On the seventeenth of Festuary, the Windermere left port, sailing slowly out of Crescent Bay as the thick snow dropped down from the sky. Though it had stayed a relatively short time, it was still three days behind schedule due to a boiler problem earlier in the journey. The very next day the S. S. Osprey sailed in to take its place. The Osprey was a smaller, newer ship with sleek lines and a proud form. The latest addition to the fleet of the Merchant and Shannon shipping lines, it carried relatively few immigrants but many visitors, particularly those who wanted to make business deals in the new colony.
Two days after the ship’s arrival, Corporal Saba Colbshallow had his last meeting with Archibald Brockton. Brockton had given him assurances which he could pass on to the governor that she would be reimbursed for expenses incurred bringing immigrants from Freedonia. They had also discussed Streck, though Brockton had dismissed him as relatively unimportant.
“Unless he is significantly more capable as a spy than he is as a wizard, I don’t see him causing much trouble,” said Brockton. “He struts around and makes himself the center of attention. I don’t doubt that he is just what he says he is: a small time solicitor. When and if the Freedonians decide to make a move in Birmisia, they won’t be so clumsy and they won’t be so easily detected. You’ll have to keep your eyes open, young corporal.”
“I will sir,” promised Saba.
Brockton certainly seemed ready for an early departure, establishing himself in his cabin just five days later, a full week before the ship was scheduled for departure. No doubt he was only too happy to be out of the drafty barracks building. Saba knew that he was certainly looking forward to his last day in one. He was already planning a cozy little house for himself, on which he intended to begin construction as soon as they snow went away.
Two days after that, on the twenty-seventh of the month, the sun came out. The stormy weather had lasted eleven days, almost all of those featuring measurable snowfall. The people of Port Dechantagne dug themselves out and seemed giddy at the thought of a bright, cloudless day. Saba made the most of it by walking down the hill to the dockyard, purchasing a sausage and a cup of tea and soaking up the sun while sitting on a half-barrel.
“Good morning.”
Saba turned around to find Eamon Shrubb.
“Oh, it’s you.”
“Well that’s a fine good morning.”
“Good morning then. What do you want?”
“Sergeant Clark requires you.”
Saba quickly finished his meal and followed. The two men walked past the warehouses and up Seventh and One Half Avenue to the militia base and into the office of Sergeant Clark. Militiamen, like everyone else, were enjoying the sunshine, rolling around in the snow and building snowmen and snow forts. A snowball narrowly missed Saba’s head as he walked into the building.
“What’s up,” asked Saba, brushing himself off inside.
Clark yawned and rubbed his eyes.
“I promised Mrs. Government that I would have someone meet with this hunter.”
“Haarhoff?”
“Yes, that’s him. He’s anxious to go out and shoot a dinosaur, so she wants someone to make sure that he has everything that he needs. And you know who her favorite soldier is.”
“You?”
“Not me.” Clark leaned back in his chair. “You.”
“Alright. Where is he? Building six?”
“Yes.”
To say that Haarhoff was anxious was an understatement. He and six other men were crowded into his room, leaning over a table with a large map spread across it. Lined up along the wall was a mountain of packs and equipment, ready to be carried into the Birmisian wilderness.
“Ah, young Corporal Colbshallow,” he said. “We are more than ready to set off. Will you be coming with us?”
“That remains to be seen. What I need to know right now is whether you have everything that you need.”
“We have tents, equipment, supplies, cold weather gear, and ammunition. All we need is a native guide to get us to this Iguanodon Heath, and of course some bearers to help carry all the equipment.”
“That won’t be any problem. There are always plenty of lizzies ready to work. Are you sure you wouldn’t rather wait until the snow is gone, at least.”
“We have been waiting long enough. We have all been hunting in the snow before. Collinghouse here was with me when we hunted gharhast apes in the Daglars.”
“That’s right,” said the man on the other side of the table. “It was so cold that the bullets froze as they were coming out of the gun barrels.”
The other men in the room laughed.
“Alright,” said Saba. I’m sure that I can have a guide and thirty bearers ready by tomorrow morning. Will that be enough?”
“That will be enough,” said Harhoff. “But we will want to leave at first light.”
“Fine.”
Saba left the barracks apartment and crossed the militia base to find Private Woodrow Manring sitting at the admissions desk, waiting for new lizzies to be brought in and registered. Standing near him was Private Willy Cornish.
“Hello boys. Do we have any short timers standing around?”
“Sure,” replied Manring. “You finally going to get started on your house?”
“You know I wouldn’t let lizzies build my home. No, we need about thirty to carry supplies for the hunting expedition that’s heading out to Iguanodon Heath. I expect it will be about three or four weeks work.”
