“First class cabin for two to St. Ulixes.”
“Not taking your personal train, Your Lordship?” asked the man behind the glass.
“It’s not my personal train,” said Radley Staff. “It belongs to M&S Coal, and our engineers have taken it south to survey possible mining areas.”
“As you say, Your Lordship.”
Staff looked at his daughter, standing next to him, and sighed.
“It’s not likely to get any better,” said Lady Iolana Staff. “It will continue until the day you die.”
Staff took the tickets that the clerk slid though the opening in the window. He waved the two household lizzies that had arrived with them, to load the luggage onto the train. Once they had done so, he gave them change to take the trolley back to the house, though he doubted they would actually use it. Then he and his daughter boarded.
The new first class coaches had come into service early the previous year. They were quite a step up from the old first class. Instead of having a bench seat and a bed in the sleeping car, enclosed only by a curtain, the new coaches featured individual cabins, each with a pair of plush chairs, two fold-down cots, and their own personal privies. Glancing at the tickets, Staff saw that they were in cabin three. The door was quickly located and he and Iolana stepped inside. Their luggage was awaiting them, and Staff wondered just how the lizzies knew where to put it. Shrugging off the thought, he sat down in one of the chairs. His daughter took the other.
“It appears we have a short wait before we leave,” said Staff, pulling out his pocket watch and checking the time. “Once we get out of town, we’ll go up to the dining car and have a nice lunch.”
“If you’re hungry now,” said Iolana, “cook gave me a cache of provisions.”
She opened her handbag and pulled out a small paper sack, which she peered into.
“I have a sandwich of some kind, three licorice whips, some hard candy, and an apple.”
“I’m sure I’ll survive until lunchtime. I was surprised that you decided to accompany me. You have so much going on with your friends, and of course, tutoring the children.”
“What? Miss a chance to get away from my life? I think not. I only wish that I had been able to go to Brechalon with you.”
“That was your mother’s decision, not mine,” said Mr. Staff.
“Don’t I know it! Heaven forbid that I should have any fun somewhere she wouldn’t be able to squash it.”
“You make you mother sound like an ogre.”
“Do I?” asked Iolana, rhetorically.
“I don’t know how much fun you’ll actually be able to have. I’ll be in meetings most of the two days we’re there, so you’ll be on your own.”
“I’m looking forward to a bit of sightseeing. I haven’t been to Mallontah since I was a small child. I don’t suppose St. Ulixes has changed nearly as much in that time as Port Dechantagne has, but then again, I’m sure there is quite a bit that I’ve forgotten.”
“I’m not too fond of the idea of you wandering around a strange city by yourself. Be sure you carry your pistol with you.”
“Of course, Father.”
The train whistle sounded and then with a sudden jerk, the cars lurched into motion. Father and daughter looked out the window as they pulled out of the station. Their cabin faced south, so they had a view of the switching area. Then a few moments later, they saw Lizzietown sliding past as the train gathered steam.
“Well, shall we?” asked Mr. Staff.
Iolana nodded and stood. Then she followed her father out into the hallway and up toward the front of the train. They passed through one other first class carriage before reaching the dining car. There was a rope barring the way in, but a waiter hurried over to move it aside.
“Are we too early?” asked Mr. Staff.
“We normally don’t start luncheon service until 11:30.”
“We could come back.”
“Nonsense, Sir Radley. It’s no trouble at all. Please sit where you like and I’ll bring you a menu.”
When the waiter returned, the two Staffs looked at the single sheet menu.
“This looks suspiciously like the menu at Finkler’s Bakery,” said Iolana.
“Mr. Finkler owns the license for all the dining cars on the M&B line,” said the waiter.
“That man is quite a success,” said Mr. Staff. “Too bad he’s already married, eh Iolana?”
His daughter shot daggers at him with her eyes. Clearing his throat, he turned back to the menu.
“I will have a Fostbeck sandwich, and I think, a doppelbock.”
“I will have a Fostbeck sandwich as well,” said Iolana, “however I would like white bread instead of rye, and please hold the mustard and sour kraut.”
