The Young Sorceress

by Wesley Allison

  “No.”

  “Yes it is. You split into four, but they were all the same and you only split for a few seconds—maybe a minute.”

  “I wasn’t very good at it yet.”

  “But that Senta had different clothes.” She pointed to Senta’s leather pants and corset. “And she had different hair!”

  “That wasn’t my fault,” said Senta. “She’s obviously gone weak in the head.”

  “So you’re a fourth of Senta?”

  “Don’t be silly. I’m me. Can’t you tell? Do I look like a fourth of anything? I’m me. I just had a lot to do around town, so I created three copies to help me out. The day I took you, Honor, and Hertzel to dinner, I got a job from Mr. Staff. I went out looking for coal with Benny and Shemar and my three copies went all crazy on me. One went crazy in the café and attacked Mr. Buttermore. One dyed her hair. And worst of all, one of them had tea with Loana Hewison.”

  “Loana Colbshallow,” corrected Hero.

  Senta narrowed her eyes.

  “Well, what are you going to do?” asked Hero. “I suppose you have to track them down right away.”

  “That sounds like a lot of time and effort.” Senta crossed her arms. “How come I never get any time to relax?”

  “Maybe because you create these magical problems for yourself. Someone has to clean up after your mess, and Zurfina isn’t back yet, is she?”

  “You’re sounding more and more like your sister. Can’t we just go down to the docks and watch people? There’s supposed to be a ship coming in.”

  “Fine,” replied Hero. “But just so you know, I don’t consider it an insult to be compared to my sister. She’s wonderful.”

  “Yes, yes, I know.”

  A ship did indeed arrive at the docks that day. In fact, it was just being guided into its berth as the two young women arrived at the dockyards. It was a fairly ordinary transport from Brechalon called the Dartmouth. It carried a large cargo of materials which would be unloaded by the lizzie dock workers, but it also carried a small contingent of passengers, most of whom were gathered along the railing to look at the new world.

  “It’s a lot different than the Freedonian ships,” said Hero.

  Senta nodded. Though more infrequent than they had been, the Freedonian ships, usually filled with Zaeri refugees, arrived filled to the brim with dour-faced drably-dressed immigrants who were only too glad to be as far away from Sumir as possible. The fifty or so passengers watching from above consisted of dapper gentlemen and women whose finery would have outpeacocked a peacock.

  “That’s odd,” said Senta.

  “What?”

  “There’s a magic practitioner over there.”

  “Really?” asked Hero, narrowing her eyes to peer at the people on the ship. “Which one is it?”

  “I’m not sure,” replied Senta with a frown. “I wonder why I didn’t feel him before. He’s not very powerful, but I should have sensed him a week ago.”

  It was almost twenty minutes before the gangplank, actually a set of folding steps, was attached to the side of the ship and the passengers began to file down to the dock. As they reached solid ground, most made for one of the service carts parked nearby or stared in fascination at the lizzies. If Senta hadn’t been a sorceress, he would have walked right by her. He was a boy of about twelve, wearing brown knickers, a tweed jacket, and traveling cap.

  “Oy, you there!” she called.

  The boy looked at her cautiously and then stepped toward her.

  “So, who are you supposed to be?” she asked him.

  “I’m Peter Sallow.”

  Senta snorted. “Tough luck, that.”

  “Senta,” Hero whispered loudly. “Don’t be rude.”

  The boy puffed himself up. “I am Peter Sallow, third apprentice of the Great Wizard Bassington, the greatest wizard in all of Brechalon.”

  “He may be something special back in Brech,” said Senta, snapping her finger, “but you’re in Birmisia now, and Smedley doesn’t mean that much here.”

  Peter set his jaw and squared his shoulders, and for a moment Senta expected him to cast a spell at her. He didn’t.

  “Who are you then?” he asked.

  “I’m Senta Bly.”

  The boy reached into his pocket and pulled out what looked like a pebble. He stared at it and then looked back up at Senta.

  “No you’re not her either,” he said.

  “How about I show you,” said Senta, raising her finger.

