I’m almost done with chapter two of this book and it’s feeling pretty good. I was going to wait until late 2011 to start working on it, because I wanted to get some other projects going, but it just feels so good to be back in Birmisia that I can’t help it. And since I’ve already written book 5, I have more incentive to write Book 4.
When breakfast was over, Yuah bundled Augie up in blankets and tucked him neatly into the baby carriage she had ordered from Brech. It was baby blue, as befitted a boy, with a cute lace edged sun shade and very large round wheels to make it easier to go over the mostly unpaved roads of Port Dechantagne. Picking up her teal parasol, she pushed the stroller out the front door and waited at the bottom of the steps as Tisson carried baby and all down to the level ground. It was cool and somewhat on the breezy side, so she tucked the parasol into the carriage and pushed on down the roadway.
Though she hadn’t quite decided on a destination when she left the house, it wasn’t long before Yuah realized that she was walking east toward the heart of the colony’s Zaeri community. Here along the edge of the town, yards were large, filled not with flower gardens but with rows of vegetables, and houses were for the most part small one or two room affairs. White gravel paved the road here as most everywhere else, but there were few paved or even stone walkways. Here people walked across grass yards to the front doors of their bungalows.
Three women were outside working, and stopped weeding or turning soil in order to watch the woman in the teal dress push along her baby carriage. Each of the three women wore utilitarian dresses, which though they were the same shape and covered a similarly large bustle, had none of the lace or decoration of Yuah’s dress. They were made of coarse brown cloth over white cotton under-dresses. Instead of hats, they wore bonnets of brown linen. A fourth woman looked up from digging the weeds from her garden as Yuah reached the point directly in front of her home. She put aside her hoe and stepped quickly to the road side holding out her hand.
“Mrs. Dechantagne, how lovely to see you.”
Honor Hertling was dressed in the same sturdy brown and white clothing as her neighbors. Her sleeves and the front of her dress were stained with dirt, and she wore a beat up pair of men’s work gloves. Twenty years old, with large, sad eyes, a small nose, and raven hair, she was not classically beautiful, and not just because of the ugly scar that ran across her left cheek to her chin. She was cute though, in an indefinable way. Yuah reached out to take her gloved hand.
“Oh, sorry,” said Miss Hertling. She pulled her hand away and removed the glove, then grasped Yuah’s hand firmly. “What a lovely dress.”
“You like it? A little bird told me that you might not approve.” Yuah was suddenly aware that she was using one of Iolanthe’s expressions.
“Mein sister and her friend.” Miss Hertling’s accent suddenly became thicker. “I am thinking that the Drache girl likes to stir up trouble. Would you like to come in for some tea?”
“Thank you.”
Tossing her gloves onto a potting bench near the garden, the young woman opened the door. Yuah parked the blue baby carriage in the yard and lifting little Augie out, followed into the house. The structure was very small and consisted of three rooms. The front room, only about eight by twelve feet, served as parlor, dining room, and kitchen, as well as any number of other functions for which the Dechantagne household would have had individual rooms. At one end was a cast iron stove, a kitchen counter with a wash basin and spigot, and a shelf filled with jars of canned goods. At the other end of the room was a bookcase filled with a dozen volumes and two small porcelain flower vases holding cut flowers, and an old rocking chair. In between were a rough-hewn table and four very simple chairs. The wood planking of the floor was exactly the same wood planking of the walls and the ceiling, but bright light shown in through the four lace curtained windows, and the room was impeccably clean.
Augie began to fuss as Yuah stepped inside.
“He’s probably hungry again,” she said.
“If you would like to nurse him now, you may sit in the rocking chair, while I make our tea.”