“That’s not really a Fostbeck sandwich then, Dear.”
“I can get that though, can’t I?” Iolana asked the waiter.
“Of course, My Lady.”
“And a bottle of Billingbow’s, please.”
“You know, every time I have a Fostbeck sandwich, it reminds me of a time at sea, when a man shot at me,” said Mr. Staff. “He missed me, but sadly, killed my sandwich.”
“Why was he trying to shoot you?”
“It was… um, it was a simple misunderstanding.”
“Was it a misunderstanding over a lady?” asked Iolana.
“A gentleman doesn’t discuss such things with his daughter. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
“That’s as much of a confirmation as I could have hoped for. You don’t need to be shy, Father. I’m only too well aware of how handsome you are. I imagine the young women were constantly chasing after you, before you gained the ball and chain you currently wear. It was before you married mother, wasn’t it?”
“Of course,” said Staff. “Perhaps a different topic now?”
“You could enlighten me as to the purpose for your trip to St. Ulixes.”
“You already know that, Iolana. I’m trying to sell coal. St. Ulixes is buying it from the Bordonians in Novo Brabant. They should be buying it from us. We’re closer and we’re Brech after all.”
“I thought the whole purpose of M&S Coal was to supply Merchant and Shannon Steamship Lines.”
“It was,” said Mr. Staff. “It turns out though that there is an ungodly amount of coal in Birmisia, and at least for right now, I have it all.”
“So why aren’t they buying it from you already?” asked Iolana.
“We’re only just at the point when we can expand operations enough to collect extra to sell. I think I’ll be able to underbid the Bordonians on their price, even if they are using slave labor.”
The waiter arrived with their sandwiches. As expected, they were large and looked delicious. Each came with golden chips. Both Mr. Staff’s beer and his daughter’s soda water came in the bottle, but each was provided with a frosted glass.
“Make sure you get that contract, Father,” said Iolana, as Mr. Staff took a bite of his sandwich. “I don’t much care for the idea of slave labor, even for convicts.”
He simply nodded in reply.
After lunch, they returned to their cabin, where Mr. Staff took a nap on the fold-down bed. Iolana pulled out her writing tablet and began putting the finishing touches on the outline for her novel. She was quite pleased with the idea. The story would be about the meetings and appointments of a young man as he went about a typical day in Port Dechantagne. She hadn’t yet decided on a name for her main character. Each of the eighteen chapters would mirror events from the mythical story Odessah and his journey around the world at the command of God.
She continued working well past tea, while her father took a stroll back to the smoking car. The train was rushing toward the setting sun when they returned to the dining car. This time it was filled almost to capacity. Mr. Staff had to stop several times to shake hands with other passengers as they were shown to their table.
“They have Beef Dechantagne,” said Iolana, looking at the menu.
“Of course they do,” said her father, drolly. “I’ll be honest. Sometimes I get sick of hearing that name.”
“I feel the same way about Iolana,” said Iolana.
“To tell you the truth, Iolana wouldn’t have been my choice, had I been there at the time.”
“It wouldn’t have been Livonia, would it?”
“Iolana Livonia Dechantagne Staff—can I just apologize and leave it at that?”
“What would you have named me?” she asked.
“I would have chosen your two grandmother’s names,” said Mr. Staff. “Iolanthe’s mother was Iphigenia, and my mother was Nausicaa.”
“I suppose I made out all right after all,” said Iolana. “Though I guess I would prefer either of those names to Livonia.”
“What may we serve you, My Lord?” asked the waiter, returning to the tableside.
“Fish and chips please,” said Mr. Staff.
“But Father, you had chips for lunch.”
“Can you really have too many chips?”
“Fine. I’ll have the same.”
“Another doppelbock, My Lord?”
“No. One per day is more than enough. I’ll have a Billingbow’s.” Mr. Staff looked at his daughter. “Another for you?”
She nodded.
