Dot Shrubb is one of my favorite minor characters in Senta and the Steel Dragon.  I’m always looking for something to differentiate characters and Dot is separated from the others in the story because of her deafness.  As I have mentioned before, the idea for her came from the wife of a work friend I had years ago.  She too was deaf and had red hair.

Mrs. Loana Colbshallow was without a doubt the most beautiful woman in the café. Her multihued hair was swept back beneath a broad-brimmed, bright red hat with white flowers that matched her bright red dress. The plunging neckline showed a bit more skin than was current fashion, but neither her husband nor any other man in the establishment seemed to object. Directly across from Mrs. Colbshallow in a quite fetching sky blue gown, Mrs. Dot Shrubb clearly was bothered both by the lack of cloth which covered her dinner partner’s breasts and by the amount of breast which threatened to jump out at her. All through dinner she had stared at the prodigious amount of cleavage and scrunched her nose. Her husband seated to her right had been oblivious to this, and fortunately for him, seemed oblivious to the cleavage as well.

“I’ll say this,” he said. “If we had dined on this meal in Brech City, we would have had to pay a pretty pfennig for it.”

“I think we may very well pay a pretty pfennig tonight,” replied Saba. “Dining out is one of the few things that isn’t dirt cheap in Birmisia.”

“I hear the new café, Bonny Nurraty, is only half the price, because they employ a lizzie wait staff.”

“It’s Bonne Nourriture,” said Saba. “I also hear the food’s not half as good, though I’m sure that has nothing to do with the lizzies.”

“Unless my mother-in-law decides to open her own restaurant,” said Loana. “I don’t see anyone taking the fine dining crown away from Aalwijn Finkler.”

“And you can be bloody positive he won’t ever have a lizzie wait staff either,” added Eamon. “Actually it’s nice to have a place to come where there aren’t any.”

“What do you think about it, Dot?” asked Saba.

Dot just shrugged.

“Dot’s getting to be a lizzie-lover,” said Eamon, stroking his wife’s long coppery hair.

“You like her too,” said Dot, in the nasal voice that was the result of her deafness.

“Well, our lizzie is all right. She dotes on the boys—takes them for walks and plays her little block game with them.”

“That’s just it, isn’t it,” said Loana. “Everyone seems to like their own lizzie. They just don’t trust the rest of them. I have several to take care of things and one that comes in twice a week to clean and have never had any problem with any of them.”

“How are the boys, anyway?” said Saba, intentionally changing the subject.

“They’re fine. Young Saba showed me this week that he can do addition, and little Al isn’t far behind.”

“Alasdair,” corrected Dot, punching her husband on his meaty shoulder.

“And how is Darsham?”

“Wonderful. He follows Saba and Alasdair everywhere they go. Best dog I’ve ever seen.”

“You know he was going to name one of the boys Darsham,” Saba told his wife.

“That’s right,” said Eamon. “But I was overruled on account of my wife fancying your husband.”

Dot hit him again. “You named Saba. I named Alasdair.”

Amoz Croffut and Woodrow Manring are two characters in Senta and the Steel Dragon.  Their main appearance is in The Two Dragons, though I foreshadowed them in the earlier books here and there.  I really like when a character that fulfills part of the plot is someone the reader has seen or heard from before.  Amoz and Woodrow make the journey to the lizzie city along with Senta and the others, facing adventure and adversity along the way.

Staff picked his way through the large feathered bodies to where the man lay.  A quick examination revealed however that he was unharmed.  He had apparently fainted from sheer terror.  The only one injured was Manring, who had dived out of the way of the vicious claws, but not quite quickly enough, and had sustained a horrible gash across his forearm.  Staff quickly drew a healing draught from his pack and poured half of the contents of the small brown bottle onto the cut and had Manring drink the remaining potion.  Within seconds the bleeding had stopped and the injury had already begun to heal.

“Thank heavens for magic,” said Mr. Vever.

“Yes,” agreed Staff, then turning to look at Senta.  “I assume that was your magical lightning?”

The girl nodded.

“These are beautiful,” said Femke Kane, holding up a long black tail feather.  “Perhaps we should take some to present to the lizzies in Tsahloose.”

“All right,” replied Staff.  “We earned them I suppose.”

“I think we should take some of this meat for our lunch,” offered Werthimer.  “Have you ever seen a drumstick like this?  What are these anyway?”

