“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.

“I did everything I could,” said Terrence Dechantagne.  “I called for a doctor and a priest.  A doctor and a priest came.  It was just bad luck that he died anyway.”

“As he was trying to shoot me at the time,” Radley Staff paused to bring the whiskey glass to his lips.  “I consider it rather good luck.”

“Bad luck for him, I meant.”

Staff nodded.

“Sometimes bad things just happen,” said Mr. Merchant.

“Quite,” agreed Mr. Shannon.

The four men sat at a small table in the first class lounge, sipping their drinks and smoking cigars.  Outside, the railings had formed a thick decoration of long, pointy icicles, and the deck was rapidly becoming obscured by a white blanket of snow.  The grey day was well on its way to becoming night in spite of the fact that it was only four in the afternoon.

“Well, I do believe here comes your priest now, Dechantagne,” said Merchant.

All four men stood up as the severe looking woman approached in a black dress. Her graying hair was pulled tightly back into a long pony tail and her lips were so thin, it seemed as though the pony tail was pulling most of the skin of her face with it.  Her black dress was not a robe, not quite, and as was almost all feminine attire, it was endowed with a prominent bustle, but had no brocade or lace, just a priestly collar at her neck, and a thin strip of white running from each shoulder to the floor.  She had a large and ornate golden cross on a chain around her neck.

“Mother Linton,” said Dechantagne.  “May I introduce Misters Staff, Merchant, and Shannon?”

Mother Linton nodded to each.  “May I speak to you, Mr. Dechantagne?”

He shrugged and stepped away with the priest.

“So what do you say about this weather, Staff?” marveled Shannon. “Whenever I think of Mallon, I think of the jungle.  I never expected snow.”

“I suppose there is a great deal of Mallon that’s tropical,” replied Staff, “but Birmisia is cool, dry, lots of pine trees.  Even the summers are not too bad.  That’s good from a business perspective, too.  Nobody wants to muck around in swamps.  That’s probably why Enclep isn’t better developed.”

“Good man,” said Merchant.  “Always keeping business in mind.”

Dechantagne returned to the table and sat down.

“What was that all about?” asked Staff.

“It seems Mother Linton has been pegged by the Bishop of Brech as the High Priest of Birmisia.”

“And?”

“And priests are no different than anyone else.  They all want something.”  He waved to the waiter for another drink.

“And what does she want?”

“Oh, it’s all Mother Church this and Mother Church that.”  Dechantagne picked up the cigar that he had left smoldering in the ashtray when he had stepped outside with Mother Linton, and he stubbed it out.  Then he got up and walked out the door, intercepting the waiter for his drink along the way.

“So, you don’t think he’s a major player?” wondered Shannon.

“Oh, he may prove a friend to our business,” said Staff.  “But make no mistake, Mrs.… his sister is the one who’s in charge.”

“Excellent.  I’m glad to see you know your way around,” said Merchant.  “Have you had a chance to talk to Buttermore?”

“The office man?  I did. I didn’t have a chance to meet all of his staff, or the engineers.  Shame they couldn’t be in first class.”

“My boy, do you know how expensive that would be?” asked Shannon.  “There are ten of them, and ten more family members besides.”

“Don’t you own the ship?”

“Yes, but that would be twenty first class passages that wouldn’t be available for sale.  It’s not like we put them in steerage.  Second class is very nice.”  Shannon’s face was becoming pink.

“I know it is.  I myself am in second class.”

“Indeed.”

“We would have had you bumped up to a first class cabin if we had known,” said Merchant.

“I don’t have enough baggage to need a first class cabin.  I’m fine where I am.”

“Very sensible,” said Shannon, his face returning to its normal rather jaundiced hue.

“Well, Buttermore seems like a good man.  He knows exactly what we need to do.  I’ll handle the connections with the government and then we can get started. Of course, there’s plentiful unskilled labor.”

“Excellent,” said Merchant.  “If this all goes as well as I’m expecting it to, we’ll have to send over our short accountant to count all our money.

The dinner bell rang and Staff said goodbye to his two employers and went to his table.  The broken glass had been repaired and the dining room looked none the worse for wear. As usual, the darkly beautiful Amadea Jindra was already seated; her heavily laced white dress was a study in contrast with her dark olive skin.  As Staff sat down, he noticed the plunging back left both her shoulder blades sensuously exposed.

“Miss Jindra,” he said.

“Good Evening, Mr. Staff.”

The waiter brought a salad of leaf lettuce and thinly sliced fruit.  It was garnished with a peach cut into the shape of a rose.  A moment later, he returned with glasses of sparkling wine.

