Hysteria clomped along slowly down the snow-covered road for some time. The orphan was so quiet that for a while I thought he must have fallen asleep. But at last he stirred and shifted a bit in his seat, which is to say upon Hysteria’s flank. I myself had been quiet as I remembered the events of that horrible night.

“What are you thinking about?” asked the orphan.

“I’m thinking about that horrible night,” I replied.

“Did you never find your family?”

“No, though I searched for weeks. My mother was to make me a blueberry pie that night, and I not only have never seen my mother since, I did not get to eat that pie either.”

“I’m sorry I brought up such a painful memory,” he said, and then paused. “Do you suppose that the purple drops on the floor could have been from your blueberry pie?”

“Fiends!” said I. “To rob a man of his mother and his pie in the same night!”

“Perhaps it were best that we think on something else,” said he.

“Perhaps,” I agreed.

“If you are really such a great storyteller…”

“The greatest in the world.”

“And if the story of the Queen of Aerithraine is a great story…”

“Wonderful. Exciting. True. Profound.”

“Well, maybe you could tell me the story.”

“I get half a crown for that story in Illustria,” said I.

“I have a shiny penny,” said he.

“The story begins in Aerithraine, far to the west, along the coast of the great ocean sea. From storied Illustria, its capital, to Cor Cottage just outside Dewberry Hills in River County, Aerithraine has been a great and powerful country for some seven hundred years more or less. By more or less, I mean that it has been more or less seven hundred years that Aerithraine has been a country and that it has been more or less great and more or less powerful during those seven hundred years. But about fifty years ago, it was less. That was when the old king died, and as is the way of kings, a new one was crowned. He was King Julian the Rectifier.

“He was called Julian the Rectifier because he was chiefly interested in rectifying. He spent most of his time rectifying. He rectified all over the place. And he was good at it. He rectified like nobody else.”

“It means setting things to right,” said the orphan.

“Of course it does and that is just what he did. Under his reign, the kingdom was prosperous and wealthy. And, as he wasn’t so interested in warring as in rectifying, there was peace throughout the land. King Julian had only one son, and he passed to that son the strongest and wealthiest kingdom in all of Duaron, and if it had only remained so, Elleena would have become nothing more than a minor princess perhaps.”

“Which would not have made a half-crown story,” pointed out the orphan.

“That is so.”

“Carry on then.”

“King Justin was the son of Julian. I hear tell that he was once called Justin the Good and Justin the Wise, though now when storytellers refer to him, they usually call him Justin the Weak or Justin the Unready.”

“What do you call him?”

“I just call him King Justin,” said I. “Though I truly believe he may deserve the title Justin the Brave, it is not what the listeners want to hear.”

“Go on.”

“King Justin married a princess from the faraway land of Goth. The Arch-Dukes of Goth, which is to say the rulers of that land, have for generations, maintained power through a tightly woven web of treaties with its mighty neighbors. Their chief barter in this endeavor is the marriage of the many female members of the family. I hear the current Arch-Duke has but four daughters at least as of yet, but his father who was Arch-Duke before him had seventeen, and his father, which is to say the grandfather of the current Arch-Duke had nineteen.”

“That hurts just thinking about it.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Go on.”

“It must have been quite a coup of diplomacy for the Arch-Duke of Goth to make a match with the King of Aerithraine, but he did, marrying to the King his daughter Beatrix. And though I hear that the women of that country wear too much make-up, she was never the less accounted a great beauty. She had pale white skin, raven hair, smoldering eyes, and a gold ring in her nose, as is the fashion in the east.

“King Justin and Queen Beatrix had four strong sons, the eldest of whom was Prince Jared. He was particularly beloved of the people. I saw him once when I was a child of four or five, sitting on my poor old father’s shoulders as the Dragon Knights passed on their tall white steeds. That is to say, I was seated on my father’s shoulders and the Prince was not. Neither were the Dragon Knights nor their steeds. I don’t remember why the Prince and the knights were in River County. It was too long ago. He would have grown to be King upon his father’s death if it was not for…”

“Goblins!”

“Yes, that’s right. You didn’t say you had heard the story before, though I’ll warrant it wasn’t told as well…”

“No!” screamed the orphan. “Goblins! Right there!”

He pointed straight ahead, and sure enough, stepping out of the shadows and into the moonlight were a half dozen creepy little man-things. They were no more than three feet tall, their over-sized round heads, glowing eyes, and gaping maws giving away their identity. As they came closer those mouths widened into grins filled with jagged little teeth, looking far too much like the teeth on the blade of a cross-cut saw for my taste. They brandished what weapons they had, mostly things they had picked up from the ground—a stick, a length of cord with a knot in it. But a couple of them carried old, discarded straight razors.

