“Good morning, all,” said Peter Bassington walking jauntily into the dining room.

“Hi, Uncle,” said Sen from her seat atop a pile of mail order catalogs.

“Good morning, Peter,” said Baxter, watching him sit down and then pushing a platter of white pudding toward him. “You seem in good spirits.”

“Why wouldn’t I be in good spirits? Why wouldn’t anybody? We’re here in Birmisia, the weather is warming up, there’s plenty to eat, and no one to tell us what to do. Isn’t that right, sister?”

Senta didn’t answer. She was staring off into space.

“Sister?”

“What?” She blinked and looked around, her eyes finally settling on him. “Oh, do you still live here?”

“Don’t mind her,” said Baxter. “She’s got her mind on important things and can’t be bothered with us mortals.”

“Well, I’m a journeyman wizard now. I passed my test. Maybe I could help you with whatever you have going on, sister.”

“That’s half-sister,” said Senta. She rose out of her chair as if gravity didn’t exist for her and stepped around the table, pausing just long enough to bend over and bite Baxter on the ear, before leaving through the kitchen door.

“I think she’s getting meaner,” said Peter, frowning and reaching for the toast.

“Get Mr. Bassington some eggs.” Baxter snapped his fingers at one of the lizzie servants. “Like I said, don’t mind her. She’s got something on her mind and forgets the ordinary things—like the fact that we have feelings.”

“Well I shan’t mind her. Life is too good to go around worrying about things.”

“So, what are you doing on this thoroughly wonderful day then?” asked Baxter.

“Oh, I’m going to fiddle around for a couple of hours, and then I have a lunch date.”

“Oh? And where are you taking Miss Bassett?”

“It’s not with Abigail. I’m taking out Lucetta Hartley.”

“I don’t think I know that family.”

“They’re just here from Brechalon—Langsington.”

“Well, you certainly seem to be a popular fellow,” said Baxter.

“I know.” The young man grinned. “None of them ever noticed me back in Brech, but here I’m that popular.”

“I’m sure you can attribute some of that to the fact that your sister is letting you spend her money as freely as you can.”

“Yeah. Do you think she’d let me buy a steam carriage? That’s really the only reason I’m not completely irresistible.”

“I know for a fact that Senta will have nothing to do with a steam carriage,” said Baxter. “She doesn’t like them. And part of your resistibility has to do with your being a dunderhead.”

“Hey! She said I could buy what I wanted. Besides, I don’t see you with any of your own money. How much did that fine suit set you back?”

“You watch your mouth if you don’t want it smacked,” said Baxter.

Peter raised a finger, threateningly. Baxter gave him a withering look.

“I wasn’t referring to your spending habits,” he said, “but to your jumping from one young lady to another. You’re going to burn all your bridges. You know they all talk to each other, don’t you?”

“There are plenty of fish in the sea,” grumbled Peter, bothered less by the criticism than by the fact that Baxter didn’t seem to be afraid of his magic.

“That may be, but a good fisherman doesn’t poison the water.” Baxter wiped his mouth with his napkin and tossed it onto his plate. “Now if you’ll excuse me, Sen and I are off to ride a dinosaur this morning.”

“You can’t take a baby on a dinosaur.”

“I’m not a baby,” said the little girl. “I’m three.”

“You see there,” said the man, standing up and scooping the girl up into his arms. “Come along, my darling. Let’s get my riding clothes on.”

Peter watched him leave and then turned his attention to his breakfast, just as the lizzie brought out two basted eggs on a plate.

“You should listen to him,” said a sultry female voice. “I would imagine he’s been with many women.”

Peter looked around, not seeing anyone at first, and then the coral dragon rose up from the other side of the table, taking Senta’s vacated seat. She reached out her scaly arm and picked up each of the remaining platters one at a time, dumping their contents onto Senta’s barely touched plate.

“What do you know about it, Zoey?” asked Peter.

“Hardly anything, which is only slightly less than you.”

“Hardy har, har.”

Peter took two more bites of his breakfast then called for a lizzie to bring him a cup of tea, which he carried out into the garden. Sitting in a wrought iron chair, he sipped the drink as steam rose up and tickled his nose.

“You could catch a chill out here without your coat on.”

“I might be able to catch some peace and quiet. If only.”

