“Miss Bly, I had heard you were back in town,” said Aalwijn Finkler, with a slight bow.  “It’s a pleasure you could join us this evening.”

“Why Mr. Finkler,” said Senta.  “I thought we were on a first name basis since I was ten years old.  And you were what?  About twelve?”

“Something like that. Still, one doesn’t want to take anything for granted with the world’s most powerful sorceress.”

She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.  “Give my very best to your lovely wife.  You don’t need to show me back.  I see my party already.”

“She seems a bit nervous,” he said.

“She should be.”

As Senta slowly made her way through the filled-to-capacity Café Ada, every eye was upon her.  Her black evening dress, trimmed with beige ribbons around the hem and upon the multilayered fall over the bustle, was the height of fashion, newly arrived from Greater Brechalon.  The back daringly displayed her shoulder blades and the magical dragon tattoo between them.  Her small, three-point hat and gloves were matching black with beige trim. It wasn’t her expensive dress, or her hat, her gloves, her carefully arranged hair, or even her tattoo that drew their collective attention.  It was the simple fact of who she was—The Drache Girl.

She swept into her chair, not seeming to notice the member of restaurant staff who pulled it out for her, and she looked across the table.  Her dinner companion bore more than a passing resemblance, tall and thin, with an expensive dress and carefully coifed hair, though hers was salmon-pink.  Instead of eyes looking back, Senta saw her own reflection in gold-framed dark spectacles.

“So, you’re not a dragon anymore, Zoey?”

“I’m still a dragon,” her companion answered defensively.  “I’m just… I enjoy this form, if it’s any of your business.”

“It is my business. You’re mydragon.”

“No, not really,” said Zoey, looking up toward the ceiling.  “It turns out one can’t own a dragon.”

“I didn’t say I owned you. You’re not a slave.  I’m your guardian.  Who else is going to teach you how to be a proper dragon?  Who’s going to keep you safe until you’re grown?”

“I found someone else to teach me.  Someone powerful enough to keep me safe.  He’s more powerful than you.”

“No one’s more powerful than me,” snapped Senta.

“He is,” she replied, primping her hair with her right hand.

Aalwijn appeared beside the table.  “Ladies, what can…”

“Beef Dechantagne,” said Senta quickly.

“Steamed Lobster,” said Zoey, almost before Senta had finished.

“Right away ladies.” Aalwijn was gone as quickly as he arrived.

Senta stared across the table for a moment.

“Have you finally made friends with Bessemer?  He really is a good role model.”

“No, I’ve not seen Bessemer in a couple of years now.”

“Who then?”

“His name is Voindrazius,” said Zoey, quietly.

“Voindrazius?” hissed Senta. “Voindrazius the dragon? Voindrazius, who terrorized the entire continent of Sumir for centuries.  The one who is in the Holy Scriptures, laying waste to cities and… and… and whatever else the scriptures say he did?”

“Yes, and he’s made friends with your precious Bessemer too.”

“I’m gone for a little while,” snarled Senta, “and the whole world turns upside down!”  She stopped and looked around.  Every single face in the restaurant was turned in her direction. She snapped her fingers and every one of those faces snapped back to toward the centers of their tables.  A few people cried out.  A few others whimpered.

“You didn’t even speak an incantation,” said Zoey, with an air of wonder.

“Don’t change the subject. Voindrazius is evil.”

“I didn’t say he was nice. I said he was powerful.”

“This explains a lot,” said Senta.

“Like what?”

“Like you eating a wizard.”

“I didn’t eat a wizard,” hissed Zoey.  “I would never eat a person.  You have to know that.”

“What did you do with him then?”

“I let him go.”

“You let him go?  You let him go, to terrorize other innocent victims?”

“Oh, I doubt he was in any shape to bother anyone, considering the height I was at when I let go of him.”  Zoey covered a large grin with her gloved hand.

Senta giggled.

“Um, Senta?”

She looked up to see Aalwijn again, his head turned to look away over his left shoulder.

“Yes?”

“My kitchen staff may be unable to prepare your meals if they can’t see what it is they are cooking.”

“Oh, sorry.”  She snapped her fingers once again and his head slowly turned to look toward her.  He reached behind his neck and rubbed.  The patrons of a dozen tables all stood up and headed toward the exit.

“I’m billing you for any lost business,” he said, hurrying away again.

“Let me see your eyes,” Senta told the dragon in human form.

Zoey lowered the spectacles, revealing solid pink eyes from lid to lid.

“You know, you look a bit like my cousin Ernst.  Were you copying her?”

“Actually, I was trying to look like you.  I am your dragon.”

Hsrandtuss nodded knowingly as he surveyed the forest for miles around from the top of the hill his people had named Dhu-oooastu.  He pointed first to the south and nodded toTusskiqu.  The great lizzie hissed in reply.  Then Hsrandtuss pointed to the southeast and nodded to Slechtiss.  Slechtiss placed his hand to his throat and then hurried off. A dozen brightly painted lizzies hurried after him.  Others went with Tusskiqu.  Still more were hurrying this way and that.

