Accord Day was always celebrated and was always a patriotic occasion. With the announcement of war however, patriotism knew no bounds. Saba had never seen so many banners of red, white, and blue in all of his life. It seemed as if every home, every shop, and every street corner flew the Accord Banner of Greater Brechalon. Some of the steam carriages driving down the street even sported small versions flapping from the edges of their windscreens. Nothing drove patriotic fervor like fear.

Was it patriotism or fear that was drawn across the faces of the fifty or so men who stood in the dockyards? Some of them were carrying flags. Some of them were carrying placards. One sign said “Keep Birmisia for Brechs”. Another sign was completely illegible. None of them, so far as Saba could tell, said, “Welcome to our friendly shore”. The eight hundred or so immigrants who lined the railing on the rust bucket known as the S.S. Pigeon Guillemot knew a raw reception when they saw it. They looked as unhappy as the mob did, though they were far quieter about it.

Saba waved to Sergeant Butler, who nodded to his men. As one, the line of blue uniformed constables stepped forward. Lifting a megaphone to his mouth, Saba shouted. “By command of the royal governor, you are hereby ordered to disperse!”

The crowd continued to shout and wave their signs. Then suddenly, every single sign, in unison, burst into splinters as though crushed by giant hands. The flags were unbothered by the spectral forces at work, though a few were dropped by the startled men who carried them. Some of those men, and quite a few others hastened away. The police line moved forward again. More of the men in the unruly group turned and ran. In the end, only three men were taken into custody. Saba turned and nodded to Wizard Bassington, who smiled and disappeared around a corner.

“It’s getting worse,” said Sergeant Butler. “Last month it was only seven or eight rowdies meeting the ships. Now it’s fifty.”

“Be glad it’s not five hundred,” said Saba. “People are fools.”

As if by magic, the lizzie dockworkers and their human foremen appeared to moor the ship and place the gangplank in position so that the immigrants could debark. A few Zaeri also appeared, having been waiting nearby to welcome the new arrivals. One of them was Honor Hertling, who approached the police constables. She wore a simple black and brown dress, and her long black hair hung loose around her shoulders.

“Thank you, gentlemen,” she said.

Butler smiled and nodded, and then went to help his men usher their three prisoners toward the police station. Saba looked at the young woman appraisingly. He couldn’t imagine why she wasn’t married yet. To his knowledge, she had no suitors, not that he knew everyone’s comings and goings. The scar that ran down her cheek, though obvious, did not completely detract from her beauty.

“Governor’s orders,” said Saba. “If it were me, I would have let them alone unless they turned threatening.”

“Yes. I understand your point of view. Freedom of speech is important. These poor people have come a long way though, and endured great hardships to reach our shores.”

“It’s not freedom of speech that concerns me most. If they want to speak, let them write a letter to the editor of the Birmisia Gazette—after all, he’ll print anything. My concern is that one of my PCs could have been injured.”

“I understand. And I want you to know that I plan to vote in your favor on the question of police expansion.”

“Thank you.”

“I fear though,” said Miss Hertling brushing back a stray strand of hair blown by the breeze from offshore. “You may have difficulty locating a wizard now that Brechalon is at war.”

“They’re not too easy to locate at any time.”

She smiled. He chuckled.

“Will I see you at the Dechantagne Estate later?” he asked.

“I’m not a guest at the party,” she replied. “But I will be stopping by later to check on Mrs. Dechantagne. She’s feeling dicky.”

“I hope she’s all right.” The real concern in Saba’s voice made Miss Hertling smile.

“I’m sure she will be.”

“So what can I do for you today, Inspector?” asked Iolanthe, looking across the great expanse of her desk.

“I would like your help, Ma’am,” replied Saba Colbshallow. “We need to expand the police force. We need half a dozen more men, and we need our own wizard.”

“A—wouldn’t this be more properly a matter put to the city council, and B—we have Zurfina at our service, do we not?”

“To answer your last point first, I would prefer to have an official police wizard, not only because he would then see to police needs first, but also because he would have no other agenda. And Birmisia Colony is more than just Port Dechantagne now. There are half a dozen little settlements going up along the coast. Soon there will be more. It’s not just a city matter anymore.”

Iolanthe burst into a large and uncharacteristic smile.

“What is it?” asked Saba.

“I was just remembering you as a boy.”

“That’s the problem with you women. It’s hard to be a man around you lot when you all knew me as a child.”

“You women? You lot?” asked Iolanthe. Her lips lost their smile and instead took on the round, contracted shape that so many feared.

