Light streamed from every window out into the dark night.  A group of caudipteryx skirted the edge of the shadows, snapping up insects drawn to the light, and leaving little three-toed tracks in the snow.  In the distance, a train whistle sounded, setting several triceratopses to honking.  Inside the thirty-room mansion of the Drache Girl, every gas lamp was lit and fires burned in all of the fireplaces.  Recorded music played, but not loudly enough to drown out the happy conversation and laughter of the party guests.  It was still an hour away, but everyone was excited to see the premier of the New Year.  The gentlemen were dressed in black tie and tails.  The ladies in their finest evening wear, the current fashion exposing as much of the shoulders and back as possible while their bottoms already enlarged by magnificent bustles, were exaggerated even more so by huge bows or cascades of lace.

“Another beer?” asked Kieran Baxter, waving to a lizzie servant, who was even then weaving through the crowd in his direction with a silver tray loaded with frosty bottles. The lizzies were members of the cold-blooded reptilian native race of Birmisia Colony, on the Continent of Mallon, where the city of Port Dechantagne was located.  Ranging in color from light olive to deep forest green, they gave the appearance of an alligator crossed with an iguana, if either had been able to walk around on their hind legs.  Thick tails followed behind them, the tips a few inches off the floor.

“I say, Baxter,” said Gyula Kearn, looking around.  “I was just telling Vishmornan here that I feel like an old man in this crowd.”

Kearn was an unprepossessing and slightly chubby man in his mid thirties, with thinning blond hair, but easily recognizable for missing his right arm below the elbow.  His companion, Tait Vishmornan, was at least ten years older, and looked older still.  Tall and gaunt, his still thick hair had long ago gone completely grey, and only the warm glow of the gaslights gave his pasty pallor any hint of health. Baxter on the other hand, about the same age as Kearn, was tall, lean, and well muscled.  His red hair and boyish good looks made him a popular subject of discussion among the ladies of the town.  He looked around the room.

“We do seem to be the oldest ones here.”  He grabbed two bottles from the tray carried past by the servant and handed them to the two men.  “At least you have two young and beautiful wives.”

Both men smiled and looked across the room at their wives.  Bertice Vishmornan was probably the oldest woman at the party, though fifteen years younger than her husband.  Her long blond hair wound up into a bun, she sat on the sofa listening intently to something that Honor McCoort had to say.  Honor, a dark-haired beauty despite the scar running down the side of her face, clad in a simple brown dress, gestured with her left hand as she talked.  Her husband Geert McCoort, sat next to her, holding onto her right hand like a child holding on to a balloon, as if she might, at any moment, float away.  Behind the sofa, Melis Kearn was surrounded by a group of other young women, but there was no mistaking her.  In addition to her dark skin and thick mass of black hair, she wore a gauzy Mirsannan gown of blue and gold, and had a thick, gold ring piercing her nose.

“Carry on, gentlemen,” said Baxter, continuing on his circuit through the room.     In the far corner, he found three young couples.  Didrika Goose, Tiber Stephenson, Questa Hardt, Philo Mostow, Talli Archer, and Samuel Croffut all seemed to be talking at the same time.  It was hard to tell, but the subject seemed to be steam carriages. That made sense, since they were all, at fifteen and sixteen years of age, ready to start driving.  Tiber Stephenson and Samuel Croffut were strapping young men, and both frequently were found on the rugby field.  Philo Mostow was tall and thin.  Talli Archer was a pretty blond girl with a large gold cross on a chain around her neck.  Stopping next to them, Baxter waited for their conversation to pause.

“Did you get something to eat?” he asked them.

“Those little meat pies were delicious,” said Questa, her dark skin giving away her Mirsannan heritage, though her clothing and accent were all Brech.  “I’m stuffed full now, though.”

“There’s plenty more of everything.  Try the little meatballs.  You look like you could still eat, Croffut.”

Young Croffut gave a half nod-half shrug.

