The Port Dechantagne Hospital was one of the newest additions to the downtown business district. It was a three-story building of red brick, with white stonework along the corners and the windows, very much in the same style as Police Headquarters. Inside there was very little similarity. The hospital had a large entryway that led to three wings stretching out to either side and to the back. At an oak desk just inside the door was an aged nun who smiled pleasantly as Saba Colbshallow stopped to inquire the location of Maro McCoort.

A young girl in a candy-striped dress was summoned to lead him to room 128 in the east wing. The room was typical of the hospital, large and with four beds, two on either side. All four were filled with patients, all but one of whom were unconscious. McCoort was in the bed on the far left. A nurse standing beside him was writing notes on a clipboard.

“How is he?” Saba asked her.

“Oh, Chief Colbshallow.” She stopped writing and fiddled with her hair for a moment before answering. “Mother Auni and the doctors have done all they can for him, but he still hasn’t come to.”

“Do they expect him to?”

The nurse shrugged. “He was frozen… I mean, rock hard. I don’t think anyone has seen that happen to a person… who survived, I mean.”

“I want to be contacted immediately, if he wakes. I intend to see that the person responsible pays.”

“I for one am a little surprised that you’re so vehement,” said a voice behind him.

He turned around to find a young man in a Colonial Guard captain’s dress uniform. With him was a girl, a few years younger, in an expensive green day dress.

“And why exactly would that be, Tiber?”

“Maro was never very generous in his editorials about the police department.” Tiber Stevenson smiled crookedly. “Oh, you remember my sister Mona, don’t you, Chief?”

Saba nodded to the girl and then turned back to her brother.

“All the more reason to be vigilant in the execution of my duties. People need to know that the police department is here to maintain law and order for everyone, no matter what may or may not have been said in the past.”

“Very judicious of you.”

“You’re looking very sharp,” observed Saba. “Not dressed up just for a hospital visit, are you?”

“No. We’re on our way to the wedding.”

“Oh, Sam Croffut’s. I had forgotten that it was today. I had to send my regrets, what with all that’s going on.”

“I’m standing up for Sam,” said Tiber, “as well as acting as Mona’s escort. Her fiancé is in Mallontah on business. She’s engaged to Fitzroy Norich, you know.”

“I hope you’ll be very happy,” Saba told her. “Do you suppose your older brother will ever find a young woman?”

“You’ll find out soon enough,” said Tiber.

“He means you’ll find out when he’s disinherited,” said Mona.

“Really! Prepared to give up everything for true love? I would never have thought you had it in you, Stephenson. You’ve grown three-fold in my esteem.”

“That and a pfennig will buy me a cup of coffee,” said Tiber. “Now if you’ll excuse us, Chief, I would like to spend a few minutes with my sick friend.”

Saba nodded and left the two young people beside Maro McCoort’s bed.

Maro and Sherree McCoort sat across from one another at a cozy table in Bonne Nourriture. A lizzie waiter arrived with open bottle of wine and poured a sample for the gentleman. He took a sip and nodded. The lizzie filled both of their glasses and stepped away.

“This is a lovely treat,” said Sherree. “I didn’t think we would be able to go out as often, since our livelihood in the form of the publishing house and newspaper is gone.”

“That’s all being taken care of,” said Maro, waving his hand dismissively. “The colony can’t do without a newspaper. The banks have to give us the loans we need to get going again. Until then, we’ve got your family’s money.”

His wife frowned, but didn’t say anything else on the subject.

The human waiter, a rather oily-looking Mirsannan arrived at the table. “And what would monsieur and madam like to start out with?”

“We will have the escargot in garlic butter.”

“Very good, monsieur.”

“Why do we always have to start our meal with escargot?” pouted Sherree, when the waiter had gone. “I would like to try the crepes. Everyone says they’re wonderful.”

“But escargot is the best appetizer they have. It’s three marks fifty more than the crepes, so it has to be better. I’ll tell you what. You pick our main course.”

“All right. I think we should have seared xiphactinus with crabmeat in sherry sauce.”

“Are you sure? The beef is one mark fifty more. It’s probably better.”

“Oh, no! I’m not eating Beef Dechantagne!”

“But they don’t call it that here,” he said. “It’s just boeuf en crute.”

“I don’t care,” she pouted. “Those people are just too full of themselves, without going and naming food after them too.”

The couple ate their dinner of fish with crabmeat and both enjoyed it. For pudding, they had Mirsannan ice cream topped with local pineapple. With a friendly handshake for the maître-de, a clandestine five mark banknote in his palm, Mr. McCoort guided his wife out of the restaurant and down the walkway to where his bright yellow Sawyer and Sons steam carriage waited. Helping her into the passenger seat, he started to step around to the driver’s side.

