The Dark and Forbidding Land

by Wesley Allison

  “What are you doing here?” she demanded.

  “Hertzal brought me for tea.”

  “Thank goodness. I wanted to go to your house and visit, but Honor wouldn't let me out.”

  “She has the sniffles and she thinks nothing of spreading the germs around to everyone else in the town,” said her sister.

  “Come sit down with me,” said Hero. “I want to show you my new book.”

  “Oh, great—a book,” said Senta facetiously as her friend produced a small volume with a brown leather cover.

  “Don't be like that. It's Colonel Mormont's journal.”

  “Who is Colonel Mormont?” asked Senta.

  “He explored all across Mallon more than ten years ago. He wrote all about velociraptors and iguanodons and loads of other animals. He wrote about the lizzies too.”

  “The only soldier I care about is Major Frisbee,” said Senta. “He makes damn fine chutney.”

  “We don't use that word in this house,” said Honor.

  “Chutney?”

  “The d-word.”

  “Oh. Sorry.”

  “You care about Saba Colbshallow, don't you?” asked Hero slyly.

  “Saba is very nice,” said Senta, “but you know my heart belongs to only one boy.”

  “Anyway,” continued Hero. “Colonel Mormont has a lot to say about the tyrannosauruses. When he encountered them, they hunted in packs, running around and gobbling up everything in their paths. They sound truly horrifying.”

  “The one that we have is scary enough,” said Honor.

  “Down on the plains by Sussthek, I saw a pack of them,” said Senta. “They were following a herd of these really great long-necked dinosaurs. They hardly even noticed us.”

  “That sounds just like what the Colonel was talking about. Listen to this... 'the tyrannosaurus is the larger and more frightening relative of the coastal gorgosaurus of western Mallon. Notable for its hideously red face atop a black body, the creature hunts in packs that scour the land...”

  Hero kept reading on, but Senta's mind had wandered back to her encounter with Streck. She didn't know why it should bother her that he didn't believe she could do magic, but it did. He was just so smug—so Freedonian. She began to think about how much fun it would be to annoy him, and as Hero continued reading, she decided that the rest of her winter might not be so boring if she made it her hobby to do so.

  “Tea is ready,” said Honor, calling everyone to the table.

  Honor, with Hertzal quietly helping her, had laid out a very nice tea. A plate of sliced, smoked sausages sat next to a matching plate filled with boiled potatoes. A small bowl of mustard sat across from a mismatched bowl of chutney—home made, not Major Frisbee's. And each of the four diners had a plate with two small grilled cheese and apple sandwiches and a bowl of winter squash soup.

  “This is really ace,” said Senta, tucking in to her soup. “Is this Freedonian food?”

  “Well, we are from Freedonia,” said Honor, “so I guess this would qualify as Freedonian food.”

  “Maybe that Streck knows what he's talking about... at least as far as food is concerned.”

  “Who's Streck?” asked Hero.

  “Is that Professor Calliere's Freedonian solicitor?” asked Honor.

  “I guess so,” said Senta. “He's a wanker.”

  Hertzal made an up and down motion with his hand and Honor reached over and slapped him on the wrist. “We don't say that word either.”

  “Sorry. I should have said 'tosser'.”

  “Or that word! Meine Güte, that entire topic is verboten am tisch.”

  “Sorry. What does 'am tisch' mean?”

  “At the table,” said Hero.

  “Oh.” Senta took a bite of her sandwich.

  “I can see how you might not like Mr. Streck,” said Honor carefully after composing herself. “He's one of those Nationalistische Demokraten. They are the ones who blame the Zaeri for everything they think is wrong with Freedonia.”

  “Yeah, he thinks he's a wizard too,” said Senta.

  “He's a wizard?”

  “He thinks he is.”

  “That is troubling,” said Honor. “The Freedonian wizards, the ones that belong to the Reine Zauberei, they are the worst. If he is really one of them, and he is here in Birmisia, then that is bad. I hope someone is keeping an eye on him.”

