The newest addition to the growing public library system in Birmisia Colony was in Port Dechantagne’s southeastern most neighborhood. It was known to the residents as Woodstead and was made up of rows of three-story brownstones, with businesses on the ground floor or the basement, and apartments above. The library building was a modest structure, two stories, but overlooking a long sloping hill, recently denuded of trees but otherwise undeveloped. The wide panoramic window offered a beautiful view from the lower level, but it paled in comparison to the view from the Library Director’s office above.
Kieran Baxter stared out from his office. He had started out watching the conchoraptors hunting among the leaves at the forest’s edge. It was too early for pinecones, but it was a good spot for mice or lizards. Before long though, he had stopped looking at anything at all, as his mind wandered. A knock at the door returned him suddenly to the present. His secretary poked her head into the room.
“Someone to see you, Mr. Baxter.”
She then opened the door wide and a thirteen-year-old girl walked in past her.
“Thank you, Miss Kulp,” said Baxter, as she closed the door.
“Hi, Daddy,” said the girl, bouncing up to him and wrapping her arms around him.
She was tall for her age, lanky, just like her mother. Her medium length blond hair had been curled. She wore a grey shirtwaist over a white skirt, a straw boater was balanced on her head, and she carried a small grey and white striped handbag.
“You’re old enough to call me Dad now, or Father.”
“I have a father,” she said squeezing him, “but you will always be my Daddy. Dad’s not too bad though.”
“What can I do for you today, my dear? I could count on one hand how many times you’ve visited me in my office.”
“I wanted to talk to you about money.” She looked toward the chair. “Can we sit down?”
“Oh, is this an official meeting then?” he laughed and stepped around behind the large pine desk to take his seat. “I thought your mother had you on an allowance.”
“Oh, she does. In fact, it’s really starting to pile up. I can’t seem to spend it fast enough.”
“Would that were a problem we all had.”
“I know. That’s why I wanted to talk to you about it. I want to give you some money.”
“You don’t have to do that, Sweetheart.”
“I know I don’t have to, but I want to. You and Bryony have treated me like I was your own child, and I’m not. You’ve known me since I was a baby, but I’m not your flesh and blood. You just had the bad luck of meeting my mother when she was pregnant with me.”
“I consider that very good luck,” he said, sincerely, “if for no other reason than I get to be your dad.”
“But poor Bryony. She marries you and she gets me foisted upon her—the child of your old chatelaine.”
“That’s not how I would characterize your mother.”
“In any case,” she continued. “I’ve lived with the two of you for five years now.”
“It can’t be that long. Can it?”
“It’s well over five years. And here I have all this money that I can’t use. I want to give it to you. You can pay off the loan on your house.”
“I thought you had a better grasp of money than that,” he said with a frown. “Why, we must still owe five thousand to the Bank of Birmisia.”
“Bryony says it’s more than six thousand, and I have almost ten thousand marks right here.” She held up her handbag.
“Ten thousand… You’re carrying around ten thousand marks?”
“Yes. Mother is giving me five hundred a month, and I just don’t have that many expenses. I take my friends out sometimes, and I go out to lunch. I buy a dress every now and then. I want to give you and Bryony the rest.”
“Good grief,” he sighed. “Does your mother have to do everything so ham–handed? She can’t… Oh never mind. In any case, I’m not taking your money. I will, however, take you to the bank after I’m done here for the day, and we will open a bank account for you. You can save your money for the future. You can use it to attend University, and maybe buy your own house someday.”
“Mother says I don’t need any university. She says that all that education is a waste. I’m going to be a great sorceress, like her.”
“Is that what you want? To be like her?”
“Well, I do think I’ll be a sorceress. It’s in me whether I want it or not. But I don’t want to be a twat like her.”
“Senta! You will not use language like that.”
She grinned back at him. “I’ve heard you call her that same thing.”
“Well,” he said through gritted teeth. “Do as I say, not as I do. Now go down and look through the book stacks, and I’ll wrap up my business. Then we’ll go to the bank.”
She hopped up and skipped around the great desk to his side, kissing him on the cheek.
“I love you more than anything, you know, Dad,” she said.
“I love you too.”
* * * * *
Across town at the headquarters of the Port Dechantagne Police Department, Chief Saba Colbshallow was on his way down the steps to where his car was parked. He nodded to several police constables as he passed them. When he reached the vehicle, he went to the back and shoveled some coal into the firebox and then lit it. There was plenty of water, but it was cold. He climbed behind the steering wheel and sat. It was going to be at least a few minutes before he could move.
His mind wandered, though he later couldn’t remember what he had been thinking about. He was jolted to awareness when someone climbed up into the passenger seat.
“Hello, Chief.”
He frowned at the young woman beside him. She was in her late twenties or early thirties and was quite attractive, with black hair and an olive complexion. She wore a striped black and white walking dress that looked vaguely foreign. He tried to remember if she had spoken her two words with a Mirsannan accent.
“Do I know you?”