“I can’t tell what’s going on?” said the single tiny human amid the army of lizzies.

Hsrandtuss reached down and picked Terra Dechantagne up, setting her on his shoulder.  Then he pointed high up into the clouds.  The girl could make out little among the great fluffy masses at first.  Then she saw something sapphire blue zipping across the sky at amazing speed.

“Is that it?”

“Yes,” replied the King. “That is Xecheon’s new god.”

“My eyes must be playing tricks.  It doesn’t look any larger than me.”

“It is bigger than you, but not so big that I couldn’t still put it on my shoulder instead of a skinny soft-skin.”  Then he gurgled loudly.

“What?”

“We’re very nearly the same size,” he said.  “Wouldn’t it be glorious to engage in hand-to-hand combat with a god?”

“It wouldn’t be a very long combat,” she said.  “Dragon armor is essentially indestructible.  They have teeth that can bit through steel, frighteningly sharp claws, and a barbed tail.  They breathe fire and usually have some other breath weapon.  They are extremely intelligent and are capable of magic.”

“Why did I bring you along with me?” wondered Hsrandtuss.  “Was it just to depress me?”

“I will be quite honest, Great King.  I have no idea why I’m here.”

“You are here to learn how to be a great warrior.  Now, pay attention.  The dragon is observing us for the enemy, so I have been very careful to let her see exactly where my forces are going.  Tusskiqu is taking a force of four thousand to intercept their left column of war machines. Can you see their smoke?”

He pointed and the girl could make out about a dozen columns of black smoke rising above the trees in the distance.

“Slechtiss is taking a thousand riflemen and three thousand warriors to intercept the other war machines. Of course, that leaves our headquarters here completely unprotected.”

“But you have more than eight thousand warriors, Great King,” Terra pointed out.

“Yes indeed.  But you see, the dragon has told their general, my old friend Tokkenttot, that I have left the bulk of my forces in Yessonarah to defend against their fearsome human machines.”

“Why would she think that?”

“It probably has something to do with the thirty thousand females painted like warriors who are even now patrolling the walls.”

“As I just pointed out, Great King,” said Terra.  “Dragons are very smart.  In addition, they are famed for their eyesight.  They can see things that would be invisible to anyone else.  They can see in complete darkness.  They can see the difference in temperatures.  How is this dragon going to be fooled?”

“You are only about six years old, so I am going to forgive your ignorance.”

“I am fifteen.”

“I still forgive you,” said the king.  “You and Child of the Sunrise are the two smartest humans I have ever met.  Perhaps you are remarkable specimens, or perhaps I have had very bad luck in the soft-skins that I have happened upon. But you are very young, and sometimes intelligence does not substitute for experience.  The dragon may very well notice something different among the warriors on our walls, but will she know why that difference is important?  I don’t think so, and neither does Yessonar. Oh yes, little one.  Do not forget that we have our own dragon.

“So where are the rest of our warriors?” whispered Terra.  “I mean the real ones.”

“Ah, here is the next lesson.  A great warrior plans where his battle will take place.  That is how I killed so many of your people.”  He paused to look for her reaction.  She just shrugged.  “We have carefully arranged for the war machines to ride over a series of underground caves that run in a long chain from just south of here to the west. I’ve had 20,000 males working the last 72 hours straight to weaken some of the stone supporting the cave ceilings. When the machines go over them, a few, relatively small charges will drop them down into the earth, along with all the warriors on foot that travel with them.”

“And when is this going to happen?” asked Terra.

Hsrandtuss pulled a gold pocket watch from a small pouch on his belt.  Flipping open the cover, he examined it.  “Assuming Tokkenttot is as foolish as I expect him to be, our counter attack will occur when the little hand is on the two stacked stones and the large hand is on the claw.”

“Eight-fifteen,” translated Terra.  “In about thirty minutes.”

“Yes,” said Hsrandtuss, pulling her from his shoulder and dropping her onto a folding chair.  He sat down on an identical one, and waved his hand.  “Just enough time for breakfast.”

A male brought a plate full of kippers and sat it in the girl’s lap.

“Your favorite,” said the king, as another male gave him two large raw eggs and a small cooked bird. “Eat up.  The battlefield usually makes one vomit their first time and it is better to have something on your stomach.”

“But we’re miles from…” Terra’s voice drifted off.

“Now you see the hole in the plan,” said Hsrandtuss, breaking an egg into his mouth.

“Kafira Kristos,” hissed Saba Colbshallow.  “You could have knocked me over with a feather when they told me that building belonged to you.”

“Who else would it belong to?” asked Governor Iolanthe Dechantagne Staff.  “Why do you care anyway?”