“Nobody wants the dragon around.” The smooth metallic body curled around him until the spiky, whiskered face was right in front of his. “I could get a complex.”

Senta walked slowly across the parlor, leafing through the letters from the morning post. She stopped and held one up in her fingers.

“Another letter from Lord Dechantagne,” she said. “Shall I burn it, like the others.”

“Yes,” sighed Zoey, sprawled across the sofa, still in her nightgown though it was well past 1:00 PM. “Wait. No, yes, maybe. I don’t know. No, I want to read it.”

The letter exploded in a bright flash, leaving only a single ember, which drifted down to the floor.

“Oops. Too late.”

“Fine. I really didn’t want to read it.” The dragon in human form leaned back and moaned pitifully. “How could he treat me so terribly?”

“You really must snap out of it, Pet.”

“But he broke my heart!”

“Your dragon heart will not be broken by anything as unimpressive as a human boy.” Senta sat down next to Zoey and ran her hand over her hair. “Augustus is just a boy, and boy’s are even worse than men. They are capricious, self-involved, immature little creatures. Forget him. You’ll be better off, I assure you.”

“But I love him.”

“You need to get away for a while. Next week, I’m leaving to spend a fortnight at Dragon Fortress. You must come with me. We’ll do nothing but relax and indulge ourselves. Those lizzies will faun all over you, you know. They’ll treat you like the goddess you are.”

“You just want to push me at Bessemer.”

“I don’t. I don’t even know that he’ll be there. He spends most of his time these days visiting the lizzie cities. And if he is there, you don’t have to see him if you don’t want to. I promise.”

“Last time I went there with you, I was kidnapped.”

“Well obviously, that won’t happen again,” said Senta. “Between the two of us, there’s nothing in the world to threaten us. Now, I’m going to Bryony’s for tea. Why don’t you get dressed up and come with me?”

“I don’t feel like eating and I don’t feel like watching you torture Bryony.”

“Suit yourself,” said the sorceress, standing up. “Rezesic idium uuthanum tortestos paj.”

With a pop, Senta disappeared from her parlor, only to reappear on the front step of the Baxter’s lovely little cottage. She rapped her knuckles on the door. There was no answer. She repeated the procedure, but still nothing. She turned the doorknob, but the lock was engaged. With a snap of her fingers, she magically unlocked it. Then turning the knob, she let herself in.

The house appeared empty. She walked slowly through the parlor, into the dining room, where she noted the table was set with place settings, but no food was in evidence. She turned and walked down the hallway until she came to a door. She opened it and looked in. Three-and-a-half-year-old Kerry Baxter sat in the center of his bedroom floor, playing with tin soldiers. He looked up.

“Hello little Baxter,” said Senta. “How are you today?”

“I’m hungry.”

She reached into the air and a chocolate biscuit appeared in her hand. She bent down and handed it to him.

“Where is your mommy?”

“Mommy’s sleeping.”

“And where is Sen?”

“She’s not here.”

Turning, Senta continued down the hall, opening another door to see Sen’s empty room. The next door opened into the bathroom. That left only one more door at the very end of the hallway. Senta stopped and knocked quietly. She heard something on the other side, but couldn’t tell if it was words or something else. She opened the door and found Bryony lying across her bed, fully clothed.

“Why Bryony Byenthal,” said the sorceress, stepping to her side. “Why ever are you just lying around when you could be up fixing my tea?”

“I had just finished cleaning up breakfast, when I got the most dreadful headache.” The woman’s voice was barely audible and she began shivering as soon as she stopped speaking.

“Teigor tachthna uuthanum Senta,” said Senta.

“What are you doing? Are you casting a spell on me?”

“Not on you. Rather on my errant offspring. She should be along soon.”

“You don’t need to bother her. I’ll get up and make tea in just a moment.”

“Oh, I’m afraid you won’t,” said Senta.

She reached down and wiped two fingers across Bryony’s fevered brow, bringing them up to examine the blue perspiration. The stricken woman watched, her eyes growing even larger and rounder than usual.

“I have the sweat. I’m dying. Senta, you must promise to take care of Kerry for me. I know you’ll lure Kieran back to you. Just promise me to take care of my little boy too.”

