A Plague of Wizards

by Wesley Allison

  I don’t know if I should tell you this or not, but I shall. We agreed we would have no secrets. Ascan has asked Noémi to marry him.

  “Who the hell is Noh… how do you even say that name?”

  “Like no-eh-mee. Oh, who cares?” A single sob escaped Iolana’s lips.

  “I’m sorry,” said Esther, tenderly. “I know that you love him and wanted to marry him.”

  “Of course I don’t!” snapped Iolana. “I love him… but I love him as a friend. I’m just very sad… because he’s marrying a foreigner.”

  “Well, chin up. Stiff upper lip. You have to get ready for your party.”

  “You’re right, of course.” Iolana uncurled herself and stood up. “Come help me get dressed.”

  Iolana had purchased a dress for the party at the same time she had the dress she had worn for her presentation to the king. It was very similar to that one, except that it was pale green instead of white. The young woman peeled off her dressing gown and pulled on her bloomers and corset, which the lizzie tightened. Then Esther fastened on Iolana’s bustle, and once she had stepped into it, the many buttons on the back of her dress. Once that was done, she helped curl Iolana’s long, golden locks.

  “There, that’s better,” said Iolana, looking at herself in the cheval glass. “Now you had better get dressed as well.”

  “I don’t plan on attending the party.”

  “Why not? You’re not still upset about that little incident at the park, are you?”

  “It was only little because it didn’t happen to you. But no. I’m not attending because I don’t know any of those people. They’re all friends of yours from University. I don’t know them.”

  “All the more reason. You can get to know them. They really are a bright group.”

  “I’m more interested in meeting nice people. I’ve got all the bright people I need with you.”

  “Thank you. I’m choosing to take that as a compliment, though I’m sure it wasn’t meant as one.”

  “Go on and enjoy your party,” said Esther. “If you want to talk later, I’ll be available.”

  “What would I possibly want to talk about?”

  Shaking her head, Esther left Iolana’s room and walked back to the rear of the house, where her apartments were located. Once inside, she stripped off her dress and slid into her bed. On the nightstand was the latest book that Iolana had left for her—And God Looked Down and Smiled by Momone Lathan. Flipping through the pages, she found that the odd numbered pages featured the original Mirsannan, while the even numbered pages displayed the Brech translation. Esther hoped that Iolana didn’t expect her to read the Mirsannan.

  After reading for twenty minutes or so, Esther dozed off. When a frantic knocking at her door awakened her, the room was dark. She climbed out of bed, hurried across the room, and opened the door to find Willa.

  “Oh, good heavens! You startled me!”

  “You knew I was in here,” said an annoyed Esther. “That is why you were knocking, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, yes. I’m sorry. I think you need to come quick. Lady Iolana may be in trouble.”

  Esther pulled her tail through the doorway, shut the door, and started up the corridor. Willa stayed where she was.

  “What?” asked the lizzie, stopping and looking back at her.

  “You’re naked.”

  “Oh, it doesn’t matter. Hurry up. Where is Iolana?”

  “She’s in her rooms.”

  As they made their way toward the front of the house, Esther encouraged Willa to elaborate on just what sort of problem there might be. She was met only with, “You should hurry.”

  Not waiting to knock, upon reaching Iolana’s chamber door, Esther turned the knob but found it locked. Stepping back, she hit the door with her shoulder, sending splinters of the frame flying as she burst into the room.

  A seemingly unconscious Iolana was draped across the arm of the Mirsannan divan, her dress bunched up around her waist as a dark-haired man in a yellow suit worked his hand into her knickers.

  “Get the hell away from her!” gurgled Esther, jumping forward.

  The man’s eyes practically shot out of his head as he tried to leap to his feet and escape. Unfortunately for him, his sleeve was somehow caught on the girl’s underwear. Esther grabbed him by the shoulders and threw him to the side, the hideous yellow suit ripped by her claws. Once on his feet, the man threw a punch at the green monster bearing down upon him. He hit the lizzie just as she was opening her mouth. Instinctively, she clamped it shut, her conical teeth digging into his arm. With a shriek, he ripped it away, leaving her a mouthful of wool fabric. Then he was gone.

