Turning away from the street, Yuah Dechantagne made her way up the stone walkway to the family’s home.  The huge, stately structure was the largest building in the colony, and had taken the better part of two years to construct.  Featuring a large portico supported by four two story columns, a double gabled roof and more than a dozen stone chimneys, every side of the house was covered with large dual-paned windows.  Walking through the gardens and past the large reflecting pool, the fountain, and the sundial surrounded by white roses, she paused to hyperventilate for a moment before tackling the six steps to the portico. Standing at attention outside of the front door was a lizardman, naked except for a yellow ribbon with a gold medallion around its neck.  As she approached, the creature reached back and opened the door for her.

“Thank you, Tisson,” she said, sweeping in through the doorway.

Once inside, she walked through the foyer and into the parlor, just in time to see her sister-in-law, the colonial governor, slapping her hand across the protruding snout of another lizardman.  The creature wore a similar medallion and ribbon as its counterpart outside, though it was a silver medallion on a green ribbon.  The reptilian was also slightly shorter and had darker green skin.  Even so, it towered over the woman in the olive green herringbone dress that faced it.

“One more time and I’ll cut off your tail and send you back to that mud hut you came from,” she snarled at the lizardman.  “Do you understand?”

“Yess,” hissed the reptile.

“What was that all about?” asked Yuah.

Iolanthe rolled her aquamarine eyes.  “How many times have I explained?  They still don’t get it.  When the flower petals fall off, the flowers are replaced.”

“I think they like the flowers better when they are wilted,” replied Yuah.  “It must be a lizard affectation.”

“Well, I’m not going to put up with it.  Say, where have you been all morning?”

“New dress.”

“Oh yes.  Very pretty.” If there was one thing Governor Iolanthe Dechantagne Calliere could appreciate, it was a new dress.  “The baby was crying a little while ago.  I had Cissy feed him.”

“Sirrik!” called Yuah.  Another lizardman, mottled yellow with brown stripes, stepped into the parlor from the doorway which led to the library.  “Go have Cissy bring down the baby.”

Sirrik walked through the parlor and into the foyer. The two women could hear the creak of the stairs as the heavy reptilian then made his way up.  Yuah set her large loaf of bread on the coffee table and sat down on a divan, recently brought by ship from Mirsanna.  Iolanthe carefully sat down across from her in a sweepback Prince Tybalt chair.

“I am surprised to find you still at home,” said Yuah.

“I will be going to the office later in the day.”

“Are you going to address the new arrivals?  I saw that the ship was being unloaded.”

“I will leave that to your father.  He actually enjoys that sort of thing, you know.”

“Yes, I know.”

The groaning of the staircase announced Sirrik’s return.  Following closely on his scaly heels was a smaller lizardman, this one wearing a yellow skirt just above its tail.  The ridiculous garment was only about eight inches long, hiding nothing because the reptiles had no external genitalia to hide.  Nestled carefully within the smaller lizardman’s arms was a small bundle.  The beast walked across the parlor and gently passed it to Yuah.  She carefully pealed back the blanket revealing the tiny, pink, perfectly formed face of a baby boy.  His tiny mouth was puckered and his eyes were closed.  He twisted slightly in his sleep, as Yuah tickled his chin.

“Who’s mama’s big boy?” she said, in the voice people reserve for babies, pets, and anything else that can’t actually hear or respond.

“How long has he been asleep?”  Yuah asked the lizardman in the yellow dress.

“Haff hour,” said the creature, rolling its yellow eyes toward the grandfather clock along the east wall.

“Half an hour?” confirmed Yuah.

“Yes.”

“He’ll be asleep for some time yet,” said Iolanthe.  “Why don’t you let her put him back in his crib?”

“No, I want to hold him for a while.”  Yuah turned to the lizardman.  “You may go now.  Why don’t you check back at three?”

Both reptiles bowed and left the room, Sirrik back toward the library, and Cissy through the foyer.  Yuah leaned back and gently bounced the baby boy in her arms while he slept.  She marveled at his dark eyelashes and the tiny bit of dark brown hair just sticking out below the blanket.