Yuah set the swaddled baby on the chair as she went about the fairly arduous task of freeing her breasts from the many layers of her clothing. Though two of her three undergarments had been fashioned with breast-feeding in mind, the gorgeous teal dress had not. By the time Augie was able to begin suckling, he was red-faced from crying and his mother was nearing exhaustion. Yuah pulled the suddenly quiet baby close to her body, now bare from the waist up, and reached with a free hand to accept the cup of steaming tea. Miss Hertling turned the lock on the door, which consisted of a small piece of wood with a single nail holding it to the doorjamb.
“I wouldn’t want Hertzal walking in on you,” she explained. “I think he might faint.”
“Isn’t he working at the dock?”
“Yes, but sometimes he comes home for lunch.”
“Thank you again for your hospitality. I suppose I would have had to walk all the way back home, or find a spot beside a tree.”
“That probably wouldn’t have been a good idea. I’ve seen velociraptors eating out of people’s garbage twice this week. I doubt that one or two would chase down a full grown person, but they always seem to multiply. I hate to think of one of them getting after a baby.”
Yuah pulled Augie even closer. “I hope you have notified the police.”
“I have. The militia too. They keep chasing the beasts off and they keep coming back.”
Yuah turned Augie around to give him the other breast. He cried for just a moment as she shifted his position, and then happily went back to feeding. She brushed his thin brown hair back away from his face.
“I don’t want you to think that I disapprove of you or your clothes,” said Miss Hertling, pulling one of the dining chairs forward to face the rocking chair, and sitting down in it. “I just think that it is very important to preserve our traditions.”
“There is nothing in the scripture or the Magnificent Law that prohibits the wearing of colorful clothing.”
“Yes, I know. But my sister and I come from Freedonia. You must understand that in Freedonia, the Zaeri face extinction.”
“You don’t really mean that do you? Extinction, as in death?”
“Murder is being committed and sometimes it’s sanctioned by the government. Those Zaeri who stay are being discriminated against and forced to move to specially designated areas. Laws are being passed that limit Zaeri rights and create special Zaeri taxes. Those Zaeri who do leave, find themselves unable to return. Things are only going to get worse, too. King Klaus II has publicly called the Zaeri an unclean race.”
“That’s abhorrent.”
“Yes, but that’s the way it is. My parents were killed and my brother, sister, and I were chased out of our home. But they couldn’t destroy what we are. We are still Zaeri and we are still alive. I think it’s important that we remember who we are. We should maintain our traditions.”
“I suppose I can understand your feelings about it,” said Yuah.
“Things must be strange for you though,” mused Miss Hertling. “I hadn’t really thought of it before. You are one of only a handful of Zaeri from Greater Brechalon. You must feel as different from us, from the Freedonians, as you do from the Kafirite Brechs.”
“Yes. I hadn’t thought about it either, at least not much, but I have been feeling isolated lately. It’s probably postpartum angst as much as anything.”
“Don’t disregard your feelings so quickly. If only I had known you were interested in being part of the Zaeri community here… well, I could have done something.”
“I don’t know if I am interested. For a long time I didn’t want to be a Zaeri at all. When I was a little girl, my mother took me and my brother to shrine every week. Then she died. I was only five.”
“Losing a parent can shake one’s faith.”
“My father called a Zaeri Imam to cast a healing spell. He did too, but it didn’t help. My mother got sicker and sicker until she died. My father of course, refused to allow a Kafirite Priest to bless her.”
“Do you think a Kafirite Priest could have healed her?”
“I don’t know, but I’ve seen so many people healed by their priests. If Kafira is not the daughter of God, how can they work such miracles?”
I guess I can’t help myself. I went to the computer to write chapter six of Women of Power and the first two paragraphs of Senta and the Steel Dragon Book 4 just came out. I don’t usually post excepts of work in progress, but I’m going to today because it ties into this week’s theme. This is a very first draft of the first two paragraphs.
