“Welcome to Schwarztogrube, Mr. Halifax,” said Sergeant Halser, saluting.

“Thank you.  No need to salute.  I’m a civilian after all.”

Mr. Halifax held out a hand and Sergeant Halser helped him out of the small boat and up onto the shaped stone dock on the lowest section of the ancient castle.  He was a short, rotund man wearing a white suit, the shirt of which was still stained with his lunch, eaten aboard the ship that had brought him.  Halifax led him up the stone stairway to the upper levels.

“Can you explain to me what happened?  The Judge Advocate General was rather vague in his description.”

“As far as anyone can tell, it was some kind of disease.  It could have been brought here by one of the guards returning from leave.  They were all killed.  Most of the prisoners.  A few of the boys.  The boys might have been less affected because of age or because they were all down near the water.  No one really knows.”

“I have no doubt it was due to mismanagement of some form or another,” opined Halifax.  “That’s why operations were taken away from the Ministry of War and were given to us.”

They reached a fork in the passageway.

“The north wing is this way, Sir.  It’s where the offices and kitchen are and most of the prisoners.”

“How many prisoners are there?”

“There are twelve surviving prisoners in the north wing; one in the south wing.”

“Only one?”

“Yes.  Prisoner eighty-nine was segregated from the others.  There’s no record of why.  Perhaps it is because she is the only woman.”

“A woman?  Here?”  Halifax frowned and licked his lips.

Halser nodded.

“Take me to her cell.”

Halser led his new superior up another set of stairs and down the stone hallway to a door with a single small, barred window.  Halifax had to stand on his tip-toes to peer through.  He could see a blond woman inside, dressed in rags, sweeping the floor of the cell with a broom.

“Open it.”

Halser unlocked the door and followed Halifax inside.  The woman immediately stopped sweeping and stood demurely with her head bowed.  The room was clean but Spartan.  Only a single window high up on the wall let in a square of sunlight.  Halifax glared accusingly at Halser.

“It was worse, when I got here, Sir.  I had the cot brought in and a chamber pot, and a broom so that she could clean the place up.”

“It’s true, Sir.  Sergeant Halser has been very kind.”

“Still, it seems poor treatment for a young lady, regardless of your crimes.  What is it you are here for?”

“I used magic without approval, Sir.  And when they tried to arrest me, I fought back.  I may have injured a wizard, Sir.”

Halifax’s expression said all too clearly that he thought the injury or death of a wizard to be a relatively minor offense.  “Well, you can’t do any magic here, so we don’t have to worry about that.  And what is your name, my dear?”

“Zurfina, Sir.”

“Zurfina.  Like the daughter of Magnus the Great?”

“Yes, Sir.”  Zurfina curtsied.

“Is there anything you need right now?”

“If it’s not too much trouble, Sir, I would appreciate a bucket of water so that I could bathe.  And if a needle and thread could be had, and some scraps of cloth so that I could make myself something to wear.”

“Sergeant Halser, see if you can find a bucket of water and some soap for the young lady, and a washrag too.  You can leave the keys with me.  I’ll lock up.”

“Yes, Sir.”

After the Sergeant had left, Halifax stepped close to the woman and reaching out, brushed the hair from her face.

“You are not unattractive.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

“Things are not going to be like before,” he said, pacing first toward the door and then back to her.  “There will be better food and cleaner conditions.  Maybe we could have some decent clothes brought from the mainland for you and perhaps an occasional sweet.”

“That would be most delightful, Sir.”

“When my duties allow, I could come to your cell here and visit with you.  Would you like that?  Would you be… cooperative?”

“Oh, yes sir.”

He reached out and brushed her hair back again, this time caressing her temple with his thumb.  “You do understand what I mean when I say cooperative, don’t you?”

Zurfina looked up from the floor and into his eyes.  She reached up and pulled his chubby hand from her face, moving it down to rest on her breast.

“I’m anxious to be cooperative,” she said.  “Very, very cooperative.”

The End.

“Kafira, help me!” pleaded Arthur McTeague, as he hung his face over the railing and vomited once again into the white-tipped waves of the open ocean.

“Buck up, my friend,” said Augie, slapping him on the back.  “Kafira helps those who help themselves.”

McTeague rolled over, hanging so precariously over the railing that Augie felt compelled to grab him by the collar and pull him back.  Though he had been fine for the first two days of the voyage from Birmisia, once they had hit the first bit of rough weather McTeague’s seasickness had surfaced.  He hadn’t been able to keep a meal down in almost a week.

“Curse you, Dechantagne.  How can you look so pleasant?”

“Well, I am pleasant, come to that.  You’ll be right as rain in um… well, a week or two.  A week or two in Mallontah, and then home to Brechalon.  And when we get to Mallontah, I’ll make you forget all about it.  I’ve still got that check from my sister.  Remember?  Wine, women, good food.”

