A Plague of Wizards

by Wesley Allison

  “Of course, Your Highness. No one could expect you…”

  “Maybe not, but they should. I gather few people expect anything from me.”

  “Well, you must be very busy,” said Esther, “serving both in the marines and the cavalry.”

  Clitus looked down at his uniform and laughed.

  “I’m fifteen. I’ve served in neither.” He ran his hands across the three-deep row of medals on his chest. “Guess what these are for. Nothing. Nothing at all. Well, to be fair, they’re for being the second born of the king. That’s going to change though. I’m going to save the day for once. I know Lady Iolana seems formidable enough for any situation save the second coming, but you and I know she can’t be perfect at everything.”

  “That’s not her opinion on the matter,” said Esther, to which the prince laughed again, heartily.

  “I can tell you she’s been doing everything in her power to either free you from jail or at least improve your conditions,” he said. “The only things she hasn’t tried are contacting her mother or arranging a jailbreak. I imagine either of those would have been successful.”

  “Hmm,” said Esther, trying not to let on that such news lifted her spirits several levels.

  “Now though, we shall see if the nobility still wields power in this wretched old kingdom.” He waved to the others, who jumped forward. Bob took Esther’s arm as she stood.

  “Are you ready to be swept away in my carriage?” asked the prince.

  “Is the Thiss green?”

  * * * * *

  Three days later, Iolana sat again in the spectators’ seats of the Crown Court, and unlike her previous visit, she did not look calm or collected. For two days, she had been unable to see Esther or in fact, to gather any details on her condition. She half expected that the poor lizzie had been killed. The only thing convincing her that this wasn’t so, was fact that her court case still remained on the schedule. She turned and slapped Mr. Barrymore on the shoulder in frustration. He didn’t react, having been slapped at least a dozen times already that morning. Behind them sat Willa Armice and Mr. Finley, the underbutler.

  “How much longer?” asked Iolana for the fourteenth time.

  “Three minutes,” said Finley, looking at his pocket watch. “Assuming that everything starts on time.”

  “Which would be a foolish assumption,” said Barrymore.

  Iolana slapped him again.

  “Well, we’re here to support you,” said a female voice.

  Iolana looked to see Fodora Epps and Regina Elipton, standing in the row below her.

  “That’s very kind of you to be here for us. With any luck we’ll be taking Esther home.”

  “I hope not,” said Fodora. “She really is a horrible, ugly, beast.”

  “Yes, she deserves to rot away in Ravendeep,” agreed Regina. “It’s not fair that they should blame you for her viciousness though.”

  “Maybe with her gone,” said Fodora, “you and Ian will have a proper chance to get to know one another.”

  “Ian?”

  “Yes, Ian. Ian Drebner.”

  “That cad will be meet with the point of my shoe, if he ever has the nerve to show himself again on Avenue Dragon,” hissed Mr. Finley.

  Iolana said nothing, but stared at the two women with her mouth open.

  “Mind your p’s and q’s, Mr. Ferley,” said Fodora. “Remember that you’re a servant.”

  “He was trying to assault Lady Iolana.”

  “They just wanted to spend some alone time together,” said Regina. “We thought that, given a chance, perhaps he could get her to loosen up a bit.”

  “Figuratively or literally?” asked Willa.

  Iolana’s mouth remained open, but her face grew darker and darker red, as her eyes shot from Fodora to Willa to Regina. At last, she forced her mouth closed and took three shaky breaths.

  “You knew about him?” she asked the two aristocratic young women.

  “Knew?” said Fodora. “What’s to know? That he was interested in you? That he might have to overcome some of your hesitancy?”

  “You’re a monster,” said Iolana quietly. “I actually had thought I had met the world’s most horrible person, but now I find that Birmisia can claim nothing to which Brechalon doesn’t have a superior.”

  “I shall have their things removed from the house right away,” said Mr. Barrymore, starting to stand.

