A Plague of Wizards

by Wesley Allison

  “Of course.”

  “Oh, nothing too much!” Bryony called after him, as he turned and stepped quickly toward the back.

  “I think you’ll find Mr. Finkler knows his business,” said her husband.

  “Does he know our pocketbook?”

  “Our pocketbook is just fine. In fact, I think we can afford that new furniture you wanted.”

  “Oh, I don’t really want that at all. I was just daydreaming.”

  Two waiters arrived with a tray and began setting out small plates, each with its own little pile of sandwiches. The taller of the two described them.

  “We have ham with Freedonian mustard on whole grain bread, sharp cheese with mango chutney on tomato bread, cucumber and parsley cream with dill on white bread, and egg mayonnaise with chopped shallots and cress on sourdough bread.”

  “Oh my,” said Bryony.

  “And here we have freshly baked scones with clotted cream and strawberry preserves.” He stopped and topped off their teacups. “Can I bring you anything else?”

  “That’s all for now, I think,” said Baxter.

  “Well, I suppose I must try something of everything, mustn’t I?” Bryony carefully took the topmost sandwich quarter from each pile.”

  “I think you must.” He carefully cut a scone and dressed it before reaching over to place it on her plate.

  “This is quite good,” she said, holding a sandwich in one hand and using the other to cover her mouth. “Mind, I think that with Mrs. Finkler’s bread, any such creation would be well-received.”

  “It’s no better than your tea. The whole point isn’t that it would be. The point is that you don’t have to make it.”

  “I do like the clotted cream. Do you suppose we could find out where they get theirs?”

  “I imagine they make it. Maybe they sell it.”

  She nodded, stuffing more scone into her mouth.

  Baxter leaned back and smiled as he watched her eat. He took a sip of his tea. “So, you said you had something you wanted to talk about?”

  She nodded and then swallowed what was in her mouth. “We simply must decide upon a name for our forthcoming addition, but…”

  “We have plenty of time. You’re barely showing.”

  Bryony’s face flushed and she looked around. “But, I certainly wasn’t planning on having such a conversation in public.”

  “Nobody is paying any attention to us, but as I said, we don’t have to worry about that yet.”

  “It’s a decision that should ideally have been made before matrimony,” she said. “Certainly before the um… fait accompli.”

  “My father was called Rory,” he said. “I was thinking that was a good name for a boy.”

  “No. He must be Kieran Junior for a boy.”

  “I was never that fond of my Kafiran name.”

  “Well it is more dear to me than any other name,” she said fiercely. “I’ll have no other for a boy.”

  “Well, hopefully then, it will be a girl.”

  “And what name would you pick for our daughter?”

  “Bryony Junior?”

  “Oh, pooh!” she said. “You’re not at all approaching this with the appropriate gravity.”

  “I think I have precisely the right amount of gravity. I manage to keep my feet firmly on the ground. Have you tried one of these yet?” He picked up a sourdough wedge and pushed it toward her face.

  She took a bite right from his hand and then took what was left and put it on her plate. “What about your mother’s name?”

  “What about it?”

  “Don’t be cheeky. You know, I don’t believe you’ve ever told me your mother’s name.”

  “Her name was Novell,” he said stiffly, “but I don’t see myself naming a child after her. I don’t have the least feeling for her.”

  “You obviously have some feeling,” said Bryony, laying her hand upon his.

  “Oh, I have feelings about that time. Just not about her. You see, when I was a very wee fellow, we lived on a farm in rural Cordwell.”

  “Your red hair gives that away.”

  “Yes, I suppose. I look like my father, but my mother was blonde. When I was four, she ran off with some punter she met in town at the pub. She said she was tired of being a wife and mother and being poor.”

  “Is that what your father told you she said?”

  “Oh no. I heard it myself. When she was climbing into her new fellow’s surrey, I ran after her crying. She told me to go back in the house and slapped me across the face.”

  “She never!”

  “She did,” he smiled wryly. “Then Crumpet bit her on the hand.”

  “Crumpet?”

