The lizzies carried the large cogs, springs, and sprockets out of the building and stacked them in the back of the task lorry. The copper and steel parts all looked so normal, like the pieces of a very large clock. But Wizard Peter Bassington could feel the magic radiating off of them like heat from a fireplace. They were parts of the great machine built many years before by Professor Merced Calliere—the Result Mechanism. A huge steam-powered machine designed to add, subtract, multiply, and divide large numbers very quickly, the Result Mechanism plotted out water and sewer lines, created projectile trajectory charts, predicted the movement of the planets, and determined the optimum paths for the city’s trolley lines. It could in fact, compute any series of numbers for any purpose, including creating magic spells. Wizardry was at its heart, nothing but mathematics.
Anyone who could master advanced mathematics could become a wizard, memorizing the abstract formulas for the eldritch forces that were bent to one’s will. Wizards set these formulas in their brains like a housewife set a rattrap. Then with a single gesture and word, they released the magic. Once that was done, they had to reset the mathematical formula again. Sorcerers on the other hand, did magic without arithmetic. They could detect the magic in the world around them and tap into it naturally. No one could learn to be a sorcerer. You were either born one or you weren’t. For that reason, there might be thousands of wizards in the Kingdom of Greater Brechalon, but fewer than a handful of sorcerers.
Several wizards had used the result mechanism to formulate spells. As a result, magical energy was drawn to the building housing the great computer. For years, the machine stewed in the magic soup, until it became dangerous—perhaps even sentient. Senta had put it to sleep and now Peter was disassembling it and melting down the individual parts.
“All right! That’s enough for this load!” he called to the lizzies.
The one who could understand Brech signaled to the others and they climbed into the rear of the task lorry with the machine parts. Peter locked the solid oak door of the building with a large padlock.
“You must have just about all of it by now.”
Peter turned to see the pasty, emaciated form of Wizard Bell, in his seemingly oversized blue police uniform, complete with hexagram.
“Good day, Wizard Bell.”
“Wizard Bassington.”
“I seem to run into you fairly often on this side of town.”
“Police constable,” he said, pointing at his uniform.
“I didn’t realize that police wizards walked a tour.”
Bell shrugged.
“Yes,” said Peter. “I think one more load, and it will be all taken care of. Sorry to see it go?”
“No, of course not. Can’t have dangerous magical artifacts falling into the wrong hands. What is your sister planning to do with the building?”
“I don’t know. I suppose she’ll have to work that out with the governor.”
“Right,” said Bell, giving a thin-lipped smile. “Well, I’ll be on my way.”
He turned and strolled north. Peter looked around for a moment and then spotted one of Szoristru’s lizzies. Peter was still paying them to watch the police wizard, though they had yet to find anything worthwhile. Climbing into the lorry’s cab, he nodded to the driver, who in turn, started the engine.
It took over an hour to drive across town to the foundry. The large metal-casting factory, a massive building at the southern edge of the city, had only been completed the previous summer. It wouldn’t come into full production mode until spring was well on, and the iron ore that was being mined by the lizzies arrived by train from the mountains. For that reason, it had been relatively easy to rent the facility. Most of what had been the Result Mechanism was stacked just inside the main entrance—now just so many bars of copper and steel.
By the time the lizzies finished unloading the lorry, the sun was sinking toward the western horizon. Mr. Flint, the foundry manager, stepped over to where Peter was supervising.
“We can stoke up the furnace and get started on these now, but we’ll run into evening overtime.”
“Perhaps it’s for the best if we wait until tomorrow,” said the young wizard. “I have an engagement this evening, and I really should go home and get cleaned up.”
Mr. Flint nodded, and hurried off to see to the closing of the factory for the night.
“Lance, can you give me a lift home?” Peter asked the driver, who nodded to the affirmative.
“More work tomorrow, same place,” he told the lizzies, peeling off a five mark note for each, double for the interpreter.”
Then he climbed back into the lorry cab and the vehicle zoomed up the street.
“Home in time for dinner,” said Baxter, when he passed through the parlor. “That’s something new.”
“Just stopped by to clean up and change clothes. I’ve got a date with Abby tonight.”
“I like that girl. Shame she had to end up with you.”
“I feel the same way about you and Senta… and Senta,” said Peter. “Where is my niece, anyway?”
“I’m hiding under the table, Uncle Peter!” Though hiding, she was clearly visible once one knew where to look.”
“Why are you hiding under the table?”
“We’re playing Hide and Go Seek! Don’t tell Daddy where I am!”
“And if I don’t, how will he every find you?”