“You must come from a wealthy family, Miss Jindra,” he said.  “To be able to travel first class passage alone to Birmisia.”

“Eat more,” said Mrs. Colbshallow.  “You’re skin and bones.”

“I’m full up, Mother,” said her son.

Saba Colbshallow was full up, too.  He had eaten a full breakfast this morning at the Dechantagne family home, and sat back to enjoy his morning tea.  Around the large pine table sat his mother, Mrs. Dechantagne, Mrs. Godwin, little Iolana Calliere and at the head of the table Professor Merced Calliere. Mrs. Dechantagne’s baby was in the next room, being rocked in a cradle by one of the reptilian servants, and Governor Dechantagne-Calliere, who normally sat at the other end of the table from her husband, was not present at breakfast this morning.

“I’m sorry that I missed Mrs. C,” said Saba, though he wasn’t sure if that was entirely true.  He had known her all his life, and had been in love with her from the time he was five and she was a striking, sixteen year old beauty, until he was seven and she was a very bossy eighteen-year-old.  Then his affections had been switched to Mrs. Dechantagne, who back then had just been Yuah Korlann, and who had grown up to be a bit prettier and much nicer.

“She’s quite busy this morning,” said the professor, setting aside the book that he had been reading.  “You’ll be quite busy too, I dare say.  Another ship came in last night.”

“So I heard.  Mirsannan freighter.  Mostly cargo, but I bet there’ll be a couple of poofs out causing trouble.”

“Quite,” said the professor, saluting with his teacup.  “Don’t let us keep you from your duty then, officer.”

“Right.”  Saba drained his teacup and stood up, pushing in the chair as he left the table.  He picked up his constabulary helmet from the small table in front of the window.  It had gold braid around its base, a large gold star on the front, and a gold spike on the very top.  Of course it was navy blue, just like his uniform.

“Look at my boy,” said his mother.  “He looks like a right man, doesn’t he?  An officer of the peace.”

“You look just dashing,” said Mrs. Dechantagne, which made Saba blush a bit. He bowed low to her, saluted everyone else, and then headed out the front door, which one of the lizardmen servants held open for him.

Saba was quite proud of his position as one of the first two constables on the police force in Port Dechantagne.  In fact, he could well say that he was the first constable, since he had badge number one, and Eamon Shrubb had badge number two.  Even though he was only twenty, Saba had worked hard for this position. He had signed on to the Colonial Militia when he was only sixteen, eventually becoming the youngest sergeant at any time before or since.  He had served his two years with what he thought was distinction and had volunteered for an extra year.  Now he was a copper.  Anyone who knew Saba recognized that few deserved a spot in the new police department more than he did.  Anyone who knew the royal governor knew that she would not have sponsored him for the position just because she had known him all his life.

“Good morning, constable,” called a woman in a plain brown dress with a brown shawl thrown across her shoulders and a brown bonnet on her head, pushing a wheelbarrow down the gravel road.

“Good morning to you, Mrs. Eamsham.  Do you need a hand with that?”

“Heavens no.  I was just taking the slop from the neighborhood out to the pigs and dinosaurs.”

“That’s a good five miles pushing that thing.  You be sure and take several rest stops along the way.”

Mrs. Eamsham nodded and turned the corner heading for Town Square.  Saba continued walking into the southwestern part of the town, where the homes sat on larger lots, but were not necessarily larger themselves.  The leaves had long gone from the maples and the other deciduous trees, but the pines and cedars were still glorious green.  A chill wind whipped here and there, but did nothing to Saba but turn his cheeks a little redder.  His wool uniform was exceedingly warm.

Suddenly he heard gunfire erupting from directly in front of him.  One, two shots.  Then a pause.  Then one, two, three, four, five, six, pause.  He looked up above the trees and saw a flash of steel shoot across the sky.

“Oh, bloody hell!” he shouted and ran at top speed in the direction of the gunfire.  That he carried no other weapon than a heavy truncheon worried him not a bit.  Two men with military issue service rifles, but wearing expensive hunting clothes, stood in the middle of the gravel road.

“Guns down!” yelled Saba, as he skidded to a stop in front of them. “Drop your guns now!”

“See here chap,” said the first man, his accent labeling him as plainly as if he had worn a placard that he was from Old Town Brech.  He must have been very new to the colony, because Saba made it a custom to get to know everyone, and neither of these men he recognized.

“We’re doing nothing illegal,” said the second man.  “Just shooting some pests.”

“What exactly were you shooting?”

“We heard from some of the neighbors that these velocipedes….”

“Velociraptors,” Saba corrected.

“Yes, them.  They’ve been a menace lately, to the point of endangering the local children.”

