“I don’t think you want to move that piece there,” said Iolana, peering across the vast gaming table.
Dozens of square wooden playing pieces were arrayed across the oak surface, only half of which faced her. The other pieces belonged to her opponent. Esther hissed softly and moved the piece back to its original spot.
The gaming table sat along the west wall of Iolana’s bedroom, the largest bedroom in the house. Just behind Iolana’s seat was a stone fireplace, and beyond that was a writing desk with chair, and in the corner a cheval glass. Across the room from the fireplace was a beautiful canopy bed, the cover and the drapes of which matched the Thiss green area rug beneath it. Rich oak nightstands, hand-crafted here in Birmisia, matched the oak chest of drawers and the six tall bookcases. At the other end of the room, a comfortable sofa, striped green and gold, sat facing two comfy armchairs. Beside them was a hutch filled with dolls and toys and a mechanical music box, which even now was playing a Freedonian waltz.
The lizzie placed her chin on the table and hissed again.
“You see I’ve got you beat, don’t you?” said Iolana. “Unless you have Insane Witch Woman, there is no way you can win.”
“Cheat,” said Esther quietly.
“How dare you!” growled Iolana, jumping to her feet.
“Ssiss zat techiss szessit suuwasuu dakkuk wasuu wasuu eesousztekhau.”
“Well of course I do. Who’s going to make the pieces for the game if I don’t? Answer me that.” The human girl put her hands on her hips. “All the other players in town copy my pieces and nobody has complained that they weren’t fair, ssisthusso very much.”
The lizzie slid her chin off the table and climbed beneath it.
“Oh, do get up. Maybe I should let you win sometimes. Perhaps that would be good for your self-esteem, but it just sends the wrong message, doesn’t it? How would you ever know if you truly were good enough to beat me?”
The door suddenly burst open and Iolana’s cousin Terra came shooting in. Though dressed in a frilly little outfit of burgundy and silver, the seven-year-old was barefoot and both her hands and feet were extremely grimy. Her thick brown hair was a mess. Iolana held up her hand like a traffic cop.
“You know you’re supposed to knock before you come in that door.”
“I only want to play with your lizzie,” said Terra’s scratchy little voice.
“How in Kafira’s name did you get so dirty? Your mother is going to have a dinosaur when she sees you.”
“I want to play with your lizzie,” Terra repeated. “Can I take her out to the swings?”
Iolana tilted her head to look under the table. “Do you want to go outside with Terra?”
Esther bobbed her head up and down.
“Say the word.”
“Yess.”
“All right then,” she told her cousin, “but don’t bring her back all dirty.”
“Come on, lizzie,” called Terra, as Esther scrambled out from under the table and followed the girl out the door.
After carefully washing her hands in the basin on her nightstand, Iolana checked her dress in the cheval that stood in the corner. Then she retrieved a straw boater from her closet and added a small red achillobator feather that just matched her red dress. Leaving her room, she ran into her mother’s dressing maid at the top of the stairs.
“Narsa, have one of the males go watch Terra and Esther. They’re playing out in the garden. And when they’re done, have them cleaned up, preferably before Auntie Yuah sees them.”
“Yess.”
At the bottom of the stairs, Iolana passed through the dining room where several servants were cleaning up after luncheon and getting the room ready for tea. In the kitchen, others were already preparing finger sandwiches. Here she found Walworth Partridge, sitting on a stool, stuffing his face with them. Walworth, a somewhat gangly youth of seventeen, was the latest of a string of young men who had worked for the Dechantagne and Staff families as drivers.
“Fancy driving me to the pfennig store, Wally?”
“That’s what they pay me for,” he said, shoving the last little sandwich into his mouth whole and hopping to his feet.
He started for the back door and Iolana followed.
“I lit the boiler while ago,” he said over his shoulder, his mouth still full. “Should be nice and ready.”
