“That was a lovely lunch,” said Gladys, as she and Yuah passed through the foyer and into the parlor, both loaded down with shopping packages.

“It’s the most I’ve eaten in a while, I can tell you,” said Yuah.

She stopped abruptly when she found Zoantheria sitting on the sofa reading a newspaper.  She was, of course, in her human guise, wearing a black and white day dress, her long blond hair cascading halfway down her back.

“What are you doing in my house, monster?” snapped Yuah.

“Have you seen this?” asked Zoey, ignoring the question and holding the paper so that the banner headline was visible.  “HRH CONSORTS WITH BIRMISIAN WILD WOMAN!”

“That’s not the Gazette,” observed Gladys.

“No, it’s a Brech City paper.”

“Answer my question,” Yuah ordered.

“I just thought you might want to read it, as the Birmisian wild woman in question would appear to be your daughter.”

“What?”

“Terra Posthuma Korlann Dechantagne.  That’s nice. They got all four names.  That is your youngest, isn’t it?”

Yuah stomped forward, snatching the paper from Zoey’s hands.

“We’re not done,” she hissed, and then started reading.  “Dressed like a man!  Face paint? What is wrong with that girl? Augie should never have sent her to that lizzie city.  It’s made her mind weak.  Still, you would think she would have mentioned something in her last letter about going to the opera with a prince—or sent a telegram.”

“Children,” said Zoey. “What can you do?”

“If Augustus wants to consort with you, I can’t do anything about it.  He’s a grown man.  But until he returns, I want you out of my house.”

“Must we have all this discord?” said Augie, suddenly stepping into the room.

Zoey jumped up and ran three steps into his arms, nearly knocking him over.  In a fierce embrace, they pressed their mouths together.

“Really?” said Yuah. “In the parlor?”

“Mother,” said Augie, disengaging his lips, if not the rest of his body.  “Zoey is welcome in this house at any time and will be treated with the same courtesy that all guests receive.”

Zoantheria smirked at Yuah, whose eyes and mouth went very thin.  A moment later, it was Zoey’s face with a very similar look as Dr. Megistus followed the young lord into the room.

“What are you doing here!” she hissed.

“Do you know one another?” asked Augie.  “He’s not a relative, is he?”

“He’s another dragon?” wondered Yuah.  “In my house?”

“Everyone settle down!” ordered Augie.  “Gladys, take my mother upstairs.  She’s overwrought.”

“I’m not overwrought and I’m not going anywhere!”

“And you,” continued Lord Dechantagne, looking at Zoey.  “Yes, he is a dragon, but he’s one of the good ones, like you.”

“What makes you think he’s good?” she snarled.

“This,” said Augie, holding up a brown vial.

“What is it?” asked Gladys.

“It’s an advanced healing draught.  Not only is it more powerful in every respect than the regular potion, Dr. Megistus assures me that it will cure the Blue Sweat.”

“I made no such assurance, Lord Dechantagne,” said Dr. Megistus.  “I merely said that I believe it will cure the dreaded disease.”

“I have faith in you, Doctor.”

“What the hell is the Blue Sweat?” wondered Zoey.

“Just a deadly disease that affects us soft-skins,” said Yuah.  “Nothing for you to concern your spiky head about, I’m sure.”  She turned to her son.  “How much does it cost?  Will average people be able to afford it?”

“It’s expensive,” said Augie.  “Four hundred marks per bottle.”

“Golly,” said Gladys.

“That’s why I’m paying for the first one hundred bottles, to be kept by Mother Aunie for anyone stricken. And we shall keep a couple of bottles here too.”

“You can’t spend 4,000 marks on healing draughts,” said Yuah.

“First of all, it’s 40,000 marks, and secondly, yes I can.”  He turned to Dr. Megistus.  “We must go celebrate.  I’ll buy you the finest steak in the colony.  Or maybe a whole cow, eh?”  Then looking at Zoey.  “You’ll come too, dearest?”

“I don’t think so.”

“All right.  I’ll see you later then.”

He ushered the Doctor out of the room and back toward the foyer from which both had emerged.

The three women stood for a moment staring back and forth between one another.  Then Zoey stomped off toward the foyer.  Gladys and Yuah both sat down, the former in the chair and the latter on the sofa.  Yuah looked at the paper, still in her hand.

“My family,” she sighed.

Yuah opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling for just a moment.  It was the same gold pattern fresco that it had been for years, matching the intricate pattern of pink roses between gold bars on the wallpaper and the gold floral carpeting on the floor.  It was high time for a change.  Turning to the side, she came nose to nose with Gladys Highsmith, who was looking back.  Without her glasses, her eyes looked larger and sadder than normal.

“How did you sleep?” asked Yuah.

“Not very well, I’m afraid.”

“Why not?  I slept wonderfully.”

“What will you do now?

“What do you mean?” wondered Yuah.

“Are you going to throw me out or have me arrested?”

“Why would I do that?”

“That’s what they usually do,” said Gladys, sadly.

“Do you think I’m some little girl that you took advantage of?” asked Yuah with a laugh.  “Maybe you think I was so overwhelmed with passion that I didn’t know what I was doing.”