“Looks like we’ve got about thirty over with that lot,” said Cornish, pointing to a group of reptilians waiting for prospective employers.
“You want old Kendric as a guide though,” said Manring. “Or at least one of his crew.”
“I wouldn’t mind going out to Iguanodon Heath, just to look around, you know,” said Cornish.
“I’d go,” said Manring.
“Me too,” said a voice behind Saba. He turned around to find Shrubb standing there.
“Fine.” Saba rolled his head around to release the tension in his neck. “Shrubb, you go pick out thirty strong looking lizzies and tell them they’re hired. Have them meet Haarhoff’s team before first light. The four of us will go out to the Heath with the hunters and then come back on our own. Of course, we’ll all have to get Clark’s permission. Now, I’m going to go see Kendric.”
Kendric was a very old lizardman. No one knew exactly how old, and that included Kendric himself. He had moved out of his home in the lizardman village of Tsuus, and had moved into a shack behind Mr. Darwin’s store. When it had become obvious that Kendric knew Birmisia better than anyone, man or lizardman, the humans had begun coming to him for his services as a guide. He had been hired by explorers, cartographers, traders, naturalists, and workmen laying the new town water lines. He was so sought after that he had taken on several young lizzie protégés. Saba found the shriveled old creature, sitting on a log and carving a piece of bone with a small flint knife.
“Good morning Kendric,” he said, placing his hand to his neck, palm out, in the lizzie respectful greeting.
The creature returned the greeting and then slowly raised himself to his feet. Stooped over at the shoulders, he was quite a bit shorter than Saba. In a few places his skin was the same light olive that it had once been all over, but now in many places it had turned black or sickly grey. Much of his face, belly, and shoulders were criss-crossed by jagged scars.
“I need a guide to take hunters to Iguanodon Heath,” said Saba, and then pausing for a moment. “Two would be better.”
The old lizzie nodded and then hissed out several words in his own language. The door of the shack popped open and a young female rushed out to take her place beside Kendric. She listened as the old fellow finished whatever he was saying and then turned and spoke to Saba in the best Brech he had heard any of the natives speak.
“You want two guides? For how long?”
“One guide will lead the hunters and their lizzies wherever they want to go in search of game. I imagine it will be about four weeks, but maybe longer. The other guide will come with me and three other soldiers. We’ll go out with the hunters and then come right back. Maybe five days. Tell him we want someone reliable.”
“Kendrikhastu understands you, but he does not speak the hoonan tongue.”
Kendric spoke again and the female once again translated.
“He says two thousand coins for hunters. He says he is friend to soldiers so only seventy-five coins for you.”
Saba knew the coins that the lizzies wanted were copper pfennigs, so the total price was only twenty marks, seventy-five p. It was far more than most lizzies made. The thirty laborers Shrubb was hiring to carry the gear would make only ten p a day each. On the other hand, Harhoff would pay it and not think anything of it.
“Will you be one of the guides, Kendric?”
Kendric said something and then hissed mirthfully.
“The elder cannot do such a journey, even just five days. I guide you and another guide the hunters.”
“That’s fine. We meet at first light tomorrow outside of building six on the militia base. You know where that is?”
“Yes.”
Back at the base, Saba ran into Shrubb again.
“We talked to Clark and we’re all approved to go.”
“Lovely.”
“Looks like you’re needed again,” said Shubb, pointing.
Saba turned to see Mr. Streck striding toward him. Since the Freedonian had moved to the base apartments, Saba had not been called upon to watch him. Governor Dechantagne-Calliere had added at least two others to her spy ring, and they had taken over the job, but Saba didn’t know who they were.
“Corporal Colbshallow. Private Shrubb. You are just the two men I was looking for.”
“What can we do for you Mr. Streck,” asked Saba, not bothering to hide his dislike for the man.
“I understand that you are planning a trip to the place you call Iguanodon Heath.”
“That information wasn’t slow to get around,” said Shrubb. “I only got permission to go a few minutes ago.”
“I was fortunate enough to run into your Private Cornish just now.”
“Yes, we’re thinking of making him town crier,” said Saba. “What is your interest in Iguanodon Heath, Mr. Streck?”
“I wanted to have a look—what do you say in Brechalon—take a butchers.”
“I’m sure Mr. Harfoff would let you join his expedition.”
“I am not interested in hunting and I am certainly not interested in spending weeks out of doors in the snow. I understand you will be accompanying Harhoff out and then will return directly. If that is so, I would like to join you.”