Birmisia was full of life the spring. Wildflowers seemed to suddenly appear just about everywhere. The days were warm and wet, with frequent fog and almost daily rain showers. The giant maples grew new leaves, adding their lustrous green to the ever-present deep emerald of the tremendous pines. Ferns opened up their fronds in the dappled light beneath the mighty trees and in those places with no light, large and varied mushrooms showed their rounded heads. Plants were not the only life forms present though. The land was alive with both birds and beasts. Once could easily spot cormorants, snipes, rails, and wrens hopping through the trees along with the strange four-winged microraptors. A few godwits, grebes, puffins, and pelicans occasionally strayed inland from the shore. On the ground caudipteryx, buitreraptors, bambiraptors, meilong, and mahakala ran among the ferns looking for small lizards and snakes and large insects which were everywhere. They didn’t bother the opossums, which stayed sung in their dens until nightfall. In the open areas huge iguanodon grazed, sometimes accompanied by triceratops and ankylosaurs. Most of the large predators like the tyrannosaurs and the utahraptors had become scarce due to the presence of man, though the velociraptors and deinonychus were still thick, as happy to scavenge human trash as to hunt the other Birmisian creatures.
A flock of seven velociraptors made their way down the road. They went in fits and starts, pausing to snatch a lizard or small rodent from among the ferns and squawking at each other. They were like all of their species covered with hairy feathers, yellow near their small arms, green everywhere else. Most of this particular group had a black band across what in any other bird would have been called the wings. They were only about two and a half feet tall, but their long tails stretched straight out almost five feet. The most famous features of the velociraptors were their feet, each of which had a five inch claw curving upward, and their long many-toothed snouts, more like something one would expect to see on a crocodile than on a bird. The leader of the flock raised its head as it spotted a human walking toward them from down the lane.
It was the second day of Hamonth, the first day of winter, and a chilly breeze blew across the bay and into the bustling colony of Port Dechantagne. A ship, the S.S. Mistress of Brechbay had docked at the recently upgraded port and a row of happy immigrants were descending down the gangplank. They stared with fascination, mixed with a small amount of fear at the dockworkers below them. Dozens of lizardmen served at the port. Sluggish now that the cooler weather had arrived, they used heavy winches to lift cargo from the deck of the ship and deposit it on the gravel road beside the dock. Other lizardmen then scooped up the crates, boxes, and barrels with hand-trucks and ferried them to the nearby warehouses. Both groups of lizardmen were supervised by human foremen.
People all along the dock stopped and stared as Senta walked by. Hundreds of passengers leaned over the railing of the ship and others on the gangplank pointed and gaped with open mouths. Senta carried herself with a bounce that made her long blond hair sail behind her like a proud banner in the wind. She dreadfully skinny, though the bustle beneath her yellow dress gave her a little bit of a figure. She was a child soon to become a young woman, and she was brimming with confidence. She was well known in the colony and she thought that she was quite pretty too. She had to admit though, that the people were probably not gawking at her, but at the dragon which walked along next to her. It was the size of a small pony, covered in scales the color of polished steel. Every step it took was a study in grace, and from the tip of its whiskered snout, past its folded wings, to the tip of its barbed tail, it seemed to just flow along.
“They look as though they’ve never seen a dragon before,” said the dragon. Had someone heard his voice without seeing him, they would have thought it was a young gentleman speaking. It was a rich voice, but still young.
“They probably haven’t,” replied Senta. “Dragons are pretty rare.”
“Rare and very beautiful…”
“Oh do shut up,” said the girl, and then. “There he is. Hey Graham!”
A boy about the same age as the girl and about twice as heavy even though he was almost a head shorter, ran toward them. He had on the dungarees and heavy shirt of a dock worker, and both were stained here and there, no doubt from just such a form of labor. His unkempt brown hair and freckled face made his smile seem all the more genuine.
“Hey Senta. Hey Bessemer.”
“Hello Graham,” said the dragon.
“You look a mess,” said Senta. “You did remember that we were supposed to go for lunch?”
