The Young Sorceress

by Wesley Allison

  Terra shrieked again.

  “What is it now?”

  “I don’t want to be a block!”

  “Quit crying! You’re going to grow up to be a princess.”

  “The warrior-priestesses of Ballar were soldiers,” offered Iolana from across the table.

  “You be quiet,” snapped Yuah. “I won’t have any of that nonsense in this house. You’re five years old. How come you talk like a college professor? No man’s going to want to marry a know-it-all.”

  Iolana slumped down in her chair. Terra climbed out of her high chair, still crying, and into the lap of the seventh diner, who was quietly sitting on the other side of her from Yuah. Though many humans might not have been able to tell Cissy from the other lizzies in the Dechantagne home, she occupied a special place there. She was slightly less than six feet in height, about average for members of her sex and species. Her skin was smooth, without the mottling and scars of many of the reptilians. Her face and the top of her head were a deep forest green, which down her back, punctuated with darker stripes just below her shoulders. Beneath her long powerful jaw, on her dewlap, and extending down her front, was a lighter, pale green. Her chair had been modified so that she could sit without discomforting her long, powerful tail. She reached out a scaly hand and picked up a cucumber sandwich, which she fed to the tiny human now curled up in her lap. Terra was forced to stop crying to eat.

  Yuah scarcely paid attention to what she ate, but not because the food wasn’t good. Mrs. Colbshallow was known far and wide for her culinary skill, and while she no longer cooked herself, she still supervised the kitchen. There were cucumber and cress sandwiches, chips, sliced tomatoes, a cold noodle and cheese dish, and no less than three types of fruit salad. But Yuah cared less about food now than she ever had, and she had never cared over much about it. She picked at her food and then got up, throwing her napkin on the table.

  “Children, take a nap when Cissy tells you. I’m going to go lie down. I have a headache.”

  “Help with your dress?” asked Cissy.

  “No, I’ll get one of the lizzies.”

  At the top of the stairs, Yuah found one of the new lizzie servants, a female named Narsa. She had already been trained to help the women don and doff their clothes and now she helped Yuah remove her dress and then to unlace her corset, though once loose, Yuah left it on. She shooed Narsa out of her bedroom and locked the door after her. Lying down on the bed, she took three deep breaths, and then retrieved a small wooden box from beneath her mattress. Opening the box, she pulled out one of three small indigo bottles and pulled off the stopper. She could just detect the florid smell of the contents. Placing a finger on the tiny open mouth, she overturned the bottle to moisten her finger with the milky white liquid inside. Then she reached up and rubbed it directly onto her left eyeball, and then her right, quickly recapping the bottle and tossing it next to her on the bed as the room suddenly drained of color.

  * * * * *

  “Senta, what a lovely surprise.”

  Honor Hertling peered out of her front door at the young sorceress. The young Zaeri woman was twenty-two and had once been quite beautiful, but that was before a rifle butt had been smashed into her face, leaving an ugly scar that ran from her cheek to her chin. She was still quite attractive, with thick dark hair and large brown eyes. Even though she didn’t come all the way outside, Senta could see that she wore her usual brown and white dress.

  “That’s a most… unusual outfit.”

  Senta looked down at her own long rubber dress and matching gloves.

  “Zurfina picked it out,” she explained. “I have to dress weird sometimes just so I don’t brass her off.”

  Honor nodded.

  “Hero and Hertzel should be back from the store any minute. Would you like to wait inside, or would you prefer to intercept them.”

  “You don’t want me to come in, do you?” asked Senta, looking at the barely open door.

  “Nonsense.” Honor opened the door all the way. “I just haven’t had the chance to clean up.”

  Senta stepped inside and the door was closed behind her. The small home was immaculate, as always.

  “You haven’t started dinner yet, have you?”

  “Um, no. Did you want to stay for dinner?”

  “Inviting myself would be rude, don’t you think? I wanted to invite you all to dinner at the Bakery Café. That’s why I wanted to get here before you started cooking.”