  Peter Sallow didn’t wait for a spell to be cast. He spun on his heel and went running away up the hill.

  “Too right you’d better run!” shouted Senta after him.

  “Maybe you shouldn’t have chased him away before finding out what he wanted,” said Hero.

  “Oh, it can’t be too important, can it?” the young sorceress replied. “Come along. I’m famished.”

  The two young women took their place in the queue for the fish and chips cart and when they reached the front, Senta purchased two cones, each filled with chips and three golden pieces of fish the locals called clubbies. They strolled north, while waiting for their food to cool enough to eat, and sat down on the bench at the edge of the park.

  “How many apprentices do you suppose the great Wizard Bassington has?” wondered Hero, picking up a piece of her fish and taking a careful bite.

  “I imagine he keeps sending them off on dangerous errands and has to replace them frequently,” replied Senta. “Hello! What’s this?”

  Reaching quickly toward the ground beside where she was seated, she pulled her hand back clutching a small leathery creature with wings. It hissed and snapped its pointy little teeth as it flapped its wings in a vain effort to escape.

  “Mein Gott!” Hero spat out a mouthful of fish. “Was ist das? Is it some Birmisian bird? It looks half-formed.”

  “It’s a quasit,” said Senta. “Somebody is spying on me.”

  “One of them sent you, did they?” she asked the sickening little thing. “Look you. I don’t have time to mess with you.”

  “What are you going to do with it?” asked Hero.

  Senta stretched her arm back and hurled the tiny form as far as she could. It hit the ground and went tumbling across the grass, then spread its wings and fluttered up into the air. It turned toward them and formed a rude gesture with its tiny hand before flying off to the west.

  “Hurry up and eat your fish,” said Senta.

  “Why?”

  “I need to go straighten some things out.”

  “I don’t think I have an appetite after seeing that… that hideous thing,” said Hero.

  “Be glad you don’t see what she’s going to do to him.”

  “Who?”

  “My duplicate,” said Senta.

  Hero ate one more chip and then tossed her entire meal in the dustbin nearby.

  “I could have eaten that,” said Senta, stuffing her mouth with fish.

  “I think I want to go home. This is all very upsetting.” Hero frowned. “Maybe you shouldn’t do anything else magic until Zurfina gets home. This could all blow up in your face.”

  “Come on,” said Senta getting up. “I’ll take you home and then I’ll go take care of everything. I’ll get rid of my copies and then I’ll find Smedley’s kid and find out what he wants.”

  “Don’t forget that you’ll have to take care of any damage your doubles have caused.”

  “Don’t worry,” said Senta. “How much damage could they cause?”

  * * * * *

  Senta peered around the corner of the building. There they were, walking hand in hand. Graham and the ginger girl were walking across the square, the bakery café their obvious destination. The nerve of her! The nerve of him! They needed to be taught a lesson they wouldn’t soon forget!

  “Uuthanum uluchaiia uluthiuth,” she muttered, holding her palm out before her.

  A sphere of flame formed just beyond her hand. Only two inches across, it surged and swirled t
here for a second, then shot across the square. As it flew through the air, it grew to a diameter of twenty feet. It sailed just over the head of the two young people, hitting the upper floor of the bakery, which exploded into flame.

  Chapter Seven: Predators

  Senta and Hero stepped through the great gate in the emergency wall just in time to see a fireball shoot across the square and crash into the second and third floors of Finkler’s Bakery. Patrons ran screaming from the ground floor as the upper floors took to flame.

  “You stupid cow!” shouted Senta. “Why would you cast a fireball in the middle of town?”

  “Oh my!” said Hero, when she saw who Senta was talking to.

  Another Senta was standing in the square in front of them. This one was wearing a red dress. Hero thought she looked older than the Senta standing beside her, but then realized it was simply that she was a bit heavier.

  “You stay out of this,” said the red-dressed Senta. “You take care of your business and I’ll take care of mine.”

  “I don’t recall burning down the town as being part of anyone’s business,” replied leather-clad Senta.