Unlike other recent meetings, which had taken place in her bedroom, the two of them stared at each other over the vast oak expanse of Iolanthe’s desk, in the office of the Colonial Governor.  It was a room designed to impress and intimidate.  The ceiling was more than twenty feet high and the entire south wall was made up of large windows that looked out over the now expansive city. The opposite wall was filled with two large world maps.  One featured Brechalon, the rest of Sumir, and the western hemisphere, while the other featured Birmisia, the entirety of Mallon, and the east.  She leaned back in the leather-clad chair and pressed her fingertips together.  His chair was within arms reach of the globe, so large that it took two people to turn it on its axis.

“I’m not talking about the building,” he said with a sigh.  “I don’t give a crap about the building.”

“What is it that you think you give a crap about then?”

“It’s that Kafira-damned machine!”  He looked at her as if she were suddenly stupid or insane.  “That thing is dangerous!  You know that it is!  Senta’s brother died seeing the original was disposed of.”

“That’s the story, anyway.” She pursed her lips.  “All we really know is that Senta destroyed a good portion of Mallontah.”

“Even if you don’t believe it, that thing has been trouble going all the way back to the beginning—to Suvir Kesi.”

“It may be, and I’m not saying that it’s true, but maybe, that particular machine became tainted with evil magic.  If that’s the case, it doesn’t matter now.  It’s gone.  These machines are new.  They have not been infected in that way.  They are ready to be used as the designer originally intended.”

“For what?”

“For civic planning, for engineering, for education.”

“I guess I mean for whom?”

“For me.”  She stood up and leaned over the desk.  “They’re mine.  They’re my machines.  They’re nobody else’s.  They are of no concern to you.”

“Anything that concerns you is of concern to me,” he said.

She stared at him, uncomprehending.

“Whatever concerns you concerns me.  Whatever this relationship is that we have…”

She laughed.  “Is that what this is about?  You’re jealous?  My husband invented the Result Mechanism and that’s somehow a threat to your manhood?”

“I don’t think you know what you’re saying,” said Saba.  “Perhaps we should discuss this later.”

“Upset that another man got to the holy land before you?  Other men have.  Better men.”

Saba took a deep breath and slowly let it out.  He stood slowly up.

“So this is how it ends.”

“Nothing ends until I say it does,” said Iolanthe.

“You just did.”  He turned and started the long walk to the door. The trip across the deep red carpet seemed like a journey of a fortnight, like a journey that would never end. He expected at any moment to be stopped with a word or to be called back, but he wasn’t.  He put his hand on the knob, turned it, and a second later was in the outer office, next to Mrs. Wardlaw’s desk.

And he knew at that moment that he would never be with Iolanthe again—never be in her bed again.  He had loved her as long as he could remember. In fact, his earliest memory was of loving her.  But he would never have her again.  He would never touch her and feel her purr into his neck.  He would never taste her lips again.

“This is what it feels like,” he said.  “This is what it feels like to be cast out of heaven.”

“What’s that, Chief?” asked Mrs. Wardlaw from behind a file folder.

“Good day, Mrs. Wardlaw.”

Lady Terra held the binoculars to her eyes and examined the battlefield stretched out across the plane. It was a truly horrible sight. The bodies of more than ten thousand lizardmen were strewn across the great field.  Hundreds of dinosaurs, large and small, feasted on the remains. Along the nearer side of the war zone, a group of about one hundred lizzies made their way through the bodies, offering aid to any to whom aid would still make a difference.  They were easy enough to spot, with their bodies painted half white and half sky blue.

“What do you think, Kaetarrnaya?”

The girl looked up into the cold-blooded eyes of King Hsrandtuss.

“It is a horrible victory, Great King, but you have turned back the enemy.”

“Very little is as it seems in war, my little soft-skin,” the king hissed humorlessly.  “This was not a victory.”

“No?  But Xecheon’s dead greatly outnumber ours.”

Hsrandtuss’s dewlap flushed.

“Yes, almost three to one,” he said.  “This was not the enemy’s true aim though.  It was a feint, a distraction, and not a bad one if truth were known. This tells me that their idiot king has found someone with a strategic mind.  Where could he have gotten such a genius, Kaetarrnaya?”

“Maybe one of his people have a gift.  Or it could be that a new group of lizzies have joined Xecheon.  Hundreds arrive at Yessonarah each month.  I wouldn’t think they would have as many immigrants, but they could have some.  Perhaps one of them is a skilled warrior.”

“That is well-thought-out and very possible,” said Hsrandtuss.  He waved and a male brought over two folding chairs, setting them up. The king took one and indicated with a wave that the girl should take the other.  “Is there another possibility?”

“Xecheon could have advisors from the humans,” she said.  “The Bordonians or the Mirsannans are both looking to expand their power in Birmisia, and there are a dozen other countries that might send weapons and advisors. For that matter, they could be human soldiers of fortune, beyond the control of any country.”

“Could it be the Brechs?”

“That wouldn’t make any sense,” said Terra.  “We’re allies.”