Almost two weeks had gone by and Iolana’s mother was still angry with the sorceress. She sat at the head of the great table while she and the other three women of the house had their tea. With a cup in one hand and a report in the other, she clicked her tongue. Carefully folding the paper, she handed it to Kayden, the lizzie majordomo, who carried it into the other room. Iolana caught the eye of Zandy, another lizzie, nodding to indicate that he should follow. She wanted to see just what was going on between her mother and Senta.

“Garrah, please bring out that new chutney,” she called, more to distract away from Zandy than anything else.

The four women couldn’t have been more different. It was less than two months until Iolana’s fourteenth birthday, but she seemed older. She had always been precocious and now her body was catching up with her mind. With her great waves of golden curls, she was a striking girl. Her ten year old cousin Terra, on the other hand, seemed pale, thin, and sickly though all the best doctors assured that she was perfectly healthy. Her light brown hair, curled each morning, was limp by tea. Iolana’s mother was still a beautiful woman, but stress had taken some toll. Her Auntie Yuah though was one of the great beauties of the colony, with thick dark brown hair and large brown eyes.

“When does Augie get home?” asked Terra in her scratchy little voice.

“The train is scheduled for a 2:00 PM arrival tomorrow, as I’ve told you at least five times,” said Iolanthe.

“She’s excited to see her brother, is all,” said Auntie Yuah. “I can’t wait to see him either—my precious boy. It seems like he’s been gone a year.”

“I really miss him too,” said Iolana, sincerely. “And Father, of course.”

“Yes, it will be good to have them home,” said Iolanthe.

“We’ll need them to run off all the boys,” said Auntie Yuah, leaning forward. “A hundred suitors at the age of thirteen. Whoever heard of such a thing?”

“They’re not suitors,” said Iolana with a frown. “It’s just the New Year’s tradition. And there weren’t a hundred. There were eighty-two.”

“That’s more than any other eligible girl, I’ll bet,” said Terra.

“I wouldn’t know. I haven’t compared notes with anyone else. And I’m not eligible.”

“Not yet,” said Iolanthe. “But it’s good to start observing them now. Weeding out the weak, as it were. How many of the eighty-two were acceptable matches?”

“None of them,” said Iolana. “None of them are acceptable matches. I’m not looking for an acceptable match. I’m not looking for anyone at all.”

“Well you will have to marry someday,” said her mother.

“No, I won’t.”

“You don’t have a choice anymore. Your father went to a great deal of trouble to provide for your future. He had to have Parliament pass a law, so that his new titles pass through you to your sons, rather than to his third cousin as his closest male heir. He had to get the blessing of the King.”

“This isn’t the dark ages!” shouted Iolana, jumping to her feet. “I don’t give two figs for the King, the Parliament, or the Barony of Saxe-Lagerport-Drille. I won’t be traded around like a prize cow!” She stomped toward the doorway. “Forget the Kafira-damned chutney!” she shouted at the hapless lizzie coming from the kitchen.

At the top of the stairs, Iolana almost ran headlong into another lizzie. This one, unlike every other reptilian in the house, or the whole city for that matter, was wearing a yellow sundress, a hole cut in the back for her tail to stick out.

“Why weren’t you at tea?” demanded the girl.

“I’m sstill full from lunch,” said the lizzie in almost flawless Brech.

“Hardly an excuse. Without you there, they all gang up on me.”

“Ssorry.”

“Oh Esther, I’m not angry with you.” She leaned forward and hugged the lizzie. “You can’t imagine how much I’m looking forward to Father being home.”

“Yes.”

“I’m just so sick of this house. I need to get out. I need to do something.”

“Croquet?”

“No.”

“Archery?”

“Yes,” said Iolana. “That’s perfect. Have Garrah get out the bows and set up the targets.”

“Shall I get Lady Terra?” asked Esther.

“Lady Terra.” Iolana rolled her eyes. “Yes, we all have titles now. Do go invite Lady Terra to join us. Oh, and find out from Zandy where Kayden put those papers of my mother’s. I want you to read them and tell me what they say.”

“Anything else?”

“Don’t get cheeky.”

Yuah opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling for just a moment. She couldn’t wait for the new wallpaper to arrive. It had been ordered all the way from Brech City. Turning to the side, she found Gladys looking back.

“How did you sleep?” asked Yuah.

“Wonderfully.”

