The Dragon's Choice

by Wesley Allison

  Senta and Hero sat across from one another in Café Ada. It was the first time that the two of them had been out to tea together, without anyone else, that either could remember. Hero had worn her best day dress, lime green with drops all around the back, and ruffles over the breast. Senta wore a simple black skirt and white shirtwaist, with a black necktie.

  The sorceress shrugged.

  “She will get over it, eventually,” said Hero. “Don’t you think?”

  Senta shrugged again.

  “It seems that dragons are wise in all matters save those of the heart,” Hero theorized.

  “Oh, I’ve found all matter of matters in which they aren’t necessarily so wise,” said Senta. “What does she think? That she and Augie will crank out a bunch of little half-dragons? It’s not going to happen.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Pretty sure, though I might just have to neuter him to be absolutely positive.”

  A waiter who was almost to their table with a bottle of wine, turned on his heel and went in the other direction. Senta pointed at him and crooked her finger. He turned once again and, seemingly despite his wishes, walked to table and stopped. His gritted teeth and wide eyes marred his otherwise handsome features.

  “We will have our wine now,” said Senta.

  The waiter poured two glasses and hurried away. This time the sorceress let him go.

  “Honestly,” said Hero.

  “Honestly what?”

  “Honestly, you shouldn’t use magic on everyone around you.”

  “I’m a sorceress,” said Senta. “It’s what I do. You wouldn’t ask a farrier to stop putting on horseshoes, would you? You wouldn’t ask a haberdasher to stop selling hats, would you?”

  “You’re the one who’s always saying that you’re trying to cut down, so you don’t get another magical tattoo.”

  “They’re sigils, and it’s too late anyway. Another one appeared after I put my house back together.”

  Hero put her hand over her mouth. Then she leaned forward.

  “Where is it?”

  “It’s wrapped around my right thigh. Another dragon.”

  “Is it Zoey?”

  “No.”

  “Bessemer?”

  “Nope.”

  “It’s not that evil one, is it?”

  “No. It’s me… what I looked like when I turned into a dragon. I don’t get it either. Transmutation spells aren’t supposed to make a difference.”

  “Well, have you been doing the dangerous magic?”

  Senta rolled her eyes.

  “I have been teleporting around quite a bit.”

  “You know that’s what causes the tat… the sigils. I’ve heard you say so.”

  “But it’s just so easy. Who wants to walk everywhere?”

  “You could get a steam carriage,” said Hero.

  “Oh no. Those things aren’t safe. Look what happened to your sister.”

  “I know, but I think that’s the only one that’s ever blown up in Birmisia Colony. There are probably a thousand cars in Port Dechantagne, so that’s pretty good odds. Benny says that anything can be dangerous if you don’t pay attention to what you’re doing. That goes for cars, and I bet it goes for magic too.”

  “Your husband doesn’t know everything,” Senta grumbled.

  Restaurateur Aalwijn Finkler was suddenly at their tableside. He picked up the wine bottle and refilled their glasses.

  “How are we today, ladies?”

  “Fine,” answered Senta.

  “Very well, thank you,” said Hero.

  “Senta,” said Aalwijn. “I must ask you to refrain from casting magic upon my wait staff, at least without a compelling reason.”

  “He was leaving with our wine,” the sorceress complained.

  “More compelling than that. Otherwise, I shall be forced to add a magic surcharge to your bill.”

  He moved to one side and a waiter stepped from behind him, unloading a large serving tray onto the table. Along with cheese and chutney sandwiches and golden chips, was a large bowl of potato salad.

  “Here we have a treat from my homeland,” said Aalwijn.

  “Don’t we already have potatoes?” asked Senta.

  “Oh, potato salad is so delicious,” said Hero. “It has onions and bacon and a dressing with plenty of vinegar.”

  “We can put vinegar on our chips,” replied an unconvinced Senta.

  “Just try some,” said Aalwijn.