“Quite,” said the first man.  “We went out to put a few down and found a small group digging right into those garbage bins.  We shot a few and killed two, I think, but one took off and flew into the trees.”

“If you listen to me very, and I do mean very, carefully,” said Saba.  “I just might be able to save your lives. Lay your rifles down on the ground.”

“But I don’t under….”

“Do it!”

“Do you have a last name?” wondered Graham.

He sat beneath a willow on a large rock ten feet from the frigid water of Battle Creek.  Hamonth was almost over and the chilly winds had, for now, stopped.  It was still cold enough for a steady cloud of steam to make its way up from the cups of tea, Senta had poured from the pot she carried in her picnic basket.

“You know I do,” replied Senta.  “You’ve heard it a hundred times.”

“I guess I wasn’t paying attention.  What is it?”

“Zurfina says that if you are famous and powerful enough, you don’t need more than one name.  It’s like kings and queens, and Magnus the Great.”

“My Da says everything deserves a name, and people deserve a last name.”

“He does not.”

“Huh?”

“I bet he never said any such thing.”

Graham shrugged.

“Did he say it or not?”

“No.”

“You just said that he said it?”

“Yes.”

“I knew it,” said Senta.  “You just go around saying ‘My Da says this’ and ‘My Da says that’ and he never said any such thing.”

“No!”

“No?”

“I only say that he said things that he really would say, but he just might not have.”

“I always knew you were dodgy.”

Graham shrugged again and took a sip of his tea.  Then his brow twisted in thought.

“I bet you do the same thing,” he said.

“What?”

“You’re always going on about how ‘Zurfina says this’.  I bet you make it up too.”

“No.”

“No?”

“Never.”

“She actually said that bit about not needing a last name?”

“Word for word.”

“Oh.”  He sipped his tea again.  “So do you figure you’re famous and powerful enough, then?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you famous and powerful enough that you don’t need a last name?”

“No, I guess not,” said Senta.  “I don’t think I like it though.  I never knew anyone else with it.  It’s Bly.”

“Oh, right.  It’s not that bad.”

“It’s better than Dokkins.”

“No.  My Da says Dokkins is one of the finest names in Greater Brechalon.” Then he added. “And he does say that too.”

Senta stood up; balancing on the large rock, then bent down at the waist and sat her teacup where she had been sitting.  She stretched her arms out to either side and balanced herself, as she stepped in her bare feet from one rock to another.  She made a circuitous route back to the picnic basket and opened it up. She pulled out a warm potpie in a small ceramic bowl.  She held the pie out in her left hand and a fork in her right and balanced her way across five more rocks to where the brown haired, freckled boy sat and handed both to him.

“You know you’ve got a hole in that dress?”

“Yes,” said Senta, sadly.

She looked down at the yellow dress.  Though the upper portion was shapeless and tube-like, matching her still shapeless body, the bodice was brilliantly decorated with yellow brocade and beadwork.  The skirt portion draped out appropriately, especially in the back, where with the aid of a bustle, it spread back almost three feet.  Unfortunately all around the hem, it was worn from trailing along the ground, and a small hole had been burned into the material about five inches to the right of Senta’s right knee, when she had been warming herself by a wood stove.

She made her way back to the picnic basket and took out her own potpie, and then stepped back over to her rock.  Holding her potpie in one hand and picking up her teacup in the other, she crossed her legs and sat down, allowing her dress to cover the rock, so that she seemed to either be hovering above the ground or to be standing but very short.

“This is pretty good,” said Graham, indicating the potpie.  “What’s in it?”

“Pork and stuff.”

“What kind of stuff?” he demanded.

“Nothing weird.  Potatoes and beets and carrots.”

“Okay.”

They had been having a lot of picnic lunches lately, though the weather would soon be too cold.  Graham had held to his promise to take her to lunch the other day, but one trip to Mrs. Finkler’s was about the limit of his budget.  Senta liked making things for Graham, anyway. They spent almost all their free time together, especially when, like now, there were no ships in port. Something was beginning to be different though.  Graham was just, well he was just Graham.  The only time he seemed to notice that Senta was a girl, was when he was pointing out that she had a hole in her dress.  She thought that he must notice Hero was a girl, with her dark eyes and her long, long, long dark hair.  Senta ran a hand through her own hair.  It had grown long, but it wasn’t wavy and it wasn’t thick.  It was thin and pale looking.  And she had a hole in her dress.