“I’ll send around more Billingbow’s, too.”

“Yes, I wouldn’t mind a drink,” said Didrika, a thin, blond young woman with a strong family resemblance to the hostess.

Baxter snapped his fingers in the air and waved to the lizzie who was now serving Billingbow’s Sarsaparilla and Wintergreen Soda Water to the Colbshallows, the Shrubbs, and the Hertlings.

“Is Birmisia still all that you thought it would be?” asked Saba Colbshallow, quickly grabbing another bottle from the tray as the lizzie turned to leave.  He was a tall handsome man with a slight bend in his nose.

“I could never have believed my life would be so wonderful,” replied Leoni Hertling.  “Don’t get me wrong, I was happy to leave Freedonia. It’s harder for girls there now than it was before the war.  So when they offered passage to the new land in exchange for six months of service, I jumped at it.  But never did I imagine that I would meet such a wonderful man as my Hertzel.”

She wrapped her hands around her husbands arm and squeezed as he smiled happily.  Both, like most ethnic Zaeri, had jet-black hair.  His was shaved close around his ears, while hers, still very thick, was bobbed just above the collar.

“As fine a man as any woman could want,” said Eamon Shrubb, raising his bottle in salute. Though just as tall as Saba, he was much more heavy set, giving one the impression of a stone wall.

Hsrandtuss watched the workers maneuver the two-ton square of stone up the hill.  A few pushed while many others pulled with ropes wrapped around the block, and still others moved the logs used as rollers from the back to the front as needed.  He flushed his dewlap in satisfaction. Things were looking good.  The dam had been completed and the lake was filling up. Those workers freed from labor on the dam were now building walls—either the stone wall fortifying the hill or the wooden wall surrounding the entire town site.  The bottom floor of the palace was under construction and there was even a single room with a ceiling in place.

“You are pleased, my husband?”

The king turned to look at Szakhandu, who ran her hand over the scar on his back.  She had long since been allowed back into his hut and his good graces.

“It is good,” he said.

“Have you thought any more about Kendra’s plan?”

He narrowed his eyes.  “What plan?”

“Her idea to raise her offspring from the time they hatch.”

“I was afraid that was the plan you were talking about.  Have you been discussing it with her?”

“We all have.”

“All of you?”

“Yes.”

“And have you come to a consensus?”

“Sirris, Tokkenoht, and I like Kendra’s ideas.  Sszaxxanna is against them.  Ssu hasn’t expressed an opinion.”

“Ssu has no opinion,” said Hsrandtuss, “because Ssu has no thought in her head.  That is why she is my favorite wife.”

“Ssu is not your favorite,” said Szakhandu.  “Tokkenoht is.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Lately, she has held most of your confidences.”

“She has proven herself both valuable and reliable.  That doesn’t mean she is my favorite.  However the fact she, as well as you and Sirris, agrees with Kendra settles it for me.  We will build a private nesting area for you to use.  One of you will be the royal egg keeper and will watch over all of your nests.”

“This is well done, my husband.”

“It is an experiment,” he said.  “We will try it for a season, but we don’t need to spread it around.  I’m not sure how other people will take it. Talk with the others and decide who might make a good egg keeper.  I’ll make the final decision after hearing your advice.”

At that moment a young male came running to the king.  He stopped and quickly placed his hand in front of his dewlap, palm out, in a sign of respect.

“Great King,” he said.  “Great Yessonar has been spotted in the sky.

He pointed off just above the distant horizon.

“Excellent!” boomed Hsrandtuss.  “Tell Straatin to prepare a place for him, with something comfortable for the god to sit upon.  And tell Chutturonoth to form an honor guard to accompany me.”  He turned to Szakhandu.  “Get all the wives.  They must come too.”

A short time later, the king marched out from the partially constructed city, leading his six wives and a dozen warriors, all painted in their finest form.  He could see Yessonar circling above the other side of the plain.  He was mildly surprised that the dragon hadn’t simply landed by Yessonarah, but he wasn’t bothered too much about it.  After all, a god could do whatever he wanted.