“Um,” Saba paused like a hunter who has realized that he has activated his own trap. “Anyway, I didn’t know you ever noticed me.”

“Don’t make it more than it is,” she said. “You were one of my household, that’s all.”

“Yes Ma’am.”

“I will take your thoughts on this matter under serious consideration. Your points are valid. Go down to my carriage please, and inform Ursal that you and I are dining out together, so I won’t need him. When you come back up, you may suggest which of our city’s fine establishments we should visit.”

“Yes Ma’am.” Saba stood up and marched out of the office.

Less than five seconds later Mrs. Wardlaw poked her head in the door.

“Governor, there is a man here to see you. I told him you were busy, but he says that he is an old friend.”

“That’s fine, Mrs. Wardlaw. Send him in.”

A lean swarthy man with close-cropped hair entered and walked briskly towards Iolanthe. She held out her hand.

“Good morning. I don’t think I know… you!”

“Yes, it is I,” said the man, grasping her hand in his. She tried to pull it away, but he held on.

“Jolon Bendrin. I told you that if I ever saw you again, I would shoot you.”

“Your mouth says shoot shoot, but your eyes say yes yes.”

She tried to jerk her hand away but to no avail. He grasped her right elbow in his left hand and pulled her to him. Then he wrapped his right arm around her, pinning her left arm against her, and pressed his mouth onto hers. She jerked her right hand free and slapped him across the face. He laughed and fondled her through her dress with his left hand.

“You can’t pretend to be the sweet little virgin this time,” he said. “You’re an old married woman now, but I just had to see you while I was here, for old time’s sake.”

“I was a girl and you took advantage of me.”

“You wanted it and you still…”

There was a loud smack and Bendrin’s face contorted in pain. He bent to the side, revealing an enraged Saba Colbshallow standing just behind him. Saba wrapped his left arm around Bendrin’s neck and hit him again and again in the side, several loud pops indicating cracked ribs. The man crumpled to the floor. Kneeling down over him, Saba planted punch after punch on the upturned face. As he pulled his fist back, a splash of blood flew across the air spattering the bottom of Iolanthe’s dress. Saba stopped, his fist in the air, and looked at her.

“That’s quite all right, Inspector,” she said, stepping toward her desk. “Don’t stop on my account.”

Saba beat Bendrin until he had to sit back and take a breath, and until Bendrin’s face looked like raw meat. Then the police inspector stood up, and as Iolanthe watched from her chair behind her desk, he kicked the moaning man several times, and then grabbed his almost lifeless body by the jacket collar and dragged him from the room.

Iolanthe’s mind drifted away from the present as she remembered that summer. She had been a happy seventeen year old, enjoying life in the country near Shopton. She had been out on horseback twenty miles from the Dechantagne Estate. There, beside a small flowing brook, she had been met by Bendrin. He had seemed nice at first. They discussed their future plans and their unhappy situations. His parents had died in a train wreck. Her father had killed her mother and was now wasting away in a permanent drunken stupor. She had enjoyed his company. Then one day that had changed.

They had both attended Dorit Banner’s coming out party. Afterwards they had walked in the garden. They had talked. Everything seemed wonderful. He had kissed her. She even let him. But then he had pushed her down onto a stone bench and reached under her dress. He put his hand over her mouth so that she wouldn’t scream, though it hadn’t occurred to her. He forced himself on her. He raped her. And he did it again. Though she tried to avoid him, he found her alone several more times over the course of that year. Each time she tried to fight him off, but there seemed to be no more that she could do. He was from a prominent family. Who could she tell—the constable? She would be disgraced. Her father? He was a shell of a man. Terrence was away in the military and Augie was just a boy. When she had turned eighteen, she had gone back to Brech without her father’s permission.

“What did he do then?”

“He didn’t do anything. He just sat there and watched me. After a while, all the lizzies got up and they began carrying offerings up to him—big pieces of meat mostly.”

“What a remarkable experience that must have been,” marveled Mrs. Kane.

“It’s disturbing, that’s what it is,” said Staff. “Who is in charge here? Is it the dragon? Is it the Great King? Is it the Freedonians?”

“Does it really matter?” asked Mr. Vever. “It doesn’t seem as if any of them want to do business with us. If the King isn’t the problem, then it’s the power behind the throne. Whether the power behind the throne is this dragon, or the Freedonians, or someone else, it’s clear they are not on our side. What difference does it make?”