“Hurry up and get ready for your date,” said Baxter, “before that poor foolish girl figures out what she’s gotten herself into. I hope you’re taking her someplace nice.”
“Café Idella.”
“Well, perhaps the food will make up for the company.”
Peter jogged up the stairs to his room. Thirty minutes later, he descended, dressed in a sharp new black suit with a green waistcoat.
“How do I look?”
“You look great, Uncle,” said Sen, now in Baxter’s lap reading from a large picture book.
“You seem to have made yourself presentable, much to my surprise,” said Baxter. “Do you have enough money?”
“Yes, I’m fine,” said Peter, checking his pockets to make sure he had his watch and wallet. “Don’t wait up.”
“Is my rickshaw here?” he asked the majordomo. “I said 5:30.”
The lizzie nodded.
“Don’t wait up,” Peter called again, as he headed out the door.
He had hired the same lizzie rickshaw driver several times over the past few weeks. The big fellow was prompt, which was not always the case with the lizardmen. He had gone over the night’s itinerary when he had hired the lizzie, so as soon as he was situated, they started off. The Bassett home was not all that far from the foundry, so the trip covered much of the same territory that the young wizard had traveled only a short while before. This time it took longer, even though the distance was slightly less, because no matter how strong a lizzie puller might be, he couldn’t keep up with a lorry.
It was the end of Festuary, and unseasonably warm. All the snow had melted. It was still very nippy when the sun went down though. It was dark when they reached the Bassett home.
Peter knocked on the front door, which was opened by Mr. Bassett.
“Hello, my boy!” he boomed, slapping the young wizard on the shoulder. “How are you on this fine evening?”
“Good, sir. And you?”
“I’m always good. There’s no profit in being anything else.” He turned his head toward the stairs. “Abigail! Your young man is here!”
“He can sit down and wait, can’t he?” called back a shrill voice that could only have been Mrs. Bassett.
“Have a seat and relax,” said Mr. Bassett. “Can I offer you something to take the chill off?”
“Nothing too strong. I didn’t have time for tea today.”
“I’ve got just the thing—a little aperitif, as they say in Natine.” Mr. Bassett stepped to the wet bar and poured a concoction into a small glass, which he brought to the young wizard. “Sweet vermouth with seltzer, and a slice of pickled lemon. Not only will it warm you up, but it keeps away the intestinal parasites.”
“Well, I’m all for that,” said Peter, taking a sip.
He winced a bit at the taste. He was not a big drinker. Thankfully, he was saved from having to take another sip by the arrival of Abigail Bassett at the bottom of the stairs.
Abby was resplendent in a crimson evening gown, with a faux-corset lacing up her waist and a fall of black taffeta down the front. Black lace around the sleeves and collar matched the black underdress that just peeked out around her feet. Her long ash brown hair was up in an arrangement of bows and braids and swirls that was so complicated, it was almost impossible to grasp, let alone describe.
“Good evening,” she said. “I hope I look nice enough to dine at Café Idella.”
“If you were wearing the moon as a broach and stars as earrings, you couldn’t look more lovely than you do right now.”
“Ooh, a wizard and a poet,” said Mrs. Bassett descending the stairs behind her daughter.
“Café Idella,” remarked Mr. Bassett. “That’s pretty pricey, and I understand you eat there fairly often.”
“Um, no, not really,” said Peter, remembering his dinner there with Miss Hartley. “Well, being a bachelor and all, I haven’t had the benefit of many home-cooked meals.”
“Abigail is a wonderful cook,” said Mrs. Bassett. “She received an honorable mention at last year’s Spring Pudding Festival.”
“Well, we should be going,” said Peter, taking Abby’s elbow and guiding her toward the door.
He stopped and helped her into her coat.
“Don’t leave without your muff!” cried Mrs. Bassett, much closer to hysteria than seemed necessary in present the situation.
Abby smiled sweetly and picked up the fur hand warmer. Then they were out the door and quickly down the walk to the waiting vehicle.
The lizzie puller was waiting. Considering the temperature was in the balmy low thirties, Peter half expected the big fellow to be shivering. But lizzies didn’t shiver, even when they, like now, wore nothing to stave off the cold. Once the two humans were aboard, the lizzie started off. He moved slower than he had before, and most people expected the lizzies’ speed to correlate with the temperature, but Peter had seen them move quickly when they wanted to, even hip deep in snow.
Dressed as they were, the couple was still feeling warm enough, when the arrived at the restaurant some thirty-five minutes later.
