The S. S. Windemere didn't arrive until Festuary eighth. It had been waylaid in the Mulliens with a damaged boiler. Still, Saba Colbshallow had been at the docks to meet it and one passenger in particular. Mr. Brockton didn't look like a secret agent, not that Saba knew what a secret agent looked like. He was a short, slight man in his mid-forties with a brown handlebar mustache and thinning hair beneath a brown bowler hat. He looked over Saba for a moment then shook hands.
“Governor Dechantagne-Calliere asked me to meet you and see that you have a place to stay,” said Saba.
“Very good,” said Brockton in a thin nasal voice. “She indicated in her correspondence that she would send a representative that had her complete trust.”
Saba tried not to let his surprise show.
“I've got you an apartment on the militia base.”
“Won't that be suspicious?”
“Probably less than rooming anywhere else, unless you want to spend the next week in a tent,” said Saba. “Those are basically the two options for new arrivals. We don't have a hotel or rooming house yet, though there are a few people who let rooms. The apartments and rental houses have quite a long waiting list.”
“The militia base it is then,” said Brockton with a thin smile.
Saba led the way up the hill from the dockyards.
“I'm going to need a day to get my land legs back,” said Brockton. “Why don't we plan on meeting tomorrow and I'll go over what the governor needs to know with you then.”
Saba nodded. “Fine. I'll have some supper sent over if you like?”
“Good.”
The following afternoon just before tea, Saba met Brockton outside the building that had been designed to eventually be part of the base's barracks but which, since its construction, had been divided into ten small apartments.
“The best place to eat is back at the dockyard,” he said.
Brockton raised an eyebrow.
“They have food carts.”
Making their way down the hill, they took their place in the queue for sausages. Then they sat down on a bench at the northern edge of the gravel yard and ate the thick sausages, which were served on a stick.
“Not much in the way of dining in Birmisia, eh?” said Brockton, then waved off Saba's reply. “I expected as much really. I ate so much on the voyage that I probably gained ten pounds anyway. This is fine, and so were the fish and chips you sent up last evening.”
“Good. So what is the information you want me to relay to Governor Dechantagne-Calliere?”
“She is aware, though you might not be, that I am with His Majesty's Secret Service. We have people working around the world, but right now our focus is in Freedonia.”
“Aren't we at peace?”
“Ostensibly. But a great many things can happen. And I don't mean war, at least I don't mean just war.”
“What else?” asked Saba.
“Klaus II fancies himself a wizard and he's immersed himself in the wahre kunst von zauberei. As a result, the wizards of the Reine Zauberei have replaced most of the non-wizards in key positions in the Freedonian government.”
“Don't we have quite a few wizards of our own?” asked Saba. “Yourself for instance?”
Brockton smiled a thin smile.
“Well spotted young Corporal. I'm a first level journeyman from Académie Argei. But you have to understand, these Reine Zauberei are not just wizards. They have their own peculiar ideas.”
“Their magic is different?”
“No, as a matter of fact their magic is almost identical to my own. It is their belief system that is different. They believe that the Freedonians are the master race and that they are destined to rule the world.”
“Isn't that sort of jingoism pretty common?” asked Saba. “After all, patriotism is a great thing, as long as the fellow who has it is from the same country that you are. I know quite a few Brechs who think that if you're not Brech, you're nothing.”
“Do they want to kill everyone else in the world?”
“Um, no.”
“There you see the difference. These Reine Zauberei believe that everyone else must serve the Freedonians or be eliminated. Completely.”
“But that's just insane.”
“Yes it is.”
“And it's not possible.”
“There you may be mistaken. They've already started their plan. The first victims are the Zaeri.”
“I know they've been treating the Zaeri badly—forcing them out of their homes and such. The Zaeri have been treated horribly for centuries though—in Brech and Mirsanna too, not just in Freedonia.”
“There is more to it than that. In fact the Freedonians have stopped chasing the Zaeri out of the country and are now rounding them up and putting them in forced labor camps. And there are rumors of other camps—camps where the Zaeri and others are being murdered by the hundreds.”