It wasn’t long before it became obvious what the dragon was doing.  He was circling over a herd of sauroposeidon. The huge herbivores ranged in size from those only recently having reached adulthood and weighing not much over ten tons, to the old matriarch who was more than 150 feet long and weighed well over 60 tons.  They skirted the edge of the pine forest.  The dragon picked the one that he wanted and with a quick flip upward to gain speed, turned, and shot toward the ground like a missile.  Hsrandtuss and the other lizzies were almost lifted from their feet by the force of the great reptile hitting his prey, a forty ton adult female.  The sauroposeidon scattered before regrouping and hurrying away in a group.

By the time the lizardmen reached the site of the attack, the dragon had consumed a good portion of the dinosaur.  He gave them a quick glance, but continued eating, raking off giant pieces of meat with his great clawed hands.  The other reptilians stayed well away, outside the range of the constantly whipping barbed tail, but Hsrandtuss marched forward until he was actually standing in the dragon’s shadow.

“Great Yessonar,” he said.  “I would gladly have had a fire made and cooked this for you.  I know you like your meat the way the soft-skins serve it. Truth be told, I eat it that way myself sometimes.”

“Takes too long,” said the dragon, his mouth full.  “You wouldn’t believe how hungry I get flying.”

“It doesn’t seem quite fair, does it?”

“What?” wondered Yessonar.

“I have noticed that pound for pound, a soft skin will eat two or three times as much as I do.  For some reason, their bodies need a great deal of energy.  I would imagine you eat two or three times as much as they do, pound for pound I mean.  And here you are, as big as two tyrannosauruses.  How many of these do you have to eat in a day?”

“Two or three, depending on how active I am.”  He took another bite, blood dripping over the shiny steel scales of his chin.  “You are a funny fellow, Hsrandtuss.  You have a very inquisitive nature and you are always looking for ideas.  You remind me of a human in that way.  That’s why they need so much food, you know.  It’s their brains.  That and the hot blood.  They are always thinking.”

“They think too much,” replied the king.  “Who wants to think all the time?  Clearly it is the quality of the thinking and not the quantity that’s important.”

Hsrandtuss could feel the dragon’s laughter vibrating in his bones.

“Your city is coming along.”

Saba Colbshallow stirred a spoonful of sugar into his tea as he bent his head over the Birmisia Gazette.  The paper was dated the previous day—Octuary 15th.  The headline read Velociraptor Bounty Announced.  Saba didn’t give a fig about velociraptors or any bounty on them. It had been fourteen days, two weeks, and nothing—no message, no invitation, no visit.  He scooped another spoonful of sugar and stirred his cup.

“Isn’t that enough sugar, dear?” asked his wife from across the table.

He glanced up at her with his eyes, his head still bent over the table.  She blanched.

“If you want something sweet, we have some strawberry jam in the froredor,” said his mother.  “You could have some on your scones.”

“No thank you, Mother.”

He flipped the paper over.  There was nothing that interested him—council meetings, a fire, traffic, crime, building projects.  At the bottom of the second page were three advertisements, side by side—ladies’ hats, Major Frisbee’s chutney, and Café Etta.  He pushed his chair back and stood up, walking away from the table without a word and having not touched his sugary tea.  No one spoke as he left the dining room, but when he was halfway across the kitchen, he heard a small voice calling after him.

“Daddy?”

Stopping, he turned around and looked at his daughter.  She wore a red and white striped dress that made her look like a miniature version of her mother.

“What is it, DeeDee?”

“Are you angry at Nan?”

“No dear, I’m not angry with your nan.”

“Are you angry at me?”

With a sigh, he knelt down so that he could look her in the face.

“No, I’m not angry with you.  You’re my good girl.”

“Mummy’s a good girl too.”