“Do you have a sleeping bag or a pack?”
The Freedonian shook his head.
“How about a rifle?”
“I told you I was not interested in hunting.”
“The same can’t be said for some of our Birmisian animals. Very well, I’ll see to it that you have supplies, and you can join us.”
Streck nodded and turning, marched back across the base.
“I’m surprised you agreed to let him come along,” said Shrubb.
“I’m letting you come along.”
“That’s harsh mate,” said Shrubb with a hurt look. “I thought we were becoming friends and now you lump me into the same bucket with a lousy foreigner.”
“I’m sorry. Let me make it up to you. I’ll buy you some nice fish and chips.”
“You were just eating an hour ago.”
“Well, I’m hungry again.”
“Well I can’t anyway,” said Shrubb. “I have a very important luncheon date at the bakery café.”
“You don’t have to make up things just because you’re sore.”
“I’m not making it up,” said Shrubb. “I’m meeting with some of the movers and shakers of the colony.”
“Fine. Have it your way,” said Saba, and turning, he marched across the base towards barracks twenty-seven.
Building twenty-seven looked just like any other barracks on the base and it was. It was fitted out with one large bunkroom housing a platoon of active duty militiamen. One of those was Corporal Amoz Croffut. Croffut was an excellent soldier. He was a good man to be in the field with because he always seemed to sense danger before anyone else. He was also in the habit of getting hold of items that people needed. He could not only scrounge up extra ammunition or a bottle of spirits, but the few new books in the colony which were passed from person to person inevitably ended up with him.
“Hey Amoz,” called Saba as his eyes adjusted to the darkness.
“Hello Saba.” Croffut was lying on his cot with an open book in his hand.
“Do you have a new Rikkard Banks Tatum book? I’ve finished The Wild Woman.”
“Nope. Sorry. I’ve got four books—two from Brechalon and two that came off that last Freedonian ship. They’re all real literature.” He said the words “real literature” in a tone that indicated he didn’t consider that a positive trait.
“Alright,” said Saba, sitting down on a nearby bunk. “What do you have?”
“This one is called The Sands of Time.” He waved the book in his hand, and then reached under his pillow to pull out another. “And this one is either Lan Bonnano by Fiora Kirssen or Fiora Kirssen by Lan Bonnano.”
“It’s the latter. My tutor assigned it to read, but I never did. What else?”
“The other two books are by somebody named Wissinger.” Croffut tucked Fiora Kirssen back under his pillow and pulled two more volumes from a wooden box beneath his bed. “This one is called The Man who Loved his Gardener. Sounds a little dodgy to me. And this other one is all in Freedonian—Die Einsellungsonne—I’m selling my son?”
“It’s um… The Setting Sun. That title does sound familiar, now that I say it aloud.”
“You speak Freedonian?”
“Not really. I can figure it out mostly, but not quick enough to carry on a conversation. Give me the gardener one.”
* * * * *
Eamon Shrubb entered the bakery and stepped quickly to the far table, where two children were seated. “I hope I’m not late.”
“You’re right on time,” said Senta. “Please sit down. This is my friend Graham Dokkins.”
“I’m not her boyfriend,” said Graham.
“Well if there’s an opening, I might apply for that job myself.”
“What are you, some kind of weirdo?” demanded Graham. “She’s just a kid.”
“Relax Graham,” soothed Senta. “I happen to know for a fact that Private Shrubb isn’t interested in me.”
“I received your message,” said Shrubb. “What can I do for you?”
“It’s like this,” began Graham, but Senta stopped him with a raised hand.
“Wouldn’t you like to order first? I thought soldiers were always hungry.”
“I would be insulted if that weren’t true.”
Senta called to Aalwijn Finkler, who came right over.
“What’s good today?”
“Everything is good, as you know. We have ham sandwiches on Mother’s wheat and honey bread, and prune soup with dumplings.”
“I’ll pass on the soup,” said Graham. “Give me the sandwich.”
“Same here,” said Senta.
“You should be open to new things,” Shrubb told the children. “I’ll have the soup and sandwich.
“Are you always open to new things?” asked Senta, once Aalwijn had taken their order to the kitchen.”
“When it comes to food, yes. Now what was it that you wanted to see me about?”
“It’s like this,” Graham started again. “I hear you’re taking a little trip to Iguanodon Heath.”
“How on earth did you hear that? I only just got permission a little while ago.”
“I have my sources.”
“Is one of them Willy Cornish?”
“Yeah,” Graham admitted. “Anyway, we understand that a certain Freedonian wanker named Streck is going with you.”
“Okay…”
“We just want you to keep an eye on him.”