  “I'm sure that somebody will,” said Senta. She was thinking of herself, but as she would find out later, she wasn't the only one planning to keep tabs on Mr. Streck.

  “I wonder what the new Mrs. Dechantagne thinks of him,” said Hero.

  “That's right,” replied Senta. “She's a Zaeri, isn't she?”

  Honor made a noncommittal noise.

  After tea, Senta made her goodbyes to the Hertling family. Honor wanted her to stay until she could get one or more of the neighborhood men to walk her home, but Senta wouldn't hear of it. Hertzal made signs indicating that he would walk her home himself, but she waved him off as well.

  “Don't worry about me. I can take care of myself. And no offense, but if anything comes along that I can't handle, I doubt that any of your neighbors could.”

  “You're probably right,” said Honor, sounding unconvinced. “But do be careful.”

  “I'll come by tomorrow and see you, Hero,” said Senta, donning her snowshoes. “You can read me more about Colonel Marmalade.”

  “Colonel Mormont,” corrected Hero.

  “Right. Well, toodle-pip.”

  Senta crossed the snowy yard and turned back from the roadside to wave at the three siblings who looked back at her from the open door. Then she turned west down the road. The day seemed just as cold and grey as it had earlier, though the sun had peeked out from among the clouds. The men and women who had been working on their almost finished homes had for the most part gone. No doubt they were enjoying their tea back in their apartments or temporary housing. There were still quite a few people living in tents on the peninsula, despite the almost continuous construction in the colony.

  Just over a mile from the Hertling house, Senta stopped to stare at the Dechantagne mansion. The largest building in Birmisia, as far as Senta knew, had smoke pouring from all fourteen of its chimneys and was buzzing with lizzie servants. Still it was a far cry from the Dechantagne house in Brech, which had been four stories and had taken up most of a city block. Senta thought back to her days of watching that house and the people in it. It seemed impossible that it had only been two years ago.

  The big lizzie standing in front of the house opened the door and Captain Dechantagne stepped out and carefully made his way across the portico, to sit down in a large rattan chair. He crossed his legs, then lifted his chin and cocked his head as if he was listening to the sounds around him. Senta listened too. There were the constant chirps of the earliest returning small birds in the trees and the occasional squawk of a larger Birmisian bird. A few minutes later, Professor Calliere stepped outside, followed by Streck. They took places near Terrence, Streck sitting in another chair and the professor leaning against one of the great two-story columns. Senta was too far away to make out any conversation that the three men might be engaged in, at least without magic. She had not yet learned a clairaudience spell, though it was certainly no more difficult than lightning or even a fireball. She wasn't that interested anyway, she decided. Still, simple spells could be just as much fun. She pointed her right index finger and twirled it around.

  “Uuthanum,” she said, and though it was too far away to see, she knew that Streck's shoelaces had untied themselves and then tied themselves to each other.

  With a smile on her lips, she slid (as skipping was impossible in show shoes) down the road toward the Town Square. A giggle escaped her lips when she thought about the Freedonian getting up and tripping over his own shoelaces. Now, being able to see that when it happened, even if she was somewhere else at the time would be a great reason to know a clairvoyance spell. She made a mental note to tell Zurfina tha
t she would like to learn that spell next. Of course exactly what it was that the sorceress saw when she looked deep into Senta's eyes and exactly how that influenced what spell that she taught her, was a mystery to Senta. It had occurred to her a few times that Fina didn't see anything at all—that she was just doing the looking in the eyes thing to seem mysterious.

  Just east of the square, Senta turned down a northern side road and stopped to look at another fine home. This particular two-story house fit the description of mansion just as much as the Dechantagne home did, though it was less than half the size. It had a row of very thick Zurian style columns running all across the front and the fresh paint was so white that it actually made the snow seem dull by comparison. Four or five humans and at least a dozen lizzies were carrying crate after crate into the house from a large pile sitting at the edge of the yard. A few pieces of furniture sat there as well. Senta knew that this house belonged to Egeria Lusk, but she didn't see her. As she stood watching the workers however, they one after another stopped what they were doing to watch her. The men—she didn't recognize them—just watched her, but the lizzies hunkered down and rolled their eyes at her. She stuck out her tongue at them and then went on her way.

