“I don’t feel good,” said Senta.

“Too much wine?” asked Mrs. Marjoram, pointedly.

“I think I’m going to overflow.”

“Not in here,” said Miss Dechantagne, sternly.

“Why don’t you go up on deck and get some air, Pet,” said Zurfina.

Senta got up from her chair and found that her legs were decidedly wobbly, her Vision was wiggly, and the two helpings of trifle in her stomach were not getting along with the toad-in-the-hole. She started for the door, but found her feet making an inexplicable turn toward the wall. One of the waiters took her by the shoulders and guided her back on track, opened the door for her, and closed it once she was in the outside corridor. It was a short trip from Miss Dechantagne’s cabin to the main deck, which was a good thing; because Senta didn’t think she could have made it much further. She grabbed hold of the railing and walked twenty or thirty steps until she came to the steel dragon, still in his animal carrier box. She sat down on top of it, and scooted down so that she could lie back across it. She closed her eyes on the bright myriad of stars looking down upon her.

She didn’t know how long she lay there, but eventually she had the feeling that someone else was there with her. She opened her eyes to see a pasty-faced man with a very round face and horn rimmed glasses looking down at her. His hair was slicked down and oily looking and he had a pinched expression on his face that made his mouth look unnaturally small. She looked at him for several moments and he looked back and blinked several times.

“Hello,” said Senta.

“Hello,” he replied. “Are you all right?”

“I don’t know.”

The man smiled without showing his teeth. His smile reached from his chin to the middle of his nose. His eyes, magnified by glasses, stayed the same. He had no facial hair or sideburns, but he had several small cuts on his face as if he had injured himself while shaving. His suit was charcoal colored, and slightly shabby; something that Senta wouldn’t have noticed a few weeks before.

“Do you want to try getting up?” he asked.

“Alright.”

Senta sat up and immediately threw up at the man’s feet. Most of the vomit splattered across the wooden deck, though a bit of it ended up on his shoes and pants cuffs.

“Gawp,” said the dragon within his carrier.

The man’s mouth twitched to one side, but all he said was, “Feeling better?”

Senta nodded.

“Good,” he said. “We should get you somewhere where you can get washed up. Do you know how to get to your cabin from here?”

“No.”

“Then, I’ll take you to my cabin.”

“Um, I don’t know.”

“You wouldn’t want anyone to see you with vomit all over your shoes, would you?”

Senta looked down and, sure enough, she had gotten vomit on her own shoes too. The man took her by the hand and pulled her to her feet. She was still pretty wobbly. He began to walk slowly along the deck, pulling her along with him.

“Gawp,” said the dragon, louder.

They went in the doorway just behind the one through which Senta had exited, and walked down the corridor. Senta started to feel a little better. At the end of the hallway, a set of narrow steps led down to the lower deck. Senta didn’t really want to go down, but the pasty-faced man had her hand firmly in his.

“Senta!”

Senta and the man both turned to see Miss Lusk walking down the hallway toward them. Though she was the shortest of the women that had been at the dinner party that evening, Miss Lusk was almost the exact same height as the oily-haired man. Her hat, which was a large straw affair covered in pink chiffon with a flower accent, made her seem a bit taller than him.

“Where are you going, Senta?” asked Miss Lusk.

“We were just going to get her cleaned up,” said the man. “The poor thing got sick on deck and lost her dinner.”

“Good evening, Mr. Murty,”

“Good evening, Miss Lusk.”

“It was very kind of you to help out with a sick child.”

“Oh, it was nothing,” he replied. They stood looking at each other for a very long moment. Senta looked from one to the other.

“Well, we’ll go on and get the child cleaned up,” said Mr. Murty.

“I think I should take it from here.”

“Oh?”

“I’m sure it wouldn’t be appropriate for you to take the child below.”

“Wouldn’t be appropriate?” he asked. “Why not?”

“Taking care of children isn’t a man’s job.” Miss Lusk took Senta’s other hand and pulled until the child had both arms stretched out in either direction.

“I really don’t mind. I love children,” said Mr. Murty.

