“I’m going to have a bath if it won’t bother you,” said the other.
“That’s fine. I’m just going to go to sleep.” She curled up and before the bath had been drawn, was quietly snoring away.
The other Senta took a long hot bath, using a liberal amount of scented bath salts. After drying off, she looked through the wardrobe and found nothing suitable to wear. There was of course, another source of clothing in the house and it was just one more flight up. She padded up the stairs to Zurfina’s room. It was furnished very similarly to Senta’s own with a wardrobe in just about the same place. Opening it up, she found a large variety of bizarre fashions, which she searched through until she found something that was just right.
In the back of the compartment was a dress. Except for the material from which it was made, black leather, it could have been a common day dress. It was sleeveless and low cut as might be expected from something out of Zurfina’s closet, but next to it was a fur waistcoat. She put on the dress and then the waistcoat, using magic to make them fit properly. At the bottom of the wardrobe, she found several pairs of the elder sorceress’s boots and chose one—a knee-high pair with a chunky heel and a brass Argrathian rune fastened to the shin.
“Yes, I look just fetching,” she said, turning as she watched herself in the mirror.
* * * * *
“Cissy, I want to go out and catch one of those big bugs,” said Augie, pulling at the lizzie’s apron.
“Zsikhais.”
“Yes, I want to tie one of my tin soldiers to its feet. Then he can fly.”
“No, little hoonan get finger eaten.”
“You said they won’t bite me.”
“You leave alone and they not eat finger. You touch and you have nine fingers left.”
“Well, can we just go look at them? They’re really ace.”
“Little hoonan should sleep like sister.”
“I’m not sleepy.”
“Get your shoes then.”
The little boy took several minutes to locate his shoes and then squirmed so much as the lizzie was fastening them, that an observer might have thought that it was being done against his will. When he was finally ready to go, the two were approached by Iolana. The precocious five year old had her blond hair curled and was wearing a grey dress.
“Can I go too?” she asked. “I haven’t been outside all day.”
“Yess,” said Cissy. “Come.”
They left the huge Dechantagne home and walked toward the Zaeri houses to the east. Several hundred yards from the governor’s home the road crossed a small stream. The humans had built a cement bridge so small, that unless one was paying attention, it wasn’t immediately obvious that there was a stream there at all. Here the lizzie and the two children stopped to watch the zsikhais, a variety of eight inch long damselfly, which hovered above the water and snatched up unwary minnows.
Iolana and Augie were fascinated by the huge insects, so much so that they were oblivious to everything else around them. Cissy wasn’t. Anyone watching over small children could not afford to be oblivious in Birmisia, especially after the boy had been attack by deinonychus. So it was that she spotted the two other lizzies when they were still some distance away. She would have liked to hurry home with the children, but since they had just arrived, that would have seemed cowardly to her and disruptive to the children.
One of the lizzies was Zinny, a large male that Cissy knew from around town. He was a dour creature anyway, but disliked her especially because of her supposed khikheto tonahass hoonan. The other lizzie was a female that Cissy had never seen before. She was older than Cissy, but was not particularly notable either for her size or markings. The two stopped directly behind her.
“You have the makings of a half-tail,” said Zinny.
“She’s as ugly as a half-tail already,” said the other.
“Move away,” said Cissy. “I’m watching the human children. You should not be near them.”
“Who will say that I was near them?” asked Zinny. “Nobody besides you.”
“I will say that you are bothering us,” said a voice from around Cissy’s knees. It was Iolana fluently speaking the aboriginal tongue. “I will tell my mother.”
“Go away, dinosaur poop,” added Augie.
Zinny gurgled angrily, but continued on his way.
“Why are those lizzies bothering you, Cissy?” asked Iolana in Brech, once the others had moved on.
“Lizzies are always picking on her,” said Augie.
“Do you want me to tell my mother?”
“Cissy is fine,” replied the reptilian. “Not to worry.”
* * * * *
It took Baxter longer to wake up than usual. He had been dreaming about a battle with Enclepian pirates that had taken place when he served aboard the HMS Minotaur. He didn’t know it had taken him so long to wake up at first, but he figured it out. He was lying on a comfortable bed of feathers and soft grasses and there was a warm body pressed against his back. Getting up as carefully as he could, so as not disturb Odval as she slept, he slipped on his shirt and pants.
From where he stood, on a platform high up in a tree, he could see not only the entire clearing around the little lake, but the ocean east of the island as well. In three days, he had constructed the small platform and raised it up to fasten into place between two sturdy branches. He had constructed a crude ladder by cutting steps into the tree with a hatchet when he could get away with it, and by nailing small pieces of branches as rungs when he couldn’t. For quick egress, he had stripped a vine of leaves and tied it off next to the sleeping platform. Grabbing hold of the vine, he slid down to the kitchen below.
On the ancient stone platform, he had used the square stone blocks to construct four walls, and inside of that a stone fireplace. There seemed to be little point to constructing a roof, and so he hadn’t. A dozen feet beyond, at the edge of the lake, he reeled in a small string threaded through the gills of several fish caught the day before. He took them back to the little kitchen and with a practiced hand, gutted and cleaned them. After starting a fire and building it up, he placed the fish on a flat rock that he had centered in the fireplace the day before.
