A large square of sunlight filled the center of the cell floor, and sprawled naked in the center of that square, was Zurfina.  She lifted her head up just enough to look around and then she slammed it back against the stone floor.  Then she lifted it up and slammed it back down again: once, twice, three times, till there was a bloody spot on the floor and a bloody contusion on her forehead.  The walls of the cell had all returned to their original stone texture.  Not even the arcane bloody scrawling remained.

Schwarztogrube really was proof against magic.  She had summoned the most ancient magic in the universe, a feat only possible because of the eclipse, and had used it to release the dead demon-gods that waited beyond the edge of sanity.  But even they had not been able to completely pierce the veil.  Even that magic was not enough.  Without the power of the eclipse, it was not enough, and the eclipse had not lasted long enough.  And it would be a long time before the next full eclipse over Schwarztogrube.

“Eight thousand four hundred thirty seven days!” Zurfina wailed.  “Kafira’s bloody twat!”

She looked up at the ceiling as if she could see the sky beyond it and dared the Zaeri-Kafirite God and his crucified daughter to strike her dead.  Could even his magic penetrate this magic-proof hell?  Prove it!

* * * * *

“Is it over?” asked Senta.

“Yup.”  Maro stood up from the pinhole camera that he had made to watch the eclipse, in actuality nothing but a small pasteboard box with a hole cut in the side.  Shining in through the tiny hole, the image of the sun had been visible on the back side, and as the moon had moved across the sun, the small white orb in the box had been covered and then uncovered.

“That was pretty ace, wasn’t it?”

“I guess so,” said Senta.  “I wish we could have watched the real thing.”

“You’d be blinded.”

“Yeah.  I’m glad you were able to make it with only eight fingers.”

Maro nodded and looked at the three remaining fingers on his right hand.

“Maybe someday you’ll be really rich and you can pay a wizard to regrow your fingers for you,” offered Senta.

“Maybe I’ll get so used to having eight fingers I won’t want my other ones back.  I bet pretty soon I’ll be able to do my eight times as good as you can do your tens.”

“What’s seven times eight?”

“Fifty six.”

“Is that right?”

“Yup.”

“Wow.”  Senta looked impressed and she was.  “What are we doing now?”

“I don’t know what you’re doing, but I’m going to play Mirsannan cricket at the park.  You can’t go because you’re a girl.”

“Then I’m going to the toy store and buy a doll.”

“You don’t have enough money to buy a doll.”

“Uh-huh.  For pretend.”

“Yeah, alright.”

“You know when you said my mom didn’t want me?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t understand it.”

“What?”

“Well, look at me.  I’m just cute.”

* * * * *

“Eight thousand four hundred thirty seven days,” Zurfina told herself.  “I’ll be old.  Well, I’ll be older.”

The sorceress was already far older than she appeared.  Thanks to magic used long ago, her body was much younger than it should have been.  But it was aging now.  Here in this place where magic had no hold, it was aging.  In eight thousand four hundred thirty seven days, she would most surely begin to look old—not as old as her true age, but old.  Too old.  She would have no youth, just as now she had no magic.  She couldn’t wait eight thousand four hundred thirty seven days.  She had to get out.  But she couldn’t use magic.  What could she use?  What did she have?

She had her youth… for now.  She had her beauty… for now.  She had this body, this body that men wanted… for now.  She had to use what she had.

The thing on the other side of the membrane between two worlds tested it once again, and a moment later it burst through.  It was long, thick tentacle, necrotic grey and covered with suction cups.  It searched along the stone floor of the cell, tentatively at first.  Then it touched the sorceress sitting naked and chanting and suddenly it shook and thrashed throughout the chamber.

“No!” shouted Nils Chapman and he jumped in front of Zurfina.  The tentacle found him and wrapped around his waist.

“No!” he cried again, and then it yanked him so violently that the snapping of his neck was clearly audible, as it pulled him beyond the shimmering veil.

Suddenly the room was filled with a hundred tentacles, touching every inch of the cell, caressing the woman like a demonic lover.  She slowly rose to her feet, the tips of the alien appendages touching every inch of her skin.

“Uuathanum eetarri blechtore maiius uusteros vadia jonai corakathum nit.”

A black fog poured into the cell from all four walls.  It filled up the tiny chamber and sprayed through the openings in the door, creeping down the corridors of the prison and into every room and every cell, every nook and every alcove.

* * * * *

“How is it?”

“It was ace,” replied Saba.  “Now I just want the sun to come back.”

“Don’t be like that.”  Yuah stepped down the stairs from the back door and put an arm around the boy’s shoulders.  “Let me take a look.”

Saba held the square of magic glass up and Yuah pressed her eye to it, leaning back to find the sun.  “There.  The sun’s starting to move out from behind the moon.  In a few minutes everything will be just like it was before.”

“Good.”

“You shouldn’t let Miss D ruin your fun.  She’s a right bitch, you know.”

“No, she’s not.”

“She is.”

“Well, it’s not her fault.”

“What do you mean?” asked Yuah.

“Nothing.  Here.  Do you want this?”  Saba pushed the magic glass into her hands and started up the stairs into the house.