  “Seems like you Freedonians are always lording over us how much better your food is. I went to Bangdorf and the food was pretty good, but it’s not like you lot invented eating.” She spooned up some potato salad and tasted it. “Well, it wouldn’t be any good without the bacon.”

  Aalwijn gave an insufferable little bow and then strutted away.

  “I should neuter him too,” grumbled the sorceress. “I’ll bet his wife would enjoy the rest.”

  “Um, Senta. Speaking of… such things…”

  “You’re not going to ask me to do anything to Benny are you? Honestly Hero, I think you’ve got one of the best men in the colony, if you’re not too picky about looks. If he’s too much for you, just send him over to me for a while.”

  “Don’t even joke about that!” hissed Hero. “Any of that! Any part of that!”

  “Well, what do you want exactly?”

  The dark-haired woman paused and leaned forward.

  “You remember the magic that you told me Sherree was using?”

  “Sherree? Oh, the spermatothanatos. Ah, you want to keep priming the pump, but maybe with less results.” She picked up a chip and stuffed it in her mouth.

  “I love my children,” said Hero, “but five is enough, I think.”

  “You know you could always just stop letting him climb up on you.”

  “I know it’s horrible.” Hero covered her face with her hands. “But I like it.”

  “Of course you do, stupid,” said Senta. “I’ll whip up something for you, you randy little cow.”

  Hero peered out from between her fingers. Senta grinned.

  “You seem like yourself,” said Hero.

  “What do you mean? Who else would I seem like?”

  “Whom else,” said Hero.

  “You know, most people are too afraid to correct my grammar. Besides, I think you’re making that one up. If I went around saying ‘whom are you?’, that would sound completely stupid.”

  “Well, in that case you would say ‘who’,” corrected Hero. “Who are you?”

  “You’re just messing with me now, aren’t you?”

  “No.” Hero’s brow wrinkled into a frown. “It’s ‘who are you?’ and ‘whom else would I be?’.”

  “Fine. Whatever. What makes you think I was acting different?”

  “I don’t think you’ve been acting different. You have been acting differently.”

  Senta sighed. “And what person have I been acting like, if not like myself?”

  “Um, well now that I think about it, you’ve been acting like Zurfina. You’ve been acting more like her than yourself since you returned from being kidnapped… No, it’s been longer than that. It’s been since you returned from Brechalon with Sen and Mr. Baxter. Do you remember? The first time I saw you, I thought that you were Zurfina or had been taken over by her spirit or something.”

  “I don’t remember that,” said Senta. “Did you really think that?”

  “Just a little bit. Then you reminded us of what Graham had said the first time we met, and I knew then, of course, that it just had to be you.”

  “Graham…” said Senta, wistfully. “Every time I think of him, I’m sixteen again. I really feel like me. I do know what you mean. When he died, part of me died too. Then Sen came along, and I just sort of became a different person. It was like putting on clothes that I couldn’t get back off. No, not clothes—a suit of armor. It was self-preservation. It was the only way I could survive.”

  “Are you ready to be the old
Senta again?” wondered Hero.

  “I don’t know if I know how anymore.”

  * * * * *

  Senta rapped neatly on the white door of the little cottage on Ghiosa Way. She carefully straitened her necktie as she looked down to see that her black skirt and white blouse were both in order. Reaching up, she tilted her boater ever so slightly to one side, and then, as an afterthought, spoke the magic word that made a pink carnation appear in the hatband.

  The door burst open and Bryony Baxter leapt out, her arms encircling Senta’s neck, pulling her down to the shorter woman’s height, and squeezing her fiercely.

  “Senta! Thank you for coming. I didn’t know if you were going to make it.”

  “You know I try to have tea with you as often as I can. I don’t usually get this reception.”

  “That’s all in the past,” said Bryony, still holding onto her neck. “Now I know that you truly are my friend, things will be much different.”