“Vous êtes en haut tôt.”
“I assume you’re asking about breakfast,” he said, turning to find Odval standing nearby. “Poisson, oui?”
“Oui,” she smiled.
The fish cooked quickly and they ate, sitting on two large flat stones. After taking care of their morning sanitary needs in the forest, they washed in the lake, and then lay out in the morning sun to dry.
“What shall we do today?” Baxter asked his companion. “Hunt for food? We hunted for food yesterday and the day before that, and yet I never seem to get tired of it. Let’s go hunt for food.”
Odval, who seemed to have more difficulty picking up Brech than Baxter did Mirsannan, pointed toward the east.
“Nous pouvons trouver la pieuvre dans le peu profound.”
“I have no idea what you are saying, but if you want to go that way, then we shall go that way.”
Packing several coconut canteens filled with water along with his usual set of tools, Baxter led the Enclepian woman down the trail to a spot on the beach very near where he first set foot on the island. Walking along the shore, they came to a large outcropping of porous volcanic rock forming a tide pool. The Enclepian woman climbed down into the water and waded from spot to spot, carefully examining the rocks below. Finally she found what she was looking for.
“That’s not a good idea,” opined Baxter, as he watched her stick her hand down into a hole in the rock, but a moment later she pulled it out grasping an octopus, the tentacles of which whipped around. With a practiced hand, she reached into the creature’s body and turned it inside out, killing it.
“Ceci sera bon,” she said.
“Yum yum.”
“Oui. Yum yum.”
Within an hour, the young woman had gathered quite a collection of seafood
, though some had Baxter questioning their edibility. Placing their bounty in a small pool to keep cool, they sat back on the sand to dry and warm in the sun. It seemed as though summer was a long time coming to the tropical islands, but this day was warm and pleasant. The southern breeze was almost nonexistent.
Feeling something on his hand, Baxter looked down to see Odval’s slender brown fingers touching his. It had been a long time since a woman had touched him like that. He had known this Enclepian for less than a week, though being thrust together in such situations tended to make shared time more concentrated. Women in situations such as this would often cleave to a man for protection. It was her gender’s way of guaranteeing survival.
Baxter realized that he had been philosophizing in his head for several minutes, and looked up into the young woman’s face. A half curious smile played upon her lips. His eyes couldn’t help roaming over her almost naked form. Then he grabbed her, pulling her to him, and crushed his lips against hers. She melted into him.
It was several hours later when Baxter woke. They were further up the beach now, and for just a moment he wondered how he had gotten there. Then he remembered. They had moved into the shade to enjoy an afternoon nap, but now the sun had moved and his legs were again exposed to its rays. He looked at the girl. She was looking back, not with affection, but neither with dislike.
“Juste un home?” he wondered.
“Oui,” she replied. Just a man. She wasn’t in love with him and she wasn’t afraid of him. He was just the man who was there.
“We should get our poisson and go home.”
They marched down to the little pool where they had left their catch that morning. While Odval scooped up the shellfish, crustaceans, and octopus, Baxter scanned the horizon. It didn’t take him long to spot it—a sail on the horizon. It was getting bigger as the ship approached. He touched the girl’s shoulder and pointed.
“It’s not Brech, or Freedonian for that matter,” he said. “Your people?”
She watched for several long minutes before replying. “Pirates.”
“Funny how that word is the same in both our languages.”
* * * * *
Senta snuck up on the man before he could think about moving. Sitting down next to him, he slipped an arm over his shoulder and touched his cheek.
“Uuthanum,” she said.
Edin Buttermore struggled to move for just a moment. His widened eyes rolled slowly over to look at the young woman sitting on the park bench next to him.
“Just relax, Mr. Buttermore. You’ll be able to move in about two minutes, and then you can go running away as fast as you want. I had to freeze you in place for a bit though, because… well, you didn’t give me a chance to talk to you before.”
Buttermore moved his head just a bit.
“See there. You’re already starting to get your feeling back. I guess I better talk fast. I didn’t attack you at the bakery. That was an imposter, and she’s been… well, she’s been eliminated.”
Buttermore’s bright blue eyes blinked twice and he licked his lips.
“Try talking,” said Senta.
“I… I… I don’t know… I don’t know if I believe you.”
“Why would I lie? If I wanted to do something to you, I could do it right now, couldn’t I?”
“Please…”
“Stop getting yourself all upset. You live in Birmisia. Chances of getting eaten by utahraptors are at least two or three times that of being fried alive by a sorceress.”
“That’s not really very reassuring,” said Buttermore.
A football rolled across the grass and stopped in front of the two on the park bench.
“Can you move your legs yet?” asked Senta. “No? That’s all right, I’ve got it.”
She kicked the ball toward a group of boys that looked to be between the ages of five and eight.
“If you want me to stay away from you, I will,” she said. “I just wanted a chance to tell you what I told you. All right then. Toodle pip.”
The young sorceress stood up and the man took a deep breath.