* * * * *

 Zurfina smiled as the dead grey tentacles caressed her.

“Now I will leave and now I will lay my vengeance on this stony prison and this little kingdom and this world.”  She raised her arms and began her final incantation.  “Uuthanum…”

At that moment a thin streak of light entered from the small window high up on the wall.  It was so tiny that it might have gone totally unnoticed, had it not stuck the first and largest of the grey arms moving around the cell.  But the tiny sliver of sunlight burned through the tentacle like a hot ember through a slice of bread.  The great tentacle jerked and thrashed about the room and the other appendages did too, one of them striking the woman and throwing her halfway across the floor.  More sunlight entered through the window and all of the unearthly, unholy members were yanked back through the portals that shimmered where the walls of the cell had once been.

“No!  No, I’m not finished!” screamed Zurfina.

* * * * *

Yuah stood in the courtyard, idly staring up at the eclipse, and totally unaware that she was being watched from a window on the third floor.  Terrence watched her, appraising her in a way that he didn’t bother appraising other women.  There was no doubt that she was beautiful.  She wore no makeup, had her hair pulled back into a bun wrapped by a maid’s cap, and she wore a simple servant’s dress with minimal bustle and almost no color.  And yet she was one of the most beautiful women that he had ever seen.  There was no doubt about that.  Iolanthe was thought to be a great beauty and with her flawless skin and those striking aquamarine eyes, she was something special.  Yuah’s chocolate brown eyes had a tenderness and an innocence in them though that one would never find in his sister’s, and Yuah’s features were perfect.  She could have been one of those women that the great sculptors of old used as a model.  She was just the right height and she was well-proportioned.  So what if she was a bit skinny.

Yuah was almost perfect.  But Terrence didn’t want an almost perfect woman.  He had thrown away any chance at a wife and a family and a home.  That was not going to be his future.  His future was far away, in another time and another place, on a great field of purple flowers with a woman who was frighteningly perfect.  He turned away from the window and climbed back into bed, pulling the box filled with small blue vials from beneath the pillow.

Chapter Eight:  Day One Thousand Nine Hundred Eighty Four

 “What do you have there?” asked Zeah.

“It’s magic glass,” replied Saba, holding up a small square of very dark but very shiny material.

“This conversation sounds like the beginning of a fairy tale.  Did you trade your magic beans to get this magic glass?”

“Don’t be silly Mr. Korlann.  I didn’t have any magic beans and this cost me 75P.”

“Good heavens.  Why would you pay 75 pfennigs for that?”

“For the eclipse.”

“Eclipse?”

“Sure.  There’s an eclipse today.  Almost a full one.  If we were in the channel it would be full.  It would get dark in the middle of the day.”

“Oh yes, yes.  It was in the paper.  I imagine it will be spectacular enough right here in Brech City.  But what is the glass for?”

“Haven’t you ever heard that you shouldn’t stare at an eclipse because you’ll go blind?”

“Of course.”

“I can’t tell you how much that has worried me since I found that out,” said Saba.  “I’m always afraid that I might accidentally look at the sun and it would be just my luck that there was an eclipse going on right then and I would go blind.”

“Well, first off, there’s nothing special about an eclipse that is worse on your eyes.  Stare at the sun anytime, eclipse or no, and you risk damage to your…”

“Anyway,” the boy interrupted.  “I got this glass so I can watch the eclipse.  You can stare at it all day through this and not get blinded.  Can’t see a bloody thing through it now though.”  He tried to look at the head butler through the small pane held to his right eye.

“Let’s hope it really works,” said Zeah skeptically.  “I trust you bought it from a reputable dealer.”

“Sure.  I got it at the potion shop on Avenue Phoenix.  They’re selling loads of them.  If it doesn’t work, they’ll be hip deep in angry blind people.”

* * * * *

“It’s almost time now, Pet,” said Zurfina looking at the sun, through the tiny window high up on the wall.

Nils Chapman was crawling on his knees next to her.  Shaking and twitching uncontrollably, he no longer had the ability to stand on his own.  This didn’t bother him, because he no longer had the ability to think on his own either.  He crawled along on all fours drooling like a dog to the center of the cell.

Zurfina peeled off the filthy rags that had been her only clothing since she had been brought to this hellhole one thousand nine hundred eighty four days before.  She tossed them aside and sat down cross-legged in the center of the cell.  Chapman pressed against her, but she pushed him away, and closing her eyes, she began to chant.

“Uuthanum, uuthanum, uuthanum, uuthanum.”  She repeated the word over and over again.  Twenty times.  A hundred times.  Slowly the room became darker and darker.  She continued to chant.  The eclipse was at his height.

Chapman screamed.  Zurfina opened her eyes and smiled.  The four walls were walls no more.  They were shining, rippling, silvery surfaces like the surface of frighteningly cold and deep water.  Sounds could be heard from the other side—freakish, awful piping noises that tugged at one’s sanity.  Then the surface directly in front of her bubbled and churned, touched by something on the other side of that boundary between cell eighty-nine and the abyss beyond.