At the word food, McTeague turned around again and spewed toward the ocean.

“I didn’t think you could have any more in you.”

“I should have just stayed in Birmisia.”

“You liked it there?”

“God no.  I hated it, but at least I didn’t puke my livers out there.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m coming back,” said Augie.  “You could come with me.”

“If I survive this trip, I’m never setting foot on a ship again.”

* * * * *

The inside of the divination shop was dim and smoky, but the room was rent by daylight, seemingly as bright as lightning, when Wizard Smedley Bassington swept in from the street, his rifle frock coat trailing behind him like a black cape.  In two long steps he was at the comfortable chair by the fireplace.  Sweeping the coat to one side, he sat down and placed first one black hobnail boot and then the other on the corner of the sorceress’s desk.  He crossed his arms and stared, his horn-rimmed glasses making his beady eyes seem even beadier.

“Madame de la Rosa,” he said.

The old sorceress behind the desk looked as though her skin was made of dried apples.  She was small and hunched over, even sitting there.  She raised a wrinkled hand and waved at the strikingly beautiful olive-skinned woman behind her.

“Amadea, get the wizard a cup of tea.”

Bassington waved the girl off, though his gaze carefully took in all of her curves.

“So what do you know?”  Though his eyes were still on the young woman, his question was for her mistress.

The old woman reached beneath the desk and pulled out the perfectly round pearly white orb, precisely thirteen and three fifths inches in diameter that Bassington had left in her care two days prior.  Given that Madame de la Rosa was a diviner, one could have been excused for assuming that it was a crystal ball of some type, but it wasn’t.  From its complex swirly white, silver, and grey appearance it might have seemed a pearl taken from some gigantic oyster, but it wasn’t.

“It is a dragon egg,” said Madame de la Rosa.

“Don’t waste my time.”

“Watch your mouth, Wizard,” hissed the young woman.

“Don’t mind Bassington, Amadea,” the old woman soothed.  “You may leave us.”

“What kind of dragon is it?” asked the wizard, once the girl had left.  “Gold?  Silver?  Flame?  Red?  Green?  Night?”

“It is a Mirlughth Dragon.”

“Never heard of it.”

“Mirlughth is an ancient shiny substance.  That’s all I can tell you about it.”  Madame de la Rosa pressed her fingertips together creating a steeple.  “There hasn’t been a Mirlughth Dragon seen in millennia.  This particular dragon will be very powerful and important.  He is destined to rule a vast land and be worshipped as a god.”

“Maybe we should destroy it now.”

“If you did, and I’m not sure you could, but if you did, you would be destroying an important ally of the Kingdom of Greater Brechalon.”

“Oh?  What else did you see?”

“The dragon will be raised and protected.  He has to be, you see.  He has to be raised and protected by someone powerful enough to be the surrogate parent to a dragon.  Do you know anyone like that?”

“I know who you’re talking about, but she’s in Schwarztogrube.”

“She won’t stay there.”

A look of panic briefly crossed the wizard’s face.

“Don’t worry.  She won’t get out for some time.  You have plenty of time to get out of the country.”  Her laugh was like seeds rattling inside a gourd.  “I don’t blame you.  I wouldn’t want her after me either.  But I know a magister we can trust, who will sell her the egg.  She’ll never know that either of us had anything to do with it.”

“How do you know she’ll even want a dragon?” asked Bassington.

“Come now.”

“Alright, but Zurfina’s not going to stay in Brechalon if… when she gets out.  What if she takes it to Freedonia or Mirsanna?  We certainly don’t want either of them to have a pet dragon.”

“You don’t want that,” replied the old sorceress.  “I don’t care one way or the other.  But there is an easy answer.  Do you know the name Dechantagne?”

“Vaguely.”

“The Dechantagne family is planning to build a Brech colony in Mallon or some other distant place.  A Brech colony would be the best of both worlds.  The dragon would be safe from Brechalon’s enemies and Zurfina would be safe from you and your masters.”

“How do you know that she’ll go to this new colony?”

“I’ll put a bug in her ear.  I feel certain that when she hears about it, she’ll be very interested.”

“I’ll leave it to you then,” said Bassington, getting to his feet.  “And don’t even think about playing any games.  I know where that egg is at all times, and you know what will happen to you if you cross me.”

“I couldn’t if I wanted to,” said Madame de la Rosa, her eyes looking at some distant object.  “Its future, like my own, is foreordained.”

“And keep an eye on that pretty little apprentice,” he said as he headed for the door.  “She’s already steeling from you.”

“I know.”  The old woman cackled again.  “Oh, Wizard Bassington?”

“Yes?”

“Wouldn’t you like me to answer the question that everyone else who comes to see me wants answered?”

“I’m not everyone else.”  He crinkled his forehead.  “What is it?”

“How you will die.”

“Alright.  Tell me.”