At that moment a little girl, almost three, in a bright floral dress ran into the room.  Her blond hair seemed thin around her chubby, round face, but was supplemented with a large red bow on the top of her head.  Bouncing along on her chubby little legs, she was not quite in control of her body, and bumped right into the stuffed arm of Iolanthe’s chair.  She was up again quickly, though she left the item she had been carrying, a doll with a dress exactly like hers, lying on the hardwood floor.

“Auntie Yuah,” said the toddler, running to the woman with the baby.  “I want to give Augie a kiss.”

“All right, but carefully.  He’s asleep and we don’t want to wake him.”

With the exaggerated movements that are so endearing in the very tiniest human beings, the little girl reached up on her tip-toes and puckered up her lips, stretching them out as far as they could go, and kissed the baby, held out by its mother, with a smacking sound.  She then rolled back on her heels, almost losing her balance and falling back onto the coffee table.

“Very sweet,” said Yuah.  “Now go see Mummy.”

“Don’t you dare jump on me,” said Iolanthe, as the child trundled around the table toward her.  “Your dress is filthy.  What have you been doing?”

“Making mud pies.”

“Making mud pies,” muttered the governor.  “Sirrek!”

The mottled yellow and brown lizardman returned.

“Who is supposed to be watching Iolana?”

“Kheesie,” hissed Sirrek.

“Remind her that the child is supposed to stay clean. If she can’t do her job, I’m sure that there are others who can.  And have her draw Iolana a bath.”  Iolanthe turned to Yuah.  “If there is one thing you can count on the lizards to get right, it’s bathing.”

The next few days grew progressively warmer. It was as if the land couldn’t wait for the return of spring. Senta certainly couldn’t wait. The snowdrifts between the great redwoods disappeared, and she began to wander through the forest around the tower. Sometimes Graham came with her, but it was impossible to coax Hero beyond the relative safety of the road or the yard.

Three days after Mr. Jex had completed Zurfina’s painting, Senta got up early in the morning and went to the Hertling home. She hoped that she could lend a hand with household chores, supposing that this might endear her to Hero’s sister Honor. She had forgotten though that it was the Zaeri Sabbath, and the Hertlings, like the other Zaeri, were attending shrine, or rather the neighborhood lot on which they hoped to have a shrine built sometime in the future. She considered joining them, as non-Zaeri were allowed to sit in the back, but the prospect of an hour or more of she-wasn’t-too-sure what in a dead language she couldn’t understand dissuaded her. She stopped by the Dokkins house hoping to find Graham, but he wasn’t home. More and more, he had been getting odd jobs around the dock, and a ship had come in from Freedonia the day before.

Senta skipped down Bay Street, which was one of the two parallel roadways that ran south from Town Square. The earliest flowers had popped their heads up to enjoy the new sun. Blue ones and white ones, they were all very tiny compared to the blossoms that would appear later. The girl didn’t know what they were called, but she instinctively knew that they heralded the return of spring, and this put lightness into her heart and step. In no time, she had gathered together quite a bouquet and had reached the southern limit of the road.

Beyond was the wilderness. It had been uninterrupted forest just a few years before, but now the land for several miles from where she stood was a ragged looking plain having been logged extensively by the colonists, with only a few copses of standing trees here and there.

“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?”

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 nightclothes 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 it 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 paintbrush.  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.”

On the seventeenth of Festuary, the Windermere left port, sailing slowly out of Crescent Bay as the thick snow dropped down from the sky.  Though it had stayed a relatively short time, it was still three days behind schedule due to a boiler problem earlier in the journey. The very next day the S. S. Osprey sailed in to take its place.  The Osprey was a smaller, newer ship with sleek lines and a proud form.  The latest addition to the fleet of the Merchant and Shannon shipping lines, it carried relatively few immigrants but many visitors, particularly those who wanted to make business deals in the new colony.