  “You may wait until we return home,” said Iolana, placing a restraining hand on his wrist. “Then I want everything out within an hour. If there is no one to take it, throw it in the street.”

  “Well, that’s the thanks we get!” said Regina.

  “Pandering not as lucrative as it used to be?” wondered Willa.

  The two women hurried toward the other side of the courtroom, a veritable storm of “well, I never” and “who does she think she is”, mixed with generalized sounds of contempt and resentment. No one in the courtroom paid them the slightest attention though, because all eyes were drawn to the rear of the chamber.

  Six uniformed police officials entered, the insignia on their dark blue uniforms indicating that none of them were ordinary constables. The Right Honourable Ewart Primula followed them in, accompanied by two young clerks. Twenty-four years as Prime Minister, a record of service surpassed only once in history, and that some four hundred years earlier, had left the tall man stooped over, as though his shoulders literally carried the weight of the world. His thick body and his heavily-jowled face gave the impression of immobile armor, though his eyes were quite alert. Four more uniformed men followed him, though they wore not constable’s uniforms, but military ones. There were two in Royal Army blue, one in Royal Marines red, and one in Royal Navy white. By the time they had cleared the doorway, the dozen people who had been previously present, might as well have been the types of open-eyed statues scripturally attributed to gorgons.

  The three judges picked this minute to enter the courtroom from the door at the other end. They seemed momentarily taken aback by not being announced. They quickly recognized that this was no usual day though, and found their seats to watch the rest of the unfolding events.

  The Prime Minister, his clerks, and the contingent of police had taken seats in the corner, not far from where Iolana and her servants sat. The military officers followed. Then, there, framed in the doorway, was Esther. Gone was the new dress that Iolana had provided. She was now clothed as no Brech woman ever was, and she was certainly not adorned as any lizzie in Birmisia would have been. She wore a loose sort of toga, made of a gauzy cloth with flowery print. Several necklaces of wooden beads were around her neck, matching bracelets on her wrists. Atop her head was a hat made by piling fresh flowers into a sort of pyramid. She was, in fact, dressed very much like the human inhabitants of the Mullien Islands, a vast archipelago situated roughly halfway between Sumir and Mallon—at the same time exotic, and yet familiar.

  Standing beside her, holding onto her hand, which was draped over his wrist, was Prince Clitus. He had on his red uniform once again, and it seemed that after seeing so many uniforms already and in such variety, it took everyone in the chamber a minute or two before they realized just who this particular young man was. He was already leading Esther toward where everyone else in the party was seated, when there was a kind of collective gasp of recognition. He stopped, gave a quick boyish grin, and then urged his companion to their seats. He not only pulled out her seat for her, but also made sure that it was turned in such a way to best accommodate her most non-human feature.

  Several other gentlemen entered after the prince, including one that carried a huge camera and tripod. He set it up in a remarkably short time, filled a tray with flash powder, and took his shot at the accumulated dignitaries. It was lost on no one, as he lugged the huge device from the room, that no one else in any corner warranted a photograph.

  Once the photographer had left, the room was silent, and silence continued to reign until it became something more than si
mply uncomfortable. The heavy judge cleared his throat and the court clerk seemed to unfreeze.

  “Crown Warrant Case 563621: The Birmisian known as Esther Ssaharranah accused of assault with intent to do grave bodily injury to Mr. Ian Drebner Esq.”

  “I, uh… I’m going to be honest,” said the judge. “I don’t know to whom honor, etiquette, or law, compels me to direct matters of the court.”

  “If I may be so bold…ugh…My Lord,” said the PM, pausing to grunt as he rose to his feet. “According to Curia Secundo Cartem of 1023, His Royal Highness has no grounds to speak or be heard in a crown court, and neither do any of the King’s knights, which was clarified under the courtroom codices of 1685 to include any officers in any of His Majesty’s services not currently under indictment in said court. Prince Clitus is merely present as a courtesy to his dear personal friend, Miss Esther Ssaharranah. Our prestigious military are here as observers, as it is very important for the safe and orderly operation of our extended empire in Birmisia and beyond, that our King’s newest subjects be treated with the appropriate respect.”

