“I can survive quite well without them,” she said. “It might be noted though, that by definition, you breakfast, lunch, and dine like a prince.”
“I suppose,” he said. Then he broke out into a grin.
“What?” she asked.
“Even if I get away from the capital, settle down on an estate somewhere, and keep out of all the intelligence gathering and intrigue, my life is never going to be dull—not married to you.”
“Do you mind terribly?”
“I don’t mind at all. Now, show me which of these are your favorite breakfast foods, so that I’ll know for the future.”
“I shall eat an equal portion of each,” said Terra, “just to keep you on your toes.”
Clitus found the whole meal enjoyable. Terra told him all about her cousin Iolana’s activities as both a writer and professor of literature, neither of which, to Terra’s mind, counted as important undertakings. Every once in a while, she caught him observing what she was eating, and pointedly took a bite of everything on her plate.
“I believe I’m stuffed to the gills,” she said at last.
One of the servers immediately took her plate.
“Me too,” said Clitus. “Now that you’ve eaten several times at the palace, does the food live up to your expectations?”
“Yes, but I had kept my expectations within reason.”
“Wha… I don’t understand. Is our food not up to what you’re used to?”
“Oh, it’s easily a match for what we have at Number One, Avenue Dragon. However, both are far below the level at home in Birmisia. The lizzies were all trained up by Mrs. Colbshallow and use her recipes. She was the Dechantagne family cook for years and years.”
“Colbshallow… I think I met some Colbshallows in Cordwell. Do you suppose they could be relations?”
“Possibly,” replied Terra. “I believe she was from Barkelshire originally.”
Clitus nodded. “Is she a Zaeri too?”
“No. I believe my mother and grandfather were the only members of the help who were Zaeri.”
“About that,” said the Prince. “I was reminded earlier, when my father was speaking… What I mean is… You aren’t upset that you had to be baptized in order for us to marry, are you? I’ve been thinking about it, and I could see how it could easily be taken as an insult.”
“You’re sweet to worry about it,” she said. “I honestly don’t care very much about it. I never really thought of myself as a Zaeri or a Kafirite. I still don’t. I simply did what had to be done.”
“I’m glad. I would hate for there to be hurt feelings.”
“Oh, there will be, when my mother finds out.”
“You haven’t told her about it?” asked Clitus in wonder.
“Believe me, it’s better this way. Still, I expect a sternly-worded telegram shortly.”
“You think she’ll be angry with you?”
“Oh, not just me, though I imagine she’ll wait until she arrives for the wedding to unload her displeasure upon you.”
* * * * *
“Augustus Marek Virgil Dechantagne!”
Augie, who had just stepped in the front door and hung up his hat, quickly grabbed it again and turned to exit the way he had come in.
“Oh no you don’t!” screamed his mother, so shrilly that he feared for his eardrums.
“Hello, Mother. Hello, Gladys,” he said, as Yuah Dechantagne stomped into the foyer.
“Don’t you hello Mother hello Gladys me! Walk yourself into the parlor, mister!”
With a deep sigh, he walked into the parlor like a condemned man might walk toward the gallows. His mother’s companion Gladys sat primly on the sofa. Dragging himself past her, he flopped down into the chair closest to the cold fireplace. Yuah scooped up the Birmisia Gazette from the coffee table and, stopping right in front of his chair, waved it in his face.
“What is the matter, Mother?”
She was so angry that a growl was the only thing that came out of her mouth. Gritting her teeth, she threw the paper, which hit him in the face before falling to his lap. He picked it up, straitened it, and looked at the banner headline.
“No wonder you’re upset,” he said. “Import taxes on Mirsannan goods? Why, your footwear alone…”
“Gah!” cried Yuah, stamping her foot twice.
It was an act that was so characteristic of his mother that it made Augie want to smile, but he carefully kept his expression neutral.
“Below the fold,” directed Gladys.
“Oh.” He looked to the bottom of the page. “Why, here’s an article about Terra. She was seen around the city in the company of her fiancé several times. Oh, yes. And she went to church, apparently.”
“You knew about this!” cried Yuah, her emotions switching from anger to sorrow with frightening speed. “My only daughter—lost to me! First physically and now spiritually too.”
“Now, Mother. She’s hardly lost to you. You can go visit her any time you want. Between the train to Mallontah and an airship to Sumir, the trip is less than three weeks from here to Brech. You can make the trip every Restuary, when it gets so cold here.”
“You don’t care,” she said, her shoulders slumping as tears overflowed her eyes.
She trudged to the sofa and dropped down beside Gladys, who put her arm comfortingly around her shoulders.
“Mother, you’re not even very religious. You didn’t go to shrine for years.”
“You don’t understand.”
“Well obviously.”
“Your mother doesn’t want to lose the special connection she has with your sister,” said Gladys.
“Gladys, do you really need to be here?” asked Augie pointedly.
“Gladys is part of the family now,” said Yuah, before taking a big sniff.
“Fine. Mother, Terra had to be baptized into the church in order to marry Prince Clitus. He’s second in line to be king, and that would make him head of the church. You don’t have to worry about her, or about losing your special connection with her. Terra is Terra. She’ll always be our little Earthworm.”