Two days after the ship’s arrival, Corporal Saba Colbshallow had his last meeting with Archibald Brockton.  Brockton had given him assurances which he could pass on to the governor that she would be reimbursed for expenses incurred bringing immigrants from Freedonia. They had also discussed Streck, though Brockton had dismissed him as relatively unimportant.

“Unless he is significantly more capable as a spy than he is as a wizard, I don’t see him causing much trouble,” said Brockton.  “He struts around and makes himself the center of attention.  I don’t doubt that he is just what he says he is: a small time solicitor.  When and if the Freedonians decide to make a move in Birmisia, they won’t be so clumsy and they won’t be so easily detected.  You’ll have to keep your eyes open, young corporal.”

“I will sir,” promised Saba.

Brockton certainly seemed ready for an early departure, establishing himself in his cabin just five days later, a full week before the ship was scheduled for departure.  No doubt he was only too happy to be out of the drafty barracks building.  Saba knew that he was certainly looking forward to his last day in one.  He was already planning a cozy little house for himself, on which he intended to begin construction as soon as they snow went away.

Two days after that, on the twenty-seventh of the month, the sun came out. The stormy weather had lasted eleven days, almost all of those featuring measurable snowfall.  The people of Port Dechantagne dug themselves out and seemed giddy at the thought of a bright, cloudless day.  Saba made the most of it by walking down the hill to the dockyard, purchasing a sausage and a cup of tea and soaking up the sun while sitting on a half-barrel.

“Good morning.”

Saba turned around to find Eamon Shrubb.

“Oh, it’s you.”

“Well that’s a fine good morning.”

“Good morning then.  What do you want?”

“Sergeant Clark requires you.”

Saba quickly finished his meal and followed.  The two men walked past the warehouses and up Seventh and One Half Avenue to the militia base and into the office of Sergeant Clark.  Militiamen, like everyone else, were enjoying the sunshine, rolling around in the snow and building snowmen and snow forts.  A snowball narrowly missed Saba’s head as he walked into the building.

“What’s up,” asked Saba, brushing himself off inside.

Clark yawned and rubbed his eyes.

“I promised Mrs. Government that I would have someone meet with this hunter.”

“Haarhoff?”

“Yes, that’s him.  He’s anxious to go out and shoot a dinosaur, so she wants someone to make sure that he has everything that he needs.  And you know who her favorite soldier is.”

“You?”

“Not me.”  Clark leaned back in his chair.  “You.”

“Alright.  Where is he? Building six?”

“Yes.”

To say that Haarhoff was anxious was an understatement.  He and six other men were crowded into his room, leaning over a table with a large map spread across it.  Lined up along the wall was a mountain of packs and equipment, ready to be carried into the Birmisian wilderness.

“Ah, young Corporal Colbshallow,” he said.  “We are more than ready to set off.  Will you be coming with us?”

“That remains to be seen.  What I need to know right now is whether you have everything that you need.”

“We have tents, equipment, supplies, cold weather gear, and ammunition. All we need is a native guide to get us to this Iguanodon Heath, and of course some bearers to help carry all the equipment.”

“That won’t be any problem.  There are always plenty of lizzies ready to work.  Are you sure you wouldn’t rather wait until the snow is gone, at least.”

“We have been waiting long enough.  We have all been hunting in the snow before.  Collinghouse here was with me when we hunted gharhast apes in the Daglars.”

“That’s right,” said the man on the other side of the table.  “It was so cold that the bullets froze as they were coming out of the gun barrels.”

The other men in the room laughed.

“Alright,” said Saba.  I’m sure that I can have a guide and thirty bearers ready by tomorrow morning.  Will that be enough?”

“That will be enough,” said Harhoff.  “But we will want to leave at first light.”

“Fine.”

Saba left the barracks apartment and crossed the militia base to find Private Woodrow Manring sitting at the admissions desk, waiting for new lizzies to be brought in and registered.  Standing near him was Private Willy Cornish.

“Hello boys.  Do we have any short timers standing around?”

