“First class cabin for two to St. Ulixes.”

“Not taking your personal train, Your Lordship?” asked the man behind the glass.

“It’s not my personal train,” said Radley Staff.  “It belongs to M&S Coal, and our engineers have taken it south to survey possible mining areas.”

“As you say, Your Lordship.”

Staff looked at his daughter, standing next to him, and sighed.

“It’s not likely to get any better,” said Lady Iolana Staff.  “It will continue until the day you die.”

Staff took the tickets that the clerk slid though the opening in the window.  He waved the two household lizzies that had arrived with them, to load the luggage onto the train.  Once they had done so, he gave them change to take the trolley back to the house, though he doubted they would actually use it.  Then he and his daughter boarded.

The new first class coaches had come into service early the previous year.  They were quite a step up from the old first class.  Instead of having a bench seat and a bed in the sleeping car, enclosed only by a curtain, the new coaches featured individual cabins, each with a pair of plush chairs, two fold-down cots, and their own personal privies.  Glancing at the tickets, Staff saw that they were in cabin three.  The door was quickly located and he and Iolana stepped inside.  Their luggage was awaiting them, and Staff wondered just how the lizzies knew where to put it.  Shrugging off the thought, he sat down in one of the chairs.  His daughter took the other.

“It appears we have a short wait before we leave,” said Staff, pulling out his pocket watch and checking the time.  “Once we get out of town, we’ll go up to the dining car and have a nice lunch.”

“If you’re hungry now,” said Iolana, “cook gave me a cache of provisions.”

She opened her handbag and pulled out a small paper sack, which she peered into.

“I have a sandwich of some kind, three licorice whips, some hard candy, and an apple.”

“I’m sure I’ll survive until lunchtime.  I was surprised that you decided to accompany me.  You have so much going on with your friends, and of course, tutoring the children.”

“What?  Miss a chance to get away from my life?  I think not.  I only wish that I had been able to go to Brechalon with you.”

“That was your mother’s decision, not mine,” said Mr. Staff.

“Don’t I know it! Heaven forbid that I should have any fun somewhere she wouldn’t be able to squash it.”

“You make you mother sound like an ogre.”

“Do I?” asked Iolana, rhetorically.

“I don’t know how much fun you’ll actually be able to have.  I’ll be in meetings most of the two days we’re there, so you’ll be on your own.”

“I’m looking forward to a bit of sightseeing.  I haven’t been to Mallontah since I was a small child.  I don’t suppose St. Ulixes has changed nearly as much in that time as Port Dechantagne has, but then again, I’m sure there is quite a bit that I’ve forgotten.”

“I’m not too fond of the idea of you wandering around a strange city by yourself.  Be sure you carry your pistol with you.”

“Of course, Father.”

The train whistle sounded and then with a sudden jerk, the cars lurched into motion.  Father and daughter looked out the window as they pulled out of the station.  Their cabin faced south, so they had a view of the switching area.  Then a few moments later, they saw Lizzietown sliding past as the train gathered steam.

“Well, shall we?” asked Mr. Staff.

Iolana nodded and stood. Then she followed her father out into the hallway and up toward the front of the train.  They passed through one other first class carriage before reaching the dining car.  There was a rope barring the way in, but a waiter hurried over to move it aside.

“Are we too early?” asked Mr. Staff.

“We normally don’t start luncheon service until 11:30.”

“We could come back.”

“Nonsense, Sir Radley. It’s no trouble at all.  Please sit where you like and I’ll bring you a menu.”

When the waiter returned, the two Staffs looked at the single sheet menu.

“This looks suspiciously like the menu at Finkler’s Bakery,” said Iolana.

“Mr. Finkler owns the license for all the dining cars on the M&B line,” said the waiter.

“That man is quite a success,” said Mr. Staff.  “Too bad he’s already married, eh Iolana?”

His daughter shot daggers at him with her eyes.  Clearing his throat, he turned back to the menu.

“I will have a Fostbeck sandwich, and I think, a doppelbock.”

“I will have a Fostbeck sandwich as well,” said Iolana, “however I would like white bread instead of rye, and please hold the mustard and sour kraut.”

“That’s not really a Fostbeck sandwich then, Dear.”

“I can get that though, can’t I?” Iolana asked the waiter.

“Of course, My Lady.”

“And a bottle of Billingbow’s, please.”

“You know, every time I have a Fostbeck sandwich, it reminds me of a time at sea, when a man shot at me,” said Mr. Staff.  “He missed me, but sadly, killed my sandwich.”