“And why would you want that?”
“No particular reason,” said Senta.
“Well, you see, I have my own sources, and I happen to know that you’ve had a couple of run-ins with Mr. Streck.”
“Maybe.”
Aalwijn arrived with the food and Graham immediately tucked into his sandwich, while Shrubb tasted his soup.
“How is it?” asked Senta.
“Better than I expected. It’s full of bacon and onions. It’s kind of sweet and sour at the same time, but in a good way. Aren’t you going to eat?”
“I’m more interested in your answer,” she replied as she carefully covered the inside of her bread with mustard.
“You are one strange kid. I’m going to have to watch out for you when you grow up.” He looked at Graham. “You’re going to have to watch out even more.”
“Don’t I know it.”
“If it makes you happy, I’ll keep an eye on Streck. He is a wanker, I’ll give you that.”
* * * * *
It was a large party that left the militia base the following morning—four militiamen, seven hunters, two guides and thirty bearers, and one Freedonian tag-along. Though the lizzies usually moved quite slowly, they managed to keep up with the humans. The two guides that old Kendric had supplied even managed to stay at the front of the group. One of the guides, as expected, was the young female that had translated for Saba at the elder’s shack. The other was a young male.
“What are you called?” Saba asked the female guide.
“I am Kendra.”
“Is Kendric your father then?”
The reptilian looked at him and then rolled the eye facing him around. He remembered that the lizardmen knew nothing of their family history.
“What I mean is… is he your elder?”
Kendra hissed. “Kendrikhastu is our elder.” She waved to indicate the other guide as well as herself. “He has much suuwasuu.”
“And who’s your friend?” asked Saba, nodding toward the other lizzie guide.
“He is Tassanottack. You hoonans say Tassy.”
Tassy was about an inch taller than Saba, so he was about average for a lizzie. He had clearly been mauled by one of the forest predators. He had a series of massive scars around his head and running down his back and a good portion of his dewlap was missing.
“Utahraptor get him?” Saba quietly asked Kendra.
“It was a velociraptor and it happened when he was very young—when he was still wild.”
“Poor fellow.”
“Yes,” agreed the female. “Fortunately it did not mar his beauty.”
“No?”
“No. Look at his tail.”
Tassy did indeed sport a long, muscular tail that was completely free of scars or discoloration.
“You’re not like the other lizzies are you?” The voice was so close behind Saba that it made him jump. He turned to find Shrubb a half step behind him.
“Kafira Kristos!”
“Steady on, mate,” said Shrubb, cheerfully. “You know what I mean, don’t you? She’s not like the other lizzies. She’s not slow and she doesn’t hunker down they way they do.”
Saba shrugged, but Shrubb was right. Kendra made no effort to make herself look smaller, though she really had little need. She was the shortest lizardman that Saba had seen, not even reaching the height of his shoulder. Her skin was a perfectly smooth light green, with none of the scars or imperfections that most lizzies had. He glanced over to see Streck walking with the hunters. He had obviously been listening in on their conversation and had a sour look on his face.
“I wonder what’s eating him,” said Shrubb.
“With any luck, a big dinosaur.”
They stopped for the night before sunset and built their camp in a forest clearing. They had made good time, considering they were traveling through snow, and the guides confirmed that they were more than halfway to their destination. After finishing the work of setting up their tents and starting a fire, Saba felt the cold start to sink completely into him. He had just gone inside his tent to unroll his sleeping bag when a shot echoed through the mighty redwoods.
One of the hunters had shot an immature saltasaurus, about the size of a steamer trunk. It was a type of creature that Saba had seen only once before, on a scouting trip to the south. That one was the size of a trolley car, but they were easily recognizable as the same species. The hunters butchered it away from the campsite, and spitting it, placing it over the recently assembled campfire. Woodrow Manring whipped out a box of salt and pepper to season the meat and soon the whole campsite smelled of roasted dinosaur.
After eating Saba climbed back into his tent and crawled into the warmth of his sleeping bag. He was slightly annoyed that he had to share the tent with Shrubb, but at least it wasn’t Cornish. Willie could talk all night. In fact Shrubb entered right behind him, and curling up on his own side, was asleep before Saba was even settled.
The next morning, after breaking their fast with a bit of the previous night’s supper, the party continued on. The day was a long one, filled with marching, but uneventful. They continued well past the point at which Saba thought they should have stopped for the night, Haarhoff wanting to be as close to the heath as possible. When they finally stopped and made their camp just inside the edge of the forest, it was too dark to see much of anything, but they could hear the herd of iguanodon baying to one another in the night. Before climbing into their tents, they ate from their canned provisions, though Saba was so tired he swallowed down only a couple of mouthfuls before climbing into his bedding, closing his eyes, and drifting off.