The shiny red steam carriage, one of seven cars in the family’s possession, poured out black smoke from its chimney and steam from the pressure relief. As Iolana climbed into the passenger seat, Walworth made the necessary checks and adjustments to the engine before climbing into the driver’s side.
“Which store did you want?”
“Let’s go to the new one at Clark and Forest.”
“By the Gazette?”
“Um, yes. I suppose so.”
Though traffic was sparse around her home, once they had passed Town Square the streets became crowded with steam carriages, pedestrians, and lizzies pulling rickshaws. At Clark and First, they came upon the scene of a traffic accident. Though it was hard to tell exactly what had happened, it had obviously involved a car and two or more rickshaws. There seemed to be no one seriously injured, but it took more than fifteen minutes to get past the intersection. Finally Walworth brought the vehicle to a stop at the curb in front of one of the newer business buildings.
J.D. Kinney’s 5 and 10 Pfennig Dry Goods and Sundries occupied the largest part of the building. The remainder held Doreen’s Millinery and Friese and Son’s Imported Foods and Beverages. Separated only by an alleyway was another business building just to the left, containing Buttermore’s Photography, Mademoiselle Joliet’s Dress Shop, Tint’s Haberdashery, and McCoort & McCoort Print Shop and Publishing. Just beyond that was a third building, just as large as the first two, which was devoted entirely to the Birmisia Gazette.
Walworth hopped down, released the steam from the boiler, and then rushed around to help Iolana to the ground.
“Thank you,” she said. “I’m going to shop for a while. Why don’t you come in and get a Billingbow’s? You can put it on our account.”
“Thanks. I’ll do that in a little while. Right now I’m going to run across the street and talk to Sam Markham.”
“All right.” Iolana walked up the steps and entered the pfennig store, causing the bell above the door to ring.
The store was quite large, with ten long counters dividing it up into eleven aisles, surrounded on three sides by a larger U-shaped counter. The perimeter counter was made up of glass cases displaying just about anything that could be imagined. Atop them were, every six or eight feet, stacks of the latest new products from Brechalon, Mirsanna, or Freedonia. The golden-haired girl followed the counter toward the back, stopping to examine the latest tins of butter biscuits and chocolate bars.
“Good day, Miss,” said a man behind the counter. Iolana didn’t recognize him. “What can I do for you today?”
“Hello. I want to look around a bit, but I do need three Capital writing tablets and a dozen number two pencils.”
“I’ll get those ready for you. Take your time.”
“Thank you.”
Iolana stopped on the second aisle to look at the soaps from Mirsanna, picking a bar up and holding it to her nose. It was wrapped in white paper with a green bow, but the scent of sandalwood was easily detected. The bell above the door rang as two blond girls, both older than Iolana, entered.
“How much is this soap?” Iolana called to the proprietor.
“Three marks twenty-five p,” he replied before turning to greet the newcomers.
“Quite a bit for soap, don’t you think?” came a voice from the other side of the counter.
Iolana rolled her eyes. She recognized the voice easily enough.
“I can afford it, Sherree, as I’m sure you could,” she said looking up.
Sherree Glieberman and her best friend and perpetual shadow Talli Archer stood on the other side of the counter. Both wore simple but pretty, white day dresses, which contrasted with the extravagant gold crosses hanging on thin gold chains around their neck. Both had heads of wavy blond hair, not quite as luxurious as Iolana’s though they were more than three years her elder. Talli was rather a plain girl with a nose a little too big for her face, but Sherree was quite pretty, or would have been had her glasses not made her eyes seem way too big. They always made Iolana feel as though she were a specimen being examined through a microscope.
“I don’t think I could ever be that wasteful with my family’s money,” said Sherree who Iolana knew would have had a criticism ready regardless of what the eleven-year-old had said. She never missed a chance to make herself feel superior to Iolana whenever they met, and they met often. Sherree’s father and Talli’s father were both engineers working for Iolana’s father at M&S Coal Company.
