which store did you want?”

“Let’s go to the new one at Clark and Forest.”

“By the Gazette?”

“Um, yes. I suppose so.”

Though traffic was sparse around her home, once they had passed Town Square the streets became crowded with steam carriages, pedestrians, and lizzies pulling rickshaws. At Clark and First, they came upon the scene of a traffic accident. Though it was hard to tell exactly what had happened, it had obviously involved a car and two or more rickshaws. There seemed to be no one seriously injured, but it took more than fifteen minutes to get past the intersection. Finally Walworth brought the vehicle to a stop at the curb in front of one of the newer business buildings.

J.D. Kinney’s 5 and 10 Pfennig Dry Goods and Sundries occupied the largest part of the building. The remainder held Doreen’s Millinery and Friese and Son’s Imported Foods and Beverages. Separated only by an alleyway was another business building just to the left, containing Buttermore’s Photography, Mademoiselle Joliet’s Dress Shop, Tint’s Haberdashery, and McCoort & McCoort Print Shop and Publishing. Just beyond that was a third building, just as large as the first two, which was devoted entirely to the Birmisia Gazette.

It was a warm spring day in Birmisia Colony, and the people of Port Dechantagne were making the most of it. The parks were full of families, watching children play football or eating picnic lunches. Several practice cricket matches were being played, with more than a few spectators. Outdoor cafes were full and there was a concert scheduled in the downtown amphitheater for later that day. Many strolled along the sidewalk, rather than taking a car. However, one young couple was driving their steam-powered carriage northward into the warehouse district on the peninsula. Both looked to be about twenty years old. Both were dressed in expensive and fashionable clothing, his a sharp grey suit with a red waistcoat, and hers a creamy peach day dress trimmed in white lace.

“I thought we were going to the concert,” said the young woman. She ran her hand over the blond hair that spilled down to her shoulders from beneath the peach tri-corner hat perched atop her head.

“We are,” he replied, steering to the curb of Seventh and One Half Avenue. “I just have to check something first.”

Engaging the parking brake, he hopped out of the vehicle, running around back to open the relief cock. A loud whistle of steam escaped the pipe.

“I’ll be right back,” he said, peeling off his driving gloves and tossing them into his seat.

Then he stepped quickly down the street some twenty feet and disappeared into the narrow space between two warehouses. His destination was a locked door near the rear of the leftmost building, and he was busy fishing the key from his pocket so he didn’t notice the two men coming from the other direction.

One was a shorter man with a thick chest and muscular arms. He was bald and wore an eye patch. The other was a huge fellow, towering over the young man’s six-foot height; with a huge mop of blond hair that half obscured his face.

“We’ll be takin’ your wallet,” said the shorter of the two.

The well-dressed young man looked up, startled.

“Now see here…” his words were cut off when the giant slammed a fist into his stomach. He doubled over, looking up with wide eyes. His expression was not one of fear, but of shock, as if it was simply inconceivable that someone would lay hands on him. He was helpless as the one-eyed man reached into his breast pocket and pulled out his wallet.

“We’ll take that watch too.”

“No…” the young man tried to say.

The giant took him by the shoulders and slammed him against the building wall. The one-eyed man grabbed his watch by its chain and yanked it from his pocket. One brass button shot off his waistcoat and bounced off the neighboring building’s wall.

“Don’t feel bad, boy,” said the thief. “It’s all a part of growing up.”

The two stepped back behind the building and were gone. The young man struggled to take a couple of deep breaths. Then he slowly rose to his feet to find the young woman next to him.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

He shook his head. His eyes brimmed over with angry tears.

“I’ll be right back,” she said.

“No,” he said, but she was already gone. “Kafira damn it all,” he growled, punching the corrugated tin wall of the warehouse, leaving a fist-size indentation. Then he took several more deep breaths, carefully straightened his jacket, and bent down to brush the dirt off his trousers. His bowler hat fell off and rolled several feet away. He retrieved it and brushed it off too. When he stood up straight once again, she was back.

“How are you?” she asked.

“How am I supposed to be?” he said, wiping a stray tear from his face. “I’ve been emasculated twice in one day.”

“Hardly emasculated. There were two of them and they were no doubt seasoned criminals.”

“Once by them and once by you,” he accused.

“Me? What did I do?”

“You tell me. What did you do?”

“I just taught them the error of their ways.” She held out her hand, holding his wallet and watch. “Here. Don’t be upset, Augie. You are a very powerful man.”

“Not the right kind of powerful, in this case. I shouldn’t need my woman to fight my battles for me.”

“I’m not your woman.”

“You’re supposed to be.”

“What I mean to say is, I’m not a woman. I am what I am, and when somebody harms someone I love… well, they must die. It’s as simple as that.”