“You’ll make quite a father one day, I’m sure.”

“Let me take her.”

“I’ll take care of her,” said Miss Lusk. “I am a woman.”

“Yes, I keep forgetting,” said Mr. Murty, letting go of Senta’s hand. “Um, what with your, um, mathematics skills and all.”

“Good night, Mr. Murty!” Miss Lusk hurried down the hall with the girl in tow.

Miss Lusk led Senta forward and then down a different set of narrow stairs. They went quickly down three flights and then up the corridor a short ways to a door, which Miss Lusk unlocked and entered, pulling the girl in after her. It was a small room, only half the size of that in which Senta and Zurfina stayed. It held a single chair and a single bed. The red-headed woman set Senta on the mattress and had her lie back.

“Didn’t your mother tell you not to talk to strangers?” she asked.

“No.”

“Well, she should have. Somebody should have.” Miss Lusk bit her lip. “You are an orphan, aren’t you?”

Senta nodded.

“Zurfina should be watching out for you. And stay away from Mr. Murty. Do you understand? Mr. Murty is not a good man.”

Outside the double doors of the church, Iolanthe paused to let her eyes adjust to the brightness, hyperventilated once more, then made her way quickly down the steps, around the corner, and back to her carriage. She noted that the steam coming from the release was much less than it had been, and with a sigh, opened the coal bin and retrieved the small shovel which was lying upon the small supply of extra coal. Using the shovel to lift the firebox latch, so that she wouldn’t burn her gloves, she shoveled a dozen scoops of coal from the bin to the flame. She then used the shovel to close the firebox door, tossed the shovel back into the coal bin, and closed the coal bin door. She flipped the steam cock to the engaged position and climbed aboard the carriage. Looking at her blackened gloves with disgust, she peeled them off and tossed them unceremoniously under the carriage seat. Then opening the glove compartment, she pulled out replacements from among several pairs of gloves, a small stack of handkerchiefs and two loose shotgun shells.

Iolanthe released the brake and pressed down with her foot on the forward accelerator. The carriage slowly rolled forward. The steam built up, and soon the vehicle had returned to its former vigor. Iolanthe tried to drive around the block of the Great Church of the Holy Savior, and get back onto the main road to return to the Old City, but the roads in this area did not seem to follow the normal grid pattern. And there seemed to be nowhere to turn around. After half an hour of trying to negotiate the unfathomable maze, she found herself at a dead end. She pulled the brake lever and sat trying to figure out at which turn she should have made a left, and how to get back to that point.

Suddenly a figure approached the left side of her carriage. It was a dirty man, wearing dirty clothes, with a dirty bald head, and a big dirty nose. He stepped in close to her and ran his eyes down the length of her form. Another, similarly dressed man stepped up behind him.

“Well, this is nice, ain’t it?” said the second man. “We can have us a little fun.”

“Yeah, fun” said the first man, pulling a long, thin knife from his belt.

“Careful though,” said the second man. “She might have a little pistol in her handbag.”

“Does you have a little pistol in your handbag, Dearie?” the first man asked. He casually waved the knife in his right hand, as he pawed at her ankle with his left. Then he stopped when he heard the sound of two hammers being cocked, and looked up into the twin twelve gauge barrels.

“I don’t carry a handbag,” said Iolanthe, pulling the shotgun to her shoulder. She pulled the first trigger, disintegrating the head of the first man, and sending a fountain of viscous remains over everything within twenty feet. The second man had no time to react before the second barrel was fired at him. He was far enough away however, that though he was killed, people who had known him would still be able to identify his body.

Iolanthe pushed the lever opening the shotgun’s breach with her thumb and tilted the weapon so that the two used shells dropped out onto the carriage floor. She opened the glove compartment and pulled out the two replacement shells, stuffed them into the shotgun, and snapped the breach closed. She then returned the still smoking weapon to its place behind the seat. Reaching back into the glove compartment, she pulled out one of the handkerchiefs and wiped some of the blood and jellied brains from her face.

Looking down at herself in disgust, she said. “I’ll never be able to wear this dress again.”