Iolana shrugged. “What are you spending it on then? You obviously came here to shop.”
“Notions,” said Sherree, blinking her gigantic eyes.
“We’re getting a start on our coming out dresses,” said Talli. “We’ll both be sixteen soon, you know.”
“I’m sure it will be quite a party.”
“Oh don’t worry,” said Sherree. “You’ll get your invitation, of course. We can’t have a party without you. That just wouldn’t do.”
“We didn’t see you at church last week,” said Talli before Iolana could formulate a reply.
“No, I was… I wasn’t feeling well.”
“That’s a relief,” said Sherree. “I was afraid you might be planning to convert.”
“No, the only time I think about converting is when we talk,” said Iolana.
Sherree made a sour face, requiring her to push her glasses back onto her nose.
“Come on Sherree,” said Talli. “The princess needs time to choose her soap.”
Iolana made a slow circuit through all of the aisles, no longer really looking at anything, but just waiting for the other girls to buy their needles and thread and then go. They didn’t say goodbye as they left, though Talli did aim a half smile, half sneer in her direction as they went out the door. Returning to where the clerk stood, Iolana found a stack of tins filled with Captain Andy’s soft peppermints. She took two tins from the top.
“Sweet tooth?” asked the man behind the counter, with a smile.
“These are for my cousins,” she said. “Though I will take a bottle of Billingbow’s, if you have it.”
“Right away,” he said, fetching a cold bottle from the icebox behind the counter and setting it in front of her. “One mark, four p.”
“On account, please.”
“Of course. Whose account?”
“Um… my family’s… my father’s. His name is Staff, Radley Staff.”
The clerk, who had already retrieved a small green file box from beneath the counter, flipped through the index cards within. “Yes, here we go. Staff… um… oh.” He looked up at Iolana again, examining her as if for the first time. He wrote on the card with a short pencil. “One mark four p. There we go. Can I carry your things out for you?”
“Would you please? It’s the red car, right out front.” Taking the soda water bottle, Iolana hurried out the store, not waiting for the clerk.
She made a quick right and entered the millinery shop next door. A bell rang here too, but there was no friendly greeting. Indeed the shop appeared deserted. Iolana walked slowly toward the back, looking at the wigs, hats, belts, and scarves as she did. She pulled open the stopper on her soda water and took a swig.
“I know you,” said a voice right behind her, startling her so much that the flavor of sarsaparilla and wintergreen shot into her nose.
Iolana turned quickly, putting her free hand over her mouth and nose until she was sure that her drink was leaking from neither. A girl about her own age and height stood looking at her. She had bright red hair styled into ringlets around her face and wore a white blouse and a black skirt.
“You’re the governor’s daughter,” said the redhead.
“Yes. My name is Iolana. You have me at a disadvantage. You’re not Doreen, are you?”
“No, Doreen is my mum. This is her shop. My name is Dovie Likliter.”
“It’s nice to meet you.” Iolana stuck out her hand and Dovie shook it like a lumberjack. “Are you a new arrival?”
“We arrived Treuary 21st. That was the first day of spring, you know.”
“And we haven’t run into each other in almost three months?”
“I guess not, but I’ve seen you around.”
“Where do you live?”
“On Marigold near Pine.”
“Marigold? Where’s that?”
“It’s about four miles south of the train station.”
“Good Kafira, that’s out in the wilderness,” said Iolana. “I didn’t even know they had streets out that far.”
“Well, it’s not really a street, is it?” said Dovie. “It’s not paved yet, but the trolley reaches the corner.”
“So, so you work here? I haven’t been in but once, I think. I’m not really one for hats.” She looked up at the brim of the boater just inside her field of vision. “Notwithstanding the fact that I’m wearing one now.”
The other girl giggled. “No, I’m just watching the shop while my mum is out back. I usually come up here for an hour or two a day.”
“Well that’s nice of you.”