  “Well, let’s calm ourselves a bit,” said the sorceress, peeling away the arms that threatened to strangle her, and then raising herself to her full six-foot height. “Are you inviting me in?”

  “Of course, of course.” Bryony grabbed her by the hand and jerked her across the threshold and into the parlor. “Low tea today. Have a seat here. This is the most comfortable chair in the house.”

  “It’s like a holiday for my ass,” said Senta, taking the proffered seat.

  “Oh Senta, I just love your dry wit. Now sit tight while I bring everything in.”

  The lady of the house traveled through the small dining room and into the kitchen, only to return a minute later with a large tray, which she carefully placed on the coffee table. She then took her place on the sofa and began pouring tea.

  “Here you go.” She handed a steaming cup to Senta. “Three lumps: Just the way you like it.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I think I have some things today that you’ll like—sharp cheese and mango chutney sandwiches, some tiny meat pies, and iguanodon sausages. Which would you like?”

  “Two of each, please.”

  Bryony handed her the plate and took one, similarly outfitted.

  “I’m so glad you’re here,” she said. “I so much wanted to thank you for what you did.”

  “And what exactly did I do again.”

  “You saved my life! I would have perished without your intervention.”

  “Oh, yes. That’s all very true,” said Senta, shoving a tiny meat pie into her mouth.

  “You always said that we were friends, but I never really believed it. I thought you were out to steal away Kieran at any cost.”

  “Oh, I was.”

  Bryony’s round eyes narrowed slightly.

  “But you’re not anymore?”

  “No. Not anymore.”

  “I’m so happy to hear that,” continued Bryony. “I knew that the two of you were very close. Have some aubergine on a crisp?”

  “No, thank you.” Senta looked around. “Where are the children?”

  “Oh, they are at the Colbshallows for the afternoon.”

  Senta raised an eyebrow.

  “I know,” continued Bryony. “I was as surprised as you that Senta decided to visit them. She hasn’t shown any real interest in her… birth father before. I think she took Kerry along to take any pressure off. If she’s watching him, she doesn’t have to interact as much with them.”

  “That will make Saba happy at least,” said Senta. “A relationship with Sen is really the only thing missing in his life. It’s been hard on him.”

  “And now he has it, and that’s down to you.”

  “I had nothing to do with it,” said the sorceress.

  “I think you did. By helping me, you showed that you’re really a good person, and that put young Senta on an even keel, as Kieran would say, and that gave her the desire to connect with both parents.”

  “Well, I suppose that all’s well that ends well.”

  “Let me warm up your tea,” said Bryony, pouring some more into Senta’s cup and then offering her more squares of sugar. “I really do want to thank you again, and I know that Kieran wants to thank you too.”

  “That’s not necessary.”

  “Oh, but it is.”

  “Then, it’s not a good idea,” said Senta.

  “Why ever not?”

  “Because if I get him alone, I’m going to seduce him.”

  Bryony’s eyes narrowed again. “No you won’t. We’re friends.”

  “Oh, but I will. I’ll be riding him like a jockey over the closest flat surface I can find. Or if there is no flat surface, I’ll have him bend me over a chair or a sofa.”

  “But that’s not right!” sputtered Bryony.

  “You’re right. There’s always a flat surface—the ground if nothing else.”

  The brunette’s eyes became so narrow, it was a question whether she could actually see or not.

  “You’re a horrible woman,” she said.

  “Yes I am,” smiled Senta. “And I’m your very good friend.”

  Chapter Twenty-One: Minor Details

  Prince Clitus of Greater Brechalon read through the news release arranged by the palace. It announced his engagement to Miss Terra Dechantagne, and described him romantically asking the young lady to marry him. He let out a long breath.

  “There’s only one problem,” he told Mr. Flint, the official palace herald. “I haven’t actually done any of this. I haven’t stood before friends and family and proposed over a dessert of trifle. I haven’t asked her brother for her hand. I haven’t even picked out an engagement ring, let alone given it to her.”

