She cast one yellow eye down at the girl on the sofa and then hurried out of the room. Clitus, lacking an idea of what to do next, sipped his tea.
“It’s really my own fault,” said Terra, seemingly to no one. “I let her dominate me when we were growing up. Now it’s going to be a painful transition. Painful for her.”
“What was it that she called you?” he asked.
“Zrannis. It means earthworm. She knows that I don’t like it.”
“I’ve been reading some of Iolana’s writings on the lizzie language. I picked out a few words. Khikheto means to act in a certain way.”
“It depends on the context and inflection,” said Terra. “When I was said khikheto, I was saying that she should watch herself, that I wasn’t going to stand for her disrespect.”
“And she said something about being blind.”
“Really, Clitus. I don’t think it’s very chivalrous of you to try to delve into a private conversation between two ladies.”
The Prince felt his face flush.
“I um… I only ask to help further my understanding of the lizzie language.”
“Well, in that spirit then. She told me to watch my own self, or she would scratch my eyes out.”
“And what did you say?” he asked.
She smiled and then took a sip of tea. “I told her I would gut her like a fish.”
They were both silent for a few minutes, and then started talking at the same time. They stopped and looked at one another.
“You go first,” he said.
“I was just going to say that my relationship with my cousin is probably not unlike yours with your brother.”
“I don’t think we’re as close as you two are,” he replied. “I don’t think he cares enough about me to gut me like a fish.”
“And what were you going to say?” she asked.
“Oh. Earlier, when I asked what you were about… What I wondered was, what is in the box.” He pointed to the box that she had carried into the room.
“Oh yes. Of course. Knives.”
“Knives?” he wondered.
“Throwing knives,” she said. “I’ve been practicing in the courtyard.”
* * * * *
“I swear to Kafira, Stigby. That’s what she said. Throwing knives.”
“She could just be having one at your expense, Your Highness.”
“Maybe. I honestly don’t know. She’s so smart, and of course I trust her. She saved my life, after all, sort of. She’s just such an odd duck.”
“Cute little thing though,” said Stigby.
“You think so?” asked Clitus, his brow furrowing. “She doesn’t seem… I don’t know… a little mannish?”
Stigby shook his head.
“Not at all, Your Highness. She’s no great beauty, but then she doesn’t seem to go out of her way to attract men. I’m sure she would clean up nicely.”
“Well, I have to admit, I enjoy her company. She’d make a lovely cousin-in-law.” He sighed. “If only Lady Iolana had any interest in me.”
There was a knock at the office door and Bob stuck his head in.
“He’s here, Your Highness.”
“Right. Would you mind waiting outside, Stigby?”
The copper got up and left the room. A moment later, the short and chubby form of Mr. Aurium waddled in. He sat down heavily with a grunt, his jowls wobbling. He gazed at the Prince through heavily lidded eyes.
“You don’t need these affectations on my account,” said Clitus.
“I’ve been around for a thousand years,” said Aurium. “I don’t need to pretend to be old.”
“No, but dragons are essentially immortal.”
“Not immortal. That frightening woman in Birmisia has proven that.”
“You’re not afraid of Senta Bly, are you?”
“Of course I am, and you should be too. How long before she decides she wants to be empress of the world?”
“Let’s turn our attention to from imaginary to real problems,” said Clitus, changing the subject. “What about Birmisia, and this Die Freiheitgruppe?”
“They are a real problem,” said Aurium, running his hand through his chestnut hair. “The organization is bigger than you think. There are hundreds of cells, thousands of members—maybe tens of thousands. They are well organized and only just stretching their muscles. So far, the vast majority of their targets have been in Freedonia, but it’s only a matter of time before they focus entirely on our green and pleasant island.”
Clitus dropped his head into his hands. This was all too much. He was nineteen years old, barely a man, and he was not only tasked with keeping his country running well, but now with defending it from a veritable army.