“Sure,” replied Manring.  “You finally going to get started on your house?”

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 Hertzel’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 Hertzel 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 Hertzel a dog in front of me, I would have popped him in 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 Hertzel 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 that 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.”

“So where have you all been then?” asked Senta.

“We went to gather winter berries,” replied Hero.

“Perfect, we can have them for tea.”

“Oh, you can’t eat them,” said Honor.  “They’re for decoration only.”

“We had loads of them hanging all around our house,” said Graham.  “But it’s way past Kafira Mass now.”

Senta shot him a frown.

“What?”

“As a matter of fact,” continued Honor.  “I got the idea from your mother, Graham.  I think the red and green will brighten up the house and as I understand it, according to Brech tradition, they are often kept over the winter and not just on, um… holidays.”

“Can we go inside now,” asked Hero.  “I’m just frozen.”

Honor opened the front door and they all stepped inside the home, which was only marginally warmer than the outside.  Hertzel, with Graham help, got right to work lighting a fire in the stove, while the girls went into the other room and exchanged damp clothing for dry and wrapped up in thick blankets.  Hero lent Senta one of her two housedresses, which was only slightly baggy and only slightly too short.  The boys removed only their boots and socks, which they dried by the stove once the fire was going, but Hero brought each of them a blanket, and in a few minutes they too were feeling warm and cozy.  The four ten-year-olds sat around the stove, Senta and Hero sharing a chair, while Honor placed the green branches filled with red berries festively around the small room.

“I brought bread and butter for tea,” said Graham at last.

“That’s his way of telling you that he’s hungry,” said Senta.

“No it isn’t.”

The Dechantagne dining room table looked extremely empty this morning. Mrs. Godwin was in her usual spot, as was Mrs. Colbshallow. Professor Calliere was there and his solicitor Mr. Streck was still visiting. Yuah sat to the right of her husband. But there were four empty chairs. Saba Colbshallow had not stopped by for breakfast with his mother for several days and the empty spot so often filled with an ad-hoc dining guest was unoccupied. Little Iolana was sleeping in and so was not in her highchair. But it was Iolanthe’s absence which made the table seem much emptier than it would if anyone else happened to be gone. It was quite a boring meal, aside from Mr. Streck spilling his tea in his lap. Yuah was picking at her eggs, sausages, and white pudding not because of her sister-in-law’s absence, but because of the unpleasant cramping she felt in her abdomen.

After the family had finished breakfast and everyone got up from the table, Yuah took Terrence’s arm.

“Where did you want to go?” she asked.

“Blind man or no, I can find my way around my own house.”

“I’m sure you can. I was just trying to be helpful.” She let go of his arm. “I suppose you are going to the parlor to just sit.”

“I don’t know. What are you going to do?”

“I thought I would go upstairs and lie down for a bit.”

“Do you want company?” he asked, smiling suggestively.

“No I don’t, you horrible, insatiable man.”

“You didn’t want me just sitting around in the parlor.”

“I’m going upstairs to lie down because I have a headache,” said Yuah.

“I don’t think I’m any more insatiable than any other man.”

“If that is true,” she said, leaving him at the bottom of the stairs, “then your whole race is horrible.”

At the top of the stairs, Yuah turned left. It was a short walk past the balcony on the left side and Mrs. Colbshallow’s room and the nursery on the right. Her own room was at the end of the hallway. She thought of it as her own room despite the fact that Terrence shared it with her. Neither was inclined to follow the custom among the upper class of having separate bedrooms for husband and wife. She was already looking at wallpaper and other furnishings, though she had to do so from catalogs brought all the way from Brechalon. She knew she wanted pink with lots of lace and she knew that her brass bed would have curtains around it that matched the curtains on the window. At this moment though the bed was a simple wooden frame holding up a single very simple mattress and the only curtains on the windows were a pair of old sheets that she had cut and hemmed.