“Sorry, I can’t go. I gotta work. I can’t leave my crew alone.” He gestured over his shoulder at the group of five lizardmen awaiting his return. Looking like a cross between an upright alligator and an iguana, with skin ranging in color from a mottled olive to a deep forest green, the reptilians was two feet taller than the boy. They stood waiting, scarcely moving, and giving the dragon and his companion surreptitious looks.
“I don’t care for those reptiles,” said Bessemer.
Graham snorted.
“What?”
“It cracks me up every time you say that,” Graham told the dragon. “Besides, you know they think you’re a god or something?”
“I didn’t say they didn’t have taste.”
“Come on,” said Senta. “I’ve heard this entire conversation already twenty times. If you can’t come with us, we’ll just go get lunch ourselves.”
One of the lizardmen hissed something, and then two others began replying in the local reptilian dialect.
“Up your trolley!” yelled Graham at them, and then he too began to hiss in the native tongue.
The lizardmen turned and walked back over to a pallet full of cargo, which they had evidently been in the process of carrying to the warehouse. With what seemed to be a great deal of unhappiness, but not a great deal of speed, they returned to work. One of them hissed again.
“That’s right you! You keep your pecker on!” yelled Graham. He looked at Senta and flushed slightly. “Sorry. Ma says I shouldn’t use the language from the dock around the young ladies.” He said the words ‘young ladies’ in a strained falsetto imitation of his mother. “I’m sorry, but I can’t go. I didn’t know the Mistress was going to be docking today.”
“Fine,” said Senta. “I’ll just dine with Hero and Hertzel.”
“Hertzal’s working too. I just saw him take his crew up on the crane. It’s probably going to be a late night and we’ll probably be working this schedule for the next four days. Look, I’m sorry. But I’ll make it up to you next week, Okay?”
“Fine,” said Senta, unhappily, and Graham set off back toward his cold-blooded staff members.
“Don’t be so sad,” said the dragon. “You can have a ladies’ luncheon. You can be all hoity-toity and proper. You know how much you love that.”
“What about you?”
“I’m going hunting for my own lunch.”
“Just be careful. Watch out for predators that are bigger and scarier than you.”
“There may be bigger, but there are none scarier!” He emphasized his last four words for the crowd of immigrants fresh off the ship who were forming around for their first look at a living dragon. Bessemer took a deep breath and blew three small smoke rings in their direction. The crowd, moving as one, took a step backwards, even though none of them had approached within a twenty foot radius of him anyway. Then, with one swift motion, the steel dragon shot into the sky like an artillery shell and disappeared.
“You shouldn’t be out alone,” said a heavily accented voice. She didn’t need to turn around to recognize its owner, but turn around she did.
“I thought you were hiding in your apartment,” she told Streck. “I heard you got quite a scare on your hunting trip.”
“This place is a hell-hole. It’s not fit for a civilized man, and it won’t be until the monsters and the Eidechse are wiped out.”
“The Eidechse? You mean the lizzies? You can’t wipe all of them out. There are millions, not just the lot around here. They have some big cities to the south and west. I’ve seen one.”
“You would be surprised what can be done.”
“What do you want anyway? You want to finish our duel?”
“Oh, I have seen your shield spell and I am suitably impressed. It is clear you are a gifted, if boastful, child.”
“I think I asked already… what is it you want?”
“I’m just here to say goodbye, little bit.” Streck smiled. “My ship is here and I’ll be leaving soon.”
“Good riddance then,” said Senta.
Steck’s face turned even more sour. “I am inviting you to come with me. Not only will you learn to respect your elders, you will learn the true magic—far more than you will ever learn with your Zurfina.”
“What is it with you exactly?” asked the girl. “Do you want to open up my brain and scoop out the magic, or are you one of those weirdoes that like little girls?”
“I want to join the Reine Zauberei.”
“I thought you were one already.”