“People do things in the heat of passion that they wouldn’t otherwise do.”

“No they don’t. That’s just an excuse.  Or maybe it’s true for stupid people or those who are not particularly self-aware… my God, I sound just like Iolanthe.”  She kissed Gladys on the forehead and then sat up. “You should go back to your room.”

“You don’t want anyone to see us together.”

“You have to get ready. We’re going to shrine.  You do still want to go, don’t you?”

Twenty minutes later, Yuah entered the dining room and took her place.  The others were present, though as yet, no one had been served.  A line of lizzies arrived from the kitchen carrying enough food for twelve people, and began serving the four at the table.  Yuah watched as her plate was filled with white pudding, sausages, bacon, fried potatoes, grilled tomatoes, beans, scrambled eggs topped with cheese, and toast.

“I am so hungry this morning,” she said.

“We can see that,” said Iolanthe, raising a brow.

“That’s good, Mother,” said Augie.  “I think you’ve gotten a bit too thin of late.  Better to keep up your strength.  And how are you this morning, Miss Highsmith?”

“Very well, Your Lordship.”

“We’re friends now,” he said.  “Please call me Augie.  After all, you’re dining at my table and living in my house.”

“Yes,” said Iolanthe. “How long is that to be, exactly?”

“I have asked Gladys to live here permanently,” said Yuah.  “She is my good friend and will be my companion.”

“Indeed,” said Iolanthe, with a smirk.

“Well, I think that’s wonderful,” said Augie, spearing a piece of sausage with his fork.  “Mother can arrange an allowance for you.  I sure you know by now that if you spend much time with mother it will include copious shopping.”

“Thank you, Your… Augie.”

Yuah had Walworth drive them to shrine.  She wore her new dress—the black one with a small bustle and the high neck, along with her black top hat.  Gladys wore a black over dress with white skirts.  It was nice, but not the type of thing usually worn to shrine—a bit on the fancy side.

As Walworth helped them down from the car, Yuah stopped to take a look at the majestic building and the beauty that surrounded it.  The sun was shining through the trees.  The grounds around the shrine were newly mowed and the shrubs had been trimmed. Yuah didn’t even mind that the street sign had Iolanthe’s name on it.

Just outside of the entrance, they ran into Yuah’s father and his wife and young daughter.

“Good day, Papa.  May I introduce my friend, Gladys Highsmith? Gladys, this is my father Zeah Korlann, his lovely wife Egeria, and my little sister, Olivia.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Gladys,” said Zeah.  “Someone told me that you were staying at the Dechantagne home.  Who was it now?  I don’t remember.”

“It was Augie,” said Egeria. “He told you at tea the other day.”

“Oh yes.  You know, he loves to visit his Grandpa.  Some other people could stand to visit a bit more often.”

“If you’ll have us,” said Yuah, “we will come to tea today.”

“You are always welcome, Yuah,” said Egeria.  “You know that.”

“Since you have your friend with you, are you going to sit in back with us today?” asked Olivia.

“Yes.”

“Lovely,” said the girl, clearly excited.  “I’ve so wanted you to sit with us.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” asked Yuah.  “For that matter, you could sit up front with me anytime.  You are a kindeschrein.”

“Mother says I must sit in the back until I’m sixteen.”

“Then she can decide for herself whether she is a Kafirite or a Zaeri,” said Egeria.

Though Zeah was Zaeri, his second wife was a devout Kafirite.  They and their daughter attended both shrine and church.  This was possible because the two religions had Sabbaths that were two days apart.

In shrine, though visitors were always welcome, they were required to sit in the back.  Children whose fathers were Zaeri, like Yuah and Olivia, were known as kindeschrein and were automatically members of the faith.  Children born to a Zaeri mother and a Kafirite father, as was the case with Yuah’s children, had to convert like anyone else who wanted to embrace the Magnificent teachings.  As a group, they entered the building and took seats near the back on the right.

Lord Dechantagne sat across the desk from Father Galen.  The Priest was into his sixties now and was starting to look it.  His hair had long ago turned to grey, but he still had the kindly face that those of Augie’s generation had always known.  For them, it was as much a symbol of the church as the crucifix.

“Thank you very much for the donation,” said Father Galen.  “The purchase of land for a car park will allow more of our members to attend, and will probably improve safety as well.”

“Precisely why I don’t consider it a donation,” said Augie.  “It’s more of an investment in the colony.”

“I am a little bit surprised.  I know you’ve been attending church here with your family all your life, but I rather expected you to devote your attentions to the shrine.”

“I hope you won’t be insulted if I tell you I’ve given the shrine a similar donation, for a similar purpose,” said Augie.  “While it’s true that my mother is Zaeri, the Dechantagne’s have always been strong supporters of the Church of Kafira, if not always notably devout.”

“Well, you know my mind on the matter,” said Father Galen.  “Interfaith cooperation can only be good for the people of Birmisia Colony.”

“Then we are in agreement.”

There was a knock at the door, and one of the church acolytes stepped inside and presented the father with a note on a silver tray.

“It’s from Mr. Clipers, the Zaeri Imam.”