She sat down on the edge of the bed and tossed herself back upon it, her arms stretched out above her head. The ceiling above her was smooth white plaster, just like the bare walls. She felt another tug in her abdomen. It was the thirteenth of Festuary. She had been married for twenty-three days. She and Terrence had already been together as man and wife at least fifteen times. Yuah was sure that was more than most people did it in their entire lifetime. Why wasn’t she pregnant already? Who could she ask about it? She could ask Mrs. C or Mrs. G, but then she would have to look at them every day after having asked them. Mrs. Bratihn might be a good person to talk to about it. She’d been married twice and had several children. Or maybe Mrs. Leubking.

The baby started to cry in the next room, and Yuah pulled herself up and walked in to check on her. She turned the corner in the nursery and jumped as she saw the reptilian creature leaning over the crib. But the tiny yellow fringe of a skirt told her that it was one of the nanny lizzies.

“You there. What are you doing? Which one are you?”

The lizzies didn’t seem to startle the way the humans so often did, but even so the creature turned around quickly. As soon as it did, she could tell by the coloring that it was the one called Kheesie. The creature rolled its eyes around in a way that Yuah was beginning to recognize as fear, or at least nervousness. Stepping quickly past Kheesie, Yuah looked down into the crib. Iolana was red-faced with anger at having her diaper changed, but was otherwise unhurt.

“I’ll take it from here,” she said.

Cleaning the baby’s bottom with the washrag, she tossed it and the old diaper into the ceramic chamber pot under the crib, which she then handed to the lizzie. She powdered Iolana and then pinned on a new diaper. Picking up the still crying child, she pressed her to her shoulder and turned around to find the lizardman still there.

“Are you going to stand there looking stupid all day, or are you going to take that out and empty it?”

Kheesie stared blankly.

“Take it out!” and as the creature hurried out of the room, she called after her, “And clean it properly.”

She patted Iolana on the back and bounced her up and down.

“It’s so hard to find good help.” Then she burst out laughing at herself. How quickly she was turning into Iolanthe. My, what a horrible thought.

She pulled the baby away from her shoulder and looked into her face. Iolana was giving her a puzzled look in return.

“Don’t look at me like that. You know Auntie Yuah. I’m your favorite.”

Iolana blew a spit bubble.

“Look at you, you are so advanced. Already walking and now you’re going to talk to Auntie Yuah, aren’t you?”

The child made a valiant effort at speaking by saying “boo-uh.”

The S. S. Windemere didn’t arrive until Festuary eighth.  It had been waylaid in the Mulliens with a damaged boiler. Still, Saba Colbshallow had been at the docks to meet it and one passenger in particular.  Mr. Brockton didn’t look like a secret agent, not that Saba knew what a secret agent looked like.  He was a short, slight man in his mid-forties with a brown handlebar mustache and thinning hair beneath a brown bowler hat.  He looked over Saba for a moment then shook hands.

“Governor Dechantagne-Calliere asked me to meet you and see that you have a place to stay,” said Saba.

“Very good,” said Brockton in a thin nasal voice.  “She indicated in her correspondence that she would send a representative that had her complete trust.”

Saba tried not to let his surprise show.

“I’ve got you an apartment on the militia base.”

“Won’t that be suspicious?”

“Probably less than rooming anywhere else, unless you want to spend the next week in a tent,” said Saba.  “Those are basically the two options for new arrivals.  We don’t have a hotel or rooming house yet, though there are a few people who let rooms.  The apartments and rental houses have quite a long waiting list.”

“The militia base it is then,” said Brockton with a thin smile.

Saba led the way up the hill from the dockyards.

“I’m going to need a day to get my land legs back,” said Brockton.  “Why don’t we plan on meeting tomorrow and I’ll go over what the governor needs to know with you then.”

Saba nodded.  “Fine. I’ll have some supper sent over if you like?”

“Good.”

The following afternoon just before tea, Saba met Brockton outside the building that had been designed to eventually be part of the base’s barracks but which, since its construction, had been divided into ten small apartments.

“The best place to eat is back at the dockyard,” he said.

Brockton raised an eyebrow.

“They have food carts.”