“I was, but I didn’t advance as fast as I should have… as fast as I could have. They suspended my studies and I was left to work as a solicitor. But now I have a chance to return, you see. The Reine Zauberei will appreciate you. They appreciate power, and you have more power than I at first thought. Even if you can’t do all that you say you can, a shield spell from one so young will be impressive enough. And in return for my bringing you to them, I will be reinstated.”
“So, you want to use me for your own benefits.”
“Oh, it will be good for you too, little bit. In the Reine Zauberei, you will…”
Steck’s voice trailed off and his mouth went slack. All the color drained from his face. At the moment Senta realized that he was looking at something behind her, she heard the tremendous bellow. Turning around, she saw not one, but two tyrannosaurs striding quickly toward them. One was smaller, perhaps only ten feet tall and thirty five feet long. The other was a huge fifty-footer, and judging by the scarred and uglier-than-usual face, it had to be the one that she had hit with the fireball a month earlier. It opened its mouth wide and roared, its teeth looking like a hundred daggers.
“Run, you wanker!” shouted Senta, rushing past Streck and making a diagonal path toward the edge of the road.
Senta closed the door behind her and stomped the damp snow off of her overs. It was getting near dusk and the lower room of the tower was filled with shadows. Pointing at the lamp beside the chair, she brought it to life with a word. Several other lamps followed. The room, now bathed in warm light revealed its contents, including the steel dragon lying in the corner.
“Hey,” Senta called. “You’ve been asleep for two days. Wake up.”
Bessemer opened his eyes and yawned. “What?”
“You sleep too much, that’s all.”
“I am a dragon.”
Senta plopped down in the chair and kicked her overs off, followed by her shoes and her socks. Tucking her legs up under her, she wrapped her coat tightly around her.
“It’s too cold.”
The dragon rose from his spot by the stove and climbed up onto the chair. He draped his body over the chair back and wrapped his tail around her. Curling his long neck around so that he could look her in the face, he asked. “What is the matter?”
“I worked all day making those potions.” She pointed to several small vials on the kitchen table. “So when I finally get a chance to go out and play, everyone has gone home for the night. What am I supposed to do now?”
“Your lessons?”
“Oh, you’re a big help. Why don’t you do my lessons if they’re so great?”
“I do.”
Senta stuck out her tongue. Bessemer mirrored her action. She frowned at him for a moment, but then grabbed him around the neck and pulled his scaly face to hers.
“I’m sorry. I’m just bored and tired, and I’m really ready for winter to be over. It’s too damn cold. By the way, where is Zurfina? She’s supposed to tell me whether my dionoserin is any good.”
“Upstairs.”
“Where upstairs?”
“Her room.”
“Is she alone?”
“No.”
“Is Jex with her?”
The dragon nodded.
“Again?”
He nodded again. Then he climbed down from the chair and headed for the door.
“Happy hunting,” said Senta, though she herself seemed anything but happy.
“Toodle pip,” said Bessemer, and then he was gone.
Senta made her way up the stairs, past the rooms designated for Bessemer but almost never used, up to her own room. She peeled off her clothes and ran a hot bath for herself. Once she was clean and warm, she put on her warmest night clothes and headed back down to the kitchen for something to eat. She stoked the fire in the stove and added two logs before heading for the froredor. But something stopped her.
Sitting there on the kitchen table, just where she had left in that afternoon, was the small clear vial filled with silvery liquid. Dionoserin. A bottle just that big sold for thousands of marks. Of course it was illegal in Brechalon, but they weren’t in Brechalon anymore. Did it work? Did she grind the walnuts up enough? Did she maintain her aura? Taking two quick steps to the table, she snatched up the bottle, pulled off the cork stopper, and drank it down. What’s the worst that could happen?
“Well, I could die,” she said aloud.
She didn’t wait to see if she would die though. She ran up the two flights of stairs to her room, and then crept up one more flight stopping just before she reached the level. She slowly peered over the top step and into Zurfina’s room. She had a good idea what to expect. Senta had lived with the sorceress almost two years now. During that time Zurfina had entertained a number of male admirers.
