15 Months Earlier:
Isaak Wissinger bent down and picked up a paper from the street. At least he was still able to do that. Many of the people he saw passing him on the street seemed barely able to lift their own feet. He was still in the ghetto of Zurelendsviertel. He had been unable to get out. During the past eleven months, Wissinger had been forced to use the money that his guardian angel had given him to buy scraps of food. She had been right. When push had come to shove, the other Zaeri had helped themselves and their families, and not the famous writer they knew of, but didn’t really know.
The angel had not come back since that night. If Wissinger had not had the money to spend on moldy bread and mysterious meat, he would have thought that he had dreamed the whole thing. Of course there were also the stories. Stories had come into the ghetto from the outside world—stories about a mysterious woman. A blond woman had attacked Neuschlindenmacht Castle, burning it to the ground, though nobody knew exactly how. A powerful witch had fought and killed a dozen wizards of the Reine Zauberei on the streets of Kasselburg. A blond sorceress had freed hundreds of Zaeri prisoners held in a work camp and had killed or frightened off a company of soldiers guarding them. Wissinger carefully listened to the stories without adding his own experiences. There was nothing to indicate that these stories were about the same woman, or that they were even true. But Wissinger believed them.
“You’re thinking about me right now, aren’t you?” asked a sultry voice right by his ear.
Wissinger jumped. The woman was back. He looked up and down the street and realized that there was no one else to be seen. This was unusual. It was almost mid-day. He looked back at her. Yes, it was the same woman. She was dressed at least this time. Sort of. He tried to think where her black corset and leather pants would be everyday dress, but could imagine no such place in the world. She tossed her hair back and then took a pose with her chin held high, like a statue.
“Um, you’re back,” he said.
“Oh my. Here I was told that you were the greatest writer in Freedonia, and this is your introductory line?”
“What are you doing here?”
“Well now you’re just being thick,” she said. “I came back for you. You were supposed to be gone, out of the ghetto and to the coast at least.”
“I couldn’t get out. The Kafirite, Kiesinger, the one who smuggled some Zaeri out for money. The day after you were here, I mean in my room, he was arrested. He wasn’t arrested in my room, he was arrested… wherever they arrested him, but no one else took his place. There was no one else who would help, to smuggle me out.” Wissinger stopped speaking and realized he was out of breath.
“Relax lover. We’re leaving now.”
“Now?”
“Yes.”
“Wait. We have to go back to my room.”
She smiled seductively. “What a wonderful idea. I thought you might be more welcoming this time.”
“No, it’s just… it’s the middle of the day.”
“Yes?”
“Well, um… I… Aren’t we in a hurry?”
“You’re the one who wants to go back to your room.”
“I have to get my book.”
“What book is that?”
“My book. It doesn’t have a title yet. It’s about life here. It’s hidden in the wall.”
“Then let’s go get it.”
Wissinger led the woman down the cobblestone street to his apartment building and upstairs to his room. His building had been a fine middle class apartment twenty years earlier. Now it was rapidly falling apart from neglect. Holes had appeared in the walls and the floor. In one spot just outside his apartment door, he could see completely through to the floor below. In a way this was all fortunate. The crack in the wall next to the loose board, behind which he hid the tools of his trade, didn’t look out of place. Removing the board, he pulled out the tablet and pencil.
The tablet was the type children used in school. He had started at the beginning and had used every page. Then he had turned it over and had written on the backs of each sheet, in ever smaller script as the pages had become scarce. The pencil was the last of a package of twelve. Oh, how he had wasted his pencils at first, insisting on a sharp point, whittling each one back with his knife. When he had gotten to the sixth one, he had stopped such foolishness. He let the lead become as dull and round as a turtle’s head and had only cut back the wood around it, when it, like the turtle’s head, had become hidden inside. That was all over now.
He felt the woman press against his back. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and licked the back of his neck. He turned around and kissed her deeply. She pulled him toward the cot, and he let her. He spent the last hour that he would ever spend on that horrible, worn, bug-ridden mattress making love to a beautiful woman.
“I don’t even know your name,” he said, as they dressed.
“It’s Zurfina.”
“Like the daughter of Magnus the Great?”
“Yes, exactly like that.”