  “Crumpet was my dog. My father got her for me about the time I started toddling around. I don’t really remember a time before her. When my mother left, we moved to Bentin and lived in a rented cottage for about a year. We sold or gave away all the other animals, but Crumpet came with us. She wouldn’t let me out of her sight. In fact, she was always at my side. Walking, running, or standing still, she was always just right there.”

  “Whatever happened to her?” asked Bryony.

  “After a year, when my father couldn’t find work, we moved to Brech City. We sent Crumpet to live with my cousins, not too far from our old farm. She either ran away or was knocked down by a carriage. I never got a straight answer about it. But not a day goes by that I don’t think about her and I can’t help but think she must have been heartbroken to be taken away from her boy.” He looked up into her bright blue eyes, now threatening to overflow. “I’d give my mother a hundred times over for that dog. But Crumpet’s not an appropriate name for a daughter.”

  * * * * *

  The Colbshallow family was all present when their guests arrived. DeeDee and Sen had on matching new dresses of pink and white, trimmed in red bows. Their hair had been freshly curled. Loana had not bothered with a new dress, having a similar one already. Saba thought that it was the first time that she had looked presentable in some time. Saba and his mother stood on opposite sides of the room, not looking at one another.

  “Welcome,” said Saba, stepping forward and shaking hands with Baxter and then with his wife. “We’re glad you could join us.”

  “Thank you so much for having us,” said the latter. “You have such a lovely home.” She stepped over to Loana. “It’s such a great pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Colbshallow. You’re every bit as lovely as described.”

  “That’s very kind of you, I’m sure,” Loana replied, he lower lip shivering.

  “Please sit,” said Saba, waving toward the empty loveseat.

  As soon as they were seated, two lizzies entered carrying trays of cocktails.

  “Oh, goodness, what is this?” asked Mrs. Baxter, taking a glass. She had to elbow her husband to turn his attention toward the server.

  “It’s called a Natini: gin, bitters, and a bit of orange liqueur,” said Saba, as his eyes trailed over to where Baxter had been gazing—at Sen, whose grey eyes were staring back at Baxter intently.

  “Yes, I see they have a cherry and a bit of orange peel as a garnish,” Mrs. Baxter continued.

  “Sen,” called Saba. “Don’t you have something you wanted to give Mr. Baxter?”

  She plopped down from the sofa and went running out of the room.

  “She’s been working all day on a picture for you.”

  “Oh, if I had more than of these, I’d be flat on the floor,” said the elder Mrs. Colbshallow, looking at her cocktail.

  “Just one each, as a digestif.” Saba sent a humorless smile toward her.

  Sen ran back into the room at a dangerous speed, carrying a sheet of paper in one hand. Several feet from the loveseat, the eight-year-old launched herself into the air and landed in Baxter’s lap, causing him to grunt. She pressed the paper into his face. He had to take it and hold it away from him in order to get a look at it. Saba thought that his face went a shade or two lighter. He leaned over to get a look, b
ut Baxter quickly folded it up and tucked it into his breast pocket.

  “Can I come home with you tonight?” Sen asked.

  “I… um…”

  “Remember what we talked about, Sen?” said Saba. “You live here now. Of course Mr. Baxter will come and visit whenever he has the chance, but he’s a very busy man.”

  “I’m… I’m not… that busy.”

  “How are things at the shipyard, Mr. Baxter,” asked Saba’s mother.

  “They’re… the usual.”

  “I see that the table is ready for us,” said Saba.

  What followed had to be the most uncomfortable if not the most unpleasant meal in which Saba had ever participated, and he had eaten many times at the Dechantagne table, so that was saying something. Mrs. Baxter, Saba, and to a certain extent his mother, managed to create an approximation of polite dinner conversation. Mr. Baxter and Loana both acted as if they had been shot by tranquilizer darts. Neither DeeDee nor Sen were particularly boisterous children in any event, but Saba didn’t think that either had said a single word the entire time at the table. DeeDee carefully watched her parents, while Sen had eyes only for her “other daddy.”