“Yes!” Zurfina screamed.  Then she began reciting a new set of words.  “Uuathanum eetarri.  Uuthanum eetarri.  Uuthanum blechtore.  Uuthanum blechtore.  Uuthanum maiius.”

* * * * *

“So can you see the eclipse?”

“Sure.  It’s ace,” said Saba, standing in the courtyard.  Then he turned and saw who was speaking and flinched.

“Would you like to take a look, Miss?” he asked, offering Iolanthe the magic glass pane.

Taking the almost opaque square, she held it up to her eye and pointed her face toward the sky.

“Interesting.  It looks like a halo.”

“Yeah.  Yeah, it does look like a halo, um… Miss.”

“It doesn’t feel like a halo, though, does it?”

“Miss?”

“Look at it again,” she said, handing back the magic glass.  “This time, tell me what you feel.”

The boy looked again and suddenly shuddered.  When he looked back at her, his face was accusing.  She had made him aware of something he hadn’t noticed before.  There was something evil about the eclipse, and though he had looked forward to the event since he had first heard about it from his mother, now all he wanted was the return of the sun in its full glory.

“I make a hundred and fifty feet,” said Lieutenant Arthur McTeague, without taking his eyes from the binoculars.

“Decrease elevation two degrees,” called Lieutenant Augie Dechantagne.

“Ready!” called Corporal Worthy from the centermost 105mm howitzer.

“Fire.”  There was a long pause and then a distant explosion.

“Oops.  You’re long,” said McTeague.  “I mean, longer.”

“Kafira damn it!” yelled Augie.  “I said decrease elevation!  Decrease!”

“Sorry sir!  Ready sir!”

“Fire!”

“On target,” said McTeague, after the wait.

“Lay down a pattern of fire!”  The five guns began rapidly firing, only to be immediately reloaded and fired again.

McTeague lowered his binoculars and pulled his earplugs from his pocket.  Stuffing them into his ears, he walked over to stand next to Augie.

“Why are we shelling this village again?”

“I didn’t ask,” Augie replied.

“Do you suppose they’re going to counter-attack?”

“It’s not my job to worry about it.  It’s theirs.”  Augie pointed to the line of Royal Marines, their red coats and white pith helmets clearly visible halfway between the guns and the lizzie village that was rapidly becoming a flaming hell.

“Well, I suppose they needed to be taught a lesson.  Put the fear of God and his Majesty into them.”

“This will certainly teach them something,” said Augie.

 * * * * *

“It says here that the remaining robber will be moved to Herinnering Gaol as soon as he is ready to leave hospital,” said Mrs. Colbshallow, her face buried in the morning paper.  “And Miss D is being considered for a Citizen’s Safety Award.”

“It’s considered safe to shoot two people now, is it?”  It was Merriman, the main floor butler.  “If I’d shot two men, I’d be in prison.  She shoots two men and they give her a bloody medal.”

“Best not to think things like that,” said Zeah.

“Especially out loud,” added Yuah.

“It’s you, Yuah, that she usually wants to shoot,” said Barrymore, the upstairs butler, grinning.

“She can’t shoot me.  She couldn’t live without me.”

“Don’t get cheeky,” said Zeah.  “I had to hire four new ones this week.”

“Well, it’s not as if these men didn’t deserve to get shot,” said Mrs. Colbshallow.  “Imagine trying to rob someone in broad daylight.  We need more police, that’s what we need.”

“I’m going to be a copper in a few years,” said Saba, walking in from the front hallway and sitting down.

“No you aren’t,” his mother informed him.  “I would be forever worrying.  It’s far too dangerous for any child of mine.”

Saba didn’t reply to his mother or point out that he was the only child of hers.  He just scooped up large mounds of fried eggs, white pudding, and sausages.  Mrs. Colbshallow went back to commenting on the news, particularly how information of the coming eclipse did not belong in the weather section.  With Saba’s addition there were eleven people eating breakfast in the servant’s hall at that moment, a good portion of the staff having already eaten and started on their morning duties, and those few who had the overnight shift had mostly already gone to bed.  Marna, one of the last of the latter group came in from the side hallway, looking like she could fall asleep on her feet at any moment.

“Yuah, Master Terrence wants to see you,” she said.

“I’m not interested.”

“I’m just the messenger.”

Yuah turned to look at Marna, and saw Terrence standing in the hallway several paces behind her.

“I’m not his valet.”  With careful precision, she lifted her chin into the air and turned back to the table.  “I’m the dressing maid.”

A minute later, under the guise of reaching for a scone, she cast a sideways look at the spot where he had been standing to find that he was now gone.

* * * * *

Karl Drury was a shadow of his former self—literally.  As far as anyone knew, he still made his rounds through the fortress of Schwarztogrube, he still hurled insults at almost everyone, and he still stuffed his ugly face in the mess hall.  If he beat some of the prisoners less than he used to or abused the boys less than he used to, who was going to complain about that?  The only one who seemed bothered by Drury these days was Nils Chapman.  He began to shake every time Drury entered the room and he refused to look at him.  But Chapman knew what nobody else did.  That was not really Karl Drury.  The real Karl Drury was dead.  He had dropped the sadistic guard’s body into the ocean himself.  Of course Nils Chapman was a shadow of his former self too—figuratively.  His eyes had gone dull and his skin was pale.  He didn’t sleep anymore and he could hardly eat.