“They’re led by one Theodora Reisenstrauss,” continued Aurium.
“A woman?”
“Who did you think it would be?”
“There are men there,” said Clitus. “It’s been twelve years since the war. There are plenty of men my age or older.”
Back in 1907, Freedonia had been at war with Greater Brechalon. The sorceress Zurfina the Magnificent, the mother of Senta Bly, had cast a spell that had destroyed every man in the uniform of Freedonia. They had simply vanished, and not only soldiers either, but policemen, firemen, postmen, customs officers, and trolley conductors. They had all simply disappeared from the face of the earth.
“You think there was this huge lot of boys who have grown up fatherless, do you?” asked Aurium.
“Well, yes… of course.”
“You forget, Your Highness, that twelve years ago, you yourself, like most boys in Freedonia, were in the uniform of the Boy Scouts.”
The Prince sucked air between his teeth.
“Bloody hell.” He rubbed his temples. “There’s nothing for it. We shall have to take her.”
“She’s hidden and she’s protected.”
“Of course she is. We’ll have to put together a strike team to capture her, as soon as our wizards can scry out her location.”
* * * * *
“What do you mean you can’t go?”
“I’m sorry, Your Highness, but Iolana is not feeling well and I have to take care of her.” Though others might have had difficulty reading Esther’s expressions, he had known her long enough to tell that the lizzie really was sorry.
“The servants can’t take care of her?” he asked, knowing that there was no use, “just for a little while?”
“I’m afraid not. She has a terrible migraine, and whenever that happens, all of the servants are afraid of her.”
“I suppose there’s nothing for it. I really didn’t want to go to the opera anyway.” He sounded unconvincing, even in his own ears.
“Oh, you can’t miss out. Surely there are hundreds of young ladies who would like to go to the Royal Opera with you.”
“Not on such short notice, I’m afraid. None of them want to end up with their picture in the paper without having had at least two days to get beautiful.”
“Take Terra,” suggested Esther. “She doesn’t care about any of that.”
“Um, does she like opera?”
“I have no idea,” said Esther. “Let me go find her.”
As the lizzie left the room, Clitus sat down on an antique wooden chair that had obviously been acquired for its historical value and not its comfort.
“She’ll be right down,” said Esther, sticking her snout into the room for just a moment, before hurrying away again.
The Prince tugged at his collar and shifted in his seat. The black tie and tails were uncomfortable even compared to his usual uniforms. He pulled out his watch and checked the time. It was still two hours before curtain. He had planned on a brief meal, but if he knew women, he would be lucky to make it to the Royal Opera House by intermission.
“Are we ready?” asked Lady Terra, suddenly beside him.
“I don’t know,” he replied, looking her over. “Are we?”
She was not dressed as one expected a lad
y to dress for the opera. She wore a floor-length black skirt, nice but plain, not unlike that worn by thousands of lower class women who worked in factories and the like. From the waist up though, she was dressed like he was, with a white shirt, bow tie, and a coat with tails that, despite being a man’s style, was perfectly sized for her. Her gorgeous waves of dark hair hung loose over her shoulders, though they were capped with a black top hat. She had no proper makeup on, not that she needed it with her skin and features, but she had painted a thick black stripe from the center of her forehead, down her nose, over her the middle of her lips, to her chin.
“I’ve never actually been to an opera,” she said.
“Well, um… I don’t want you to feel obligated to go, if you don’t want to.”
“Not at all. I think it will be fun.”
“Okay then.”
Stigby gaped when they stepped out the front door. It took him a minute to remember himself and hurry down to check the coal and water in the car. Bob, however, broke into a large grin, when he saw the Prince’s companion.
“Kafira, I love my job,” he murmured as Clitus helped Terra up.
The Prince climbed into the back seat next to her, while Mr. Stigby and Bob took the front, and they were off, circling the fountain of Lord Oxenbourse and driving north up Scrum Boulevard.
“This isn’t the way to the opera,” observed the girl.