“You’re right of course,” said Staff. “It may not make any difference for the possibility of trade. On the other hand, it might make a great deal of difference for our survival and the long term survival of Port Dechantagne.”

“I was with Zeah Korlann just after he spoke to this dragon,” said Bratihn. “I’ll admit that I didn’t fully believe him about it, but it’s obvious now he was telling the truth. The dragon questioned him and was concerned about humans invading his territory. If he’s the real power, he might not be any more keen on having the Freedonians here than us. Perhaps there’s room for negotiations there.”

“The King may feel the same way. The Freedonians might have seemed like a good idea to him when Zurfina destroyed Suusthek, but now that they’re here, he might not feel the same.”

“On the other hand, he might like them,” said Manring. “He seemed to enjoy his machine gun. I know I would.”

“And we know what Klaus II wants,” said Wissinger. “We’ve watched him going after it for the last twenty years. He and the Reine Zauberei want to rule the world.”

“We need a new strategy. Brown and the Kanes will join Bratihn and Vever in trade negotiations. I know they won’t bear fruit, but it’s the only real contact we have with the government of Tsahloose. Wissinger you’ll join too. I know you’re not a lawyer, but you can try to keep us out of any diplomatic gaffs. Croffet and Werthimer, you two stay on them like paste. If there’s trouble, you take charge.

“Senta and I are going to take Buttermore with us, along with Manring. We’ll visit the Freedonians.”

The discussion ended as the troop of lizzie servants delivered food once again. This time they brought small birds, cleaned and dressed, and no bigger than Senta’s fist. Manring once again proved his culinary prowess by roasting the little creatures using his bag of seasoning. There were also sweet potatoes, which had been cooked prior to delivery, grapes, pears, small green apples, blackberries, carrots, and radishes. Everyone felt quite satisfied long before the quantity of food provided had been exhausted. Then they once again retired to their sleeping chambers for the night.

Senta, who had taken a bath upon her return from the great plaza earlier in the day, took another. The rectangular tub was just over seven feet long and five feet wide, which by human standards made it quite spacious. Its depth however was what made it remarkable. Though she was an even six feet tall, Senta could not touch the bottom even on her tip-toes, without dunking her head. Four square stone spouts provided a continuous flow of water into the tub, which spilled over the top and ran down to a drain cut with four long grooves from a one foot square piece of stone.

After the bath, Senta returned to her room dressed in her large fluffy housecoat. She sat down on her sleeping mat and thought about opening Matter and the Elements once more, but just couldn’t face it. Instead she reached into her bag and pulled out a well-worn copy of Intruder by Anarosa Freedman. It was a relatively easy matter to find the racy parts, as the corners of the pages had become dog-eared with rereading.

“Well, what are we priming ourselves up for?” asked Mrs. Kane, when she entered a few minutes later.

“Just reading a bit.”

“So I see. You’ve had an exciting day.” Mrs. Kane sat down cross-legged next to Senta. “You know I’ve always thought that you were a remarkable young woman,” she said, placing her hand on Senta’s shoulder.

“Thanks…”

“I’ve thought that you might be someone I would like to get to know better.”

“Okay…”

“My husband and I have an agreement. He’s free to pursue other women, as am I.”

“As you are what?”

“Free to pursue other women.”

Senta stared uncomprehending for a moment. Then recognition kicked her in the side of the head just above the ear.

“Eww!”

“Now don’t be that way,” said Mrs. Kane. “The love between two women can be a beautiful thing.”

“I’ve got all the loving women that I need,” said Senta. “What’s more, I have a loving man.”

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you, dear. You don’t really need one of those.”

“There we must agree to disagree.” Senta lifted the woman’s hand from her shoulder and set it aside.

“Pity,” said Mrs. Kane, moving to her own sleeping mat. “If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

“Yes, I’m sure I could navigate thirty-three inches if needed.”

As the boat rounded the bend, the river spread wider and slowed, giving a view of the city beyond that was nothing less than spectacular. Dark brooding pyramids, frighteningly high spiral shaped towers, and rose and peach colored palaces all peered out over ivory walls. Giant constructions with overhanging plants and artificial waterfalls sat amid great domed aviaries filled with colorful birds and hairy winged reptiles. Though there were obvious similarities between Tsahloose and Suusthek (they had after all been built by members of the same race of beings), there were differences as well—in color, in shape, and in design scheme. Neither was anything like any city of Sumir—any human city.