“That can't be true,” said Saba.
“We don't know for sure whether it is or not.” Brockton took the last bite of his sausage and tossed the stick at the dustbin next to the bench.
Saba looked at his half eaten meal and decided that he didn't want anymore.
“So what do you want with the governor?” he asked.
“There are several things actually. First she has been, for her own reasons, chartering ships to bring displaced Zaeri from Freedonia, here to Birmisia. We want her to continue, and we are willing to subsidize her if necessary.
“Secondly, we believe the Freedonians are up to something here. We would like her help in finding out what that is. We don't have the resources to send one of our operatives here for any length of time.”
“You've come.”
“Yes, but only for a short while, a bit shorter than I had planned actually, thanks to the Windermere's boiler. In two weeks I'll take the Osprey west to Mallontah. We have more pressing problems there. We believe the Freedonians are arming the locals and encouraging them to attack our people.”
“Anything else?” asked Saba.
“Yes. She needs to keep an eye on her husband.”
“The professor? Why would she need to do that?”
“We believe he has some Freedonian sympathies, as well as some Freedonian connections going way back. And considering the potency of some of his work...”
“You mean the Result Mechanism?”
“Precisely. Even discounting its use to create magical equations, it is a powerful device. I don't think that anyone has divined its true potential yet, and my superiors are inclined to agree with me.”
Saba thought about what he knew of the Result Mechanism. It was a huge machine, looking as though someone had mated a steam engine with an enormous clockwork, and Professor Calliere had brought it all the way from Brechalon. In essence, it was a machine that added and subtracted numbers very quickly. Miss Lusk, who had created the language that it used to communicate with humans, had used the device to create a plan for the entire colony, including where it was best to lay waterlines and where it was most advantageous to build a trolley. A wizard named Suvir Kesi had used the machine to craft magic spells, which he used to attack Zurfina. Magic, so Saba had been told, was at its core nothing but mathematics.
“So you think that someone could use it the way Kesi did against Zurfina?” he asked.
“What?”
“I'm sorry. I assumed you knew about Wizard Kesi using it in his attack on Zurfina the Magnificent.”
“I know about Wizard Kesi, but I've never heard of this Zurrurrah.”
“Zurfina,” corrected Saba.
“What?”
“Zurfina.”
“Zurrah? I'm sorry. Are you speaking the local dialect?”
Saba scratched his head.
“It was my understanding that Zurfina the Magnificent was quite well known among magic users.”
“What were you saying about Kesi?” asked Brockton, clearly confused.
“Nothing,” said Saba. “I'll meet with the governor and then we can meet again.”
Saba left Brockton in the dockyard and wandered up the hill and through the apartments to the great gate and the Town Square beyond. He didn't know where he was headed until he spied the pfennig store and he suddenly realized that he needed something to wash the bad taste out of his mouth. That bad taste had not come from Mrs. Gopling’s sausages.
As soon he opened the door of the shop, Saba was blasted by music playing inside. It was loud enough that Mr. Parnorsham didn't hear the bell ring, and as he was stacking up cans of butter biscuits behind the counter, he didn't realize that he had a customer until he turned around. By that time Saba had made his way all the way to the back of the store. Mr. Parnorsham jumped a bit when he saw the young militiaman.
“Oh, hello Saba,” he said over the sound of the music.
Suddenly a high-pitched female singer chimed in along with the music.
The afternoon was lazy,
Everything was still,
The skies were blue and hazy,
When you gave me a thrill.
You said you were looking for Sadie,
Without her you would be blue,
You said you would never forget her,
I said I'll be Sadie for you.
“That's a bit scandalous,” said Saba.
“Yes it is,” said Mr. Parnorsham with a sly smile. “I'll turn it off if a lady comes in.”
“Can you turn it down a tad?”
“Right-oh.” And once the volume had been adjusted. “What can I do for you, young corporal?”
“Do you have a cold Billingbow's?”
“Of course." The proprietor retrieved a frosty bottle of the soda water from the icebox behind the counter. “Twenty-two p with the bottle deposit.”
“You don't send all those bottles back to Brechalon, do you?”