“Timely,” said Father Galen, picking up the note and reading.  A frown crossed his face.  “He asks me to come to the Tice home at Citizen Street.  He says it’s an emergency.”

“I’ll drive you,” said Augie, jumping up.  “That’s Ascan’s house.”

“Friend of yours?” asked the priest, grabbing his sick call kit and the Holy Scriptures.”

“I know him from shrine. His sister is Iolana’s best gal pal.”

Twenty minutes later, they were pulling up in front of the Tice home.  It was a small cottage less than a quarter mile from the Zaeri Shrine. Hurrying inside, they found a dozen friends and family in the parlor, all looking pale and drawn.  Ascan Tice met them and practically dragged the priest through a doorway to a back room.

“Willa, what’s going on?” the young lord asked Ascan’s sister, a beautiful twenty-eight year old woman with long flowing raven hair.

“Oh, Augie!  It’s horrible!  Noémi is so sick.”

“When did this happen? She looked fine on the Sabbath.”

“It just happened—hours ago, maybe.  We were baking bread and she started to act nervous-like.  Then suddenly, she broke out in cold shivers, and complained of a headache.  I got her to bed and thought she could rest a bit, but when I went to check on her thirty minutes later, she was sweating buckets.  And her sweat was blue.”

A frown on his face, Augie stepped back through the door the priest had gone through.  In the bedroom beyond, he found the stricken woman in her bed, and just as described, she was covered in blue perspiration.  Father Galen was bent over her, in the midst of casting a healing spell.  Ascan knelt on the other side of the bed, weeping.  Mr. Clipers looked on.  Augie stepped up next to him and whispered in his ear.

“Does this blue color have something to do with her dark skin?  I mean, because she’s Mirsannan?”

“No.  It’s the disease.  It’s called The Blue Sweat or just The Sweat.”

“How come I’ve never heard of it?”

“I don’t think anyone has seen it since the fifteenth century,” replied the Imam.

“Then how do you know about it?”

“We’re taught about it because it is the only disease known that is resistant to healing magic.  I just hope Father Galen does better than I did. He is known for his healing abilities.”

At that moment, the priest finished his prayer and stood.  He glanced at his Zaeri counterpart and shook his head ever so slightly.

Augie took the statuette from his pocket, clasped it tightly, and whispered “Senta.”

The sorceress appeared right in front of him, and right beside Mr. Clipers.  Her pink hat just matched her pink day dress, and was tied onto her head with a wide strip of lace.

“Now?” she asked.  “At tea time?”

“Mrs. Tice is sick,” said Augie.  “Neither Mr. Clipers nor Father Galen can do anything for her.”

Senta looked down at the young woman, now tossing her head in delirium, and moaning in a low voice.

“I don’t know what you expect me to do.  I buy my healing draughts from the church, just like everyone else.”

“Can’t you do something? Anything?”

“I wouldn’t even know what spell to cast.”

Noémi Tice suddenly opened her eyes, cried out, and slumped over.  Father Galen bent over to take her pulse.

“She’s dead,” he said, standing back up.

Ascan let out a howl and then continued weeping.

“Wait a minute,” said Senta. “This thing isn’t catchy, is it?”

Augie looked at Mr. Clipers, who shrugged.

“Kafira’s twat!” she growled.  “Rezesic idium uuthanum tortestos paj.”

Then with a pop, she disappeared.

“Curried egg?” offered Prince Clitus, leaning over to place the item on Princess Henrietta’s plate.

“Ich danke Ihnen,” she said, picking up the egg and passing it between her thick lips.  “Und danke schön for taking me here.”

She waved toward the broad grassy field that made up much of St. Admeta Park, where the two picnicked on a blanket beneath a willow. This time of year, the park was closed to the public, and so the two of them had it all to themselves, at least if one didn’t count a dozen servants and their protection details.

“You’re very welcome,” he said.

“I think I go licht im gehirn if I stay anymore inside of doors.  In Freedonia, we are aus dem haus much.”

“I understand completely, and may I say your Brech is coming along swimmingly.”  The Prince let his eyes drift over her form.  She had lost a good ten pounds since she had arrived in Brechalon, not that she still didn’t look voluptuous.

“You are so nice, Clitus,” said Henrietta.  “You are taking me to the fashion show for adel in eine woche?”

“I do what I can.  I’m sure that Tybalt would have preferred to be here with you, but he’s otherwise engaged.”

“Ja.  I don’t think he care to be here.  He is not liking me, I think.”

“I’m sure that’s not the case.”  Clitus smiled thinly.  “How could he not appreciate you?  You’re lovely.  He just hasn’t had a chance to get to know you.”

“The wedding is only einen monat.  I don’t think he care to know me.  I am being sorry he is the Prince I must marry.”

“You won’t feel that way after the wedding, and some day, you’ll be the next Queen of Greater Brechalon and Freedonia.”

“Being Queen is gut thing, I think, but not best.”

* * * * *

“So how did I get nominated to take Henrietta to the Ladies Auxiliary Fashion Show?” asked Clitus.

“You didn’t expect me to take her?” asked Tybalt.  “Did you?”