The party had walked down from the highlands where they had found the Dragon Fortress. They made good time, and Mr. Brown had mostly recovered from his spider bite. The little stream that they had followed had veered sharply away to the west, but three days later, they reconnected with it and followed it down to the forests at the base of the hills. The stream combined with others, becoming a fair sized river. At the fork where their river met an even larger one, they spotted a lizzie village. The village was not unlike those seen closer to home, about two hundred square wooden houses, half of them built on stilts in the shallows of the river and the other half on solid ground just above the high water mark. The lizardmen here painted their bodies just as those near Port Dechantagne did, though with different colors and designs. The lizzies had seemed far more curious than hostile of the strange warm-blooded travelers who had so suddenly interrupted the course of their lives. Still, they had seemed wary. They also knew what firearms were.

Through a combination of the lizard language and hand signals, the party had negotiated the purchase of a boat. It was a great canoe, made of a single gigantic pine tree trunk more than fifty feet long, cut and shaped, and then fitted with outriggers on either side. Ten large leaf-shaped paddles were included. Staff had paid two and a half marks for it—in copper pfennigs. Then they had all climbed aboard and sailed smoothly down the river. In some places it had been wide and slow and in others narrow and swift, but all along its length, it had been navigable.

“Tsahloose must be larger than Brech,” said Mr. Vever from his seat just behind Senta.

“Nonsense,” said Buttermore, just behind him. “Brech is the largest city in the world.”

“This may not be as large as Brech,” said Manring, just in front of Senta. “But I would match it against Natine or Bangdorf.

Senta just nodded. She had lived in Brech, but she didn’t remember it that well. The size and scope of such a city had made little impression on a child of less than nine years of age. She had read about Natine and Bangdorf, and though they were alive in her imagination with style and mystery and majesty in a way that her home city could not match, she knew that they were younger and smaller than the capital of the United Kingdom of Greater Brechalon. None of those Sumerian cities could match up to inhuman, frightening, shining Tsahloose though, because Tsahloose was here and now.

The river flowed right into the middle of the city and the party of explorers followed it in. They sailed among dozens of lizardman watercraft, most much more elaborate than their canoe, but a few were simple one man fishing vessels. The city wall formed an impressive arch over the water and scores of lizzies lined it to watch the approaching humans. Brightly painted reptilians, wearing large feathered headdresses peered from behind gauzy curtains on large square floating barges. Other less ornately adorned lizzies watched from the bank. Floating under the arch, Senta, Staff and the others were swallowed up by Tsahloose. The towers and buildings and pyramids seemed to grow toward the sun all around them, reminding them of how insignificant they were.

They sailed about a half-mile into the city and into a large bay with docks on all three sides. It was only then that they saw floating in the skies above the lizard city, the airship. Huge, sleek, and modern, it was bright silver in the summer sunlight, except for the yellow tail with the large black eagle emblem of Freedonia. They let the canoe coast to the dock, and then slowly swing around to come parallel with it. As they climbed out, a column of lizardmen carrying spears approached. Senta readied herself, but when they reached the humans, they came to a stop and a lizzie wearing a bright red cape of feathers stepped forward.

“Greetings you of the north,” he said, loudly. “You have arrived in Tsahloose.”

His voice was impressive, as was his command of the Brech language. If but for a very slight accent, he might have been a human. Only after hearing him talk for a while, did Senta notice that he was avoiding those labial phonemes that traditionally gave lizzies such a problem with her language.

“I greet you for the great leader, Khassna, of the line of leaders of Tsahloose for a dozen generations, chosen of Hissussisthiss, and august in his citizen’s eyes.” The envoy bowed deeply at the waist, placed his hand on his dewlap palm out, and then bowed again. “I take you now to great Khassna as his guests.”

Senta, Staff, and the others gathered together their packs and were led away from the docks. The two lines of spear-carrying lizardmen flanked them as they walked. The streets of the strange city were made of large square stones fitted together and worn smooth by the countless feet of pedestrians who walked over them, for there were neither wheeled vehicles nor domesticated animals in evidence. The buildings on either side of the thoroughfare had smooth facades, free of ornamentation, painted with pastel colors. Seemingly every available balcony and window box was lined with flowerbeds filled with cascading plants and multihued blossoms. Where there was no flat surface available, pots were hung by chains or ropes to serve as planters. And there were the lizzies, thousands of them, tens of thousands, on the balconies, in the doorways, and lining the street, all of them staring in rapt and silent attention.