“Not really,” said Dovie. “Otherwise I’d have to spend my whole day with my two little brothers and my three cousins—three boy cousins. We stay at my auntie’s house while my mum runs the shop.”
“I understand your pain,” said Iolana, thinking of her two cousins, even now probably sneaking into her room and causing havoc. “Say, do you like table games?”
Dovie nodded.
“Would you like to come over for tea? I could send my driver to pick you up and afterward, we could play Argrathian checkers, or I could teach you the Birmisian game.”
“That sounds great.”
Iolana took another swig of her soda water. “My mother will probably be upset that I didn’t send you a written invitation.”
“Only we’ve just met,” said Dovie.
“Hello,” said the woman who was obviously Doreen Likliter. She was an older version of Dovie, but only a couple of inches taller.
“Mum, this is Iolana Staff.”
“Oh.” Mrs. Likliter almost made a curtsy, before remembering herself and stepping forward to shake hands. “How nice to meet you.”
“A pleasure,” said Iolana. “You have an interesting accent. You’re not from Brech City, are you?”
“No, we’re not,” said Dovie. “We used to live in Bentin, in Cordwell. I didn’t think we had an accent though. I thought everyone else did. I know for a fact that you do.”
“Does everyone from Bentin have red hair? Wait a minute. Who’s your auntie?”
“Dot Shrubb. She’s mum’s sister.”
“Well good, I’ll know right where to send my driver.”
“Iolana’s invited me for tea,” Dovie told her mother. “It’s alright if I go, isn’t it?”
“Well, I don’t know,” said Mrs. Likliter, looking over her daughter’s dress.
“Nothing fancy,” said Iolana.
“I suppose it will be all right.”
After saying goodbye, Iolana exited the millinery shop. She walked past the imported food store and across the alleyway to the next building. She stopped for just a moment and looked in the windows of the photography store and the dress shop. She didn’t bother with the haberdashery. At last she opened the door of McCoort & McCoort. The smell of paper and ink assailed her, as did the thumping and drumming of the steam-powered printing press.
There was very little room in the front of the shop, which was separated from the large machinery by a counter and several bookcases. Books packed the shelves, and were stacked on the counter too. All of the volumes currently in print were represented; the quantities on display a sure indicator of their relative popularity. The two largest stacks were of Mr. Wissinger’s book on Freedonia and the journal of Iolana’s uncle.
The press stopped, letting off a large whoosh of remaining steam. Suddenly Maro McCoort was leaning across the counter looking at Iolana.
“Well good day to you, Miss Staff,” he smiled. “You’re looking very nice today, but I’m afraid you’re too early for a ride in my new car.”
“Oh, no. I thought I would stop by to see how my book is doing.”
“Royalties are paid at the end of the year,” he said tersely.
“No, no. I know that. I just thought I would see if it’s selling.”
“I’ll be honest. I don’t think we’ll get any orders outside of Port Dechantagne. Poetry just isn’t that popular. You should write more non-fiction. A Study of Large Birmisian Herbivores was probably the bestselling book by a ten-year-old in the history of the empire. Didn’t you say you were working on something else like that?”
“A History of Birmisia Colony from Mormont to Dechantagne,” confirmed Iolana. “Poetry just seemed more lady-like.”
“Maybe. But poets always die poor. If it’s any consolation, every girl in Port Dechantagne is buying a copy of this one though. I just sold one to Sherree Glieberman a little while ago.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope,” he said. “You’re friendly with her, right?”
“I wouldn’t say friendly, but we see a lot of each other.”
“Has she ever said anything about me?” He grinned crookedly. “Maybe about my mustache?”
“Not that I recall,” said Iolana, feeling like all the air had been knocked out of her.
She looked toward the door, planning her escape, when it opened and in stepped one of the loveliest young women in town. Wenda Lanier, at twenty-one years of age, was just about perfect from her very large blond hair to her very tiny feet. Her light blue day dress was lovely, as was the matching hat tied with a large blue bow below her chin. And as most of the boys did, Maro seemed to melt in her presence, especially his face, which just sort of went slack.