“They are called achillobators,” said Wissinger.  “Colonel Mormont described them in his journal when he scouted this region.  Considering what he wrote, we got off lightly.  He said they were relentless once they had chosen a target.  Looking at them, I think they make the point that dinosaurs and Mallonian birds are all from the same group of animals.”

“Maybe dinosaurs and all birds belong in the same group,” said Senta.

“Perhaps you should leave that type of speculation to trained naturalists.”  Staff hadn’t realized until this point that Brown had recovered consciousness.  Though the sorceress seemed to ignore his condescending tone, it made no friends among the others, whose imperiled lives she had so recently saved.

“Look out!  That one’s still alive!” cried Croffut.

Brown let out a girlish squeal, sending most of the other party members into fits of laughter.  The beast in question had indeed been moving, but only because Werthimer was struggling to remove its leg.  A few minutes later he had finished butchering the animal, removing a large portion of breast meat as well as a drumstick and the party, now with Brown scowling angrily, moved on down the hillside.

When Staff judged that they had gone far enough that they would not be bothered by scavengers drawn to the dead achillobators, he ordered a stop for their luncheon.  The group managed to quickly put together a large pile of wood for a fire, which Senta ignited with no more than a glance.  Manring, whose wound had by now completely healed, pulled out a bag of seasoning and began preparing the meat.

“He was company cook in the Guard,” explained Werthimer. 

Staff nodded.  He wasn’t really paying attention.  He was watching Senta unpack her bag.  He had seen it a dozen times now but he still found it fascinating.  Unlike every other member of the party who carried heavy haversacks, she carried a small purse-like bag no more that eleven inches square, yet she pulled the most remarkable amount of equipment from it.  Now as he watched, she pulled out a camp chair that even folded up was two feet long.  She set up the chair, sat down, and crossed her legs.  With a dull thud, the pyramid of backpacks that had been hovering behind her all the while, crashed to the ground.

Staff turned around to find his face only inches from the brim of Femke Kane’s pith helmet.  Though she eschewed feminine convention from the lack of foundation garments right on up to her unshaped brows, she was still a handsome woman.  At five foot eleven, she scarcely had to look up to meet Staff’s hazel eyes with her sparkling baby blues.

“She’s quite something, isn’t she?” she said.

“Mmm,” he murmured noncommittally.  He was thinking of how unlike the girl that had come to Birmisia all those years before, Senta now seemed, and how much she seemed like the sorceress with whom the girl had come. 

It wasn’t long before the smell of roasted meat filled the air.  Whether Manring was a great cook or the meat of the achillobator was naturally succulent, Staff didn’t know, but there was no question that it was excellent.  Along with mixed fruit from tins, it was a fine repast.  After eating, they rested for an hour before continuing on their journey.

Taddeus Vever was one of those characters who grow naturally out of the writing process. Writing the story of The Voyage of the Minotaur, I mentioned Mr. Vever as someone who was a jeweler and had jewelry parts.  I was then able to use the character in The Dark and Forbidding Land, when Terrence needed a ring for Yuah.  Finally, I was looking for characters to make the great journey with Senta and crew in The Two Dragons, and I added him into the mix.  Here is Mr. Vever and the others on that trip.

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.

Staff turned to see that the entire column, besides Senta, Croffut, and Brown were bunched up around him.  He shrugged.  They hurried to catch up to the sorceress and one by one began placing their backpacks on what Staff began to think of as the invisible wagon.  By trial, they eventually determined that it was a disk about three feet in diameter.  They were only able to get seven packs to stay on it, and then only by balancing them one on the other in a three-story pyramid.  In the end, they were so distracted by the game that they scarcely noticed the miles that had passed, and even Brown’s complaining had ceased.

An angry screech brought their attention back to their surroundings.  Hopping down the sloping landscape from their right was a pack of frightening beasts.  Staff didn’t quite know whether most of the animals in Mallon belonged in the dinosaur family or the bird family, and these did little to unmuddy the question.  They were fifteen to twenty feet long, slightly larger than the utahraptors seen near Port Dechantagne.  From their shoulders back, they were covered with brilliant crimson feathers with a dash of black on the tufts of their tails.  Their heads were feathered in black.  They had large lizard-like mouths filled with knife-like teeth.  Eight of the creatures ran, in little fits and starts, toward the line of humans.