Making their way down the hill, they took their place in the queue for sausages.  Then they sat down on a bench at the northern edge of the gravel yard and ate the thick sausages, which were served on a stick.

“Not much in the way of dining in Birmisia, eh?” said Brockton, then waved off Saba’s reply.  “I expected as much really.  I ate so much on the voyage that I probably gained ten pounds anyway.  This is fine, and so were the fish and chips you sent up last evening.”

“Good.  So what is the information you want me to relay to Governor Dechantagne-Calliere?”

“She is aware, though you might not be, that I am with His Majesty’s Secret Service.  We have people working around the world, but right now our focus is in Freedonia.”

“Aren’t we at peace?”

“Ostensibly.  But a great many things can happen.  And I don’t mean war, at least I don’t mean just war.”

“What else?” asked Saba.

“Klaus II fancies himself a wizard and he’s immersed himself in the wahre kunst von zauberei.  As a result, the wizards of the Reine Zauberei have replaced most of the non-wizards in key positions in the Freedonian government.”

“Don’t we have quite a few wizards of our own?” asked Saba.  “Yourself for instance?”

Brockton smiled a thin smile.

“Well spotted young Corporal.  I’m a first level journeyman from Académie Argei.  But you have to understand, these Reine Zauberei are not just wizards. They have their own peculiar ideas.”

“Their magic is different?”

“No, as a matter of fact their magic is almost identical to my own.  It is their belief system that is different. They believe that the Freedonians are the master race and that they are destined to rule the world.”

“Isn’t that sort of jingoism pretty common?” asked Saba.  “After all, patriotism is a great thing, as long as the fellow who has it is from the same country that you are.  I know quite a few Brechs who think that if you’re not Brech, you’re nothing.”

“Do they want to kill everyone else in the world?”

“Um, no.”

“There you see the difference.  These Reine Zauberei believe that everyone else must serve the Freedonians or be eliminated.  Completely.”

“But that’s just insane.”

“Yes it is.”

“And it’s not possible.”

“There you may be mistaken.  They’ve already started their plan.  The first victims are the Zaeri.”

“I know they’ve been treating the Zaeri badly—forcing them out of their homes and such.  The Zaeri have been treated horribly for centuries though—in Brech and Mirsanna too, not just in Freedonia.”

“There is more to it than that.  In fact the Freedonians have stopped chasing the Zaeri out of the country and are now rounding them up and putting them in forced labor camps.  And there are rumors of other camps—camps where the Zaeri and others are being murdered by the hundreds.”

“That can’t be true,” said Saba.

“We don’t know for sure whether it is or not.” Brockton took the last bite of his sausage and tossed the stick at the dustbin next to the bench.

“You think I’m an idiot?” demanded Senta.

“I didn’t say anything of the kind,” replied Zurfina calmly.

“I know a fylfot when I see one!”

“Don’t be so defensive, Pet.  I didn’t say I didn’t believe you.  I merely pointed out that I have been all over this town in the past few weeks and I haven’t seen hide nor hair of this wizard of yours.”

“Well I saw him.  I’ve been keeping tabs on him since he got here and I even talked to him.”

“I don’t doubt you,” said Zurfina, in a remarkably soothing voice, “but the level of residual magic around town is no more than I would expect from you and your everyday antics.”

“Are you sure you didn’t miss some?”

“Now who’s being insulting?”  The sorceress’s voice suddenly flared louder.  “If I didn’t detect it, it wasn’t there.”

“Hmph!” said Senta, and crossing her arms, turned to face the door.

Zurfina sighed.  “Children are so difficult.  Is it any wonder that I never wanted one of my own?”

“Maybe you should just get rid of me like everybody else does,” said Senta quietly.

Zurfina crossed from the kitchen to the other side of the stairs and put an arm around Senta’s shoulders.

“You’re far too interesting for me to get rid of now.  Look, this wizard of yours is obviously far too insignificant for me to concern myself with.  You’ll have to take care of him.”

“Me?  I’m just a little kid.”

