When Senta woke the next morning, she assumed it was very early, as there was hardly any light coming in, even though all the curtains were open. Then she heard the distant rumble of thunder and looked at the clock. It was almost eleven. She stretched decadently across her bed. That bed had cost as much as the average working man made in a year, and was the only one she’d even been in, at least since she’d been fully grown, in which her feet didn’t hang over the bottom. As her hand stretched across, she felt the other side—the empty side.
She really didn’t expect Baxter to be there. He almost never was by the time she got up. But when he was there, he was a horrible, insatiable monster. She smiled slyly at the memory of last night, and yesterday afternoon, as she rolled over.
On the far side of the room, Aggie, the lizzie dressing maid, was carrying hangers full of dresses to the closet.
“Bring me my foundations,” she said.
The lizzie started and hissed.
“I’ll wear that green walking dress. Yes, the one with the white underdress.”
Aggie bobbed her head up and down to indicate she understood. The lizzies were surprisingly good at helping human women get dressed. Senta had been to a number of lizzie villages and two of the great lizzie city-states, and she knew how they festooned themselves with paint, feathers, and beads. She supposed it really wasn’t all that different than dressing in gingham, lace, and make-up.
“Paint,” she said to herself.
Mistaking her meaning, Aggie rushed over to the vanity, where on rare occasions, Senta applied rouge, eye shadow, and lip color.
“No, not now. After.”
When Senta stepped off the bottom of the staircase, she found her lover and her child in the parlor. The former was reading the paper and the latter was pushing herself along on a two-foot-tall, three-foot-long wooden iguanodon. Each of the creature’s four feet was attached to a pair of small wheels. A miniature saddle was fixed into the creature’s back, making it just high enough that little Senta could reach the ground with her tiptoes and propel it.
“What’s this then?”
“Brilliant, isn’t it? Mr. Dokkins made it. I thought it was a wonderful idea, since the real ones proved too scary.”
“Lift your feet a moment, Pet.” The little girl did so. “Uuthanum tachthna. Now just think where you want to go, and you’ll get there without having to push.”
Within moments, Sen was zooming around the room, nowhere near the speed of a baby iguanodon, but much faster than she would have been able to on her own power. Senta dropped down into a plush chair and draped her left arm and her head over the chair arm.
“Come and give kisses,” she ordered.
Sen raced by, crashing into the coffee table, backed up a bit, and turned to kiss her mother on the cheek. Then she was back to zooming around the room.
“I take it the morning post has arrived,” said the sorceress.
Baxter lifted the paper he was reading in reply.
She walked to the foyer and retrieved the stack of letters from the small silver plate on the table by the door. Flipping through them, she found among several bills, a letter addressed to her from Dr. Agon Bessemer. She smiled, as she picked up the silver opener and cut through the envelope. Back in the parlor, she plopped back into the overstuffed chair and read through the message.
“I have a letter from Bessemer,” she said.
“I saw that,” Baxter replied without looking up.
“He’s invited us to spend some time at his fortress. We will be leaving in four days time.”
“We who?”
“Why, all of us.”
“Traveling overland through unexplored wilderness, presumably on foot, through wild lizzie territory, with vicious dinosaurs all around?”
“I’ve made the journey before. We’ll be perfectly safe.”
“It’s not safe for a child. Even if we all arrive in one piece, that fortress is no place for her either—surrounded by lizzies, without another human face.”
“Nonsense, we’ll be there.”
“For that matter, I don’t think it’s a safe place for Zoey.”
Senta let out an exasperated sigh. “They worship dragons as gods!”
“You told me how they treated Bessemer before. Even now, not all of the lizzies have accepted him. But he’s big enough to take care of himself.”
“We will discuss it after dinner,” said Senta, standing up. “Now I have business elsewhere.”
“You’ll be home for tea, at least?”
“Probably not.” She exited through the foyer, taking her handbag from the hook as Cheery opened the front door for her. Outside, she stopped and looked at the overcast sky. It was windy and it was cold. She held her hand out—no rain and no snow. There probably wouldn’t be any more snow this year.
She plucked one of the glowing gem-like items that orbited her head. Only she could see them. They were glamours—magic spells cast earlier and placed in storage for when she needed them. The gem she had plucked from its orbit and crushed between her fingers was a spell that protected her from the elements.
No longer cold, she looked around. Even though the temperature wouldn’t bother her, it just didn’t look like the kind of day one wanted to be walking around in, walking dress notwithstanding. It was certainly unseemly for a sorceress to walk a mile to hire a rickshaw. Raising her hands above her head, she said, “Rezesic idium uuthanum tortestos paj.” And with a quiet pop, she disappeared.
