“What are you doing here, Mother?”
“I’m here for tea, and to save Bryony Byenthal’s life, apparently.”
“Bryony Baxter,” said both Bryony and the girl at the same time.
“Quite so. Quite so. But you are still Senta Bly, the bastard child of a much more accomplished and altogether more impressive Senta Bly.”
“Why don’t you go away and leave us alone?” said the younger Senta.
“Why don’t you make me?”
“Uuthanum eetarri,” hissed the girl, waving her hand.
“So disappointing,” said the woman, unaffected. “All that natural talent and you refuse to learn anything. You’re not hurting me, you know. You’re the one who will be sorry in the end.”
“I’m going to my room,” said the girl to Bryony. “I have no appetite.”
“When I was your age, I was casting all kinds of crazy spells and raining destruction all over the place!” the sorceress called after her, as she retreated down the hallway.
“Can I go play with Sen?” asked the little boy.
“Yes, but take a biscuit,” said his mother, retrieving said biscuit from the kitchen, along with another. “Give one to Sen, too.”
“Goodbye, Little Baxter,” said the sorceress. “Now about tea.” She raised her finger and made a circle in the air. “I could just whip something up.”
“No, no,” said Bryony. “I’m sure I can put out an adequate high tea.”
* * * * *
Senta took the trolley from the edge of town into the south business district, arriving at the new bookstore just as the clock inside chimed half past the hour. Walking through the bookshelves, she looked over the colorful spines, not really paying any attention to the titles. When she reached the back of the store, she found her cousin’s wife behind the glass counter. When Sherree spotted her, she did her best to burn Senta alive with the power of her gaze.
“Turn that frown upside down, Shirley. It’s a lovely day. You and I should go have dinner at the café.”
“I wouldn’t dine with you if you were the last person in the entire empire.”
“Don’t mince words,” said Senta. “Tell me what you really think of me.”
Sherree literally shook with exasperation, and her face turned pink.
“I take it back. I would definitely sit down to dinner with you, if they were serving up your liver with onions!” She turned and hurried through a door into a back room.
Senta continued looking through the books. At the end of the counter, she found five copies of Mr. Wissinger’s book on Zurfina. Pulling one out, she opened it to the center of the book and found the picture of her and Zurfina, reclining together on a Mirsannan divan, in the nude. She tore out the page, wadded it up, and threw it on the floor. Closing the book, she prepared to place it back on the shelf when it suddenly glowed. She stopped and opened the book again to find the page magically replaced, the original still lying crumpled where it had fallen.
“Zurfina, you twat,” she said, and then sighed and put the book back.
“It’s a compelling picture,” said a voice.
The sorceress turned to find a woman in a grey day dress trimmed with black lace. She was tall, though not quite reaching Senta’s six foot, and had carefully curled brunette hair that fell to just beyond her shoulders, and wire framed glasses on her nose. Senta saw that the woman had retrieved the crumpled page from the floor.
“I was a foolish girl of seventeen,” said the sorceress. “I left myself open to a bad influence.”
“Wasn’t she your mother?” asked the woman.
“Yes.”
A young woman in a black skirt and a white blouse came in the door through which Sherree had exited. She walked hesitantly over to where the sorceress and the other woman stood.
“Um, hi. My name is Rosa and I work here. I have to, you see, because I’m supporting my sick mother. Mrs. McCoort said that I was to ask you to… um, leave. She said to tell you that… and I can’t stress enough that these are her words, not mine… you are no longer welcome in this shop. I honestly don’t know what she’s on about. I personally think she may be weak in the mind. You seem ever so nice to me.”
“Where is Mr. McCoort?” asked Senta.
“He’s usually at the print shop this time of day.”
“Thank you. You’ve been very helpful. Now, go back there and tell Mrs. McCoort that I shall be leaving in five to ten minutes, but that if either of you comes through that door again before I leave, I shall turn both of you into large hairy spiders.”
The young woman gulped and then hurried back the way she had come.
“Now, you,” said Senta, turning to the woman in the grey dress.
“I’m Gladys Highsmith. I’ve been very much looking forward to meeting you.”
“Why?”
“You’re rich, powerful, beautiful, amazing, and world famous. I think you would be surprised at how many people admire you.”
“I don’t think I would, really,” said Senta. “Still, you obviously are an intelligent person. You shall have dinner with me. First though, I must stop into the print shop and talk to my cousin. Meet me at Café Idella.”
“I will.”
“Rezesic idium uuthanum tortestos paj,” said the sorceress, and she disappeared, only to reappear at the print shop.
All around her, steam powered presses were printing the evening edition of the Birmisia Gazette. A number of human workers and a couple of lizzies, went scurrying away upon her arrival. Maro McCoort looked up from behind one great machine.
“Senta!” he shouted to be heard. “Let’s go in the office where we can hear each other!”
He led her past the machines and through a door into a small office with two desks. Inside, the deafening noise was considerably muted.
“What’s up?” he asked.
“I wanted to see how everything is progressing with you and the missus.”