“You know something?” said Zurfina, taking her arm from around Senta and grasping her by the shoulders.  “Nobody believes that—least of all me.  There’s not a journeyman wizard this side of Xygia who can do what you can do with magic.”

“Really?”

“Would I lie to you?”

“Of course you would.”

“Well…” Zurfina shrugged.  “Keep an eye on your wizard, and if he turns out to be a threat to us, neutralize him.”

“What if you’re wrong and he magics the crap out of me?” wondered Senta.

“Then I’ll know better with my next apprentice,” replied Zurfina.  “Do you want a sandwich?”

“Yes.”

Zurfina waved her finger in the air and, as the contents of the froredor began to fly out to the table and assemble themselves into sandwiches, she started up the stairs.

“Bring my meal up to the top floor.  Leave it on the step outside the door.  Don’t come in.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” said Senta, watching mayonnaise being spread across a freshly cut piece of bread.

When the sandwiches had been completed, Senta delivered Zurfina’s to the appropriate location.  Then she put away the ingredients by hand and sat down at the table to enjoy hers.  She was only on her second bite when there was a knock at the door.    As she opened it, the cold air from outside blew across her bare shins and feet.  It had stopped snowing a couple of days before, but it was still cold out and the world was still covered with a thick blanket of white.  Standing outside and shivering was Hertzel Hertling.

“Hertzel!” squealed Senta, giving him a great hug.  “Where is your sister?  Didn’t she come with you?”

Hertzel remained as quiet as he always did, but shook his head.  Two years before, when he and his two sisters had escaped their former homeland of Freedonia, soldiers had killed both their parents.  Hertzel, who up until that time has seemed a perfectly normal boy, had lost his voice. And there seemed to be no reason to expect its return any time soon.

“Come in and get warm.”  Senta pulled the boy into the house and closed the door after him.  “Are you hungry?”

Hertzel shrugged.

Taking this as an affirmative, Senta cut her sandwich in half and gave him the portion with no bite taken out of it.

“I’ll put on some tea.”

Hertzel took a bite of the sandwich and smiled with his blue lips closed.

Senta put the pot on the cast iron stove.

“Nothing’s wrong, is it?” she asked.

Hertzel shook his head.

“It’s only that I don’t see you very often by yourself.”

She crossed back to the stove and sat down.

“What’s Hero doing?”

He shrugged.

“Do you know where Graham is?”

He shook his head.

“So… kind of hard to have a conversation with you.”

Hertzel looked down at the table, took a bite of his sandwich and nodded sadly.

“That’s okay.  Really. I don’t mind.”

The kettle on the stove started to whistle, and Senta went and got it.  She transferred the water to a teapot, put loose leaves of tea into an infuser and dropped the infuser into the teapot as well. Then she brought the pot and two cups to the table.

“You know, I bet I can be as quiet as you.”

Hertzel shook his head.

Cissy was getting quite used to her new role.  The work she did, while not physically demanding, was at least varied enough to keep her attention.  She enjoyed watching the humans and learning about their strange activities.  She enjoyed earning many copper bits and spending some of them to buy things.  She liked the human houses, especially now with four feet of snow on the ground outside and more coming down all the time.  Unused rooms in the big house could become as drafty as the huts in lizzie villages, but there were so many fireplaces constantly burning that it was easy to find a place to warm up.  And her own place, in the room she now shared with four other females, in the back of the motorshed, was kept toasty warm in the evening.

“Pay attention Cissy,” said Mrs. Dechantagne.

Cissy was lacing up the back of the strange undergarment that squeezed the human woman’s waist.  Cissy now knew Mrs. Dechantagne’s name, and indeed the names of the other members of the household, though the intricacies of their familial connections still baffled her.  Nor could she pronounce most of the names, but fortunately speech on her part was seldom needed.  She liked Mrs. Dechantagne almost as much as she liked Mrs. Colbshallow.  Neither woman hit the lizzies and Mrs. Dechantagne didn’t yell at them overmuch.  While Mrs. Colbshallow did on occasion raise her voice, she alone among the humans had learned the lizzie language, and offered affection toward the lizzies.