“You’re not her, are you?”
“Yes. Yes I am.”
She slipped back into her boots and headed out the door. Wissinger stuffed his pencil in the pocket where he kept his penknife and tucked his tablet under his arm. A quick look around reminded him that he had nothing else of value. Quickly catching up with Zurfina, he followed her downstairs and out into the street. Even though the sun was still high, there was nobody to be seen. It was as if they were the only two people in the world. Down the street and around the corner, then down the main thoroughfare, they finally reached the twenty-foot tall wooden gate to the outside world. It was standing open and the guards who had always been there were gone.
“What’s going on?” Wissinger asked.
“It’s just magic.”
Once outside the gate, they wound their way through the city streets of Gartow. It was much nicer here. The buildings were in repair. The shops were open. But here the world was just as devoid of life and humanity as it had been inside the ghetto. In no time at all they were past the edge of town. They stepped off the road and crossed the first field of many that filled the space between the city and the distant edge of the forest.
“Zurfina, how is it… oh… um.”
“What is it?”
“I just remembered that according the Holy Scriptures, Zurfina… that is the daughter of King Magnus, was burned at the stake.”
“Fine, I’m not her then.”
“But your name is Zurfina, isn’t it?”
“I’m tired of all your questions,” she said, stopping and glaring at him. “It’s been nothing but questions with you since I got here. What’s going on? Who are you? Can I be on top?”
“I’m sorry.”
“One more question and I’m leaving.”
“No. I’m sorry. No more questions, I promise,” said Wissinger. “Just tell me which way I am supposed to go.”
“That’s it!” she snapped, and with a flourish of her hands, she disappeared with a pop.
“I didn’t… that wasn’t a question… I phrased it…”
A sound drew Wissinger’s gaze to the sky. A flock of small birds flew overhead, twittering as they went. Then he heard the sounds of voices, and looking toward town, he could see people. A steam carriage chugged down the now distant road. It was as if the world had suddenly come alive. Dropping to a crouch, he looked around to see if there was anyone close. He could detect no one. Staying hunched over, he made for the forest as fast as he could.
* * * * *
The Present
Senta walked downstairs from Zurfina’s study. After her bath and a spot of breakfast she had spent an hour attempting to scry for any Freedonian agents. Scrying, or magical searching, was not really her strong suit, but since she was filling in for Zurfina, she felt she had to do her best. She certainly wasn’t going to spend the entire day on it though. It was her fifteenth birthday and she intended to make the most of it. Dressed in a relatively prim brown skirt and a white blouse, she picked up her purse and her parasol and headed out the door. She paid no attention at all to the other blond girl, who stood near the froredor making a sandwich.
The bell above the pfennig store rang as Senta entered, and then it rang several times more in quick succession as most of the patrons who had been inside hurried out.
“What’s going on?” the young sorceress asked Mr. Parnorsham.
“People are trying to stay out of your way, I suspect.”
“Really? Well, that’s fine with me. I’ll have a Billingbow’s and two pieces of licorice.”
Mr. Parnorsham sat the requested items on the counter.
“Twenty-four P, isn’t it?”
“Normally it would be, but isn’t today a special day?”
“How did you know, Mr. P?”
“Oh, I like to keep abreast of things.”
“Thank you. That’s very nice.”
“Um, Senta, notwithstanding that this is a gift, I do feel I need to point out that Zurfina’s account, and by extension yours, wasn’t paid last month.”
“Oh. How much do we owe?”
Mr. Parnorsham pulled a small file box from below the counter and from it removed an index card with a hand written balance sheet.
“Sixty-two marks 4 P.”
Opening her purse, Senta pulled out a small coin pouch and peered into it, pulling out a few wadded up banknotes.
“I’ll pay you ten marks today, if you don’t mind, and I’ll bring the rest around sometime this week.”
“That will be fine.”
Senta stepped out of the store with the candy in one hand and the soda water in the other. Turning to the right, she passed the dress shop, heading for the opening in the Emergency Wall. She hadn’t gone too far when she practically walked into two young men. They were both at least six feet tall and broad shouldered, and when they stood next to each other they completely blocked the entire walkway. The young sorceress was momentarily startled. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had blocked her path.
