We continue to look at the long list of characters who appear in The Price of Magic.  Most have appeared in previous books in the series. I’m not going to tell you what happens to them in The Price of Magic, but if you haven’t read the earlier Senta books, Spoiler Alert.

Maro is Senta’s cousin. We first meet him in Book 0: Brechalon, where he has his hand maimed in a printing press. We see him again in Book 1: The Voyage of the Minotaur, but they are separated when Granny, their guardian, dies. Maro shows up again in Book 5: The Two Dragons, when he and his brother arrive in Birmisia to start a printing business. At last, Senta has nearby family.  Maro is the relative Senta feels closest to, since they grew up together and are only six months apart in age.  They played together as small children in Hexagon park.

Sherree Glieberman first appears in Book 3: The Drache Girl as she sails to Birmisia with her family on the same ship that Radley Staff arrives in.  She makes a brief appearance in Book 5: The Two Dragons, but things get really interesting when we see quite a bit of her in Book 6: The Sorceress and her Lovers and find that she is Iolana’s “mean girl.”  This makes it all the more unpleasant for Iolana, when Sherree becomes engaged to Maro, a boy that Iolana fancies, even though she is too young for him.

New powers are rising in Birmisia. Far to the south, the strange lizardmen of Xiatooq are making themselves known. Closer to home, the new lizzie city Yessonarah finds itself rich in gold—gold the humans covet. As tensions rise, many in Port Dechantagne seem eager to teach the lizzies a lesson in humility. Fourteen year old Iolana Staff finds herself in the center of it all, as she is pulled between her conscience and the conventions of society. Unconcerned with the conflict between human and lizzie, sorceress Senta Bly prepares for her own war, unaware that events will pull her into a life and death confrontation with an old enemy.

The Price of Magic is the latest in a series that chronicles a world of steam power and rifles, where magic has not yet been forgotten. A new colony in a distant lost world has grown from a tiny outpost to a center of civilization in a vast wilderness. The Price of Magic continues a story of adventure and magic, religion and prejudice, steam engines and dinosaurs, angels and lizardmen, machine guns and wizards, sorceresses, bustles and corsets, steam-powered computers, hot air balloons, and dragons.

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The horrible red head turned toward them. Lady Iolana Staff felt a thrill of fear as the great yellow eyes met her own. It was by far the closest she’d ever been to a tyrannosaurus. The great black body pivoted toward them and took a single step in their direction. She could hear it sucking air through its fist-sized nostrils even at a hundred yards away.

“You mustn’t be frightened,” said her father’s voice at her shoulder. “You must never be frightened.”

“I can be frightened, can’t I?” wondered Benny Markham.

“Quiet,” said Mr. Staff. “Everyone take careful aim. Remember what we talked about. You want the spot right between those useless little arms. I shall be very cross if anyone shoots it in the head and ruins the trophy.

Iolana raised her rifle to her shoulder just as the monster took a second step toward the group of humans and lizzies. In her peripheral vision, she could see Benny, Walter, and Augie doing the same thing. Although just outside the range of her eyes, she knew that Ascan was as well.

“Not yet,” said Mr. Staff. “Let’s see if she’ll get a little closer.”

It seemed as if the creature simply went from standing still one moment, to running at them with the speed of a locomotive. Opening its great jaws, it unleashed the most horrible roar that could be imagined. All four of the others began firing, but even with the tyrannosaurus bearing down upon them, Iolana could feel her father’s eyes watching her rather than the beast. She fired ten perfectly centered rounds in eight seconds, before calmly dropping the clip from the bottom of the rifle and slapping in another. The second clip proved entirely unnecessary, as the monster dropped to the ground, her massive blood-red head still fifteen feet away.

Iolana flipped on the safety and slung the rifle to her shoulder before turning to Mr. Staff, who stood smiling at her, his own firearm still cradled, unused, in his arm.

“Well done,” he said.

“Sweet Kafira, full of grace, thanks for our protection,” whispered Walter Charmley.

“No offense to your beliefs,” said Benny, “but I’d like to thank whoever invented the repeating rifle.”

“Oliver Winston-Davies,” said Iolana, stepping away from the others and toward the tyrannosaurus. “In 1855. Thankfully ours are rather improved over his model.”

“Be careful Iolana,” called Ascan Tice. “Make sure it’s dead before you get too close.”

“She’s dead,” replied Iolana, reaching down and placing her palm against the blood red skin just behind the creature’s still open yellow eye.

The monstrous hind leg kicked into the air. Several of the others jumped, and Benny let out a squeak.

“It’s nothing but her reflexes,” said Iolana. “You were the queen of your world, weren’t you?”

She then turned and sat on the creature’s neck. “Let’s have a photograph, then. Are you ready, Mr. Buttermore?” She placed the butt of her rifle on the dinosaur’s jaw, holding it upright beside her. She lifted her chin and smiled with only a little bit of a smirk.

Edin Buttermore was indeed setting up the hatbox-sized camera on its tripod.

“Almost ready for you, My Lady. Let’s adjust the focal length. Here we go. Now hold still… There we have it. That will make a spectacular print.”

When Senta woke the next morning, she assumed it was very early, as there was hardly any light coming in, even though all the curtains were open. Then she heard the distant rumble of thunder and looked at the clock. It was almost eleven. She stretched decadently across her bed. That bed had cost as much as the average working man made in a year, and was the only one she’d even been in, at least since she’d been fully grown, in which her feet didn’t hang over the bottom. As her hand stretched across, she felt the other side—the empty side.

