A Plague of Wizards

by Wesley Allison

  The blob-like, black form of Allium, the smoky surface of which was broken only by two baleful eyes and a slack, teeth-filled mouth, became visible to Senta. Sen and Zoey could already see it. That left only Mrs. C in the proverbial dark.

  “What the hell is it?” asked Zoey.

  “It’s a manifestation of the ether. They form in high magic areas. Simple people call them ghosts because they have seem to be possessed by a malevolent personality.”

  The shadowy form began to float up toward the ceiling.

  “Not so fast, my little magic blight. Uuthanum eetarri.”

  Allium popped like a black soap bubble, leaving little black embers that floated down to the floor.

  “You killed Allium!” cried Sen.

  “You may thank me later,” said her mother. “Now, say goodbye to Mrs. Colbshallow.”

  “Goodbye Nan,” said the girl.

  The older woman patted her head as she passed, and then she watched the sorceress, the dragon, and the little girl walked to the street. Once there, they all suddenly disappeared.

  * * * * *

  Lord Dechantagne walked through the doors of the new bookstore, followed by Walworth Partridge. What they found inside was a veritable wonderland for bibliophiles of every stripe. It was as bigger than any store in the colony with the possible exception of some of the larger purveyors of dry goods and sundries. More than a dozen tall counters were filled to capacity with books of all varieties. At least half that many tables were dispersed among the shelves with stacked displays of new editions.

  Half a dozen people called to him, and we waved back, smiling.

  Within a few minutes he had found a copy of his cousin’s new novel. He scanned the blurb, but didn’t find anything about her he didn’t already know, and didn’t find out anything about the book that particularly made him want to read it.

  “Lord Dechantagne, how lovely to see you in our store,” said Sherree McCoort, sliding up next to him.

  “You’ve certainly gone all out. This has to be the preeminent bookstore in the world.”

  “Especially now that you’re here,” she gushed.

  “I see you have a good selection.”

  “The best,” she agreed.

  “Good. I would like to purchase a collection of books.”

  “What genre were you interested in, My Lord.”

  “Oh, that doesn’t matter. I want one hundred books. They must all be recent printings of editions from the last decade or so, have well-constructed leather covers, and the print on the spines should be clear and legible.”

  “That’s it? You don’t care what they’re about?”

  “Well, they should be good books,” he said. “But their primary purpose is to fill in some holes in our library shelves. Take Walworth with you and see what you can gather together.”

  “My Lord?”

  Augie turned around to find Sherree’s husband.

  “Mr. McCoort, what a pleasure to see you up and around. No lingering effects?”

  “I’ve fully recovered, thank you. I have a young man here with a um…difficult question—nothing scandalous, I assure you. It’s just that he needs some advice and I could think of no one better to offer it to him. If you wouldn’t mind, he’s seated at the tete-à-tete along the back wall.”

  “All right,” said Augie walking to the area indicated.

  A heavyset blonde man, a few years older than himself, sat nervously fidgeting with a pocket watch. When the young lord approached, he jumped to his feet.

  “I know you,” said Augie. “Your Mr. Buttermore’s son.”

  “Yes, sir. Easton Buttermore.

  “Let’s sit and you can explain to me your problem. I can’t promise I have all the answers, but I am happy to listen.”

  “It’s about this watch,” said Buttermore.

  “It looks very fine and expensive.”

  “It was a gift, from Senta.”

  “Your girlfriend?” Augie asked. There were probably, at that moment, about two hundred young women and girls in Port Dechantagne with that famous first name.

  “No. The, um, Drache Girl.”

  “Really?” Lord Dechantagne suddenly sat up straight in his chair. “I have to tell you I have no way at all of determining what magic might be on it.”

  “No, no. It’s not that. It’s the inscription.”