“Wouldn’t it be ironic if you, who have dealt such a blow to dragons by stealing their eggs, were to be killed by a dragon?”

“No.  It would be, um… whatever the opposite of ironic is.”

“Well, this is how you will die.  You will be killed by a dragon.”

Bassington looked thoughtful.  “Good,” he said, and left.

A large square of sunlight filled the center of the cell floor, and sprawled naked in the center of that square, was Zurfina.  She lifted her head up just enough to look around and then she slammed it back against the stone floor.  Then she lifted it up and slammed it back down again: once, twice, three times, till there was a bloody spot on the floor and a bloody contusion on her forehead.  The walls of the cell had all returned to their original stone texture.  Not even the arcane bloody scrawling remained.

Schwarztogrube really was proof against magic.  She had summoned the most ancient magic in the universe, a feat only possible because of the eclipse, and had used it to release the dead demon-gods that waited beyond the edge of sanity.  But even they had not been able to completely pierce the veil.  Even that magic was not enough.  Without the power of the eclipse, it was not enough, and the eclipse had not lasted long enough.  And it would be a long time before the next full eclipse over Schwarztogrube.

“Eight thousand four hundred thirty seven days!” Zurfina wailed.  “Kafira’s bloody twat!”

She looked up at the ceiling as if she could see the sky beyond it and dared the Zaeri-Kafirite God and his crucified daughter to strike her dead.  Could even his magic penetrate this magic-proof hell?  Prove it!

* * * * *

“Is it over?” asked Senta.

“Yup.”  Maro stood up from the pinhole camera that he had made to watch the eclipse, in actuality nothing but a small pasteboard box with a hole cut in the side.  Shining in through the tiny hole, the image of the sun had been visible on the back side, and as the moon had moved across the sun, the small white orb in the box had been covered and then uncovered.

“That was pretty ace, wasn’t it?”

“I guess so,” said Senta.  “I wish we could have watched the real thing.”

“You’d be blinded.”

“Yeah.  I’m glad you were able to make it with only eight fingers.”

Maro nodded and looked at the three remaining fingers on his right hand.

“Maybe someday you’ll be really rich and you can pay a wizard to regrow your fingers for you,” offered Senta.

“Maybe I’ll get so used to having eight fingers I won’t want my other ones back.  I bet pretty soon I’ll be able to do my eight times as good as you can do your tens.”

“What’s seven times eight?”

“Fifty six.”

“Is that right?”

“Yup.”

“Wow.”  Senta looked impressed and she was.  “What are we doing now?”

“I don’t know what you’re doing, but I’m going to play Mirsannan cricket at the park.  You can’t go because you’re a girl.”

“Then I’m going to the toy store and buy a doll.”

“You don’t have enough money to buy a doll.”

“Uh-huh.  For pretend.”

“Yeah, alright.”

“You know when you said my mom didn’t want me?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t understand it.”

“What?”

“Well, look at me.  I’m just cute.”

* * * * *

“Eight thousand four hundred thirty seven days,” Zurfina told herself.  “I’ll be old.  Well, I’ll be older.”

The sorceress was already far older than she appeared.  Thanks to magic used long ago, her body was much younger than it should have been.  But it was aging now.  Here in this place where magic had no hold, it was aging.  In eight thousand four hundred thirty seven days, she would most surely begin to look old—not as old as her true age, but old.  Too old.  She would have no youth, just as now she had no magic.  She couldn’t wait eight thousand four hundred thirty seven days.  She had to get out.  But she couldn’t use magic.  What could she use?  What did she have?

She had her youth… for now.  She had her beauty… for now.  She had this body, this body that men wanted… for now.  She had to use what she had.

The thing on the other side of the membrane between two worlds tested it once again, and a moment later it burst through.  It was long, thick tentacle, necrotic grey and covered with suction cups.  It searched along the stone floor of the cell, tentatively at first.  Then it touched the sorceress sitting naked and chanting and suddenly it shook and thrashed throughout the chamber.

“No!” shouted Nils Chapman and he jumped in front of Zurfina.  The tentacle found him and wrapped around his waist.

“No!” he cried again, and then it yanked him so violently that the snapping of his neck was clearly audible, as it pulled him beyond the shimmering veil.

Suddenly the room was filled with a hundred tentacles, touching every inch of the cell, caressing the woman like a demonic lover.  She slowly rose to her feet, the tips of the alien appendages touching every inch of her skin.

“Uuathanum eetarri blechtore maiius uusteros vadia jonai corakathum nit.”

A black fog poured into the cell from all four walls.  It filled up the tiny chamber and sprayed through the openings in the door, creeping down the corridors of the prison and into every room and every cell, every nook and every alcove.

* * * * *

“How is it?”

“It was ace,” replied Saba.  “Now I just want the sun to come back.”

“Don’t be like that.”  Yuah stepped down the stairs from the back door and put an arm around the boy’s shoulders.  “Let me take a look.”