The first thing that Senta saw was Mr. Jex, standing in the middle of the room. She was happy to see that he was fully clothed. The second thing Senta saw was Zurfina, and she was not. She was posed upon her bed, her head hanging over the edge, so that she was looking at Mr. Jex and everything else upside down. Her blond hair draped down almost to the floor, hiding her little bald spot. Her crossed legs were sticking straight up in the air. Mr. Jex stared at her for a moment before turning back to a large canvas and poking at it with the paint brush. He was standing between Senta and the painting, but she didn’t need to see it to know what it was. Zurfina was having another nude painting done of herself.
Senta slowly climbed the last four steps and walked around Mr. Jex so that she could see the painting. He really was quite good.
“What do you think Pet?” asked Zurfina, without moving from her pose.
Startled, Jex turned around to look at her. He had a small paint pallet in his right hand.
“I think it’s time for you to go,” said Senta.
Jex looked like he was going to say something, but then stopped and setting his pallet and brush on the floor, turned and went swiftly down the stairs. Just as the sound of the front door closing echoed back up, Zurfina sat upright and in a fluid cat-like motion got up from the bed.
“Put on some clothes, Fina.”
The sorceress made the smallest of gestures with her right hand and suddenly she was clad in a long, silky, black dressing gown.
“Are you ready for something to eat, Pet?”
“Yes,” replied Senta, a sly smile creeping onto her face. “I don’t think you should magic it though. I think it would be nice if you made me supper with your own hands.”
Zurfina walked slowly across the room and then bent down so that their noses were just inches apart.
“It seems to me like the Drache Girl is getting a bit big for her knickers,” she said without a hint of a smile.
“Um… my dionoserin didn’t work?”
“It worked. Did you not see Mr. Jex scurry out of the room like a frightened buitreraptor?”
“But you’re not going to make me supper, are you?”
“Did you actually believe that you could dominate me with a potion? Me? ME!”
“No supper then?”
Kendric was a very old lizardman. No one knew exactly how old, and that included Kendric himself. He had moved out of his home in the lizardman village of Tsuus, and had moved into a shack behind Mr. Darwin’s store. When it had become obvious that Kendric knew Birmisia better than anyone, man or lizardman, the humans had begun coming to him for his services as a guide. He had been hired by explorers, cartographers, traders, naturalists, and workmen laying the new town water lines. He was so sought after that he had taken on several young lizzie protégés. Saba found the shriveled old creature, sitting on a log and carving a piece of bone with a small flint knife.
“Good morning Kendric,” he said, placing his hand to his neck, palm out, in the lizzie respectful greeting.
The creature returned the greeting and then slowly raised himself to his feet. Stooped over at the shoulders, he was quite a bit shorter than Saba. In a few places his skin was the same light olive that it had once been all over, but now in many places it had turned black or sickly grey. Much of his face, belly, and shoulders were criss-crossed by jagged scars.
“I need a guide to take hunters to Iguanodon Heath,” said Saba, and then pausing for a moment. “Two would be better.”
The old lizzie nodded and then hissed out several words in his own language. The door of the shack popped open and a young female rushed out to take her place beside Kendric. She listened as the old fellow finished whatever he was saying and then turned and spoke to Saba in the best Brech he had heard any of the natives speak.
“You want two guides? For how long?”
“One guide will lead the hunters and their lizzies wherever they want to go in search of game. I imagine it will be about four weeks, but maybe longer. The other guide will come with me and three other soldiers. We’ll go out with the hunters and then come right back. Maybe five days. Tell him we want someone reliable.”
“Kendrikhastu understands you, but he does not speak the hoonan tongue.”
Kendric spoke again and the female once again translated.
“He says two thousand coins for hunters. He says he is friend to soldiers so only seventy five coins for you.”