“If you want to go somewhere and get warm,” Peter told the lizzie. “You can pick us up back here at 8:30.” He stopped to think for a second. “You do know how to tell time?”
The lizzie pointed at the clock just above the trolley station, illuminated by the gas street lamp.
“Yes, even so. Eight-thirty it is then.”
Alwijn Finkler himself greeted them at the door.
“Well, Wizard Bassington. How good it is to see you again.”
“Good evening, Mr. Finkler. It’s good to be seen. Do you have a table available?”
“For good friends? Always. Right this way.” He led them through the busy, but not quite full restaurant.
“Business slow tonight?” wondered Peter.
“You’re between rush hours. The older people have already eaten. The younger crowd will be in a bit.”
“I wonder what that makes us,” said Abby.
“It makes you my favorite customers,” said Alwijn. “You keep the staff busy without overwhelming them. Here we are.”
He stopped at a table near the center of the room, and pulled out a chair for Abigail. Waving over a waiter, he said, “A bottle of sparkling wine for Wizard Bassington and his young lady. On the house.”
“Well, that’s very nice,” said Abigail.
“So, is this a special occasion?”
“No,” she smiled. “Just dinner with a handsome man.”
“Every night with Abigail is a special occasion,” said Peter, to which she blushed.
“Will you put yourselves in my hands this evening?” asked Alwijn. “I’ll have something special brought out for you.”
“That would be wonderful,” said Abby.
Peter nodded.
“Isn’t Mr. Finkler a real role model?” she asked, once the restaurateur had stepped away.
“He is married, you know,” Peter grumbled.
“Well of course. His wife is a very good friend of Gabby’s. Let’s not talk about them, though.”
“Whom should we talk about?”
“Let’s not talk about anyone else. We should talk about us.”
“What do we need to talk about?” asked Peter. “I’m very fond of you. What else do you need to know?”
“I know you’re fond of me, but what do you know about me? What is my favorite color? What is my favorite flower? My favorite dessert? What do I like to do for fun? What books do I like? What’s my greatest accomplishment? What am I most embarrassed about? Don’t you want to know all those things?”
“I suppose,” said Peter, “although I’m not that keen about you knowing all those things about me.”
“Of course, we will come to know all those things and many more over time. Still, it would be nice to know more about one another.”
“All right. Let me take a guess. Your favorite color is red, favorite flower is the rose. Trifle is your favorite dessert. You like dancing and music and romance books. Your greatest accomplishment was honorable mention at last year’s Spring Pudding Festival, and your greatest embarrassment was when one of your puddings fell.”
“No fair using your wizard tricks on me,” said Abby, with a pout.
“I was right?” he laughed. “I wasn’t using wizard tricks. I was just guessing. Honest.”
“You must think I’m very dull,” said Abby, crossing her arms.
“No, no, not at all. I think you’re something special. I know what I know because I’ve paid attention… because, as I said, I’m fond of you.”
“If I’m such an open book, then you can just tell me about you. I don’t know any of those things about you. What’s your favorite color?”
“I don’t have a favorite color. I like them all… except for orange maybe… although I like oranges. I guess they really are the color they should be. So there you go. I like all colors.”
“Here we are,” said the waiter, setting plates in front of them. “A salad of select sun-dried vegetables and Mirsannan cheeses.”
“Do you suppose he’s trying out experiments on us,” said Peter, looking dubiously at his plate, “or is he trying to clear out his pantry?”
“I believe I like it,” said Abby, after taking a bite. “I wouldn’t have thought to pair them together. The chef is very daring. Don’t you think?”
“It’s the dressing that makes it. Lemon juice and… olive oil, I suppose.”
“Back to business,” she said. “What is your favorite flower?”
“I’ll say roses. I don’t know a lot about flowers, but I do like roses. And before you ask: lemon tarts, parlor games, anything not written by Phoebus Dodson, and passing my journeyman wizard test.”
The waiter stopped by the table, poured more wine, and then was gone.
“You didn’t mention your greatest embarrassment,” Abby said, in a teasing voice.
Peter’s face turned dark.
“That’s not something I like to talk about.”
She leaned forward, her face suddenly serious.
“You must tell me. If we are truly to be one, you must trust me with your secrets.”
“My greatest embarrassment,” said Peter, in a barely audible voice, “is that I’m a bastard.”
“And here we are!” said Aalwijn, suddenly beside the table along with two waiters carrying enormous covered platters.
The salad plates were quickly removed, the platters were set down, and the cloches were lifted with a flourish. On each platter were four slices of lean meat, if the color and texture were any indication, beef rather than dinosaur. On one side of the meat was a reddish brown sauce, while on the other side was a yellow sauce. Fried, sliced zucchini completed the plate.
