The Dragon's Choice

by Wesley Allison

“Oh, Iolanthe! How could you? Our Saba.”

  Iolanthe shrugged again.

  “There will be no cake for you!” said Yuah, turning and stomping out, slamming the door after her.

  * * * * *

  When Iolanthe showed up to dinner still in her dressing gown, Yuah glared at her. Granted, she too had dined in her dressing gown in the past, probably many times, but not under circumstances such as these. The two of them had already started on their salad course, when Augie arrived.

  “Good evening, Mother, Auntie,” he said, with a smile.

  “You’re in a good mood,” observed Yuah.

  “Why shouldn’t I be? God is in his heaven, the King is on his throne, and all is right with the world.” He took his seat at the table and waved for a lizzie to bring him his salad.

  “Business is going well?” asked Iolanthe.

  “Yes indeed. I signed a new deal with the consortium—a twenty percent increase in our share of the timber profits. I couldn’t have done it without you, Auntie. All those late night negotiations with Lenahan Norich.”

  Yuah shot her sister-in-law a look, but Iolanthe studiously ignored her.

  “It’s good to see that you have time for work,” Yuah told her son. “I assume your dragon is not back yet?”

  “That would be correct,” he said.

  “You know it is her mistress’s birthday. I certainly hope you got Senta a present. It’s not wise to disappoint a sorceress.”

  “Fear not,” he replied. “I’m having Maro give it to her this evening.”

  “What did you get her?”

  “I find jewelry is usually the quickest way to a woman’s heart. Only you excepting, Mother dear.”

  “I hope you didn’t spend too much on her,” said Iolanthe.

  “I’m sure I did,” he said, stabbing a tomato. “Better too much than not enough.”

  They spoke only a few words during the main course, which was a roast of iguanodon, with potatoes and herbs. Afterwards, the lizzies brought out two large pieces of cake with chocolate frosting, setting them in front of Lord Dechantagne and his mother. Iolanthe pursed her lips and, getting up from the table, left the room.

  “No cake for Auntie?” asked Augie. “She’s not getting sick, is she?”

  “No. She just had a bit too much before dinner.”

  * * * * *

  The following morning, Yuah descended the stairs in her newest shrine dress. Though it was black, it was the latest fashion, cut for a smaller bustle, though it conservatively covered her back and shoulders. In the foyer, she carefully placed her black top hat over her carefully styled hair, and arranged the black lace veil so that it draped down over her nose.

  Hearing the “ah-oo-gah” of a carriage horn, she stepped outside to find Sam Markham and his wife Ernst in his green Sawyer & Sons Model 7. She hurried down the steps to stop next to the vehicle.

  “Good morning.”

  “Good morning, Mrs. D,” said Mr. Markham. “We’ve come to give you a ride to shrine.”

  “I usually go with Honor.”

  “Last night at Senta’s party, she asked if we could pick you up this morning. I don’t think she was feeling herself.”

  “I hope she’s all right,” said Yuah.

  “I’m sure she will be,” said Mrs. Markham.

  Kayden left his position by the door to help her climb into the back seat of the steam carriage. After making sure that his passenger was safely seated, Markham shifted into gear and drove out of the estate and onto the red brick street.

  “If you don’t mind my asking, Mrs. Markham…”

  “Please, call me Ernst.”

  “I will if you promise to call me Yuah. What I was going to ask is whether you are converting.”

  “I don’t know. It’s a difficult decision. Of course I want to support my husband. On the other hand, my sister Didrika is married into a very conservative Kafirite family. Neither of us spent much time in church. Honestly, I just never saw much point in it. I’d hate something like that to drive a wedge between us. My cousins, Geert and Maro, are both very religious. Now each of them belongs to a different faith, and they are forever arguing about it.”

  “I told Ernst that I would be happy if she just came,” said Mr. Markham. “I sit in the back with her.”

  “That’s nice,” said Yuah. “Of course you know that Mr. Dechantagne was a Kafirite, though like you Ernst, he wasn’t a regular church-goer. I brought Augustus and Terra to Shrine every Sabbath, but now that they’re grown up, I suppose they have to decide about things like that for themselves. Where are your children, by the way?”