“I am your king,” said Hsrandtuss, touching the tip of her nose with a clawed finger.  “You must not lie to me.  Might they not want revenge on me for defeating them on the battlefield?”

“I will not lie, Great King. I do not think it is the Brechs. Greater Brechalon seldom breaks treaties, though this would not be the first time.  Also it might be more likely we would break our treaty with you than with other human countries, since many among my people consider the lizzies inferior.”

Hsrandtuss gurgled in anger.

“But the cost and the danger of destabilization is very great compared to the possible return. My people will often prefer a less than ideal situation to an uncertain one, even when there is a possibility of improvement.  There is a much greater possibility that it is a lone Brech who is aiding Xecheon, but I find this unlikely too.  You are known to be fair with humans and you have much greater wealth.  A single treasure-seeker would be much more inclined to offer aid to you.”

“I am pleased with you, Kaetarrnaya.  You have spoken true with me, even when it might not make your own people appear their best.”

“I am a noble female of Yessonarah.”

“Yes, you are,” said the king.  “Now I want you to remember that.  Who else could be helping our enemies?”

“I don’t know… other lizzie states?”

“No.  What is it that makes us so great?”

“Yessonarah is great because it is the chosen city of the God of the Sky, and its people are his chosen people.  But there are no other drag…”

Hsrandtuss leaned in close to her face and stared into her eyes.

“There can’t be… there can’t be another dragon leading them,” she said.  “There can’t be.  Can there?”

Hsrandtuss sat back and reached into his mouth to scratch around one of his back teeth.  Then he spat on the ground.  A male appeared and handed him a water skin.  After pouring a long stream of water into his mouth and swallowing, he handed the container to the girl.

“You know the answer already,” said the girl.  “Don’t you?”

He climbed to his feet and stretched himself up to his full height.

“Who do you think you are talking to?  Of course I know.”

“Which is it then?”

“It is all three, little soft-skin.  Xecheon has chosen as their general an old enemy of mine—a warrior of some skill. His name is Tokkenttot.”

“The one from the story!” gasped Terra.  “You stole Tokkenoht from him.  You stole his sister!”

The king hissed.  “Yes, and he wants his revenge.  He has taken twenty great war machines from the humans, the ones whose name sounds like salamander mating calls.  They are designed to destroy to city walls and fortifications.  They have also sent two hundred human warriors to help operate them.”

“Salamander mating… the Bordonians?”

“Yes.  They are the ones.”  Hsrandtuss stretched his right shoulder, still scarred from the dryptosaurus bite.  “Of course, none of this is as troubling as the fact that they have themselves a new god leading them—a small blue female dragon.  They are calling her the Goddess of War.”

“Goddess of War.”  The words came out of Terra’s mouth as a whisper.

“Now, go get your gear together.  You and I have quite a distance to travel, and quickly too.”

If anyone had looked at Ravendeep from the outside, and if that person knew nothing of the history of Ravendeep, they might think that it was a modern correctional facility, a proud part of His Majesty’s penal system.  The building, a massive five-story edifice with high, gabled roofs and a great tower with a gigantic clock that called back to Freedonian architecture of a century before, was only possible on such a scale because of the construction materials and techniques made possible by the Industrial Revolution. On Avenue Fox, the structure, which had replaced a twelve hundred year old stone fortress some fifty years earlier, was bordered on one side by Swift Lane and on the other by a street officially named Lord Oxenbourse Lane, but which most everyone called Cutpurse Lane.  Of course, if anyone had made such an observation and such a supposition, they would have been very wrong indeed, because the majority of Ravendeep was not in the modern and architecturally renowned building, but in the twenty levels, carved out of the solid bedrock below.

Esther stretched out on her belly on the metal cot, which was the only piece of furniture in the room. Her mind had wondered to the subject of her name.  She had thought herself quite clever when she had come up with Esther Ssaharranah. Perhaps she had been too clever. Finding oneself in prison was just the type of situation in which being Esther Staff might have proven beneficial. Iolana had committed any number of crimes from reckless driving to something that at least bordered on treason, and she had yet to see the inside of a jail cell.  If that stupid girl at the King’s audience was to be believed, then Iolana’s mother was pretty much a serial killer and she certainly wasn’t incarcerated.

The lizzie looked around. The cell had been hewn out of solid rock, so the room wasn’t quite square at any corner and no wall was completely smooth.  Only a door made of rusted iron bars, that somewhat matched the metal cot, broke up the monotony of dull grey stone.  A small amount of flickering light, from the gas fixture in the corridor, illuminated the room.  Not that one could see anything.  Had she been in possession of one, Esther thought that she might be able to read a book, though humans, with their less acute night vision, would have found that impossible.  No, this was not a fit place for Esther Staff.  Not even Esther Ssaharrahah.  No, this place was fit only for the name they had given her—Prisoner 563621A.

“Miss Esther.  Are you awake?”

Esther glanced to the doorway.  Police Constable Bean was peering between the bars.  She climbed to her feet and stepped over to him.

