A Plague of Wizards

by Wesley Allison

  “Don’t kill him! Don’t kill him!” Ernst shrieked, pushing herself up from the desk and elbowing Sam. “Pull up your pants, stupid!”

  “Don’t kill him!” she continued, hurrying toward Senta, waving her hands. “It’s all okay. We’re engaged. We just haven’t told anyone yet.”

  “I’m not going to kill him,” said Senta, holding up a hand to block her vision of the man who was still struggling with his pants. “Why does everyone think I’m a crazed murderer?”

  “Tell me you don’t have human remains in your purse right now,” said Ernst.

  “Maro talks too much.”

  At that moment, the door burst open and a body, which turned out to be Benny, ran into Senta’s back. He was followed seconds later by Geert, Didrika, and Sherree, as well as some others who were still stuck out in the hallway.

  “What’s going on?” wondered Benny.

  “Your brother is engaged to my cousin Ernst, apparently.”

  “Well, Mazel Tov!”

  Ten minutes later, everyone had returned to the garden. Senta sat in a chair with another glass of wine. She couldn’t remember having so much in quite some time. The people and things around her were starting to get a little squiggly. As she sat, others took chairs, forming a rather oblong circle, though maybe it only seemed oblong. When the sorceress looked to her left, she saw Hero was sitting beside her with eight-year-old Honnie trying to curl up in her lap.

  “Are you still mad at me?” asked Hero.

  “Oh, I can’t stay mad at you, especially not with another baby on the way.”

  “I’m not pregnant, Senta. I’m just fat.”

  “Wha… but, I thought… I don’t…”

  “Of course I’m pregnant stupid. That’s why I wanted you to protect Mrs. Baxter, by the way. She’s preggers too.”

  “She is?” asked Senta, taking a large gulp of wine. “Do you think its Kieran’s?”

  “Of course it is! She wouldn’t do a thing like that!”

  “How exciting,” said Senta. “A tiny little Baxter.”

  “I don’t like the way you’re smiling,” said Hero. “Why would Bryony having a baby make you happy.”

  “Well, I might want a little Baxter, and I certainly don’t plan on making my own.”

  “Before Geert opens presents,” called Sherree, “is there anyone else who has an announcement to make?”

  “Didrika does,” said Ernst.

  “Still?” Didrika asked her sister. When she nodded, the younger girl looked around at her relatives. “I was supposed to announce today, and Ernst was going to wait a month, but she couldn’t wait.”

  “You bet your ass she couldn’t!” guffawed Benny. Though Maro laughed, most of the assembly simply stared at him, as his sister-in-law smacked him on the back of the head, his wife being too far away to do so.

  “As I was saying,” continued Didrika. “I’m engaged and we’ve already set a date for the wedding. It’s the twentieth of Decius.”

  “Ten-twenty,” said Bertice. “How romantic!”

  “Go ahead and tell them who you’re marrying,” said Maro.

  “You know?” wondered his wife.

  “He told me when he visited me in hospital.”

  All eyes turned expectantly to Didrika.

  “I’m engaged to Tiber Stevenson.”

  “Congratulations,” said Geert.

  “Mazel Tov!” said Benny, again.

  “That’s a good match!” exclaimed Sherree. “His family is richer than mine and his grandfather is an Earl!”

  “Do I know him?” Senta asked Hero. Hero nodded.

  “That may be the problem,” said Didrika. “Tiber is sure that when he marries me, his parents will disown him. They don’t think I’m good enough for him.”

  “The nerve of them,” said Bertice.

  “I could kill them and put them in tiny boxes,” said Senta, dropping the empty wineglass into the grass beside her chair. “I’m kidding of course. Who does that?”

  “He’s still going to marry you though?” asked Hero.

  “Yes,” Didrika replied with stars in her eyes. “He’s so wonderful.”