“Yes, Mummy is a good girl too.  Are you going to your lessons across the street today?”

“Uh-huh.  I’m going to learn to read today.  Iolana has a book about a pig that doesn’t like to get dirty.”

“Well, that sounds a lovely book.  When you’ve learned to read, you can read it to me.”

“Tonight?”

“You think you’ll have learned how to read in one day?”

She nodded her head earnestly.

“All right, then one of us will read to the other tonight.  Now, Daddy has to go to work.”

The little girl nodded once again and then turned back to the dining room. Saba stood up, crossed the kitchen, and was out the door.  He climbed into the car, which the lizzies had already started up and a minute later he was cruising down First Avenue.

When he got to work, he went directly up to his office without stopping to talk to the constables at the desk.  He buried himself in paperwork and didn’t look up until his stomach growled. Checking the clock, he saw that it was almost 1:00.  As he stepped out his door, he ran into Justice of the Peace Lon Fonstan.

“Good afternoon, Chief Inspector.”

“Judge.”

“I wanted to speak to you.”

“What about?” wondered Saba with a frown.

“The benefit.”

“The what?”

“The benefit for the Police Constables Widows and Orphans Fund.”

“Yes, what about it?”

“I just wanted to let you know that we have Colonial Hall for Novuary sixth. It should be quite an event with you and your lovely wife hosting.”

“Yes, well.”  Saba looked at the man for a moment.  “All right then.”

Leaving the justice of the peace where he stood, Saba took the elevator downstairs.  He started past the desk and just happened to look up into Eamon Shrubb’s face.  Eamon paused amid filling out several forms in front of him.  He wore his police sergeant’s uniform.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m filling out forms.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I’m afraid I don’t,” said Eamon.

“Why are you in uniform?  And it’s the wrong rank.”

“No.  Dot and I decided that being an inspector wasn’t right for me.”

“What the hell does Dot have against it?  It’s better money and better hours.”

“Actually, it’s not Dot.  It’s me. I don’t think I care to be an inspector. There’s nothing wrong with it, mind. It’s just not for me.”

“Fine,” said Saba.  “Stay here and fill out your paperwork then.”

Stepping out the front door and down the walk, Saba made for his steam carriage parked, along with several dozen other vehicles, in the vacant lot next door.  Just before he reached it, he stopped to think.  He was hungry, but he couldn’t decide if he wanted to drive to the bakery or turn the other way around and walk to the beanery.  He thought he might treat himself at Café Ada, but decided he didn’t want to waste the money.  Finally, he turned and crossed the street, heading for the Gurrman Building.

Just outside the large stone edifice, which was the headquarters for the colonial government, was a fish and chips kiosk.  Shortly after his arrival in Birmisia Colony, Landon Kordeshack had begun selling his battered fish and golden chips at the shipyard.  He still plied his trade there, but had expanded the business.  The eldest Kordeshack son Talen now ran a kiosk at the train station and younger son Taber ran one here in the center of the government district.  Saba stepped into the queue and waited for his turn.

“Xiphactinus,” he said when he reached the front.

“Chips with that, Chief Inspector?”

“That has to be the stupidest question of the day.”

“So, what’s for breakfast?” asked Senta, strolling into the Dechantagne Staff dining room.  The governor was present as were the three household children, but Mr. Staff and Mrs. Dechantagne were not.

“What are you doing here?” asked the Iolanthe.

“Oh, I invited her to breakfast,” said Iolana.

“Are we going to see you every day now?” asked Augusts Dechantagne.  “I don’t mind, but you didn’t show us any magic tricks yesterday and I really think you ought to.”

“I’ve already made your lizzies disappear.”

They looked around and sure enough, all of the household servants seemed to have found some other place to be.

“They weren’t done serving my eggs,” he complained.

“Allow me,” said Senta.  “Uuthanum.”