“I really wish you would try to get along with your mother,” said Mr. Staff, once the waiter had retreated to the kitchen. “It’s only a few years until you move away. You’ll be off to college and then get married and have a home and children of your own.”
“I’m never marrying,” said Iolana. “I wasn’t joking about that, and I wasn’t saying it to get a rise out of my mother—at least not just to get a rise out of mother. I mean it. I don’t want to be part of the great Dechantagne plan.”
“I know you don’t, and you don’t have to be. But don’t cut off your nose to take revenge on your face. You will want to build a life, and children are a big part of that. Think how much you love your cousins and little Dee Dee Colbshallow.”
“I have no interest in producing offspring, giving them the illusion of free will, and then forcing them into a predetermined path in life,” said Iolana. “I will not become a slave, either to society’s preconceptions about me or to a man. I intend to live a life of academia. I shall be happy to spend all my days on the university campus, where no one bows or scrapes, and I will be known as Miss Staff, and no one will refer to me as Lady Iolana.”
“Iolana, you’re hardly a slave. You do what you want. That’s far from the life of most children in the world, who are working on farms, in factories, or in mines. You don’t have to give your life up if you get married. Kafira knows your mother didn’t. And you’ll be able to provide for your children, so that they can have good lives. Your son will be a Baron.”
“No, he won’t, because I won’t have one.” Iolana stuck her nose in the air. “If I ever change my mind, I’ll just have a love child, like the Drache Girl did.”
“That’s not the least bit funny,” said her father.
Their meals arrived a moment later, and they ate in complete silence.
Iolana and her father spent most of the next day apart. He said that he had important paperwork to go over for his meetings, but she was sure he was just avoiding her. She spent most of the day in the observation car, planning to write, but in actuality, watching the great herds of dinosaurs they passed. She stepped off for a minute when the train stopped for water, but there was little to see other than a water tower and the fortified home of those whose job it was to keep it filled. She ate breakfast, lunch, and tea by herself, but skipped dinner.
The following morning they were back together for breakfast, and Mr. Staff seemed affable enough, but he had lunch with some businessmen, and left Iolana alone for tea as well. She had just sat down to the afternoon meal, when she found a figure suddenly standing beside her table.
She looked up into the face of Tiber Stephenson. Tiber was the eldest son of the family whose home was just down the street from the Dechantagne Staff estate. He was a lean, handsome youth of seventeen, with brown hair and intelligent green eyes.
“Lady Iolana,” he said, with a nod.
“Oh please. You’ve known me all my life, Tiber. In fact, as I recall, you used to call me Roly-Poly-Yolie: not very clever of you, really.”
“To be fair, I was only seven or eight years old at the time.”
“I concede that point. Won’t you sit down?
“Only if you allow me to join you for tea.”
“My father didn’t put you up to it, did he?”
“Is he here?” Tiber looked around the dining room. “I haven’t seen him. I only just happened to see you sitting here.”
“Sit, please.”
The young man took the seat across from her. They were almost immediately joined by the waiter.
“Bring us tea for two, please,” said Iolana.
With a nod, the server disappeared.
“So, you’re on your way to St. Ulixes?” asked Tiber.
“Oh, I can’t put one over on you, can I?” replied Iolana. “My father is making the trip for business, and I thought I would go along as a tourist.”
“That’s exactly my situation. My father is thinking of investing there. I just came along to get the look of the land. I’ve never been to Mallontah. Maybe we could do some of that together.”
“Perhaps.”
“You know, I don’t think I’ve seen you since New Year’s Day.”
Iolana rolled her eyes. “Well, you did your duty. I collected your card. How many other young women did you visit that day?”
“Only a few—Questa, Talli, Dovie, and of course Ernst and Didrika.”
“You are very close with Miss Goose, aren’t you?
“Ernst, do you mean?”
“I was speaking of Didrika. You certainly spent a great deal of time with her at the New Year’s Eve party.”
“We’re good friends, but she’s too old for me. Or rather, I’m too young for her. She’s looking for an established gentleman. Ernst is very nice, and she’s pretty, not to mention that she’s a more appropriate age. If I had my way, I would court her, but I don’t think my father would allow it.”