A full complement of diners surrounded the Dechantagne table for the first time in a great while. Radley Staff sat at the head of the table, his wife on his right hand and his daughter on his left. Looking proudly from his spot directly opposite his uncle was Augie Dechantagne, a stack of books between his chair and his bottom. His mother sat on his right hand and his sister, in her high chair, on his left. Filling in the seats between Iolanthe and Terra were Mrs. Colbshallow and her son and daughter-in-law. On the other side of the table were Cissy and two guests—Honor Hertling and her little sister Hero.

“How wonderful to have us all together,” said Staff, waving for one of the servants to start filling the soup bowls.

“It will make for a lovely Oddyndessen,” said Honor Hertling.

“For a what?”

“It’s a Zaeri holy day,” said Yuah, her eyes never quite moving up from the table. “We don’t really celebrate it anymore in Brechalon.”

“Well, how lovely,” said Mrs. Colbshallow. “It’s always wonderful to learn new things.”

“Should we…” said Staff. “Would you… Is a prayer appropriate, considering?”

“We don’t usually do that,” said his wife, drumming her fingers on the table.

“Surely it can’t hurt… guests and all.”

“I could offer a simple prayer,” said Honor, and when Staff gave a nod that she should continue, she closed her eyes and intoned, “Great Lord, as you did with Odessah before his great journey, give us your blessings on this day. Amen.”

“In Kafira’s name, Amen,” said Loana Colbshallow, making the sign of the cross.

She was followed about three ticks later by both her husband and mother-in-law.

The lizzies quickly served onion soup. This was followed by a fruit and cress salad. As soon as the salad plates had been removed, the servants began placing the main course. Mrs. Colbshallow, though of course knowing nothing of Oddyndessen, had put together as fine a meal as she ever had. A large pork roast was the center point, though there was also poached fish. Pudding, peas, chips, and roasted mixed vegetables were placed on overflowing plates around the table.

“Wonderful as always mother,” said Saba Colbshallow.

“I think you’ve outdone yourself, Mother Dear,” said his wife.

“Here, here,” agreed Staff. “Dearest?”

“The problem is Mrs. Colbshallow,” said Iolanthe, “your meals are always so perfect.”

Everyone at the table sat staring, not sure if there was more to come, and not sure whether this was intended as an insult or a compliment.

“Thank you,” said Mrs. Colbshallow after a minute. She turned to Honor Hertling. “It’s a shame that your brother couldn’t attend.”

“Yes. He sends his regrets, but two ships came into port today, so he was needed at the docks. I hear that the lizzies have begun to move back in to Lizzietown, General Staff.”

“Yes, some of them have. It’s just Mr. Staff.”

“Some are moving back into town,” said Iolanthe. “But I have let it be known that these savage witch doctors will not be tolerated.”

She turned and stared at Yuah, but her sister-in-law never looked up from the table. Yuah just sat and absentmindedly moved the peas around her plate with her fork.

Senta left the dress shop and walked next door to the Pfennig Store. The establishment was filled with lizzies, and although they seldom seemed to move very fast, it was less than fifteen seconds from the time that the Drache Girl entered and the last of the reptilians left.

“Thank goodness you’ve come in,” said Mr. Parnorsham. “I need a break.”

“Can I buy you a Billingbow’s, Mr. P?”

Mr. Parnorsham thought for a moment, and then said, “I think you can.”

He pulled two bottles from where they were cooling and set them on the counter. He handed Senta a straw. Then he popped the cork from his own bottle and tipped it back, pouring the cool soda water down his throat.

“You must be making money hand over fist,” said the girl. “The lizzies sure love your store.”

“It has been very profitable, I won’t lie. Honestly though, I think I’m getting too old for this. And to tell the truth, Mrs. Parnorsham is feeling lonely at home by herself. I think a year or two more and I’ll have to retire.”

“What would we do without a Pfennig Store?”

“Oh, I’m sure someone will open up another establishment. I’m surprised they haven’t already. For that matter, I might sell the business or pass it on to someone. Mrs. P and I were never blessed with children, but I have quite an abundance of nephews back in Brechalon.

“It won’t be the same without you, Mr. P.”

“That is very kind of you to say,” said the man.

Just then the bell over the door rang. A lizzie walked in leading three human children. Senta sipped her Billingbow’s and watched as the group made its way to the toy counter.

“Tsaua Cissy!” called Mr. P. Then to Senta, he added, “the governor’s lizzie.”

“Yes, I recognize her.”

In the relatively quiet store, the children grew louder and louder until they were almost shouting at each other. The lizzie hissed, quieting them. Senta strolled over to where they stood by the toy counter.

“Can I be of assistance?” she asked in the lizzie tongue.