“What have we here,” said one of the young men to the other.
He looked to be nearly twenty. His hair was long and messy, but he was not bad looking otherwise. His friend though had a nasty leer on his face that looked like it never went away—that and a red scar across his chin. They were both well muscled and wore the clothing of merchant seamen. That explained a lot.
“Looks like a little bird got out of her nest.”
Senta stuck the end of the licorice into her mouth and yanked on it till a piece broke off. The men didn’t seem to notice her nonchalance.
“Maybe she could show us what they do for fun in this God forsaken country,” continued the second man. “Could you do that, Honey? Could you show us some fun?”
Senta took another bite of licorice.
“You know it’s not even tea time, right?” she asked. “Don’t hoodlums usually wait until nightfall before assaulting young women? Aren’t you worried about the coppers getting after you?”
“I don’t see any coppers, do you?” asked the man.
“As a matter of fact, I do. He’s right over there.”
The two men looked across the square and indeed a uniformed police constable was striding swiftly toward them. He was much larger than even the sailors and he carried a heavy wooden truncheon in one hand. The two men quickly stepped around Senta and disappeared down the alley between shops.
“Hello Eamon,” said Senta when Police Constable Shrubb stopped on the spot so recently vacated by the two hoodlums.
“Violators call me PC Shrubb.”
“What?”
“Miss Senta Bly, I have a warrant for your arrest.”
“You have a what now?”
“A warrant. Mr. Eden Buttermore has sworn out a complaint against you for attacking him at the bakery café.”
“I didn’t do any such thing.”
“There are sworn statements from six witnesses.”
“Six, huh?”
“That’s right. Now come along quietly lass, and I won’t have to put you in the cuffs.”
“Now Eamon, you know that if I wanted to attack someone, he’d be in no condition to swear out a complaint.”
She raised her hand and the constable stepped back, but the sorceress just took another bite of licorice.
“Well, let’s get going,” she said. “I don’t want to spend all day at the police station.”
It was a twenty-minute walk to the new police station and courthouse, which sat alone, in a forested lot just east of the train depot. It had been built of sharp red brick almost two years before, with white stonework at the corners and above the windows and doors. It was a square five-story building. On the arch above the door was carved in large letters “POLICE” and just below it, the police motto “punishment follows swift on guilt.” The colony now boasted half a dozen police constables, but only one was present in the main office. When Senta entered the front door just ahead of Eamon, the young PC jumped up, knocking his chair over. The girl sat her empty soda bottle on the counter and smiled at him.
“Take it easy lad,” said Eamon. “Just toss me the key.”
“Oh hey! You’re not tossing me in the clinker!”
“Only until the Justice of the Peace can get here.”
“Um,” said the young constable. “He’s already here. He’s upstairs in his office.”
“Fine then.” Eamon led the way to the elevator.
It was a tight squeeze for the two of them in the metal cage, but once they were inside the PC turned the lever, sending the elevator car upward to the fourth floor. This was Senta’s first time in the building and even now she appreciated the rich woodwork and luxurious carpeting. Down the long hallway, they stopped outside a thick maple door and knocked.
“Come in,” said the Justice of the Peace from behind his oak desk. “I’m glad you got here before tea time. I’m supposed to meet the mayor and I wouldn’t want to leave you or him waiting.”
“Hey Mr. Fonstan,” said Senta. “How are you?”
“I’m doing very well. How are you on this special day?”
“Well, I’ve gotten arrested.”
“Ah, that is unsettling, especially on one’s birthday. Believe me I know. It’s happened to me more than once.”
“That’s sweet that you remember my birthday,” said Senta.
“Well, of course I remember. I consider us friends.”
“Me too.”
“In any case…” interrupted Eamon.
“Yes, yes. You’re charged with…” The JP looked at a pair of papers on his desk. “Assault? Who’s dead?”
“Nobody is dead,” said Eamon. “The victim was not killed, only slightly injured.”
“Well that doesn’t sound right,” mused Fonstan. “If the Drache Girl had attacked someone, I would expect him in hospital at least.”
He looked at Senta. “Did you do it?”
“No.”