Platters of food flew in through the doorway from the kitchen and circled the table.  As they did so, serving spoons flew up to intercept them and dish out their contents onto the diners’ plates.  When all had been served eggs, white sausages, fried potatoes, and bacon, the flying dinnerware returned to the kitchen.

“That was ace,” said the boy with approval.

“I don’t suppose it’s as impressive as turning your mother to stone…”

“I heard about that,” said Iolana.  “It didn’t really happen, did it?”

“It wasn’t me and I wasn’t there to see it.  You’ll have to ask your mother.”

Iolana looked at her mother, whose fork stopped just before reaching her mouth.

“Yes.  Zurfina did turn your Auntie to stone.  It was very upsetting, too.”

Senta ate from her own plate that had been filled along with the others.

“So, what have we all been up to this morning?

“I’ve been working on my bug collection,” said Augie.  “Iolana’s just been reading.”

“She does that all the time,” said Terra.

“And you don’t like to read?”

“I will when I get bigger.”

“Speaking of reading,” said the sorceress.  “I read some of your poetry, Iolana.”

“It’s not very good,” said the girl.  “I’m sure there won’t be a second printing.”

“I thought it was some of the best poetry I’ve ever read.”

“Well, thank you,” Iolana said, brightening.  Then she narrowed her eyes.  “Just how much poetry have you read?”

“Yours may have been the first.”

Iolanthe took a sip of her tea and then stood up.  A lizzie practically flew from the other room to pull out her chair. “I need to get to the office.  Did you want to see me about something?”

“Not at all.”

The governor looked momentarily startled.  “Well, then.  Good day.”

Senta talked pleasantly with the children as they all finished their breakfast. She told them about Bangdorf and Brech City and listened as they recounted their activities and stories of their friends.  When they had finished the food and were still sipping tea, Augie brought up a topic that had clearly been simmering in his brain for some time.

“What did it feel like to get shot?”

“Painful,” Senta replied.  “All in all, I don’t recommend it, if it can be avoided.”

The boy stared into his cup.

“Why do you ask?”

“I’m sure I’ll have to take a military post.  All the Dechantagne men do.  I’m not too keen on getting shot, but I guess if you can stand it, I can.”

“If you’re in a colonial regiment, you’re more likely to get eaten by a dinosaur than shot,” said Senta.

“That doesn’t sound any better,” said the boy.  “I don’t guess I’d mind getting eaten if I was already dead, but they figure poor Warren was probably still alive while he was getting eaten.”

“Stop it!” yelled Iolana.  “Stop talking about it.  It’s horrible.”

“I didn’t say it wasn’t horrible,” he replied.

“You know I was almost eaten by velociraptors when I was nine,” said Senta. “Your father saved me, Augie.”

“Really?  I never heard that story.”

“Yes.  I got off in the woods chasing after Bessemer.  It was woods then.  I guess it was about the corner of Bainbridge Clark Street and Fourth Avenue now.  I wasn’t watching what I was doing and they surrounded me.  One of them actually jumped up on me.  Then your father showed up and shot them all, quick as a biscuit.”

“Was he nice?” asked Terra.  “He doesn’t look nice in his picture and I can’t remember him.”

“He died before you were born,” said Iolana.

“That’s why I can’t remember him.”

“He was always very nice to me,” said Senta.  “He was very handsome too.  He was sort of like Mr. Baxter, only without the red hair.”

“So what are your plans for today, children?”

“Iolana has to teach us writing today,” said Terra.  “Only DeeDee isn’t coming over because of her mother.”

“DeeDee?”

“Chief Inspector Colbshallow’s daughter,” offered Iolana.  “She, her mother, and her grandmother have gone visiting today.”

“Well, I’m sorry to tell you, Augie, Terra, but Iolana will have to cancel your class today.  She has important business with me.”

“Yes!” cried Augie.  “I’m going to go get Claude and Julius.”

“What am I going to do?” asked his sister.

“You’ll come too,” he said, after a moment’s thought.  “You can be the princess and we’ll be your soldiers.”