The wide street gave way to an even wider one, which in turn gave way to an even wider one, which opened into a magnificent plaza, lined with pyramids, at the end of which sat the most magnificent palace that human eyes had ever seen. It was built in broad platforms one atop another like a great wedding cake, and like a wedding cake it was decorated on every surface. This was in marked contrast to every other building in the city, excepting only the small square temples that topped each of the pyramids. And like the temples, the decorations on the great palace were of one type only—faces. Not the faces of lizardmen; the faces of dragons. And floating in the air beyond the palace like great clouds of doom were not one or two, but five Freedonian airships.

As soon as Senta and the other three members of her group had approached the far left side of the courtyard, they had seen the small passage leading down into the darkness. It was about the same width as the typical human doorway, though only about five feet tall, which meant that all of them would have to stoop to enter. Senta would have gone right on in, had Bratihn not stopped her with a wave of his hand. He then stepped in the doorway first, bending down, and following the downward slope. Senta and then Vever and then Brown followed. They had gone no more than thirty feet from the doorway, when Bratihn stopped.

“We need a torch,” he said to Senta.

She reached into her tiny bag and pulled out an oil lantern. As she handed it to Bratihn, the cloth wick inside ignited, bathing the corridor in light. Bratihn took the lantern and continued on. He slid a bit on the sand that dusted the stone floor. Forty feet beyond, the narrow little corridor joined a much wider and higher one, which ran perpendicular to the first.

“I think our entryway here was a ventilation shaft. It probably had some kind of grating over it long ago.” Bratihn held up the lantern and looked left and right down the larger hallway. “This looks more like something someone would walk in. See those holes in the wall on either side? They’re evenly spaced. I’ll bet there was some kind of lighting there—oil lamps or sconces for wooden torches.”

“So which way do we go?” asked Senta.

“Left should take us out toward the front, so right should take us further back.”

“Right it is then.”

No longer needing to crouch, the four explorers were free to move more quickly. Only the darkness and their unfamiliarity with the oppressive passageway kept them to a slower pace. The air in the corridor was cool, dry, and odorless. After about one hundred twenty feet, the passage intersected another forming a tee. Bratihn held the lantern high over his head and looked down each of the three open passageways, but there seemed to be nothing to distinguish one from the others.

“Which way now?” asked Brown, peering over Vever’s shoulder.

“Right,” replied Bratihn.

“Why?”

“Orientation. When we leave, we can simply follow the left wall and it will take us right out.”

“Isn’t it time we headed back?” offered Brown.

Bratihn took out his pocket watch and held it in the lantern light. “We’ve only been gone ten minutes.”

“Come on. We’re wasting time,” said Senta.

“You heard the lady,” said Bratihn, turning to the right and stepping quickly but cautiously down the hall.

This hallway went about another hundred feet and then took a ninety-degree turn to the left. Sixty feet beyond the turn, it ended with an open doorway into a much larger chamber. The four of them examined the sides of the door. Here, like on the great gate in front of the fortress, were indications that there had once been hinges and some sort of lock, but whatever door had once barred the way was now long gone. The light spilling from the lantern spread out as they entered the room beyond the doorway, but it was a tiny drop in an ocean of darkness. The room was huge.

Twenty feet past the doorway, there was a large step downward. Twenty feet beyond that, there was another. Then another. To either side, stretching out into the distance, cut into the stone floor, were benches. Their surfaces had been worn smooth by years, maybe centuries, of use.

“This is an amphitheater,” said Bratihn.

Senta, who had never seen an amphitheater before, strained to make out what she could in the darkness.

“But why build an amphitheater underground?” wondered Vever. “Wouldn’t it be better outside, where you can see?”

“They must have had lighting—like in the corridor,” replied Bratihn. “Maybe whatever they were watching was better underground—some kind of secret rites.”

“Or perhaps they could see in the dark,” muttered Brown.

“How big do you suppose it is?” wondered Senta, still peering around.

“We can go down to the bottom and get an idea. We have to be careful not to get turned around though. We need to find our way back up this particular walkway.”

“When we get near the bottom, we can scratch a mark on the floor,” suggested Vever. “If no one else has anything, I have a pliers in my backpack that should do the trick.”

Senta put her arm over the shoulder of the little man and walked side by side with him, behind Bratihn, while Brown brought up the rear. They walked and then stepped down and walked and stepped down. The amphitheater seemed impossibly huge, and by the time they had reached the bottom, they had passed more than four hundred rows of seats. Vever set down his backpack and pulled out his pliers, using them to scrape an arrow, pointing back the direction in which they had come, on the floor. Senta meanwhile jumped down the last step into a vast expanse of sand that made up the floor of what must have been a mighty coliseum.