  In Town Square she spied Aalwijn Finkler setting up several chairs around three tables that sat on a small patio outside the almost completed bakery. Senta slid across the square and stopped next to him.

  “So you're going to serve people outside?”

  Aalwijn started and turned around.

  “Oh, I didn't see you Senta.”

  “I used to work at Cafe Carlo in Brech. It was an indoor and outdoor cafe, you know.”

  “We too will have dining both indoors and outdoors.”

  “What kind of food are you going to have? Sandwiches? I like sandwiches.”

  “Yes. Sandwiches and soups. You know my mother is famous for her breads and cakes.”

  “Yes,” said Senta. “I love her bread.”

  “Well she makes many other wonderful things. We'll have soups and sandwiches and salads and we'll only serve whatever she feels like making. Nobody will tell her what to make.” He stopped and took a breath. “She was a cook back home in Bangdorf, you know.”

  Senta shrugged.

  “You should have seen the meals that she made there. Of course all the food back home was wonderful. It would put Brech food to shame.”

  “That's what I keep hearing,” said Senta. “I like fish and chips though. I like bangers and mash. I used to like toad in the hole, but not so much anymore.”

  Aalwijn rolled his eyes.

  “Fish and chips are fine, but you should taste mother's trout almondine. Köstlich!”

  “I don't know what that means.”

  “Sorry. Delicious.” Aalwijn scratched his head. “You know I almost never speak Freedonian anymore.”

  “Yeah. You don't really have much of an accent, you know. Hero and Hertzal and Honor have a lot more accent than you do.”

  “Hertzal?” asked Aalwijn, cocking his head to the side.

  “Yeah.”

  “But he doesn't talk, does he?”

  “Oh yeah. I guess I just imagine him with an accent. So when are you going to open for business.”

  “Mother's already using the big oven to make bread and cakes for the cart. I think we'll start selling bread from the counter next week. It may take a while before we open for menu service. It takes a lot of planning. We have to arrange purchasing and maybe hire a waitress.”

  “I know a couple of girls who might be looking for work,” Senta said, but she was already tired of the intricacies of the restaurant business, and started looking around. One of the workmen that she had seen at Egeria Lusk's house, followed by two lizzies entered the square heading toward the great gate.

  “Did you see Miss Lusk's house was finished?”

  “Yes. It took a bit longer than she was planning on. They say there was a problem with the wallpaper.”

  “Didn't stick?” wondered Senta.

  “I think that there wasn't as much of it as there was supposed to be,” Aalwijn replied. “Still, they must have worked it all out. They've been moving furnishings in for days now. I didn't think anyone in Birmisia had so many things.”

  “I guess we'll get our invitation to tea soon.”

  Aalwijn raised his eyebrows.

  “She said that she would invite us both to tea when her house was finished.”

  “I'm sure that she has forgotten all about that.”

  “I bet she hasn't forgotten,” said Senta. “Miss Lusk doesn't forget anything. She's a genius, you know.”

  “Yes, she's pretty smart for a woman,” said Aalwijn. “Say, that's a nice dress you have on today.”

  Senta hadn't really paid much attention to what she was wearing. It was just one more thing that Zurfina had laid out for her in the morning. It was just one more black dress. This one was rather tight but otherwise unremarkable. It hand long sleeves that flared on the ends and the bottom flared out to match, just above Senta's shoes.

  “Well, Zurfina picked it out.”

  Aalwijn nodded. “Yes, my mother still wants to pick out my clothes too.”

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  “Well, I'm going to get back to work,” said Aalwijn.

  “Yeah. Toodles.”