“But she’s cousins with the McCoorts and also with the Drache Girl. They’re probably as rich as your family or mine.”
“The McCoorts are new money though. And the Drache Girl—well, she’s the problem really. My parents would accept new money with a daughter-in-law, not a son-in-law mind, but they would never accept anyone related to an unwed mother. It would be unthinkable.”
“Are you sure my father didn’t send you over?”
“No, why?”
“No reason. So then, I suppose your parents would be dead set against Questa, what with her mother being a foreigner,” mused Iolana, to which Tiber nodded. “I suppose that leaves Talli Archer.”
“She acts nice in crowds,” he said, “but she’s really a shrew.”
“Don’t I know it!”
“My parents specifically asked me to call on you,” he said, “and I honestly like you better than any of the other girls.”
“Me? Roly-Poly-Yolie?”
“It won’t be long before you are old enough to tame, Stahwasuwasu Zrant,” he said in perfect spit-n-gag.
“Stop showing off, Ssukhas Zrant,” she replied in the same tongue.
“I didn’t know you knew my lizzie name,” he said, switching back to Brech. “It’s not like I’m famous among them, a close friend of their god and all.”
She shrugged.
“Yes, I know you’re not ready to receive callers, even though you turn fourteen in three weeks. Lots of girls get married when they are fourteen these days.” He held up his hand when she started to object. “I understand though. You’re not ready. All I ask is that in a year or two, when you are ready, you at least consider me.” He leaned across the table. “Or have you already settled on Ascan Tice?”
“Tea for two,” said the waiter, arriving with a massive tray.
He laid out plates of finger sandwiches, tarts, scones with butter and honey, and of course a pot of steaming tea.
“Anything else, My Lady, Sir?”
“Might I be able to get a glass of cold water?” asked Iolana. “It seems to be increasingly warm in here.”
She busied herself gathering together items from the platters and putting them on her plate. When the waiter brought her a glass of ice water, she took a long drink.
“Say, you didn’t bring along your lizzie, did you?” asked Tiber, as he gathered his own food.
“Esther? No, she stayed home. I didn’t think it was safe for her in Mallontah.”
“That’s probably for the best. The lizzies and the trogs don’t get along. Funny, that.”
“I suppose it’s a bit like us and the short men.”
“We get along.”
“Now,” said Iolana. “But we spent a good portion of history attempting to eradicate them.”
Tiber shrugged. “Why do you suppose they’re called trogs?”
“It’s short for troglodyte,” said Iolana. “That’s Zurian for cave-dweller.”
“Interesting,” said Tiber. “So, where are you staying in St. Ulixes?”
“I believe Father has us at the Portnoy. And you?”
“We own a house. I haven’t seen it, but my father says it’s nice. Would you like me to send a car for you tomorrow?”
“That would be fine,” said Iolana. “Not too early though. After breakfast.”
Iolana stayed in her cabin through dinner, having eaten more than enough at tea to tide her over till bedtime, and having been recently reminded that in her younger years she might have been slightly on the chubby side. Her father dined with some of the other businessmen on the trip. Finally, at just before eleven the train reached the edges of St. Ulixes, and pulled into the station less than twenty minutes later.
A representative of the Portnoy met the Staffs as they stepped off the train. He had two trogs with him, to gather their luggage and take it to the waiting steam carriage. Iolana had seen trogs, the indigenous people of Mallontah on her earlier visit, but now she had a much better perspective on them than she had before. They were smaller than lizzies. Most were about her height, significantly shorter than her father. They were also less heavily built than Birmisian lizardmen. Their mouths were much shorter but wider, their teeth not as exposed, but smaller and appearing sharper. Instead of a dewlap below their chins, the trogs had a kind of sack of wrinkled skin that expanded and contracted when they breathed. While the lizzies were all various shades of green, from olive to emerald, the trogs tended to be some shade of brown, grey, or drab olive. On top of their heads, they sported a frill or a fin. It usually remained flat against their skull, standing up only when they were agitated.