Saba held the square of magic glass up and Yuah pressed her eye to it, leaning back to find the sun.  “There.  The sun’s starting to move out from behind the moon.  In a few minutes everything will be just like it was before.”

“Good.”

“You shouldn’t let Miss D ruin your fun.  She’s a right bitch, you know.”

“No, she’s not.”

“She is.”

“Well, it’s not her fault.”

“What do you mean?” asked Yuah.

“Nothing.  Here.  Do you want this?”  Saba pushed the magic glass into her hands and started up the stairs into the house.

* * * * *

 Zurfina smiled as the dead grey tentacles caressed her.

“Now I will leave and now I will lay my vengeance on this stony prison and this little kingdom and this world.”  She raised her arms and began her final incantation.  “Uuthanum…”

At that moment a thin streak of light entered from the small window high up on the wall.  It was so tiny that it might have gone totally unnoticed, had it not stuck the first and largest of the grey arms moving around the cell.  But the tiny sliver of sunlight burned through the tentacle like a hot ember through a slice of bread.  The great tentacle jerked and thrashed about the room and the other appendages did too, one of them striking the woman and throwing her halfway across the floor.  More sunlight entered through the window and all of the unearthly, unholy members were yanked back through the portals that shimmered where the walls of the cell had once been.

“No!  No, I’m not finished!” screamed Zurfina.

* * * * *

Yuah stood in the courtyard, idly staring up at the eclipse, and totally unaware that she was being watched from a window on the third floor.  Terrence watched her, appraising her in a way that he didn’t bother appraising other women.  There was no doubt that she was beautiful.  She wore no makeup, had her hair pulled back into a bun wrapped by a maid’s cap, and she wore a simple servant’s dress with minimal bustle and almost no color.  And yet she was one of the most beautiful women that he had ever seen.  There was no doubt about that.  Iolanthe was thought to be a great beauty and with her flawless skin and those striking aquamarine eyes, she was something special.  Yuah’s chocolate brown eyes had a tenderness and an innocence in them though that one would never find in his sister’s, and Yuah’s features were perfect.  She could have been one of those women that the great sculptors of old used as a model.  She was just the right height and she was well-proportioned.  So what if she was a bit skinny.

Yuah was almost perfect.  But Terrence didn’t want an almost perfect woman.  He had thrown away any chance at a wife and a family and a home.  That was not going to be his future.  His future was far away, in another time and another place, on a great field of purple flowers with a woman who was frighteningly perfect.  He turned away from the window and climbed back into bed, pulling the box filled with small blue vials from beneath the pillow.

Chapter Eight:  Day One Thousand Nine Hundred Eighty Four

 “What do you have there?” asked Zeah.

“It’s magic glass,” replied Saba, holding up a small square of very dark but very shiny material.

“This conversation sounds like the beginning of a fairy tale.  Did you trade your magic beans to get this magic glass?”

“Don’t be silly Mr. Korlann.  I didn’t have any magic beans and this cost me 75P.”

“Good heavens.  Why would you pay 75 pfennigs for that?”

“For the eclipse.”

“Eclipse?”

“Sure.  There’s an eclipse today.  Almost a full one.  If we were in the channel it would be full.  It would get dark in the middle of the day.”

“Oh yes, yes.  It was in the paper.  I imagine it will be spectacular enough right here in Brech City.  But what is the glass for?”

“Haven’t you ever heard that you shouldn’t stare at an eclipse because you’ll go blind?”

“Of course.”

“I can’t tell you how much that has worried me since I found that out,” said Saba.  “I’m always afraid that I might accidentally look at the sun and it would be just my luck that there was an eclipse going on right then and I would go blind.”

“Well, first off, there’s nothing special about an eclipse that is worse on your eyes.  Stare at the sun anytime, eclipse or no, and you risk damage to your…”

“Anyway,” the boy interrupted.  “I got this glass so I can watch the eclipse.  You can stare at it all day through this and not get blinded.  Can’t see a bloody thing through it now though.”  He tried to look at the head butler through the small pane held to his right eye.

“Let’s hope it really works,” said Zeah skeptically.  “I trust you bought it from a reputable dealer.”

“Sure.  I got it at the potion shop on Avenue Phoenix.  They’re selling loads of them.  If it doesn’t work, they’ll be hip deep in angry blind people.”

* * * * *

“It’s almost time now, Pet,” said Zurfina looking at the sun, through the tiny window high up on the wall.

Nils Chapman was crawling on his knees next to her.  Shaking and twitching uncontrollably, he no longer had the ability to stand on his own.  This didn’t bother him, because he no longer had the ability to think on his own either.  He crawled along on all fours drooling like a dog to the center of the cell.