With an equally quiet pop, Senta reappeared some ten miles away. She swayed for a moment, nauseous. Maybe she should have eaten something first. Zurfina had always made teleportation look so easy. Looking around, she realized that she was in the yard, just in front of the home of her childhood friend Hero Hertling. She had intended to visit Hero this morning. The only thing was, Hero was now Hero Markham, and no longer lived in the tiny house. In fact, all of the three Hertling siblings had grown up, married, and moved. As she was thinking about all this, the sorceress spotted a small face peeking out the front window. She waved and it disappeared.
“Bother,” she said, stepping out to the sidewalk and walking east.
“Senta!” she heard, after having taken no more than a dozen steps.
She looked just in time to see Benny Markham pull his steam carriage to a stop next to her.
“Are you on your way to visit my wife?”
“I was.”
“Let me give you a lift.” When she seemed hesitant, he said, “I assure you it’s quite safe.”
Benny stretched out a hand, and she let herself be hoisted up into the front passenger seat. After pulling levers and pushing pedals that seemed unnecessarily complicated to Senta, he pulled away from the curb and sped down the street. Benny Markham was an extremely average man, with brown hair and a pleasant, round face.
“You should really get yourself a steam carriage,” he said. “They’re really convenient.”
“I’m a sorceress, Benny,” said Senta.
“Yeah, all right. So, how come you were walking?”
“Why not, on such a lovely day?”
He glanced up at the sky, but didn’t contradict her.
A few minutes later, they pulled up in front of the Markham home. It was a fine, two-story house with red and yellow stonework on the face. A pair of lizzies came out to take charge of the car, but as soon as they saw the passenger, they seemed to disappear.
“What the hell?” growled Benny as he went around, first to release the steam, and then to help Senta down.
“I’m sure you’ll be able to coax them out once I’ve gone inside,” she said.
The Markham’s majordomo, usually present at the front door, also seemed to have gone missing. The lizzies were forgotten however, once they entered the parlor. Hero Markham jumped to her feet and wrapped Senta in a great hug. About a head shorter than the sorceress, and quite plump, Hero had long dark hair and large brown eyes.
“Senta, why didn’t you tell me you were stopping by?”
“I’m going out of town, and I wanted to visit before I did.”
“You’re not going to Mallontah, are you? It’s really not safe for you there.”
Two and a half years before, while in St. Ulixes, Senta had been shot by a sniper. The common theory was that it was in retaliation for the magic battle she had been involved in eight years before that, which had burned down more than a few blocks of the city. Senta didn’t hold to the common theory.
“No, I’m not going that far, but I will be gone for a while, so I wanted to visit with you and your sweet family.”
The Markham’s oldest daughter, one of many eponymous Sentas in Birmisia Colony, was a five-year-old that looked very much like her mother had as a child, with thick cascades of curly black hair. Sitting primly in her white dress next to the spot her mother had just vacated, she had her hands entwined with yarn, which they together had been forming into a ball.
“How are you, Sweetie?” asked the Senta, stepping behind the chair and leaning over to kiss the child on the cheek.
“Fine,” came the meek answer.
Benny Jr., a rough and tumble boy of four watched the sorceress from the hall doorway, only to run quickly away whenever she looked at him. Hannabeth, a curly-haired girl of three sat beneath an occasional table playing with a rag doll. The youngest Markham child was not in evidence.
“Where is Little Honor?”
“The nurse is dressing her.”
“How many lizzies do you have?” wondered Senta. “That’s not a criticism, mind, I was just wondering.”
“We have six,” said Benny, just returning to the room after putting away his coat. “They’re all from the same house.”
“That was Benny’s idea,” said Hero, proudly. “He wanted to make sure that they would all get along and work together.”
Senta nodded, though the gesture hadn’t anything to do with the household lizzies. While they had talked, she had been examining the magical wards that only she could see, ensuring that the protective magic she kept on the Markham family was in place. Though they knew nothing about it, they were wrapped in magical protection like no one else on the continent save Baxter, and of course Sen.
“Sit down,” said Hero, pointing to a plush chair.
“I’ll go get Honnie,” said Benny, on his way out of the room again.
“So where are you going?” asked Hero, as the sorceress poured herself into the seat.
“I’m going to visit Bessemer.”
“In that horrible place?”
Hero, and everyone else in Port Dechantagne, knew about Dragon Fortress only from the description in the travel journal Journey to Tsahloose by Isaak Wissinger, who had, many years earlier, stopped there with Senta and a few others.