“Not guilty then.” He picked up a gavel from the desk and tapped it once. “Constable, discharge the young lady.”
* * * * *
Lieutenant Commander Kieran Baxter looked out from between the palm trees at the crate that had washed up onto the beach. He’d been on the island for two days and thanks to his training in the Royal Navy, he was surviving if not thriving. As soon as he had come ashore, he moved off the beach and into the trees, lest he should be spotted by the crew of the Freedonian submarine that had sunk his command. He hadn’t gone far into the jungle, which grew denser with every step he took away from the sandy shore, but he had located a tiny stream flowing out of the forest, cutting through the sand, and trickling into the ocean. There was an abundance of food, if one didn’t mind eating uncooked crabs and shellfish.
Each day he had watched the shore for wreckage from his ship and whenever he found it, he rushed out and pulled it back into the trees. Twice he had found the bodies of sailors, which he buried. One was a veteran seaman named Owens, who he had spoken to on many occasions. The other was a young man named Tyler, only recently added to the crew. Baxter had seen him, but never spoken to him. Even in his current state, he looked too young to be a sailor. He was too young to have lost his life. Several times Baxter had found simple pieces of wood from cargo or from the ship itself. Once he had found a crate, filled with blankets. Now another crate waited on the sand.
He walked quickly to the edge of the waves. The tide was on its way out. The wooden box, now just above the waterline, was too heavy to move. He found a loose edge and pried open one side with his fingers. It was a treasure trove of wonders. He pulled out piece by piece, tossing each to the side. There were a dozen hammers, twenty small wooden boxes of nails, four hatchets, two axes, and twenty coils of thick braided rope. When the crate was empty, he pulled it up the sand to the trees, and then made a dozen trips back to carry all of his treasures after it.
Looking at the hammers and axes, Baxter realized he now had what he needed to build a permanent shelter. It had been warm and the light afternoon showers had not bothered him overmuch, but it would not always be so. He had to find someplace to live. For all he knew, he would be spending the rest of his life on this island. He would set out and find a permanent home after lunch.
So far the island had provided ample food. The slimy interior of small crabs and uncooked mussels had formed the basis of his diet. There were coconuts too, but until now Baxter had been unable to open them. Now he used one of his hatchets to cut off the end, drinking what watery coconut milk didn’t spill out onto the ground and then chipping out pieces of raw coconut.
Sticking the hatchet into his belt and carrying an axe in hand, he started off in the direction of the stream. If he were going to find a permanent place in which to live, it would have to be close to fresh water. The stream was not far, and as soon as he reached it, he followed it into the jungle. Scarcely more than a trickle, the waterway would best have been called a rivulet, rather than stream or creek. He followed the trail of the water all morning, noting as he did that it lay within a widened ditch, and he surmised that the tiny trickle must become a much larger river during the rainy season.
Baxter knew of course that as he made his way further into the jungle, he was climbing higher and higher. Water did flow downhill, afterall. He was surprised though when he passed through a small clearing and was able to look back over the tops of the trees and see far out into the ocean. He was hungry but had nothing but more coconut to eat. It was already starting to cause stomach discomfort. At least he had fresh water.
About another hour of climbing brought him to the base of a waterfall. Like the stream, it was only a trickle at the time, but he could see where it had widened during earlier wet weather. It took him another hour to find the easiest way around the rocky outcropping through which the water flowed, but when he did a wondrous sight met his eyes. A small, crystal clear lake sat amid the tropical jungle and beyond it, sitting below the carved rocky face of a high cliff, was the ruins of an ancient building.
* * * * *
“Happy birthday!” said Bessemer, opening his eyes, but making no move to get up.
“Thank you.”
“What are you going to do today? Go out? Party?”
“I thought I would just stay here and read.”
“Read? On your birthday?” The dragon waved his hand. “You want to spend your birthday reading in a drafty warehouse?”
“I don’t think it’s so bad.”
“Who are you and what have you done with Senta?”
“I didn’t do anything with her… I mean I’m me, silly. If you’re up, we can spend the day together.”
“Well of course I want to spend time with you, but I’m really still in the middle of my sleep cycle. I just woke up to say Happy Birthday and to give you your present.”
“Wonderful. Where is it?”