“I put the charm you gave me under her bed. I think she may be with child already. If she isn’t, it’s not for lack of me trying, I can tell you that.”
“I suspect it’s too early to tell,” she said.
“I don’t know. I think she may be preggers. She’s been very cranky the past few days.”
“How can you possibly tell?”
He shrugged.
“Tell me when she finds out for sure.” Senta smiled, evilly. “I really want to know what she looks like and what she says.”
“I will. Oh, by the way, that woman who was asking about you was here again.”
“Really? What did she look like?”
“Tall, fairly attractive, grey dress, glasses.”
“Yes, I think I know her.”
“Do you want me to do something about her?” he asked. “I could check her out—find out if she’s working for some enemy wizard group or something.”
“You are such a dear to worry about me,” she said, touching his cheek. “I don’t think there is anything to worry about.”
“Okay, but keep that spell handy—you know, Foe to Dust.”
“I always do.”
The sorceress waved a hand in front of herself and her clothing changed. Her day dress was replaced by a burgundy evening gown, the plunging neckline showing off the stars on her chest. Draping down just above them was a jewel-encrusted necklace. Even her hat had been replaced with a large chapeau with a gauzy veil.
“Goodbye, my dear,” she said. “Rezesic idium uuthanum tortestos paj.”
This time Senta reappeared in front of Café Idella. Stepping through the front door, she found Gladys Highsmith, sitting primly on a chair just inside. She stood, as the sorceress stopped in front of the host.
“A table for two, in a quiet corner,” said Senta.
The host, who was not Aalwijn Finkler, but one of his employees, led them to a table along a far wall, not exactly in a corner, but near enough. He held the chair out first for Senta and then for the other woman.
&n
bsp; “I want wine,” Senta told him, “and lots of it. Wine is good for the soul, and my soul wants to sing.”
“Yes, Miss Bly.”
“So, you’ve been asking after me?” she asked her companion once the host had gone.
“I have been, I confess.”
“Is it Miss Hightower or Missus?”
“It’s Miss, and it’s Highsmith.”
“Yes, whatever. What exactly do you want from me?”
Miss Highsmith blushed slightly, but before she could answer, the host arrived with the wine, which he poured for the two women. Immediately behind him was the waiter.
“Our special tonight is xiphactinus in a white wine clam sauce.”
Senta picked up her wineglass full of deep red liquid and poured it out onto the floor. “That’s what we will have. Bring us the right wine this time.”
“Right away, Miss Bly.”
“You were saying?” said Senta, turning back to Miss Highsmith.
“What was I saying?”
“You were saying why you were asking people about me.”
“Well, I told you in the bookstore. You are beautiful and amazing.”
“I’ve always been beautiful and amazing, and yet, when people are asking after me, it’s usually because they want to kill me, or at least cut out my brain.”
“I don’t want any such thing,” said Miss Highsmith.
“Well then, this calls for a celebration.” The waiter arrived carrying a bottle of white wine. “Take that back. We want sparkling wine.”
* * * * *
Senta woke in a sweat and with a splitting headache. Her vision was blurred, and she shook her head to clear it. It took several moments for her to realize that she was looking at three hands in front of her. Two of them were hers and one was attached to an arm that was draped over her. She pushed the arm away and then slid up into a sitting position. This had the effect of making her head hurt even worse. She looked around. It was obviously late in the morning, maybe early afternoon. Bright daylight steamed in through the open windows, and somewhere outside, birds chirped.
“Good morning,” said Miss Highsmith, reaching up and tracing one of the stars on Senta’s chest.
“Is it? Is it really?”
“You are every bit as beautiful as I heard you were, and you are every bit as amazing as I’d hoped you would be.”
“Why are you here?” asked the sorceress.
“Don’t say you don’t remember what happened.”
“No. I remember. I’m just wondering why you’re still here.”
“I gave you pleasure last night, didn’t I? You certainly made all the right sounds to indicate it.”
“Oh, I confess,” said Senta. “It was quite enjoyable.”
“Perhaps you would like to pleasure me now.”
“Why would I want to do that?”
Miss Highsmith looked confused. “That’s what we do… we give pleasure to one another.”
“If I wanted to give pleasure I would have been a man. There are ten thousand terrible things about being a woman and only one good thing—we get to receive pleasure without giving it.”
“But… the man…”
“The man takes his pleasure. He doesn’t need anyone to give it to him. Half the time, he barely notices the woman is there.”
At that moment, Zoantheria walked into the room. She was in human form, wearing a dress not too different from the one Senta had worn the day before. She stopped suddenly halfway across the room, and then took a step back.
“There’s a naked woman in your bed.”
“In point of fact,” said Senta. “There are two naked women in my bed.”
“But, what’s she doing there?”
Senta looked at Miss Highsmith, who was indeed naked, save her glasses.
“She’s lounging.”
“Well, who is she?” asked Zoey.
“Just someone who likes to stick her nose in my business.”
Zoey just stared, her mouth open.