“Hello Iolana,” said Wenda. “What a coincidence. I was just coming in to buy your book.”
“I should just give you a copy,” said Iolana, picking up one of the small green leather-bound volumes. “After all, we’re friends.”
Friends might have been pushing it. Wenda’s mother was Iolana’s mother’s secretary. They occasionally saw one another at social gatherings but had little in common.
“Nonsense. I’ll pay for mine.”
“She’s right,” said Maro, suddenly reanimated. “You should let her pay. It’s two marks.”
Wenda handed him two silver one mark coins, and Iolana handed her the book.
“Thank you so much. Well, toodle-pip.” The young woman started out the door.
“Hold up. I’ll come with you,” said Iolana following in her wake.
She almost bumped into Wenda’s bustle when the latter suddenly stopped.
“I’m so happy to have this,” said Wenda, waving the book. “Everyone who’s anyone has a copy.” She opened the cover and read. “Birmisian Spring by Iolana Dechantagne Staff.” She licked her finger and turned the page. “For my beloved father, Radley Staff. I think it’s wonderful how well you get on. No one would ever know you were his step-daughter.”
“Huh?”
“I remember when they got married. You were just a little thing then. What were you? About two or three, I suppose. I probably shouldn’t say anything, but I had quite a crush on Mr. Staff. We arrived here on the same ship, you know. Of course that was back in ’03. I was just a little girl myself, about the same age you are now.”
“Huh?”
“It was very good to see you Iolana, but I have to be off. I have a date for tea at Café Idella. Toodles.” She blew away down the sidewalk, like a beautiful blue cloud.
“Huh?” wondered Iolana.
Iolana didn’t remember returning to the car and she didn’t remember Walworth getting in and starting it up, but suddenly he was pulling into the gate of the Dechantagne Staff estate. Before the carriage even came to a complete stop, the eleven-year-old was jumping out of her seat and running into the house. She ignored Kayden, the lizzie major-domo when he opened the door, rushing through the parlor, down the hall, and into the library. She saw no one except the lizzie servants in any of the rooms. Grabbing the picture of her father from the wall, she ran back through the parlor and up the stairs to her room.
“Get out,” she said upon entering and finding both Terra and Esther. “Both of you get out.”
“You don’t have to be so mean,” said Terra, but a moment later both she and the young lizzie were gone.
Iolana stepped to the cheval glass in the corner and held up her father’s picture in one hand, looking from it to her reflection. Their eyes were different. Her eyes were bright aquamarine like her mother’s. Her nose though—she could swear she had the same nose as her father. It was too pretty for a man, really, but it looked just about right on her. Their lips were similar too. Not as thick as her mother’s, but nice. She suddenly realized that this was the first time she had thought of her father as a good-looking man. But he was. No wonder Wenda Lanier had a crush on him when she was a kid. Kafira damn it, he just had to be her father.
“Kafira damn it!” she growled, aloud this time.
“Whoa, my goodness, whatever is the matter?”
She turned to find her father, Radley Staff, if he was her father, stepping through the doorway. His step faltered when he saw her face.
“Iolana?”
“Close the door,” she ordered.
He did as directed.
“Now, sit down over here.”
She nodded toward the sofa. He meekly took a seat. She took a spot directly in front of him and pointed with the hand still holding his picture.
“Are you my father or not?” she demanded.
“Of course I am, Iolana,” he said quietly. “You know I am.”
“Do I? I understand that I predate your marriage to my mother, and by quite a bit, I might add.”
“Iolana…” His face took on a look that she had never seen on it before. He was uncomfortable. “Iolana, you are my daughter. Um, that’s really all you need to know.”
He started to get to his feet.
“Sit,” she ordered. “I don’t think so.”
He rolled back into his seat.
“My mother was married to Merced Calliere.”