“I did rather expect that, yes.  More importantly, I think that Henrietta expected it.  You’re marrying her in twenty-five days.  The least you could do is to get to know her a bit.”

“Stay out of my business, little brother,” said Tybalt.

“It’s a little more than just your business.”

“Tybalt is right,” said the King.  “This is his marriage, and she will be his wife.”

“He’s going to be King,” said Clitus.  “She’s going to be Queen.  Wouldn’t it be better if they got along?  Or how about showing her just enough consideration that she doesn’t hate Brechalon?”

“As long as they perform their duties, the rest is their business.”  The King stood up and stretched.  “Besides, they won’t have to worry about it for many years.”

He stepped out of the room. A moment later, his eldest son started to follow him.

“Be reasonable,” said Clitus.  “At least make an effort.”

“Stay out of my business.”

The younger Prince leaned back in his chair and sighed.  After a few minutes, Bob stepped into the room and sat down near him.

“Maybe you should be more concerned about a wife of your own rather that the one for your brother, Your Highness.”

“You know, if I were in Tybalt’s spot, I’d be perfectly happy with Henrietta.  She’s a fine young woman, smart, kind.”

“She’s not hard on the eyes either,” Bob pointed out.

“No, she’s not.”

“But she’s your brother’s, Your Highness.”

“Oh, don’t get your corset in a twist.  I’ve no designs on the Princess.  I’m not Tybalt and I’m not in his place.”

“I don’t think the young lady would care,” said Bob.

Clitus shot him a sharp look.  “What are you trying to say?”

“She’s falling in love with you.”

“No,” scoffed the Prince.

“Yes.  You’re too damn charming.  You need to pull it back a bit.  Stay away from her.”

“That would be easier if my brother would simply pay a little attention to his own fiancé.”

“No doubt,” said Bob. “That’s not going to happen though. So you need to stop presenting yourself as a much superior alternative.”

“I’m not doing that!”

“Maybe not on purpose. Still, best to stay away.”

“I’m supposed to take her to that damn fashion show.”

“Don’t go.”

“I have to.  One of us has to be there and neither my father nor Tybalt will show up.”

“No help for it then. At least, don’t sit by her.”

“How am I supposed to manage that?” wondered the Prince.

“Take Lady Esther and sit her between you.  Or you could take Lady Terra.  That would send a message.”

“What message would that send?”

“That you’re taken.”

“Lady Terra is not interested in me,” said Clitus.

It was perhaps the earliest that Yuah had gotten up in a very long time.  It was only a biscuit after eight in the morning, but she was wide-awake and full of energy.  She washed up and brushed her long hair, before throwing a dressing gown over her nightdress and leaving her bedroom.  She met Gladys Highsmith at the top of the stairs.

“Good morning,” said Gladys, smiling broadly.  “You’re up early.”

“So are you,” replied Yuah. “Dressed and everything.”

“Oh, I’ve always been an early riser.”

“I used to be,” said Yuah.  “Shall we descend and see what will break our fast?”

She held out her arm and Gladys took it and they came down the sweeping staircase, side by side.  At the bottom, they found Augie, putting on his jacket.

“Good day, Mother. I’m just on my way out.  Busy day and all.”  He kissed her on the cheek.  “Good day, Miss Highsmith.”

“Good day, Your Lordship. I want to thank you again for welcoming me into your home.”

“Think nothing of it. Any friend of Mother’s is a welcome addition.  You are welcome in perpetuity.”  With that, he was out the door.

“See?” said Yuah.  “I told you he wouldn’t mind.”

“But I’ve been here close to a month.”

“And it’s been my most enjoyable month in a long time.”

They continued on their way into the dining room where Iolanthe was already seated at the head of the table.  She was engaged in eating a full breakfast while reading from a stack of correspondence. She looked up briefly, nodded, and then continued with what she had been doing.  Yuah and her friend took their seats at the far end of the table from her sister-in-law, and opposite one another.  A lizzie servant sat a plate in front of each of them containing eggs, bacon, black pudding, white pudding, beans, sliced tomatoes, mushrooms, and soldiers.

“I have noticed that you don’t pray,” said Gladys.

“We don’t do that,” said Iolanthe, from the far end of the table.

“Um, I pray in the evening, when I’m by myself.  I’ve gotten out of the habit of praying at meal time.”

“I’ve never been much for religion myself,” said Gladys, “but I find the Zaeri faith very interesting. I think I would like to go with you next time you go to shrine.”

“That would be lovely,” said Yuah.  “I will sit in the back with you, so you aren’t all alone.”

“In the meantime,” continued her friend.  “You are the lady of the house.  You should be the one who decides if a prayer is given at meals.”

“You are so right,” said Yuah, glaring at Iolanthe.

She bowed her head and felt Gladys take her hand.

“Our Heavenly Father, we give thanks for the bounty placed before us.  We likewise give thanks for the health and prosperity of our family and friends.  Please forgive us our offenses, as we should forgive those who cause offense to us. Amen.”

“I thought you people prayed in Old Zurian,” said Iolanthe.

“I said the prayer in Brech for the benefit of you and Gladys.”