“What do you think? Gladiator fights, like in the time of Magnus the Great?”

“Could be,” said Bratihn. “I’m sure it wasn’t dinner theater.”

Suddenly a horrible cry rent the subterranean air. It echoed through the great chamber from somewhere across the darkness. It was impossible to tell from which direction, but it seemed clear that it was at their level and not along the top.

“Kafira Kristos!” said Vever. “What is that?”

The cry rang out again.

“I don’t know, but it can see us,” said Bratihn. “Get over here, girl.”

The landscape had changed as the altitude increased. Thick forests of redwood, maple, and aspens had given way to stunted cedar trees and large bushes sticking out from between massive and strangely square boulders stacked in odd piles here and there as though a giant had set them up like blocks and then kicked them over. The twelve members of the expedition moved easily enough on foot through the uneven terrain. Unlike the plains they had passed through the day before, which had been filled with great herds of horned triceratops, giant sauropods, and packs of vicious dinosaur predators, here there seemed to be little animal life. A single telmatosaurus, full grown but only fifteen feet long, wandered between bushes munching on conifer needles. Several long-nosed white-furred opossums were startled from their hiding places as the column of men and women passed by. A squat-bodied furry creature halfway between a bear and a dog barked at them from the top of a rock and then ran over the hill and out of site.

Radley Staff stopped to look back at the line of people following him and make sure that there were no stragglers. The formation remained tight, which was a miracle considering the diversity of the party members. Behind Staff was Amoz Croffut, a veteran soldier only recently retired from the militia, or the Colonial Guard as it was now officially known. He had already proven more than once on this trip that he could spot danger. Third was Senta, the tall, thin, blond, seventeen year old sorceress. Next came Taddeus Vever, sweating and puffing as he marched along on his short legs. Vever was a jeweler by trade, a sedentary job that gave him little time to exercise, so he was horribly out of shape. He didn’t complain though. Unlike Paxton Brown, who followed closely behind Vever and whose constant protests had long since worn thin. The man was supposed to be a scholar of lizzie behavior, and Staff had chosen him over several other naturalists for that reason. Now he was beginning to regret his decision. Behind him was the husband and wife duo of engineers, Ivo and Femke Kane. They looked at each other and smiled, apparently enjoying Brown’s discomfort. They were followed by Isaak Wissinger, the writer. Arriving from Freedonia two years before to join relatives, Wissinger had already published several well-known works of fiction and non-fiction. He was on this journey for his keen ear and understanding of language, though he spoke the hissing tongue of the lizzies less well than some of the others. He was followed by Lawrence Bratihn, the head of trade for Birmisia Colony, as well as the only person in Port Dechantagne besides Senta who had been in a lizzie city before. Occupying the tenth spot in line was Edin Buttermore. Buttermore was in much better shape than he had been when he arrived in Mallon. Now though, he was struggling under a pack filled with a good seventy pounds of photographic equipment. Pulling up the rear were Bertrand Werthimer and Woodrow Manring. Both were accomplished soldiers, though they like Croffut and Bratihn for that matter, no longer wore uniforms. All members of the party, excepting only Senta, wore khaki shirt and khaki trousers tucked into high boots. Senta wore black leather pants and a black and red leather corset that left her shoulders covered only by her long blond hair.

Staff let Croffut pass him and took up a spot beside the girl.

“I should have had you change into your khakis.”

“I didn’t bring any. Zurfina packed for me.”

“Black is too hot for a journey.”

“Do I look hot?”

“No. You look remarkably comfortable. But there is the question of camouflage. You stand out.”

“I’m supposed to stand out.”

“All right. Are your spells ready?”

She grinned at him. “You’ve worked with wizards in the navy, eh?”

“Yes.”

“I’m not a wizard. My spells are always ready.”

“Potent too, from what I understand. It’s been a couple of years since I’ve actually seen you do magic.”

“How is married life?” she asked, changing the subject. “I would think it would be hard being married to the governor.”

“It’s good. It’s a bit like being in the navy. If you don’t mind taking orders, it’s a good life.”

“Say there, Senta,” said Vever catching up to the other two. “Is it magic that you’re not exhausted like I am?”

“Yes, it’s magic,” replied Staff. “It’s the magic of youth. She has twice the energy that either of us has and half as much idea what to do with it.”

“It’s a shame,” said Vever, though he didn’t complete the proverb. “That youth is wasted on the young.”

“Would you like me to carry your pack for a while, Mr. Vever?” asked Senta.