“Why was he trying to shoot you?”

“It was… um, it was a simple misunderstanding.”

“Was it a misunderstanding over a lady?” asked Iolana.

Senta looked at the fortress at the top of the hill.  Set against the shadows of the mountain, one could almost be forgiven for thinking it was part of the rocks.  Ringing it for almost a mile in every direction was a sea of mud brick and stone buildings. They were homes of lizzies, but up here, where the only trees were scraggly dwarfs, they couldn’t use lumber as their primary building material.  She looked back to see the coral dragon curled up in a ball, floating a foot above the ground.  Zoey had been asleep for five days, relying on her mistress’s magical floating disk to convey her along.

“Wake up, you silly dragon. We’re here.”

“Whoop-tee-doop,” said Zoey, without opening her eyes.

“It’s quite an impressive fortress.  It looks very different than when I was here last.”

“Yes, it’s crawling with lizzies now,” said the dragon, peering up with one eye.  “And there’s a veritable stream of them coming up that road.”

“That’s the road of supplicants,” said Senta.  “They’re coming to worship Bessemer.”

“No wonder he’s so full of himself.”

Senta waved her hands and the magical disk vanished, but like the proverbial cat, Zoey landed on her feet, seemingly with no effort.  Senta continued on and the dragon followed.  As they neared the road, Senta could see that Zoey had been correct. There were literally thousands of lizzies on it, making their way to the fortress and to the god who lived within. They weren’t all walking though. A mile from the great gate, there was an arch over the road.  Upon reaching it, the pilgrims dropped down onto their bellies to crawl the rest of the way, dragging their tales behind them.  As Senta approached, the line of lizzies came to a stop as they all watched her.  She stepped up onto the road and strode through the archway, then stepped over the crawling lizzies.  As she passed each one, he too stopped and stared up at her.

She was still walking up the road, her path weaving around prostrated reptilians when she spied a lizzie rushing down the path toward her.  He was an ornately painted male, wearing a bright red cloth cape.  He was hissing as he hurried.  Senta reached up and plucked one of the glamours from around her head, activating the spell stored within.  Once it was in effect, she could understand the lizzie’s words.

“You should not be on this road, human!  What do you think you are doing?”

Suddenly the red-caped lizzie spotted the small dragon behind her.  He was so startled that he tripped on one of the prostrate lizzies, falling in a heap at the sorceress’s feet.

“Now, what are you going on about?” asked Senta, looking down.

“You’re her?” said the lizzie, looking up from the dirt.  “Yes of course you are.  The Great God said you were coming, but I didn’t recognize your paint and feathers. I thought you were a male human.”

Senta looked down at herself.  She was dressed in what she often still thought of as her Zurfina garb—black leather pants and high black boots, and a black leather bustier in place of a shirt. Of course the entire ensemble carried magic spells to make it her most comfortable set of clothing.  She reached up and cupped her breasts.

“Yes, mammary glands, I see them now,” said the lizzie, rising to his feet, “but you have neither a very large bottom, nor a long tuft of hair.”

Senta ran a hand over her head.  She was still wearing her blond hair in a man’s short style, parted on the side and razor-cut around the ears and neck.  Of course, since she wasn’t wearing a dress, she didn’t have on the bustle that recent dress styles were requiring to be larger than ever.

The lizzie brushed himself off and then bowed.

“I am Khastla, the god’s most trusted.  You should follow me.  We will take the road of guests.

The red-caped male led the human and the dragon up a path paved with shiny river stones.  It wound up the hill, sometimes approaching the main road and sometimes veering farther away.  Finally it led to a small but beautiful gate in the cyclopean fortress wall. It was not as large as the main gate, but was lined with two beautifully carved statues of Bessemer.

The fortress had been completely rebuilt from the ruin it had been when Senta had been there before. Inside the walls were numerous tall buildings, constructed with smooth façades, but featuring many window boxes filled with flowers.  Between the buildings were flowerbeds, walkways of colorful pebbles shaded with fruit trees covered in blossoms, and fountains which sprayed out water that was collected into little gutters that wound in and out to feed the plants.  Hundreds of lizzies were working, cleaning, polishing, and gardening.

“This is all quite lovely,” said Senta.

Zoey gave a dismissive snort, sending a little smoke ring out of her right nostril.

“Pease follow me,” said Khastla.  “The god has chosen the finest accommodations for you.”