  “Thank you, Prime Minister,” said the judge.

  “As for why I am here,” Primula continued as if he had heard nothing. “I was contacted by this court with a question of dominion. To wit…” He started coughing and it was a full minute before he was able to stop. Taking a handkerchief from his breast pocket, he wiped his mouth, and then put the cloth away before continuing. “To wit: Do His Majesty’s Birmisian subjects constitute individuals in questions of law, despite not being, in a technical sense, human? Fortunately, this question is easily answered.” He paused and glanced around the room. “As specific individuals known colloquially as lizzies have, at various times, entered into a series of pacts and treaties with this government, the specifics of which might well fall into the jurisprudence of Brechalon, there can be no question that these individuals constitute persons both in a legal and broader sense.”

  The three judges looked very pleased. Not only was it their courtroom that answered such an important question of the day, but it was their good thinking to seek the advice of The Right Honourable Ewart Primula in discovering it.

  “Thank you PM for your…” One of the two hitherto quiet judges started.

  “Unfortunately, we have discovered a rather vexing problem with regards to this particular court,” Primula interrupted. “It seems, My Lords, that you have been witness to a series of incidents right in your own courtroom that stand out as such sad and obvious cases of knavery as I have ever heard of. There should have never been a case laid against Miss Ssaharranah. There should have been instead an indictment of attempted rape placed on the head of Ian Drebner.”

  “My Lord, My Lord!” shouted Chern Edley, Drebner’s Barrister. “Mr. Drebner was the only witness, the lady in question being incapacitated with drink.”

  “But that’s where you are wrong,” replied Primula. “There were two other witnesses—a fine young woman currently working as a maid, Miss Willa Armice. I myself can avow to her character, as her brother, a fine steersman, was instrumental in my yacht winning the regatta two years in row. And then there was Lady Esther Ssaharranah, a fine representative of her race and the close personal friend of His Royal Highness Prince Clitus. And would it surprise you to know that Mr. Drebner has been accused of similar incidents four times in the past two years, all of which were ignored or deflected into charges against the young ladies in question?”

  The fat judge did look surprised, but the other two simply looked sick to their stomachs.

  “These officers from Mernham Yard are here to make a complete investigation. Make no mistake gentleman. This rat’s nest will be cleaned out!” Primula looked over to Drebner. “Boy, you have about twelve hours. Get out of the country or plan to spend some time in prison. Or maybe, join the navy.” He plopped down in his seat and took several deep breaths. “That was far too exciting for a man of my advanced years.”

  “It was bloody brilliant!” said Prince Clitus from behind him. “You make me proud to be Brech.”

  “My boy, I’m retiring next year.”

  “No.”

  “Yes, but in the interim, you and I will have much to do. I am going to pass on everything you will need to deal with every friend, enemy, or contact in the empire. You will be my successor—not as Prime Minister obviously, but much more importantly as the true keeper of the realm, the man who makes sure that everything runs the way it ought.”

  “But how will I do that?”

  “With the knowledge I give you. You see, I know every secret in the empire. Where every skeleton is buried. Who does what with whom? Who owes what to whom? For that matter, the location of your many nieces and nephews. Don’t worry about it now. It will all become clear.”

  “Thank you so much, Prime Minister,” said Esther, who was surprised when the old man leaned in and kissed her on the snout.

  “Think nothing of it, my dear. You know, you look so much like my late wife.”

  She had just finished saying good-bye to Prince Clitus, when the lizzie felt herself enveloped in a hug from behind. She turned around to find a weepy Iolana clinging to her.

  “I’m so glad that you’re safe!”

  “Me too,” said Esther. “And vice-versa.”

  “I’ve been a terrible friend. I should have protected you better. I should have telegraphed my mother. She knows the Prime Minister.”

  “It’s all right now,” said Esther, wondering exactly what the Prime Minister knew about Mrs. Staff and perhaps what she knew about him.