“If it had been for my benefit, you should have prayed for death to my enemies,” said Iolanthe, getting up.  “Or at least, for a better offer on coal from Pearce and Hallbourgh.”

“Your sister-in-law is a hard woman,” said Gladys, after Iolanthe had left.

“Let’s not talk about her,” said Yuah.  “Do you have plans for today?”

“I would imagine that you want me to get out and find a place of my own.”

“Why ever would you imagine that?  Does it look as if we’re overcrowded?  The answer to that is no.  You should plan on staying here as long as you want.  Stay until you meet a nice young man and agree to marry him.”

“I don’t think that’s ever going to happen,” said Gladys.

“Too picky?”

“Maybe I am.”

“Maybe I am too,” said Yuah. “I loved Terrence from my very earliest memories.  When we finally got together, we ended up having so little time.”

“Did you enjoy being with him?  The physical act of love?”

“It wasn’t like you read in the books.  I wasn’t swept away with love and mad with desire.  In some ways, the whole thing is quite odd.” Yuah’s mouth curled into a secret smile. “Terrence wasn’t caring or sensitive. Not really.  He was very… um, skilled, I suppose.  He knew what to do to make me feel however he wanted me to feel. In some ways I felt like an instrument that he was playing—masterfully playing.”

“Will you marry again, do you think?”

“No,” said Yuah.  “The thought of any other man pawing me or climbing on me, just has no appeal.  The long and the short of it then is that you may stay here forever, as far as I’m concerned.”

“Well then,” said Gladys. “What are your plans today?  Maybe I could tag along with you.”

“Of course.  I thought I would shop for some new fall clothes this morning.  Later, I’m having tea with Egeria.  I could use your help in both of those situations.  I always feel like an imbecile whenever I talk to Egeria, and of course, shopping is always more fun with friends.

An hour later, Walworth was driving the two women to Mademoiselle Deneuve’s.  The Mirsannan woman brought them each a glass of wine and had them sit while she finished with several other women.  Yuah saw the three customers, none of whom she knew, cast furtive glances in her direction as they passed behind the curtain to change.

The long line of suffragettes marched almost in step, north from Number 14, Crown Street, around St. Admeta Park, and then west on Avenue Royal to a final rally in front of Sinceree Palace.  For the most part, they wore frilly white day dresses, almost all without a bustle, and each had a green and yellow sash slung from their right shoulders to their left hips imprinted with “Votes for Women.”

King Tybalt III of Greater Brechalon and Freedonia peeked out the window from behind the curtains. His two sons were in the room behind him, Crown Prince Tybalt leaning on the empty fireplace, a glass of wine in his hand, and Prince Clitus sitting in a chair sipping from a cup of tea.

“What do these women want?” wondered the King.

“That would be the vote, Father,” said the Crown Prince.

“Why can’t they understand that the vote is for families?  A man votes not only for himself, but for his wife and children too.”

“By that logic, Father,” said Tybalt, “ widows at least, should have the vote for them and their children.”

“Here, here,” said his younger brother.

“You think women should have the vote?” the King demanded of his eldest.

“Why would I possibly care? It’s not like anyone votes for King. Let Parliament worry about who votes and who doesn’t.  I was simply saying that your argument against women’s suffrage wasn’t logical.”

“Well I’m all for giving women the vote,” said Clitus.  “What’s more, I’m going out there and show them my support.”

“You will not,” said the King.

“I shall.”  The Prince looked to the doorway.  “Bob!”

Bob leaned into the room. “Your Highness?”

“See if you can get me one of those sashes.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“I forbid you to go out among those crazed females,” said the King, sternly.  “You’ve only just recovered from a very foolish escapade into a burning building.”

“That was ages ago and I’m fine.  Besides, those women hardly seem like a dangerous mob.  If anything, they could teach our soldiers a bit about marching in parade.”

Bob arrived in a remarkably short time with a copy of the green and yellow sash.  Prince Clitus carefully draped it over his white naval uniform.

“I’m going out, Father, and I think you should both come with me.”

“I’m going to take a nap,” said Prince Tybalt, setting his wineglass on the mantle and striding out.

Clitus turned and exited the room too, marching down the long corridor to the main staircase. Bob, Stigby the police officer, and Wizard Bassington all fell into formation behind him.  Skipping down the steps, he burst out the front door.  Two uniformed marine guards fell in behind him. The sounds of women shouting through megaphones slowly died away as he made his way to the great gate, until it was deathly silent as he signaled for the gate to be opened.  Then he stepped through.

As he waded into the crowd of women, hands reached out to touch him on his shoulder or arm.  One tousled his hair and a few became familiar enough that Stigby barked “Now, now, ladies!”  The silence died away as female voices called out “The Prince is with us!” and “He’s our sash on!” and finally “We knew you were all right, Your Highness!” Clitus stepped up onto a soapbox, replacing one of the speakers, who gave over her megaphone.  He brought the cone-shaped speaking device to his mouth, but before he could say a word, someone in the crowd shouted.

“The King!  The King!”

Several women pointed.  Clitus turned and looked, as did the rest of the crowd.  There upon the second floor balcony, a yellow and green sash across his chest, and what his son recognized as a forced smile on his face, waving, was the king.  Shouts of “The King is with us!” and “The King is a suffragist!” gradually coalesced into several choruses of God Save the King.