“One thousand nine hundred eighty three days,” he muttered to himself over and over again, from his spot, curled up in a ball in the corner of cell eighty-nine.

“Don’t worry, Pet.”  Zurfina reached down and stroked his hair.  “It’s almost over.  This time tomorrow we’ll both be gone.”

Chapman grabbed hold of her leg and held it close as he kept his eyes pressed tightly shut.  He couldn’t bear to see the walls, all four of which were covered in ghastly markings of smeared blood, and all four of which pulsed and throbbed sickeningly.

Chapter Seven: Victories

My Dear Miss Dechantange,

 It was with deep regret that I left your company on the twenty-fifth, but I ease the ache within me by recalling the week that I spent with you.  Surely no other fine lady of the Great City can equal you in hospitality, graciousness, or dare I say beauty.

The funds that you forwarded for the new machine have been received and put to good use.  I have hired a new assistant in whom I see a great deal of promise.  With her assistance and with the aid of Mr. Murty, of whom I believe I spoke during our conversations, we should be ready to begin construction within a matter of weeks.

I will of course keep you informed of the major milestones as they occur, but I would very much enjoy a visit by you to University Ponte-a-Verne.  I believe you would find the architecture and the gardens to your liking and the village has many interesting sites as well.  I would be more than pleased to extend some semblance of the kind courtesy that you offered me.

Eagerly awaiting your next letter,

Your humble servant,

Merced Baines Calliere Ph.D.

Iolanthe folded the letter closed and with a satisfied smile, placed it in her letterbox.  Clearly the Professor was smitten.  She thought that he was someone that she could marry.  He was certainly interesting, from a well-placed if not wealthy family.  He was intelligent and relatively resourceful.  Best of all he seemed willing enough to be led, which would spare her from the tiresomeness of a man who would pretend to be her master.  That there was no spark of passion, at least from her perspective, didn’t bother her.  She had never known it and she didn’t believe it existed.

She placed the letterbox in the bottom drawer of her private desk just as the head butler entered, carrying a silver tray.

“The morning post has arrived, Miss.”

The letter from Professor Calliere had arrived on the evening post the day before.  Iolanthe typically did not open her letters until she was ready to reply to them, but she took the bundle of envelopes, tied together with a bit of red ribbon, and looked through them.  There was a letter from Mrs. Godwin back in Shopton, Mont Dechantagne and there were several bills from the carpenters that should have gone to her solicitor.  Then there was an official looking envelope with a golden wax seal, which when opened, was revealed as a hand-written note from the Prime Minister.

Dear Miss Dechantagne,

I have made the arrangements we discussed earlier.  The vehicle in question will be under refit for the next nine months, so I suggest you plan your timetable accordingly.

With Regards,

E. P.

“Why Prime Minister, how very cloak and dagger of you.  ‘The vehicle in question.’  No one would suspect that a vehicle under refit would be a ship.”  She laughed.

“Muh… Miss?”

“What is it, Zeah?”

“Are um… are you really going to Mallon?”

“If I do, don’t worry.  You shall go with me.”

“Muh… me?”

“Of course, Zeah.  Why, I wouldn’t be able to function without you.”

“But, what would I duh… do?”

“I’m sure we’ll find enough to keep you busy.”  She smiled.  “Now, have the car brought around.  My brother and I are going out.”

Zeah raised his eyebrows.  He hadn’t seen much of Master Terrence at all in the three months he had been home.  But he hurried off to see that the vehicle was made ready.  It was more than simply bringing it around.  Care had to be taken to see that the boiler was filled with water and the firebox was filled with coal and lit and that a good volume of steam was allowed to build up.

Half an hour later, Iolanthe sat impatiently behind the steering wheel.  Her leather driving gloves just matched her green day dress.  The tall black top hat with white flowers that she had chosen was tied to her head with a large strip of green ribbon.  Zeah, who stood on the sidewalk, watched as her eyes grew narrower and narrower.  He was very happy when at last Master Terrence walked down the steps.  Terrence wore a new grey suit with a red plaid vest.  He had shaved, but had dark bags under his eyes.  Rather than climbing into the passenger seat, he walked around to the driver’s side.

“Move over,” he said.

“I’m driving,” said Iolanthe.

“No.  No, you’re not.”

“It is the year of our Lord eighteen hundred ninety seven and women can drive.”

“Some women can drive.  Not you.  Scoot over.”

Iolanthe pursed her lips but moved across the seat to the other side, careful not to smash her bustle.  Folding her hands in her lap, she waited for her brother to climb in and get settled.  He released the brake with his right hand and stepped on the forward accelerator with his right foot, and they were off.

“Where are we going now?”  Terrence asked.

“King’s Park Oval.  You remember where it is?”

“Of course I remember.”  He pressed his foot down on the decelerator and whipped around the fountain of Lord Oxenbourse and drove north up Scrum Boulevard.  “Why are we going there?”