  At least the food was good. They had conchoraptor with dates, carrots, goat cheese and walnuts, and a lovely rice pudding for dessert. Mrs. Baxter was very complimentary, and Saba’s mother agreed to give her the recipe. Afterwards, they all returned to the parlor where the adults sipped fortified wine and the children had a bite of salt-water taffy.

  Sen curled up in Baxter’s lap and seemed to doze off. But when it was time for the visitors to leave, she was suddenly wide-awake.

  “Can I go home with you?”

  “I’m afraid not, Sweetheart. Um… You must stay here and take care of your sister. If you need me, you can send me a note. I won’t be far away.”

  “All right, but Allium will be mad.”

  “Who’s Allium?”

  “It’s her imaginary friend,” explained Saba.

  “She’s not imaginary,” said Sen. “She’s just invisible.”

  Saba gestured knowingly, but Baxter looked troubled.

  * * * * *

  Back at home, Baxter took his wife’s wrap and hung it on the rack by the door, before taking off his jacked and hanging it up. Bryony sat down on the sofa while he turned up the gas on the lights.

  “That meal was very nice, don’t you think?” she asked.

  “Of course. Mrs. Colbshallow is accounted one of the finest cooks in the colony—the mother, I mean.”

  “Yes, I know. What did you think of the other Mrs. Colbshallow?”

  “I’ve seen her before. Many times, as a matter of fact.”

  “She’s quite beautiful.”

  “Yes.”

  “But there was something off about her.”

  “I suppose. I wasn’t really paying that much attention.”

  “I noticed.” She patted the spot next to her and he sat down. “Do you suppose it’s all down to her finding out that her husband had fathered another child, and then him bringing Sen home?”

  “Maybe.”

  “It’s been some time. She should get over it then. After all, many husbands stray. It’s a small sin.”

  “It’s not right,” he said, grimly. “A man shouldn’t disrespect his wife like that.”

  “I thought you might understand,” she said, brushing her hand through his red hair. “Kieran, you’ve been with so many women.”

  “None of whom I pledged my fidelity before God.”

  Bryony smiled slyly and then climbed into his lap. Then she began unbuttoning his shirt as she licked his neck.

  “I’m going to do something for you that no woman has ever done.”

  “How do you know that no woman ever has, and more importantly, how did you learn about it?”

  “I read about it in Freedman’s Intruder,” she explained.

  “Oh? What chapter?”

  “Forty-one.”

  “Are you sure you want to try that? It might be painful.”

  “I want it to be,” she said, biting his ear.

  Baxter woke up to find himself on the sofa, still intertwined with a naked Bryony. Carefully extricating himself, he climbed to his feet, and then pulled the throw blanket from the back of the sofa onto her. Walking to the entryway, he retrieved the picture that Sen had drawn for him and carried it to the plush chair facing the sofa.

  “What do you have there?”

  He looked to see her smiling eyes.

  “You’re awake.”

  “I always was.”

  “Why did you let me fall asleep like that? It must have been uncomfortable for you.”

  “It was wonderful.” She sat up and wrapped the blanket tightly around her. “What have you got there then?”

  “It’s, um… it’s the picture that Sen drew for me.”

  “Cute. Let me see.”

  He hesitated for a moment and then handed it over. Bryony gasped. As she stared open-mouthed at it, Baxter sat down beside her.

  “Kafira in a bloody hand basket!”

  The picture depicted a simple outline of a house next to a large green tree and beneath a shining sun. High up in the air, floating just left of the yellow sun was the figure of a woman. Beneath, it was carefully labeled in script “Mommy.” Outside the house, hear the edge of the paper was the figure of a man labeled “Good Daddy”. Beneath the tree, under the earth were four prostrate figures with X’s for eyes, each with its name clearly marked: “DeeDee”, “Nan”, “LoLo”, and “Bad Daddy”. Inside the house was the stick figure of a little girl named “Sen”. And right next to her, a big black blob created by rubbing a pencil on its side. Through use of an erasing rubber, it had been given eyes and a gaping mouth. Beneath it was written the name “Allium.”