He led them to a large three-story structure with a double door of heavily polished wood.  Inside they found a spacious room decorated with mosaics on all four walls.  A large stone hearth sat in the center of the room, with funnel-shaped device reaching down from the ceiling over it, obviously designed to vent the smoke from the fire.  Around it were arranged two plush couches, and three large padded chairs with matching tuffets.  Though the couches looked just like those found in any Brech home, the chairs were just slightly odd, a little too short, a bit too deep, and much too large for a human.

“These come all the way from Mallontah,” said Khastla proudly pointing first at the couches, and then the chairs, “and these were made by our finest craftsmen.”

“Very nice,” said Senta.

“This is nice,” said the dragon, shooting across the room and curling up in one of the chairs. “Much nicer than we have at home.”

“Szarine! Your guests are here!”

“Here you go, little one,” said Tokkenoht, setting a handful of forest slugs down on a rock beside the human.

“I can’t.  I know I should, but I just can’t.  If I eat them, I’ll vomit, and then I will lose all the water I drank back at the stream.  You eat them.”

The priestess scooped them back up and tossed them into her mouth.

It had been two days since the small human had helped her escape from the soft-skin warriors. Tokkenoht had managed to find enough food to keep her strength up.  Forest slugs were considered a delicacy among her people.  The human, however, had eaten nothing.  Tokkenoht was beginning to worry about her.

“I’ll eat today,” said Stahwasuwasu Zrant.  “Mark my words, I’ll bring down something I can cook today.”

“I don’t mean to criticize, little one,” said Tokkenoht.  “After all, you arranged my escape, and then managed to remove my chains with that hair wire…”

“Hair pin,” corrected the human, using the soft-skin word.  “My hut elders were correct.  You really cannot do without them.”

“Yes, you have shown great cunning for a having seen so few summers.”  She bobbed her head in annoyance.  “How many summers have you seen, anyway?  Six or seven?”

Tokkenoht hissed when the human let out her strange warbling laugh.  It was such a strange sound; it was unnerving.

“I have actually seen thirteen summers, though that’s not really what you’re asking.  The fourteenth anniversary of my birth was a short time ago.”

“Fourteen,” mused Tokkenoht. “I would not have guessed it, though I have been told that the soft-skins age much slower than we do. Wait.  You mean you were born in winter?”

“Oh yes, my people routinely defy all the laws of nature.”

“Perhaps humans are much more dangerous than we thought.”

“If you are only now figuring that out, then perhaps I have been giving your race too much credit,” said the human.

Tokkenoht grunted in recognition of the insult and perhaps of an unsettling truth as well.

“As I was saying, I don’t mean to criticize, but those spears are too small to throw, even with an atlatl.”

The human female had crafted three small spears with tiny spear points and had trimmed the back ends of them with pieces of a feather she had found on the ground.

“Oh, these are not spears. I have tried throwing spears with an atlatl, but I’ve never been very good at it, and I certainly don’t have time to become good now.  I need a weapon I already know how to use.”

“But you have your thunder weapon.”

“Yes, I do.  I also only have ten more um… uses for it.  I shouldn’t have wasted four scaring the males when one would have sufficed.”  The human peered around into the forest.  “I can use these to bring down something to eat and save the thunder weapon for defense. I don’t intend to end up in the belly of a feathered runner, like poor Warden.”

“This Wharden was a member of your hut?” asked Tokkenoht.

“No, he was just a friend.”

“I am sorry.  I recently lost someone.”

“A member of your hut?”

“Yes, and more.  She was the wife of my husband.”

“The wife of… fascinating! I had no idea that your people were um… that the males married more than one female.”

“Only the most powerful kings.”

“Then… you’re Hsrandtuss’s wife?”

Tokkenoht hissed the affirmative.

“Then it’s doubly important to get you back safely to your city.”

The human stood up and taking a knife from her belt, used it to cut a long segment of a branch from a willow tree.  She carefully trimmed it.

“The warrior Azkhantice is your friend?” said Tokkenoht, after a few minutes of silence.  “You hugged him.”

Stahwasuwasu Zrant stopped carving.  Her face flushed in a way that the lizzie had been unaware was possible.

“Um, yes, Ascan is a friend too.  We should get going.  I can work on this while we travel.”

They started off again through the forest, walking in the direction of the morning sun.  Tokkenoht took the lead and Stahwasuwasu Zrant followed, working her willow switch as she walked.

“What is your human name, Stahwasuwasu Zrant?” asked the priestess.