  She grabbed a glamour from the air next to her. It was one she had kept ever since Mayor Korlann’s house had burnt down. She pointed her hand and the air around the burning building was flooded with carbon dioxide, smothering the fire.

  “I’m just sending a little message,” said the other Senta. “Look. Now you’ve let them get away.”

  “Let who get away?”

  “Graham and that girl he’s running around with.”

  “He what now?” Senta looked at Hero, who shrugged. “Whatever’s going on, you have no business trying to kill Graham.”

  “I’m not going to kill him. Only maim him a little bit.”

  “Obviously the first thing I need to do is to get rid of you,” said Senta, waving her hands. “Teiius uuthanum.”

  “Uuthanum,” said the other Senta, countering the spell. “You’ve got to be kidding. No copy is going to out-magic me. Uuthanum Teigor.”

  “I thought she was the copy,” said Hero.

  “Prestus uuthanum. She is the copy. Go stand out of the way. Ariana uuthanum sembor!”

  A sticky mass of spider webs enveloped the red-dressed Senta. She struggled for a moment, falling to the ground. By the time she managed to dispel the webs, the leather-clad Senta had cast a charm spell on her. Stepping over, she looked down at the image of herself lying almost helpless on the ground.

  “If you touch me, you’ll see,” said the prone sorceress, in a sing-song voice. “I’m the real Senta. You’ll just cease to exist.”

  “Let’s see then,” said Senta, reaching down and touching a perfect copy of her own nose.

  The red dress seemed to deflate as the Senta who had been wearing it dissolved and flowed up and into the hand of the standing sorceress.

  “Nice,” said Senta, standing up. “A new dress. I was wondering how that was going to work out.”

  “I should have known you were the source of the trouble,” said Saba Colbshallow.

  He looked sternly at Senta from beneath his police helmet, his blue uniform, with the exception of the sergeant stripes, a match for those of the two constables that followed on his heels.

  “I didn’t…” Senta started. “But she… Oh, bloody hell.”

  “Come along with me to the station,” said Saba. “We’ll get all the details down in a report. But I can tell you right now that someone is going to be held responsible for the damage.”

  The top floors of the bakery had been saved from the fire, but there was plenty of scorching on the outside walls and no one would be too surprised if some of the supports had to be replaced.

  “Fine,” said Senta, and then turning to Hero. “See if Mrs. Bratihn can get this dress cleaned. Tell her I’ll come around for a fitting.”

  * * * * *

  “I don’t know why they let that little witch run around free,” said Yuah, curling up in a fluffy blanket near the fireplace. “She’s a menace to society.”

  Though she had spent the past three days under the careful nursing care of Mrs. Colbshallow, she still looked a bit ragged around the edges. Her always fair skin was decidedly pasty and her eyes were puffy and bloodshot.

  “Well, um…” Honor Hertling stated to reply, but finding she had nothing to say, stopped.

  “You should be careful, letting her into your home,” continued Yuah. “You mark my words, she’ll prove a bad influence on your little brother and sister. Too much proximity to that kind of trouble; you’ll see.”

  “As I recall,” said Honor. “You used to be quite friendly with Senta.”

  “That was before,” snapped Yuah. “That was before I knew how… unnatural she was. It’s that Zurfina. That woman should never have been allowed possession of a child.”

  “I do agree with you there,” said Mrs. Colbshallow, looking up from her knitting. “She quite frightens me.”

  “Yes,” agreed Honor. “She’s necessary though.”

  “Now you sound just like Iolanthe.”

  “Let’s talk about something more pleasant,” said Mrs. Colbshallow. “Like the high cost of coal.”

  “Or new dresses,” suggested Honor. “Yuah, you must have a new dress since we last visited.”

  “As a matter of fact, I don’t. But I soon will have. Mrs. B has the material coming in on the train. It’s the deepest burgundy and will be trimmed with pink.”

  Conversation continued unabated as two lizzie servants circulated among them, refilling the tea cups. The humans paid them no attention, and once they were done with their task, they left the room. This was not the case when Cissy entered with the three household children. She handed little Terra over to her mother, while Iolana and Augie sat on the floor. Iolana opened a small bag and immediately began setting up a series of blocks marked with numbers and tiny pictures.