“What is this?” asked Peter.
“The chef is calling this Saxe-Lagerport-Drille, in honor of General Staff.”
“Well, all right then.”
Alwijn topped their wine glasses once again, and then he and his waiters disappeared.
“This meat is very tender,” observed Peter, slicing off a piece.
“I hope it’s good. I don’t eat beef very often. We usually eat iguanodon, though sometimes my mother buys a pork roast.” She took a bit of hers. “Mmm.”
“I’ve heard it said that you just can’t get a bad meal from a Finkler’s establishment,” said the young wizard. “I’m beginning to believe it too.”
“Now that they’ve left us to eat in peace, tell me about your parents.”
“Must I?”
“Only if you really are interested in wedding me. If you weren’t serious when you spoke to my father about it, then I’ll just drop the whole thing.”
“All right. My father was Master Bassington… that is Wizard Smedley Bassington. He’s really sort of a legend among magic circles. He worked for the war department and in his younger days was tasked with destroying the dragons that plagued Brechalon. As you know, he’s Senta’s father too, though I gather he never found out that fact.”
“But the two of you didn’t have the same mother.”
“Of course not. Senta’s mother was the sorceress Zurfina. She constantly reminds me that I’m only her half-brother. At first, I was quite offended, but then I realized that she wasn’t trying to minimize the relationship between us, but was rather, trying to distance herself from our father. Apparently they didn’t get on all that well. But he was always fair with me.”
“He knew he was your father?”
“Yes. I heard him talking with my mother, just before he took me as an apprentice.”
“Tell me about your mother,” said Abby.
“She was just an ordinary woman. She worked as a maid in several Brech City hotels. Her name was Hannah Sallow. She was born in Brechalon, but her parents came from Freedonia. I’m not really sure why they decided to move.”
“Probably because Freedonia was evil.”
“Perhaps.”
They ate in silence for a few minutes. Finally Abby broke it.
“You know my biggest embarrassment wasn’t a fallen pudding.”
“No?”
“No. When I was eleven years old, I went to a party at Sherree Glieberman’s house. I didn’t have anything nice, so I wore one of Gabby’s dresses. It was the first time I’d worn a bustle and I had absolutely no hips. Halfway through the party, I got up to get a drink of punch, and my bustle just slid right down.”
“Oh, no.”
“Oh, yes. It tangled up around my feet and I fell right on my face.”
“How terrible,” said Peter.
“It wouldn’t have been so bad, if Sherree hadn’t made such a big fuss about it and then reminded me of it every time we met for the next five years.”
“Yes, you’re not the only one that thinks she’s a right witch.”
“And yet, she was at your New Year’s party.”
“It wasn’t my party. It was Senta’s. And Sherree is engaged to Senta’s cousin Maro.”
“Yes,” said Abby. “Family makes hypocrites of all of us.”
“Well, are we ready for dessert?” asked Alwijn, making yet another appearance.
It hadn’t seemed to Peter that he had been gone all that long, but looking down to see that about two thirds of his plate was now empty convinced him that he had lost track of time.
“Yes, I think we definitely want a pudding,” he told the restaurateur.
“Maybe we could look at a dessert menu,” suggested Abby.
“No, we want pudding,” said Peter.
“Don’t worry,” said Alwijn, placing a hand on her shoulder. “You won’t be disappointed.”
“Okay,” she said, sounding unconvinced.
Scant moments later, the waiter brought out two small puddings. They were brown, filled with raisins, topped with powdered sugar, and looked totally unremarkable.
“I could have had pudding at home,” she said.
“Try it,” said Peter. “I’m sure you’ll like it.”
Abigail took a small bite. “Not bad,” she pronounced. She spooned another bite into her mouth. Suddenly her eyes grew large. She leaned over and opened her mouth and out dropped a golden ring onto the tablecloth.
“Kafira,” she said. “The bloody cook lost his ring.”
“No,” said Peter, getting up and moving around the table.
He picked up the ring with a napkin and wiped it off. Then he dropped to one knee beside her and held it up, so that a large diamond and two smaller gemstones were clearly visible.
“Abigail Bassett, would you make me the happiest man in the world, by agreeing to marry me?”
Tears overflowed Abby’s eyes as she clasped her hands to her breast.
“Yes,” she squeaked. “Yes, I will.”
He had to pull her left hand away from her body in order to get at her ring finger, but he slipped it on without too much trouble. Nearby diners applauded politely.