  “Well, I was going to make a meat pie…”

  The door opened and Honor’s two younger siblings stepped in. Hero had been Senta’s best friend for more than five years now. While they had once been nearly the same height, Hero was now noticeably shorter than the young sorceress. She was in fact, quite a bit shorter now than her own twin. Other than height though, Hertzel and Hero looked very much alike. They both had large expressive eyes. They both had thick dark hair, Hero’s long and naturally curly, Hertzel’s short and razor cut above the ears.

  “Senta!” squealed Hero, hopping two steps across the tiny room to give her friend a great hug. “What are you doing here?”

  Hertzel smiled happily. He had never spoken as long as the sorceress had known him, but he had his own ways of making himself understood.

  “I’m taking you all to dinner at Finkler’s.”

  “We haven’t decided for sure…” started Honor.

  “That’s ace,” said Hero. “We could smell Mrs. Finkler’s stew all over the square. Oh, here’s your thread, Honor.”

  She handed her sister a small cloth bag.

  “Well, I suppose I should get my shawl,” said Honor. “You two bundle up. It’s still warm out, but it will be quite cool when we come home.”

  She cast an eye in Senta’s direction.

  “This is surprisingly warm,” said the sorceress, gesturing to her own unusual clothing.

  The four of them walked west down First Avenue toward the square. The three teens carried on an animated conversation, oblivious to almost anything else. The eldest of the group carried a kerosene lantern in one hand and a lizzie sword in one hand. The flat weapon looked a lot like a cricket bat, but was encrusted around the edges with small, very sharp pieces of obsidian.

  There was a short line at the bakery, as the eating establishment featured only seven tables, three on the inside, and four on the outside. When Senta and her friends joined the queue though, it became much shorter. They could hear several people whispering “the Drache Girl” as they suddenly decided to eat at either the new beanery or Café Ada.

  “It seems like a lot of people are afraid of you,” said Hero to Senta, as they took one of the outdoor tables.

  “Well, that’s just good sense,” Senta replied.

  One person that was apparently not afraid was the waitress.

  “Well, if it isn’t three of the four biggest trouble makers in town,” she said, setting down a pot of tea and four cups. “Hello Honor.”

  “Shouldn’t you be at home with your kids?” asked Senta.

  Gaylene Finkler made a face. She was the wife of restaurateur Aalwijn Finkler, not to mention sister of Senta’s boyfriend, Graham. Though she was only seventeen, she was already the mother of two. Her eyes looked tired as she ran a hand through her sandy hair.

  “I had to get out. Ma is taking care of the kids. Another five minutes in the house and I would have taken an axe to everyone in it, and that includes your boyfriend.”

  “Maybe you should have a rest instead of working,” offered Honor.

  “We’re short of help. Besides, when I’m here I get a chance to waffle with my friends.” She waved a hand to Dutty Speel at another table, and who waved back. “So what do you want?”

  “How about some lovely stew?” said Senta.

  “Right. Stew. Fresh bread. Relish platter. Anything else?”

  “How about four Billingbow’s?”

  “Just water for me,” said Honor.

  “Got it,” said Gaylene; then she
was off.

  “Say, is that Zurfina over there?” asked Hero.

  They all turned and looked across the square. The sun had been going down just as they were seated and it was beginning to grow dark, but a woman was clearly visible standing below the gas street lamp. She was a tall blond woman dressed all in leather—a short leather skirt and leather leggings. Who else could it be but Zurfina? Senta reached up a hand and waved, but the woman didn’t wave back. She simply turned around and walked away.

  Chapter Three: Nellie Swenson

  Senta watched as the last pallet of copper was placed inside her rented warehouse by a lizzie crew working steam jacks. The copper was made up of oval ingots about a quarter inch thick, dozens of which were packed together in crates and then the crates had been stacked together on wooden pallets. The copper barely filled one corner of the warehouse, but occupying the rest was an enormous pile of pillows. Not all of the pillows were new. In fact most weren’t. But it looked a comfy enough pile to take a run at and jump into.