“Good. So did I.”

“Last night was wonderful,” said Gladys. “Are you sure you’ve never been with a woman before.”

“I’ve never been, but I’m familiar enough with the terrain.”

“You’re not bothered?”

“Of course not.”

“You don’t find women attractive though,” Gladys observed.

“Attraction is a funny thing, when you stop to think about it. I remember being caught up in it when I was young. Every time I looked at Terrence, I felt all squishy. Now that I’m older, everything seems so tame. I see the men chasing after women and the women chasing after men. It seems we want what we don’t understand. A fanny seems like such an uninteresting thing. All things considered, there are many more pleasant parts of a woman—the curve of her chin, the long line of her leg, a thick mane of hair. Yet to a man, it must seem as alien as walking on the moon. And yet he wants it.”

“He just wants it, because it’s convenient to stick his thing in,” said Gladys, disgust written on her face. “Without it, he’ll stick it anywhere it fits.”

“I confess to a certain amount of repulsion regarding the form of a man,” smiled Yuah, “until the event was upon me. You’ve never been married, so you’ve never known the feeling.”

“One doesn’t necessarily follow the other.”

“So you have been with a man?”

“When I was a girl, my parents died—cholera, you know. My brother was older, and already had a family in Mallontah, so it was too far to go to join him. My uncle took me in, but it was not a charitable act, as he was not a good man. He forced himself on me. I thought it was just something I had to endure, and I did, until he wanted to pass me around to his friends. I left, and even though I was only fifteen, the opportunities for work after the Freedonian War allowed me to support myself.

“The Freedonian War?” wondered Yuah. “How old are you?”

“I was born during the Feast of Kafira Mass, 1893.”

“Why, you’re just a girl! I thought you were older than twenty-nine.”

“I’m twenty-eight, actually,” said Gladys.

“Well, I never was very good at arithmetic,” replied Yuah, leaning over and kissing her on the lips. She slid out of bed. “Let’s go down to breakfast. You’ve certainly been good for my appetite.”

At the dining room table, the two women were surprised to find no one else there. There was, however, plenty of food—toast, fried potatoes, tomatoes, white pudding, and something new. Cook had prepared an egg dish filled with peppers and onions and covered with sharp melted cheese.

“This is something like an omelet,” observed Gladys, taking a bite, “but it’s much fluffier.”

Yuah waved for Kayden to step over.

“How was this prepared?”

“It isss lizzie dish,” he said. “In oven.”

“Baked eggs? Who would have thought? Do you know what it’s called?”

“Frittata.”

“Their language is so strange,” remarked Gladys. “You must tell Cook that this is wonderful though.”

“Yes. Give her our complements,” Yuah told the lizzie major domo. “Tell her that she may prepare this as often as she likes.”

“What are we about today?” asked Gladys.

“I’m going visiting, though you are not required to accompany me.”

“I want to come.”

“Very well then.”

An hour later, the two women stepped off the trolley and into the street in front of Egeria’s house. Brech custom and law gave the husband control over all of a woman’s possessions upon marriage, so technically, the home belonged to Yuah’s father. However, Egeria had owned it before their marriage and, more importantly, it so reflected her style and taste that Yuah found it impossible to think of it in any other way than as Egeria’s house. Her father felt the same way about it.

They were greeted at the door by Egeria’s lizzie, who led them to an empty parlor.

“Where is the lady of the house?”

“I tell her you here,” said the lizzie.

“Shall we sit while we wait?” Yuah asked Gladys.

The both sat on the sofa, golden with a pattern of pink tea roses.

“I feel so out of place here,” said Gladys. “It’s like sitting in a museum.”

“I imagine one gets used to it,” said Yuah.

“Indeed one does,” said Egeria, coming down the stairs. “I wasn’t expecting visitors, so you must excuse me if I’m unprepared.”

Light streamed from every window out into the dark night. A group of caudipteryx skirted the edge of the shadows, snapping up insects drawn to the light, and leaving little three-toed tracks in the snow. In the distance, a train whistle sounded, setting several triceratopses to honking. Inside the thirty-room mansion of the Drache Girl, every gas lamp was lit and fires burned in all of the fireplaces. Recorded music played, but not loudly enough to drown out the happy conversation and laughter of the party guests. It was still an hour away, but everyone was excited to see the premier of the New Year. The gentlemen were dressed in black tie and tails. The ladies in their finest evening wear, the current fashion exposing as much of the shoulders and back as possible while their bottoms already enlarged by magnificent bustles, were exaggerated even more so by huge bows or cascades of lace.

