Zeah had often wondered at the vagaries of fate which had colluded to make him the grandfather of anyone named Augustus Dechantagne.  Having served as the head butler for the Dechantagne family for most of his life, he had known two previous individuals of that name and had known of many more.  That he might find himself connected in any way other than as a servant to any one of them would have surprised him, but now he found himself related by blood to all of them.  The first Augustus Dechantagne that Zeah had personally known had been Iolanthe’s grandfather.  He was a stuffy, heavy-set old gentleman with grey sideboards and a sour look on his face—no doubt attributable to a series of ailments from gout to cancer of the stomach.  The second Augustus Dechantagne, whose name now adorned one of several city parks, had been Iolanthe’s younger brother.  A happy and friendly young man, he had never been too far away from a pretty girl or an open bottle, and had been gifted with the good fortune to die heroically in battle while he was still young, well-thought of, and handsome.  And now here was Zeah’s own grandchild—Augustus Marek Virgil Dechantagne, a precocious boy who looked so much like his father that his mother sometimes burst into tears just looking at him.  It was odd, Zeah thought, that though he had been a servant of the other two Augustus Dechantagnes, it was this one to whom he found it most difficult to say no.

“The woods” was a strip of land along the coast east of the promontory which had been left in a more or less natural state.  Fine homes on large estates, such as the one Zeah had acquired by marrying Egeria, could be found to the west, even larger and more majestic mansions, such as the Governor’s were found to the south, and a large neighborhood of smaller homes, mostly belonging to Zaeri refugees from Freedonia stood to the east, but the woods remained a kind of nature preserve between.  And to the children’s eyes it was a mysterious forest primeval.  Zeah had taken the children on a walk through the trees many times, teaching them to identify the trees by the shape of their leaves and needles; and the birds by their call.  The woods were full of cormorants, snipes, rails, and wrens, and near the coastal edge: godwits, grebes, puffins, and pelicans.  There were also the peculiar birds which made Birmisia so strange: microraptors, caudipteryx, buitreraptors, bambiraptors, meilong, and mahakala.  There were velociraptors too, but as long as they weren’t hunting in a pack, adult humans at least were safe.

Zeah led the children along the path in a line, until they reached an area with large exposed tree roots, when he picked up and carried Terra.  Augie and Iolana followed hand in hand.  The sun filtered through the tops of the trees, creating a patchwork of sunlight across the forest floor.  They marched along until they came to the edge of the woods and to the beach just beyond.  Here Zeah set his granddaughter back down.

Unlike the coast to the west of the peninsula which was rocky, the beach here was a strip of remarkably white sand fifteen to twenty feet wide.  The children all took off their shoes so that they could feel the sand between their toes as they walked, and after a few steps, Zeah did the same.  It wasn’t long before Augie had found a shell, and then a sand dollar.  Then they were all scurrying down the beach, collecting treasures as they went.  All three children soon had their arms full, though Terra managed to drop more than she held onto.

All three children were so engrossed in their beachcombing that the rest of the world was forgotten.  It had been a long time since Zeah had been a child though, and for him the rest of the world was omnipresent.  So when a figure stepped out from among the trees a hundred yards ahead, he saw it immediately.  It was a bird, but not a skittish little beast like those they had seen along the way.  It was a deinonychus, the larger cousin of the velociraptor.  It was almost man-sized though it walked with its nose near the ground.  Even bent over, it was taller than Zeah’s waist and more than seven feet from the front of its teeth-filled mouth to the tip of its tufted tail.  It was covered in brown feathers.  Deinonychus were common, but seldom came this close to town anymore.  This one was beachcombing, and it had found what it would surely consider treasures.

“Children,” snapped Zeah, in a forceful voice he seldom used.  “To me, now!”

Iolana moved toward him without stopping to think about it.  Augie looked up at his grandfather in surprise.  Little Terra looked up, but not at Zeah.  She looked up to see the deinonychus as its head snapped to look in the direction of the man’s voice.  She let out a little squeak.  Children learned early on in Port Dechantagne the large, many-toothed birds such as the velociraptor, deinonychus, and utahraptor were not to be trifled with.

The deinonychus took only a second to recognize its prey.  It would not have attempted a grown man, unless starving.  But the young ones of any warm-blooded species were a common quarry, and two of the three youngsters seemed to have strayed beyond the protective radius of the adult.  With a quick hop to bring it up to its full speed, it ran across the sand on legs that would have looked like giant chicken legs, were it not for the awful five inch sickle claws pointing up.  The middle sized child moved toward the adult, leaving the youngest alone on the beach.  The deinonychus zeroed in on her.

It was late into the night when Senta at last entered her front door into a darkened room.  She closed the door behind her and headed toward the stairs to the upper four levels of the dwelling.  She had just put her foot on the bottom step when Zurfina spoke from a darkened corner.

“How was dinner?”

“It was fine,” said Senta, turning to face her mistress.

“Good.”  Zurfina stood up from the chair in the corner and stepped forward into the moonlight streaming in through the window.  Senta wasn’t surprised to see that she was traipsing around the house naked.  She looked appreciatively at Zurfina’s form, seemingly untouched by age.  But then apparently Zurfina wasn’t really all that old.  Senta had often imagined that she was hundreds or even thousands of years old, protected by magic from the degradation of time.  But if Bassington was right, and Zurfina had been a young adult when they had met, she couldn’t be much over forty—maybe not even forty.

“I’m not as young as he thinks,” said the elder sorceress.  “Nor as old as you think.”

“Don’t read my mind, Fina.”

“Did he put doubts into your head, Pet?”

“He put questions in my head.”

“Go on then.  Ask your questions.”

“You’re not mad that I let Smedley loose?”

“Pish-posh.  If I hadn’t expected him to get loose sooner or later, I wouldn’t have left him bound by anything as flimsy as a rope.”

“Were you in love with him?”

“Yes,” replied Zurfina matter-of-factly.

“He’s kind of ugly.”

“That’s not a question.”

“What did you see in him, then?”

“It’s generally been my observation that women will accept one of four things in a man—if he has more than one, then all the better: looks, sexual prowess, power, or wealth.”

“Which did he have?” wondered Senta.

“More than one.”

Senta paused, and then rolled her eyes.

“Don’t ask the question if you don’t want to know the answer, Pet.”

“How did you escape Schwarztogrube?”

“Don’t ask the question if you don’t want to know the answer.”

“It must have been epic magic.”

Zurfina’s face turned hard.  “It wasn’t magic.  There was no magic at all in that place.  I had to use the most mundane means at my disposal.”

“What did you have to do?”

“Things…disgusting things… with disgusting men.  Of course, what I did to the place afterwards… that was epic magic.  You would have loved it, Pet.  It was more exciting than the falling star I brought down on Suusthek; more beautiful too.”

“What was it?”

“It was wild magic.  I don’t really know what else to call it.  It almost killed me too, but it was worth it.  Someday I’m going to use that spell again.”

Senta took a deep breath.  “Don’t you worry that you might unleash magical forces that even you can’t control?”

Zurfina waved dismissively.

“I miss Bessemer,” said Senta.

“That too is not a question.”

“Do you know where he is?”

“No.”

“He’s been gone for months.”

“He’ll be home soon,” said Zurfina.

“You’re sure?”

“Of course.  I have a feeling for such things.  Now, was there anything you wanted to tell me?”

“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.