  A loud whomp on the pavement next to the Drache Girl signaled the arrival of Bessemer, the Steel Dragon. The lizzies in the area reacted immediately, though not all in the same way. Some scurried away, some placed their hands in front of their dewlaps in a respectful greeting, and a few dropped to their knees in genuflection.

  “I hate when they do that,” said Bessemer.

  “Kisses,” said Senta, and the steel dragon bent his neck toward her, air kissing first on one side of her face and then the other.

  “Oh, good. My copper is here,” said the dragon.

  “Your copper? What are you going to do with copper?”

  “Make pots of course. You put the copper ingot in a steam press and turn it into a pot or a skillet or even a kettle.”

  “What do you know about making pots?”

  “I read. Some people could do a bit more of that.”

  “I’ve been busy, but I’m planning on reading a bit today.”

  “Do tell,” said the dragon. “Anyway, why did you call me down here?”

  “You need a place to sleep. Well, here it is. I’ve brought all your pillows down and got you a few more besides.” She saw Bessemer’s dubious look. “It’s just till we find something else.”

  “Did you bring Mr. Turtlekins?” Bessemer refused to sleep without his well-worn stuffed turtle.

  “Yes, he’s in there somewhere.”

  “Still, I don’t know. It’s awfully noisy down here so close to the docks.”

  “It’s very quiet at night.”

  “I don’t just sleep at night.”

  “You could sleep through an explosion. I’ll tell you what though. I’ll come down and sleep here with you for a few nights, until you get settled in.”

  “That’s nice. I miss crawling into bed with you when it gets cold at night.”

  “Yes well, that’s why I had to get a new bed. Anyway, it’s a bit too crowded at home.”

  “What do you mean crowded? You’re the only one there, aren’t you?”

  “Never mind.”

  “Well, I’ll try it out,” said the dragon, stepping inside the warehouse and sliding the large rolling door almost closed. He poked his head out the small remaining opening. “You’ll be back tonight?”

  “Yes.”

  Bessemer pulled his head in and shut the door. Senta turned around and was almost immediately confronted by Graham. He had a big grin on his face.

  “I’ve got it.”

  “Got what?” she wondered.

  “Your token.”

  “Token of what?”

  “Token of my affection… you know, like you said.”

  “I did? Oh, sure I did. Okay. What is it?”

  Graham held out a small box. Senta took it and carefully opened it to find the interior lined with velvet. Right in the middle was a silver pendant in the shape of a dragon on a thin chain.

  “It’s real silver… mostly,” boasted Graham. “It’s a real silver chain and the dragon is covered with silver, but it’s made out of… and this is the best part… a tyrannosaurus tooth! Do you get it? Dinosaur for me and dragon for you—it’s like the perfect symbol for us.”

  “Yeah, that’s pretty ace all right.” Senta was quite sincere in her appreciation for her boyfriend having come up with an acceptable gift, especially considering his lack of romantic proclivity up to this point. “Help me put it on.”

  Pulling the necklace from the box and promptly dropping the box on the ground, Graham draped the necklace around Senta’s neck as she turned around. He fumbled with the latch for a minute, but at last the silver form of the dragon pendant rested comfortably on her blue dress over her heart.

  “Thanks,” she said, turning around.

  “When do I get mine?”

  “Am I supposed to buy you a necklace too?”

  “No. When do I get my, you know…” his voice grew quiet. “My kiss.”

  “How about right now?”

  The boy turned around to see if they were unobserved, but as was so often the case anywhere the young sorceress went, quite a crowd of people were encircled about them, too afraid to get too close, but too curious not to stay and watch.

  “Maybe tomorrow. You’re still cooking dinner for me at your house, aren’t you?”

  “Am I? I mean of course I am. But you don’t want to wait all the way until then, do you?”

  “I think it might be better.”

  “Excuse me,” said a voice from behind them.

  Graham and Senta turned to look into the freckled face of a young woman. She had evidently just come off one of the ships in port. She wore a long traveling coat over a white blouse and brown dress. A brown bonnet held back bright red hair, a few strands of which escaped to hang down on the side of their face. In her right hand she grasped the handle of a small carpetbag.

