“Why?” asked Senta. “Like I said, it will all work out. Now be on your way.”
He stood up. She stayed in her reclined position.
“Cheery will show you out.”
“Before I go,” he said. “There was a woman in the newspaper office asking about you.”
“Is that so?” asked Senta, yawning.
“I mean, more than the usual—more than the tourists. It was like she was trying to find out all she could about you without making it too obvious. I was worried she might be some kind of sorceress or enchantress.”
“No, I would have felt the magic if she were.”
“Well, I just thought you should know.” He bent down and kissed her on the cheek. “Good day, cousin.”
“Good day to you, Maro.”
Chapter Four: The Spare
Twelve thousand miles away from Birmisia and the rest of the huge continent of Mallon, on the other side of the world, was the much smaller continent of Sumir. Thousands of years earlier, it had been the home of the ancient civilizations of Zur, Argrathia, Ballar, and Donnata. Now it was home to the powerful kingdoms of Mirsanna, Bordonia, and most powerful of all, the United Kingdom of Greater Brechalon.
Nineteen year old Brech Prince Clitus sat in his office, carefully examining a map of the northern third of Sumir, which included the land of Freedonia, which was both in theory and in fact a vassal state of Brechalon. His finger traced a line from Bangdorf to the industrial cities of Butzbach and Hagerforte to the coastal cities of Friedaport and Eineburgh. He frowned.
“And these acts… these bombings are politically motivated?” he asked. “You’re sure of it?”
“Yes, Your Highness,” said a man in a dark suit and dark glasses, seated across from him. “They are political and they are organized. These aren’t random events. They’re designed to destabilize Brech power in Freedonia.”
“What is the Prime Minister doing about it?”
“He’s… he’s still waiting for guidance from the King.”
Clitus rolled his eyes. “And my father has nothing to offer.”
“He’s not concerned. He calls them ‘isolated events by a few ne’er-do-wells.’”
“What about my brother?”
“I doubt the Crown Prince knows anything about what’s going on in Freedonia, or elsewhere outside either Sinceree Palace or Madame Fleurchaud’s establishment.”
The prince closed his eyes and rubbed his temple.
“And what about Madame Fleurchaud’s?”
“Your Highness?”
“Are there loose ends to be attended to there, Mr. Meanie?”
“It’s an open secret that your brother is a regular there, but as of yet, none of his… um, companions have come up pregnant.”
“That’s something, at least,” said Clitus. “I feel like I should celebrate.”
“What do you want me to do, Your Highness?”
“About my brother—nothing. Keep an eye on things in Freedonia. Do we have any magic assets we could use?”
“Not much. I have a few people in the War Ministry, but we used to count on the Zenith.”
“Yes, well they’re gone and they’re not coming back.” He sighed. “We may need to build something like the Zenith for ourselves. One thing that we will make clear from the very beginning though, is that they are to stay as far away from the Birmisian Sorceress as possible.”
“I could locate one or two high-level wizards that could start such an organization. Your Highness could write to Lord Dechantagne. He could let her know that we’re no threat to her—it would help recruiting if we were proactive there.”
“Yes. I’ll write him,” said Clitus. “I’ll also go see his cousin. She can guarantee that our message gets to the Drache Girl’s ear.”
* * * * *
Mr. Barrymore, the butler at Number One, Avenue Dragon, opened the door and bowed at the waist.
“Welcome, Your Highness.”
Behind him, were arrayed some two dozen servants on the right, and one lizzie on the left. Lady Esther Ssaharranah Staff was the only Birmisian lizardperson in all of Sumir. Common terminology was lizardman, regardless of gender, but Clitus just couldn’t find that appropriate.
“Lady Ester, all this pomp and ceremony isn’t necessary.”
“Every time you call me Lady Esther I feel like sssuch a fraud,” she said. “Besides, if I didn’t let the staff come see you when you visited, they would rebel.”
“Well you are a lady, officially, as well as a Right Honorable Member of the Brech Empire.” He leaned in and kissed her on the snout, then turned to the line of servants. “I shall look forward to seeing you all before I leave.”
“You heard His Royal Highness,” barked Barrymore the butler. “On your way.”
Soon Clitus and Esther were alone.
“To what do I owe this visit?” she asked.
“Always a pleasure, but I really wanted to see Lady Iolana.”
“I’m afraid she’s not here.”
“Wha… they did send word that I was coming?”
“I think she assumed you were coming to see me.” She gave a very human shrug.
“Not an unreasonable assumption,” he said. “I do come visit you at least once a week.”
“I’m monopolizing too much of your time,” said Esther, looking down.
“Kafira, no! You’re the only thing that makes living in this city bearable.”
“I feel exactly the same way,” she said.
He grinned. “Let’s make the most of it. Shall we play cards or domino bones?”
“Let’s just have some tea and talk,” said Esther, leading him toward the library.
The two-story room, covered with shelves on all four walls from floor to ceiling, had been empty when Esther and Iolana had arrived from Brechalon, but it was almost two thirds full now. It didn’t cost much either. People just sent them books for some reason.