“Oh, goodness no. Billingbow's sends its soda water in airtight casks. I have to fill the bottles. I'm going to have to order a new shipment of bottles though. People keep forgetting to return them. You would think that two pfennigs would be encouragement enough.”
“Remind some of the local kids that they can bring the bottles in a get two p each. That could add up quick.”
“Yes, that's a good idea,” said Mr. Parnorsham, taking out a cloth towel and absentmindedly wiping his counter.
Outside, Saba leaned against the side of the building and swigged his soda. There wasn't much going on that he could see. Most people had gone home for their tea. He strolled over to Mr. Darwin's shop and looked in the window. There was quite an array of dinosaur skin belts and bags and an umbrella stand filled with very large colorful feathers. Saba recognized some of them as utahraptor feathers—bright turquoise colored fading to a lovely green. Turning around, he saw one other person outside in the square. Aalwijn Finkler was staring at several tables and chairs set up by his mother's bakery.
Saba strode across the gravel square and walked up to the boy.
“Can't figure out how to arrange them?”
“Sorry? No. This is fine. Um, I'm just lost in thought.”
“Thinking about anything in particular?”
“I was just wondering if I should let my mother pick out my clothes.”
“Really?”
“Well, um yeah. That and girls.”
“Oh, well, that is quite a topic...”
At that moment the most horrific sound that Saba had ever heard rent the air. He knew that it was the tyrannosaurus, but it wasn't its normal cry. It was a scream that was filled with more rage and hate than a human being could possibly understand. It was like something escaping the pits of hell. He felt a shiver running down his spine.
“Kafira’s Cross, that's right behind this building. Get inside.”
“We've got to go down there!” said Aalwijn, pointing down the road to the west. Saba thought that he must be scared witless. He would walk right into the giant dinosaur.
“Not bloody likely. Not without a squad of men, and a really big gun.”
“Senta just went down that road!” yelled Aalwijn.
“You stay here!” called Saba, and throwing down his half empty bottle, he took off at a full run.
The first fifty yards were full adrenaline. He had to save a young girl from a monster. But in the second fifty yards, he had time to recall that he had absolutely no weapon with which to face down the most fearsome creature on the continent. And at the end of that second fifty yards, he saw it directly in front of him—the largest and scariest creature that he had seen in his entire life. It was turning around and around in the center of the road. Without slowing down, Saba dived into the trees. He didn't stop, but continued in the same direction, the deep snowdrifts and the brush that the snow obscured making the going slow.
When he judged that he had reached the approximate location of the creature, he moved back toward the road. Peering out from between the trees, he found the road empty. As he warily moved back out of the forest, he noticed for the first time that the trees on the opposite side were burning. Though the flames were dying, dozens of trees had been charred by fire. Looking at the ground Saba saw the tyrannosaurus's tracks, seemingly appearing out of nowhere and then leading off to the west. Following them with his eyes, he spotted Senta, her black clothing a stark contrast to the white countryside. She was a hundred yards further up the road. He called to her, but she gave no indication that she had heard him, so he began to jog after her. By the time that he reached her, she was almost at her door. Only then did he notice that the little dragon was by her side.
“Senta?”
She turned around shakily and Saba was startled to see the bottom half of her face smeared with blood.
“Are you alright?”
She pondered the question for a moment. “Yeah, I'm fine.”
“Can I help you?”
“No. I'm going inside.” She opened the door. “Come on Bessemer.”
“I want to talk to you,” said Saba.
“Tomorrow.” Then she closed the door.
Then next morning Saba thought about going to see Senta first thing, but the memory of the way she looked stopped him. Better to give her a few days to recover. Instead he made his way to the palatial Dechantagne home, but as he reached the top of the steps he found his way blocked by a massive lizzie with a medallion on a ribbon around its neck.
“Excuse me,” he said.
The brute just stood there.
“Tisson, isn't it? Step aside please.”
The lizzie rolled its yellow eyes around for a moment and then carefully shook its head left and right.
“What?”
“No,” said the lizzie.
“You bloody well get out of my way!”