  He slid the watch across the table. Augie hesitated only a moment before picking it up and turning it over in his hands. It was antique and beautifully decorated on front and back. He flipped the lid open. The watch face was a work of ultimate craftsmanship, obviously a precision timepiece. There was a small separate seconds dial on the right, and the phases of the moon on the left. Turning it around, he read the engraved message. To Grand Master Wizard Cavendish from Lord Callingham on behalf of a grateful empire.

  “What do you think, My Lord?”

  “I think on the one hand you have a very, very fine watch—better than mine, I can tell you that. On the other hand this rather makes you an accessory after the fact to murder.”

  “Mother of Kafira,” gasped Buttermore, his lip starting to sweat.

  “I suppose the first question is: do you want to keep it or sell it. If it’s the latter, I would gladly purchase it from you for oh… let’s say five thousand marks.”

  “That’s too generous, My Lord. But, um… some people get upset with you when you give away a gift… and I don’t ever, I mean ever, want her upset with me.”

  “Well, that is good thinking,” agreed Augie. “I’ll tell you what. Do you know Yulia’s Fine Jewelry over in Zaeritown?”

  Buttermore nodded.

  “Take the watch there. Tell Mr. Yulia that I sent you, and that you want the inscription removed completely. If you want a new inscription, perhaps with your name, have him do it. He’s very good. And have him charge it all to my account.”

  “But… but why, My Lord?”

  “Because we’re friends. Isn’t that enough? We are friends, aren’t we, Mr. Buttermore?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Excellent. Now be on your way. I would have that done sooner rather than later, if I were you.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Buttermore got up and hurried from the bookstore.

  Augie leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands behind his head, as he waited for Walworth and Mrs. McCoort to finish his shopping.

  * * * * *

  Senta descended the stairs, her eyes filled with sleep. In the dining room, she found Aggie filling the table with enough food to feed ten people. Little Sen was the only diner. She had a piece of toast and half of a stuffed mushroom on her plate. The sorceress sat and filled her plate with two basted eggs, three stuffed mushrooms, four pieces of bacon, and two slices of white pudding. She glanced up at the lizzie maid.

  “Are you making money on the side, selling the leftovers to your friends in lizzie town?” she asked.

  The lizzie went to the window and pulled up the sash. Senta could plainly see the gigantic form of Zoey, in her natural dragon shape, lying in the sunny garden.

  “And how are you this morning?” Senta asked her daughter.

  “I don’t want to live here! You ruin everything! You made my daddy go away and you killed Allium! I wish you were dead!”

  “And where do you think you could live then? People aren’t lining up to take in little orphan girls, I can tell you that from experience.”

  “I want to go live with my daddy. My real daddy—Kieran Baxter.”

  “Do you think his mousy little wife will want you?” asked her mother.

  “She will. She’s good. I know because I’ve looked into her.”

  Senta got up and walked around to her daughter. Placing her hands on either side of her head, she looked deep into her eyes.

  “Repeat after me: Uuthanum.”

  “I already know that!” Spreading her hands wide, the little girl shouted “Uuthanum!”

  Every plate of food flew off the table in ev
ery direction, shattering on the floor or against the walls.

  “You little bint! That was my breakfast!” Senta magically raised the window. “Zoey! Take my ungrateful spawn to Mr. Baxter’s house.”

  * * * * *

  An uneven knocking brought Bryony Baxter to the front door. When she opened it, she found Zoey in her female human guise, only noticing eight-year-old Sen Bly a second later.

  “Would it be possible for Sen to stay with you for a while?”

  “No!” shouted the girl.

  Bryony bent down to look at her pretty but tear-stained face.

  “I want to live with you forever! Can I?”

  Mrs. Baxter wrapped her arms around the girl and squeezed her tight.

  “Of course you can.”