“Another beer?” asked Kieran Baxter, waving to a lizzie servant, who was even then weaving through the crowd in his direction with a silver tray loaded with frosty bottles. The lizzies were members of the cold-blooded reptilian native race of Birmisia Colony, on the Continent of Mallon, where the city of Port Dechantagne was located. Ranging in color from light olive to deep forest green, they gave the appearance of an alligator crossed with an iguana, if either had been able to walk around on their hind legs. Thick tails followed behind them, the tips a few inches off the floor.

“I say, Baxter,” said Gyula Kearn, looking around. “I was just telling Vishmornan here that I feel like an old man in this crowd.”

Kearn was an unprepossessing and slightly chubby man in his mid thirties, with thinning blond hair, but easily recognizable for missing his right arm below the elbow. His companion, Tait Vishmornan, was at least ten years older, and looked older still. Tall and gaunt, his still thick hair had long ago gone completely grey, and only the warm glow of the gaslights gave his pasty pallor any hint of health. Baxter on the other hand, about the same age as Kearn, was tall, lean, and well muscled. His red hair and boyish good looks made him a popular subject of discussion among the ladies of the town. He looked around the room.

“We do seem to be the oldest ones here.” He grabbed two bottles from the tray carried past by the servant and handed them to the two men. “At least you have two young and beautiful wives.”

Both men smiled and looked across the room at their wives. Bertice Vishmornan was probably the oldest woman at the party, though fifteen years younger than her husband. Her long blond hair wound up into a bun, she sat on the sofa listening intently to something that Honor McCoort had to say. Honor, a dark-haired beauty despite the scar running down the side of her face, clad in a simple brown dress, gestured with her left hand as she talked. Her husband Geert McCoort, sat next to her, holding onto her right hand like a child holding on to a balloon, as if she might, at any moment, float away. Behind the sofa, Melis Kearn was surrounded by a group of other young women, but there was no mistaking her. In addition to her dark skin and thick mass of black hair, she wore a gauzy Mirsannan gown of blue and gold, and had a thick, gold ring piercing her nose.

“Carry on, gentlemen,” said Baxter, continuing on his circuit through the room.     In the far corner, he found three young couples. Didrika Goose, Tiber Stephenson, Questa Hardt, Philo Mostow, Talli Archer, and Samuel Croffut all seemed to be talking at the same time. It was hard to tell, but the subject seemed to be steam carriages. That made sense, since they were all, at fifteen and sixteen years of age, ready to start driving. Tiber Stephenson and Samuel Croffut were strapping young men, and both frequently were found on the rugby field. Philo Mostow was tall and thin. Talli Archer was a pretty blond girl with a large gold cross on a chain around her neck. Stopping next to them, Baxter waited for their conversation to pause.

“Did you get something to eat?” he asked them.

“Those little meat pies were delicious,” said Questa, her dark skin giving away her Mirsannan heritage, though her clothing and accent were all Brech. “I’m stuffed full now, though.”

“There’s plenty more of everything. Try the little meatballs. You look like you could still eat, Croffut.”

Young Croffut gave a half nod-half shrug.

“I’ll send around more Billingbow’s, too.”

“Yes, I wouldn’t mind a drink,” said Didrika, a thin, blond young woman with a strong family resemblance to the hostess.

Baxter snapped his fingers in the air and waved to the lizzie who was now serving Billingbow’s Sarsaparilla and Wintergreen Soda Water to the Colbshallows, the Shrubbs, and the Hertlings.

“Is Birmisia still all that you thought it would be?” asked Saba Colbshallow, quickly grabbing another bottle from the tray as the lizzie turned to leave. He was a tall handsome man with a slight bend in his nose.

“I could never have believed my life would be so wonderful,” replied Leoni Hertling. “Don’t get me wrong, I was happy to leave Freedonia. It’s harder for girls there now than it was before the war. So when they offered passage to the new land in exchange for six months of service, I jumped at it. But never did I imagine that I would meet such a wonderful man as my Hertzel.”