“Yes.”
“But you are my father. Biologically, I mean.”
“Kafira in a handbasket, Iolana. You’re only eleven. You don’t need to know this right now and I don’t need to be the one to tell you.”
“Wrong and wrong. What you are telling me is that you and my mother committed adultery.”
“No… no… that doesn’t… necessarily follow.”
“Oh father, that is quite the vigorous defense. Perhaps you should tell me what I need to know before you raise even more questions.”
“No,” said Mr. Staff. “Not until you sit down, calm down, and stop badgering me. I can get more than enough of that elsewhere. Sit. Now.”
Iolana, sensing that control of the confrontation was changing, sat down. But she wasn’t ready to give up. She pursed her lips and glared at her father.
“Your mother and I… were in love. But I was in the Navy and left, not knowing that um… you were on the way. She wasn’t married then, so… so much for the question of adultery. Not knowing when I would return, she accepted Mercy’s proposal.”
“So, you are telling me that my mother wasn’t an adulterer; merely a wanton.”
“There were two of us involved, Iolana. I was just as guilty of impropriety as she was.”
“She is the woman,” said Iolana. “She’s the gatekeeper. You are a man. Men will stick their key anywhere they can.”
Mr. Staff sighed. “Iolana, sometimes things are not as simple as they might seem when you’re eleven.”
“I will be sure to point that out to you a few years from now.”
“That’s enough!” He shot to his feet and grabbed her by the wrist. “Perhaps I’ve been too indulgent. Perhaps you need a firmer hand.”
She glared defiantly.
“Perhaps I should have your mother talk to you.” He let go of her wrist and took her head in his large hands. “Iolana, I love you too much to be cross. The important thing is—you are my daughter and you always will be.”
“You’re sure?” she asked, her eyes starting to tear up.
“I was sure the first time I saw you,” he said, and then shrugged. “But I had Zurfina the Magnificent use magic to make sure. You look so much like me, but you have a great deal in common with Mercy too.”
“I do?”
“Yes. He was too damn smart for his own good too.” He released her and turned toward the door. “I hope you’re less emotional by teatime.”
“Wait,” she called. Rushing over to the writing desk, she penned a quick note, and then walked back to her father, handing it to him. “I’ve invited a friend for tea. Would you have Wally pick her up?”
“Willa?”
“No, I’ve made a new friend today.”
Mr. Staff raised his eyebrows. “Good for you.”
He quickly exited the room, leaving Iolana alone. Suddenly exhausted, she plopped down on her couch, and then curled up on her side. A few brief minutes later, she was asleep.
Esther woke Iolana an hour later to tell her that her guest had arrived. Having managed to muss both her dress and her hair during her nap, Iolana quickly washed up, had the lizzie brush her hair, and then changed into a black skirt and white blouse with a black tie. She found Dovie waiting for her in the parlor along with Cousin Augie, who was already instructing the newcomer in the intricacies of the Birmisian Game.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” said Iolana.
“It’s all right,” said Dovie. “Your cousin was showing me this game. Is this the one that you were talking about?”
“Yes.”
“You two didn’t invent it, did you?”
“No,” said Augie, climbing up from his sitting position on the floor. “The lizzies play this game, and have for years. There have been some changes since they came into contact with soft-skins.”
“Soft-skins?”
“He means us,” explained Iolana.
“Girls?”
“Humans,” said Augie.
Augustus Dechantagne was, as he often phrased it, just more than 8 and 2/3 years of age. He was a sturdy boy, still waiting for his preteen growth spurt to kick in, and still carrying a bit of baby fat around his middle. His hair, light brown in his early years, was darkening to a warm chestnut. Beautiful, long lashes shaded his dark blue eyes. As for the rest of his features, they were just like those of more than a dozen Dechantagnes of the past two centuries, whose portraits could be seen lining the hallways and many of the rooms of the mansion. Chief among those Dechantagnes was his father, Iolana’s uncle Terrence. His portrait hung in the foyer, next to his younger brother Augustus P. Dechantagne. No one would ever question Augie’s parentage, decided Iolana.