Saba knew the coins that the lizzies wanted were copper pfennigs, so the total price was only twenty marks, seventy five P. It was far more than most lizzies made. The thirty laborers Shrubb was hiringd to carry the gear would make only ten P a day each. On the other hand, Harhoff would pay it and not think anything of it.
“Will you be one of the guides, Kendric?”
Kendric said something and then hissed mirthfully.
“The elder cannot do such a journey, even just five days. I guide you and another guide the hunters.”
“That’s fine. We meet at first light tomorrow outside of building six on the militia base. You know where that is?”
Cissy left the parlor, passed through the foyer, and picked up the bag of rock salt by the door before going outside. Once in the garden, she began walking up and down, spreading the salt on the cobblestone paths and the stepping stones. She looked up at the dark clouds moving in from the north. If Toss had been there, he would have been able to tell her if this was going to be the last storm of the cold season. He wasn’t there, and it was unlikely that Cissy would ever see him again.
Just then Mr. Streck walked through the front gate. Cissy was about to turn around so that she could go inside and inform Mr. Dechantagne of the Freedonain’s arrival, when she saw a bright glint shoot across the otherwise gloomy sky. The object, which it took no great intellect to recognize as the steel dragon, swooped downward. Streck had taken four steps into the yard, when the beast shot by his face so fast that he could not have seen what it was. Cissy was watching it as it sped by, and could tell not only what it was, but could see that it was carrying something wrapped in white paper, clutched tightly to its chest. The dragon was already out of sight when the Freedonian let out a blood-curdling scream. Looking back at the man, the lizzie could see cuts across his nose and both cheeks that suddenly began to bleed profusely.
She hesitated as red blood oozed from between the fingers held to his face. Saba Colbshallow suddenly appeared at the gate and rushed to the man’s assistance. He took him by the shoulder and rushed him toward the house. Cissy quickly took Streck’s other shoulder. Before they reached the steps, Streck’s legs gave out beneath him and he crumpled into half consciousness. Tisson rushed down the steps and took his legs while Saba and Cissy carried him by the arms.
Once inside, Streck was rushed to the dining room, where amid much shouting and hissing, he was laid out on the great table. Mrs. Colbshallow arrived from the kitchen and immediately ordered that clean linens and tincture of iodine be brought. Just as Clegg was arriving with the requested items, Mrs. Dechantagne Calliere stepped into the room carrying a brown bottle of healing draught. Streck’s face, upon examination was seen to have five razor thin slices, quite deep, across its width.
“Yadira, send someone to fetch Dr. Kelloran,” said the Governor as she leaned over the wounded man and carefully poured the potion onto the cuts.
“I don’t need a doctor,” said Streck.
“Be quiet. This is your face. We need to make sure that it isn’t scarred.”
Clegg was sent as directed and by the time he returned with the doctor, Streck, no longer bleeding, had been moved to the parlor.
Cissy had seen Dr. Kelloran before. She was easily recognized for her more pronounced female characteristics. She usually also, as she now did, carried her small black bag. Sitting down on the sofa next to Streck, she carefully examined his face.
“The healing draught seems to be knitting the skin together nicely, but I still want to put a stitch or two on this nose.”
“Ouch!” cried Streck, as the stitches were sewn. “Damn Birmisian birds. It flew by so fast I didn’t even see it.”
“Birmisian birds don’t fly, at least none that I’ve heard of,” said Mr. Dechantagne from the doorway. His wife was standing with him. “We have a few large flying reptiles, but I’ve never heard of one attacking a person.”
“Saba?” asked the governor.
“Sorry, I didn’t see it. I heard someone cry out and came running, but whatever it was, was gone before I got there. But your lizzie was in the yard. Maybe she saw something.”
“Cissy?” asked Mrs. Colbshallow. Cissy took a step back as all of the human eyes in the room focused on her. “Cissy, what did you see?”