“Not really. My name is Paisley—Paisley Gertz.”
“Any relation to Cady Gertz? I should say, Mrs. Bitboul.”
“Cousins… by marriage.”
“So, it’s Mrs. Gertz?” he asked.
“That’s right. My husband works for the railroad.”
“And, to what do I owe the pleasure?”
“You were just looking sort of down, you know. So, I decided to take you out to tea. It is almost teatime.”
“It wouldn’t be proper,” he said. “You’re a married woman and I’m a married man.”
“Oh, it’s just between friends. To hear Cadence tell it, she almost married you, so it’s like we’re family. It’s not as if I invited you into my boudoir… yet.”
“Where would you like to go?”
“What’s close by?” she asked.
“There’s a little tea shop just down the street. It’s called The Steaming Pot.”
“Sounds lovely. Let’s go.”
* * * * *
The little cottage on Ghiosa Way was just as inviting as it always was, when Kieran Baxter stepped through the door to be greeted by his wife with a kiss on the mouth. She was as lovely as the day he first saw her. She wore a pretty white pinstriped day dress, trimmed with white lace and bows. Her collar-length dark brown hair was parted on the side and combed over with only a few curls in the back.
“Welcome home. Let me take your hat and coat.”
He peeled them off and handed them to her. She placed them on the hooks of the coat rack.
“Could you do me a favor, Kieran?” she asked as she stepped past him, trailing her finger across his chin.
“Of course, Dear. What can I do?”
She stepped over to the sofa and bent over its arm.
“Could you lift up my dress and give it to me good? I mean really pound me.”
“Where’s my wife?” he growled. “What have you done with her?”
“I haven’t done anything with her. She’s in the other room.”
“Bryony!” Baxter shouted, heading through the dining room.
His wife emerged from the hallway, looking like the perfect twin of the woman who had met him at the door.
“What’s the matter, Kieran? Why are you shouting?”
“I thought she had done something with you.”
“You know she wouldn’t do anything like that.” They both turned to see Senta Bly, sitting on the sofa, wearing a blue walking dress.
“She was pretending to be you. She kissed me.”
Bryony narrowed her eyes and glared at the sorceress.
“All Brech, no Mirsannan,” said Senta, holding up both hands in surrender. “I kept my tongue in my mouth the whole time.”
“Go wash up, dear,” said Bryony. “I have to have a talk with my good fiend.”
“You mean friend,” said Senta. “You said fiend.”
“I know what I said.”
Baxter turned and made his way down the hallway, stopping first at the bathroom to wash his face and hands and then his bedroom, where he changed from his stiff white shirt into a slightly less stiff white shirt. He then opened the door to the nursery and two children came hurrying toward him, shouting, “Daddy!”
Kerry Baxter was now a rough and tumble boy of five and a half. He looked very much like his father, except that his hair was much darker, mostly brown with a few red highlights. Adelaide Baxter, a miniature version of her mother in almost every way, was not yet two, but had already mastered walking. Though she talked constantly, ninety percent of it consisted of the mysterious language of babies, with a few Brech words interspersed within.
“Look,” said Kerry, holding up two large silver coins. “Auntie Senta gave me two pfennigs.”
“Those are fifty-pfennig pieces. You have a whole mark there.”
Adelaide said something that sounded like, “Bah bah too Kerry bah too bah.”
“Where is Sen?” Kerry asked his father. “Did she come to your office? She said she was going to.”
“Yes, she was there,” he said. “Now she’s at a slumber party.”
“When do I get to go to slumber parties?”
“Ask your mother. She’s in charge of all such matters. Shall we all go out to the parlor? It’s almost dinner time.”
Picking up Adelaide and guiding Kerry with a hand behind his head, he returned through the hallway to the dining room and the parlor beyond. Bryony sat at one end of the sofa and Senta at the other.
“All right,” said the latter. “I’m sorry. My joke was in poor taste.”
“I think it might be better if you didn’t come over anymore,” said Baxter.
“Oh, don’t you think you’re overreacting?”
“While I’m here. You may still come and visit Mrs. Baxter during the day, of course.”
“I think that’s best,” agreed Bryony. “At least for a while.”
Baxter sat in his chair, pulling Addy into his lap, while Kerry climbed down onto the floor to look for toy soldiers under the furniture. Senta sat looking at her hands folded in her lap.
“I’ll go put the finishing touches on dinner,” said Bryony, standing up and breezing into the kitchen.
“It didn’t mean anything,” mumbled the sorceress.
“Of course it did,” said Baxter. “Everything means something.”
* * * * *
Having returned late from tea, Chief Colbshallow worked late, not leaving his office until well after sundown. He had just paused to lock the door when he heard his name called from down the hallway.
“I say, Colbshallow. Burning the midnight oil, are we?”
It was Justice of the Peace Max Bauer, his grey crew-cut and orange spectacles making his head stand out above his thoroughly average grey suit.
“Judge.”
“You know, election season is coming up. Kafirius is only three months away.”
“Are you asking for my vote?”