Sen stopped on the threshold and thought about whether she should knock or just go in.  Such considerations were ended when the lizzie, Cheery, opened the door for her.  The reptilian towered over her, no matter how he attempted to hunker down.

“Is my mother home?” she asked.

He pointed back and up. “Stairsss.”

The eleven-year-old nodded and stepped past him, walking through the parlor and up the stairs. When she reached the top, she turned down the hallway and walked to the door of her mother’s bedroom.  She opened it, stepped inside, and closed the door after her.

Her mother lay sprawled naked across her bed, face down, with her head hanging over the edge.  The image put one in mind of a murder scene, or it would have without the loud snoring.  The girl stepped over, bent down, and looked at the top of the blond head. At first, she saw nothing, so she carefully lifted back the hair that fell around the elder Senta’s face.  The snoring stopped, but she waited a moment and it resumed.  Now she could see it, an ugly scar that ran laterally across her mother’s skull, about an inch and a half behind her hairline.

Letting the hair fall back, Sen walked across the room and sat in the chair against the wall.  She pulled her feet up to her bottom, wrapped her arms around her legs, and rested her chin on her knees.  She sat there for about fifteen minutes, until she suddenly realized the snoring had stopped.

“So you’ve decided to grace me with your presence after all.”

“Yes.”

The senior Senta rolled over and sat up.

“I think I’m going to vomit.”  And then she did, all over the floor.

“Kafira’s maiden aunt! How much wine did you drink?”

“That is not your business, you little bint.”

“Fine,” said Sen, getting to her feet.

“Wait!  I’m sorry.  It’s not me talking.  It’s the demons that are pounding on my brain with sledge hammers.”

“Uuthanum,” said Sen, pointing to the mess on the floor, which magically disappeared, leaving the wooden slats as though they had never been soiled.  “Do you have a healing draught?”

“Here in my nightstand.”

“Take it.  Then take a bath.  I’ll be waiting downstairs.”

It was almost an hour before Senta finally made it to the parlor.  She was dressed in black leather pants and a gauzy blouse, with a leather corset over it.  She was barefoot, but a pair of black leather boots floated along in the air behind her.  She plopped down onto the sofa. Her daughter, seated in the plush chair just across, watched her with one raised brow.

“You’re drinking too much.”

“What do you know about it? You’re eight years old.”

“I’m eleven, and you know it.”  The girl crossed her arms over her chest.  “So how much of it is real?”

“How much of what?” asked her mother.

“You being a twat. How much is real and how much is you just acting like Zurfina because you’re now,” she made air quotes, “the sorceress?”

Senta’s lips formed a sneer for a few seconds.  Then she stopped and pondered the question.  “I guess about fifty percent.”

“Interesting,” said Sen. “So, I’m here.”

“Indeed you are.”

Her mother pulled on her boots, and then got up, walked over to just in front of her daughter, and looked into her eyes.

“Repeat after me: Maiius Uuthanum.”

“Maiius Uuthanum.”

“Yes, you’re a natural.  Now let’s go out into the garden and see what kind of beast you can summon.”

Yuah didn’t eat at the family dining table on any of the following four days either.  It wasn’t because the dragon was there.  In fact she wasn’t.  Neither was Augie, and Yuah didn’t know if Iolanthe was or not.  In any case, she certainly had no desire to eat alone or to eat alone with her sister-in-law.  She took her meals in her room.  She hadn’t gone anywhere during the day either, spending the mornings in the garden and the afternoons in the parlor or the library.  She wasn’t brooding, she told herself.  At last though, she could take the solitude no more.

Waking up early, Yuah decided that today would be a fine day to order a new dress.  Opening up her closet however revealed that there was not an inch of room for such an addition.  She immediately began pulling dresses out and tossing them into a big pile. Once she had taken out all the clothing that she would no longer have worn, she had a mountain some three feet tall in the center of her room.  From the remaining collection, she chose a black dress with a red satin mock coat and a frilly bodice.  It was far more traditional than she usually wore, but she remembered having appreciated how it had looked the one time she had worn it.  Narsa, the lizzie dressing maid, helped her get into it, after she had donned the numerous undergarments required by Brech fashion.

“Get one of the males to take this out to the car,” Yuah told her, indicating the pile of dresses.

“Yesss.”

She went downstairs and notified the cook that she would not be home for luncheon.  The lizzie did convince her to have a crumpet and a cup of tea before going out.  She took them with her to sit in the enclosed back porch, where she found Walworth Partridge cleaning his pistol.  Walworth, a tall and handsome man of twenty-eight, had been working for the Dechantagnes since he was a teenager, employed as a driver, bodyguard, and general problem solver.

“Good morning, Mrs. D. Going out?”

“Yes, and I would appreciate it if you could drive me.  The lizzies are filling the car with some old clothing that I’m taking over to the McCoort house.”

“Right-oh.”  He finished cleaning the weapon, reassembled it and loaded it, and then put it in his jacket pocket.  “I’ll go get it warmed up.  Enjoy your tea.  Whenever you’re ready.”