“Kafira’s eyes! That diamond is so big I won’t be able to raise my hand!”
“It’s two karats,” said Peter, “but I doubt it’s so big that it will cause you any undue pains.”
“What are the little stones on the side?” asked Abby. “They look like little square cubes of steel.”
“They’re hematite—the Bassington family gem.”
“It’s lovely. It’s all that I could have ever hoped for. I thought when you didn’t propose on the twentieth, you might have decided to wait another month, or maybe changed your mind altogether. After all the twentieth is the traditional day to start new enterprises.”
“We’ll just have to get married on the twentieth,” he said.
A little while later, they climbed into the lizzie-pulled rickshaw and started for her home. Abigail looked up into his eyes and he leaned down and kissed her perfect lips. Then suddenly she had her hands in his lap, unfastening his trousers.
“What… what… what are you doing?” he asked in an abnormally high voice.
“I’m going to show you what wonderful wife you’re going to have.”
“Oh, sweet Kafira,” he murmured when he felt her hot mouth.
“I hope this is okay,” she said, pausing and looking up. “I’ve never done it before.”
“No, me neither,” he gasped.
It was strange and wonderful and exciting and unimaginable, and over in a disturbingly short amount of time. Abby finished refastening his clothes just as the lizzie came to a stop in front of her house.
“There now. You go on home. You need your rest. I’ll go in and show off my lovely ring.”
“Wait.” The young wizard pulled out his handkerchief and wiped her chin. “Are you okay?”
“I feel wonderful,” she said. “How do you feel?”
“Like I’ve made the best bloody decision of my entire life.”
* * * * *
Peter skipped down the stairs the next morning and plopped down into his chair just as Cheery was sliding a plate full of bacon and eggs in front of his seat. Baxter was reading the paper while he sipped a cup of tea.
“Where’s Sen?” asked Peter.
“Rassy is getting her dressed. She should be down in a minute.” Baxter looked up. “How was your evening with Abigail?”
“Marvelous,” said Peter, leaning forward. “She did this thing with her mouth.”
“Gave you a bit of nosh, did she?”
“There’s a name for it?”
“We’re Brech,” said Baxter. “We have a word for everything. I’m surprised though. The girl seemed quite staid.”
“Well, we’re engaged now,” replied Peter with a grin. “What’s in the news?”
“War with the lizzies.”
Peter almost choked on his tea.
“You’re kidding. Right?”
Baxter shook his head.
“Some idiots got themselves taken prisoner by the lizzies in Yessonarah—prospectors apparently. They probably did something stupid, but people are up in arms. Mayor Luebking is calling for a rescue mission.”
“What about the governor?”
“She and Staff are calling for calm. They say we have a treaty with this lizzie city and they say it can all be worked out peaceably.”
“Isn’t it Yessonarah where Senta knows the king?”
“I believe so.”
“Maybe you should volunteer to be a negotiator.”
“Senta knows the king. I don’t. I don’t know any lizzies. More tea please, Rassy.”
“Well, I’m sure Mrs. Government can handle it,” said Peter. “She runs this colony like a well-oiled clock.”
An hour later, Peter was supervising the last of the Result Mechanism being loaded into the task lorry. He was about to climb into the cab when a lizzie handed him a note. It contained only two words—see Szoristru. After he had taken the enchanted metal to the foundry and watched it melted down, he paid off his workers and then headed to Lizzietown to meet the reptilian spymaster.
“So what have you got for me,” he asked, once inside the dark interior of the lizzie lodging.
“Hoonan use staahstiachtio.”
“White opthalium? I figured he was a seer. That poison eats away at a man and leaves just a shell. You only have to look at him to see it. So he was here in Lizzietown to buy it, I take it? When?”
“He not.”
“Oh, bloody hell. Sembor uuthanum,” said Peter. “Speak your own language. I’ll understand you now.”
“The man was using white opthalium, but he’s not now. None of the humans are coming to Lizzietown for it anymore.”
“What do you mean? They’ve all stopped buying their drugs from you lot? They must have a new supplier—maybe a human.”
“No. There is no other supplier. They’ve all stopped.”
“They’ve all stopped their drug use?” wondered Peter, running a hand through his hair. “Now, that is quite odd. Anything else?”
“He has a female.”
“Oh? Have you seen her?
“No. We do not know where she is.”
“How do you know he has a woman, if you’ve never seen her,” wondered Peter.
“He buys things that the human females want.”
“All right. Keep watching him. Use a lizzie that knows humans and have him watch the house, because if any of you see her, I want a description.