  There was some more conversation about the upcoming wedding, most of which Senta didn’t follow. Then Geert began opening his presents. The first was new black bowler hat from his brother. Then Senta gave him her present—a copy of Iolana Staff’s new novel, picked up from Brechalon.

  “Yes, we missed out on the printing rights for this one,” said Maro. “Thank you for reminding us of our loss of a hundred thousand marks or so.”

  “Stop, Maro,” said Geert. “Thank you, Senta. I am honestly looking forward to reading this. It’s supposed to change the world of literature.”

  The next presents were from Geert’s wife and children, but Senta slipped into slumber before they were revealed. An indeterminate time later, she felt someone tugging at her purse. She opened her eyes to see a dark-haired boy of about ten standing next to her.

  “Who are you?”

  “I’m Benny Markham.”

  “And what do you want?”

  “I want to see the dead wizard.”

  She handed him a three-inch-square, one-inch deep metal box. “Here, play with Grand Master Wizard Cavendish. Don’t lose him. I want him back.”

  The next thing she knew, Hero was shoving something that looked like that same box back into her hand.

  “What do you mean, giving Benny Jr. this?”

  “I didn’t give it to him. I just let him play with it. It’s nothing. It’s a… um, snuffbox.”

  “You’re a terrible liar when you’ve been drinking,” snapped Hero.

  “Come on,” said Zoey, taking Senta’s arm. “It’s time to go home.”

  They walked out the front door and climbed into the back of a steam carriage. Two teen boys climbed into the front seats.

  “Who are you?” asked Senta.

  “I’m your cousin Brinn,” said the driver. “This is my brother Marcus.”

  “Be careful. I don’t trust these machines. If this one explodes, I shall be very cross with you.”

  Then she slumped over, her head in Zoey’s lap, and snored loudly.

  Chapter Seventeen: Humanity

  Kieran Baxter stood on the doorstep for at least fifteen minutes working up the courage to knock. It seemed foolish when one actually thought about it. He had walked in and out of that very same door a thousand times at least, without knocking and usually without announcing himself. But the heart and soul didn’t function with the logic of the mind. They were full of distractions. Finally he knocked, three times quickly, his knuckles barely touching the painted oak surface.

  “That’s not loud enough for anyone to have heard,” he told himself. “Knock again. No. Better to wait a while, just in case. I can always knock again later.”

  To his surprise, the door opened, revealing a lizzie about his height. He immediately recognized her as Aggie, the maid. Opening the door was not usually among her duties, or at least they hadn’t been when he had last been in the house. That job belonged to Cheery, the butler. Baxter suddenly realized he didn’t know if Cheery still worked here. For that matter, he didn’t even know if the male lizzie still lived.

  Aggie stepped back to allow him to enter the foyer.

  “Sir,” she said.

  “Is the lady of the house in?”

  “Yesss. Closing the door the lizzie started into the parlor. Baxter followed her through that room and on back to the library. Senta, in a simple brown skirt and white blouse stood in the room, facing away. A bookcase and a chair had been removed from the north wall, and in their place was a huge, ornately decorated oak and glass case, of the type usually displaying fine porcelain dishes. This one however was almost completely filled with small metal boxes, about three inches square and one inch deep. There had to be more than a hundred of them.

  “You’ve messed this all up,” said Senta. “When you took them out for me yesterday, I asked you to
remember where each went. You’ve got Grand Master Wizard Cavendish and Lord Callingham on the bottom shelf. They belong on the top, next to Master Wizard Goderick, while Dr. Sykes and Nurse Pyle definitely belong on the bottom shelf.”

  She turned and jumped when she saw Baxter standing with the lizzie.

  “That’s new,” said Baxter.

  “Oh, yes. I’m a collector now—um, snuff boxes.”

  “It’s an odd collection. They all look alike.”

  “I can tell them apart,” she said, seriously.

  “I came to tell you…” he started.

  “Wait. Let’s be civilized. It’s almost elevenses. There should be tea.”

  A tray containing a teapot, two cups, and a plate of chocolate biscuits was waiting on the occasional table in the parlor.