“No, quite the reverse. I thought you might be planning to run for mayor again.”
“No,” said Saba. “I ran once. I lost. That’s enough politics for me.”
“Pity. You know Jurgens isn’t going to run for reelection. He just barely beat you last time. What was the final vote? Fifty to forty-eight percent? I have no doubt you would have won, had it not been for the news of your love child.”
“What was I supposed to do?” demanded Saba. “Deny that she existed?”
“I’m making no moral judgments,” said Bauer quickly. “I merely point out that it was close. I’m sure you would win if the election were held today.”
“My daughter is still my daughter.”
“Time heals all wounds. People get used to things. It’s not such a shock anymore. Just think about it.”
Saba watched the other man walk away. He had a tremendous urge to punch him in the back of the head. Instead, he double checked the lock on the door and walked toward the elevator.
After stopping off for a pint, he reached home quite late. There was a light on in the kitchen, but the rest of the house was dark. The lizzies nevertheless ran out to push the car into the motor shed, as he walked to the door. Just before he turned the knob, he heard whispers and giggling from the garden. Turning, he stepped to the back of the house and peered over the gate. Two figures, cloaked in darkness, sat on the wrought iron love seat beside the flowerbed.
“DeeDee?” he growled.
“Yes, Father?”
“Come to me now!”
One of the two figures stood up and hurried over to the gate, opening it. Here it was light enough that Saba recognized his daughter. Her multihued hair which, like her mother’s, seemingly including every shade of blonde from copper to straw, in the darkness just looked brown, but there was enough light that he could make out her heterochromatic eyes—one brown and one hazel.
“Who is that over there with you?”
“It’s um… Julius.”
“Julius Stephenson, get your ass over here!”
“Yes, sir,” said a voice, as the other figured hurried over, revealing a lean young man almost as tall as Saba’s six foot three.
“Just what’s going on in my garden?”
“I came over to get… to ask your permission to call on DeeDee, but you weren’t home.”
“So, you just decided to get all touchy-feely in the garden?”
“Daddy, we weren’t doing anything,” said the girl.
“DeeDee, go inside.”
“But, Daddy…”
“Go inside!”
With a sob, she pushed past him and ran up the steps to the kitchen door. As soon as she was inside, Saba turned his attention back to Julius.
“I don’t know what you were thinking…”
“Honestly, sir. We weren’t doing anything but talking. I wouldn’t do that, and neither would she. I want to do this properly. Please, I know I cocked this all up… Please, sir.”
“She’s just sixteen, you know.”
“Chief Colbshallow, I know I messed this up tonight, and I know I’m probably not the fellow you would choose to call on your daughter. I know you haven’t really got on all that well with my father or my brothers, but I really like DeeDee, and I promise that my intentions are honorable.”
Saba crossed his arms and stared at the young man.
“All right,” he said. “You start fresh tomorrow… in the daylight. And know I’m giving you a second chance for three reasons. You’ve stood your ground and spoken like a man. You didn’t try to shift the blame. And DeeDee apparently likes you and she always gets what she wants in the end. No accounting for taste, is there? I just want you to remember three other things. I own a large piece of forested land, I own a gun, and I own a shovel.”
“Yes, sir,” said Julius, stepping past him and hurrying away down the drive. “See you tomorrow, sir.”
Saba shook his head and then followed his daughter inside. He was barely in the door when she jumped into his arms.
“Thank you, Daddy! Thank you! You’ll see. Julius is a fine boy.”
“I hope so,” he said, setting her down. He started through the darkened house toward the stairs. “I was always under the impression he was a little pervert.”
At the top of the stairs, he turned and walked past his wife’s room to his own. Once there, he undressed, poured water from the pitcher into the washbasin and washed his face and hands, and then finally slipped his nightshirt over his bed.
He lay in bed and stared at the ceiling for a long time. Everything in his life seemed to be telling him that he was getting old. And getting old made him angry. He needed something to make him feel young. Paisley Gertz could have done it, at least once upon a time. She was practically throwing herself at him, and there was something of a rejuvenating effect about getting in a new bird’s knickers. But he wasn’t doing that anymore. He’d made a promise to himself.
He jolted awake suddenly, for a moment forgetting where he was.
“Sorry,” said a voice.
He stretched his hand out and ran it over his wife’s naked body. There was no mistaking her for another woman. She’d been gaining weight steadily since they’d married, and until recently it was all B&B, in her bosoms and bottom. He rested the palm of his hand on her right breast. It was as big as her head, and there was another one right next to it. They were two great peaks waiting for a mountaineer. He ran his hand downward. Only in the last few years had she gained a chubby little belly, something that was obscured when she dressed in a corset. Suddenly, she flipped over onto her stomach, exposing the vast real estate of her bottom.
“I’ve been bad,” she said. “I need to be punished.”
“What did you do that was so bad?” he wondered.
“I don’t know, but I’m sure I did something.”
“So am I,” he said, slapping the soft flesh as she squealed.