She wrapped her hands around her husbands arm and squeezed as he smiled happily. Both, like most ethnic Zaeri, had jet-black hair. His was shaved close around his ears, while hers, still very thick, was bobbed just above the collar.

“As fine a man as any woman could want,” said Eamon Shrubb, raising his bottle in salute. Though just as tall as Saba, he was much more heavy set, giving one the impression of a stone wall.

“That was a lovely lunch,” said Gladys, as she and Yuah passed through the foyer and into the parlor, both loaded down with shopping packages.

“It’s the most I’ve eaten in a while, I can tell you,” said Yuah.

She stopped abruptly when she found Zoantheria sitting on the sofa reading a newspaper. She was, of course, in her human guise, wearing a black and white day dress, her long blond hair cascading halfway down her back.

“What are you doing in my house, monster?” snapped Yuah.

“Have you seen this?” asked Zoey, ignoring the question and holding the paper so that the banner headline was visible. “HRH CONSORTS WITH BIRMISIAN WILD WOMAN!”

“That’s not the Gazette,” observed Gladys.

“No, it’s a Brech City paper.”

“Answer my question,” Yuah ordered.

“I just thought you might want to read it, as the Birmisian wild woman in question would appear to be your daughter.”

“What?”

“Terra Posthuma Korlann Dechantagne. That’s nice. They got all four names. That is your youngest, isn’t it?”

Yuah stomped forward, snatching the paper from Zoey’s hands.

“We’re not done,” she hissed, and then started reading. “Dressed like a man! Face paint? What is wrong with that girl? Augie should never have sent her to that lizzie city. It’s made her mind weak. Still, you would think she would have mentioned something in her last letter about going to the opera with a prince—or sent a telegram.”

“Children,” said Zoey. “What can you do?”

“If Augustus wants to consort with you, I can’t do anything about it. He’s a grown man. But until he returns, I want you out of my house.”

“Must we have all this discord?” said Augie, suddenly stepping into the room.

Zoey jumped up and ran three steps into his arms, nearly knocking him over. In a fierce embrace, they pressed their mouths together.

“Really?” said Yuah. “In the parlor?”

“Mother,” said Augie, disengaging his lips, if not the rest of his body. “Zoey is welcome in this house at any time and will be treated with the same courtesy that all guests receive.”

Zoantheria smirked at Yuah, whose eyes and mouth went very thin. A moment later, it was Zoey’s face with a very similar look as Dr. Megistus followed the young lord into the room.

“What are you doing here!” she hissed.

“Do you know one another?” asked Augie. “He’s not a relative, is he?”

“He’s another dragon?” wondered Yuah. “In my house?”

“Everyone settle down!” ordered Augie. “Gladys, take my mother upstairs. She’s overwrought.”

“I’m not overwrought and I’m not going anywhere!”

“And you,” continued Lord Dechantagne, looking at Zoey. “Yes, he is a dragon, but he’s one of the good ones, like you.”

“What makes you think he’s good?” she snarled.

“This,” said Augie, holding up a brown vial.

“What is it?” asked Gladys.

“It’s an advanced healing draught. Not only is it more powerful in every respect than the regular potion, Dr. Megistus assures me that it will cure the Blue Sweat.”

“I made no such assurance, Lord Dechantagne,” said Dr. Megistus. “I merely said that I believe it will cure the dreaded disease.”

“I have faith in you, Doctor.”

Yuah opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling for just a moment. It was the same gold pattern fresco that it had been for years, matching the intricate pattern of pink roses between gold bars on the wallpaper and the gold floral carpeting on the floor. It was high time for a change. Turning to the side, she came nose to nose with Gladys Highsmith, who was looking back. Without her glasses, her eyes looked larger and sadder than normal.

“How did you sleep?” asked Yuah.

“Not very well, I’m afraid.”

“Why not? I slept wonderfully.”

“What will you do now?

“What do you mean?” wondered Yuah.

“Are you going to throw me out or have me arrested?”

“Why would I do that?”

“That’s what they usually do,” said Gladys, sadly.

“Do you think I’m some little girl that you took advantage of?” asked Yuah with a laugh. “Maybe you think I was so overwhelmed with passion that I didn’t know what I was doing.”