Zurfina peeled off the filthy rags that had been her only clothing since she had been brought to this hellhole one thousand nine hundred eighty four days before.  She tossed them aside and sat down cross-legged in the center of the cell.  Chapman pressed against her, but she pushed him away, and closing her eyes, she began to chant.

“Uuthanum, uuthanum, uuthanum, uuthanum.”  She repeated the word over and over again.  Twenty times.  A hundred times.  Slowly the room became darker and darker.  She continued to chant.  The eclipse was at his height.

Chapman screamed.  Zurfina opened her eyes and smiled.  The four walls were walls no more.  They were shining, rippling, silvery surfaces like the surface of frighteningly cold and deep water.  Sounds could be heard from the other side—freakish, awful piping noises that tugged at one’s sanity.  Then the surface directly in front of her bubbled and churned, touched by something on the other side of that boundary between cell eighty-nine and the abyss beyond.

“Yes!” Zurfina screamed.  Then she began reciting a new set of words.  “Uuathanum eetarri.  Uuthanum eetarri.  Uuthanum blechtore.  Uuthanum blechtore.  Uuthanum maiius.”

* * * * *

“So can you see the eclipse?”

“Sure.  It’s ace,” said Saba, standing in the courtyard.  Then he turned and saw who was speaking and flinched.

“Would you like to take a look, Miss?” he asked, offering Iolanthe the magic glass pane.

Taking the almost opaque square, she held it up to her eye and pointed her face toward the sky.

“Interesting.  It looks like a halo.”

“Yeah.  Yeah, it does look like a halo, um… Miss.”

“It doesn’t feel like a halo, though, does it?”

“Miss?”

“Look at it again,” she said, handing back the magic glass.  “This time, tell me what you feel.”

The boy looked again and suddenly shuddered.  When he looked back at her, his face was accusing.  She had made him aware of something he hadn’t noticed before.  There was something evil about the eclipse, and though he had looked forward to the event since he had first heard about it from his mother, now all he wanted was the return of the sun in its full glory.

“I make a hundred and fifty feet,” said Lieutenant Arthur McTeague, without taking his eyes from the binoculars.

“Decrease elevation two degrees,” called Lieutenant Augie Dechantagne.

“Ready!” called Corporal Worthy from the centermost 105mm howitzer.

“Fire.”  There was a long pause and then a distant explosion.

“Oops.  You’re long,” said McTeague.  “I mean, longer.”

“Kafira damn it!” yelled Augie.  “I said decrease elevation!  Decrease!”

“Sorry sir!  Ready sir!”

“Fire!”

“On target,” said McTeague, after the wait.

“Lay down a pattern of fire!”  The five guns began rapidly firing, only to be immediately reloaded and fired again.

McTeague lowered his binoculars and pulled his earplugs from his pocket.  Stuffing them into his ears, he walked over to stand next to Augie.

“Why are we shelling this village again?”

“I didn’t ask,” Augie replied.

“Do you suppose they’re going to counter-attack?”

“It’s not my job to worry about it.  It’s theirs.”  Augie pointed to the line of Royal Marines, their red coats and white pith helmets clearly visible halfway between the guns and the lizzie village that was rapidly becoming a flaming hell.

“Well, I suppose they needed to be taught a lesson.  Put the fear of God and his Majesty into them.”

“This will certainly teach them something,” said Augie.

 * * * * *

“It says here that the remaining robber will be moved to Herinnering Gaol as soon as he is ready to leave hospital,” said Mrs. Colbshallow, her face buried in the morning paper.  “And Miss D is being considered for a Citizen’s Safety Award.”

“It’s considered safe to shoot two people now, is it?”  It was Merriman, the main floor butler.  “If I’d shot two men, I’d be in prison.  She shoots two men and they give her a bloody medal.”

“Best not to think things like that,” said Zeah.

“Especially out loud,” added Yuah.

“It’s you, Yuah, that she usually wants to shoot,” said Barrymore, the upstairs butler, grinning.

“She can’t shoot me.  She couldn’t live without me.”

“Don’t get cheeky,” said Zeah.  “I had to hire four new ones this week.”

“Well, it’s not as if these men didn’t deserve to get shot,” said Mrs. Colbshallow.  “Imagine trying to rob someone in broad daylight.  We need more police, that’s what we need.”

“I’m going to be a copper in a few years,” said Saba, walking in from the front hallway and sitting down.

“No you aren’t,” his mother informed him.  “I would be forever worrying.  It’s far too dangerous for any child of mine.”

Saba didn’t reply to his mother or point out that he was the only child of hers.  He just scooped up large mounds of fried eggs, white pudding, and sausages.  Mrs. Colbshallow went back to commenting on the news, particularly how information of the coming eclipse did not belong in the weather section.  With Saba’s addition there were eleven people eating breakfast in the servant’s hall at that moment, a good portion of the staff having already eaten and started on their morning duties, and those few who had the overnight shift had mostly already gone to bed.  Marna, one of the last of the latter group came in from the side hallway, looking like she could fall asleep on her feet at any moment.