  “A yellow suit, indeed,” she growled, spitting out its remains.

  Esther turned her attention back to Iolana, whom Willa was already examining.

  “Oi, she smells like a distillery.”

  “She’s been drinking?”

  “I didn’t see, but Tildy said she was tossing back wine like no tomorrow.” She took a sniff of the girl’s drink. “Don’t smell like just wine to me.”

  “No doubt that wanker was plying her with something stronger, trying to get into her unders.”

  “Not just trying,” said Willa. “Let’s move her to the bed.”

  Esther picked up the limp form and carried it to the canopied bed. Once there, she helped Willa undress Iolana. Then she looked through the drawer of the nightstand for a small canvas bag that was kept there.

  “I don’t know if she drank enough to get alcohol poisoning, but just in case.” Finding a small vial of clear liquid, she pulled off the cork and poured it into Iolana’s mouth. “When in doubt, use a detoxicant.”

  “She should be okay now,” said Willa. “I’m about to go off shift, but I’ll have one of the other girls keep an eye on her.”

  Esther nodded and then went back to her own room. She suddenly felt exhausted and slipped into slumber almost as soon as her head touched her pillow. Her sleep was rudely interrupted however with another insistent knocking at her door. This time, she remembered to throw on her dress. Esther found not Willa but Lilly, another upstairs maid.

  “The police are at the door, Miss Esther. They say you must come right away.”

  “I wonder what they want? Perhaps a trolley hit that cur as he left the house. One can only hope.”

  She arrived in the parlor to find one of the police constables she remembered from the park, as well as two that she had never seen before. They moved to flank her. One of them pulled a truncheon from his belt.

  “There’s no need for that,” said the PC from the park. “Miss Esther won’t give us any trouble. Will you?”

  “No,” said Esther, trying to make herself small.

  “Just come along with us then.”

  “What in Kafira’s name is going on here?” growled Mr. Barrymore, the butler, as he arrived in his dressing gown. “What is the meaning of this? Do you have any idea of the time?”

  Esther didn’t have any idea of the time and looked at the grandfather clock. It was a quarter past three.

  “We have a warrant for the arrest of the Birmisian known as Esther.”

  “What is the charge?” asked Barrymore.

  “Assault with intent to do grave bodily harm.”

  “Preposterous!”

  “Well, not to worry. We’ll get to the bottom of this.”

  The butler stepped closer to Esther.

  “Go along and don’t give them any trouble, miss. I’ll alert the mistress and she’ll set everything to right.”

  Esther could only hope that he was right as the constables led her out into the night.

  Chapter Ten: Pestilence

  Saba slipped his jacket on, as he gazed down at Iolanthe’s naked body. If he hadn’t known her all his life, he would never have believed that she was forty-six years old. She didn’t have the plumpness that Loana had. She looked lean and he could see the muscles below the smooth, tight skin in her legs and back, but it was far from un
attractive. She had not stirred as he climbed out of bed and dressed, but when he opened the door, she spoke.

  “I’m glad you weren’t killed.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Will you be back tomorrow?”

  “Yes.”

  He shut the door behind him and followed the hallway to the back of the great house. Passing through the doorway to the outside stairs, he quickly descended two flights of steps.

  “Chief Colbshallow, do you have a minute?”

  Saba saw Lord Dechantagne standing on the step leading into the enclosed back porch.

  “I was just speaking with your aunt about…”

  The sixteen-year-old waved his hand. “I’ve really no interest in your relationship with my aunt. It’s none of my business. But I do need to talk to you. Can you step over to the motor shed?”

  The Dechantagne motor shed was a large building that held the family’s six vehicles and was connected to the lizzie quarters behind it. The boy led Saba inside and turned up the gaslights illuminating the shiny vehicles. Then he turned and addressed the chief.

  “Things with these wizards are getting out of hand.”