The drive to the hotel was long and unpleasant. The winding, narrow streets were clearly not designed with steam carriages in mind. They were filled with foot traffic, mostly trogs, but a few humans as well. The streets were also unpaved and there was a constant haze of dust stirred up by both feet and vehicles, which collected all over the car’s passengers. At last they arrived at the hotel. It was one of the few buildings that didn’t look as though it might fall over any moment. It was three stories tall, the lowest level constructed of stone, with the upper two composed mostly of wood. Iolana followed her father and the hotel man in through the front door. The trogs followed her.
Their room, the imperial suite, was on the top floor. Though Iolana had no doubt that it was the finest hotel room in the building, probably in the entire city, it wasn’t overly impressive. A small parlor, two very small bedrooms, and a bathroom with a toilet and a claw foot tub squeezed together so close they actually touched. Counting all four rooms together, the suite was only slightly larger than Iolana’s bedroom at home.
“Is there anything you need?” Mr. Staff asked her.
“No, Father. I’ll read my evening book and then I’m off to bed.”
“What are you reading tonight?”
“Burson’s The Wide Open.”
“Very good,” he said. “We could all stand to be reminded of the importance of conserving our lands.”
“That’s an unusual position of a coal magnate.”
“Yes, but then coal magnate would appear well down on the list of words I use to describe myself. Good night, Dear.”
“Good night, Father.”
By the time Iolana was up and dressed the next morning, her father was already gone. She found a small restaurant on the hotel’s first floor and ordered a short fry-up. The server, a bored-looking young man only slightly older than she, served her eggs, bacon, and white pudding with a cup of tea. The meal wasn’t horrible, but it was certainly nothing to write home about. Long after finishing her food, she sat sipping tea. She was lost in thought, thoughts she later couldn’t recall, when Tiber Stephenson suddenly appeared beside the table.
“Well, I’m here.”
“So you are,” she said, looking up and blinking. “When you said you would send a car, I just assumed that it would take me to where you were.”
“That was the plan,” said Tiber. “Then I found out that we owned a carriage and that I could actually get away with driving it, since my mother is thousands of miles away.”
“Lots of seventeen year old boys drive.”
“I’ll hire you as my lawyer and you can argue the case before her, but I’m not going to hold out much hope.”
“So where are we going?” asked Iolana, getting up as he pulled out her chair for her.
“I thought we could check out the Church of St. Ulixes, and then maybe look through the marketplace. You never know, we might find some long lost treasure. At the very least, I can find souvenirs for my brothers. Then if you want to live dangerously, we can try some street food for lunch.”
Iolana gave him a skeptical look.
“I’ve heard the locals make these sandwiches for humans called Sonn-Sees,” he said. “They’re supposed to be really good.”
“Well, I suppose there had to have been some reason why I carry a detoxicant in my purse. Lead on, great white hunter.”
The steam carriage awaiting them in front of the hotel was a shiny new, yellow Sawyer and Sons model 12, built in Birmisia. The overflow valve was whistling as Tiber helped Iolana up into her seat and then stepped around to climb up behind the wheel. Throwing it into gear he shot down the street. The first hundred yards were wide and clear, but the way quickly narrowed and became congested with pedestrians and handcarts. They made so little headway that the steam valve began to scream and Tiber was forced to get out and open the relief cock to prevent the engine from exploding.
Finally, after an hour of moving far more slowly than they would have if they had been walking, the street opened up again, and they shot up a slow incline toward their destination. The large church, at the top of a barely noticeable hill, was constructed of square blocks hewn from ocean coral.
“You know, it’s just the color of the Drache Girl’s dragon,” said Tiber.
“Zoantheria,” said Iolana. “Yes, yes, you are quite right. Beautiful, but it doesn’t seem quite right for a church.”