“It’s Iolana.”

“How strange.  It sounds like a bird call.”

“I suppose,” she allowed. “What is Hsrandtuss like?”

“He is a good king. He is very strong and very brave. He is also wise.”

“Wise enough to get thunder weapons.”

“Yes, we bought them from the human traders from the other human city state—the one called Natine.”

“The Mirsannans?” wondered Iolana.  “Not too much of a surprise, I suppose.  I understand they’re setting up trading bases in the far east.  You might even be better off with them on your side. They’re not looking to export as many settlers I imagine, since Mirsanna is so much larger than Brechalon in terms of land area.”

“You seem to know much about the politics of your people,” said Tokkenoht.

“Oh, no, not really.  Everyone knows those things.”

“Thank you for meeting me, Master Bell,” said Peter Bassington.

“Just Bell please, or Wizard Bell if you must,” said the man seated across the table from him. “Things aren’t as formal here as they are in Brechalon.  Besides, you’re not an apprentice anymore.”

Wizard Bell picked up the cream and poured a small bit into his tea.  He was a thin, pasty-skinned man, his blue police uniform seemingly two sizes too large for him.  On his shirt, where most constables wore their badge, he had a hexagram, a symbol of his art.

“Well, thank you.  I needed some advice and with my sister gone, and you the only master wizard in the colony…”

“I am happy to be of service, of course.  You don’t have a way to contact your sister?”

“I can contact her if necessary.  I would prefer not to bother her with this.”

Bell sipped his tea and waited.

“I’ve leased out the new foundry.”

“That must have been expensive.”

“Yes, it was.  But I didn’t have any choice.  I’ve got to melt down some metal, mostly copper and steel, to ingots.”  Peter looked around to make sure he wasn’t being overheard.  There was no one close to the two wizards and nobody suspicious-looking to be seen.  “What I need to know is whether I need any special precautions, since the metal carries a strong enchantment.”

Bell nodded.  “It’s the Result Mechanism.”

“How did you know that?” Peter demanded.

“One can’t be much of a wizard if he has walked this town for the past three years and not noticed the thickest aura of magic around that particular building.  Have you been to take a look at it?  The feeling is palpable.”

“Yes, I’ve been there.”

“Melting it won’t remove the enchantment, you know.  I don’t know that it will even be weakened.”

“We expect as much. But at least it won’t be used to mass produce magic spells.”

“I don’t know that anyone has melted down so much enchanted metal, ever,” said Bell.  “I don’t really know what might happen.  My suggestion is to be ready to dispel anything that might pop up.”

“That’s kind of what I thought.  No other advice?”

“No.  I don’t think so.”

“Well, shall we just enjoy our dinner then?”

An hour later, Peter stood in the shadow beneath a large oak tree and watched as Wizard Bell walked briskly down the sidewalk.  He hadn’t needed the older man’s advice about magical metal.  Neither did he need confirmation that the wizard knew about the Result Mechanism.  He had seen him at the warehouse building where the great machine was stored.  What he needed was more opportunity to figure out what the fellow was up to.

Bell walked to the end of the block and turned left.  Peter decided that he must be headed for his apartment on Pine.  Spying the trolley approaching, the young wizard stepped out of the shadows and quickly crossed the street to the trolley stop.

The city of Port Dechantagne maintained a trolley system that was constantly expanding.  New lines were being laid, and they supported twelve trolley cars, each pulled by a huge, three-horned triceratops.  Recently two additional trolley cars had arrived by ship from Brechalon, and now awaited the addition of at least two more dinosaurs to pull them.

The triceratops brought her vehicle to a stop, and the driver climbed down to feed her from a large bin filled with shrubbery.  Stepping up into the vehicle, Peter dropped a pfennig in the glass box near the driver’s seat, and then sat down to wait.  The light in the west was fading and dark clouds gave the city a gloomy feel.  The lamplighters were busy, but the yellow globes of illumination did little to brighten up the landscape.  Two middle-aged women climbed into the trolley cab and took seats a few feet away from Peter.

“Such a terrible thing,” said one.

“Yes it is.  Nothing to be done about it, though.  It’s all a part of God’s plan.”

“Terrible thing for the young mother though.  Terrible thing.  At least she’s got her little girl.”

“Excuse me, ladies,” said Peter.  “I don’t mean to intrude, but I couldn’t help but overhear.  What is it that has happened?”

“It’s the Colbshallows,” said the first woman.  “Do you know them?”