“Yuah, Master Terrence wants to see you,” she said.

“I’m not interested.”

“I’m just the messenger.”

Yuah turned to look at Marna, and saw Terrence standing in the hallway several paces behind her.

“I’m not his valet.”  With careful precision, she lifted her chin into the air and turned back to the table.  “I’m the dressing maid.”

A minute later, under the guise of reaching for a scone, she cast a sideways look at the spot where he had been standing to find that he was now gone.

* * * * *

Karl Drury was a shadow of his former self—literally.  As far as anyone knew, he still made his rounds through the fortress of Schwarztogrube, he still hurled insults at almost everyone, and he still stuffed his ugly face in the mess hall.  If he beat some of the prisoners less than he used to or abused the boys less than he used to, who was going to complain about that?  The only one who seemed bothered by Drury these days was Nils Chapman.  He began to shake every time Drury entered the room and he refused to look at him.  But Chapman knew what nobody else did.  That was not really Karl Drury.  The real Karl Drury was dead.  He had dropped the sadistic guard’s body into the ocean himself.  Of course Nils Chapman was a shadow of his former self too—figuratively.  His eyes had gone dull and his skin was pale.  He didn’t sleep anymore and he could hardly eat.

“One thousand nine hundred eighty three days,” he muttered to himself over and over again, from his spot, curled up in a ball in the corner of cell eighty-nine.

“Don’t worry, Pet.”  Zurfina reached down and stroked his hair.  “It’s almost over.  This time tomorrow we’ll both be gone.”

Chapman grabbed hold of her leg and held it close as he kept his eyes pressed tightly shut.  He couldn’t bear to see the walls, all four of which were covered in ghastly markings of smeared blood, and all four of which pulsed and throbbed sickeningly.

Chapter Seven: Victories

My Dear Miss Dechantange,

 It was with deep regret that I left your company on the twenty-fifth, but I ease the ache within me by recalling the week that I spent with you.  Surely no other fine lady of the Great City can equal you in hospitality, graciousness, or dare I say beauty.

The funds that you forwarded for the new machine have been received and put to good use.  I have hired a new assistant in whom I see a great deal of promise.  With her assistance and with the aid of Mr. Murty, of whom I believe I spoke during our conversations, we should be ready to begin construction within a matter of weeks.

I will of course keep you informed of the major milestones as they occur, but I would very much enjoy a visit by you to University Ponte-a-Verne.  I believe you would find the architecture and the gardens to your liking and the village has many interesting sites as well.  I would be more than pleased to extend some semblance of the kind courtesy that you offered me.

Eagerly awaiting your next letter,

Your humble servant,

Merced Baines Calliere Ph.D.

Iolanthe folded the letter closed and with a satisfied smile, placed it in her letterbox.  Clearly the Professor was smitten.  She thought that he was someone that she could marry.  He was certainly interesting, from a well-placed if not wealthy family.  He was intelligent and relatively resourceful.  Best of all he seemed willing enough to be led, which would spare her from the tiresomeness of a man who would pretend to be her master.  That there was no spark of passion, at least from her perspective, didn’t bother her.  She had never known it and she didn’t believe it existed.

She placed the letterbox in the bottom drawer of her private desk just as the head butler entered, carrying a silver tray.

“The morning post has arrived, Miss.”

The letter from Professor Calliere had arrived on the evening post the day before.  Iolanthe typically did not open her letters until she was ready to reply to them, but she took the bundle of envelopes, tied together with a bit of red ribbon, and looked through them.  There was a letter from Mrs. Godwin back in Shopton, Mont Dechantagne and there were several bills from the carpenters that should have gone to her solicitor.  Then there was an official looking envelope with a golden wax seal, which when opened, was revealed as a hand-written note from the Prime Minister.

Dear Miss Dechantagne,

I have made the arrangements we discussed earlier.  The vehicle in question will be under refit for the next nine months, so I suggest you plan your timetable accordingly.

With Regards,

E. P.

“Why Prime Minister, how very cloak and dagger of you.  ‘The vehicle in question.’  No one would suspect that a vehicle under refit would be a ship.”  She laughed.

“Muh… Miss?”

“What is it, Zeah?”

“Are um… are you really going to Mallon?”

“If I do, don’t worry.  You shall go with me.”

“Muh… me?”

“Of course, Zeah.  Why, I wouldn’t be able to function without you.”

“But, what would I duh… do?”

“I’m sure we’ll find enough to keep you busy.”  She smiled.  “Now, have the car brought around.  My brother and I are going out.”

Zeah raised his eyebrows.  He hadn’t seen much of Master Terrence at all in the three months he had been home.  But he hurried off to see that the vehicle was made ready.  It was more than simply bringing it around.  Care had to be taken to see that the boiler was filled with water and the firebox was filled with coal and lit and that a good volume of steam was allowed to build up.