Cissy found herself starting to think in Brech, rather than her native language.  She had learned so many words for things that there were no words for among the lizzies. She had stopped thinking of her race as “the people” and now just thought of them as lizzies, and more often than not, when she thought of herself, the name Cissy came to mind rather than Ssissiatok.

She pulled the corset strings tightly through they eyelets and pulled down on them, locking them into position, so that she could then tie them into a knot.  Once that was done, Mrs. Dechantagne turned around to examine her work in the cheval glass.

“Yes, that’s fine.  Now help me into the dress.”

Cissy was fascinated by the ornate dresses that the human females wore, and this dress was no exception.  It was the color of an angry sunset and was made of enough material to have clothed a dozen men and women.  Covered with coral roses and pink bows, it had to be carefully held so that Mrs. Dechantagne could step into it.  Then it was fastened up the back with more than forty tiny buttons, which Cissy could barely manipulate even with a buttonhook in her clawed fingers.  There was no way that the woman could have put it on by herself and there was no way that she would be able to get out of it either. Of course Cissy had her own skirt, but it was just a wide piece of material wrapped around her above the tail, a mere homage to the dresses worn by the human women of the house.

Once Mrs. Dechantagne was in her dress, Cissy had to kneel down to put the woman’s shoes on her feet, using the same buttonhook to slip the twenty-four buttons on each shoe into their correct spot.  Before she could stand up she heard a shrieking sound from the doorway to the right.  She turned to see elderly Mrs. Godwin leaning against the doorframe with her hand on her breast.

“Are you alright Mrs. Godwin?” asked Mrs. Dechantagne.

“I thought for a moment you were being attacked… by an alligator.”

“Did you forget your glasses again, Mrs. G?”

“Of course I didn’t.   I have them… oh…”  Mrs. Godwin felt her face, and not finding any glasses there, turned and wandered off down the hallway.

“You do rather look like an alligator,” said the young woman, looking down at Cissy.

“Alligator?”

“Yes.  Well, I’ve never seen one in real life.  Just in books.  Um, they say you have crocodiles that are very similar.  Do you know crocodiles?”

Cissy shook her head.

“Oh well.  Get up off the floor.  I’m done with you for now.  Go down and see what Mrs. Colbshallow has for you.”

Leaving the bedroom and walking down the staircase, Cissy looked into the kitchen to find Mrs. Colbshallow supervising the lunch preparations. Shoss and Clegg were washing and cutting vegetables while Sill was arranging a few snow flowers in a vase. Kheesie stepped into the room just behind Cissy.

“Did you finish helping Mrs. Dechantagne get dressed?” asked Mrs. Colbshallow.

“Yes sss…” Cissy hissed mirthfully.  Though she had understood everything the woman had said, not many would have, since about every other word was in the lizzie language.  She had in fact not said “Mrs. Dechantagne”, but had used the term the lizzies in the house had for her, which roughly translated to “the thin white and brown one”.

“And you Kheesie?  Is Iolana down for her nap?”

“Yes,” said Kheesie, then turning to Cissy, hissed under her breath. “Finally.  It simply refuses to sleep.”

“She,” corrected Cissy.

“Very good,” said Mrs. Colbshallow.  “You two are free for now.  Staff lunch is in two hours time.  Come see me afterwards.”

The lizzies were used to eating just once each day, but Mrs. Colbshallow insisted that they sit down to dine three times, each immediately after the three biggest meals of the humans.  Cissy made her way out the back door and across the snow-covered yard to her room in the back of the motor shed.  Kheesie followed.  Once they were inside, they both stretched out on their sleeping mats, lying flat on their stomachs, their noses pointed toward one another.

“I saw Tattasserott walking by on the road in front of the big house,” said Kheesie.

“What was he doing?” wondered Cissy.  “Has he got a job here now?”

“You know he doesn’t have a job.  He’s Ssterrost’s kinsman.”