“The chief inspector, do you mean?”

“Yes.  Their wee baby has passed.  Crib death, you see.”

“What a terrible thing for a young mother,” the other woman repeated.

“A terrible thing for anyone,” said Peter.

The driver climbed back into the cab and rang the bell.  The triceratops started, jerking the trolley into motion.  Peter lost himself in his thoughts as the vehicle traveled the ever-darkening streets.  The two women got off sometime before he did.  In fact, he didn’t even notice them leaving.

When he stepped off the trolley to walk the last mile to the house he was feeling in an odd mood.  He had never quite felt this way before.  It was as if he could see his own mortality.  He had been in danger a few times in his life, particularly when he was  running errands for Master Bassington… his father.  He had felt sad when he had found out that his father had died, killed by a dragon here in Birmisia.  But it wasn’t quite the same.  There was something about the death of a little baby, a miniature little person with all the promise in the world, the way that an acorn held the promise of a mighty tree, which changed one’s perspective about things.  Peter wasn’t a child anymore.  It was time to make his mark in the world.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well done,” he said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m surprised you were willing to carry all that equipment out here into the wilderness,” said Benny.

“These are some of the first good dinosaur pictures,” said Buttermore.  “I could get famous from these.  Besides, I thought it would be a good idea to be out of town until the Drache Girl left.”

“It’s not your fault that her picture just appeared in all of those books,” Benny replied.  “She knows that.  Senta’s quite reasonable.  Not that I’m saying I wouldn’t have chosen to get out of town, had I been in your position.”

“I knew that photo would be trouble years ago when I took it.  I didn’t even want to.  But how do you say no to Zurfina?”

“A naked Zurfina, at that,” added Ascan.

“Yes, well, even Senta couldn’t say no to her.  As I recall, she didn’t want to sit for the picture, and it turns out, I suppose, she had good reason.”

Iolana stepped away from the dead tyrannosaurus as the lizzies hurried forward and began hacking at the neck.

“Careful there!” yelled Staff.  “Cut down a little lower!”

“All in all, I think it’s been a very satisfactory day,” said Augie.

“That it has, Lord Dechantagne,” said Benny.

“The proper address is ‘My Lord’,” said Augie.

“We don’t bother with all of that,” said Staff.

“No, we don’t need to bother with all that,” said Augie.

“The next man who calls me Sir Radley may wind up with my boot stuck up his keister,” continued Staff.

Both Benny and Ascan glanced at Iolana to see if she would blush at her father’s colorful language, but she just grinned.

“Well, the lizzies seem to have everything in order now.  Shall we head on home, Iolana?”

“Yes, Father.”

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

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

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

“Bring me my foundations,” she said.

The lizzie started and hissed.

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

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

“Paint,” she said to herself.

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

“No, not now.  After.”

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

“What’s this then?”

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

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

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

“Come and give kisses,”she ordered.

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

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

Baxter lifted the paper he was reading in reply.

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

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

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

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

“We who?”

“Why, all of us.”

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

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

“It’s not safe for a child. Even if we all arrive in one piece, that fortress is no place for her either—surrounded by lizzies, without another human face.”

“Nonsense, we’ll be there.”

“For that matter, I don’t think it’s a safe place for Zoey.”

Senta let out an exasperated sigh.  “They worship dragons as gods!”

“You told me how they treated Bessemer before.  Even now, not all of the lizzies have accepted him.  But he’s big enough to take care of himself.”

“We will discuss it after dinner,”said Senta, standing up.  “Now I have business elsewhere.”

“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.”

“I apologize,” said Peter, with a sigh.  “I was in such a good mood when I came down the stairs, and then… well, I get reminded that I’m just me.”

“What’s wrong with being you?” asked Zoey.

Hundreds of miles to the southeast of Port Dechantagne, the lizzie city of Yessonarah stretched across the sloping side of the great hill the lizzies had named Zsahnoon.  Less than three years old, the city already housed more than 100,000 reptilians, and more were arriving every week.  At the city’s northern edge, it touched the shore of Lake Tsinnook, created when the River Ssukhas was dammed.  On the east, the city was protected by a great stone wall running from the edge of the hill to the lake, but there was only a wooden wall on the west side, and it had several large gaps in it.  Amid a sea of square wooden houses were two dozen stone foundations that would someday hold important public buildings, but as yet only two such buildings existed.  The first, the great palace of the king was in use, though it was only about two thirds completed.  The other was the first great temple to the lizardmen’s god Yessonar.