“If ever I’m not awake, you have permission to wake me.  Having a visitor is well worth missing a bit of sleep.”

“Now I feel bad that I can’t stay,” he said.  “I just came by to check on you and make sure you weren’t being mistreated.”

“Not mistreated exactly. More ignored than anything.”

“That’s sadly the case, most often.  Better than being given the third degree though.”

“The third degree?  What’s that?”

“It’s all about interrogation,” explained the constable.  “The first degree is questioning.  The second degree is intimidation.”

“Never mind.  I don’t want to know.”

“Well, I don’t think you have to worry about that.  Anyway…” He fumbled in his jacket pocket for a moment, before producing a small tin.  “I brought you some kippers… I mean… well, it seemed like something you would eat.”

“Thank you, PC.  That was very kind.”  She reached through the bars and took the tin.  “In truth, they’ve been feeding me better than I expected. But I will enjoy thessse.”

“Is there something that you want that I could bring you?”

“I was just thinking that I might like something to read.”

“I’ll have a look around upstairs,” he said.  “People leave all kinds of things behind.  I happen to know there’s a copy of Odyssey.”

“Anything but that. Please!”

“I thought, what with her being your friend and all…”

“Who do you think had to proofread it over and over and over?”

“Well, I’ll find something,” he said, with a kind smile.  “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” said Esther. “Thank you for remembering me.”

A little while later, a jailer brought her evening meal, and slid it under the door.  The evening meal was always the same—beans with a bit of some indeterminate meat, probably pork.  Along with it was piece of bread, one that was fairly heavy and probably had sawdust as a major ingredient.  Esther actually preferred it to the light, airy bread that Iolana insisted upon. Finally, there was a quart of water.

After eating, Esther lay back down on the cot.  She dozed off thinking about the breakfast that would arrive consisting of exactly what had made up yesterday’s morning meal—one boiled egg, one piece of bruised and probably moldy fruit, and a quart of water.  This would be followed by lunch, which would be four savory biscuits, a hunk of yellow cheese and a piece of dried cod, and a quart of water, just as it had the day before and the day before that.

She had just finished her lunch the next day, which had been much more palatable with kippers on the biscuits, when Iolana appeared outside the bars of her door.

“You look well,” she said, her voice full of sunshine, fresh air, and freedom.  “The rest must be doing you good.”

“I’m not well, I’m not resting, and if you think I look good, it’s only because there is very little light in which to sssee me.”

“Well, someone is in a bad mood.”

Esther opened her mouth but couldn’t think of anything to say to that.  In what kind of mood was she expected to be?

The great battleship H.M.S. Minotaur rested on the smooth waters of Crescent Bay.  Lieutenant Baxter ordered the men to lower a launch over the port side, and then he climbed down into it and supervised as it was loaded with weapons and equipment.  The rest of the sailors boarded and took their positions.  They rowed a single stroke that took them to the temporary staircase set up near the bow.  One of the men hissed and pointed as the back of a great underwater creature slid above the glasslike surface not far from them, but it didn’t return.

After about five minutes, a dozen mercenary soldiers in khaki made their way down the stairs, rifles slung over their backs.  They took their places and waited.  Then Augustus P. Dechantagne and his older brother Terrence stepped down into the boat. Baxter started to order the men to row, but Terrence Dechantagne raised his hand.

“Wait.”

A minute later, Zurfina the Magnificent descended the stairs like a goddess descending from on high. Her black dress left little to the imagination, especially to those in the boat below.  Following behind her, dressed almost identically was her nine-year-old apprentice, Senta, with the tiny steel dragon wrapped around her shoulders. Once Zurfina and Senta had stepped into the launch, the boat was pushed away from the ship, and the sailors lowered their oars into the water.

None of the men spoke as they traversed the bay and approached the shore.  The honking of the iguanodons could be heard in the distance, along with an occasional loud bellowing roar.

“Gawp,” said the dragon.

It didn’t take long for the boat to reach the shore, a twenty-foot wide band of rocks and gravel separating the water from the thick redwood forest.  The sailors raised their oars straight up and Captain Dechantagne and several of the soldiers jumped out and pulled the boat up onto the gravel.  Then everyone else climbed out onto land.

“What do you think, Baxter?” asked Augie Dechantagne.  “This looks like a good place for a dock right here.  We can use the wood growing all around, build the dock and extend it straight out into the water thirty or forty feet, and build a couple of warehouses right up here.

“We’ll have to check the depth, but it seems fine,” replied Baxter.

Leaving six of the sailors with the boat, the rest of the party moved past the shore and into the woods.  The redwoods were enormous.  Some of them were twenty feet or more in diameter at the base.  Baxter wondered just how many pieces of furniture could be cut from a single tree.  It wouldn’t take many of them to construct a dock.

Once away from the shoreline, the land rose up quickly.