  Chapter Twenty: Leaving and Arriving

  Some miles beyond Port Dechantagne’s southern extents was the caravansary of The Borrin & Tate Trading Company. It was a large station, with offices, animal pens, and warehouses. There was also a loading dock where newly arrived trade goods would be loaded onto lorries for transport into town. Only several hundred yards away were the main house and offices of The Charmley Dinosaur Ranch. It was a very hot day in the middle of Octuary when Wenda Charmley walked from the ranch to the offices of Borrin and Tate. She carried a basket slung over her shoulder filled with six loaves of bread, still warm from the oven. In fact, the chance to get out of the steaming kitchen was as much of an incentive to bring foodstuffs to the neighbors, as was repaying their frequent kindnesses.

  “Come on, Jiffy! Come on, Swifty!” she called.

  Two feathered creatures ran to her side and pressed their heads affectionately against her. They were troodons, a species of Birmisian bird/dinosaur not native to the area. Her husband had brought a clutch of six eggs from their natural territory far to the south. They were very similar to the deinonychus, which had been a scourge to humans since their arrival on these shores. Like the deinonychus, troodons had large toe claws to disembowel their prey and long mouths filled with sharp teeth. At about a hundred pounds, they were nearly the same size. Unlike the deinonychus with its dirty-looking brown feathers, the troodons were emerald green with a yellow crest atop their heads. They were slightly taller but more slender. Their mouths were not quite as big, though not so much different as to matter to a victim. The same with their claws. The real difference was that their brains were about 50 percent larger compared to their body size than deinonychus, velociraptors, unenlagia, or other similar creatures. This feature of their anatomy had led Walter Charmley to believe that they could have their natural pack instincts modified to accept humans, much like dogs had in the old world.

  Wenda reached the trade office and stepped up onto the porch. From her apron, she drew two pieces of iguanodon jerkey and tossed one to Jiffy and then the other to Swifty.

  “Stay.”

  The two beasts plopped down in the shade of the building, looking like two large and colorful chickens.

  “Mrs. Charmley,” said Claude Tate. “You shouldn’t ought to be out in the woods by yourself.”

  “Not to worry. I have my boys with me.”

  “You fall down and they might eat you before anything else can come along to get you.”

  “You’re very sweet to worry. Here.” She passed him the basket. “You’ll have something to feed your men when they arrive.”

  “The runner came in this morning,” said Claude. “They should be here any minute.”

  “Any idea what they’re bringing?”

  “Nope. Come into the office and have a cool drink.”

  The young man turned and stepped inside. The young woman started to follow, but heard an unusual honking. She turned and watched as the very caravan of which they had just been speaking broke through from the thick forest and approached the building. It consisted of eight large iguanodons, each with a howdah on its back. Inside the little compartments were a few humans, though there seemed to be many more lizzies. Behind the iguanodons were two ceratopsians of a type that Wenda had never seen before. She wondered if Walter had. If they were truly a new species, he would be ever so excited.

  The great beasts came to a stop and the passengers began lowering themselves to the ground. It was easy enough to see that they were extremely weary from their two-week journey. Several men, including, Claude, exited the building to help. Orin Pope was the last to join in the work. As he passed her, he leered at Wenda, as he did whenever she had the misfortune to see him.

  As Pope reached the side of one of the iguanodons, he looked up. The lizzie was taking its own sweet time getting down. Reaching up, he grabbed it around the ankle and pulled it down. The reptilian almost fell, but caught itself, slid the rest of the way down, and then placing its hand on Pope’s shoulder, gave him a shove.

  “Wild one, eh?” growled the man. “Guess you’ve got some learning to do about how to behave here.” He pulled the whip from his belt and raised it high up above his head.

  Suddenly there was a loud bang! and the whip flew from his hands. Everyone looked back up to the howdah on the iguanodon’s back. Standing high above the dinosaur was a strangely clad woman, a smoking revolver in her hand.

  “You touch her and I shoot off your finger. Speak disrespectfully again and I shoot out your tongue. Do something else, and I’ll just get creative. That goes for everyone.”

  “No,” said Wenda. “Lady Terra, can that really be you?”