High Priestess Tokkenoht stood at the top of the stepped pyramid, 130 feet above the city streets. The pyramid’s design was different from temples in any other Birmisian city, as so many things about Yessonarah were different.  Each of the nine levels, representing the nine ages of the universe, was covered in smooth white limestone.  The staircase running up the pyramid’s front, from the base to the top, was marble trimmed with red brick fired in a kiln, a process learned from the soft-skins.  Behind her, the square vault was dark grey marble, with a copper frieze and a doorway trimmed in copper.  And on either side of that doorway was a sculpture of the god, carved of stone but covered in silver.  The top of the vault was of course flat, to give the god a place to sit when he came to visit.

The temple’s dedication was still three days a way, but everything was coming along.  With a quick glance at the acolytes stationed at the vault, Tokkenoht descended the great staircase.  A hundred or more lizzies, mostly new arrivals to the city, stopped what they were doing to watch her.  She was quite a spectacle.  Her smooth green skin was painted azure blue, with zigzag designs of bright yellow down her belly.  She wore a cape made of feathers of all colors of the rainbow, from crimson achillobator feathers near her tail, to bright blue utahraptor feathers poking up to form a collar behind her head.

When she reached the street, the crowd parted for her, some of them bowing low.  She hissed pleasantly to them and then climbed into her sedan chair, an enclosed seat carried litter-like by the four large males, their bodies painted white, who waited beside it.  It was a not a long journey to the palace, but the streets were busy, so by the time they arrived, the sun was already dropping toward the western horizon. When the bearers sat her chair down, Tokkenoht dismissed them for the day and walked quickly up the steps to the residence.

“Welcome home, High Priestess,” said Sirris, waiting at the top.  She had no paint or feathers, but wore a large gold necklace, with a Yessonar pendant.

“Thank you, wife of my husband.  Were you waiting to speak with me?”

“No.  I just stepped out here.  I am on my way to check with Ssu and see that all the preparations are complete.”

“I will go with you,” said Tokkenoht.  “I want to see the…  what was that soft-skin word that Kendra used?”

“Children.”

“Yes.  I want to see the children.”

Together, they walked through an ornately carved archway and into the royal gardens.  The gardens were not particularly impressive at the moment, as the winter plants were past their prime.  It wouldn’t be long till they were pulled out and replaced with spring flowers.  But the colorful birds in the aviaries still sang and the fountains still sprayed their jets of water.

Just past the gardens were five plots of carefully prepared soil, and just beyond them, a huge cage. Built like the aviaries, the cage was a half dome made of mesh wire over a wooden frame.  Unlike the aviaries though, which were twenty feet in diameter, this great cage was one hundred feet across.  Inside was a carefully created environment, replicating the forests that stretched out hundreds of miles in every direction.

Ssu sat on a stone bench, watching the inhabitants of the cage.  Tokkenoht and Sirris stopped beside her and looked.  Scampering around inside the enclosure were some one hundred little lizzie offspring.  Half of them were over a year old and already starting to walk upright.  The other half, not yet yearlings, were still on all fours, scarcely thirty inches long.

“How are they?” asked the high priestess.

“They are good,” said Ssu, flushing her dewlap in pleasure.

“Oh, that one is mine!” shouted Tokkenoht, spying a blue band on one of the little hind legs.

Yes, things in Yessonarah were very different.  Everywhere else in the world, female lizzies laid their eggs in communal nests in the forest.  An old female was usually assigned to watch over the nest until hatching, but after the hatching, the offspring ran wild until they were captured and civilized into a lizzie household, or they were eaten.  But here, in Yessonarah, the females were keeping track of their eggs and their offspring.  What had started two years before as an experiment among the wives of the king, had spread.  Now every house in the city was preparing its own nest for the coming spawning, and its each house had its own egg keeper.  In two more years, the first lizzies ever to know their parents would be old enough to join society.  This was the reason that so many lizardmen were flocking to Yessonarah, especially females.

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 noteligible.”

“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.”

“No, Lady Iolana,” said Esther, turning and making her way down the stairs.

Though far younger than Iolana, Esther was about an inch taller.  The lizardmen grew much faster than human beings.  The girl had adopted the lizzie when the latter was little larger than a hat box, determined to civilize her, and to all appearances, she had been more than successful.  Esther was Iolana’s companion and helper, participating in almost all of the girl’s activities and having her own room in the house just down the hallway from Iolana’s.

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.