  “Back home with Nanny,” said Mr. Markham. “I think they’re still a bit too young to sit through it.”

  The Zaeri Shrine faced First Avenue, right on the corner. It was an impressive structure, designed and constructed under the supervision of engineer and architect Zereb Kremmik, who was one of many of his religion, who had arrived prior to the war with Freedonia. Built in Zurian revival style, it was supported by four massive columns at each corner over which soared a large dome. The facade was covered in finely hewn stone and incorporated sixteen-foot high window arches. The height of the shrine to the bottom of its dome was around fifty-six feet, and to the top of the dome it was eighty-four. Twelve windows were placed around the base of the dome, which was surrounded by a veranda. Had it been built in most cities, the shrine would have been seen from miles around, but here in Port Dechantagne, surrounded by immense redwood trees and maples, it was almost a surprise coming upon it. There was plenty of parking around, as most Zaeri walked or took the trolley to shrine, so Markham pulled the car into an empty spot near the corner.

  Yuah could not help looking up at the street sign at the corner of First Avenue and Gerechten Iolanthe Way. Gerechten was the Freedonian word for righteous, and it indicated something of the reverence that most Zaeri felt for Yuah’s sister-in-law. She had arranged and paid for numerous ships to transport Zaeri from Freedonia, where they faced persecution and even death, to a new life in Birmisia. If Yuah had difficulty reconciling the word righteous with the woman who shared her house, it was only because she knew Iolanthe better than anyone else in the world.

  Markham helped first his wife and then Yuah down from the carriage and they walked up the path toward the entrance of the great building.

  “Thank you for the ride, Mr. Markham. I’m sorry to have taken you out of your way just on my account.”

  “It wasn’t out of the way at all, and please, call me Sam. I should have said something before.”

  At the top of the steps, on the veranda, they found Honor and the rest of her family. Her husband Geert was never far from her. Her sister Hero and her husband Benny, who was Sam Markham’s brother, and their five children, were all there, as was her brother Hertzel, his wife Leoni, and their two children.

  “This is nice, us all together,” said Ernst, who was the lone blond in a sea of brunettes.

  Together they filed through the huge double door, though Sam and Ernst peeled off and sat in the back, with other non-Zaeri. Yuah paused for a moment, wondering if she should go sit with them.

  “Yuah, would you do me the honor of sitting with me?” Isaak Wissinger was suddenly at her elbow.

  “I’m sorry Mr. Wissinger,” said Honor, taking Yuah’s arm. “Yuah has promised to sit by me.”

  “Lying in shrine?” wondered Yuah, as her friend led her toward the front row. “God will strike you down, you know.”

  “It’s not a lie. We have a long-standing arrangement.”

  They sat in the last two spots in the front row of the sanctuary. Unlike the Great Church of the Apostles, the center of Kafirite worship in the colony, where the Dechantagne family had their own pew due to the donation of the land and a good portion of the funds to build the church, here the front row was held for Honor and her family out of respect for her good works in the Zaeri community, which were many. They sat as Mr. Clipers, the imam, stepped up to the podiu
m and recited the opening prayer. Then they stood as the ark was opened and the scripture scrolls were brought out. What followed was nearly an hour of recited communal prayer in Old Zurian. Unlike a Kafirite service, there was no music or singing. Yuah found it very calming and, despite the cries of a few small children, almost therapeutic.

  “You’re coming to break bread, aren’t you?” Honor asked her as they stood up after the service.

  “I hadn’t made any plans. Are you inviting me?”

  “You don’t need an invitation to my house. You already know that.”

  “Then I shall come. Your whole clan will be there, I take it?”

  “Yes,” smiled Honor. “Even blondie.”

  It was crowded as people stopped and talked near the exit, so it was slow going, getting to the door. They were about halfway there when Yuah just remembered something.

  “Mr. Markham, Sam that is, told me you weren’t feeling well.”

  “Oh, it’s nothing.”

  “No, what is it?”

  “I’m not going to tell you,” said Honor. “You’ll just start crying.”