She really didn’t expect Baxter to be there. He almost never was by the time she got up. But when he was there, he was a horrible, insatiable monster. She smiled slyly at the memory of last night, and yesterday afternoon, as she rolled over.

On the far side of the room, Aggie, the lizzie dressing maid, was carrying hangers full of dresses to the closet.

“Bring me my foundations,” she said.

The lizzie started and hissed.

“I’ll wear that green walking dress. Yes, the one with the white underdress.”

Aggie bobbed her head up and down to indicate she understood. The lizzies were surprisingly good at helping human women get dressed. Senta had been to a number of lizzie villages and two of the great lizzie city-states, and she knew how they festooned themselves with paint, feathers, and beads. She supposed it really wasn’t all that different than dressing in gingham, lace, and make-up.

“Paint,” she said to herself.

Mistaking her meaning, Aggie rushed over to the vanity, where on rare occasions, Senta applied rouge, eye shadow, and lip color.

“No, not now. After.”

When Senta stepped off the bottom of the staircase, she found her lover and her child in the parlor. The former was reading the paper and the latter was pushing herself along on a two-foot-tall, three-foot-long wooden iguanodon. Each of the creature’s four feet was attached to a pair of small wheels. A miniature saddle was fixed into the creature’s back, making it just high enough that little Senta could reach the ground with her tiptoes and propel it.

“What’s this then?”

“Brilliant, isn’t it? Mr. Dokkins made it. I thought it was a wonderful idea, since the real ones proved too scary.”

“Lift your feet a moment, Pet.” The little girl did so. “Uuthanum tachthna. Now just think where you want to go, and you’ll get there without having to push.”

Within moments, Sen was zooming around the room, nowhere near the speed of a baby iguanodon, but much faster than she would have been able to on her own power. Senta dropped down into a plush chair and draped her left arm and her head over the chair arm.

“Come and give kisses,” she ordered.

Sen raced by, crashing into the coffee table, backed up a bit, and turned to kiss her mother on the cheek. Then she was back to zooming around the room.

“I take it the morning post has arrived,” said the sorceress.

Baxter lifted the paper he was reading in reply.

She walked to the foyer and retrieved the stack of letters from the small silver plate on the table by the door. Flipping through them, she found among several bills, a letter addressed to her from Dr. Agon Bessemer. She smiled, as she picked up the silver opener and cut through the envelope. Back in the parlor, she plopped back into the overstuffed chair and read through the message.

“I have a letter from Bessemer,” she said.

“I saw that,” Baxter replied without looking up.

“He’s invited us to spend some time at his fortress. We will be leaving in four days time.”

“We who?”

“Why, all of us.”

“Traveling overland through unexplored wilderness, presumably on foot, through wild lizzie territory, with vicious dinosaurs all around?”

“I’ve made the journey before. We’ll be perfectly safe.”

“I know what you were talking about,” said Ernst Goose, pushing back a strand of her long blond hair. “You’re talking about what everybody else is talking about.”

“They should be back in a fortnight,” said Willa. “Won’t it be exciting to have actual aristocracy in the colony?”

“They’re still the same people they always were,” said Alwijn. “There’s no reason to expect them to act differently just because they’ve met the king.”

“Absolutely,” agreed Baxter. “I can assure you that Radley Staff won’t have his head turned because he’s been made a Baron.”

“What about Augie Dechantagne?” wondered Ernst. “How does a ten year old boy deal with becoming a viscount and an earl and whatever else the king decided to make him?”

“Well, it’s not like he didn’t already strut around like a little lord,” said Wissinger. “You know what he did when Ari Grayton threw a stone at his sister? He walked right up to Grayton’s father and told him, ‘I plan on shooting your son tomorrow, just so you know.’”

“I’ve heard that story before,” said Baxter. “I think it’s probably grown with the telling.”

“All I know is that Ari Grayton is back in Brechalon now at boarding school.”

“Speaking of,” said Willa. “I haven’t seen Iolana in a while.”

“That’s Lady Iolana,” corrected Wissinger. “Maybe we should look for her. It wouldn’t do to lose her.”

“I’ll check the garden,” said Baxter, leaving the others, crossing the room, and exiting through the stained glass doors. The brisk air felt good after the warmth inside, but it was only a few seconds before the chill began nipping at his hands and ears.

Though the center of the garden was well lit, there were plenty of dark corners. Baxter glanced around quickly, almost missing the couple snogging against the northwest verge.

“A word, Maro,” he said, taking a couple of steps in their direction.

Maro McCoort started, turning to look over his shoulder, revealing between him and the wall, Sherree Glieberman, her large glasses askew. While she straightened them, smoothed down the bodice of her dress, and rearranged the large cross she wore on a chain around her neck, he stepped quickly over to where Baxter stood.

“This is a party, not a Mirsannan seraglio.”

“You’re not my father,” said McCoort.

“No, and I’m not hers either, lucky for you,” said Baxter. “Besides it’s too cold out here for the young lady. He blew steam into the air in front of him.

“Let’s go back inside.” McCoort returned to Sherree and guided her by the shoulders past Baxter.

“We’re almost married,” she said, peering at the man through her thick glasses as they passed.

“I’d smack the smug off both of them for a pfennig,” Baxter muttered, once they were inside.

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