“He says he’s fixed it up nice,” countered Senta.
“You’re not taking little Senta, are you? That’s no place for a child!”
“She’ll be perfectly safe. She’ll be with me,” said Senta.
“And Mr. Baxter is going with you?”
“He may. In any case he’s all for Sen going.”
“I think you’re lying,” said Hero, “though I can never tell for sure.”
“Now, now,” said Benny, entering carrying miniature version of his two other daughters. “Let’s not have cross words.”
“She is so sweet,” said Senta. “She’s not a baby anymore. When are you going to have another one?”
“Oh, I think we’re done,” replied Hero. “Four children are plenty.”
“I think I’d like another boy, just to round things out,” said Benny.
“Sure you think that. You don’t have to carry him.” Hero glared at her husband and then turned back to her friend. “How about you? When are you having another?”
“I have one too many now,” replied Senta.
Hero opened her mouth in shock.
“I’m just kidding.”
Senta stayed for lunch with the Markhams, though she ate only a few bites of sausage and a buttered crumpet. While they ate, they talked of nothing important, but reminisced. The two women laughed about their days growing up, when they, along with Hero’s brother Hertzal and Graham Dokkins had been a fearsome foursome. Benny talked of the time he had served as Senta’s guard in the wilderness when she was hired to scry for coal. Finally, the sorceress stood up.
“Well, time for me to be off.”
“Would you like me to drive you somewhere?” asked Benny.
“Not necessary.” She lifted her hands above her head. “Rezesic idium uuthanum tortestos paj.” And she disappeared with a pop.
From her perspective, what changed were her surroundings. She was standing on the corner of Clark and Forest, just steps away from J.D. Kinney’s 5 and 10 Pfennig Dry Goods and Sundries. She could hear startled exclamations from customers of the Pfennig Store, Doreen’s Millinery, and Friese and Son’s Imported Foods and Beverages. She noticed that she didn’t feel dicky at all. Maybe she was getting the hang of it. Or maybe it was better when people were watching. Zurfina certainly made a habit of popping in and out in front of a crowd, which now that Senta thought about it was odd, considering how much of a recluse Zurfina usually was. She walked down the sidewalk, past the storefronts, and then across a narrow alleyway, paying no attention to those gawking at her. Turning on a heel, she walked up to the front of the building that contained Buttermore’s Photography, Mademoiselle Joliet’s Dress Shop, Tint’s Haberdashery, and McCoort & McCoort. She stopped for only a moment to admire a teal dinner gown in the dress store window before entering the bookshop.
Though Senta’s cousin Maro usually ran the shop, today his older brother Geert was behind the counter. He grinned at the sorceress.
“Good day, cousin,” he said. “You look incredibly beautiful.”
“Thank you, and hi yourself. What’s all this then? Aren’t you usually gluing about this time of day?”
“Maro’s running the printer today. He’s doing his wedding invitations.”
“Wedding invitations? Who’s he marrying?”
“Sherree, of course. They’ve been engaged for a year.”
“She’s the one with the eyeglasses?”
“Yup.”
“I can’t remember anything else about her,” said Senta, “except, she must be a Kafirite. She wears that bloody big cross all the time.”
“Yup. Her family’s very religious.”
“Hmm. This should make life interesting at McCoort and McCoort.”
The world of humanity was divided into two religions, and unlike the beliefs of the lizzies, both were monotheistic. Many thousands of years ago in an almost forgotten empire called Zaerphon, the Zaeri religion had flowered. It was spread across the world by a Zur conqueror: Magnus the Great. For the first time, humans everywhere worshipped the same God. Even when Magnus’s empire had splintered into many successor kingdoms, the belief that he had spread continued on. Then a generation later, a Zaeri prophet named Kafira had begun teaching a strange variation of the religion in the land of Xygia. Kafira had preached the importance of the afterlife, an adherence to a code of conduct that she said would lead one to this afterlife, and a general disregard for temporal affairs. The last of these three tenets of Kafira’s teaching had put her at odds with the Zaeri High Priests and the Xygian King, for supporting the priesthood and paying the King’s taxes were, for them, priorities. They taught her the error of her ways by giving her an ignoble death, crucifying her on the cross, thereby cementing her position as martyr. As her prophets spread her words though distant lands, her followers recognized her first, as a savior, and then as the only begotten daughter of the Zaeri God. The Kafirites, as her followers were known, spread quickly to engulf all that had been the Zur civilization, converting it to their creed, making Kafirism the only religion in the world of man—save those few who held onto the ancient Zaeri belief. In the centuries since, the Zaeri had been frequent targets of hatred and discrimination by some Kafirites. The attempted genocide of the Zaeri by King Klaus II of Freedonia was only the latest and worst.