“No,” said the lizzie, so quietly he was barely audible.
Saba shoved his finger in the reptilian’s chest.
“Listen you! I'm here to see the governor and you're going to get out of my way right now!”
Suddenly his mother was coming out the front door behind the monstrous lizardman. Next to him, she seemed a tiny woman indeed.
“What's going on here? Why all this yelling?”
“Mother, this great buffoon won't let me in?” Saba suddenly felt like a small child telling on someone.
“Tisson, get out of the way. You know Saba is my son. Let him in.”
“No,” said the lizardman. “Lady governor say ‘No. No today.’”
Both Mrs. Colbshallow and her son stood mutely for a moment.
“Are you serious,” she finally asked Tisson.
He bobbed his head up and down.
“What did you do?” hissed Mrs. Colbshallow at Saba.
“I didn't do anything, Mother.” His voice sounded too whiny in his ears.
“Well, why don't you go on back to the base? I'll have a word with Mrs. C and find out what's going on.”
“But Mother...”
“Go on now.” She shooed him away with her apron.
“I've got my eye on you, you great tosser,” growled Saba at Tisson, pointing at his own eye.
He stomped down the stairs and across the lawn only to find Senta standing beside the gate. She had on a new overcoat that completely covered any clothes that she was wearing, not that it was a great stretch to imagine that they were black. Though she didn't have any obvious injuries, she had a hollow look in her eye. Saba had seen something very like it in the eyes of soldiers who had fought the lizzies—the look of someone who just discovered their own mortality.
“You didn't need to hunt me down. I would have come to your house.”
“So you think I came all the way over here for you then?” She smiled, chasing the other look out of her eyes.
“Well, yes... I did… right until you just asked me if I did.”
“Maybe I did. I do recall that you said you wanted to talk to me. Are you going to expect me to talk back as well?”
Saba grinned. “You’re sounding more like Zurfina all the time.”
“So what was all the commotion up on the porch?”
“That bloody lizzie wouldn't let me in the door.”
“The great Corporal Colbshallow is on the outs with Mrs. Government? That's hard to believe. You want me to do something to him? I could make him break out in a rash.”
“Yeah, that would be... no, better not on second thought. We could really get in trouble with Mrs. Govern... um, Mrs. Dechantagne-Calliere.”
“You sure?”
“Say, did you try to set that tyrannosaurus on fire?”
Saba was immediately sorry that he had asked the question. She shrugged and the hollow look crept back into her eyes.
“So what did you want to talk to me about?”
“Well I wanted to know if you and Zurfina... if the two of you knew there was a wizard in town.”
“Two wizards,” said Senta. “Well, one and a half.”
“You don't mean you, do you?”
She rolled her eyes at him. “I'm a sorceress’s apprentice. Sorceress. Not wizard.”
“What do I know? So, there are two wizards in town, um, one and a half?”
“There's the wanker that's staying here,” said Senta, pointing a thumb toward the Dechantagne house.
Saba thought for a minute. “That Freedonian? Struck? Streck?”
Senta nodded. “And there's the new fellow that came in on the Windermere.”
“Brockton,” said Saba. “So you know about him.”
“Fina says she can't feel any real magic on Streck, but she felt that Brockton miles away.”
“Did she do something to him?”
“Just a little opfrustration.”
“Obfuscation?”
“Yeah. She says that enough people know about her already.”
“He's going to be alright otherwise, isn't he? The governor and well, the king are going to need him.”
“I expect he'll be fine, except for knowing about Fina.”
“Good.”
Saba was just about to make his goodbye and head back to the base, when the sounds of men talking came from the front of the great house. He glanced over to see Professor Calliere and Mr. Streck stepping out onto the portico, and noticed unhappily that Tisson held the door open for them. Suddenly Streck took a tumble head first down the steps. Senta burst out laughing. Saba couldn't help himself and chuckled along with her, watching as the Professor and Tisson ran down to help the Freedonian up.
“Does he do that often?” he asked the girl.
“As often as possible,” she said.