“I would never allow a young lady…”

She patted Vever, who was a foot shorter than she was, twice on the top of his head and then grabbed the pack by one of the loops on the back and lifted it off his shoulders. Pointing downward and swirling around her index finger, she said “Uuthanum izesic.” She tossed the backpack into the air just above where she had pointed, and it plopped onto an invisible surface, three feet above the ground. Senta smiled and continued on, following Croffut who was none the wiser. The backpack and whatever transparent thing supported it followed five feet behind her.

Staff and Vever stopped walking and wondered at the hovering object. As they stood thus amazed, Paxton Brown rushed past them. Catching up with the invisible transport, he flung his own pack on top of Vever’s. Now both haversacks followed along in the air behind the girl.

“Do you think I could..?” asked Buttermore, puffing up beside them.

Governor Staff’s office was huge. The ceiling was more than twenty feet high and the entire south wall was made up of large windows that looked out over the burgeoning city. The opposite wall was filled with two large world maps. One featured Sumir and the western hemisphere, while the other featured Mallon and the rest of the east. More than a few citizens of Port Dechantagne who had never seen it, referred to it as “the throne room”. It did not however have a throne. It had an oak desk the size of a small battleship, and next to that a globe so large that it took two people to turn it on its axis. Those who had been there knew better than to refer to it as a throne room. This was not the domain of a queen. This was the room of an empress.

The black leather clad wingback chair behind the desk was not just a nod to comfort. It was designed with comfort, the comfort of a woman wearing a fashionably large bustle, in mind. Iolanthe Staff seldom sat in it however, and almost never when she was interviewing anyone in her office, as she was now. She paced back and forth behind her desk, with her arms folded across her chest. The two men, seated in equally black, equally leather, and equally comfortable chairs across the desk from her, watched her uncomfortably. One wore the uniform of a merchant seaman.

“There is no doubt about it, Lieutenant Burke?” Iolanthe asked.

“None what-so-ever, I’m afraid. The Mistress of Brechbay was hit by a torpedo.”

“It looks as though you were correct, Wizard Bassington,” she said to the second man.

Smedley Bassington was dressed in a stiffly starched black suit. His froglike mouth smiled without any pleasure and his beady eyes stared back.

“The torpedo was launched from a submersible boat.”

“Whose?”

“You know whose. Freedonia has more than a hundred of them, and I would be surprised if a tenth of that number wasn’t prowling the shipping lanes between Mallontah and Birmisia.”

“Then what are we to do about it?”

“We must utilize the great equalizer—magic. Ships making the voyage from Greater Brechalon must have a protective ward to hide them from the Freedonians, and anyone else seeking to do them harm.” He paused and licked his wide lips. “Fortunately we have the world’s foremost expert at concealment magic.”

“Zurfina?”

He nodded.

“Shall I leave it to you to arrange it with her?”

He nodded again.

“Lieutenant Burke,” said Iolanthe, finally stopping her pacing. “Do you have a place to stay until your company’s next ship arrives?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Then I’ll bid you good day.”

The officer stood up, bowed, and then exited the room. Bassington stood up as well. Iolanthe walked around the desk to stand face to face with him.

“Wizard Bassington, do you still feel that the Freedonians have a hold in Tsahloose?”

“I know they do.”

“Is my trade expedition in any serious danger?”

“I’ve given you my opinion on this matter before,” said the wizard. “Sending a dozen Brech citizens, however accomplished and resourceful they may be, hundreds of miles across uncharted territory and into the capital of a primitive, inhuman, and bloodthirsty empire was always, how did you put it—speculative. I call it bloody unsafe.”

“So you think I should call them back?”

“Absolutely not. There is a great deal of intelligence to be learned from such a trip. We both have high confidences in who we have sent into harm’s way, don’t we?” A smirk crossed his face from left to right. “You do have the fullest confidence in your latest bedmate, do you not?”

“Neither my husband’s abilities, nor his acumen are in question. I likewise have faith that those he has chosen for his team will all dutifully fill the roles to which they have been assigned. Can you say the same?”

“You mean my sorceress?”

“I mean your little girl.”

“Senta is practically a grown woman. She had already proven herself a steady soul when she helped rescue your brother years ago. She showed her power on her last trip to Mallontah. She can handle anything that should turn up. Besides, General Staff has indicated that he would take no other practitioners of the arts with him besides Senta, or possibly the steel dragon.

Iolanthe pinched the top of her nose.

“I ask a great deal of those I delegate any of my authority to,” she said. “I shall be asking the same of you. I need you to get that infernal machine running again.”