“Bechnoth uuthanum pestor paj,” said a voice from the darkness.

Bright blue light engulfed Maro McCoort and within seconds, his body was frozen solid. Sherree screamed.

“Shut your yap, girl,” growled a man stepping out of the darkness.

He was tall and thin. Dressed in a suit and bowler hat, he seemed completely unremarkable, unlike the wizards who had been strutting around town. But his black eyes were filled with menace. He climbed up into the seat next to the woman.

“You can get out and take care of your fellow, or you can take a ride with me.”

Sherree jumped out of the car and hurried around to stand by her husband. With a laugh, the man slammed his foot down on the forward accelerator. Then he frowned as the vehicle rolled a few feet. The steam cock had not been set.

“Premba uuthanum tachthna,” he growled, placing his hand on the dash. The vehicle lurched forward and raced away into the darkness.

A man in a pristine black suit with a grey waistcoat came down the line, finally reaching Iolana and Esther. His carefully waxed mustache emphasized his thin-lipped smile.

“This is the procedure,” he said. “When you hear your names, you will step forward and stop at the yellow dot on the floor in front of the throne. Your name will be called, and you will curtsy. Then you will exit through the opposite door. If the king asks you a question, you will answer in as few words as possible, finishing with ‘Your Majesty’. If either of the princes should address you, the same applies, but in their case, it is ‘Your Royal Highness’.”

“Of course,” replied Iolana.

“I was told you understood Brech?” said the man to Esther.

“She does,” said Iolana.

“Then, there will be no surprises?”

“No sssurprises,” said Esther.

The line moved slowly onward. They were afforded a view of the royals long before it was their turn to stand before them. His Majesty King Tybalt III was a tall, thin man who, though his red uniform seemed to hang on him, was still quite spry for his sixty-four years. His thinning hair and mutton chops were still more blond than grey. Behind the throne, on either side, stood the two princes, dressed, like their father, in red uniforms filled with medals. Twenty-four-year-old Crown Prince Tybalt was on the left, looking completely bored. His fifteen-year-old half-brother, Prince Clitus, looked more nervous than anything else.

When she was close enough to actually hear the king’s conversation, Esther paid close attention to the exchanges.

“Lord Winsdall and his daughter Lady Ewa Windsdall,” droned the announcer.

“Good day, Lord Winsdall,” said the king. “This can’t be your daughter. There has to be some kind of mistake. Why, your daughter was only this big,” he held his thumb and forefinger about two inches apart, “when last I saw her.”

“They do grow up fast, Your Majesty.”

“Tell me, young lady, do you shoot? My son is a great shot.” He waved toward Prince Tybalt.”

“I don’t, Your Majesty, but I’d love to see him shoot.”

Prince Tybalt glanced down at the young woman the way a street sweeper looks at a pile of horse dung, sniffed, and turned away.

“Mr. and Mrs. Marvin Van Josen,” called the announcer, signaling that Lord Winsdall’s time was over.

“You’re the fellow that laid the trans-ocean telegraph line, aren’t you?” asked the king.

Prince Clitus looked interested. His older brother still looked bored.

“I was the chief engineer, Your Majesty. It was a team effort.”

“Quite, quite. You should all be congratulated, and you will be. We are sure to see your name on the list for the Order of St. Ulixes.”

Mr. Van Josen bowed. Prince Clitus looked as though he wanted to say something, but held his tongue.

“And how are you finding Brech City, Mrs. Van Josen?”

“Ser gute, Majesty.”

“Sir Redry Moorn, Lady Honoria Moorn, and Lady Hortence Moorn,” called the announcer, as the Van Josens stepped away.

Prince Tybalt was suddenly interested, particularly in Lady Honoria, who was a lovely young woman in a lavender gown. Both young women batted their eyelashes at him, but he was oblivious to Lady Hortence who was pretty enough, though not in her sister’s class. He leaned over and whispered something in his father’s ear.

“Sir Redry. These are your daughters?”

“Step-daughters, Your Majesty, though they are as dear to me as if they were my own.”

“You are in the city for a few days?”

“A fortnight, Your Majesty.”

“Very good. We shall see that they are invited to the Crown Prince’s tea.”

Sir Redry bowed curtly.

“Lady Iolana Dechantagne Staff and Esther… Ssaharranah of Birmisia.”

Iolana shot Esther an annoyed glance before turning her attention to the royal family.