“People do things in the heat of passion that they wouldn’t otherwise do.”

“No they don’t. That’s just an excuse. Or maybe it’s true for stupid people or those who are not particularly self-aware… my God, I sound just like Iolanthe.” She kissed Gladys on the forehead and then sat up. “You should go back to your room.”

“You don’t want anyone to see us together.”

“You have to get ready. We’re going to shrine. You do still want to go, don’t you?”

Twenty minutes later, Yuah entered the dining room and took her place. The others were present, though as yet, no one had been served. A line of lizzies arrived from the kitchen carrying enough food for twelve people, and began serving the four at the table. Yuah watched as her plate was filled with white pudding, sausages, bacon, fried potatoes, grilled tomatoes, beans, scrambled eggs topped with cheese, and toast.

“I am so hungry this morning,” she said.

“We can see that,” said Iolanthe, raising a brow.

“That’s good, Mother,” said Augie. “I think you’ve gotten a bit too thin of late. Better to keep up your strength. And how are you this morning, Miss Highsmith?”

“Very well, Your Lordship.”

“We’re friends now,” he said. “Please call me Augie. After all, you’re dining at my table and living in my house.”

“Yes,” said Iolanthe. “How long is that to be, exactly?”

“I have asked Gladys to live here permanently,” said Yuah. “She is my good friend and will be my companion.”

“Indeed,” said Iolanthe, with a smirk.

“Well, I think that’s wonderful,” said Augie, spearing a piece of sausage with his fork. “Mother can arrange an allowance for you. I sure you know by now that if you spend much time with mother it will include copious shopping.”

“Thank you, Your… Augie.”

Yuah had Walworth drive them to shrine. She wore her new dress—the black one with a small bustle and the high neck, along with her black top hat. Gladys wore a black over dress with white skirts. It was nice, but not the type of thing usually worn to shrine—a bit on the fancy side.

As Walworth helped them down from the car, Yuah stopped to take a look at the majestic building and the beauty that surrounded it. The sun was shining through the trees. The grounds around the shrine were newly mowed and the shrubs had been trimmed. Yuah didn’t even mind that the street sign had Iolanthe’s name on it.

Senta and Hero stood side-by-side on the steps of the Church of the Apostles. Hero held the fussy baby Senta. Her own Senta rode horsy back on her father across the lawn, while Benny Jr. rode his Uncle Hertzel. All four seemed heedless of the stay off the grass sign. The adult Senta cradled the sleeping Hannabeth Markham.

“It’s too much, really,” said Hero. “I don’t think Benny will allow it.”

“If he has a problem with it, he can tell me,” said the sorceress. “I don’t care if he approves or not. I’m paying for her college education. You said you wanted your Senta to be special. What’s more special that a proper college educated lady?”

“I don’t know. Do I know any proper educated ladies?”

“Mrs. Government.”

“Oh,” said Hero with a frown.

“Egeria Korlann.”

“Oh, well she’s okay.”

“Of course, if you don’t like that plan, we could always just trade. I’ll take your little Senta and you can take mine.”

“Don’t even joke about that,” said Hero, and then changing topics. “What did the police inquest decide?”

The sorceress shrugged. “I don’t know. I didn’t go.

“Um, aren’t you worried?”

“If they want to track me down, I won’t be hard to find.”

Benny Markham walked up, carrying his eldest child under one arm like a sack of potatoes. He kissed his wife on the cheek. Right behind him was his brother-in-law, now out of breath, with Benny Jr. on his shoulders.

“Look, you’ve both ruined the knees of your trousers,” said Hero.

“You’ve got to have fun while you have the chance,” said Benny.

Hertzel nodded.

Benny tickled the chin of the blond baby.

“Would you like to play horsey?”

“You don’t have time,” said his wife. “The ceremony is going to start in just a few minutes.”

“I don’t think anyone expected you to be here,” Benny whispered to the sorceress. “They just send the Drache Girl an invitation out of respect. It’s like sending one to the governor.”

Senta nodded her head in the direction of the street and the others turned to see a car driven by Governor Staff and containing her husband and her daughter pull up and park, two tires completely up on the sidewalk.