They were in the room and halfway to the two comfy chairs that faced each other by the fireplace, when Clitus noticed someone sitting in a corner.
“What’s this then?” he wondered.
“Good day, Terra,” said Esther.
“Good day,” replied a girl of eighteen with dark hair, without looking up. She had an enormous open book in her lap and was busy writing in the margins with a wood pencil.
“Terra, His Royal Highness Prince Clitus is here.”
“Oh?” She looked up and seeing him, closed the book and rose to her feet. She was about five foot four, and wore shoes with no heels. She bowed stiffly at the waist, like a man.
“What… um, are you wearing?” asked Clitus.
The girl looked down at herself.
“I believe it’s called a dress, Your Highness.”
“I mean on your face.”
“Oh. It’s paint. Sometimes I just feel naked without it.”
The girl had a white moon painted on her left cheek and a blue star on her right.
The Prince had seen Lady Terra Dechantagne many times when he had visited either Lady Esther or Lady Iolana. She had arrived nearly three years before, well after the other two had been presented. He had never bothered to pay her much attention. She certainly never made an effort to make herself known.
She started across the room for the door, the great book under one arm.
“We don’t mean to chase you off,” he said.
“It’s fine,” the girl replied, without stopping.
“What is it that you were reading?”
She hoisted it up so that he could see the cover.
“The Codex Donnata,” he read.
“Well, a copy,” she said.
“I’ve heard of that. People have been trying to decipher it for centuries. Thinking of taking a crack at it?”
“Well the first part was interesting enough,” she said. “The last half is just a long list of towns and how much they paid in taxes.”
“You can read it?”
“It w
as a bit difficult. The code uses 256 distinct characters, but everyone assumed it was based on some form of Early High Freedonian. It’s actually a variation of Argrathian.”
Terra bowed again and then turned and left the room, just as a servant was bringing in a tray for tea.
“Won’t you sit here, Your Highness?” Lady Esther directed him to one of the two chairs by the fireplace.
“Please, Esther. Here in your house at least, just call me Clitus.”
“I don’t know if I could do that.”
“Try”
“All right, Clitusss.” She clamped a hand over the end of her snout and rolled her yellow eyes around.
The Prince laughed.
* * * * *
Three days later, the Prince attended a steam carriage race at Oldmore Downs. It was a thrilling afternoon of cars zooming around a recently completed two-mile oval track. There was a pause between the elimination race and the final, and Clitus hurried down to the area where the drivers and their mechanics were preparing their cars for the final event. His copper Mr. Stigby, and his minder Bob, followed him.
The two most promising vehicles were number 16, driven by Sir Ian Baine and number 19, driven by Mr. Artus Finley. Clitus knew Baine passably well and he stopped to admire the fellow’s car, a beautiful blue one, now smeared with mud.
“I’m deeply jealous, Sir Ian,” he said. “Yours looks to be the winning car.”
“Thank you, Your Highness. It’s going to be a tough race. This Finley fellow is an excellent driver.”
“But you have a better car.”
“I do. Finley’s is fast, but old. If it weren’t for his mechanic, I don’t think it would still be in the race at this point.”
“Well, I’ll wish him good luck, but know that I’m rooting for you, Sir Ian.”
“Thank you, Your Highness.”
Next to Baine’s car, number nineteen looked like a wreck. It had once been red, but most of the paint had worn off, and in a few places, it was starting to rust. The driver was a man only a few years older than the Prince. His sandy blond hair was a mess, and his face was dirty everywhere that hadn’t been protected by his driving goggles.
“I wanted to wish you luck,” said Clitus, shaking hands.”
“Thank you, Your Highness. We had a problem with the differential gear train, but I’m hoping we can get her going again.”
“Is that something on the bottom of the car?”
“Yes,” said Finley, stepping aside to point at the vehicle. “It’s…”
At that moment, a grease-smeared body in a once white jumpsuit slid out from beneath the car and hopped up. Long wavy brown hair pointed in every direction.
“It should be fine now.”
“Lady Terra?” Clitus wouldn’t have been more shocked if Kafira herself had appeared from beneath the steam carriage.
“Great Prince,” she said, bowing at the waist.
“I’m going to go to the grandstand and watch the race, Mr. Finley,” she told the driver.
“What if it breaks again?”
“Then you are going to lose. I’d have to be a sorceress to fix it amid race, and… well, I’m not one of those.”
“Um, Lady Terra,” said the Prince. “Would you like to come and sit in the royal box with me?”
She thought for a moment. “Sure. I shall meet you there.”
The finalists were already at the starting line when Lady Terra finally arrived at the seat that had been arranged for her. She had changed from the jumpsuit into a simple white day dress. Her hair was still loose and made her look wild.
“Thank you for joining me,” said Clitus, standing and gesturing toward her chair.
She nodded and sat.
“I didn’t know you were a steam carriage aficionado,” he said.
“Oh, I’m not. Mr. Finley needed help getting his car into shape. I read through several books on the subject, and then took it apart in our courtyard and put it back together.”
“Is Mr. Finley a friend of yours?”