  “Oh? What gave you that idea?” asked Saba, his voice full of sarcasm.

  “All right, maybe that was the wrong way to start. You’re the chief of police and you know what’s going on. There have been assaults and crimes all over the colony. The destruction of the Gazette, and also the millinery shop where I had a hat on special order, I might add, was just the icing on the cake.”

  “Look, Augie…”

  “Lord Dechantagne.”

  “Augie. This is police business. We have it under control.”

  “It doesn’t seem that way. Anyway, I’m making some arrangements of my own.”

  “Boy, I can’t have you getting in the way. If you got yourself killed, there would be all kinds of unpleasantness.”

  “Oh, believe me. I’m not stepping out into any firefight,” said the young lord. “On the other hand, I do have material concerns. I have an ownership stake in most of the businesses and properties in the city. I don’t intend to see them destroyed. I have a party that might be of some help in eliminating some of these threats.”

  “It would be better if you left the whole thing to others,” said Saba. “That being said, I doubt we’ll be called to look too closely into the disappearance of any of these wizards. Not that I’m condoning vigilantism.”

  “No, of course not.”

  * * * * *

  Bryony Baxter stepped off the trolley at the corner of Pike Street and Marigold, south of Zaeritown. She shook out her parasol and opened it to protect her from the angry rays of the sun. Summer had definitely come to Birmisia and there was precious little respite from it. Carefully crossing the red brick street and stepping up onto the sidewalk, she stopped and looked down. Unlike most areas of the city, which featured walkways made of cobblestone and a few with cement or red brick, here the sidewalk was made of large pieces of cut stone. They alternated black and white, and though they were not square, they nevertheless gave the impression of a chessboard.

  “Well isn’t that lovely,” she said to herself.

  Mrs. Baxter was unaccustomed to shopping in this part of town. She usually purchased her sundries and J.D. Kinney’s 5 and 10, but that was now nothing but a smoking ruin. Her husband had suggested Isenhorn’s Pfennig Emporium. She stopped and looked at the storefront. It was covered with posters proclaiming items on sale—Mirsannan Butter Cookies 20P, Bordonian Chocolate Bars 2 for 5P, and Discontinued Aprons 10P. She wasn’t exactly sure what a discontinued apron might be, but thought that perhaps it was one that ended at the knee.

  The bell above the door rang as she stepped inside. The interior of the store was at the same time both familiar and different. There were aisles laid out pretty much like she was used to, but they were closer together and more crowded with goods. The proprietor was a tall thin man with grey hair, and stood behind the back counter, currently engaged with another customer.

  Walking past the window displays, Bryony started up the furthest aisle, with stationary on the left and canned foods on the right. About midway up, two women were looking at an array of merchandise. Both had long, dark, wavy hair and though one was quite plump and the other very thin, there was an obvious family resemblance.

  “This is such a clever idea,” said the plump one. “They have one here for almost every occasion.”

  “Scheint es nicht persönlich,” the other replied in Freedonian.

  Bryony stopped to look at what had drawn their attention. Both women turned toward her.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

  “Not at all,” said the plump woman. “Look at these. They’re greeting cards, already made up. They have one for a birthday, thank you, sympathy, and one that says get well. That way you can tell someone that you feel bad about them being sick without having to risk the pestilence yourself. They even have one for Kafira Mass, though I don’t know why Mr. Isenhorn bothered.”

  “Wrong time of year,” Bryony nodded knowingly, but missed the other women giving each other a look. “Oh, they even have invitations. One could send them out for a dinner or tea, without having to wait for the stationer.”

  “I was saying that it didn’t seem very personal to me,” said the thin woman. “Imagine if everyone sent you the exact same note on your birthday.”

  “I see what you mean,” said Bryony. “Still, one could keep a few in a box for those last minute occasions, or when something pops up unexpectedly. Oh, look! They have a little box here just for that purpose!”

  “I don’t believe we’ve met,” said the thinner woman. “Are you a new arrival?”