Geert McCoort had married Honor Hertling, Hero Markham’s older sister. Though she had not asked him to, he had converted to the Zaeri faith, something that was already a bone of contention between the two brothers. This could only increase with the addition of another devout Kafirite in the family.
“Honest discourse is a good thing,” said Geert, sagely.
“You sound like your wife. How is she?”
“She’s fine. She’s helping out at the community center today, serving meals to the needy.”
“No little McCoorts on the horizon?”
“No, and please don’t mention anything about them to Honor. She worries sometimes that I might leave her because she can’t have children. We knew that was a possibility after her accident. She lost most of her leg and had some internal injuries. The honest truth is I’m not that fond of children anyway. I could live happily the rest of my life with just Honor and me.”
“Besides, you’ll have nieces and nephews.”
“And lots of little cousins,” said Geert, with a smile.
“Oh yes, I had forgotten about Bertice’s children.”
“And yours.”
“Oh yes, I had forgotten about her too.”
“So what can I do for you today? I know you have the Gazette delivered, so you must be here for Mr. Wissinger’s new book.” He held up the crimson-bound volume.
“I do need one of those,” said the sorceress, taking it and stuffing it into her handbag. “Mostly though, I’m just visiting today. You see, I’m going out of town for a while—to Bessemer’s fortress. I wanted to touch in before I left.”
“You’re not taking Sen, are you?”
“Everyone’s making a fuss,” she said with a frown. “If I don’t see her before I leave, tell your lovely wife hello for me.”
“She’ll be happy to hear it,” he said, with a straight face.
“I’ve known her since I was a little kid and I’ve never done anything to her,” said Senta, “and yet, she’s still afraid of me.”
He smiled. “She really, really is.”
She sighed. “Toodle-pip then.” Then she slipped her handbag over her left arm, turned, and headed toward the door.
“Be careful,” he called after her.
She waved a hand in reply.
Outside, she turned and walked to the Gazette building, next door, to see Maro. Just before she reached the door however, it opened and out stepped a pretty seventeen-year-old, with waves of beautiful golden hair, set off by her white day dress and large white hat. Around her neck was a gold chain, holding a large cross, suspended between her bosoms, and on her face was an extremely thick pair of glasses that made her eyes look huge.
“Well hello,” said Senta. “If it isn’t my soon-to-be cousin: Shirley.”
“It… It’s Sherree,” said the girl, turning a shade closer to the white of her dress.
“Is it?”
Sherree nodded.
“I didn’t get to see much of you at New Year’s Eve. You were at my house, weren’t you? Maro didn’t bring someone else?”
“No. I was there.” She cast a quick glance through the glass door, as if looking for rescue.”
“What a relief.” Senta wrapped her right arm around Sherree’s shoulders. The rest of the world seemed to fade away around them. “You know, you’re marrying into an important and wealthy family. I suppose that will be quite a change for you.”
“What do you mean?”
“What with your humble origins and all.”
Sherree frowned. “My family is quite well off. My father is an engineer at M&S Coal. We’re important members of the community. My mother is secretary of the Ladies Auxiliary.”
“So, important people.”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“And good people,” added Senta.
“Yes.”
“The right sort of people,” suggested the sorceress.
“That’s right,” said Sherree, tossing her chin up. “We’re good, God-fearing Kafirites, and Brech through and through.”
“Don’t you have a little friend who is half Mirsannan?”
“If you mean Questa Hardt, we’re not friends. I had her over a few times, just so she could see how proper Brechs live. She’s certainly not in our class. She’s actually quite ugly with her dark skin.”
“Do you feel the same way about your little Mirsannan half-brother?”
“Wha… what are you talking about?” Sherree’s face, which had returned to its normal color, now started turning red.
“I’m talking about the little boy your father has with his mistress, Purna Mouliets.”
“How dare you, you witch! You don’t know anything! You don’t even know my name!”
Senta reached out and touched the girl’s nose with her left forefinger, which caused her to freeze, even though no magic was used, other than the magic of good, wholesome fear.
“Oh Sherree Demetria Glieberman, I know everything. I know everything about your father, Beeman the engineer, and his father Artus, also an engineer, and his father Beeman, for whom your father was named, who was a smuggler, bringing See-spice to Brech from Enclep. I know everything about your mother Acadia—how she won’t let your father touch her, and how she fantasizes about some of your little friends. And I know everything about you, Sherree—how you were doing a little more than snogging in my garden on New Year’s Eve, how you’ve got a worn copy of Agria’s Virgins in the Spring under your mattress, with page 79 turned down on the corner—that’s one of my favorites too. I know how you plan to twist my cousin Maro and split him away from his brother, because even though he’s going to be disgustingly rich, and he’s good-looking, and you honestly do have feelings for him, you can’t stand the thought that he’s related to those filthy zeets.”