  “It’s all being arranged,” said Mr. Flint. “The ring is almost ready. The stationers are finishing up the invitations. The meal has been scheduled. Everything will go according to plan, Your Highness. All you have to do is follow the program.”

  “As usual, I’m really not necessary to the proceedings.”

  “Nonsense, Your Highness. You are vital. For example, right now, Mr. Caulinghoff is waiting for you to compose the telegram to Lord Dechantagne. He is waiting in the North Wing drawing room.”

  “Then I’d best hurry over there.”

  “Yes, Your Highness.”

  Clitus took off at a brisk walk down the long corridor.

  “One would think that a person awaiting me would be awaiting in the same wing that I was in,” he grumbled as he walked along.

  He heard footsteps behind him, hurrying to catch up. Looking over his shoulder, he saw Bob fall into step with him.

  “I thought this was your day off,” said the Prince.

  “I don’t have a day off when you’re about, Your Highness.”

  “What trouble can I get into walking from one end of the palace to the other?”

  “Well, it is a long walk.”

  Clitus laughed.

  “Seems like everyone is rushing to get this engagement on track.”

  “Well you don’t want to tarry. Do you, Your Highness?”

  “No, I guess not.”

  “Just remember, your engagement is going to be a year long,” said Bob.

  “Yes, I know.”

  “You want to get it started so it will be over as soon as possible. After all, the lady might not want to give up her virginity until her wedding night.”

  Clitus came to a stop so quickly that his boot heel skidded on the red carpet runner.

  “She did indicate as much to me,” he said with a frown. “One would think it would be enough that we’re engaged.”

  Bob shrugged.

  “I mean, she already…”

  “I know, lad. She gave you a bit of nosh on the yacht. Maybe she’ll be willing to tied you over that way.”

  “Come on!” said Clitus, starting off at slightly less than a jog. “We’ve got to get this show on the road.”

  * * * * *

  Lord Augustus Dechantagne was sitting on the couch in the parlor. Glancing through the notices
in the morning issue of the Birmisia Gazette, he picked up his cup of tea without looking, and took a sip. The great green looming form of Kayden finally took his attention away from the paper in front of him.

  “Yes? What is it?”

  The massive lizzie leaned down, holding the small silver postage tray in his hand. A single envelope was upon it. As soon as he picked it up, Augie could tell both from the printing and the quality of the paper that it was not a letter but rather a telegram.

  “Thank you,” he told Kayden, before shaking the contents to one end of the envelope so that he could rip off the other end and take out the sheet of paper inside.

  “Sweet Kafira’s knickers!”

  He quickly looked around to be sure that no one had heard him. It wasn’t that he was worried that others might overhear his blasphemy. Rather, he didn’t want to have to explain the cause of it. Getting quickly to his feet, he shot out the front door, pausing in the foyer only long enough to grab his bowler. Outside, he waved to two of the household lizzies to follow him to the machine shed, where they rolled his car out into the drive.

  The boiler was completely cold and there was no fire in the firebox. By the time there was enough steam for the vehicle to move itself, he was discomposed with anxiety. The lizzies pushed the steam carriage to the gate, where Augie steered out onto the street and finally was away.

  It took him a little over half an hour to reach the Gurrman Building, center of government for the Birmisia Colony. He hopped out of the car and released the steam, before running inside the great brick edifice. Once inside, he eschewed the elevator and ran up eight flights of stairs to the Office of the Colonial Governor. When the governor’s secretary attempted to waylay him, he just brushed past her and through the door, where he almost ran head first into his mother, and her shadow Gladys.

  “What is the matter, Augie?” asked his mother, frowning.

  “Oh, nothing, Mother. I’ve got a bit of business to discuss with Auntie. That’s all.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes of course.” Augie took a breath and smiled. “How are you today, Mother? Gladys?”

  “We’re fine.”