The stock of Staff’s rifle was at his shoulder before he realized he had slipped it over his arm.  He aimed at the first creature’s head and fired.  The .30 caliber bullet exploded out the back of its skull.  The spent cartridge clanged onto a large rock at his feet and he targeted a second charging animal.  But the first one didn’t fall down.  It kept running, going right past him and continuing down the slope for several hundred more feet, its legs no longer directed by its brain, but continuing to kick anyway.  His second target he shot twice, once in the neck and once in the chest.  He heard a couple of shots fired by the others, but by this time the entire pack was upon them.

Staff didn’t let the sounds of battle distract him.  He fired quickly at a third and fourth beast.  He heard Vever’s voice shouting over the others and he heard Brown screaming.  The crack of rifle fire was suddenly overpowered by an even louder crack as a tremendous bolt of lightning shot horizontally across the hillside.  Staff fired one more time, but the crimson-plumed monster in his sights was already dead—killed by the lightning.  Looking around he saw it was the last one.

“Surgeon!” yelled Werthimer, out of habit, as he jumped toward the prone form of Mr. Brown.

Staff picked his way through the large feathered bodies to where the man lay.  A quick examination revealed however that he was unharmed.  He had apparently fainted from sheer terror.  The only one injured was Manring, who had dived out of the way of the vicious claws, but not quite quickly enough, and had sustained a horrible gash across his forearm.  Staff quickly drew a healing draught from his pack and poured half of the contents of the small brown bottle onto the cut and had Manring drink the remaining potion.  Within seconds the bleeding had stopped and the injury had already begun to heal.

“Thank heavens for magic,” said Mr. Vever.

Hissussisthiss is a character in Senta and the Steel Dragon, who I haven’t spoken much about.  This seems particularly unfair as he is one of the two title characters in The Two Dragons (although there are actually three dragons in the story).  Hissussisthiss is a dragon as I envision them to be– intelligent, powerful, almost indestructible, worshipped as a god.  Here is a scene from the two dragons in which Senta has a close encounter with the green dragon.

Stopping to rest just after noon, the party had exhausted all of the food that they had carried with them, but Senta had a secret cache that she had been saving for just such an emergency.  Pulling out nine tins of peaches in heavy syrup and nine tins of rooster in wine, she passed one of each to the other members of the party.  They had almost finished eating when a great kafuffle on the plain drew all of their attentions.

A great herd of monstrous paralititans had been making its way through the grasslands, walking roughly parallel to the humans.  More than thirty individuals strong, ranging in size from eight ton youngsters to a massive matriarch bigger than most buildings in Port Dechantagne, they had little to fear even from the tyrannosauruses which stalked along behind them.  Only Mr. Vever observed all of the action, because only he happened to be turned in that direction at just the right moment.  The giant form of the dragon Hissussisthiss fell out of the sky like a meteor, landing right on one of the largest paralititans—a ninety ton dinosaur that was overall about the same size as the dragon.  Though the sheer force of impact might well have done the job, the dragon with one swift movement, bit through the long serpentine neck, decapitating its prey.

Paralititans ran in every direction, sending all manner of smaller dinosaurs stampeding out of their way.  Only the tyrannosauruses, their scarred red heads an ugly contrast to their black bodies, stayed where they were.  Slowly circling, they waited for any scraps that might be left over by the much larger dragon.  The nine members of the party ducked down as quickly as they could and scurried to the tree line, hoping that they would not be seen.  But it was not to be.

Hissussisthiss, his metallic scales reflecting their green sheen, took a bite of the dinosaur carcass and looked right toward them.

“I know you are there.”  His voice was like rolling thunder.  He bit off an entire shoulder of the paralititan and chewed the meat, bones, and blubber.  A spray of arterial blood showed that the dinosaur’s heart had not realized that its owner’s head at least was dead.  “Come out and chat with me while I eat.”

Staff looked around at the others as if to make sure that none were inclined to accept the dragon’s invitation.  None of them were.

“I was not pleased with the magic you used in my city, Sorceress.”  Hissussisthiss took another bite.  Blood ran down his chin.  “It makes my skin crawl.”

“I thought dragons were magical,” whispered Femke Kane.

Senta nodded, but didn’t look away from the scene on the savannah.

“The Freedonians have showed me a great deal in the past few weeks—machine guns, artillery, poison gas.  You humans have come up with ways to kill that would even have amazed Setemenothiss the black dragon, god of war… were he still alive.  The Freedonians have magic too.   But none of them are a match for you or the other one.”