“I’m… I’m a good Kafirite,” said Sherree, her gigantic eyes filling with tears.
“You’re a horrible little snot.” The sorceress squeezed her even closer. “You’re going to marry Maro. I’ve seen it in the future. Nothing I can do about it.”
Sherree pulled her eyes away and turned her head, but Senta took her by the chin and turned her face back.
“You will do nothing to disrupt Maro’s family,” Senta’s voice lowered to a whisper, “my family, because I can do so many things to you.”
“What are you going to do—turn me into a salamander?” She struggled to pull away, but Senta held her firm.
“Does that frighten you? No? What if I told you I would shrivel up your insides, so that they fell out you fanny, and blew away on the wind like so much dust?”
Sherree burst into tears and tried to pull away again. This time, the sorceress let her go. The world seemed to return to normal. Without another look at the girl, Senta stepped through the door to confront the smell of ink and the sounds of a steam-powered printing press.
“Hey Senta,” called Maro, pulling a lever to stop the press and sending a large whoosh of steam into the air. “What’s the news?”
“I thought you were the news man.”
“That’s right, I am,” he said, smiling as he smoothed down his mustache with both hands, revealing that his right hand was missing the last two fingers. Stepping around the press, he pulled a printed sheet out and held it up for her. “What do you think?”
“Nice font,” said Senta, looking it over. “The wedding isn’t until Quaduary? Why are you printing the invitations now?”
“It’s going to be a big deal. The best wedding ever. We’ve got to get everything in place.”
“It’s awfully close to my birthday. I suppose I can’t throw a big birthday party that same week.”
“You don’t usually do anything on your birthday,” he noted.
“No, but I’ve recently discovered the joys of being a hostess.”
“I know. I had a great time New Year’s.”
“I was just telling your fiancé that I thought you had,” said Senta.
“So, are you just visiting or what?”
“Your brother can fill you in,” she said. “It’s so tiresome always repeating myself.”
“You know you sound more and more like Zurfina.”
“Hmm. Well, I’m off to take Didrika and Ernst to tea.”
Senta didn’t need to teleport to reach her next destination; it was just down the block and across the street. She walked up to the brownstone apartment, shaded in a grove of giant willows, and knocked smartly. The door opened and Didrika Goose, a thin, blond woman of twenty, who looked very much a younger version of Senta, peered out. Didrika and Ernst Goose were Senta’s cousins, as well as Geert’s and Maro’s cousins, the five of them being products of three siblings.
“Hello, Senta. Come in.”
“How are you, Dear?” asked Senta, kissing the girl on the cheek.
“Peachy,” said Didrika, leading her cousin to a small parlor. “What are you doing out and about?”
“I came to ask if you had plans for tea.”
“Ernst!” called Didrika toward the back room. “Come out! Senta’s here!”
Ernst stepped out into the parlor. She was a five-year younger, and perhaps slightly prettier, version of Didrika, with her blond hair falling almost to the middle of her back, though on this day, she wore it up. Her white dress just matched her sister’s, and she was carrying a crimson copy of Mr. Wissinger’s book.
“I was just reading about you,” she said to Senta.
“I’m in it too? I’ll have to actually read it then.” Senta reached into her handbag and pulled out her own copy, flipping it open to a random page.
Suddenly there was flash of light. On the page in front her was a photograph. It was a photograph she knew well, because the original was hanging, framed, above her bed. It was hand-colored over a sepia-toned image, so that the result was much more real looking than a painting. In front of a lush green forest backdrop was a Mirsannan divan with long wooden legs and large lazy padded arms. Reclining across its width, one arm draped over the end, one leg bent lazily at the knee was Zurfina, naked. And lying across the divan in the other direction, in a mirrored pose, was Senta—just as naked. Her front bits were hidden behind Zurfina’s flaring hips, but her bosoms were completely unobscured.
“Sweet Kafira,” said Senta. “What did the boys do?”
Didrika leaned over and looked at the picture. “The boys didn’t print that. They can’t. They don’t have the equipment to print photographs into books.”
“Is it in your copy too?” Senta asked Ernst.
“No,” she said, opening the book. “Well, it wasn’t, but now it is.”
“Zurfina,” growled Senta. “What did you do, you twat?”