“It’s hard to tell with all these trees, but it looks as though the initial survey was right on,” said Augie.  “This ridge runs right out on the peninsula.  We can build the lighthouse at the tip, and the fort on that hill to the right.”

“The peninsula is what, about four miles long and a mile wide?” asked Terrence.

“Yes, though there is a narrow spot in the middle of the peninsula, where it’s only as wide as the ridge, maybe a half a mile.”

“How far is the river?”

“About six miles east.”

“Why not build closer to the river,” wondered Baxter.

“The Manzanian isn’t like the Thiss or the Green River in Mallontah.  It’s not navigable even around the mouth.  Twelve miles upstream you find the first of a half dozen known cataracts.  In the short term at least, this little bay will be much more valuable to the colony than the river would be.  There are several small streams around here for water and we can pipe in more as needed.”

When they had walked up a few hundred feet, the land flattened out and opened into a clearing.  Here was a great group of iguanodons, with several members of another species of dinosaur meandering along with them.  This was a low, heavily built, mottled brown creature about twenty feet long, covered with thick plates of boney armor.  Its beaked head resembled a horned lizard, with short, thick horns arranged around its face. At the end of its long tail, it sported an enormous two-lobed club.

“I wonder what Mormont called this one,” wondered Captain Dechantagne. “Clubadon?”

“It’s called an ankylosaurus,” said Augie.

His brother looked at him in surprise.

“I’ve been here before, remember?  I wonder if it could be domesticated?  I’ll bet that thing could pull a pretty heavily laden wagon.”

Captain Dechantagne shrugged, then stopped and pointed.

At the far end of the clearing, the foliage parted and a massive red face pushed its way into the open.  The rest of a large blocky head followed it, twenty-five feet above the ground.  Slowly the entire creature emerged from the woods.  Two tiny forearms dangled uselessly, but two giant, clawed hind feet carried the beast, a great black body, balanced at one end by the enormous head and at the other end by a long, sweeping tail.  It gave an awful roar and rushed forward to take a horrendous bite out of the back of the closest iguanodon.  The injured creature honked balefully and ran several steps, but it was wounded so grievously that it sank to the ground from shock and blood loss.  The reptilian tyrant strode over to its victim and administered a killing bite.

“Bloody hell,” said Augie.

The steel dragon suddenly launched itself into the air.  The chain attaching it to the little girl pulled taut and jerked her off her feet.  As she fell to the ground on her knees, a weak link in the chain parted, sending the dragon flying up toward the trees in the general direction from which they had come.  The girl jumped to her feet and took off running after her wayward charge.

“Come back here!” she called.

Both the little dragon and the girl were soon lost amid the massive trees.

Zurfina looked at Baxter.

“You’re supposed to find her.”

Saba slipped his jacket on, as he gazed down at Iolanthe’s naked body.  If he hadn’t known her all his life, he would never have believed that she was forty-six years old.  She didn’t have the plumpness that Loana had.  She looked lean and he could see the muscles below the smooth, tight skin in her legs and back, but it was far from unattractive.  She had not stirred as he climbed out of bed and dressed, but when he opened the door, she spoke.

“I’m glad you weren’t killed.”

“Thank you.”

“Will you be back tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

He shut the door behind him and followed the hallway to the back of the great house.  Passing through the doorway to the outside stairs, he quickly descended two flights of steps.

“Chief Colbshallow, do you have a minute?”

Saba saw Lord Dechantagne standing on the step leading into the enclosed back porch.

“I was just speaking with your aunt about…”

The sixteen-year-old waved his hand.  “I’ve really no interest in your relationship with my aunt.  It’s none of my business.  But I do need to talk to you.  Can you step over to the motor shed?”

The Dechantagne motor shed was a large building that held the family’s six vehicles and was connected to the lizzie quarters behind it.  The boy led Saba inside and turned up the gaslights illuminating the shiny vehicles.  Then he turned and addressed the chief.

“Things with these wizards are getting out of hand.”

“Oh?  What gave you that idea?” asked Saba, his voice full of sarcasm.

“All right, maybe that was the wrong way to start.  You’re the chief of police and you know what’s going on.  There have been assaults and crimes all over the colony. The destruction of the Gazette, and also the millinery shop where I had a hat on special order, I might add, was just the icing on the cake.”

“Look, Augie…”

“Lord Dechantagne.”

“Augie.  This is police business.  We have it under control.”

“It doesn’t seem that way. Anyway, I’m making some arrangements of my own.”

“Boy, I can’t have you getting in the way.  If you got yourself killed, there would be all kinds of unpleasantness.”

“Oh, believe me.  I’m not stepping out into any firefight,” said the young lord.  “On the other hand, I do have material concerns.  I have an ownership stake in most of the businesses and properties in the city.  I don’t intend to see them destroyed.  I have a party that might be of some help in eliminating some of these threats.”

“It would be better if you left the whole thing to others,” said Saba.  “That being said, I doubt we’ll be called to look too closely into the disappearance of any of these wizards.  Not that I’m condoning vigilantism.”