“His father is our under butler.”
The green flag was flown and the two vehicles shot forward, each leaving twin trails of black smoke and white steam. The Prince kept his eyes glued on the action as they made their first two laps. When they started their third, he glanced at his companion to find her looking leisurely around at the other people in the grandstand.
“It’s very exciting, isn’t it?” he asked.
“Very exciting,” she said, neither seeming very excited nor actually looking at the race.
The two cars were neck-in-neck starting their tenth and final lap.
“By Kafira! I think they may tie!”
Clitus jumped to his feet, as did most other spectators. He looked around to make eye contact with someone to share his excitement. What he saw was a man in a blue suit approaching with a determined look on his face. The man had his right hand inside his jacket, and as he pulled it out and pointed it at the Prince, seemingly in slow motion, Clitus could see that it held a small caliber revolver. Then there was a movement and a flash of steel. Suddenly Lady Terra was standing next to him with the gun in her hand, and the man in the blue suit had nothing but a small knife blade stuck completely through his wrist. Then Stigby was wrestling the crying man to the ground. The crowd erupted in cheers for the winner of the race.
“Sweet Kafira! Lady Terra, you saved my life.”
“I don’t think so.” She turned and looked at him. For the first time he noticed how large her brown eyes were. She flipped open the pistol’s cylinder. “Blanks. I thought that was the case.”
“Is that why you only stabbed his wrist?”
“No. If I’d stabbed him in the heart, he would have clenched and the gun would have gone off.”
“I didn’t even get to see who won,” he said.
“Mr. Finley just edged in for the win,” she replied. “It’s quite a feather in his cap. I’m very pleased for him.”
Clitus raised an eyebrow as he noted that she didn’t seem overly pleased.
* * * * *
The Prince was very busy during the following week, during the days and several evenings with his official duties, which were entirely ceremonial, and the remaining evenings in his capacity as unofficial guardian of the empire. He met twice more with Mr. Meanie, his secret agent, who had managed to contact a pair of powerful wizards who would become part of his new organization.
“They can recruit a number of journeymen wizards, and I imagine we can add to that from among the hedge wizards, but its not enough,” said Meanie. “Do you think the Drache Girl would help us?”
“Maybe she might have, before those idiots in the Zenith imprisoned her and tried to lobotomize her. Not now. We’ll have to get someone else.”
“Is there someone else?” wondered the agent.
“I have a name, but I’m not going to try him until I’ve gotten word back from Birmisia.”
* * * * *
“Lady Iolana, how lovely you look,” said Clitus, bending to kiss her hand.
Her gown was deep red, with a mock coat covered in a pattern of rose blossoms. It had frilly sleeves, covered arms and shoulders, and a plunging neckline and an open back. She curtsied with the poise of a ballerina.
Lady Esther was wearing a much simpler dress of the same materials, which of course, had a hole in the back through which her tail appeared. The Prince took her by the shoulders and kissed her on her nose.
“Please, sit, Your Highness,” said Iolana, her voice like an angel, as the butler pulled out a chair.
“Thank you.”
Lady Iolana glided across the room to take a seat at the end opposite of the relatively small table. Esther took a seat on the side between them. The prince noticed that she had a specially modified chair.
“Lady Terra won’t be joining us?” he asked.
“She’s busy this evening.”
“With what?”
“I honestly didn’t ask,” said Lady
Iolana, rolling her eyes.
“Astronomy, I believe,” said Esther.
“She seems to have many interests.”
“True,” agreed Iolana. “Most last less than a fortnight, however.”
“I wanted to tell her that she’s to receive a medal,” said the Prince.
“Whatever for?” wondered Iolana.
“She disarmed a man that was attempting to shoot me.”
“I heard he didn’t even have real bullets,” she said.
“True, it was just a Temperance League protestor looking for publicity. Still.”
The servants arrived and served the soup.
The topic changed as they ate, and for a good portion of the meal, it was Iolana speaking about herself. Clitus could listen to her talk forever, and she seemed perfectly capable of fulfilling that wish. She waxed poetic about topics from aeronautics to zoology. Occasionally, he or Esther added to the conversation. The dessert course had been served before he got around to the true purpose of his visit.
“I wanted to speak to you, Lady Iolana, because I need your help.”
“Anything for King and Empire,” she said, nodding seriously.
“Quite. This must stay among us—completely confidential, you know.”
“Of course.”
“Yes,” agreed Esther. “Completely confidential.”
“I am building an organization to aid us in our international relations, covertly. It is necessary to have some practitioners of magic as part of that group. After her… um, I don’t know if war is quite the right word, but any other word I can think of seems inadequate. Whatever. After what the Drache Girl went through with a completely different group of wizards, I want to assure her that my people will cause her no trouble.”
“Ah,” nodded Iolana. “That is probably a good idea. I understand not all of those, shall we say eliminated, were wizards. Some were people who consorted with wizards. I would hate to think of Your Highness turned into a slug or burnt to ashes.”
Clitus audibly gulped.
“I did send such a message to Lord Dechantagne via telegram, but have yet to hear back.”
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