In form, The Church of St. Ulixes was modeled after The Great Church of the Holy Savior in Brech City. It was a massive and highly ornamented building. Iolana was quite familiar with the original only from photographs and diagrams, having never been to Brechalon. This church was imposing from its lowest level, with its forty steps, festooned with columns across its entire front. Its first story, which featured sixteen immense stained glass windows, was topped by dozens of statues of angels and saints. More stained glass was featured on the floor above. Atop the highest story was the great dome, held aloft by still more columns, matching the columns on the ground level. At the very top, was a silver cupola, its square shape contrasting with the dome itself. Atop the cupola, was a silver statue of the crucified savior.
“Ours is bigger,” said Tiber, referring to The Church of the Apostles in Port Dechantagne.
“We mustn’t be like that,” said Iolana. “We must appreciate each for its uniqueness.”
“You’re right, of course.”
They parked the car and walked to the front of the church and up the steps. The front door was locked, so they didn’t enter, but took the walkway that led around the building as they examined the scenes from the Holy Scriptures illustrated in stained glass.
“That’s an interesting shape for church windows,” observed Iolana, pointing to those on the first floor. “They’re different from the ones down here.”
“You see there?” Tiber pointed. “They swivel open. That way they can take advantage of the light and probably the breeze.”
“Pretty and utilitarian,” she said.
“There’s Euryops the shepherd girl slaying the Minotaur,” said Tiber, pointing again.
“I didn’t know you were so well-versed in the scriptures.”
“Oh, everyone knows that one,” he said, moving on. “This one is more of a stretch. It’s Hobard, calling down one of the twelve plagues of Argrathia.”
“The third plague, I believe—rain of toads,” said Iolana. “You’re family is not particular religious. I don’t see any of you at church.”
“My grandmother used to tell us tales from the scriptures as bedtime stories. Do you attend church every week?”
“I used to, but not so much anymore. Every once in a while I go with the Korlanns, and I still go to shrine with Auntie Yuah when she goes.”
“Do you think you’ll convert then?”
“Well, that would certainly take me off the list of suitable spouses, as far as your parents were concerned, wouldn’t it?” She laughed. “But no. I find neither religion particularly compelling. Perhaps I’ll start worshipping dragons, like the lizzies. Praise Yessonar.”
They completely circumnavigated the church and then returned to the car.
“What do you suppose the trogs worship?” wondered Tiber.
“You know, I have no idea. Maybe we’ll find out at the marketplace.”
“Now we have to go,” he said. “It’s not just for fun. It’s educational.”
Less than half a mile from the church, they again became mired in the trog-filled street. When they had taken an hour to go, what Iolana thought, couldn’t have been more than fifty yards, Tiber turned into a side street and parked. Hopping around back, he opened the relief cock, and then continued around to help Iolana down to the ground.
“Oi! You, boy!” he called to a trog sitting on a step. Pulling a one-mark coin from his pocket, he handed it to the reptilian. “If I come back and my car is in good shape, I’ll give you five more. Savvy?”
“Sssavvy. Take care car,” the creature croaked back.
“Come along, Lady Iolana.” He took her hand and led her down the block, glancing back over his shoulder. “I do hope that trog is a capitalist.”
“You did what you could,” said Iolana.
It was another mile by foot until they reached the vast open-air market of St. Ulixes. Here they found thousands of stalls manned by reptilian vendors selling everything that a trog or a human might conceivably want to buy. There were all types of textiles from rugs to clothing. There were leather goods, and a great many things made from driftwood or carved coral or seashells. Fruits, vegetables, and meats were sold unprepared and stalls selling all types of cuisine were spread throughout the marketplace. One particular stall had quite a crowd of humans around it.
“This is what I was telling you about,” said Tiber. “This is where they sell the Sonn-Sees. Wait here and I’ll get us a couple.”
“I don’t know…” said Iolana, but he was already off.
Several trogs scurried over to her and reached out their hands, begging. Iolana unclipped the opening of her purse to look for a few coins. She had to move the .45 caliber revolver out of the way to get to them, so she transferred it to her left hand. Finally finding several shiny pfennigs, she held them out, but the trogs were gone. Slipping the money and the gun back into her purse, she stepped quickly over to a stall selling coral creations.