“Lady Iolana,” said the king. “We were sorry to hear of the death of your father Sir Radley. We found him to be a fine man.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.”

“And we express our admiration for your mother. A most remarkable woman.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Iolana suddenly looked as if she had bitten down on a lemon.

“So.” King Tybalt rose to his feet and stepped down to stop directly in front of Esther. “This is a lizzie. We are told you understand Brech.”

“Yes, Your Majesssty.”

“Outstanding! Boys, come down here.” The two princes hurried to take spots on either side of their father. “We must know these Birmisians, as we are their king too.”

Prince Clitus looked at Iolana.

“I read your book… um, two of them—the one on dinosaurs and the history. You know, Colonel Mormont was my third cousin.”

“Twice removed, Your Highness, yes, I did know that.”

“I’m hoping to go to Birmisia some day,” he said.

“There is no reason you shouldn’t,” said the king, slapping the prince on the shoulder, and then turning to ascend to the throne. “How are you being treated here in Brechalon?” he asked over his shoulder.

“Well, Your Majesty, there seems to be…” started Esther.

“She’s being treated very well,” interrupted Iolana.

“Excellent. We shall hope to see you again before you sail for home.”

“Sir Reynold Isenn,” called the announcer, as Iolana and Esther were ushered out a side corridor.

“What is this Ssaharranah business?” demanded Iolana.

“It means exiled.”

“I know what it means! No one has exiled you. You are Esther Staff! You have always been part of my family.”

“Is that what is says on my baptismal certificate?”

The throne room was magnificent. It was constructed of great stone blocks, intricately carved, and the floor was composed a huge mosaic of red, blue, and white tiles. The room was filled with lizzies, most of them elaborately covered in body paint and feathers. Still, it was easy enough to see where the power was. At the far end of the room was a dais, with a heavy stone throne positioned right in its center. Sitting somewhat slumped in the chair was King Hsrandtuss. Terra thought that she might have recognized him even without his golden crown. Not only was he huge and battle-scarred, but even sitting as he was, there was something of a presence about him. It was like what Auntie Iolanthe had, though she was firmly against slouching.

The great red-painted lizzie stopped just inside the door and held out his hand in a gesture to stop. Terra stepped around him and continued on. He followed hissing, but apparently afraid to lay hands on her. There was something of a queue of lizzies waiting to speak to the king, but they, one after another, stepped aside as she approached. She stopped some ten feet from Hsrandtuss, but the monarch didn’t move, and Terra realized that he was asleep.

On either side of the king was a female lizzie. The one on the right was painted intricately with yellow and white, while the one on the left was in black and red. Both were draped in at least ten pounds of gold jewelry. These were two of Hsrandtuss’s queens. The queen on the left poked Hsrandtuss on the shoulder. He swiped at her, but missed.

Terra stepped up onto the dais. Every lizzie in the entire room let out a quick hiss. Hsrandtuss opened his eyes.

“Hello,” he said in Brech.

“Hello,” said Terra, placing her hand on her throat, palm out.

“That’s as much of your language as I know. Do you speak our tongue, tiny male?”

“I do. It is a pleasure to meet you, Great King. I am a female though.”

“Are you doing this to confuse me? Are you not wearing male feathers? Take off your hat.”

Terra removed her pith helmet, letting her limp brown hair fall around her face.

“I still can’t tell,” growled the King.

“I’m sorry to appear before you so unpresentable, but my things were all lost in an attack by gorgosaurs. I had some gifts for you too, from my brother, but I’m afraid they were also lost.” There was no lizzie word for brother, so Terra substituted “male from my hut, born of an egg from the same female,” which always struck her as funny because it made it sound like the hut had laid an egg.

“Now I am nervous,” said the king. “Who exactly is this male hut mate?”

“He is Lord Dechantagne.” She didn’t bother with most of Augie’s titles, since the lizzies didn’t have words for them.

“Yes, I know your hut. He is The Little King. Dechantagne.” The king pronounced her family name as well as a human. “I have spent time with Child of the Sunrise. She is impressive. And I know you. You are the one they call Earthworm.”

“Yes.”

“Tell me your human name.”

“Terra Posthuma Korlann Dechantagne.”

“A much more impressive name…” He suddenly rose to his feet. “You were attacked by gorgosaurs? I was not told you were coming! I can’t be held responsible for you if I didn’t even know you were coming!   You could have dragged my people into war and I wouldn’t even know why!”

“My brother knew the risks. No one could have reasonably blamed my death on you, Great King.”

Hsrandtuss leaned over and paced his long snout right in front of her nose. “You speak as if humans were reasonable.”