“First you have to promise me you’ll go out and have fun with your friends. I’m sure Graham is planning to take you out.”
“He’s busy,” said Senta, but when she saw the quizzical look in Bessemer’s eye, added. “But he got me this.”
She lifted the silver dragon pendant away from her breast.
“Not a very good likeness,” said Bessemer.
“It’s not supposed to be you. It’s a generic dragon.”
“Hm. Well, go spend some time with Hero at least.”
“All right, fine. Where’s my present?”
“It’s at home under your bed.”
“Oh. Well, I’ll get it later then I guess.”
“Yes, now go on out and find Hero. I’m going back to sleep.”
Senta didn’t immediately drop her book and leave the warehouse. She returned to her prone position on the cot and went back to her book. She had made quite a bit of progress deciphering some new incantations before Bessemer had awakened, but after he began to snore loudly she realized that she had read through the description of the same spell three times. She got up and rummaging through the carpetbag she had brought with her, picked out a simple brown dress. She matched this with a white overdress that went with one of the bizarre creations that Zurfina had provided. Leaving the sleeping dragon where he was, she stepped out the human-sized back door and walked up the alley toward Pine Street.
At the top of the hill, Senta paused to look around and appreciate just what a fine day it was. Bessemer was right to insist that she get out at least for a little while. She passed through the great gate and made a left down First Avenue, but she wasn’t in any great hurry. The truth of the matter was that she really wanted to see Hero, but she didn’t want to run into that other blond girl, and that seemed likely if she visited her friend. She was still thinking of this when she heard her name called.
“Senta!”
The young sorceress turned to see Saba Colbshallow walking toward her, only then realizing that she was right in front of his house. The Colbshallow home was a large, beautiful red brick house sitting back from the road in the shade of large pines and maples on a large fenced estate. A team of lizzies was busy planting apple trees, which the young police sergeant had apparently been supervising.
“Hey Saba.”
“I was just getting ready to run your birthday gift over to you.”
“You got me a present too?”
“Loana and I got you a present. Now we can give it to your in person. She’s just getting ready for tea in the garden. Come join us.”
“Who’s living in your old house then?” asked Senta.
The small A-frame house, which had been Saba’s first home and stood on the corner of the property, looked like a storage shed next to the newly finished home. But Senta could see through the window that someone was moving about inside.
“I’m renting it.”
“I assumed that, since I can see someone has moved in. I suppose you can use the rent money to lavish your wife with imported fruit trees. So just who is it that you have living here?”
“It’s Mr. Clipers, the Zaeri Imam.”
“And that’s not making your wife crazy?”
“Of course not. She hasn’t been around many Zaeri, but now that she’s here, she’s become more cosmopolitan. Talking of which, when I first saw you I thought you were one of the Zaeri girls on her way home.”
“Oh? How’s that?”
“With your brown and white dress. It’s just the sort of thing they would wear. Anyway, come on back. Loana will be so excited you’re here.”
Loana was in fact, not excited to see Senta there, though she covered it well. With a quick admonition to the lizzies to keep working, Saba had led Senta to the garden behind the house. Here a white wrought iron table had been set for tea. Two matching chairs were in place, but Saba had quickly added a third. He was pulling out the chair for the young sorceress just as his wife stepped out of the garden door followed by a lizzie carrying a tray of food.
“I didn’t know you had invited a guest,” said the new Mrs. Colbshallow, a smile tightly affixed to her mouth.
“I just saw her walking down the road,” explained Saba. “Knowing how much you wanted to get together with her, I thought this was the perfect opportunity.”
“Yes indeed.”
Loana took the tray from the lizzie and sat it on the table, smoothed out her dress, and then waited for her husband to pull out a chair for her. He did and then sat down himself. Loana was wearing a lovely dress, pink with black brocade and a low neckline, which was trimmed with a dozen large bows. It displayed her charms nicely. Loana was as perfect a beauty as could be found in all of Birmisia. Her chin, her nose, her waist—each of these might have been found in an encyclopedia showing the perfect version of that body part. Her hair was unusual, arranged in a very complex style, with each strand seemingly a different shade from very light blond to coppery red. Her eyes were also multihued, one deep brown and the other hazel.