  “I’m concerned, but I won’t cry.”

  “My leg hurts.”

  Yuah’s eyes immediately filled up. Honor reached out and pinched her on the arm.

  “Ouch!”

  “Come on. No more crying this year.”

  There was an open pathway to the door. Honor made her way through the space in the crowd, pulling Yuah along by the arm. They stopped to speak with Mr. Clipers.

  “Mrs. McCoort, you look as lovely as ever,” he said. “Mrs. Dechantagne, it is always a pleasure. In fact, I wanted to introduce you to my good friend, Mr. Koenig.”

  Mr. Koenig stepped up next to the imam. He was a heavily bearded man about two inches shorter than Yuah, wearing a tweed jacket and pants that didn’t quite match it. He grabbed her hand and pumped it up and down, while slipping his card into it.

  “It’s a great pleasure to meet such a beauty such as yourself,” he said.

  “I don’t recognize your accent,” she said, struggling to see his mouth somewhere in that beard.

  “Mr. Koenig is Bordonian,” offered Mr. Clipers.

  “Oh, I didn’t know there were any Zaeri in Bordonia.”

  “Oh, yes, many,” said Koenig.

  “She’s very pleased to meet you, I’m sure,” said Honor, pulling Yuah away, “but we have family waiting.”

  “Iolanthe would have a fit if I were to date a Bordonian,” said Yuah, once they were outside.

  “Hurry up. I see more men looking at you.”

  “Oh, my,” said Yuah, as she was hustled down the steps to where Geert waited.

  He took Honor’s left hand and she held Yuah’s with her right, as they started walking the two blocks toward the McCoort home. By the time they arrived, the comfortable house was overflowing with family, and still more were expected.

  “Sam and Ernst said they would be back as soon as they picked up their kids,” reported Honor’s sister Hero.

  “Take Yuah in and hide her from any strange men,” said Honor with a smile. “I have a few last things to throw together for break bread.”

  Yuah and Hero sat down on a pair of chairs in the parlor. Several of the latter’s children ran by. She snagged one of them, straightened his shirt, brushed his hair, and sent him on his way.

  “How was Senta’s party?”

  “Oh, it was very nice,” said Hero. “She said to tell you that she enjoyed the gloves.”

  “Did she?”

  “Well, she enjoyed them, but she didn’t tell me to tell you that.”

  “I suspected as much.”

  “Oh, you must tell Augie that she really liked the necklace he gave her. She didn’t tell me to tell him either, but she really, really liked it.”

  Hero’s husband sat down on the sofa just across from the two women.

  “What are we talking about?”

  “Senta’s party.”

  “Oh, yes. That was a great cake.”

  Sam and Ernst Markham arrived shortly, and it was only a few minutes after that when the family was called to eat. There were so many that the adults filled the dining room table and the furniture in the parlor, while the children all sat on the front porch. There was corned beef and rye bread, baked beans, and warm potato salad with vinegar and bacon, and chocolate biscuits for dessert. Yuah thoroughly enjoyed herself.

  Afterwards, Geert drove her home, and Honor came along to chat on the way.

  “I’ve got to get the word out,” said Yuah. “Maybe you could put a notice in the paper, Geert. Attention: Please note that Mrs. Yuah Dechantagne has no interest in suitors and any and all solicitations of this regard shall be met with a cold shoulder and a hard boot.”

  “I know you haven’t seen anyone you might like,” said Honor, “but what if some handsome fellow comes along that you do like?”

  “I’m not like Iolanthe… What I mean to say is, I don’t ever plan on marrying again, so any courtship is simply unnecessary. I loved Terrence all my life. True, we really only had a couple of years together, but they were more than I ever thought that I would have. Anything else, anyone else, would just be a pale imitation of what we had, and I don’t want imitation.”

  “I know exactly what you mean,” said Geert. “If I hadn’t found Honor, I would have lived a bachelor the rest of my life. There is no one else in the world for me.”

  Honor leaned over and pressed her cheek to his shoulder.