Back at the base, Saba plopped himself down with one of the few Rikkard Banks Tatum novels that he had not yet read. The Wild Woman had made the trip all the way from Brechalon, but Saba had to wait for a dozen others to read it before it was handed down to him. No sooner had he gotten comfortable that there was a knock at his door. Getting up, he opened it to find a lizzie standing outside, her yellow skirt indicating a female of the species.
“Cissy, isn't it?”
“Yew Sada.”
“Yes, I know who I am. What do you want?”
The reptilian handed him an envelope, and started to turn around.
“Hold on,” he said. He fished out a pfennig from his pocket and handed it to her. “Here.”
After the lizzie had left, he opened the envelope to find a note from his mother. It read: “Meet Mrs. C at the Mayor's office 9AM on the 13th. Don't come by the house until then. Love, Mother.”
It was just as well that Saba didn't meet the governor the following day. He had to run physical training drills on the new militiamen. New militiamen were only required to serve six months, yet there were more than two hundred militiamen and a new group of forty inductees had started on the first of the month. Saba put them through a series of calisthenics, followed by a two-mile run with a full pack. Six of them passed out before returning to the base. That didn't mean they were out though. They would have ample opportunity to prove themselves, and if they couldn't meet the physical requirements of the job, they would be given lighter duty in the colonial government.
At afternoon tea, Saba was cornered by Eamon Shrubb.
“What have you been up to?” asked Shrubb.
“Running with the new recruits.”
“I mean besides that. I haven't seen you for a few days.”
“Are you keeping track of me?” asked Saba. “People are going to think you're a spy.”
“Nothing like that,” said Shrubb. “Just wondering.”
“This spy business is going to turn me into a paranoid ass,” said Saba to himself, when Shrubb had wandered away. Still, he thought that it might be wise to watch out for the private who liked to follow him to the governor's home.
The next day was the twelfth and Saba spent most of the day relaxing. He stayed on his bunk and read The Wild Woman, walking down the hill for fish and chips at lunchtime, skipping tea entirely, and eating in the mess for supper. It was bangers and mash night.
At 9:00 in the morning on the thirteenth, Saba stepped into the Mayor's Office. Miss Gertz, the mayor's secretary smiled at him. She could have been considered pretty, though she wore horn-rimmed glasses and she had her black hair pulled back into a tight bun. She ushered him past her desk to the mayor's private office. Mayor Korlann was absent, but in his place sat Governor Dechantagne-Calliere. She looked as beautiful as Saba had ever seen her, in a charcoal dress with puffed sleeves and white lace around the neck.
“Good morning Governor.”
“Good morning.”
“I wanted to see you the other day, but your lizzie wouldn't let me in the house.”
“Yes,” said Mrs. C, stopping to purse her lips. “I thought it would be best if you didn't come to the house directly after meeting with Brockton. Of course I had no idea that you would cause such a scene, obviating any attempted stealth on my part.”
“Um, sorry.”
“So, what did Brockton tell you?”
Saba went over his entire conversation with the wizard from the Secret Service. Mrs. Dechantagne-Calliere smiled when he mentioned the possibility that ships from Freedonia might be subsidized, but scowled at the mention of her husband's name. He also threw in the information he gleaned from his contact with Senta concerning the possibility of Mr. Streck being a wizard.
“You will meet with Brockton again,” she said. “As for the ships from Freedonia, they will continue, but you may tell him that subsidies would be appreciated. As for my husband, he is not to worry. Mercy is not interested in dealing with the Freedonian government and if some of them might try to take advantage of him, well, we will be there to see that it doesn't happen.”
“What about Streck?” asked Saba.
“You will watch him when he is out of my house. While he is inside the house, I have someone else who will watch him.”
“I have other duties at the base.”
“No, you don't,” said Mrs. C, picking up her muff and sliding one hand into it. “Not anymore.”
She opened the office door and left Saba standing where he was. He took a deep breath and let it out. So be it. Stepping out of the office, he stopped and leaned on Miss Gertz's desk absentmindedly.
“Can I help you with something, Corporal?”
“What?”
“Can I help you with something?”
“Yes, Miss Gertz. Would you care to join me for lunch today?”