  “Do they have to do that in here?” wondered Yuah. “Don’t they know any human games?”

  “Hoonan games too hard,” said Cissy, sitting down next to Mrs. Colbshallow and retrieving her own knitting from a basket on the floor next to the sofa.

  “I don’t think draughts or old maid are any harder than that lizzie game,” Yuah responded.

  “I’d hate to see the children indulging in cards,” said Mrs. C. “It smacks of gambling if you ask me. This game is much more wholesome. It’s like a little war, isn’t it?”

  “I’m afraid we’ll all need more knowledge of that soon,” said Honor.

  This initiated a discussion of the possibility of war between the Kingdom and Freedonia, a frequent topic of conversation in the Dechantagne household, as well as most other Brech homes. Half an hour later, as the conversation waned, Honor sat her teacup down and stood up.

  “I’m afraid it’s time for me to go home.”

  “You can’t stay until tea?” asked Mrs. C.

  “I’m afraid not. I have town council work I must finish before tomorrow.”

  “You can’t walk home alone,” said Yuah. “Those beasts have been in the neighborhood trash again. Not the velociraptors—the bigger ones.”

  “No worry. I have my sword with me.”

  “Cissy, walk Honor home, please.”

  “Yesss,” Cissy replied, setting down her knitting and standing up.

  “It really isn’t necessary,” said Honor.

  “I’ll come too,” said Augie, jumping up.

  “You can’t leave now,” said Iolana. “I’m about to win.”

  “Are not! I just want to go with Cissy.”

  “Get your coat,” said the reptilian.

  A few minutes later, Honor, escorted by the lizzie and the small boy, left through the gate and turned eastward toward home. She lifted up the obsidian-encrusted weapon.

  “You see? I’m well protected.”

  “Feathered runners dangerous,” said Cissy. “Hoonans are too soft, even with sword. Good to stay together.”

  “I
suppose.”

  As they walked along, Augie ran forward to chase after a large dragonfly. Cissy turned to the human woman.

  “Yuah is sick,” she said simply.

  “Yes, but she’s on the mend isn’t she? Mrs. Colbshallow certainly seems to think so.”

  “Yuah use staahstiachtio.”

  “I don’t know that word. Do you know how to say it in Brech?”

  “Can’t say.... nedictine.”

  “Ned… Nedis?”

  Cissy nodded.

  “Medicine?”

  Cissy nodded again.

  “She’s using… taking medicine? Well that’s what we do when we are sick.”

  “Tuust suuwasuu nedictine.”

  “Bad power medicine?”

  “Yess.”

  “Bad power medicine?” Honor stopped and stared at the lizzie. “She’s putting in her eyes?”

  “Yess.”

  “Gott verdammen sie es zu hölle! Wie kann sie… How can she do this?”

  “Strong suuwasuu,” said the lizzie. “Yuah can’t help.”

  “She should never have started!” snapped Honor.

  “Shh.” Cissy pointed ahead. Augie was standing in the middle of the road watching them intently, and listening.

  The foliage at the side of the road parted and two large brown-feathered creatures shot toward the little boy. Longer than a man was tall, the creatures, called deinonychus by the humans, snapped their many-toothed jaws in anticipation, leaping into the air to bring forth the six-inch sickle claw on each foot. The first landed on the boy, driving him to the ground. The second never reached its target, stopping in mid-air as Cissy’s scaly hand closed around its neck and snapped its vertebrae.

  Grabbing the first deinonychus by its long, feathered tail, she pulled it off the child. She gnashed her teeth when she heard the horrible ripping sound made by the awful claw tearing into the little body. The bird twisted and slashed the knife-like claw to disembowel its attacker, but it met a solid wall of tough green scales. The lizzie slashed with her own claws, taking out the creature’s throat. Several other deinonychus hissed from the edge of the bushes before turning and disappearing into the Birmisian woods. A small, or even a large, human was a perfectly acceptable target, but they didn’t prey on a lizardman unless it was already near death.