One of the big themes in A Plague of Wizards is isolation.  Many characters have to deal with some form of isolation.  Senta is isolated from everyone that she knows and loves for a long time, and even when she returns, she feels an emotional distance from them.  Esther is isolated in that she is the only lizzie on a continent of humans, and likewise, Terra is the sole human living in a city-state of lizzies.  Both Baxter and Saba feel isolated because of the broken relationships in which each finds himself.

Esther continued down the hallway, hissing happily, which might not have been such a good thing on the balance. She turned to start down the sweeping staircase and came face to face with Finley, the underbutler. Almost running into her hissing snout apparently startled him so badly that he dropped the silver tray loaded with the morning post, and leaned precariously backwards. He made an “eeep” sound when she grabbed him by the collar, but at least he didn’t topple down the stairs.

“Kafira! That was close,” said Esther, as she steadied him on the step below her. “Are you all right?”

“Nothing a couple of liver pills won’t fix,” he said, bending down to pick up the dropped letters.

“If you’re sure then,” said Esther continuing down the stairs. At the foot of the staircase, she turned back around to see him still watching her. Esther gave him a little wave and, turning right and then right again, entered the dining room.

Two women, both in their early twenties, sat at the immense table, enjoying a breakfast feast. Esther sat down across from them. Fodora Epps and Regina Elipton were guests in the house rather than residents, at least nominally. Both had been staying there for almost a month. Besides being members of the aristocracy, and obnoxious twits, they were acquaintances of Lady Iolana’s from University.

“Good morning,” said Esther, taking a serving spoon and adding two slices of bacon, two large pieces of black pudding, and one basted egg to her plate. “Would you pass the ssscones, please?”

“Imagine letting that thing eat at the table,” said Fodora, looking from between the brunette ringlets that framed her face and down her long nose.

“Where is your owner?” asked Regina, a blonde with big eyes but no appreciable chin.

“I don’t know where Lady Iolana is,” said Esther, taking a bite of black pudding. “Ssso no ssscones then?”

Fodora pushed the plate of scones three inches toward the lizzie. Esther had to stand up to reach them. Taking a scone in one hand, she picked up the dish of lemon curd in the other and sat back down.

“I am ssso happy that you two are staying,” she said. “It would pain me if your families’ current financial sssituations forced you to live on the ssstreets.”

“My family is richer than yours,” snarled Regina, forgetting for a moment to whom she was speaking.

She had either forgotten or never bothered to commit to memory the fact that Esther had been adopted by Iolana Staff at a very early age. She had no proper lizzie family, and among the lizzies, even village chieftains would have been poor compared to the Eliptons of Brech. On the other hand, if one considered her part of the Dechantagne-Staff family, as Iolana did, there was no question that the Eliptons would have suffered in any comparison of wealth.

Lady Iolana Staff swept into the room. At nineteen years of age, she had reached her full five foot seven inches height, and developed what among Brech women was considered the perfect figure. She was not particularly buxom, nor was her bottom, without a bustle, particularly large, but her waist was quite thin even without a corset. She was stunning, with waves of golden hair falling well past her shoulders and the same aquamarine eyes as her mother. She was already dressed to go out, in a rose and pink velvet day dress with a matching hat.

“Good morning, all.”

“It’s not been such a good morning,” said Regina. “Your lizzie has insulted my entire family.”

“How could you?” Iolana hissed at Esther.

The lizzie shrugged and ate her egg.

“You will have to excuse Esther. Obviously I have been lax in her education regarding etiquette. She will need, perhaps, some remediation.”

“You’ve done remarkably well with her,” said Fodora, “considering she is a member of an inferior race. Is it a good idea to have her at the table though? I’m afraid she might pass on some horrible pestilence.”

“That is highly unlikely for a number of reasons,” said Iolana. “I’m on my way out. I have several errands to run and would enjoy some company.”

“I’ll get my hat,” said Esther, starting to get up.

“I had planned on you being with me, but considering your behavior toward our guests, it would only be rewarding you to take you now.”

“In that case, Regina and I will accompany you,” said Fodora.

“Excellent,” said Iolana. “We’ll have luncheon at The Clarkson House.”

“Tonahass ssotook, ssisthusso,” said Esther, giving the two women a friendly wave as they left the table.

“Khikheto etehos,” snapped Iolana, who then turned and followed the other two women from the room.

Esther let out a very human sigh and then looked over the rest of the food. She was satisfied that she had enough protein but she ate several pickles directly from the relish tray. She noticed one of the maids peeking in and waved for her to go ahead and clear the table.