  “Oh, well, not really. I moved here from Mallontah about six months ago. I still have distant family there, but I had to come here to be with my husband.” She blushed. “He is the finest man in the whole world.”

  “I’m Honor McCoort,” said the thin woman, offering her hand.

  “Oh! I’ve read of you in the paper. You’re on the city council. And you must be related to the newspaper editor.”

  “My husband,” Honor confirmed. “And this is my sister Hero Markham.”

  “Hero. What a lovely name. I’m going to add it to my list.” She placed a hand on her stomach. “I’ve still got months and months to go, but we haven’t been able to think up many appropriate names.”

  “You too?” said Honor, pointing at her sister. “It must be the Birmisian water.”

  “It’s not the water,” said Hero. “It’s my bloody husband can’t keep his hands to himself.” She leaned in toward Bryony. “I always liked my name, but you should be aware it’s only common among Zaeri.”

  “Are you Zaeri then? This is lucky! I don’t think I’ve ever met one before.”

  “You think you’re lucky?” laughed Hero. “Aren’t you the funniest thing? I like you. What’s your name?”

  “Oh, stupid me. I’m Bryony… Bryony Baxter.”

  The two sisters looked at each other, open mouthed.

  “You’re… um, married to Kieran Baxter?” asked Honor.

  “Yes, that’s right. You know him? I told you I was married to the finest man in the world.”

  “He is a very fine man…” said Honor.

  Bryony stared at her. “Yes… but…”

  “But nothing. He is a wonderful man. I’ve always liked him.”

  “But you left it hanging there, like there was something more to it.”

  “Oh, there’s more to it all right,” said Hero. “Perhaps you should join us for lunch.”

  “I’m not dressed for anything fancy.”

  “We’re just having a picnic in the park down the street. Let’s finish our shopping and then I’ll gather the children.”

  Mrs. Baxter took a look down each of the aisles in the store, picking up items and piling them on the back counter. When her shopping was completed, she had a box full of the ready-made greeting car
ds, some stationary, a bottle of Allmed Hair Beautifier, a jar of palm oil lotion with jasmine and lavender, an envelope of hair pins, two tins of butter cookies, two chocolate bars, a jar of Major Frisbee’s Date and Fig Chutney, and three different kinds of mustard.

  “I’m so excited,” she told Honor, who stood next to her as the proprietor tallied her purchases. “Kieran talks about how much he enjoyed Freedonian mustard when he was in Bangdorf, but I’ve never seen it anywhere. Now, I’ve found three different varieties!”

  “That’s because this is a Zaeri store.”

  “Is it really?”

  “Yes. Most of us came from Freedonia and so they cater to us.”

  “But of course we welcome everyone,” said the proprietor, looking over his glasses.

  “I don’t buy much mustard,” continued Honor. “My husband is from Brechalon and he prefers that nasty fish sauce.”

  “Wellenshire sauce. Yes, I was looking for that.”

  “I’m sorry, we don’t stock it,” said the proprietor, “but if you decide to become a regular, I can get it.”

  “He’s a Brech Zaeri then?” Bryony asked Honor.

  “He is now. He converted.”

  “They allow that? I thought you just had to be born into it—like sorcery.”

  Honor almost choked. “No… no, it’s nothing like sorcery.”

  After paying for their purchases, Bryony and Honor met Hero by the front door, where she had arranged her four children by height.

  “This is my brood,” she said. “Here is Senta, eleven, Benny Jr., ten, Hannabeth, nine, and Honnie, eight.”

  “Golly, all in a row—and just a year apart.”

  “Yes. I thought that was all we were having and here I am starting all over again.”

  “But children are such a blessing,” said Bryony.

  “Mm-mm,” said Hero. “Senta, take your brother and sisters on up to the park. We’ll follow and be there in two shakes.”

  The children hurried out, with the adults following them. The women stopped at Hero’s steam carriage. She put her purchases under the back seat and allowed Bryony to temporarily store hers there too. Honor retrieved a large picnic basket from the same storage space. Then the women opened their parasols and started east down the chessboard walkway.