One of the tyrannosauruses darted in to grab a bite of Hissussisthiss’s meal while he was distracted.  Without looking, indeed without pausing at all, the dragon flicked his tail, crushing the skull of the frightening predator.  The Brechs watched as the green monster tucked in and gobbled down mouthful after mouthful of dinosaur meat, until within only a few minutes, there was nothing at all to be seen poking above the grass at all except for a single gigantic rib bone.

“I’m still hungry,” said Hissussisthiss, and then gestured toward the tyrannosaurus.  “I’m not eating that though.  I have my standards.”

With a quick hop he closed about half the distance between his landing spot and the hiding place of the humans.  His already frightening appearance was enhanced by the smears of blood across his face and neck.  The remaining tyrannosauruses dived upon their fallen fellow but the dragon paid no mind.

“What do you taste like?  I have to admit I’ve been wondering since I met that Korlann fellow.  You might be so small I wouldn’t even be able to taste you, but then there are a bunch of you.  What do you think, Sorceress?  Do you have enough magic to protect yourself, or have you used it all up?”

“Why don’t you come and find out!” shouted Senta suddenly.

Staff rolled his eyes, then grabbing the girl by the shoulder pulled her away into the forest.  The others ran after them.  Hissussisthiss roared and suddenly the entire area was one great conflagration of burning trees, burning brush, and burning grass.  Even the air seemed to ignite in places.

Smedley Bassington is a character that appears in Senta and the Steel Dragon.  He originally appeared in book 3: The Drache Girl.  I expanded his story a bit and added him to book 0: Brechalon.  Bassington is a wizard for the Brech War Ministry.  He’s shown himself to be devoted to their service, even when it conflicts with his own life, or the life of a loved one.  Here he is with Senta in The Two Dragons.

Café Etta was one of two new eating establishments opened by Aalwijn Finkler as an expansion of the bakery business that he had inherited from his now retired mother.  It sat on the corner of the Boulevard and Forest Avenue, and featured a large awning-covered outdoor dining area.  There was a queue of patrons waiting to be seated, though the maitre d’ ushered Senta and her guest inside first and no one waiting complained.  Once seated on finely crafted wrought iron chairs from Mirsanna, they ordered the house specialty and got down to business.

“Zurfina wants to stay away from service to the King, but she can’t anymore,” said Bassington.  “War is coming.  It’s going to come to Brechalon and it’s going to come to Birmisia as well.”

“We’re on the other side of the world from Greater Brechalon,” replied Senta.  “And from Freedonia.”

“So you’re not completely ignorant of what’s going on.”

“I know that Brechalon and Freedonia have broken off diplomatic relations.  It’s in the papers.  And I’ve dealt with Freedonian wizards before.”

“I’m only too aware of that,” said Bassington.  “Who do you think kept you out of prison?  You didn’t think it was Zurfina, did you?  What’s not in the papers is that Freedonia has ten million men under arms—the largest army assembled in the history of the world.”

“Brechalon has you though.  You’re the Great Wizard Bassington.  Just how good a wizard are you anyway?  You can’t be all that if you get yourself tied up in a barn.”

“I’m a third level Master Wizard,” said Bassington, waving his hand and lowering his eyes in what, Senta was sure, was false modesty.  “I do quite well.  But there is nobody on the planet today with Zurfina’s power.  That’s why she’s needed.  You’re needed too.  Don’t think that Freedonia doesn’t have plenty more wizards of its own.  It has many of them, and magical weapons too.  When war comes, it will involve the whole world.”

“Zurfina says that she and I don’t have to worry about countries and kings.  And I don’t think she has to worry about any wizard.”

“What about Suvir Kesi?”

“He was a bug,” sneered Senta.  “He got lucky.”

“Lucky or not, he could have killed her… and you.”

“Zurfina won’t let her guard down again.”

“You may be right, but what about other people?  Do you know what they’re doing to the Zaeri in Freedonia?”

“Yes, Mr. Wissinger, the writer, told me about the ghettos.  But the Zaeri are mistreated everywhere.  They are mistreated in Brechalon.”

“In Freedonia, they are being rounded up and put in cages—far worse than the ghettos.  All their possessions are taken away and sold.  They are worked to death in labor camps.”

“Well what is Zurfina supposed to do about that?” wondered Senta.  “What am I supposed to do about it?”