Half an hour later, Iolanthe sat impatiently behind the steering wheel.  Her leather driving gloves just matched her green day dress.  The tall black top hat with white flowers that she had chosen was tied to her head with a large strip of green ribbon.  Zeah, who stood on the sidewalk, watched as her eyes grew narrower and narrower.  He was very happy when at last Master Terrence walked down the steps.  Terrence wore a new grey suit with a red plaid vest.  He had shaved, but had dark bags under his eyes.  Rather than climbing into the passenger seat, he walked around to the driver’s side.

“Move over,” he said.

“I’m driving,” said Iolanthe.

“No.  No, you’re not.”

“It is the year of our Lord eighteen hundred ninety seven and women can drive.”

“Some women can drive.  Not you.  Scoot over.”

Iolanthe pursed her lips but moved across the seat to the other side, careful not to smash her bustle.  Folding her hands in her lap, she waited for her brother to climb in and get settled.  He released the brake with his right hand and stepped on the forward accelerator with his right foot, and they were off.

“Where are we going now?”  Terrence asked.

“King’s Park Oval.  You remember where it is?”

“Of course I remember.”  He pressed his foot down on the decelerator and whipped around the fountain of Lord Oxenbourse and drove north up Scrum Boulevard.  “Why are we going there?”

“West Brumming is playing Ville Colonie.”

“I thought you hated cricket.”

“I don’t hate cricket.”

“Yes you do.  You hate all sports.”

“I don’t hate sports.”  Iolanthe explained.  “I just don’t see the point of watching a group of men you don’t even know play at games, let alone of rooting for them.  I went to one or two games when I was at university.”

“Well, St. Dante isn’t playing.  So why are we going now?”

“I thought it would be good for you to get out of the house for a bit.  You’ve hardly gone out of doors since you arrived.”

“Hmm,” said Terrence noncommittally.  He concentrated on his driving but after a few minutes felt his sister’s eyes on him.  “What?”

“Perhaps you should visit a bordello.”

Terrence almost lost control of the vehicle and swerved into another lane.  “Kafira!”

“I know men have needs.”

“Iolanthe…”

“Perhaps that’s why you’re feeling poorly.”

“Please stop talking.”

“When was the last time you were with a woman?”

“If you don’t shut up, I may never be able to be with a woman again.”

“All I’m saying is that it may not be healthy to keep things bottled up, so to speak.”

Terrence stamped down on the forward accelerator taking the steam carriage near its top speed of forty miles per hour, but had to almost immediately decrease the speed to turn off onto the grassy drive to the cricket grounds.  Thankfully Iolanthe remained quiet as he parked the car at the end of a line of similar vehicles.  He climbed down and walked around to help her down.  She opened her parasol and took his arm and they walked toward the bleachers.

“Just think about it,” she said.

“Shut up,” he snapped, and then muttered.  “I shall be able to think of little else.”

Ville Colonie had been designated as the visitors, randomly it seemed as this was the home grounds of neither team.  Ville Colonie was a village on the small channel island of Petitt Elvert, while West Brumming was a small town about fifty miles north of Brech City.  The team members from the north were dressed in white shirts and grey dungarees, while the team from Ville Colonie, as might be expected from those descended from Mirsannan immigrants, were flamboyantly arrayed in bright blue stripes.  Next to the home team hutch were several dozen chairs around tables with large parasols, where all of the women and the men who were with them sat, while next to the visitors’ hutch was a grandstand filled entirely with men.

“Good heavens,” said Iolanthe.  “I had no idea that cricket was so popular.  There must be four hundred people here.”

“I doubt there’s anyone left in either of those towns.”  Terrence led his sister to one of the few remaining empty tables, pulled out a chair for her, and then sat down himself.

The two team captains joined the umpire on the pitch for the coin toss.  It was determined that Ville Colonie would bat first and the players took their positions.  The West Brumming bowler was getting his eye in as a heavyset blond batsman waited.  At last the match started as the bowler sent a beautiful bouncer down the wicket, but a loud crack indicated a shot and the two batsmen, including the big chap went running.

“Would you like something to drink?” Terrence asked.

“Is there a waiter?” wondered Iolanthe, looking around.

“No, there’s a snack kiosk over there.”  He pointed to a small shed just beyond the visiting team hutch.  “What would you like?”

“I don’t suppose they have any wine.”

“I doubt it.”

“A beer then.”

Terrence took his place in the queue, only occasionally looking back at the game.  He wasn’t really that interested in cricket, even though he had played it at university.  There was no point in telling Iolanthe though.  Once she had her head set on something, it wasn’t likely to change.  He purchased two bottles of beer, which came in tall brown bottles with cork stoppers.

Just as he turned around to leave, he was approached by a young woman with long red hair.  She was dressed in a long brown skirt and a white blouse and looked as though she might have just come from a factory job.  She was pretty, in a course sort of way, and she wore no makeup.