“What about you?” asked Yuah.
“What about me?”
“Are you going to become a Kafirite too?”
“I don’t think so. Apparently it wasn’t a requirement for the mere brother of a princess. I had rather hoped to avoid choosing, but if it means that much to you, I could convert. Then all my children would be Zaeri too.”
“You probably won’t have any children,” she said. “Just a bunch of little dragons.”
Augie’s face turned suddenly sour. He leaned forward and pointed a finger at her.
“Watch what you say, Mother,” he hissed. “I’ll ship you off to Brech City right now and Terra can deal with you on a daily basis. And you’ll go right along with her, Gladys.”
He stood up and smoothed his jacket.
“Apparently no one’s worried about losing their special relationship with me,” he growled, before striding out of the room.
“Khikheto, atuwatt!” he shouted at one of the lizzies in the foyer.
* * * * *
Princess Henrietta had been having a wonderful dream. She had been lying in bed with Clitus, looking into his eyes. She felt his warm hands on her shoulders. She sighed and opened her eyes, as she felt the hand on her shoulder again. It wasn’t Clitus’s face that looked back at her however, but that of his short fiancé.
“Lady Terra? What are you doing here?”
“Reclining.”
“How did you get here?”
“It’s amazing really. They just let me in anytime now. They assume I’m here to see Clitus.”
She stuck her finger in her mouth and pushed it in and out suggestively. Henrietta could feel her face getting hot.
“You do this for him?”
“Yes. It’s pretty common practice for young Brech women. It keeps one’s fiancé from straying without letting him at one’s fanny. I know where you could learn how, if
you’re interested. It might keep Tybalt at home more often.”
“Ach. I don’t think so.”
“As you wish.”
“But Lady Terra, what are you doing in mein bed?”
“Slumber party.” She smiled. “Do you have slumber parties in Freedonia?”
“Ja.”
“I don’t know about you lot, but here, we play games, eat snackies, and tell stories late into the night. Do you have Mrs. McKeeb’s in Freedonia?”
“Mrs. McKeeb’s?”
“Mrs. McKeeb’s Big Book of Childhood Admonitions,” explained Terra. “I suppose it would be Fräulein McKeeb’s. Wouldn’t it?”
Henrietta shook her head.
“It’s a book of stories. You have stories, yes?”
Henrietta nodded.
“Uncle Radley used to read Mrs. McKeeb to us. I was always partial to the story of Sue and the Badger. She gets her fingers all bitten off in the end. Oh, I shouldn’t have spoiled it. You might want to read it some day. I have a much better story for you though. It’s called Eva and the Moat of Spikes. Do you know it?”
“Nein.”
“Once upon a time, that’s how they always begin in Mrs. McKeeb’s. Once upon a time, there was a Princess named Eva. She lived in a castle surrounded by a frightening woods filled with trolls. To protect from the trolls, the castle was surrounded by a deep moat, filled with sharp spikes. Despite the trolls, Eva always wanted to go into the forest, because that is where the most beautiful flowers in the world bloomed. Now one might think that, this being Mrs. McKeeb’s story, Eva would get eaten by trolls, because her parents forbade her to go into the forest. But that doesn’t happen.”
Henrietta was staring in rapt attention.
“One day,” continued Terra, “a sorceress arrived with an item for sale. It was a charm to protect one from trolls. When a person wore the charm, any trolls nearby would fall asleep. Princess Eva took the charm and wore it into the forest, where she picked the most beautiful flowers in the world. But when she returned back to the castle, instead of paying the sorceress, she had her thrown in the dungeon.”
“Oh,” said Henrietta.
“Oh, indeed. The sorceress cursed the princess and made her fall into a deep sleep. She slept and slept for days and days. Her father, the King, called for wise men to help her, and at last one of them gave her a potion that was supposed to wake her, but it didn’t. That evening though, while everyone else was eating dinner, Eva woke up, not all the way, but a little bit. She was just below the barrier of wakefulness. She began sleepwalking. She walked right out of the castle, and into the forest. Trolls didn’t bother her, as she still had the charm. She returned to the castle late that night, but by that time the drawbridge had been raised. She sleepwalked right over the edge of the moat, falling in, and getting speared with a dozen sharp spikes.”
“Ach. Dies ist schrecklich.”
“Terrible, yes,” said Terra. “Augie always said the moral of the story is not to brass off a sorceress.”
“Ja.”
“Do you want to know what I think the moral of the story is?” Terra looked deeply into Henrietta’s eyes. “If a princess goes where she’s not supposed to at night, she will probably be killed.”
Chapter Twenty-Four: The Two Mothers
Augie stared at his image in the cheval glass. He was dressed in slacks and his undershirt and he had already combed his hair. Picking up his shaving cup, he stirred the shaving powder into a lather with his brush, and applied it to his face. Then picking up his razor, he ran it up and down the strop several times before bringing it up to his face. He scraped it down his cheek, once, twice.