“No, of course not.”

Esther stood behind Iolana in the long line of those waiting to be presented to the king.  She was only too conscious of the fact that those behind her left a good seven or eight feet between them, and that two royal guardsmen stood nearby, keeping their eyes fixed on her.  She was sure that Iolana must have noticed too, but she feigned not to. Both Esther and Iolana had new dresses, very expensive and the height of fashion.  Iolana’s was a white flowing gown, cut for a small bustle, as was the most recent style in the capital.  Long waves of lace stretched down to the ground and down her arms to her white gloves, and technically the dress featured a high collar that went clear to her chin, but the top was a white gauzy silk which left much of her chest and all of her back exposed.  Esther’s dress was similar in that it was mostly white lace, but with short sleeves and a plunging neckline, and of course a hole cut out in back for her tail. They both wore large round hats topped with sprays of feathers and flowers.

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.”

Kieran Baxter smiled across the table at his wife.  Between them, arrayed across Café Idella’s yellow springtime tablecloth were two sets of fine silverware and two white porcelain teacups with saucers and a matching teapot.  In the center of the table was a yellow rose in a crystal budvase.  When he noticed that she didn’t return his smile, his face began to fall.

“What’s the matter? Is something wrong?”

“No, nothing’s wrong exactly.  It’s just that this is such an expense.  I could make you tea at home.”

“But I wanted to treat you.” He frowned.  “And you should take it easy in your condition.”

“Did you see the prices on the menu by the door?”

“We can afford it.”

“You must think me terribly ungrateful,” she said, looking down.

“Yes I do, but I’ll forgive you this once.”

“Well, if it isn’t the Baxters?” said Aalwijn Finkler, stopping beside their table, picking up the teapot, and filling their cups.  “I don’t often see you in my establishments.  I was beginning to think that you had something against me.”

“No, of course not,” said Bryony.  “It’s just that, well, the price…”

“The lady is frugal,” said Baxter, with a wave.

“There is nothing wrong with that.  Mind your pfennigs and your marks will follow.  Still, there’s also nothing wrong with treating oneself now and again. You spend your days catering to your husbands needs.  Let someone cater to yours, just for today.”  The restaurateur turned to Baxter.  “Will you leave yourselves in my hands.”

“Of course.”

“Oh, nothing too much!” Bryony called after him, as he turned and stepped quickly toward the back.

“I think you’ll find Mr. Finkler knows his business,” said her husband.

“Does he know our pocketbook?”

“Our pocketbook is just fine.  In fact, I think we can afford that new furniture you wanted.”

“Oh, I don’t really want that at all.  I was just daydreaming.”

Two waiters arrived with a tray and began setting out small plates, each with its own little pile of sandwiches.  The taller of the two described them.

“We have ham with Freedonian mustard on whole grain bread, sharp cheese with mango chutney on tomato bread, cucumber and parsley cream with dill on white bread, and egg mayonnaise with chopped shallots and cress on sourdough bread.”

“Oh my,” said Bryony.

“And here we have freshly baked scones with clotted cream and strawberry preserves.”  He stopped and topped off their teacups.  “Can I bring you anything else?”

“That’s all for now, I think,” said Baxter.

“Well, I suppose I must try something of everything, mustn’t I?”  Bryony carefully took the topmost sandwich quarter from each pile.”

“I think you must.”  He carefully cut a scone and dressed it before reaching over to place it on her plate.

“This is quite good,” she said, holding a sandwich in one hand and using the other to cover her mouth. “Mind, I think that with Mrs. Finkler’s bread, any such creation would be well-received.”

“It’s no better than your tea.  The whole point isn’t that it would be.  The point is that you don’t have to make it.”

“I do like the clotted cream.  Do you suppose we could find out where they get theirs?”

“I imagine they make it. Maybe they sell it.”

She nodded, stuffing more scone into her mouth.

Baxter leaned back and smiled as he watched her eat.  He took a sip of his tea.  “So, you said you had something you wanted to talk about?”

She nodded and then swallowed what was in her mouth.  “We simply must decide upon a name for our forthcoming addition, but…”

“We have plenty of time. You’re barely showing.”

Bryony’s face flushed and she looked around.  “But, I certainly wasn’t planning on having such a conversation in public.”

“Nobody is paying any attention to us, but as I said, we don’t have to worry about that yet.”

“It’s a decision that should ideally have been made before matrimony,” she said.  “Certainly before the um… fait accompli.”

“My father was called Rory,” he said.  “I was thinking that was a good name for a boy.”

“No.  He must be Kieran Junior for a boy.”

“I was never that fond of my Kafiran name.”

“Well it is more dear to me than any other name,” she said fiercely.  “I’ll have no other for a boy.”

“Well, hopefully then, it will be a girl.”

“And what name would you pick for our daughter?”

“Bryony Junior?”

“Oh, pooh!” she said. “You’re not at all approaching this with the appropriate gravity.”