  When they pulled up in front of the Dechantagne mansion, Geert hopped out and ran around to help Yuah down. After saying goodbye to her friends, she made her way up the stairs, where Kayden opened the door for her. Immediately Narsa, approached her, carrying a silver tray upon which sat two social cards. The lizzie nodded toward the parlor.

  With a sigh, Yuah walked into the room. Two men waited. One she had met before—Harcourt Clove. The other she didn’t know.

  “Gentlemen, I shall not receive you. Please tell all your friends.” She waved a hand in front of her own body. “This establishment is closed for business.”

  With that, she turned on her heel and ascended the staircase.

  Chapter Seven: Wine

  On the small street of Ghiosa Way, right next where it came to a dead end, was a small yellow cottage, with a white railing and posts on the front porch, a white-framed window just left of the white front door, and a similar window looking down from the attic between the eaves. The cobblestone pathway leading up to the front steps was lined with large ferns of the type commonly found in the area, and the yard was filled with pines and a maple that had been there far longer than the house.

  Near the back right corner of the little cottage’s yard, about halfway between the house and the nearest trees, was a large barrel in which trash was burned once or twice a week. The smell of fire wasn’t quite enough to cover the smell of paper that had once held wrapped food. It was these smells that sometimes drew velociraptors to the yard. They were two and a half feet tall and five feet from the tip of their many-toothed snouts to the ends of their tails. Hairy feathers covered their bodies—yellow near their small arms and green everywhere else, but for a black band around their necks and a black tuft at the ends of their tails. Easily mistaken for a more benign bird from a distance, those familiar with them were wary because of the teeth and clawed hands, but mostly because of their feet, each of which had a three-inch claw curving upward, used to disembowel prey. On this day, half a dozen of the creatures invaded the carefully cultivated yard, sniffing and searching.

  “Get out of here, you horrid beasts!”

  A woman came running out the door of the house, waving a broom. She made every effort to swat the velociraptors, but they easily evaded her, running around in circles until she tripped over one and went sprawling. Then they were no longer mere birds, but feathered monsters. They snapped at her, one biting her ankle and tearing the skin. Another leapt on her, preparing to use its toe claw to best
effect.

  Suddenly the velociraptor on the woman exploded. The others jumped away as five colorful balls of magic, just like that which all had failed to see flying at their leader, flew toward them. These little missiles, blue, green, red, yellow, and orange, didn’t fly straight, but soared around in a swirling pattern. But each eventually reached its target and one after another the remaining velociraptors were hit, and they exploded into a bursts of feathers.

  “Why, Bryony Byenthal, you were almost eaten by velociraptors,” observed Senta, coolly. “Has no one told you not to chase after them?”

  “You saved my life!” cried Bryony, still lying upon her lawn, bleeding from the ankle.

  “Yes, I did. Didn’t I? Come along. Let’s get you inside and see to your injury.”

  Helping the woman up from the ground, Senta put her shoulder under Bryony’s and led her in through the side door.

  “Mommy! You’re hurt!” cried a small child, barreling from the parlor and colliding with his mother’s knees.

  “Mommy is fine, Kerry,” said Bryony.

  “Well hello, Little Baxter,” said Senta. “Not to worry. Auntie Senta is here to take care of everything.”

  She reached into her purse, pulling out a brown bottle of healing draught. Biting off the cork and spitting it on the floor, she handed the bottle to the little boy.

  “Pour this on Mommy’s boo-boo.”

  The boy dumped out the bottle, some of which landed on Bryony’s injury, fizzing, but most going on the floor.

  “Now, about tea,” said the sorceress, sitting down at the table.

  “I honestly wasn’t expecting you,” said Bryony, removing her shoe and wiping away the blood and excess healing liquid from her leg and the floor with a tea towel, before slipping the shoe back on.

  “I can see that, obviously, or else Little Baxter would have been hidden away with some friend or another.”

  At that moment the front door opened and in walked a blond girl of eleven. Her straight hair was parted in the middle, but a fringe covered her forehead. But for the bright yellow day dress she wore, she looked very much like Senta. In fact, she looked exactly like Senta had looked at the same age. Seeing the sorceress, her eyes and lips became very thin.