  “Sit down,” directed the sorceress, pointing at a spot on the sofa. “I’ll be mother.”

  He watched as she prepared a cup of tea just the way he liked it—no sugar, just a twist of lemon. She handed him his cup and then prepared her own, with four lumps and cream. She sat on the opposite end of the sofa from him, turning so that one leg was up on the spot between them.

  “As I said,” he started again. “I came to apologize for my… behavior… the other day, when you came to see me.”

  “Completely understandable,” she said, pausing to sip her tea. “You suspected I was an imposter, and you could have been right. But you weren’t. I’m me.”

  “Of course you are. I… my behavior was inexcusable.”

  “I excuse you,” she said with a smile. “I should be the one to apologize to you, after all I’ve done to you… leaving you alone, without a word.”

  “Why did you?” he asked, setting his still full cup on the end table, and then turning to face her.

  “You know how it is. Sometimes you just need to get away, to be by yourself, to get some perspective.”

  “You just left? You just left me? For four years?” His voice rose higher and higher. “You left your daughter for four years? Four years!”

  She looked like she was going to say something else, but closed her mouth and just shrugged. “What can I say?” she said, shrugging again, an impertinent smile crossing her lips.

  “You bitch!” He slapped her hard across the face.

  Her head snapped to the side, but when it turned back, other than a large red handprint, her expression had not changed. Then she started laughing and reclined back on the arm of the sofa.

  “Come, come,” she said. “Be a man about it.”

  He leaned forward, for what, he didn’t know. To punch her insolent mouth, maybe. He reached down to balance himself and his hand found her waist. Grabbing the waistline of her skirt with both hands, he pulled, ripping it open. She wasn’t completely naked underneath, but she had few foundations, no petticoat—only a small pair of bloomers. He grabbed them and ripped them off.

  “That’s right,” she said, breathily. “Yes, you know what you have to do, don’t you?”

  He looked up into those beguiling grey eyes, but he saw something else. The side of her face where he had hit her was swelling up alarmingly. He looked back down at her half-naked body, suddenly appalled by what he was doing.

  “Don’t think about it,” she said. “I need to be punished. Do it!”

  He pushed himself back and climbed to his feet.

  “No. Don’t stop.” Her voice sounded so genuine, he suddenly realized that her earlier words had not. This whole time she hadn’t sounded like Senta at all, at least not like his Senta, the Senta he knew.

  “Go to hell, demon,” he said, staggering to his feet.

  “I’m not Pantagria. I’m not an imposter.”

  “I know exactly who you are!”

  He staggered across the room, through the foyer and out the door. Once outside, he ran to his carriage, glad that it hadn’t run out of steam. Two minutes later, he had passed the main gate and was driving as fast as he could toward the center of town.

  Baxter pulled into an empty spot at the curb in front of Stein’s Pub, just off Town Square. He hadn’t been thinking of a drink, this had simply been a conveniently empty spot in which to park, but now he got out and hurried inside. It was dark and cool and there were few patrons. He sat down on a barstool. The barmaid was attractive but worn, a bit older than him.

  “What’ll you have, luv?”

  “Beer.”

  “What kind?”

  “Dark. Do you have anything Freedonian?”

  She pulled a glass and a bottle from below the bar and poured the dark, frothy Freedonian lager.

  Baxter took a long drink, burying his nose in the foam. Setting the glass back down, he covered his eyes with his hand and thought about what had happened—what had almost happened. There were only three laws for which a Brech citizen could be executed, and he had almost committed one of them.

  “Pint of bitter,” said a voice next to him.

  He didn’t look to see whom it was, but a moment later, the voice said, “Good day, Mr. Baxter.”

  Baxter lowered his hand from his eyes.

  “Police Chief Colbshallow. I didn’t know you drank on duty.”

  “I don’t,” he said, as if talking to a child. “I’m taking an early day and thought I’d stop off for some refreshment before going home to my war department.”