“I made plenty of food. My Saba always has a healthy appetite.” Senta thought she perhaps placed a little too much emphasis on the possessive.
“Your garden is lovely,” she said.
“Thank you. It takes so much effort and it’s hard to keep up on a police sergeant’s salary. Tomato?”
Sliced tomatoes were only the beginning of a lovely tea. There was asparagus soup, turnip pasties, and a salad of mint, orange slices, and nettles. Though not the overabundance that Loana seemed to hint at, there was enough for the three diners.
“So Senta,” said Loana. “I understand there was some sort of disturbance at Finkler’s yesterday.”
“Oh?”
“How come I didn’t hear anything about it?” asked Saba.
“I’m sure that it was nothing that would involve the police,” continued Loana. “Just a bit of shouting between two young women over a young man.”
“People are crazy,” said Senta.
“Yes they are,” agreed Loana. “Some people hinted that you might know something about it, even that you might have been involved—you and a girl named Nellie something, arguing over your boyfriend?”
“Nellie Swenson. Yeah, I met her yesterday down by the docks. So we’re supposed to have yelled at each other or something?”
“Yes.” Loana seemed to be losing some of her steam.
“People make up stuff about me all the time. Mind you, if I found out Graham was spending too much time with her I might have something to say about it. He gave me this you know.” She held up the necklace.
“That reminds me,” said Saba, casting a glare at his wife and getting up from the table. “Let me get your present.”
“You really shouldn’t have,” Senta told Loana.
“Oh Saba is very attached to you. He thinks of you like a little sister.”
Saba returned carrying a small box with a bow. Opening it, Senta found a pair of simple earrings decorated with tiny pieces of amber.
“They’re beautiful,” said Senta, pulling first one and then the other out of the box and fitting them into the holes in her earlobes.
“They weren’t expensive,” he said.
“When Saba told me you had pierced ears, I just knew we had to get them for you,” said Loana. “I once thought of getting mine pierced, but I didn’t want to look like a tart.”
“You’re just as thoughtful and nice as everyone says,” replied the sorceress.
Senta bid farewell to the Colbshallows and continued on her way toward Zaeritown, though she was in no more hurry than she had been. As she walked, she thought about what Saba had said when he had first hailed her. She looked down at her dress. She did look a bit like a Zaeri. You didn’t run into any Zaeri with blond hair though. Then the thought struck her.
“Uuthanum,” she said, pointing her finger at the top of her head.
Her hair swirled around and when it came to a stop, she gathered a few strands together, holding them in front of her. Her hair was now a bit past shoulder length, but more importantly it was a deep brown. With another word, she conjured a small hand mirror and examined herself. She really did look like one of the Zaeri girls now. She was still looking at herself when the mirror popped out of existence.
When she walked down the street through the Zaeri neighborhood, the many residents out in their yards, working in vegetable gardens, or just relaxing, paid her little attention. They noticed her in the way they would have noticed anyone new walking through their neighborhood, but Senta didn’t draw the attention that she usually did. When she arrived at the Hertling home, she kept an eye out for the blond girl, but didn’t see her. She knocked on the door, which was answered by Hero.
“Yes… Senta, is that you?”
“Yes. Can I come in?”
“Of course, of course.” Hero ushered her in and closed the door behind her. “What did you do to your beautiful blond hair?”
“I was just in the mood for a change.”
“Well it certainly is a big one. You look completely different. We could be sisters.”
“There you go,” said Senta.
“How did your expedition go? Did you find any coal for Mr. Staff?”
“Um, possibly.”
“How did you get along with Shemar and Benny? I think they’re both cute, don’t you? Graham isn’t angry with you for spending time with other boys, is he? You can tell him it’s all business.”
“Graham was busy anyway, as I understand it.”
“Well I’m so glad you came over. I was just thinking that I wanted to play a game of Argrathian checkers, but there was nobody to play with because Hertzel’s at work and Honor is at the Town Council meeting.”
“All right, set up the board.”
Before Hero could move, there was a knock at the front door. She crossed the kitchen in two steps and grasped the doorknob.
“Wait! Don’t open it!” cried Senta, but it was too late. The door swung inward on its hinges revealing the person beyond.