“Take Esther with you,” said Iolana.  “She’ll see that Terra stays safe, no matter what.”

“Esther?” wondered Senta.

Iolana had been watching the post eagerly for five days.  She wasn’t sure how long it would take for a response to her letter.  She wasn’t even sure how long it would take for her letter to reach its intended recipient. But no answer arrived.  So she was waiting eagerly when Kayden brought the morning post in on a silver tray and set it on the occasional table in the foyer. Among the twenty-three pieces of mail was a large rose-colored envelope addressed to Mr. and Governor Staff and Miss Iolana Staff.  There was a similar one addressed to Mrs. Yuah Dechantagne, Master Augustus Dechantagne, and Miss Terra Dechantagne.

Picking up the silver letter opener from beside the tray, she sliced open the envelope with her name on it.  She pulled out a beautifully engrave invitation.  “You are invited for tea at the home of Miss Senta Bly, 2:00 PM, Octuary 7, 1907.”  This was interesting.  She hadn’t even realized that the Drache Girl had returned to Port Dechantagne.  Only yesterday she had been reading in the Birmisia Gazette that Senta had been shot in Mallontah.  She slipped the invitation back into the enveloped and placed it with the rest of the mail.

Making her way back to the library, she took Curse of the Cloud Women, the Rikkard Banks Tatum book that she had both started and finished that morning, and returned it to its crate. She had just picked up the morning Gazette, when Kayden stepped silently into the room, carrying a silver tray with another piece of mail upon it.

“Was this in the morning post?” asked Iolana.  “I’ve already gone through it.”

“Special delivery.”  Kayden still had problems with his Ps and his Vs, but by deemphasizing them, he almost was able to match human speech.

Taking the gold envelope and the opener from the tray, she had sliced it open before remembering to see to whom it was addressed.  Miss Iolana L.D. Staff.”

“Hmm,” she said, opening what turned out to be another invitation.  “I apologize profusely for the lateness of this request, but I would greatly appreciate if you could join our luncheon today at 11:30.  Due to time restrictions, no R.S.V.P. is required.  Your dearest friend, Sherree Glieberman.”

“My dearest friend?” thought Iolana aloud.  “If I were in hell.”

“What’s that, dear?”  Auntie Yuah walked into the room as the eleven-year-old waved the lizzie major-domo out.

“I have to get ready for a luncheon date,” said Iolana.  “I’ve been invited to the Glieberman’s.”

“Didn’t you say the girl was a twat?”

“I’m sure I didn’t use that term.”

Her aunt shrugged.

“There’s an invitation for you with the mail,” said Iolana.  “Tea with the Drache Girl it seems.”

“Really?” exclaimed Yuah, turning and heading for the foyer.

Iolana took the back hallway and the narrow back stairs up to the second floor and stepped into her room to change.  She expected to find Esther lying on the floor, but the lizzie was not present.  Stepping back out, she walked up past the balcony to the nursery where she found her playing the Birmisia block game with Terra.

“I need Esther for a minute,” she told her cousin.  “You can have her back after I get dressed.”

“Don’t bother,” said Terra.  “I don’t want to play anymore.  She keeps beating me.”

Back in her room, Iolana chose a pink skirt and a white blouse, which she paired with a pink bowtie.  She wasn’t sure who else would be there—she couldn’t imagine Sherree inviting only her—but it would be a sure thing that there would no Zaeri.  She wouldn’t need to worry about outshining anyone.  This reminded her that she should have Willa over to visit some time.  Placing her red boater on her head, she started off.

“You can stay in here if you’re done playing with Terra,” she told Esther as she went out the door.

She found Walworth downstairs in the kitchen, not unexpectedly eating a sandwich.

“What is it my father pays you for, Wally?”

“Huh?  He, um… for driving.”

“Well then, fancy driving me to the Glieberman House?”