  “You’re wife is lovely,” said Baxter, “and she deserves a hell of a lot better than she’s been given.”

  “Maybe I agree,” said Saba, stopping to take a sip. His lips formed odd shapes as he swirled the liquid around in his mouth. “And maybe I’m in far too pleasant a mood to waste my time beating you to death.”

  “You could try.”

  The police chief just shrugged and took another sip.

  “You know by now, of course, that she’s back,” Saba said. “I’m sure she came to see you right away.”

  “Yes. She came to see me… and we…spoke… very briefly.”

  “I ran into her the other day,” continued Saba. “Now that I’ve had time to think about it though, I’m not at all sure that she was looking for me. We just sort of ran into one another. I can tell you this: she hasn’t come to see Sen yet.”

  Baxter lowered his head as if in prayer. Then he tossed back the rest of his beer in one long gulp. He raised a finger. “Another.”

  “Same here,” said Saba, though his glass was still more than half full. “Put them all on my tab.”

  “Right, Chief,” said the female proprietor, filling two more glasses.

  “Still, it must feel good to have been vindicated after all this time.”

  “What are you talking about?” wondered Baxter.

  “You were right about Senta being captured and locked away… wait, you don’t know? She didn’t tell you anything?” Saba chuckled. “You must have only spoken very briefly. I gather she’s telling the story pretty freely, at least to friends and family.”

  “I don’t…” Baxter shook his head, completely flummoxed.

  “All right. Here’s what I know. A secret cabal of Wizards called The Zenith captured her. I don’t know how, but they held her for about three and a half years. I don’t know what they did to her, but I think we can safely assume that it wasn’t pleasant. She eventually escaped. This was a big surprise to these wizards, although I think you and I agree that Senta being captured in the first place is a bigger surprise. She spent the last six months or so tracking down and destroying The Zenith, and presumably killing its members. While they weren’t really a part of the government, they did have some high-level connections.”

  “Grand Master Wizard Cavendish?” asked Baxter.

  “That’s the assumption, since he’s gone missing.”

  “Lord Callingham?”

  “One might well assume so,” said Saba. “An earl and a member of the House of Lords—that’s a high level connection, all right.”

  “Master Wizard Goderick?”

  “Never heard of him.”


  “How do you know all this?” wondered Baxter.

  “I got the basics of it from one of the wizards. Then I just pulled a few strings to see where they went.”

  “Kafira,” said Baxter.

  They sat in silence and finished the rest of their drinks. When Baxter had emptied his second glass, Saba looked at him.

  “Driving?”

  He nodded.

  “Me as well. Let’s say we both stop at two pints and make it to our destinations alive.”

  Baxter nodded again, got up and left.

  “What’s the tab?” asked Saba.

  “No charge for you, Chief. You know that.”

  “Well, buy yourself something pretty,” he said, placing a five mark note on the bar before walking out.

  * * * * *

  Baxter didn’t know where he was going. He paid no attention to the street signs or pedestrians. Later, he couldn’t remember stopping or yielding, or for that matter, driving at all. He just knew that after some indeterminable length of time, he found himself in front of the same door that he had earlier exited in a state of violent angst. This time he didn’t knock. He just opened the door and stepped inside. Not even a lizzie maid was there to greet him. He made his way up the stairs and down the hall to the mistress’s bedroom. She was there, lying on the bed without a stich of clothing on, only a rubber bottle filled with ice pressed to the side of her face.

  “I…”

  She jumped up, dropping the ice bottle, and wrapped her arms around him.

  “Kafira, I’m sorry Kieran. I’m so sorry that I did that to you.”

  He grasped her by the shoulders and pulled her back so that he could look into her eyes. They were different. They were familiar.”

  “It was me… I almost…”

  “No, you foolish man. I need your love, Kieran. I need your touch. I need it to bring me back… to bring me back to life. I just thought that if I could make you angry enough… but I should never have done that to you, after all you’ve been through.”