“Get ready.  The governor of Birmisia is sending an expedition to Tsahloose to establish trade relations.  They won’t be able to.  The Freedonians already have a foothold there.  Go with the expedition and see for yourself.  While you are there, if you find out anything interesting about Freedonian forces in Mallon, give that information to the governor.  She’ll contact me.”

“What makes you think Zurfina will let me go three hundred miles into dangerous territory, to a lizzie city?”

“Ask her.  If she says no, don’t go.”  Bassington smiled slyly.  “Do you think she’ll say no?”

Senta pursed her lips.  “Probably not.”

The waiter brought their food just as the sun was going down below the tall redwoods and another waiter was lighting the gas lights strung along the edges of the awning that covered the diners.  The wizard and the sorceress faced two great platters of pork chops with brown pudding, green beans, polenta, boiled potatoes, sliced tomatoes, and the course, dark bread for which the Finkler family was famous.  Senta picked at her food a bit, but Bassington dived in.

Senta leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms.  “You said you would answer any questions I had.”

“That’s right,” he said, carving his pork chop.

Iolana Staff is one of the characters in Senta and the Steel Dragon.  In book 5, The Two Dragons, she is just a child of 7.  It’s particularly fun for me to look back at her, as I’ve just finished writing an 11 year old Iolana in The Sorceress and her Lovers.  This is a pretty typical domestic scene in the Staff home.

“Augie and Terra are with their grandmother again today.”  A strange look passed over Mrs. Colbshallow’s face.  It was a combination of impish humor that Egeria Korlann, barely thirty-five and looking twenty-five should be called a grandmother, and discomfort that she herself at fifty-two did not yet warrant the title.  “Iolana is in the library, I believe.”

“She didn’t want to go?”

“I’m sure she was invited.  I think she wanted to stay home and read her book.”

“That girl reads too much,” opined Iolanthe.  “I don’t remember reading at all when I was eight years old.”

“She reminds me of Master Terrence when he was a boy.”

“Yes, well…”  Iolanthe untied the ribbon below her chin and took off her hat.  She handed it to Skye, who had just walked in, then turned to Ursal.  “You’re staying for dinner?”

“Thank you.  I will accept your invitation.”

Sweeping through the kitchen and down the hallway, Iolanthe made her way to the library.  Sure enough, Iolana was sitting in the overstuffed chair that her uncle had so often occupied.  Her feet were propped up on the antique tuffet and a massive book was splayed across her lap.

“Good afternoon, Iolana.”

The head of thick blond hair rocked back revealing the bow-shaped mouth, small freckled nose and striking aquamarine eyes.  Those eyes darted to the cuckoo clock on the wall and then back.

“Good afternoon, Mother.”

“How long have you been in here reading?” asked Iolanthe, stepping across the floor as a hunter approaches a doe.

“About three hours.”

“You shouldn’t read so much.  You should go upstairs and paint.”

“I don’t like to paint.”

“Why didn’t you go to Egeria’s?”  Iolanthe cupped the girl’s chin and tilted it up toward her face.  “You could have played her piano.”

“I wanted to read my book.”

“What is it that has you so engrossed?”

“It’s called “Steam”.

“Garstone?  In this house?”  She lifted the heavy volume out of the girl’s lap and turned to the inside cover.  In a careful scrawl across the page, was the barely legible signature of Kasia Garstone.  The corner of a white paper stuck out of the flap of the book jacket.  She pulled it out and found it was a receipt.  “Breeding Booksellers Limited.  Second of Hamonth, 1902.  Terrence Dechantagne.  Signed Garstone first edition.  Four thousand one hundred twenty-five marks!”

She sat the book down on her daughter’s knee.  “Is it any good?”

“Oh yes.”

“Have you given any thought to your party?”

“Um… not really.”

“Have you at least thought of a theme?” wondered Iolanthe.

“I thought maybe… goodbye to summer?”

“It’s three months till fall.  How about Accord Day?  That will give you almost a month.”

“Can we have fireworks?”

“There won’t be time to order any from Brech, but I’m sure we can find some, if not in town, then in Mallontah.”  Iolanthe cupped the girl’s chin again.  “I want a guest list tomorrow.  We’ll need to send it to the stationer by the end of the week.  And talk to Auntie Yadira about the food.  I’ve already spoken to Mr. Ghent about the music.”

“Yes Mother.”

“And thank you Mother,” prompted Iolanthe.

“Thank you Mother.”

“Don’t be late for dinner.”

“I won’t Mother.”