“West Brumming is playing Ville Colonie.”

“I thought you hated cricket.”

“I don’t hate cricket.”

“Yes you do.  You hate all sports.”

“I don’t hate sports.”  Iolanthe explained.  “I just don’t see the point of watching a group of men you don’t even know play at games, let alone of rooting for them.  I went to one or two games when I was at university.”

“Well, St. Dante isn’t playing.  So why are we going now?”

“I thought it would be good for you to get out of the house for a bit.  You’ve hardly gone out of doors since you arrived.”

“Hmm,” said Terrence noncommittally.  He concentrated on his driving but after a few minutes felt his sister’s eyes on him.  “What?”

“Perhaps you should visit a bordello.”

Terrence almost lost control of the vehicle and swerved into another lane.  “Kafira!”

“I know men have needs.”

“Iolanthe…”

“Perhaps that’s why you’re feeling poorly.”

“Please stop talking.”

“When was the last time you were with a woman?”

“If you don’t shut up, I may never be able to be with a woman again.”

“All I’m saying is that it may not be healthy to keep things bottled up, so to speak.”

Terrence stamped down on the forward accelerator taking the steam carriage near its top speed of forty miles per hour, but had to almost immediately decrease the speed to turn off onto the grassy drive to the cricket grounds.  Thankfully Iolanthe remained quiet as he parked the car at the end of a line of similar vehicles.  He climbed down and walked around to help her down.  She opened her parasol and took his arm and they walked toward the bleachers.

“Just think about it,” she said.

“Shut up,” he snapped, and then muttered.  “I shall be able to think of little else.”

Ville Colonie had been designated as the visitors, randomly it seemed as this was the home grounds of neither team.  Ville Colonie was a village on the small channel island of Petitt Elvert, while West Brumming was a small town about fifty miles north of Brech City.  The team members from the north were dressed in white shirts and grey dungarees, while the team from Ville Colonie, as might be expected from those descended from Mirsannan immigrants, were flamboyantly arrayed in bright blue stripes.  Next to the home team hutch were several dozen chairs around tables with large parasols, where all of the women and the men who were with them sat, while next to the visitors’ hutch was a grandstand filled entirely with men.

“Good heavens,” said Iolanthe.  “I had no idea that cricket was so popular.  There must be four hundred people here.”

“I doubt there’s anyone left in either of those towns.”  Terrence led his sister to one of the few remaining empty tables, pulled out a chair for her, and then sat down himself.

The two team captains joined the umpire on the pitch for the coin toss.  It was determined that Ville Colonie would bat first and the players took their positions.  The West Brumming bowler was getting his eye in as a heavyset blond batsman waited.  At last the match started as the bowler sent a beautiful bouncer down the wicket, but a loud crack indicated a shot and the two batsmen, including the big chap went running.

“Would you like something to drink?” Terrence asked.

“Is there a waiter?” wondered Iolanthe, looking around.

“No, there’s a snack kiosk over there.”  He pointed to a small shed just beyond the visiting team hutch.  “What would you like?”

“I don’t suppose they have any wine.”

“I doubt it.”

“A beer then.”

Terrence took his place in the queue, only occasionally looking back at the game.  He wasn’t really that interested in cricket, even though he had played it at university.  There was no point in telling Iolanthe though.  Once she had her head set on something, it wasn’t likely to change.  He purchased two bottles of beer, which came in tall brown bottles with cork stoppers.

Just as he turned around to leave, he was approached by a young woman with long red hair.  She was dressed in a long brown skirt and a white blouse and looked as though she might have just come from a factory job.  She was pretty, in a course sort of way, and she wore no makeup.

“Can you help me, Sir?” she asked, and then turned and began to walk away before Terrence could answer.

He shrugged and followed her, a beer bottle in each hand, around the corner of the kiosk and between a pair of small sheds.  As he made the second corner, Terrence came face to face with three men.  Two of them were brandishing knives.  For a second he didn’t recognize them.  Then suddenly he did.  They were three men outside Blackwood’s.  The memory of the white opthalium made his eyes water slightly.  What was it that Blackwood called the first fellow… Mickey, Mikey, Mika?

“Thanks luv.  Hurry on your way,” said Mika to the girl, who quickly left.  He then turned and smiled unpleasantly at Terrrence.  “You’re so happy t’see me your eyes are waterin’ eh?”

“I’m sentimental,” Terrence replied.

The toughs had chosen their spot well.  They were shielded from the street by a hedgerow and from the cricket game and the spectators by the sheds.  Without conscious thought, Terrence’s mind ran through his options.  He could drop one of the beers and go for the pistol in his pocket.  He could simply bash the bottles into a couple of skulls.  In either scenario, he’d probably take at least one knife blade.  He could always yell for help.  There were plenty of people within earshot, probably even a copper.  Again, he’d probably get stabbed.  Besides, he’d never yelled for help in his life.

“Care for a beer?” he asked.

“I’m goin’ t’enjoy lettin’ the air outa you.”