“How lovely,” she said, picking up a necklace made of coral beads with a large coral cross. She looked at the wrinkled, grey trog behind the counter. “How much?”
“Ten mark,” it croaked.
“And how about this dagger?” She picked up a long thin blade, obviously Brech-made, but with a handle crafted from coral, polished smooth.
“Twenty.”
“Too much,” she said, setting it back down.
“Fifteen,” said the trog.
“I’ll give you twenty for both.”
The trogs fin twice flipped up and down on top of its head, but then it nodded. Iolana fished two gold decimarks out of her bag, careful this time not to reveal the revolver. She stuffed her purchases into the purse beside it just as Tiber returned carrying two long, thin sandwiches, half wrapped in newsprint. He handed one to her.
“This is interesting,” said Iolana. “Somehow I didn’t expect bread, at least not in the traditional sense. This is a bit like a Mirsannan baguette.”
“As I said, they make these for the humans. It’s not what they normally eat.” He took a bite. “Vinegary. Try it.”
She took a tentative taste.
“Hmm. Pickled vegetables, mint, and some kind of grilled dinosaur—I can’t tell what kind.”
“According to one of the local Brechs, it’s called kileskus. Apparently, they’re thick in these parts. I gather they’re rather like the deinonychus at home, only without the feathers.”
“Well, I never thought that deinonychus would be good, but I know some people do eat them.”
“And sometimes they return the favor,” said Tiber. “Wasn’t it a flock of deinonychus that Augie told me almost ate the two of you?”
“Yes, and Terra and Mr. Korlann too.”
“Imagine, an entire generation of Dechantagnes wiped out at once,” said Tiber.
“And one less opportunity for you to marry into old money,” she pointed out.
“Kind of you to think how it would affect me,” he said, before taking another bite of his sandwich.
“Did you find a souvenir for your brothers?” she asked.
He shook his head.
“Well, let’s look over this way.”
They strolled along the edge of the market, looking at handcrafted items, as they ate. At last they came to a table covered with weapons of all types.
“What is this?” asked Tiber, pointing. “Some type of rifle?”
“Blow gun,” croaked the trog behind the counter.
“A blow gun? How does it work?”
The reptilian picked up the four-foot-long device, along with a small, feathered dart. Placing the end against his left nostril, he pointed it up toward the top of a nearby clay brick building, where a row of several dozen small black birds rested. Giving a quick snort, he fired the dart, and a split second later, one of the birds dropped to the ground, dead. The others flew away.
“I say!” said Tiber. “That’s bloody impressive. Can humans use them? I don’t think I can blow out of my nose that hard, and even if I could, I don’t think I want to.”
“Soft-skin use little mouth.”
“I’m going to look at that bird,” said Iolana, walking toward the building.
“I want two of those blow guns and two dozen darts. How much will that be?”
Iolana didn’t hear the rest of the negotiations. The words were quickly lost in the buzz of the crowd. She stopped in front of the building and looked down at the dead bird. Sure enough, the little feathered dart was sticking from its breast. She reached down and pulled it out. Then she turned it over in her hand. It was quite small, more than enough to kill a sparrow or a starling, but nothing much larger. She didn’t suppose Claude and Julius Stephenson could get into too much trouble with such weapons.
The wind changed direction, blowing strands of her golden hair across her face and blowing open the cloth that was draped across the doorway of the building in front of her. She caught a glimpse of prone bodies. Stepping slowly forward, she pushed the greasy cloth aside and looked into the darkened chamber beyond. Several dozen humans lay sprawled across the dirt floor. They moaned and cried and jerked their bodies, but kept their eyes closed as though asleep.
“Where is she?” cried a woman, lying near the door. She then jerked spasmodically and vomited onto the ground.
Iolana jumped when something touched her shoulder, but it was only Tiber. He looked quickly around, disgust registering on his face.
“It’s an opthalium den,” he said.
“How horrible.”
“Let’s get out of here. I’ll take you back to your hotel.”