  “Oh hello, Wenda. I didn’t see you there. As to your query, I’m not sure if it can really be me or not. I suppose time will tell. Would you be so good as to send a message to my brother? He needs to be here to meet her.” She pointed to the lizzie that had been the focus of Pope’s attention. “That is Szakhandu, Queen of Yessonarah.”

  * * * * *

  Café Idella was rented out for the evening. It had taken a few days to arrange the official reception for Queen Szakhandu of Yessonarah. Half the tables in the restaurant were formed into a large U shape, not unlike the table in the lizzie palace. In the center section of the arrangement sat Augie, his aunt the Governor, the lizzie queen, Terra and her mother. The left side was filled with public officials including the mayor. On the right side were prominent citizens, including the McCoort brothers and their families and writer Isaak Wissinger. The remainder of the tables were scattered here and there around the room. At these outliers were seated a who’s who of Port Dechantagne and Birmisia Colony. There were a few notable absences. Police Chief Colbshallow and his family were out of town, and Aalwijn Finkler, despite lending his restaurant to the event, made a point of not attending, and neither did any of his family.

  The evening consisted of dish after dish served between long-winded speeches and tributes. After one less-than-memorable ramble, Terra got up and made her way to the ladies room while most everyone was watching some kind of egg dish being delivered to their plates. When she came out again, she found Augie leaning up against the wall.

  “Standing outside the ladies room is creepy,” she said.

  “I needed to talk to you. You’ve been avoiding me.”

  “Not you. Everyone. I don’t feel like talking to anyone. In fact I don’t want to be here at all.”

  “I need you though, Little Worm. I need someone who understands this whole mess in Yessonarah. I mean we have their queen here, but she’s not married to the king, this Talkalot. She’s… I don’t know what you would call them… sisters-in-law?”

  “They’re sister-wives, and the king’s name is Tokkenoht. They don’t have a name for a queen who rules, so they call her king. You already know that. You don’t need me. You’re going to have to figure everything out on your own for a change. I’m going to Brechalon just as soon as I can arrange it. I’m going to live with Cousin Iolana and attend St. Dante University.”

  “You’re only fifteen, dearest. They won’t let you in.”

  “I’ll have no problem with your letter and an appropriate donation.”

  “You’re awfully
sure of yourself. I don’t like it.”

  “Get used to it,” she said.

  “I will, but only because I love you so much.” He looked around. “I guess I’ll go talk to some friends.”

  “Augie.” Terra stopped him with a hand on his arm. “I want to ask you something. Do you know mother’s second name? I’ve asked her again and again, but she won’t tell me what it is.”

  “I do know it. She didn’t tell me either of course, and I couldn’t get if from grandfather either. I had to hire someone to dig up the records. If I tell you, I expect something in return.”

  “Like what?” she asked.

  “Put off going to Brech City for a year.”

  “A month.”

  “Six months.”

  “Three.”

  “Deal,” he said with a large grin. “Her name is Yuah Fido Kahn Korlann.”

  “Fido? Like a dog?”

  “Yes, I suppose you can understand the secrecy now.”

  “Why would Grandfather do that to her.”

  “After I found out, I tried to talk to him about it,” Augie explained. “The only bits of information that I got was that our grandmother named her without giving him a chance to object, and that it wasn’t malicious. I suppose she wanted to impart those things that we find good in canine companions—loyalty, unconditional love, that kind of thing. It makes me think I missed out not having a dog, but at least we had Grandma Egeria’s little Hamish.”

  “Still, it’s a terrible thing to do to someone.”

  “Like calling them Earthworm?”

  “Maybe not that bad,” muttered Terra.

  “Listen Little Worm,” said her brother. “You must know that I love you more than anything or anyone in the world. I will always do what is best for you—like finding you a good match.”

  “You needn’t worry overly about that. I’ll not marry at all until I find a man who is all that Hsrandtuss was—only human of course.”