“Thank you, Walworth.”

When she had finished her tea and crumpet, she dropped off her cup, saucer, and plate in the kitchen on her way through, eventually going out the front door and down the steps of the portico where Walworth was waiting in the steaming carriage.  He hopped down and helped her into the passenger seat, and then started off.

Though she might have meant either one of the two well-known McCoort couples, her handsome young driver knew Yuah well enough to know that it was her best friend Honor that she intended to see.  It took less than fifteen minutes to reach her destination.

“Do you mind waiting a moment?” Yuah asked.

“Of course not.  Let me know.  I can unload this.”

“You are a dear,” she said, climbing down and walking up the path to the stone-faced cottage.

She knocked on the door, which was opened by a lizzie servant.  Silently, the reptilian ushered her in and led her to the parlor, and then turned and left. Yuah found her best friend Honor reclining on a sofa.  Honor looked up and opened her mouth in surprise, and for a minute Yuah didn’t realize why.  Then she saw that her friend had only one leg sticking out from beneath her dress.  Yuah’s hand went to her mouth and she quickly turned around.

“I wasn’t expecting you,” said Honor.

Yuah said nothing.

“You’re going to have to turn around and help me, unless you want me to hop across the room.”

Turning slowly back around, Yuah saw that a shapely wooden leg was sitting on an end table. Hurrying over, she picked it up and brought it to her friend.

“Why was it over there.”

“I had Ziggy polishing it with furniture wax.  Then he left it there when he was called away to help in the garden.  I was going to wait until the lizzies came through and could hand it to me.”

She pulled up her dress and fitted the prosthesis onto her leg stump, strapping it to her thigh. Then she smoothed her dress back down, pushed herself to her feet, and gave Yuah a hug.

“Can I ask you…?”

“What?”

“Do you keep your leg on in bed?  With your husband?”

“Of course not.  So what are you doing here?  I thought you had sequestered yourself away to prevent any unwanted male attention.”

“Well, I had,” said Yuah, looking around as if she expected a clandestine observer to have his face pressed against one of the windows.  “I’ve cleaned out my closet and I thought you might like one or two of my old dresses.  Plus, you could tell me to whom I might give the rest.”

“Are they back at your house?”

“No.  Walworth has them out in the car.”

“Ziggy!” called Honor, and when the lizzie stepped in the room.  “Go out and get the clothing that is in Mrs. Dechantagne’s car.”

The lizzie had to make several trips before all of the dresses where transferred to the couch in the McCoort living room.  Yuah stepped outside to tell Walworth that he wasn’t needed anymore, and he drove off, presumably back to the Dechantagne Estate.

“You say these are just the dressed you don’t want?” asked Honor, holding a blue and white walking dress up to her.  “This isn’t too bad.”

“That would look lovely on you,” said Yuah, “but it is somewhat colorful.”

The wind whipped at Zoey’s hair.  She laughed. This was almost as much fun as flying. She pressed her feet down on the clutch and the brake as she zoomed around the corner of Forest and Ivy. Then pressing the forward accelerator again, she zipped in and out of traffic as the candy apple red Bromfeld X shot past other steam carriages and riders upon the backs of iguanodons. Zoey was at the corner of Newlands Street before she knew it, and brought the car to a screeching halt.

Pulling the brake into place, she grabbed her purse, hopped out, and danced around to the back, where she opened the release cock.  A whistling scream of hot gas shot into the air.

“Oops, too much heat,” she said, opening the firebox with her bare hand and sticking her face into it.

Reveling in the warmth for just a moment, she then closed the door and walked up the cobblestone path to Martin & Shinde Men’s Emporium.  The bell rang as she stepped inside.  As she breathed in the smell of leather and wool, her mouth watered.  The store, some twenty feet wide but at least four times that deep, was packed with suits, shoes, belts, hats, and sundries for men.  A stack of round tins filled with mustache cream drew her attention.  She picked one up and opened it, taking a sniff.

“Mmm.”

“May I help you, young miss?”

Turning to her left, Zoey found a thin bespectacled man in a very crisp pinstriped suit.  He had a large nose, but a narrow mustache.  He gave her a close-mouthed smile and a slight bow.

“I would be very grateful if you could.  You see, my young man has recently given me a wonderful present and I thought I would get him something nice too.  Can you help me, Mister..?”

“Shinde, Mattius Shinde.”

“Oh.  Like the name of the store.”

“Exactly.”

“Do you think you can help me, Mr. Shinde?”

“Of course.  I assume, since you are here, that you have narrowed it down to something in menswear.  Is your young man a snappy dresser?”

“Indeed.  He always looks his best, and he enjoys quality in his things.”

“And you say he bought you a present?”

“Yes.  He’s very thoughtful.”

“May I ask what he gave you? Perhaps that will help us judge just what sort of present you should get him.”

“A car!” she said, her eyes lighting up.  “It’s brilliant, and red, and extremely fast for something limited to the ground.”

“Well…” Mr. Shinde looked around.  “We have some of the finest new suits from Brechalon.”

“No.  I don’t want to get anything he has to get fitted for.  I want to give it to him today.”

