“Wasn’t that a lovely ceremony?” asked Hero.
“It seemed very nice from down here.”
“Don’t be cross. Benny and Shemar both invited us to ride in their steam carriages to the reception. Who do you want to go with?”
Senta rolled her eyes. “Quite frankly I’d rather take the trolley.”
“Are you sure? Benny’s car is brand new and candy apple red.”
Senta looked over Hero’s shoulder at Benny Markham, who was puffing himself up with pride. She liked Benny, Shemar too for that matter, but she wasn’t too fond of steam carriages.
“Do as you wish. I’m taking the trolley.”
When Senta stepped out of the pew, all four of the young men who were waiting jumped to get out of her way. And though most of the congregation had by that time already exited the church, those that remained quickly cleared the aisle for her. She heard Hero behind her.
“Sorry boys. You can give me a ride later.” A moment later, her friend was at her right elbow.
“Isn’t this dress beautiful?” asked Hero, as they stepped out of the church into the bright sunshine. “I couldn’t believe it when Egeria had me try it on and then she said I could keep it.”
“What else would she do with it?”
“Well, she could keep it. I bet we’re about the same size.”
“Egeria Lusk is probably one of three women on the continent who have more dresses than I do. She doesn’t need another one.”
“Egeria Korlann,” Hero corrected.
“Egeria Korlann,” Senta agreed.
“What do you suppose they’re going to do with all those shoes?”
“Throw them away, of course. People only throw old shoes at weddings—ones they were going to throw away anyhow. Why?”
“It just seems kind of wasteful.”
By this time they had traversed the twenty four great stone steps down from the front door of the Church of the Apostles to the street level. Crowds of people were milling around on the sidewalk and on the front lawn, despite the signs warning to stay off the grass. Both sides of Terrence Dechantagne Boulevard were lined with steam carriages—more than Senta remembered ever having seen at one time. The bright summer sun reflected off of their bonnets and the cobblestone that lined all four lanes of the street.
“I wish that I had brought my parasol,” said Hero, looking up at the sky. “If we’re out her very long, we might get a tan.”
Senta held out her hand. “Sieor uuthanum sembia,” she said. Two parasols appeared in her palm, one teal and one purple. She handed the teal one to Hero.
“Hey, that’s nice. Where did you get these?”
“Created them.”
“They’re really pretty.”
“Minor creation. It’s not that powerful a spell really.”
“But these have lace,” marveled Hero, as she spread her parasol open. “It has a complex opening mechanism and the spokes are made from bamboo.”
“That’s why it will only last a few hours.”
“Oh.”
“It’s just as well. We don’t want to destroy the economy for makers of parasols. Look, let’s get down to the trolley stop.”
The trolley was coming. Terrence Dechantagne Boulevard had been built in an area set aside early on for expansion of the transportation system. It served as the spine of Port Dechantagne, consisting of two northbound lanes and two southbound lanes, separated by a twenty foot wide grassy median through which the trolley tracks ran. Marching along this grassy sward, pulling a green and yellow trolley car was a monstrous three-horned beast. The triceratops was easily as large as the trolley car that it pulled, even though it was only about ten years old. It showed little interest in either the steam carriages or the pedestrians, but moved purposefully toward the marked ground at the trolley stop, where it had learned it would be rewarded with tasty shrubs and tree seedlings.
Senta and Hero walked down the cement sidewalk to the edge of the road, across the red brick lanes of the street, to the small awning over four bench seats that served as the stop. The trolley had already halted and the conductor was feeding the triceratops by the time they arrived. Senta stepped around behind the conductor and stroked the dinosaur just behind the nose horn.
“Careful,” said the conductor, as he turned around. “She doesn’t often bite but… oh… sorry.”
“How are you today, Harriet?” Senta spoke to the triceratops. It seemed to take no notice.
She and Hero climbed up the steps and into the trolley car. Senta dropped two pfennigs into the glass box. Then she sat down next to her friend just behind the driver’s position. More and more people stepped up into the car, filling in the seats from the back forward. By the time the conductor had finished feeding Harriet and had climbed back inside, all of the seats with the exception of the two next to Senta had been filled, and eight people stood holding on to the handrail.
“Did everyone pay their pfennig?” asked the driver. A few people nodded, but most ignored the question. Only about half the passengers had in fact dropped a coin into the container. Picking up a small crop, he whacked the triceratops on the rear end, and it jerked the trolley into motion. Then he rang the bell.
I was cruising right along with Kanana the Jungle Girl. It was originally very Burroughsian with a little modern sci-fi interpretation ala Amathar.
City of Amathar 