  “Do either of you know your way around town,” asked the girl.

  “Sure,” replied Graham. “What are you looking for?”

  “I don’t really know. I’m new here. I don’t have a place to stay yet and I’m not sure where I should go to find one.”

  “I’ll help you. I’m Graham Dokkins.”

  “I’m Nellie Swenson, girl reporter.”

  “Are you supposed to be famous or something?” asked Senta.

  “I’m pretty well known back in Brech. The Herald Sun is the most widely read news broadsheet, and I have a weekly column.”

  “Who’s writing it now then?”

  “Oh, I wrote enough extra columns to fill out a whole year, though I’m kind of sorry I’m not going to get to see the reaction to my story on orphanage abuses or the one detailing the stunt of my jumping from a dirigible. I’m here to see Birmisia Colony and I’m keeping a journal of my adventure. It should provide at least a year of new columns.”

  “Come on, I’ll take you to the new arrivals bureau,” offered Graham.

  “That would be lovely, but aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?”

  “Oh, that’s just Senta.” Then to Senta he said, “I’m going to help Nellie get situated. I’ll see you later.”

  The boy offered the new arrival his arm, which she took, and the two of them started up Seventh and One Half Avenue. Senta’s eyes bored holes in their backs, and she absentmindedly punched her left palm with her right fist.

  * * * * *

  Thousands of miles west of Birmisia Colony, but still two thousand miles closer than Enclep, lay the Mulliens, an extremely long chain of islands. Some of these islands were quite large though none had any appreciable civilization. None had important strategic resources, so far as anyone knew. Still, they were patrolled by the Royal Brechalon Navy, because ships going to and from Birmisia and Mallontah stopped at the Mulliens however briefly to fill their fresh water tanks.

  The HMS Snowflake under the command of Lieutenant Commander Kieran Baxter was the latest of His Majesty’s ships to take this duty. She was a battle sloop and though larger than wooden sailing
ships of old bearing the same designation, she was one of the smaller vessels in the Royal Navy. It was Baxter’s opinion that she was too small for her current assignment, though he would never have admitted such. At 990 tons, she was just exactly 250 feet long and drew a beam of 36 feet. With a single machinegun and no ship-to-ship weapons, she had to rely on her speed to get her 93 crewmen to safety—no match for a frigate and certainly not a cruiser. Her three anti-airship guns could take on any dirigible, but while her two depth charge throwers and two torpedo tubes made her a menace to a submersible, Freedonian unterseeboots usually traveled in packs.

  This day had been like every other one of the past three weeks. The Snowflake had circled one of the smaller Mulliens, looking for any sign of Freedonian or Mirsannan influence and generally ignoring any ships from Enclep. In this case there had been none. There was nothing to distinguish this particular island from the hundreds of others in the area. It didn’t even have a name on the charts. It was large enough to have a couple of peaks, no doubt volcanic, though if they were active there was no sign of it. Thick tropical forests grew right up the edge of the beach all the way around. There was no sign of even the most rudimentary civilized life. There was in fact no sign of human life what so ever.

  Baxter stood along the aft railing and watched the sun dip below the waves. He felt the comforting thrum of the twin steam turbines beneath his feet. Relaxing here before retiring had become his nightly routine, something of which his steward was well aware.

  “Tea Captain?” asked the sailor, holding a cup for him.

  “Thank you.” Baxter took a sip and sighed.

  It was at that moment that he saw them and for a split second he thought they were simply the last bits of light reflecting off the waves. They weren’t. They were two torpedoes and they hit at almost the same instant not fifty feet forward from where he stood. Suddenly he was flying through the air. Then he was underwater, struggling to breathe. Just as he reached the surface, something crashed into the waves two feet away, creating a huge splash. Baxter turned in the water, looking for the Snowflake. He found her just in time to see a tremendous blast rip the ship apart as the cold seawater hit the steaming boilers.