“It was the little god,” she replied quietly.
“Little god?”
“She means the dragon,” said Mrs. Dechantagne. “Zurfina’s little dragon.”
“It seems, Mr. Steck,” said Governor Dechantagne Calliere, “that you have made a powerful enemy. Just what have you done to Zurfina to raise her ire?”
“I have not even seen the woman.”
“He didn’t do anything to Zurfina,” said Saba, frowning. “I’ll wager he didn’t do anything to the dragon either. But he has had at least one well-known row with Senta.”
“That child belongs in an institution,” said Streck.
No one responded. Dr. Kelloran having finished, packed up her little black bag and the others began to disperse to other parts of the house. Cissy headed for the stairs, going up to the nursery.
“What are you doing out here?” asked a voice.
Senta turned around to find Graham looking oddly at her. They were at the edge of the roadway in front of the Dechantagne mansion. Senta had spent most of the morning watching for any sign of Streck, but so far he hadn’t shown his Freedonian face.
“Nothing. What are you doing?”
“Well, I was looking for you. I thought we could go over to Hertzal’s house and have a nice low tea.” He held up a canvas bag in one hand. “I brought bread and butter.”
“Where did you get butter?” Senta’s eyes narrowed. “You didn’t steal it, did you?”
“How in the name of Kafira can you ask me that?” Graham squared his shoulders and stood up as tall as he could. “When did you ever hear of Graham Dokkins stealing anything?”
“I’m sorry. Where did you get it then?”
“My Ma sent it,” he replied, not at all mollified. “We had an extra tin and she said I could share it with the Hertlings.”
“That was nice.”
“You don’t have to come if you don’t want to,” he said, starting down the road.
“I said I was sorry,” Senta said, stepping quickly to keep up. “I could make it up to you.”
“How would you do that?”
“I could give you a kiss…”
“That magic is making you lose your mind, that’s what,” he said, not slowing down.
“Alright then, I have a secret mission that I might let you help me with.”
“What secret mission?” he asked, glancing at her but not stopping.
“I’ll tell you, Hero, and Hertzal together.”
“Why? Did you brass them off too?”
“Say, how come you mother is sending butter over? I thought your folks didn’t like Zaeri,” said Senta, changing the subject.
“We’re not like that Freedonian wanker. We don’t call people dogs for no reason.”
“Oh, you heard about that, eh?”
“That’s right. If he’d called Hertzal a dog in front of me, I would have popped him the breadbox.” The quickest way to anger Graham was to threaten his friends. “Besides, Ma’s grown quite fond of Honor, really. They’re in the Ladies’ Auxiliary together.”
They arrived at the Hertling home in short order, but when they knocked on the door there was no answer.
“You don’t suppose they’re at shrine, do you?” wondered Graham, looking around.
“Only if they’re the only ones.” Senta pointed to neighbors working on their houses or in their yards, all of whom were Zaeri.
A moment later though, the mystery was solved. The three Hertling siblings came walking down the road from the east. Hero and Hertzal carried large baskets filled with foliage, while their older sister had something that looked like a cricket bat casually slung over her shoulder. The twins saw their friends and waved, calling out greetings. Hero ran ahead and Senta met her at the road, giving her a great hug. Though he waved to his friends, Graham’s eyes were fixed on the instrument which Honor carried. When she was close enough that he could see it clearly, he found that it was not a cricket bat at all, but a lizzie sword. The main hand to hand combat weapon of the lizardmen was a thick sword made of wood but encrusted all around the edges with flint, obsidian, or sometimes even shark’s teeth. This one had shiny black obsidian flakes that appeared razor sharp.
“Where’d you get that?” asked Graham enviously.
“It was a gift,” Honor replied. “The chief of Tserich gave one to each of the members of the Colonial Council. I imagine most of them are hanging on display somewhere, but I like to carry mine when I have to go away from the town.”
City of Amathar 