  “Come home. We’ll have lobster for dinner. I know it’s your favorite.”

  “I don’t know…”

  “I’ve gotten rid of those wretched bitches, Fodora and Regina,” said Iolana. “We’ll never have to see their like again.”

  “Excellent,” said Esther. “We can invite the staff for lobster too, can’t we?”

  Iolana glanced at Barrymore, Finley, and Willa, and then turned back to the lizzie. “Of course. But you must get some proper clothes on. You look like an idiot.”

  Chapter Thirteen: The Drache

  Lady Terra held the binoculars to her eyes and examined the battlefield stretched out across the plane. It was a truly horrible sight. The bodies of more than ten thousand lizardmen were strewn across the great field. Hundreds of dinosaurs, large and small, feasted on the remains. Along the nearer side of the war zone, a group of about one hundred lizzies made their way through the bodies, offering aid to any to whom aid would still make a difference. They were easy enough to spot, with their bodies painted half white and half sky blue.

  “What do you think, Kaetarrnaya?”

  The girl looked up into the cold-blooded eyes of King Hsrandtuss.

  “It is a horrible victory, Great King, but you have turned back the enemy.”

  “Very little is as it seems in war, my little soft-skin,” the king hissed humorlessly. “This was not a victory.”

  “No? But Xecheon’s dead greatly outnumber ours.”

  Hsrandtuss’s dewlap flushed.

  “Yes, almost three to one,” he said. “This was not the enemy’s true aim though. It was a feint, a distraction, and not a bad one if truth were known. This tells me that their idiot king has found someone with a strategic mind. Where could he have gotten such a genius, Kaetarrnaya?”

  “Maybe one of his people have a gift. Or it could be that a new group of lizzies have joined Xecheon. Hundreds arrive at Yessonarah each month. I wouldn’t think they would have as many immigrants, but they could have some. Perhaps one of them is a skilled warrior.”

  “That is well-thought-out and very possible,” said Hsrandtuss. He waved and a male brought over two folding chairs, setting them up. The king took one and indicated with a wave that the girl should take the other. “Is there another possibility?”

  “Xecheon could have advisors from the humans,” she said. “The Bordonians or the Mirsannans are both looking to expand their power in
Birmisia, and there are a dozen other countries that might send weapons and advisors. For that matter, they could be human soldiers of fortune, beyond the control of any country.”

  “Could it be the Brechs?”

  “That wouldn’t make any sense,” said Terra. “We’re allies.”

  “I am your king,” said Hsrandtuss, touching the tip of her nose with a clawed finger. “You must not lie to me. Might they not want revenge on me for defeating them on the battlefield?”

  “I will not lie, Great King. I do not think it is the Brechs. Greater Brechalon seldom breaks treaties, though this would not be the first time. Also it might be more likely we would break our treaty with you than with other human countries, since many among my people consider the lizzies inferior.”

  Hsrandtuss gurgled in anger.

  “But the cost and the danger of destabilization is very great compared to the possible return. My people will often prefer a less than ideal situation to an uncertain one, even when there is a possibility of improvement. There is a much greater possibility that it is a lone Brech who is aiding Xecheon, but I find this unlikely too. You are known to be fair with humans and you have much greater wealth. A single treasure-seeker would be much more inclined to offer aid to you.”

  “I am pleased with you, Kaetarrnaya. You have spoken true with me, even when it might not make your own people appear their best.”

  “I am a noble female of Yessonarah.”

  “Yes, you are,” said the king. “Now I want you to remember that. Who else could be helping our enemies?”

  “I don’t know… other lizzie states?”

  “No. What is it that makes us so great?”

  “Yessonarah is great because it is the chosen city of the God of the Sky, and its people are his chosen people. But there are no other drag…”

  Hsrandtuss leaned in close to her face and stared into her eyes.

  “There can’t be… there can’t be another dragon leading them,” she said. “There can’t be. Can there?”