“We have some of the very finest hats.”

“He has a lot of hats already.”

“How about some aftershave lotion?”

Zoey sighed.  “Maybe I’ve come to the wrong place.  Aftershave lotion?  I mean really!  He bought me a car!”

“How about shoes?”

“He does like shoes,” she said.

“Excellent.  We have the very finest walking boots and pumps, as well as very nice dress shoes.”  He led her across the room to a section of the wall filled with footwear.

“I like these,” said Zoey.

“Excellent choice,” said Shinde, picking up one and handing it to her.  “Cap toe oxfords of high quality cow hide.”

She held the shoe to her nose.  “Why do cows smell so yummy?”

He shrugged.

“These are just the thing. I want a pair in brown and a pair in black, and of course I want spats to go with them.  Laces too.”

“Excellent.” said the proprietor.  “Now about the size.”

“Augie’s foot is exactly this big,” she said, pointing to her chin with one index finger and her hairline with the other.

Shinde looked like a man who very much wanted to ask a question, but wasn’t going to do so.  At last, he picked up a shoe sizer and held it awkwardly to her face.

“Size nine,” he reported. “I’ll get those ready for you.”

A few minutes later, he had the purchases secured in boxes wrapped with twine.

“That will be fifty-four marks, twenty p.”

Zoey opened her purse and withdrew a huge wad of banknotes.  She stopped and narrowed her eyes, and looked at Shinde like might at any moment pounce on her money.  Turning away, she counted out fifty-two marks, and then fished out four two-toned five-pfennig coins.  After putting the rest of her money away, she turned around and held it out.  Shinde had to pull the notes out of her tightly clamped fingers, but at last he had the payment and handed her the merchandise.

“Thank you so much!” she called, as she slipped out the doorway.

The clouds were low over Brech City, turning everything to a dull monochrome.  A wave of drizzling rain dropped without cease—tiny drops that a person scarcely noticed until he was wet through.  Smoke from fireplaces, steam carriages, and factories barely rose above the tops of houses and lingered there just below the proper clouds, making everything that the rain touched dirty, greasy, and grimy.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” asked Prince Clitus from beneath his umbrella.  His usual uniform had been replaced by a formal black suit, making him as monochrome as his surroundings.

“Do what?” asked his older half-brother Prince Tybalt.  “Stand out in this Kafira-wretched rain?”  He too was dressed in black formal.

The two of them stood surrounded by a massive crowd at the dockside, staring at a great black steam liner: S. S. Lied des Vaterlandes.

“No.  Are you sure you want to marry Princess Henrietta?”

“It’s time for me to marry.”

“You love her at least, don’t you?”

“Love her?” Tybalt frowned. “I don’t even know her.”

“But you’ve corresponded.”

“She wrote me some stupid letters.  I didn’t read them.”

“Why then did you agree to marry her?”

“I have to marry someone. With Henrietta, we will cement our rule over Freedonia.”

“You could have picked anyone you wanted,” said Clitus.  “You had a choice.”

Tybalt rolled his eyes.

“What choice?  That fat Bordonian pig Lady Enid?  I don’t think so.  Princess Ophelia of Mirsanna?  She’s a whore.  Maybe you think I should have chosen the idiot Hortence Moorn, or the egghead Iolana Staff?”

“Lady Iolana is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” said Clitus, exasperated.

“She talks all the time. Have you noticed?  Henrietta doesn’t even speak Brech.  I’ll never have to listen to her.  All I have to do is mount her a couple of times and pop some heirs into her.  Then I can send her back to Freedonia to her family, and I can spend my time doing something more exciting with someone more exciting.  That’s the beauty of it all.  As King, I can have any woman I want, any time.”

Clitus sighed and shook his head.

* * * * *

“She’s actually quite pretty,” said Lady Esther, holding up latest issue of The Daily Review.  “You look very handsome.”

“Thank you,” said Clitus, sitting across from her, sipping his tea.

Lady Terra entered the library carrying a large clock.  Clitus stood up.

“Good afternoon, Lady Terra.”

“Please sit, Your Highness,” she said, walking past him and setting the clock on the mantel above the fireplace.

“And what are you about on this miserable day?” he asked, taking his place once again in the comfortable chair.

“Clock repair,” she said, turning on her heel and retracing her path.  She stopped and looked over Esther’s shoulder at the picture on the paper’s front page.  “How is that fair?  She’s got huge tits.”

Clitus gasped, getting tea up his nose.  Lady Terra didn’t notice.  She was already stepping out the doorway.

“Please don’t mind her,” said Esther.

“No, of course not.”

“You look tired, Clitus. You’re working too hard.  You need to get out and have some fun.”

“Well, I am going hunting the day after tomorrow at the Tottsbury Estate in Wills.  It should be a good time.  I hear the pheasants are thick this year.  Why don’t you come up with me?”

“I’m not one for hunting really,” said Esther.  “Lady Iolana cured me of it quite early on.  You should ask her.  I’m sure she would be interested.  She used to kill things all the time back in Brechalon.”

“You really think she would come?”

“I’m sure she would.  Terra might even be interested.”