“Will you play games with us after tea, Augie?” she asked, and then turned to her new friend. “Augie may be the best game player on the continent.”
“Sure, at least for a while. I’m sort of expecting Claude and Julius later, but I can play until then.”
“Tea is ssserved,” said Kayden from the doorway.
Augie practically sprinted for the dining room. Iolana took Dovies’ hand and led her through the foyer.
“Augie is the leader of his little gang. Without him, they wouldn’t know what to do.”
“Boys,” said Dovie, knowingly.
“Come along. Meals are some of the few benefits to living in this asylum.”
All of the usuals were there. Iolana’s father and mother, Auntie Yuah, Augie and Terra, and Mrs. Colbshallow was there with her three-year-old granddaughter DeeDee. They quickly found their seats as the lizzies began laying out great platters of food. Iolana’s comment on the food proved apt. An enormous array of scones, already topped with clotted cream and jam was placed in the center of the table. A little further on was an elderberry crunch cake, and directly in front of Iolana was a pile of sugary biscuits made into sandwiches with sweet custard. The lizzies carried around four different varieties of finger sandwiches: shrimp and lemony cucumber sandwiches, creamy egg and cress sandwiches, goat cheese, walnut, and pepper sandwiches, and crab and tomato sandwiches. Iolana took one of each. Finally there was spicy pumpkin soup.
“This looks delicious,” said Dovie.
“Who is your friend?” asked Mrs. Staff.
“It’s nice to see DeeDee with you today, Mrs. C,” said Iolana, ignoring her mother.
“Yes. I get to spend the day with her and her mother gets a little rest.”
“Who is your friend?” asked Mrs. Staff again.
“Your mother asked you a question,” said Mr. Staff.
“Did she?”
“She asked who your friend is.”
“This is Dovie Likliter,” said Iolana. “She’s Police Sergeant Shrubb’s niece.”
“Indeed?” said Mr. Staff.
“It’s very nice to meet you all, I’m sure,” said Dovie.
“Very nice to have you with us,” said Mr. Staff. “If I’m not mistaken, I’ve seen your mother and… brothers?”
She nodded.
“Yes, I’ve seen them around town. It’s hard not to notice so much red hair.”
“A welcome injection of good, northern stock,” said Mrs. Staff, before daintily taking a bite of sandwich.
“Mrs. Government doesn’t approve of all these brown-eyed folk,” said Iolana, flashing an evil look at her mother.
“What did you just call me?” hissed Mrs. Staff.
“Iolana, I’m sure that’s not what your mother meant,” said Yuah, from the other end of the table, in a tone that confirmed she wasn’t entirely used to coming to Iolanthe’s aid.
“No, of course not,” agreed Mrs. Colbshallow.
“What did you call me?”
Iolana lifted her chin and insolently met her mother’s eye.
“Iolana,” said her father. “Leave the table.”
“What?”
“You heard me. You are dismissed. Dovie, please stay and enjoy your meal. I’ll have you driven home afterward. I’m afraid my daughter is not feeling herself.”
With an angry glance at her father, Iolana pushed her chair back just before the lizzie servant had a chance to pull it out for her. She started toward the foyer and the sweeping staircase.
“That girl needs a lesson,” she heard her mother say, and she stepped a little more quickly, thinking for a moment that the woman would come after her. But then she heard her father’s voice.
“I will see to her.”
“See that you do.”
Iolana went to her room and sat down in one of the comfy chairs to stew. She was angry that she had been separated from her new friend. She was angry that she had been exiled from the table before she had her fill of a delicious tea. Mostly she was angry with her parents. No, mostly she was angry with her mother. She had to admit that it was only a matter of degree—she had been angry with her mother just about as long as she could remember.