Suddenly there was a loud report followed by a wet smack and the man behind Mika, Mika’s brother Terrence suddenly remembered, dropped to the ground with a massive hole in his chest pouring out blood like a johnny pump.  Before anyone had time to think or to move or to think about moving, three more shots rang out.  The beer bottles in Terrence’s hands exploded and then a good portion of Mika’s jaw was ripped off his face.  He dropped to the ground with a gurgled scream, while the third man in the group turned and ran.  Terrence turned to his left, still holding the shattered remains of the bottles, to find Iolanthe in a cloud of gun smoke, a forty five caliber pistol pointed in his general direction.  It was an exact match to the one in his pocket save only that hers had a pearl handle.

“Kafira’s tit, Iolanthe!  You almost hit me.”

“You’re welcome,” she replied, closing her left eye and taking a bead on the fleeing man’s back.

“Let him go,” he said, and looked down at the sad remains of Mika, now whining pitifully.

A police constable came jogging up from behind Terrence, followed by a few cricket players, one carrying a bat, as well as a few stout fellows from the grandstand.

“These men were trying to rob my brother,” said Iolanthe, stepping forward.

“Oh, it’s you, Miss Dechantagne,” said the constable.  “Are you injured?”

“No PC, thank you for asking, but I believe one or both of the men I shot may be in need of ambulance service.”

The constable knelt down and checked Mika’s brother for a pulse.

“This one doesn’t need an ambulance.  He’s dead.  What are these boys doing so far from the Bottom?”

“Not to belabor the point,” said Iolanthe.  “But I believe they were practicing daylight robbery.”

“Even so.  Will you be leaving now?”

“Of course not.  The match is not over.”  She flipped open the revolver and used her fingernail to pull out the spent cartridges.  “Come along Terrence.”

The constable left for the police telegraph box to call for an ambulance, while a man from the grandstand rendered what aid there was to give.  Everyone else, including the Dechantagne siblings wandered back toward the game.  Terrence, who was still holding the spouts and necks of the broken bottles, dropped them in a dust bin as they rounded the corner to the snack kiosk.

“Where did you have that pistol?” he asked.  “You don’t have a handbag.”

“I have plenty of room for it under my dress.”

He glanced at his sister’s form.  While the top of her dress was very form-fitting indeed, the bottom half of her, thanks to her bustle and voluminous undergarments, blossomed out to such a degree that she could have hidden the arsenal for the good part of a rifle company within her skirts.

“That’s pretty,” said Senta.  “Is that a sunset or a rainbow?”

She was

walking down Contico Boulevard, hand in hand with her cousin Bertice.  Mrs. Gantonin who lived next door had told Granny about a family whose boys had died and who were now giving away their clothes.  With a house full of children, free clothes were not to be overlooked lightly.

“What are you talking about, you little bint?”

“Up there.”  Senta pointed off to the right.

“Didn’t you learn that the sun rises in the east and sets in the west?  That way is south.  How could it be sunset?  Besides, it’s only half past four.  I’d still be at work if they hadn’t run out of number four thread.”

“A rainbow, then?”

“There’s no rainbow.  There’s not been a drop of rain for a week.  How could there be a rainbow.  I don’t see anything at all.”

“Well, I see something.  It’s swirly with red and yellow and blue and purple, like a storm that’s coming, only made out of colors.”

“You need to get your eyes fixed, you do,” said Bertice, giving her arm a yank.

“What do you suppose this is supposed to be?” asked Arthur McTeague.

“I suppose it was a city a long time ago,” replied Augie Dechantagne, with an emphasis on the second word.

The two lieutenants and the full platoon of soldiers were standing on a smooth surface of stone slabs that had been fitted together.  There were steps here and there, breaking the area up into several terraces of varying heights.  In a few places there were piles of stone that might have indicated that a wall had once stood there, but there were no buildings.  On the far side of the clearing were a series of seven large stones.  Each stood about eight feet tall and they were roughly oval in shape.  At either end of the row were the remains of other similar stones that had once stood in the line, but had long ago crumbled, either from exposure to the elements or from ancient vandalism.  Though those that remained were weathered and worn, one could see that each had been carved long ago to represent a dragon.

A loud squawk announced the arrival of eight or ten creatures that burst out of the trees and ran across the ancient stones.  They were only slightly larger than the average chicken and were covered in hairy feathers, though their faces looked all too reptilian and their mouths were full of needle sharp teeth.

“Now, are those birds or dinosaurs?” asked McTeague.

Augie shrugged, but pulled out a book from his tunic.

“And what’s that?”

“That my friend is called a book.  People, not artillery officers mind, but other people, sometimes read them.”

McTeague gave him a withering look.  “What book is it, you great tosser.”

“It’s Colonel Mormont’s journal.  My brother sent it to me.”

“Yes, I’ve heard of the chap.  He was here in Birmisia a few years ago, right?”

Augie didn’t reply.  He was busy flipping through the pages.

“What does he say about those little buggers?”

“Hold on a minute.  I’m looking.”

McTeague folded his arms and waited.  Several of the men were chasing the small creatures around the edge of the clearing.

“Here it is.  Here it is.  I knew I recognized them.”  Augie held up the open page to a drawing that did indeed bear a strong resemblance to the creatures in question.