“I think I have precisely the right amount of gravity.  I manage to keep my feet firmly on the ground.  Have you tried one of these yet?”  He picked up a sourdough wedge and pushed it toward her face.

She took a bite right from his hand and then took what was left and put it on her plate.  “What about your mother’s name?”

“What about it?”

Knowing that she had lived a privileged and easy life, Terra expected that the lizzies would get up earlier than she would, so that upon rising, she would find herself alone in the hearth room.  That wasn’t the case.  She was the first one up.  She stood and stretched, surprised also that, even with no pillow and practically no mattress, her back was not sore.  As she stood wondering where her clothes might be, she heard her stomach growl. She didn’t remember seeing a laundry, but she did recall seeing where the food was prepared, and she thought she could find it.  So, wrapping the sheet around her, she started off in search of something to break her fast.

It didn’t take her long to find the kitchen, where there was no one about.  Looking through several large pots along the wall, she discovered a cache of dragon fruit.  She had eaten the red and green pokey orbs before, but found them bland and not very filling.  Continuing with her search, she soon discovered a kiwi, a green melon, and thank Kafira, some strawberries.  With a bronze knife that had been left sitting on the counter nearby, she cleaned and cut all the fruit, making herself a little salad.  She used the hollowed out melon rind as a bowl.

Holding the makeshift container in one hand, she used the other to pass the pieces of fruit to her mouth. She ate as she walked back to the hearth room.  Along the way she passed several servants going here and there.  The palace was beginning to come to life.  In fact, when she arrived back in the hearth room, all of those who had been asleep, were now awake.  Ssu and Sirris were up and gone.  A servant was helping old Tsollot out of the room.  Both Szakhandu and Tokkenoht were in close consultation with Hsrandtuss.

“There you are,” said the King when he saw Terra.  “Some were afraid you had run away or gotten lost.”

“No,” said the girl.

“What do you have there?” He waved for her to approach.

She held out her fruit salad for his inspection.

“Look at this,” the king said to the two queens.  “She made a bowl out of this melon.  This is why humans are so dangerous.  They are always coming up with something new.”

“I don’t think this is a good example,” said Tokkenoht.

“No,” agreed Szakhandu. “I have seen fruit served this way before.  Surely you have too.”

“Who looks at fruit bowls?” growled Hsrandtuss, ignoring the fact that he had just been doing that very thing.  “Both of you, go away.”

Both females left the room, leaving Terra alone with the king.  He lay back down on his mat.

“Sit beside me.”

Terra sat cross-legged beside the great lizzie.

“Feed me some of that fruit.”  He opened his mouth and she tossed several pieces in.  “I used to like fruit, but I don’t eat as much as I used to.  I probably don’t eat as much of it as I should, but don’t repeat that to any of my wives.”

“It’s odd, isn’t it, that nature would provide such a thing just hanging from the trees?” said Terra. “It’s a kind of magic.”

“You are an odd little thing,” he said, opening his mouth and allowing her to throw in a few more pieces. “Why exactly have you come here?”

“My brother sent me.”

“Yes, I know that. But why?  What are you here to do?”

“I am here to see with fresh eyes.”

“What does that mean, little female?”

“I think it means to see without fear.”

“And you aren’t afraid?”

“I’m afraid of many things, I think.”

“Then we shall go see with fresh eyes together, eh?”  The king shot to his feet much faster than the girl would have expected based on her previous observations.  He pointed to her sleeping mat, where her clothes, her helmet, and her pistol, were stacked.  “Get your paint and feathers on and then come to the dining hall.”

Terra ate the last few bites of her fruit, licked her fingers clean, and then got dressed. Though she had worn her clothes only a few hours, women in Brech society routinely changed several times a day, so she was happy that her khakis had been laundered while she had slept.  She managed easily to roll up the cuffs of her pants, and tried to do so with the sleeves of her shirt.  Eventually she had to take it off to perform the modification. At last she was completely decked out and started off toward the morning meal.

The dining hall was far less crowded than it had been the evening before.  Though the palace served a morning and evening meal, most lizzies ate only once a day.  Hsrandtuss was already in his seat while Ssu gathered food for him.  Terra went to the food tables and put together her own meal. When she sat down in the same chair she had used the previous night, she had a plate half filled with kippers. The remainder was mostly roasted vegetables, including parsnips, potatoes, and green peppers, along with some small but meaty tomatoes.

Terra surprised herself by eating so much.  When she looked up she noticed that the rest of the diners were watching her.  At first she thought that this was simply because she was a human, but then she noticed that most of their plates had less than half the food of hers.  She shrugged. It wasn’t her fault that she was warm blooded.

“We shall go hunting this morning, Earthworm!” called the king.  He looked at another male who sat across the room from the girl.  “What do you think, Slechtiss?  Can you find weapons small enough for this little soft-skin to use?”

“I will see to it, Great King,” the male replied, staring at Terra.