“The chubby blond kid’s yours, right?” she asked leaning over his shoulder.
Buttermore shivered, but Senta didn’t notice. Instead she started south toward the dockside warehouses.
When she arrived at the warehouse she had rented for Bessemer and his copper, she found a dozen lizzie workmen using steam jacks to move a large piece of equipment through the open door. As soon as they saw her, they disappeared. It was as though they had melted into the ground, leaving no trace.
“What the hell is this?” she wondered.
“It’s a steam press,” said Bessemer, poking his massive spiked head out the door.
“It’s a what now?”
“You know, to make pots and things out of the copper.”
“Oh, silly me. I had forgotten all about you becoming a tinker.”
“Port Dechantagne is a growing economy,” said the dragon. “We have to get in on the ground floor. You’re lucky I let you in on it.”
Reaching out a scaly arm, he scooped up the massive machine from the steam jack where the lizzies had left it and set it down inside the warehouse.
“How is your other self?”
“She’ll be… I mean I’ll be fine after a bit of rest.”
“Do we know what it was? I’d feel better if I knew for sure it was that witch doctor.”
“What witch doctor?”
“Oh, right. You don’t remember because you weren’t there, really. It’s confusing.”
“It will all work itself out,” said Senta. “What are you doing now?”
“I’m going to sleep for a few days.”
“Kafira, you sleep more all the time.”
“What do you expect? I’ve been awake for almost a week.” The dragon pulled the door almost shut. “Kisses.”
Giving him a kiss on his enormous snout, Senta started up Seventh and One Half Avenue, hearing the large sliding warehouse door shut. She suspected that she wouldn’t see Bessemer for several days at least. At the top of the hill, she turned south. Here as everywhere else, both humans and lizzies changed directions to avoid coming close to her.
Once on the other side of the emergency wall, Senta stepped through the door of Mrs. Bratihn’s. Mrs. B and Mrs. Luebking were sitting on the sofa enjoying a cup of tea, and Senta was surprised to find Nellie Swenson sitting with them. All three looked up and smiled, though not quite with the same expression.
“Good morning Senta,” said Mrs. B.
“Hi.” Senta looked around to see no place to sit. Pointing her hand toward the ground, she said “Sieor uuthanum sembia.”
A small wooden chair appeared, and the young sorceress plopped down onto it.
“I was wondering if my dress was ready,” she said.
“We have both your dresses ready,” replied Mrs. B.
“Both?”
“Yes, we have your new bright violet dress with a lilac underdress and matching bodice. We also have your red dress, cleaned and repaired.”
“Wonderful,” said the Drache Girl. “Excellent.”
“Oh dear,” said Mrs. Luebking. “I’m afraid the sizes are going to be off. I believe you’ve lost weight.”
“Yes,” agreed Mrs. Bratihn. “You don’t seem nearly as bosomy as you did.”
She turned to her assistant. “Let’s get the dresses and our instruments ready. We need another fitting.”
The two women hurried through the curtained doorway to the back room. Senta and the girl reporter stared at one another for a moment.
“Here for a dress?” asked Senta, finally.
“No, I’m not one for fashion much,” replied Miss Swenson. “I prefer a nice starched shirtwaist, perhaps a tie, and a simple skirt.”
“I see. So why are you here then?”
“Balanced treatment. These ladies are two of the very few people who have nice things to say about you. I thought that I would hear them out.”
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“Still planning on writing your little news story in the broadsheet back home?”
“Of course.” The redhead got to her feet and headed for the door.
“Don’t leave on my account.”
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
“Come on back, Senta,” said Mrs. Luebking, poking her head through the back doorway just as Nellie Swenson was leaving through the front.
Mrs. L and Mrs. B spent the next several minutes measuring Senta.
“This is very queer,” said Mrs. Bratihn. “Both of these dresses need to be reworked.”
“Sorry about that,” said Senta.
“Don’t worry about us,” replied Mrs. Luebking. “That’s what we’re here for, after all.”
“So did you enjoy your visit with the girl reporter?” asked the young sorceress.
“All she wanted to do was talk about you,” said Mrs. L. “She seems to be in a great hurry to get back to Brech too.”
“I don’t miss Brech City a bit,” said Senta.
“Me neither,” said Mrs. Bratihn. “I wouldn’t give up my shop and my life with Lawrence for anything they have in Brech, and that includes tea at Café Carlo. Now Senta, you run along and we’ll put both these dresses to right.”
“It’s quite odd,” said Mrs. L, thoughtfully.
“What is that dear?” asked Mrs. B.
“Well you know, I’ve never heard of The Herald Sun that Miss Swenson says she reports for. I used to read all the broadsheets too. The best were The Daily Telegraph and The Observer.”
“It’s probably new,” said Senta.
“Yes, probably,” agreed Mrs. Luebking.
Chapter Eleven: Pirates and Princesses
Senta left the dress shop and walked next door to the Pfennig Store. The establishment was filled with lizzies, and although they seldom seemed to move very fast, it was less than fifteen seconds from the time that the Drache Girl entered and the last of the reptilians left.
The Young Sorceress Page 15