They turned and filed into the church, taking their places toward the back on the right hand side. It wasn’t a packed house by any means. Less than a hundred people, about equally divided between the groom’s and bride’s sides, filled the front third of the pews. As the Markham party was getting settled in, the governor’s family filed past toward an empty pew in the front. Iolana Staff waved as she passed. A mechanical music player began the first chords of Kafira’s Marriage. They all turned to watch Wenda Lanier walking down the aisle to where Father Galen and Walter Charmley awaited her.

“It’s nice that her mother could come,” whispered Hero, gesturing to where Melody Wardlaw, the mother of the bride, sat near the front, still wearing a metal brace outside of her dress.

“I just hope Wenda knows what she’s getting into,” whispered Benny.

“What do you mean?” asked Senta.

“Nothing. Never mind.”

Lord Dechantagne sat across the desk from Father Galen. The Priest was into his sixties now and was starting to look it. His hair had long ago turned to grey, but he still had the kindly face that those of Augie’s generation had always known. For them, it was as much a symbol of the church as the crucifix.

“Thank you very much for the donation,” said Father Galen. “The purchase of land for a car park will allow more of our members to attend, and will probably improve safety as well.”

“Precisely why I don’t consider it a donation,” said Augie. “It’s more of an investment in the colony.”

“I am a little bit surprised. I know you’ve been attending church here with your family all your life, but I rather expected you to devote your attentions to the shrine.”

“I hope you won’t be insulted if I tell you I’ve given the shrine a similar donation, for a similar purpose,” said Augie. “While it’s true that my mother is Zaeri, the Dechantagne’s have always been strong supporters of the Church of Kafira, if not always notably devout.”

“Well, you know my mind on the matter,” said Father Galen. “Interfaith cooperation can only be good for the people of Birmisia Colony.”

“Then we are in agreement.”

There was a knock at the door, and one of the church acolytes stepped inside and presented the father with a note on a silver tray.

“It’s from Mr. Clipers, the Zaeri Imam.”

“Timely,” said Father Galen, picking up the note and reading. A frown crossed his face. “He asks me to come to the Tice home at Citizen Street. He says it’s an emergency.”

“I’ll drive you,” said Augie, jumping up. “That’s Ascan’s house.”

“Friend of yours?” asked the priest, grabbing his sick call kit and the Holy Scriptures.”

“I know him from shrine. His sister is Iolana’s best gal pal.”

Twenty minutes later, they were pulling up in front of the Tice home. It was a small cottage less than a quarter mile from the Zaeri Shrine. Hurrying inside, they found a dozen friends and family in the parlor, all looking pale and drawn. Ascan Tice met them and practically dragged the priest through a doorway to a back room.

“Willa, what’s going on?” the young lord asked Ascan’s sister, a beautiful twenty-eight year old woman with long flowing raven hair.

“Oh, Augie! It’s horrible! Noémi is so sick.”

“When did this happen? She looked fine on the Sabbath.”

“It just happened—hours ago, maybe. We were baking bread and she started to act nervous-like. Then suddenly, she broke out in cold shivers, and complained of a headache. I got her to bed and thought she could rest a bit, but when I went to check on her thirty minutes later, she was sweating buckets. And her sweat was blue.”

A frown on his face, Augie stepped back through the door the priest had gone through. In the bedroom beyond, he found the stricken woman in her bed, and just as described, she was covered in blue perspiration. Father Galen was bent over her, in the midst of casting a healing spell. Ascan knelt on the other side of the bed, weeping. Mr. Clipers looked on. Augie stepped up next to him and whispered in his ear.

“Does this blue color have something to do with her dark skin? I mean, because she’s Mirsannan?”

“No. It’s the disease. It’s called The Blue Sweat or just The Sweat.”

“How come I’ve never heard of it?”

“I don’t think anyone has seen it since the fifteenth century,” replied the Imam.

“Then how do you know about it?”

“We’re taught about it because it is the only disease known that is resistant to healing magic. I just hope Father Galen does better than I did. He is known for his healing abilities.”

At that moment, the priest finished his prayer and stood. He glanced at his Zaeri counterpart and shook his head ever so slightly.

Augie took the statuette from his pocket, clasped it tightly, and whispered “Senta.”

The sorceress appeared right in front of him, and right beside Mr. Clipers. Her pink hat just matched her pink day dress, and was tied onto her head with a wide strip of lace.

“Now?” she asked. “At tea time?”