  Senta hurried down the road toward her home. She was just about halfway there when she spotted it. Just sticking out of the trees, more than twelve feet above the ground was a massive, blood red, scarred, blocky head. Whether the tyrannosaurus was watching and waiting for something to come along the road that it could pounce out upon, or it was just resting in a spot that happened to be next to the road, Senta didn't know, but there it was as big as life. Bigger really. The black body was hard to make out amid the shadows of the pine trees, but judging by that big ugly face, it had to be more than fifty feet long. Senta immediately ran off the road and jumped into the thick forest opposite the frightening beast. The tyrannosaurus didn't move. Either it wasn't interested in food right now or it wasn't interested in something so small.

  After a few minutes standing in the shadow of the trees, waist-deep in a snow drift, Senta started to cast an endure elements spell upon herself. She opened her mouth to say the words, but stopped. If she was going to cast a spell, she might as well take the opportunity to try out something a bit more special. Zurfina had told her to practice out of doors. Stepping to the edge of the forest, Senta planted her feet and pointed her hand at the great beast's ugly face.

  “Uuthanum uluchaiia uluthiuth,” she said.

  A sphere of flame formed just beyond her hand. Only two inches across, it surged and swirled there for a second, then shot toward the huge predator. As it flew through the air, it grew to a diameter of twenty feet. It hit the tyrannosaurus, centered right on its eye and exploded in all directions, engulfing the upper portion of the beast. The creature roared in surprise, pain, and anger as dozens of trees around it burst into flames as well. Leaping with a dexterity that seemed beyond the realm of possibility, it flew from the flaming forest and into the center of the road, whipping around in a circle as if looking for something to attack.

  Suddenly a tremendous pain shot through Senta's brain. She reached up to grab her temple, not even realizing that she was falling onto her back in the snow. The world spun around and for a moment she saw a fireball flying toward her, exploding, and knocking her back into a stream of cold water. Was this a memory? Was she remembering what had happened by the stream, when Wizard Kesi attacked Zurfina? Or was this happening right now?

  She pulled herself up onto her elbow. The tyrannosaurus had turned and was striding away down the road. It would be miles and miles away in just a few minutes. The trees where the fireball had burst were still on fire, but the flames were fading away. It was far too wet to allow the fire to spread. Dropping her head back in the snow, she touched her hand to her nose and saw a smear of blood when she pulled it away. She looked up to see a flash of s
teel on a branch high up in the tree.

  “Are you going to help me or not?” she asked.

  Bessemer climbed down the trunk of the pine tree head first, stopping just a few feet above her.

  “I’m just a little kid,” said the dragon, holding a here-to-fore unseen wooden toy pony in his scaly hand.

  “Yeah. Me too. That was a lot bigger than the fire in the stove. Maybe it was too much for me. ”

  “You are not Fina,” said the dragon.

  “Thanks.”

  Senta pulled herself to her feet and staggered through the snow to the street, Bessemer following at her heel like a shiny steel-colored dog. Her head was still spinning slightly and she didn't even notice that she had lost her snowshoes at the edge of the trees. She was almost at the door to her home when Saba Colbshallow came running up.

  Chapter Eight: Saba the Spy

  The S. S. Windemere didn't arrive until Festuary eighth. It had been waylaid in the Mulliens with a damaged boiler. Still, Saba Colbshallow had been at the docks to meet it and one passenger in particular. Mr. Brockton didn't look like a secret agent, not that Saba knew what a secret agent looked like. He was a short, slight man in his mid-forties with a brown handlebar mustache and thinning hair beneath a brown bowler hat. He looked over Saba for a moment then shook hands.

  “Governor Dechantagne-Calliere asked me to meet you and see that you have a place to stay,” said Saba.

  “Very good,” said Brockton in a thin nasal voice. “She indicated in her correspondence that she would send a representative that had her complete trust.”

  Saba tried not to let his surprise show.

  “I've got you an apartment on the militia base.”

  “Won't that be suspicious?”

  “Probably less than rooming anywhere else, unless you want to spend the next week in a tent,” said Saba. “Those are basically the two options for new arrivals. We don't have a hotel or rooming house yet, though there are a few people who let rooms. The apartments and rental houses have quite a long waiting list.”

  “The militia base it is then,” said Brockton with a thin smile.

  Saba led the way up the hill from the dockyards.