“Buitreraptors,” McTeague read.  “Why do you suppose they all have to have such strange names?

“You know how these naturalist types are.  Besides, if you just went with ‘chicken-lizard’ and ‘turkey lizard’ you’d soon run out of names.  Face it.  That’s really what they look like.”

A much louder squawk than those heard before announced to all the soldiers that something larger and more frightening than the skittish buitreraptors had arrived.  A monster burst out of the brush and ran toward the tiny creatures.  It was a bird lizard too, covered with feathers ranging from a deep turquoise on the head to a light green around the legs, but it didn’t fit Augie’s earlier nomenclature, if for no other reason than size.  Its body was as large as the biggest horse, its head bobbing back and forth about seven feet above the ground, but it’s long, feathered tail stretched straight out behind it to make it more than twenty feet long.  Though the puny wings would have made any attempt to fly laughable, the clawed fingers and the huge sickle-shaped clawed toes prevented any such jocularity.

The monster apparently had been stalking its tiny cousins through the woods, but now that it saw the human beings, it abruptly changed its targets.  Why chase after a tiny morsel when a much juicier and slower prey could be had?  It needed only to shift its weight and maintain the same stride to put it on its new trajectory.  With a leap into the air that amazed everyone watching, the beast flew more than forty feet to land on top of Private Holloway, clawing him and bending down to give him a killing bite before anyone could react.  A second later the beast was peppered with more than twenty shots fired from all over the clearing.

“Kafira damn-it!” Augie shouted.  “Color Sergeant!

“Sir.”  Color Sergeant Bourne ran toward him and came to attention.

“Set up a perimeter watch.  Make sure all the men have chambered rounds.  And prepare a burial detail.”  The Color Sergeant hurried off to his duties.  Augie turned to McTeague.  “Come on.”

The two lieutenants stepped over to the giant bird and Private Holloway.  It was only too obvious that he was beyond hope.  His head had been bitten half through, though his extremities twitched slightly.

“Nothing to be done,” said McTeague.

“Not for Holloway,” Augie agreed.

* * * * *

It was a large spider crawling across his face that woke Nils Chapman up.  It tickled his right nostril and then continued on its way down his right cheek and over his right ear.  He turned his head and watched it as it went over the edge of the mattress.  He didn’t want to get up.  He wanted to count—one thousand nine hundred seventy nine… No!  No, he wasn’t going to do that.  He felt sick to his stomach.  He had felt sick to his stomach ever since he had seen the impossible undulating movement of the wall in prisoner eighty-nine’s cell.  He hadn’t gone back to the cell since, but the uneasiness, the slowly creeping nausea did not go away.

He turned over and looked toward Karl Drury’s bunk.  The sadistic guard was not there.  On the one hand, this made Chapman happy, because he found that he was increasingly happy whenever Drury was not around.  On the other hand, if he wasn’t here and he wasn’t on duty, he was probably in eighty-nine’s cell, abusing her.  Chapman shuddered.  He had become increasingly sickened by Drury’s treatment of women in general and this one in particular, but now he felt even more ill at the thought of the cell itself, and the wall, and the strange writing, and the undulating movement… He shuddered.

He sat up and rolled out of bed.  Taney was the only other guard in the bunkroom.

“Where’s Drury?” he asked.

“The filthy bastard’s got duty at the loading dock,” came the reply.  “I wouldn’t want to be one of the boys working down there.”

“Somebody should stop him.”

“Go ahead,” said Taney, “if you want a knife between your ribs.”

Chapman didn’t want a knife between his ribs, but he didn’t know what else to do, so he went down the ancient spiral stone steps to the docks.  Six boys were unloading a skiff, but Chapman didn’t see any guards.  But as he stepped out into the open, he noticed something strange.  There was a shadow in the middle of the dock where a shadow had no right to be.  As he stepped closer, he realized it wasn’t a shadow—not in the real sense of the word.  It was a man-shaped blob of shadow, occupying the same area that a man would occupy had he been standing there, but with no mass and no substance and completely translucent.

“What is that?” he asked.

The boys stopped and looked at him.

“What is that?” he asked again.

“What is what?” asked one of the boys.

“Where’s Drury?” he asked, his voice rising.

“He’s standin’ right in front of you, you great tosser,” the boy replied, pointing at the shadowy blob.

“That’s not Drury!  I don’t know what that is!”

Turning, Chapman ran up the stairs, oblivious to the open-mouthed stares of the boys.  He ran past the bunkroom and down the corridor to the north wing.  He ran into the door of prisoner eighty-nine’s cell, banging it with his fist, as if she could open it from the inside.  Finally he rummaged through his pockets for the great key and unlocked the door, rushing inside.

Chapman screamed.  Karl Drury was hanging, naked, upside down from the ceiling.  His neck had been sliced open and his blood had been drained into the piss pot on the floor beneath him.  His gut had been sliced open and long lengths of bowel and a few internal organs hung down like ghastly wind chimes.

Chapman screamed again, as he felt the feather light touch of the woman on his shoulder.

“I needed more ink.”  Her sultry voice cut into his soul like a knife cutting through pudding.