  “What on earth is that?” asked Bryony, pointing.

  “I don’t know.” He stared at the picture for a long minute. “I guess you don’t rate a place in her picture.”

  “Thank Kafira for that!”

  * * * * *

  Saba had just arrived at the police station and hadn’t yet gone in, when half a dozen PCs came running out.

  “Chief! It’s wizard trouble—big trouble—down at Clark and Forest!”

  “Leave one person at the desk. Everyone else with me!”

  Hurrying around the building, Saba hopped into the driver’s seat of the police lorry. Timburgen jumped in beside him as others piled in the back. Out of the corner of his eye, Saba could see Partridge climbing up into one of the cars. Sanderson was jumping in next to him. When the back of the lorry was full of constables, he threw it in gear and started south.

  “What do we know?” Saba asked Timburgen.

  “Detective Freign telegraphed it in. Eight or more hedgies involved. Heavy magic.”

  “I saw Sanderson. Do we have any other wizards?”

  “Dillingham. Dominot is off today.”

  Saba turned on Forest and stopped in the middle of the intersection with Bainbrigde Clark Boulevard. Partridge came to a stop beside him. Ahead, he could see the buildings along the right side of the street fully engulfed in flame, including the publishing house of the Birmisia Gazette. In the distance, he could hear the fire bell ringing. Right then, a gigantic ball of flame passed over their heads, crashing into a huge pine tree behind them.

  “Dillingham! Can you do something about that? We don’t need those apartment buildings going up.”

  The wizard began casting a spell, but the police chief didn’t wait to see its effect. He turned back to his men. Sergeant Hill was distributing weapons. He tossed a shotgun to Saba, who caught it and pumped a shell into its chamber.

  “All right. Lowey, I want you to get those buildings over there evacuated.” He pointed to the apartments across the street from the burning businesses. “Brimley, go with him. Take your rifle and see if you can find an overhead view. Wilkes, you evacuate the houses behind the Gazette. Dodge, see if anyone can be helped out of t
hose businesses. Check all the back entrances. Once you all are done, join us. We’ll need you.”

  The four constables hurried off. Saba turned to Hill.

  “Take Timburgen, Gubler, and Sanderson and go up the left side of the street. Partridge, Gorman, and I will go up the right. Dillingham, you’re with us too. If any of those bastards give you a reason, shoot them.”

  The eight police constables started west, taking cover behind parked cars along either side of the red brick street. When Saba was in front of the burning bookstore, he looked over the bonnet of a yellow car. The hedge wizards were standing around in a semicircle. He recognized Ventin and Finn, as well as the enchantress Tendra. He counted thirteen all together. Some of them looked drunk. Some were laughing. One tall fellow fired off a lighting bolt spell into the air.

  “Police!” shouted Saba. “Get down on your faces and put your hands behind your head!”

  Two wizards turned toward him, arms outstretched, chanting incantations. Saba fired his shotgun and then dropped behind the car as a lightning bolt and several magical darts shot overhead. As he pumped another shell into the chamber, he could hear gunshots from the other side of the street.

  Moving to the front of the car, he looked around. One wizard was down. Another was running away up the street. Ventin had his back to Saba, and had just finished his spell. A giant ethereal hand shot away from him, hitting a parked steam carriage and sending it rolling over at least two men. Saba raised the shotgun and fired a blast into the wizard’s back. Then something hit him and sent him flying.

  He landed hard on the grass, the wind knocked out of him. The heat of the nearby burning building was unbearable. Someone grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and dragged him down to the street. Looking up, he recognized Gorman.

  “Stay down here, Chief,” he said, before hurrying away.

  Saba struggled to pull some air into his lungs. As soon as he had taken a couple of deep breaths, he sat up. There was a burn spot in the middle of his uniform blouse, and his shoes were gone. They had literally been knocked off his feet.

  A man in a fire helmet ran by. The shooting must be over with, so now they could get in to put out the fire. Saba looked up at the bookstore just in time to see the roof collapse in. Gorman was back, kneeling beside him.