As usual, when he was alone, his mind wouldn’t stop. Zoey had gone south two days earlier to find Senta, and he already missed her. He struggled to imagine what his future life would be like, with Zoey around, but not the central point of his life anymore. At least she would still be his. He couldn’t have handled her being with somebody else… or something else. His promise to his mother to convert kept pushing those thoughts aside and brought itself to the front of his brain. It didn’t seem like such a big deal, though some people would think that it was. He was well versed in both religions, so the unknown didn’t bother him. There was still a great deal of prejudice though, even here in Birmisia.
“Ssotook,” he hissed, as he nicked his neck.
He pressed the towel against the tiny laceration and counted to one hundred before checking to see that the bleeding had stopped.
The young lord of Birmisa finished shaving and applied after-shave lotion before putting on his shirt, his necktie, his waistcoat, and his coat. Filling his various pockets from his vanity with keys, wallet, and his father’s watch, he paused to look at the small statuette of Senta, before leaving it where it was. Then he left his room and started down the hall. He was passing his Auntie’s chamber when he suddenly stopped. Turning, he knocked on the door.
“Who is it?”
“It’s me, Auntie.”
“Come in then.”
Augie opened the door and stepped inside. His Auntie Iolanthe, in her dressing gown, was seated at her desk.
“And what are you about this morning, Auntie,” he asked.
“I’m replying to my mail,” she said. “I’m sure that you didn’t come in here just to ask about the post though.”
“No, I didn’t. I want you to get me a woman.”
Iolanthe carefully sat her pen on her desk and stood up.
“I believe you have mistaken me for a panderer.”
“I want you to find me a wife.”
Surprise crossed her face.
“You can find someone appropriate, I assume.”
“Appropriate to become a baroness? Of course. She would have to be a lady, from a good family, preferably one that hasn’t worked against our family in the past. With your wealth, titles, and good looks, it should be no problem at all.”
“She must also be willing to convert and become a Zaeri,” he said.
“Really?”
“Yes. And she must be capable of dealing with the peculiarities of life in Birmisia.”
She stepped close to him and patted him on the cheek.
“I’ll take care of everything.”
“I know you will.”
He turned and started back out of the room.
“Augustus?”
“Yes, Auntie?” he asked, looking back over his shoulder.
“I assume you want her to be attractive.”
“I suppose so.”
Leaving her room, Augie strode quickly down the hallway, down the staircase to the foyer and then out the front door. He didn’t notice that Kayden was not at his post, but he did notice that none of the troodons were in the yard. He looked around for them, not seeing them anywhere. Then the sky above suddenly went dark, throwing the house, the yard, and everything else that he could see into shadow.
Augie looked up to see a dragon hovering in the sky above him—an impossibly large dragon. From the man’s point of view on the ground, its wings seemed to stretch from horizon to horizon. Without the light of the sun, the monster looked grey, but Augie knew that it could only be one dragon—the red one—Voindrazius. He felt fear like he had never in his life, as his gonads tried to climb up into his body.
“She’s not here,” he whispered.
A long neck swerved, turning a head with a mouth that could have eaten his whole house in two or three bites. One eye, as big as the lid of a fifty-gallon barrel, stared down at him. Then the beast snorted, derisively, as if such a little thing as a man was unworthy even to be looked upon. The snort sent a ball of flame down on the Dechantagne home. The dragon beat its wings, once, twice, three times, lifting its impossibly large body high into the air and then it was gone, but the blasts of air had excited the flames. Suddenly the whole roof was on fire.
Augie ran back up the steps and into the house. Whiffs of smoke were already drifting down to the lower level. He spied the lizz
ie Kayden.
“Ghahk oooastu u dtok dtok!” he ordered, before sprinting up the stairs.
The upper floor of the house was filled with smoke, and though he couldn’t see any flames, he could feel the heat radiating down. He stopped at the top of the stairs, the climb having caused him to breathe in several lungfuls of smoke. A moment of indecision hit him, as he looked left and then right. Finally he ran down the right hallway, making a left turn at the corner. Busting into his Auntie’s room, he found her slumped on the floor just inside. Pulling her to her feet, he bent down and lifted her over his shoulder. Then he ran back out the way he had come in. The smoke in his lungs and his eyes made him dizzy, but though he staggered against the wall more than once, he kept his feet beneath him. He made it downstairs and then out the door and down the steps of the portico, collapsing in the grass.
After coughing for several minutes, he looked back to see the entire upper floor, where he had just been, engulfed in flame. Getting to his feet, he was preparing to go back inside, when the front door opened, and Gladys came out, half guiding and half carrying his mother. He rushed to help them down the steps, and then out onto the yard.
“Kafira bless you, Gladys,” he said.
Kayden came around the side of the motor shed, leading more than a dozen lizzies, who had escaped out the back doors.
“Did everyone get out?”
The lizzie hiss the affirmative.
“Good. Help the women. Get them over beyond the fountain. Then get the buckets.”
He looked back at the house. The top was a blazing inferno, and the bottom was quickly following suit. Everything in his home would be gone—every picture, every family heirloom, every expensive possession. He could hear the bell from the fire wagon in the distance, but it wouldn’t make any difference. Neither would the lizzie bucket brigade. Then he remembered. He could summon his sorceress. He reached into his trouser pocket for the magical charm, but the only things there were his keys.
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