“Can you help me, Sir?” she asked, and then turned and began to walk away before Terrence could answer.

He shrugged and followed her, a beer bottle in each hand, around the corner of the kiosk and between a pair of small sheds.  As he made the second corner, Terrence came face to face with three men.  Two of them were brandishing knives.  For a second he didn’t recognize them.  Then suddenly he did.  They were three men outside Blackwood’s.  The memory of the white opthalium made his eyes water slightly.  What was it that Blackwood called the first fellow… Mickey, Mikey, Mika?

“Thanks luv.  Hurry on your way,” said Mika to the girl, who quickly left.  He then turned and smiled unpleasantly at Terrrence.  “You’re so happy t’see me your eyes are waterin’ eh?”

“I’m sentimental,” Terrence replied.

The toughs had chosen their spot well.  They were shielded from the street by a hedgerow and from the cricket game and the spectators by the sheds.  Without conscious thought, Terrence’s mind ran through his options.  He could drop one of the beers and go for the pistol in his pocket.  He could simply bash the bottles into a couple of skulls.  In either scenario, he’d probably take at least one knife blade.  He could always yell for help.  There were plenty of people within earshot, probably even a copper.  Again, he’d probably get stabbed.  Besides, he’d never yelled for help in his life.

“Care for a beer?” he asked.

“I’m goin’ t’enjoy lettin’ the air outa you.”

Suddenly there was a loud report followed by a wet smack and the man behind Mika, Mika’s brother Terrence suddenly remembered, dropped to the ground with a massive hole in his chest pouring out blood like a johnny pump.  Before anyone had time to think or to move or to think about moving, three more shots rang out.  The beer bottles in Terrence’s hands exploded and then a good portion of Mika’s jaw was ripped off his face.  He dropped to the ground with a gurgled scream, while the third man in the group turned and ran.  Terrence turned to his left, still holding the shattered remains of the bottles, to find Iolanthe in a cloud of gun smoke, a forty five caliber pistol pointed in his general direction.  It was an exact match to the one in his pocket save only that hers had a pearl handle.

“Kafira’s tit, Iolanthe!  You almost hit me.”

“You’re welcome,” she replied, closing her left eye and taking a bead on the fleeing man’s back.

“Let him go,” he said, and looked down at the sad remains of Mika, now whining pitifully.

A police constable came jogging up from behind Terrence, followed by a few cricket players, one carrying a bat, as well as a few stout fellows from the grandstand.

“These men were trying to rob my brother,” said Iolanthe, stepping forward.

“Oh, it’s you, Miss Dechantagne,” said the constable.  “Are you injured?”

“No PC, thank you for asking, but I believe one or both of the men I shot may be in need of ambulance service.”

The constable knelt down and checked Mika’s brother for a pulse.

“This one doesn’t need an ambulance.  He’s dead.  What are these boys doing so far from the Bottom?”

“Not to belabor the point,” said Iolanthe.  “But I believe they were practicing daylight robbery.”

“Even so.  Will you be leaving now?”

“Of course not.  The match is not over.”  She flipped open the revolver and used her fingernail to pull out the spent cartridges.  “Come along Terrence.”

The constable left for the police telegraph box to call for an ambulance, while a man from the grandstand rendered what aid there was to give.  Everyone else, including the Dechantagne siblings wandered back toward the game.  Terrence, who was still holding the spouts and necks of the broken bottles, dropped them in a dust bin as they rounded the corner to the snack kiosk.

“Where did you have that pistol?” he asked.  “You don’t have a handbag.”

“I have plenty of room for it under my dress.”

He glanced at his sister’s form.  While the top of her dress was very form-fitting indeed, the bottom half of her, thanks to her bustle and voluminous undergarments, blossomed out to such a degree that she could have hidden the arsenal for the good part of a rifle company within her skirts.

“That’s pretty,” said Senta.  “Is that a sunset or a rainbow?”

She was

walking down Contico Boulevard, hand in hand with her cousin Bertice.  Mrs. Gantonin who lived next door had told Granny about a family whose boys had died and who were now giving away their clothes.  With a house full of children, free clothes were not to be overlooked lightly.

“What are you talking about, you little bint?”

“Up there.”  Senta pointed off to the right.

“Didn’t you learn that the sun rises in the east and sets in the west?  That way is south.  How could it be sunset?  Besides, it’s only half past four.  I’d still be at work if they hadn’t run out of number four thread.”

“A rainbow, then?”

“There’s no rainbow.  There’s not been a drop of rain for a week.  How could there be a rainbow.  I don’t see anything at all.”

“Well, I see something.  It’s swirly with red and yellow and blue and purple, like a storm that’s coming, only made out of colors.”

“You need to get your eyes fixed, you do,” said Bertice, giving her arm a yank.