“Come, come. You’ve seen naked people in my bed before.”
“Go, go. Up until this point, they’ve all been of the male persuasion.”
“You know what they always say,” said the sorceress.
“Variety is the spice of life?”
“No, not that.”
“Any port in a storm?”
“No, not that one either.”
“A powerful sorceress can do anything she wants?”
“That’s the one,” said Senta. She waved toward the bathroom and they heard the squeak of the faucet, followed by the sound of running water. “Now, while I bathe, please escort the young woman out. You may let her get dressed first.”
“Can I at least see you again?” asked Miss Highsmith.
“I’m sure we will run into each other, though perhaps not quite so literally next time.”
* * * * *
By the time Senta was bathed and dressed, it was already well into the afternoon. She sat in the garden with Zoey while the lizzie cook prepared a late tea of cucumber sandwiches, a fruit salad, and some sausages.
“Well, Pet, I hope you plan on staying for a while.”
“Of course,” said Zoey. “I’ve fulfilled my obligations and I have no plans to go back, at least for a while.”
“Very good. I have more magic to teach you.”
“Is that the only reason you want me home?”
“Of course not, stupid. I missed you. I was quite lonely.”
“I missed you too, and I can’t wait to…”
“You can’t wait to what?”
“I can’t wait to see Augie,” Zoey said quietly.
“Oh, yes. You should go see Lord Dechantagne very soon. You know he got me quite a lovely necklace for my birthday. Did you remember my birthday?”
“I did. In fact I was going to give you your present earlier, when I got the shock of my life.”
“Don’t make so much of it,” said Senta. “It was just a spur of the moment indiscretion.”
At that moment, Cheery the lizzie butler stepped out of the glass doors, followed by a tall handsome man with short-cropped red hair. Both women stopped speaking and stared at him silently for nearly ten seconds. Then they both stood. The lizzie retreated back inside.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” said the man.
“You have my permission to interrupt at any time, Mr. Baxter,” said the sorceress.
“I’m going to go see Augie,” said Zoantheria, making for the doors. She stopped and kissed Baxter on the cheek before going inside.
Senta ran her eyes over him, from his head to his feet and back again. She bit her lip. “I wasn’t expecting company.”
“I’m sorry to come by unannounced. I have something for you.”
“Do you now?” she asked, slyly. “Maybe you want to give it to me upstairs.”
“I’ll give it to you here,” he said, without inflection. He reached into his pocket and brought out a small wrapped package. Stepping forward, he handed it to her. “It’s your birthday present. I was going to have it delivered, but I decided to bring it by myself, so that I could say thank you for what you did.”
“What I did?”
“Bryony said you saved her life.”
“Oh, yes. That is true. Velociraptors, you know. One can’t let one’s guard down.”
“Well, thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I’ll be going then,” he said.
“Don’t you want to stay while I open this?”
She stepped toward him and he took a step back.
“No.” He turned and disappeared back into the house.
Senta carefully unwrapped the box and opened it. Inside, nestled in tissue paper, was a small silver replica of a dirigible. Her mind immediately went back some nine years to the time when she and Baxter had spent six months touring the continent of Sumir, from Mirsanna to Freedonia to Argrathia, and back to Brechalon. Her daughter had been born duri
ng that time, and Zoey had been with them too, not much larger than the baby. They had been an odd family, but they had been a family.
“Cheery!” she called to the butler. “I want wine, and lots of it. Wine is good for the soul, and my soul wants to forget.”
Chapter Eight: Lady Terra and the Prince
The clouds were low over Brech City, turning everything to a dull monochrome. A wave of drizzling rain dropped without cease—tiny drops that a person scarcely noticed until he was wet through. Smoke from fireplaces, steam carriages, and factories barely rose above the tops of houses and lingered there just below the proper clouds, making everything that the rain touched dirty, greasy, and grimy.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” asked Prince Clitus from beneath his umbrella. His usual uniform had been replaced by a formal black suit, making him as monochrome as his surroundings.
“Do what?” asked his older half-brother Prince Tybalt. “Stand out in this Kafira-wretched rain?” He too was dressed in black formal.
The two of them stood surrounded by a massive crowd at the dockside, staring at a great black steam liner: S. S. Lied des Vaterlandes.
“No. Are you sure you want to marry Princess Henrietta?”
“It’s time for me to marry.”
“You love her at least, don’t you?”
“Love her?” Tybalt frowned. “I don’t even know her.”
“But you’ve corresponded.”
“She wrote me some stupid letters. I didn’t read them.”
“Why then did you agree to marry her?”
“I have to marry someone. With Henrietta, we will cement our rule over Freedonia.”
“You could have picked anyone you wanted,” said Clitus. “You had a choice.”
Tybalt rolled his eyes.
“What choice? That fat Bordonian pig Lady Enid? I don’t think so. Princess Ophelia of Mirsanna? She’s a whore. Maybe you think I should have chosen the idiot Hortence Moorn, or the egghead Iolana Staff?”
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