“That’s what they pay me… oh, yeah.”

It took Wally almost fifteen minutes to get the steam carriage warmed up enough to set out, and took less than ten minutes to reach Iolana’s destination. The Gliebermans had recently moved into the same affluent neighborhood that the Staffs had always lived in. Their new house was several blocks south on Imperial Avenue.  Iolana could have probably walked there in five minutes, but that would have meant crossing several vacant lots in between.  Though the mud had dried up in the summer, the untamed areas within the city were filled with sticker bushes, and sometimes velociraptors.

The Gliebermans’ home was very much in the Freedonian style with square columns and square porches on both levels of the two-story home.  The upper porch was enclosed with wire screening and porch swings, along with some iron chairs were featured in both locations.  To Iolana’s mind it looked pretentious and grandiose.  She sent Wally on home and walked up the steps.

The lizzie butler showed her in to the parlor which the Gliebermans insisted on calling the drawing room.  Five girls waited sitting in chairs that had been arranged into a half circle. Sherree was in the center, with her perpetual shadow Talli Archer to her right.  The others were all girls from their group: Najwa Melroy, Mona Stephenson, and Tildy Wolfsohn.  Talli and Najwa were both patting Sherree on the shoulder while she cried into a handkerchief.

“What’s going on?” asked Iolana, taking an empty chair.

“Walter has thrown Sherree over,” said Talli.

“Oh, well maybe he’s just upset about his brother and all.”

“No, he’s already taken up with that horrible Wenda Lanier.”

“I would have thought she was out of his league,” said Iolana.

“What do you mean?” demanded Sherree, her giant eyes glaring.  “She’s not nearly good enough for him.”

“Oh, well, um… what I mean…” Iolana’s voice just sort of trailed off.  She really had no idea what to say.

“Are you going to kick me out again at teatime?” asked Baxter, folding his arms and looking down at Senta.

She was reclining across a Mirsannan divan.  She wore a long, flowing silk gown that completely covered her charms, though on the wall directly above her was a photograph of her and her mother reclining on the same piece of furniture—both nude.  She reached up to rub her long, exposed neck. Then she ran her hand over her head, her blond tresses about the same length as his own red hair.

“Of course not,” she smiled.  “I want you to be here.  These girls today are my oldest and dearest friends and they’ll want to see you. Afterwards you can run along so that they can all tell me how jealous they are.”

“What about yesterday?”

“That was different.  It was more of an obligation.  I know that Graham’s sister will see me with you sooner or later, but I didn’t want to throw it in her face the moment I got back.”

“It’s been a long time,” he said.  “He’s been gone a long time.”

“Almost four years, but when I see Gaylene, it’s like it was yesterday.  Not like now—now it feels like it was eons ago. It’s a kind of magic, you know.”

“So I’m invited?”

“You’re more than invited.  How did they say it when you were in the navy?  You’re requested and required.  You can skip out tomorrow if you like.  The same girls will be back again, along with some others.  But you have to be here the day after.  The governor and her family are coming.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yes.  You’re living in sin with a very important mucky-muck.”

“Should I dress?” he asked.

“We always dress for tea in this house—unless we don’t.”

He stared at her for a moment, and then shrugged his shoulders and left the room. Senta knew he was going upstairs to dress.  He had been given over for his own use one of the thirty rooms in the three-story mansion, but he had spent both nights in Senta’s bed.  Looking up at the clock, she decided that she should dress too.

Climbing the stairs still causes a pain in her chest where she had been shot, but it was the only time now that she thought about it.  At the top of the sweeping staircase, she waved her hand, magically summoning her lizzie dressing maid.  The deep olive reptilian appeared from a room at the end of the hall and met her as she stepped into her boudoir.

One of only three servants in the house as of yet, Aggie was new.  Cheery the butler, and Thonass the maid had worked for Senta for years and had taken care of the house while she was away. Thonass had given Aggie the recommendation.  They were from the same family—or what passed for family among the lizzies.