“Oh. I thought we could stop for a bit of dinner first. There is a little place that’s very quiet and private—quite exclusive.”
She tilted her head while looking at him, putting him in mind of a spaniel.
“I um… I was expecting to dine with Esther, you see. I thought she would prefer someplace where she wasn’t made such a spectacle of.”
“I imagine you prefer someplace quiet too,” she said, “living life, as you do, in a museum exhibit.”
He laughed.
“I do feel a bit like the polar bear at the zoological park.”
They stopped in front of a huge building, not too different from the Dechantagne Staff home at Number 1, Avenue Dragon, except that here, it had been subdivided into expensive shops and exclusive clubs, with apartments occupying only the very top floor. They left the Prince’s two minders at the car and climbed a dozen steps to a solid oak door where they rang a bell.
The door was opened by a woman in a burgundy evening gown, who smiled and bid the Prince enter, though she gave Terra the same look that Stigby had upon seeing her. She recovered quickly though and led them into a large room, beautifully decorated, with one table in the center. Though it was set for eight, there was no one else there to join them. Clitus held the chair out for Terra, and then he took his place across from her.
“It’s a pleasure to have you again, Your Highness,” said the woman in the gown. “Marie will be out with for your wine selection, and then Gaston will tell you about his meal.”
“Thank you, Margarite.”
She smiled, curtsied, and left.
“As I said, very exclusive.” Clitus smiled at Terra. “They serve only one dinner each night.”
“They must be booked up forever. I suppose you arranged this meal months ago.”
The Prince’s face turned pink.
“Um, actually… I bumped Sir Redry Moorn and his party. They were going to have dinner here tonight.”
“Oh, I imagine he’ll be very cross.”
“I doubt it. He’s still hoping that I’ll marry one of his daughters, now that Tybalt has settled on Henrietta.”
A lovely young woman, in a dress that matched that of the woman who had shown them in, arrived with a short wine list, which she handed to Clitus.
“We’ll have the 1899 Parkinsdale Red.”
“A glass of water for me, please,” said Terra. “I don’t drink wine.”
“I didn’t realize you were temperance.”
“I’m not really,” she said. “I just don’t like the taste. My brother likes to order the second most expensive wine when he dines out. He thinks it’s funny.”
“It is kind of funny,” said Clitus, smiling.
A man in a chef’s jacket stepped into the room and up to the table.
“Good evening, Your Highness.”
“Good evening, Gaston.”
“Tonight we start with lotus blossoms from Enclep, wrapped in bacon, and deep fried in a light golden batter. Then we have Beef Dechantagne, with roasted vegetables and a wilted salad.”
“Beef Dechantagne,” said the Prince with a grin at Terra.
“Yes, Your Highness. You may know it better as boeuf en croute…”
“No no,” said Clitus, pointing across the table. “You see. This is Miss Terra Dechantagne.”
Gaston looked as if he had only just noticed the girl. He didn’t seem all that impressed.
“You don’t look old enough for the meal to have been named after you.”
“My father and my auntie,” she said, primly. “And what’s for pudding?”
“For dessert, we have a lovely cheese and fruit plate,” he replied, annoyed to be speaking to a mere girl when the prince of the realm was seated right beside him. He bowed and left for the kitchen.
“It seems your family has made quite a mark in the culinary world.”
“My auntie will be very pleased.”
“That’s Iolana’s mother? What’s she like?”
“What’s the scariest thing you’ve ever seen in your life?”
“I don’t know. Oh, I saw a great white shark once, when I was sailing near Tarsus Island.”
“Yes, that would be about right,” she said.
“So, culinary pride doesn’t flow through you at the thought of our dinner?” he asked.
“I’ve never been overly interested in food.”
Gaston returned with two plates, setting one in front of the Prince and then the other in front of Terra. He was followed by Margarite, the woman who had seated them. She placed a gravy boat, filled with white peppercorn sauce next to each plate. When they had gone again, Clitus poured some of the sauce over his appetizers.