He was awakened by screams and shouts. He opened his eyes to find the total darkness of the tent, and had not managed to extricate himself from his sleeping bag when something crashed through, knocking the tent flat.
“Kafira damn it!” shouted Shrubb, as several rifle shots echoed around them.
Saba managed to get his boots pulled on as Shrubb ripped the tent door open around them. It was still quite dark, though the half moon’s light reflected off the snow. More gunfire and human screams. Saba dropped back to the ground. He reached up and grabbed Shrubb by the seat of the pants and pulled him down beside him. Something let out a horrible roar that sounded like it was right on top of them. Still more gunfire—Saba hoped that they were at least trying to aim at the monstrous sound. Someone shouted followed by another roar, this one more of a scream. There were a few more shots, then silence.
“Find a torch,” said Saba.
A few seconds later Shrubb had a kerosene lantern lit, as did one of the hunters at the far end of the camp.
“Croffut! Shrubb! Kendra!” Saba called.
Within moments, the three were gathered around him.
“Croffut, make sure the camp is secure. Then take an inventory of equipment. Make sure that everyone who can carry a weapon has one.” He turned to Shrubb. “Find out how many injured or dead. If Willy is alright, get him started on first aid.”
At last he turned to the lizardman. “You do the same with your people.”
The three hurried off to complete their assignments, while he made his way to the edge of camp where Haarhoff was standing beside a prone dinosaur. The beast was about twenty-five feet from nose to tail and would have stood eight or nine feet tall—about the size of a utahraptor. It wasn’t a utahraptor though. For one thing, it had no feathers. But it didn’t need them for identification, its dull black body and hideous red face told everyone what it was—a juvenile tyrannosaurus. The beast’s legs were twitching slightly and when Saba examined the body, he could see it was still breathing.
“Put a bullet in that thing.”
The hunter did as directed, but by that time Saba was already otherwise engaged. He carefully examined the ground. A maze of dinosaur tracks—tyrannosaurus tracks ran through the camp, and many of them were too large to have been made by the specimen lying nearby. There had been two or more of the monsters.
By the time Croffut, Shrubb, and Kendra had returned to report, the center of the camp was brightly lit by a huge campfire. Only one tent had been left standing and most of those knocked down were shredded beyond repair. Willy Cornish had been found unharmed, as had Streck the Freedonian. Others were not so lucky. Three of the hunters were missing… well, two and a half. The lower extremities of one had been found a short distance away in the jungle, but there was too little left to make a positive identification. Another had been stepped on, resulting in a badly mangled compound fracture of his right leg. The partial remains of three lizardmen had been located but only twelve lizzies, including the two guides, were left. It was unclear whether the others had been carried off, or had simply run away into the forest. One of those remaining had a huge chunk clawed or bitten from his shoulder. It was a wound that would have killed a human. Nobody slept the remainder of the night.
“I’m afraid that’s all for your hunting trip, Mr. Haarhoff,” said Saba.
The Bordonian nodded unhappily. “At least we will see Iguanodon Heath in the morning.
Iguanodon Heath was a spectacular site. The humans had a great view of the large plain as the sun came up over their shoulders. Great herds of iguanodon and triceratops roamed across the grassland. In the distance, a pod of Saltasaurus grazed on tree branches. Here and there, members of a dozen other species plodded along. Some of them, like the ankylosaurus, Saba knew. Others he had never seen before. They did not stay watching it long. Dozens of velociraptors were already gathering among the trees, anxious to be at the large carcass.
It took the party three days to return to Port Dechantagne, though they managed to do so without any major mishaps and with no further injury. This was due in large part, in Saba’s opinion, to the excellent work by the two lizzie guides, who more than once kept the humans from venturing in the wrong direction and who several times spotted predators trailing the scent of blood from the wounded.
The four hunters and four militiamen were buoyed by the sight of the first homes as they approached the town. The lizzies seemed no happier. Streck, who Saba suddenly realized had spoken very little the entire trip, stepped closer.
“This is a God-forsaken country,” he growled, and then peeled off from the others toward one of the nearby houses.
As he stepped away, Willy Cornish fell into his place beside Saba.
“Well, at least all the major characters survived.”
“What?”
“Well someday, somebody is going to write a book about my life, and we’ll all be the main characters. I mean, I’ll be the main character, but you and Amoz will be important supporting characters. So, we all survived. These others aren’t important to the plot, really.”
Saba reached over and smacked him in the back of his head.