There was chaos on the shore.  Practically every citizen of Nutooka was pressed into the confines of the harbor.  Some screamed.  Some cried. Some waved to get the attention of the battleship off shore.  No doubt all of them would have piled into small boats and rowed out to the ship, if Captain Mould had not already had all of the local boats scuttled.  Even so, some of the people on shore jumped into the water, trying to swim out to the ship.  The city of Nutooka itself was almost completely empty.  This was not surprising, once one looked at the size of the army advancing upon it.  For more than three years, the followers of the Ape god Guma and their allies, the antiforeigner Red Sashes, had built up their strength.  Now they were ready to eliminate the Brechs, whose single naval installation was, they felt, the greatest blight on their great land of Enclep.

On the bridge of the battleship H.M.S. Superb, the captain and his first officer watched the locals’ panic, while several other officers hunched over a map of the region surrounding the port.  Captain Mould was the youngest captain in the Royal Navy of Greater Brechalon, and looked every inch like a man capable of rising quickly in that prestigious service.  His sharp nose and neatly trimmed beard gave him the look of a predatory bird, which his black eyes did nothing to diminish.  He turned on his heel and looked at the men hunched over the map.

“Where are they exactly, Wizard Than?”

One of the officers, dressed no different than any of the others save a blue bar on the sleeve of his stiffly starched white uniform, waved his hand over the map and said, “Uuthanum.”  A hundred tiny red dots appeared grouped in three large bunches on the map, indicating three massive arms of the approaching army.

“Whenever you are ready, Commander,” said the Captain.

“Aye, sir.”

Commander Staff seemed almost the polar opposite of his captain in some ways.  Light blond and clean-shaven, his freckled face made him look far younger than his twenty-nine years.  His small nose and well-formed mouth made him almost too pretty.  For all that, he seemed nothing less of a naval man of action than his superior.  He leaned over the ship’s phone.

“Sixteen degrees, eight minutes.  Twenty-two degrees, five minutes.  Elevation, make it five thousand yards.  Load high explosive.”

The entire ship shook slightly as the two massive front facing turrets, each with three twelve-inch guns, turned into position. Once they were in place, Staff leaned back over the phone.

“Lay down a pattern of fire.”

Six giant guns fired, rending the air with a sound that thunder could only envy.  Huge gouts of flame and monstrous clouds of acrid smoke shot across the bay.  As soon as the flame was gone and the great sound began to die away, the guns fired off again.  And again.  And again. Three hundred massive shells were fired into the advancing army on the far side of the city of Nutooka.

“Hold fire,” said Staff into the phone.  The thundering of the cannons ceased.

“Are they getting the message, Wizard Than?” asked the Captain.

The wizard and the other officers watched the red dots across the map.  They began to spread out from the three masses of their original formation into an even dispersion throughout the jungle.

“Just what we hoped for, Captain,” said the wizard.

“You know what to do, Mr. Staff.”

Once again, Staff leaned over the phone.  “Raise elevation to seven thousand yards.  Load anti-personnel.”  Then turning back to Captain Mould.  “Ready, sir.”

“At your discretion, Mr. Staff.”

“Lay down your pattern of fire.”

The six giant guns began firing again.  While the first three hundred shells had just grazed the advancing forces’ front, this extended volley fell right in their midst.  The raised elevation spread the falling shells throughout the army.  The first wave of fire, laid down with high explosive shells that had blown up upon impact, created huge craters in the jungle battlefield and knocked down thousands of trees.  This second attack was made with anti-personnel shells, which burst upon impact releasing tens of thousands of flechettes, needle-like bits of iron, which then flew in all directions, slicing through the warriors on the ground and their terror-bird mounts, like hot tacks through butter.  Captain Mould and Commander Staff stepped back to lean over the officers and look at the map.  The red dots, indicating the cult fighters and the Red Sash terrorists were disappearing from the paper.  The red dots were fading away not in ones and twos, but in hundreds, in thousands.  By the time three hundred shells had been fired, only a tiny fraction of the symbols representing the enemy remained.

“All right Mr. Staff, hold fire.”

“Hold fire,” called Staff into the ship’s phone.  The great cannons became quiet.

“Mr. Rise.”  The captain turned his attention to the man inside the nearby wireless room.  “Signal Major Black to advance.”

Captain Mould stepped stiffly back to the other officers watching the map.  A line of blue dots began sweeping across the map from the far right side.  These dots represented the contingent of Royal Marines, whose job it would be to finish off the enemy and who ironically enough were dressed in their bright red coats and white pith helmets.  The captain nodded in satisfaction at the outcome of the operation.  With any luck, it would be a permanent blow to the forces of instability in Enclep. If not that, at least it would set them back years.

“Commander Staff, it looks as though you will be able to make your rendezvous with the S.S. Arrow.”

“Yes, Sir.”

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.”

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.”