“Something pretty today,” she told the reptilian.  “Bring me my yellow and white striped day dress.”

“Yess.”

The dress was a traditional one.  Cut for a medium-sized bustle, the skirt was vertically lined with broad yellow and white stripes while the bodice was a solid yellow with puffy frills of lace around the high neck and at the end of each long sleeve.  She topped off the ensemble with yellow emeralds dangling from her pierced ears.  She slipped a ring on her right hand that featured a yellow garnet.  It was practically worthless, but she had purchased it in Bangdorf because she thought it was pretty.

“Nice,” said the dressing maid.

“I was just thinking the same thing,” said Baxter, stepping into the room. He was sharp in his grey suit.  He was always sharp.

“Thank you, kind sir,” she said with a curtsey.  “Shall we go down?”

Suddenly the baby began fussing from her crib in the next room.

“I’ll be down in a minute,” said Baxter, following her cries.

“Hmm,” she murmured, observing him.  Then she turned to the dressing maid.  “I’m going down to set up.  Tell Thonass to find me.”

In the dining room, Senta found the table set with the everyday china, but the food for the afternoon tea filled several wooden crates stacked nearby.  Having no one to cook and no one really to serve, she had ordered the tea catered from Café Etta.

“Uuthanum,” she said and the food began flying out of the crates, soaring around the room, and landing on the appropriate plates and serving platters. A spice cake was coming into a landing in the center of the table with Thonass stepped into the room.

“Take this envelope,” said Senta, retrieving the stated item from the lamp table along the wall.  “Deliver it to the employment agency at the Department of Lizzie Affairs.  It is a list of the other servants I shall need.”

“Yess,” said the lizzie.

As Thonass was going out, Cheery was coming in.

“Guests,” he said.

“Bring them on into the dining room please.”

The reptilian stepped out and came back a few seconds later leading three young women.

“Senta!” squealed Hero Markham, rushing forward and wrapping her arms around the sorceress’s waist.  “I’ve missed you so much!  Look at your hair.  You look like a boy.”

“Well it’s good to be appreciated.  You look wonderful.  How’s the baby?”

“Brilliant.”

“She’s beautiful too,” said Gabrielle Bassett from behind Hero.  She looks just like her mother.

Taller than Hero, though still shorter than Senta, Gabrielle was radiantly beautiful with sparkling blue eyes and ash brown hair.  Behind her stood the third young woman.  Dutty Morris was attractive but not pretty.  Though her widely spaced eyes gave her a kind of blank expression, she was witty and kind.

“Hello, Gabby,” said Senta, disentangling herself from Hero and giving the other two girls quick kisses on the cheek.  “Hi Dutty.  Thanks for coming yesterday.”

“It was my pleasure,” said Dutty.  “And I didn’t give away any of your secrets either.”

“What secrets?” asked Gabby and Hero at the same time.

I don’t know where the idea came from for Iolanthe. In a lot of ways, she’s a much bitchier version of my mother, at least as I remember her from when I was a kid. Iolanthe has to be really tough to make it in a man’s world, especially a Victorian one. And her history explains a lot about her disposition. Her most distinctive physical feature: her aquamarine eyes, just came out of nowhere. I was looking for things to make my setting a little more other-worldly and that just popped into being. Her first name came from a baby name web site, but I made up the last name. I wanted something that could have gone from French into English aristocracy.

Because she is such a major Bitch, Iolanthe is a lot of fun to write. She can be very sympathetic and just when you think you’re going to start liking her, she does something excrutiatingly mean. Still, she is one of the heroes of the story. So what if she drives her family to destruction, basically enslaves an entire native population, and (arguably) commits several murders.

By book 6, The Sorceress and her Lovers, Iolanthe’s arc is essentially over.  She has achieved all of her goals, and the action moves to the younger members of her family.  One of them though, is he daughter Iolana, with who she has a very difficult relationship.