“Have you had bacon-wrapped lotus blossoms before?” he asked.
“No.” She followed his example with the sauce and then cut one blossom in half and brought it to her mouth.
“Good?” he asked.
She nodded.
“These are the same flowers that white opthalium is made from,” he said, taking a bite. “Without the other ingredients and magic of course, they’re harmless. And, we’re not rubbing them in our eyes.”
He chuckled at his own humor, but when she remained straight-faced, he lost his smile.
“Are you familiar with white opthalium? The also call it visio. Nasty stuff.”
“I’ve heard of it,” she said. “I’ve never actually seen it, but I don’t find it a humorous topic.”
“I’m sorry. You’re right. That was inappropriate.”
They finished their lotus blossoms in silence. Clitus was happy when Gaston and Margarite arrived with the Beef Dechantagne. The thickly sliced medium rare beef roast, wrapped in golden brown pastry was carefully drizzled with rich brown sauce, and was accompanied by roasted parsnips, asparagus, and beets and a salad of wilted greens with a hot bacon dressing.
“I’m curious about how this dish was named after your family,” said the Prince. “I just assumed that everyone in Birmisia ate dinosaur.”
“We do eat a lot of dinosaur meat,” said Terra, not looking up as she cut her roast. “We do have cows, sheep, and pigs though. There was an attempt to bring in chickens, but they didn’t last long. It’s much like dogs. A few people have small housedogs, but those that venture outside are inevitably eaten. I suppose the only reason that the livestock we have survived, is that initially at least, the pens were out on the peninsula, protected by the emergency wall.”
“Emergency wall?”
“It was a wall my father built to protect the first colonists from the lizzies and the dinosaurs. It’s sti
ll there, though now most of the colony is spread out far beyond it.”
“Is that why they honored your father with this meal?”
“Possibly,” she said. “A more likely explanation though would be our local restaurateur Aalwijn Finkler wishing to curry favor with Auntie Iolanthe.”
“Unusual name,” remarked Clitus. “Aalwijn Finkler.”
“He’s a Freedonian Zaeri.”
“Friend of yours?”
“Not really, though I do know him and his wife. She’s from here, and a Kafirite. They’re quite a prominent family in Port Dechantagne.”
Clitus nodded, cut another piece of beef and chewed it slowly before continuing.
“Do you attend Zaeri shrine?”
“I did as a child. I went every Sabbath with my mother. I also frequently attended Church with my grandfather, who despite being Zaeri, is married to a very devout Kafirite.”
“There’s a lot of that in Birmisia—cross-faith marriages.”
“You don’t approve,” she said.
“Why would you assume that?”
“Isn’t one of the jobs of King to be protector of the faith?”
“Well, first of all,” he said. “I’m not King and I’m not going to be. That being said, I believe that protector of the faith should mean upholding the people’s faith in Greater Brechalon and their King, rather than forcing them to choose where to worship.”
“How enlightened,” she said, blithely.
“You don’t believe me?”
“You seem quite interested in the religious duality of Birmisia. Are you worried about having a colony with two faiths or a friend with two faiths? Are you questioning about Birmisia or about me?”
“I admit to wanting to learn more about you, Lady Terra, because I do consider you a friend. But please understand that it will make no difference to our friendship whether you consider yourself a Zaeri or a Kafirite or neither.”
“You don’t think Parliament or your father will have something to say about it?”
“It’s not like we’re getting married,” he laughed. “We’re just friends. Even if I do someday marry someone who is part Zaeri, I doubt anyone would bat an eye. Now, my brother would be a different story. I doubt he would be allowed to marry a practicing Zaeri. A woman of Zaeri descent however, one who attended church… I think that might meet approval. That’s probably thanks in a good part to your Auntie and the unity that she has built in Birmisia Colony.”
The Dragon's Choice Page 16