“As a matter of fact, I have a man coming in on the train from St. Ulixes who may be just whom I need to set the great machine to rights.”

“Can’t you just use your magic?”

The S.S. Arrow left port only hours after the captain learned of the wrecked ship. The Ebon Forest unloaded its passengers and the shipwreck survivors that it had rescued, then refilled its coal hoppers and set out again the following morning to aid in the search. On board was an emergency team consisting of a doctor, several clerics, and two dozen volunteers. Mr. Radley Staff, who had planned and organized the team for just such an emergency, was in overall command of the rescue efforts. As the massive black ship slid across the calm waters of the bay, he could be seen standing on the deck. Next to him, dwarfing him, was the steel dragon, with gleaming scales reflecting the early summer morning sun.

Senta unhappily watched the ship going. Bessemer had only arrived home the day before and now he was already leaving. Though they had stayed up the entire night talking, the dragon had not had time enough to relay all of his adventures. The girl had certainly not had time enough to tell him about hers. It had been an unhappy few months, as it always was when she was separated from her steel-colored friend. She would have been on the ship with him if not for the fact that Zurfina, who seldom seemed to care what she did, had expressly forbidden her from doing so. Senta wondered about this as she idly rubbed her lower back where the dragon tattoo had appeared. Bessemer had agreed that it looked like him, though not as he was now. It was an image of him when he was not much bigger than a cat.

Senta heard her name called and turned to see Hero and her twin brother Hertzel running toward her.

“What are you guys doing here?”

“We’re with Honor, helping out at the governor’s warehouse,” said Hero. “We saw you over here and Hertzel wanted to say hello.”

Hertzel, who had never spoken a word as long as Senta had known him, raised his hand in a friendly wave.

“Hey Hertzel. You’re not working today?”

Hertzel shrugged, which Senta translated in her head to, “I was going to, but the ship I was to work on went back out to sea.”

“So what’s going on in the governor’s warehouse then?”

“That’s where they have the people from the shipwreck. They’re getting everyone identified and finding places for them. That’s not easy when they arrived at the same time as four thousand people from Freedonia.”

“I suspect they’re getting special treatment because they’re Kafirites, don’t you?” Senta said, voicing an opinion that would never have come out of the mouths of the twins, regardless of whether it had residence in their heads.

“They’ve been through an awful hardship,” said Hero. “Honor brought tea and cakes for them.”

“Your sister is pretty special,” said Senta. “You would think that Aalwijn Finkler would have brought some tea and cakes. He owns three cafes.”

The twins turned to look behind them and watched as Aalwijn Finkler in a fine new grey suit walked into the warehouse. He carried nothing with him. The three young people looked at each other and then walked down the short block to enter the building after the restaurateur. The large warehouse was filled with cots, though none were at present occupied by people. Rather, people wandered around the room in groups and pairs, those obviously from the ship making connection with those obviously from the colony. Aalwijn was speaking to a handsome man of middle height with a slight paunch in his stomach not quite covered up by a nice black pinstriped suit, now that it was wrinkled from long exposure to seawater. He had thinning blond hair and a happy though tired face.

“Here come some of your future diners now,” said Aalwijn. “This is my new chef come all the way from Greater Brechalon.”

“How do you do?” The man held out his left hand to Hertzel, and both girls could see that this was because he had no right arm below the elbow.

“Kafira’s tit!” shouted Senta, causing dozens of people around her to stare, open-mouthed. “I know you! You used to work at Café Carlo.”

“Yes. I did.”

“You’re Gyula. You were a line cook.”

“That’s right, Gyula Kearn. Do I know you?”

“I’m Senta.”

Gyula looked no more enlightened than he had been a moment before.

“I used to sweep the sidewalk and polish the brass dragon.”

“Oh yes, Carlo always had the local children doing odd jobs. It was his way of helping out, Kafira bless him. We had quite a few kids in and out of the café over the course of the years. I’m afraid I don’t remember any of them very well. They just sort of blend together in my memory.”

“You used to make me a sandwich, when Carlo said it was okay.” Senta’s voice sounded abnormally high in her own ears.

“That I did. Carlo had a soft spot for children, though he didn’t let it show. He would always have me load them up with food. I suppose that’s why he had me working there too. Who else would have hired a one-handed line cook?”

“Well, I hired a one-handed chef, and I expect great things from him,” said Aalwijn. “And I dare say if you don’t remember Senta now, you will soon not be able to forget her.”