She expected her father to show up as soon as tea was over, but he didn’t. No one else entered either, not even Terra or Augie. Not even Esther. After a while, she got up and turned on the mechanical music box, inserting a wax cylinder with the Royal Philharmonic’s recording of Bankett’s Sixth Symphony.
After a while, she remembered Dovie and looked out the window to see if she could see her new friend leaving, but it was probably too late. She had undoubtedly already been driven home. Plopping down on her bed, she picked up the copy of Marriage in a Slaughterhouse that she had half finished, but she couldn’t find the will to read. She just lay there looking at the ceiling.
When dinnertime came and she wasn’t called down to the meal, Iolana suspected that her father had decided to leave off “seeing to her” until the morrow. That was proven to be the case when Esther arrived with a dinner tray and placed it on her game table. Her parents had evidently decided that she was unfit company.
“I probably am,” she said to herself.
“Sss?” hissed Esther.
“Oh, nothing.”
She picked over her food for a moment, but wasn’t hungry, despite having actually eaten almost nothing that day.
“Get my robe and towels and meet me in my bathroom.”
Exiting her bedroom, Iolana walked to the large bathroom, that while not technically hers, was on the opposite end of the house from the one that both her mother and Auntie Yuah used. It was a large well-appointed room that featured a large brass tub in the center. As soon as Esther arrived, she had the lizzie help her undress while the tub was filled with hot, scented water from the magically enhanced cistern. While she soaked, she had Esther turn down the lamp flame to the lowest level possible. And when she was done, the lizzie helped her dry off and don her fluffy robe. Then she sent her back for her slippers.
While she waited, Iolana looked out the window into the garden. The sun was gone, but there was still light in the western sky. Just beyond the gate, she saw a strange looking man in an overcoat and a bowler hat. Barefoot, she ran out of the bathroom, down the hall, and out the door to the outside back stairs. A minute later, she was at the fence, her wet hair giving her a chill in the evening air.
“Iolana Staff, look at you running around almost naked.”
“I just saw you,” said the girl in a breathless voice. “I would have been ever so upset if I had missed you. What are you doing here?”
“I came to check on business. To see a few people.”
Esther was suddenly beside her, bending down to slip her shoes on her feet.
“I guess you visited the McCoorts?” she asked.
“Well I have to, don’t I? They’re family, after all.”
The lizzie stood back up and edged protectively in front of the girl.
“I’m glad you came to see me.”
“I won’t lie. I was really just looking around the neighborhood. Not that seeing you isn’t a pleasure.”
“Can I see you?” she asked.
“Can’t you now?”
“You know what I mean.”
The form of the man suddenly shifted and grew, and seconds later, where he had stood was the massive form of Bessemer the steel dragon. Esther dropped to the ground on her face, arms stretched out toward him. Iolana reached up and the dragon obliged by lowering his head to her hands. She kissed his scaly face, noticing how hot the shining armor was.
“How long are you here for?” she asked.
“I’m leaving right now. I have to get back. You should go inside before you catch cold or I eat you.” A forked tongue, as long as the girl was tall, shot out and then back into the dragon’s mouth.
“Maybe you should,” she said. “I don’t suppose anyone would miss me.”
“I don’t think that’s true, though I’ve been told that eleven-year-old girls frequently believe it is. But, if you’re sure…” The dragon looked from the girl to the prostrate lizzie. “I expected her to jump to your rescue.”
“Against a god?” said Iolana. “I hardly think so.”
Bessemer tilted his head in an imitation of a shrug. “Well, good-bye Iolana. I’ll see you again on your birthday.”
“That’s a long time. I won’t see you before then?”
“You never know.”
“No,” she smiled. “You never know.”
“Goodbye,” he said, and then suddenly he was gone, shooting into the sky almost too quickly for the eye to see.
Iolana sighed and started back toward the house. She stopped and looked back at Esther. “Get up. Come and brush my hair.”