“It is nothing for you to worry about, Drache Girl.” The words “Drache Girl” were in Brech, but he rest was in “spit-n-gag.” “The children can’t decide which toy they want.”

“Hello kids,” said Senta, in Brech.

“Hello Senta,” said Iolana Staff and Augie Dechantagne at almost the same time.

“Where’s your dragon?” asked little Terra Dechantagne.

“He’s sleeping, but I’ll tell him you asked after him. So you can’t decide which toy to get?”

“I want another soldier,” said Terra, in her hoarse little voice, “but Mommy says I have to be a princess.”

“You should get a soldier. Then you can be a queen and order him around. Queens are better than princesses any day.”

“She’s getting her soldier mixed in with my regiment,” said Augie.

“Yes, I can see how that would be a problem,” said Senta. She turned to the oldest of the three. “And what is your problem?”

“I don’t think we should get a toy every time we come to the Pfennig Store. We have so many toys already that we can’t play with them all. There are little children in Enclep that can’t afford a single toy to play with.”

“I don’t suppose your mother knows you’re a socialist?”

“See?” said the lizzie. “Just kids.”

“Mr. Parnorsham,” called Senta, back toward the counter. “Can you get me a tin of those butter biscuits and perhaps put a bow on it? I have a sick friend.”

Isaak Wissinger leaned over the ship’s railing and stared down into the dark blue water. He wasn’t the only one. Dozens of other passengers on the S.S. Waif des Vaterlands were lined up to watch as half a dozen giant turtles, each larger than a kitchen table swam along apparently oblivious to the steel vessel chugging past them. They were large, but not nearly as amazing as the writer had expected, having heard for years legends of the monsters to be found in Mallon.

After leaving his employment with Herr Fuhrmann, Wissinger had taken the train from Butzbach to Friedaport, where he had worked on the docks until he had enough accumulated wealth to book passage, steerage class, to Mallontah. This had taken him several months, but at last he had set sail. Now, he had been on the ship for forty-five days. His daily meals consisted of porridge in the morning, a piece dried tack for lunch, and for supper a soup made of beans and rancid pork. It was infinitely better that his diet in the ghetto had been.

“Herr Holdern?”

It took Wissinger a moment to remember that he was Herr Holdern.

“Yes?”

He turned to find a greasy looking little man standing behind him. He didn’t recall seeing him before, and after a month and a half at sea, that was remarkable in and of itself.

“Do I know you?”

“I do not think so, but I know some Holderns. Do you come from Boxstein?”

“No,” replied Wissinger.

“Do you have relatives there perhaps?”

“Not that I know of. You know how it is. People move all around and lose touch. You meet someone with the same last name and they may or may not be related. My people come from Bad Syke, but who knows?”

“What is it you did in Bad Syke?”

“Oh, I’m not from Bad Syke. I still have cousins living there, I think. I grew up in Wahlstedt.”

“And what did you do there then?”

“Teamster.”

“A teamster?” said the greasy fellow. “I took you for a scholar.”

“I doubt you get calluses like this reading books,” said Wissinger, holding up his palms. “Why, I try to stay as far away from schools and books as possible.”

“I see.”

“But it is pleasant to meet you, Mister…”

“Spinne. Adolf Spinne.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Herr Spinne. Maybe we can talk again before we make port.”

“Perhaps,” said Spinne with an oily smile.

Wissinger turned and made his way through the portal and down several sets of stairs to his berth. His was one of twenty-five bunks stacked five high in the relatively small cabin. Most of his roommates slept at night, so he tried to spend as much time as possible outside at night, instead taking in a long morning and afternoon nap. He climbed into his bed, second from the top and pulled the sleeping curtains closed around him. He could hear the sounds of a woman moaning in passion close by. She was in the same room, but in one of the other bunk stacks. This wasn’t all that unusual. People grabbed what comfort and satisfaction they could, and there were very few places to find any real privacy on a ship as crammed as this one.

“Sweet music isn’t it?” said a husky voice near his head.

Before he could respond, the curtain surrounding him was pulled aside to reveal Zurfina’s face, framed in a shock of blond hair. She climbed up into the bed on top of him. There was no room to lie side by side even had that been her intention. He was surprised though not unhappy to find that she was completely naked, and let out a deep sigh as she rubbed herself up and down his entire length.

“Missed me?”

“Yes indeed.”

She kissed him deeply, letting her tongue explore every part of his mouth.

“Have you been true to me?” she asked as she kissed his neck and reached down to unfasten his pants.

“Yes,” he said, then sighed again as she freed him from his trousers. “Um, have you been true to me?”

She stopped and looked guiltily up at him, then shrugged.

“When you get to Birmisia, if you want, I’ll be true to you then,” she said, “for a while.”

“Oh, Lord help me, at this moment I really don’t care.”