She stepped past him and picked up the bucket of blood, tip-toeing like a ballerina to the north wall of the cell, where she dipped her fingers into the gore and began painting strange images onto the stone blocks.  As she drew, she spoke to herself.  Chapman didn’t need to hear what she was saying.  It had been bouncing around in his head since he had gotten up.

“One thousand nine hundred seventy nine days.”

“Stop it!” he shouted.  “Stop it!  Stop counting!”

The woman turned toward him and grinned fiercely.  “Not much longer now— just a few more days.  Go on back now.  Don’t want to draw suspicion.”

He crept out of the chamber like a dog that had been beaten.  He didn’t go back to the south wing though, instead climbing the stone stairs until he found an alcove with a small opening to the outside world.  Here he dropped to the ground and curled up into a ball and wept.

Chapter Six: Blood

Yuah Korlann woke so suddenly that for a moment she didn’t recognize where she was.  She was of course, in her own bed, in her own small room, in the servant’s quarters of Number 1 Avenue Dragon—in Brech… in Greater Brechalon.  She threw her legs over the side of the bed and stuck them into her house shoes.  What a queer dream that had been.

She had been walking down a road.  It had been winter.  Patches of snow lay here and there on the ground and some of the trees were bare, although there were many evergreens.  She had been bundled up in a thick fur coat, far more luxurious and expensive than anything she would ever really be able to afford.  She even had a fur muff.  The most extraordinary thing though, wasn’t where she was, but who or more precisely what, she was with.  It was an alligator, walking upright and wearing a yellow evening gown.  As they walked along, they talked about the strangest things: the state of the Kingdom, literature, and religion.

Reaching for the glass of water on her nightstand, Yuah saw the open book lying there.  She had been reading Night of the Snake by Ebrahim Detsky.  That was the problem.  She ought not to read books like that right before bed.

Getting up and throwing the housecoat over her nightdress, she shuffled out the door, down the hallway and into the servant’s hall.  It was just light enough to see and she realized it was a quarter past four when the wall clock sounded four sharp chimes.

Padding her way on into the kitchen, she thought about having a cup of tea, but that would have meant starting a fire in the oven.  Instead, she opened the door of the icebox and withdrew a glass bottle of milk—one of six, and got a glass from the cupboard.  She poured her milk, put the bottle back, and carried the glass into the servant’s hall, where she sat down at the great table.  As she drank her milk, she could hear the clock tick-tocking in the other room.  It seemed to get louder and louder.

“You’re up early.”  At the sound of the voice Yuah jumped, dribbling milk down her chin.

“Heavenly days!  What’s wrong with you?”  Both the exclamation and the question were out of her mouth before she turned around to find Terrence staring wryly at her.

“Good morning,” he said.

“Don’t look at me!  I’m practically naked!”

“You’re kidding, right?  You’ve got more clothes on than an Argrathian virgin.”  He stepped past her and made his way into the kitchen.

“I’m sure I wouldn’t know,” said Yuah.

“About Argrathians or about virgins?  Shouldn’t there be some cheese in the icebox?  Oh, here we go.  Now where’s the breadbox?”

“Why didn’t you just press your buzzer?”

“What?”  He poked his head back in through the doorway.

“You have a buzzer in your room next to the bed.  When you press it, whoever’s on duty, I think it’s Eunice, will bring you whatever you want.”

“When did I get one of those?”

“Your sister had it put in a few months ago.”

“How much do you suppose that cost?  Oh, here’s the bread.”

“You would think that you would know.  After all, it is your money she’s spending.”

There was a clattering of knives and plates, but Terrence said nothing else until he emerged back from the kitchen with a cheese sandwich on a plate in one hand and what was left of Yuah’s bottle of milk in the other.

“If I’m not worried about it, you shouldn’t be,” he said, sitting down.

He took a bite of sandwich and they were both quiet for a moment.

“That’s your problem, you know,” Yuah said quietly.  “You never worry about anything.”

“You’re overstepping yourself, little maid.  It’s not your job to worry about what my problem is.”  He drained the milk bottle and set it down, hard, on the table.

“Somebody has to.  You’re hiding out somewhere poisoning yourself, aren’t you?”

“Shut the hell up,” he said, getting to his feet.

“You’re not taking care of yourself and nobody else is either.  I nursed you when you were little, but who’s looking after you now?”

“And just who did you think you were, when you were nursing me?  My sister or my mother?”

Yuah flushed.

“I see,” Terrence stepped close and leaned down to look her in the face.  “You thought you were my woman.  Well, you’re not.”

Yuah felt tears flooding unbidden down her cheeks.  She wanted to scream that she wouldn’t marry an idiot like him in a million years, but all that came out was “I hate you!”

“Yeah, welcome to the club.”  He stood up and tossed the sandwich onto the table, where it fell apart and scattered.

Yuah jumped to her feet and rushed toward the doorway, pausing just long enough to yell once more at Terrence.  She wanted to tell him that he hated himself so much that he would never be able to love anyone else, but all that came out was “You can’t have me.”

“Why would I want a skinny little bint like you?” shouted Terrence after her.