* * * * *
The pirate lunged toward Baxter, leading with his dagger. Dodging to one side, the naval officer felt the blade slice through his shirt. He brought his fist down on the other man’s forearm and followed through with his elbow into the man’s cheekbone. The pirate swiped up and to the left and Baxter felt the blade part his skin along his stomach, but he didn’t stop to think about it. He kicked, hard with his left foot, and then followed it with two swift punches. Off balance, the pirate swung his weapon wildly and this time the Brech officer was able to dodge. Another kick sent the blade flying. Then Baxter hit the pirate in the face, knocking him to the ground. Before the man could get back up, he dived down onto him and began beating him. He hit him until blood sprayed across the ground, until the man’s eyes rolled up into his head, until there was nothing left of his face that even a mother would recognize. He beat him until he could no longer lift his arms and he fell over in exhaustion.
After a few minutes of rest, Baxter climbed back to his knees and checked his opponent. The pirate was still breathing, shallowly. Still the officer realized that this was no time for weakness. Grabbing the closest stone, a slightly larger than fist-sized fragment of an ancient stone block, he brought it down four times on the pirate’s skull. He checked one more time, finding that the man was dead, and crawled away to collapse in exhaustion.
Baxter woke up to the sun on his face. He sat up and looked down at his body, covered in dried blood. His knuckles looked like raw meat. He remembered the knife wound to his stomach and peered into the long slice in his shirt. His torso was covered in blood, but it all seemed to be dried, so it couldn’t be that bad.
Climbing to his feet, he found the body of his would-be attacker right where he had left him. Searching it, he found a small purse with a few coins—two Brech pfennigs, a single Freedonian half-groschen, and six Enclepian coins of indeterminate value. Then there was the dagger, lying on the ground ten feet away. It had a wavy blade and looked like something that might have been used more for ceremonial purposes rather than for actual combat. Still, it was very sharp. Baxter threw it toward his kitchen area.
Grabbing the dead pirate by his foot, he pulled him along the ground, over the ancient stones and into the sand. He dragged the body through the trees until he was beyond sight of the little lake, the clearing, and his island home. Then digging a shallow trench, he pushed the body in and covered it over. He knew that it wouldn’t stay buried and he didn’t care. Let the island crabs eat the bastard.
The next hour was spent checking the surrounding area for any other possible attackers and then in making sure that the pirate ship was no longer just offshore. The pirates had hunted down the other two, but this one apparently had evaded them until they left. It didn’t work out any better for him though. Baxter hoped that the others wouldn’t return. Beyond that, he couldn’t care less.
The Brech officer started back across the island about mid-day, but had to stop and spend the night half dozing at the base of a coconut tree. The next day he continued on, but it was almost nightfall before he spotted a fire in the distance and found Odval warming herself beside it. She squealed and jumped into his arms the moment he staggered into the firelight, wrapping her arms around his neck as if she would never let go. She eventually did. When she saw the blood on his clothing, she wanted to examine him right then.
“Tomorrow,” he said wearily, and lying by the fire, went to sleep.
She woke him up a short time later and fed him a bite of cooked egg and a mouthful of water, but he went right back to sleep.
The next morning Odval was all over him. She forced him to strip off his shirt and she carefully cleaned him. They both got a good look at his wound—superficial, with only a small slice that went in very deep. This began to bleed when cleaned, but the Enclepian woman carefully bandaged it with a poultice of grasses, held on with a length of string wrapped around his waist.
The two of them hunted down another of the great birds and brought a huge breast to their campfire. Then they foraged for fruit while it roasted over the flames. Their meal that evening was worthy of a Kafira Mass feast.
Though he mentally castigated himself for it many times later, it wasn’t until the second day after his return to their northern camp that Baxter thought to look at Odval’s leg. When he remembered, he carefully examined the location of the bite or sting or whatever it was. While the welt that had been there was completely gone, a large area of discoloration had spread to encompass most of her leg. The skin had turned a sickly grey, something that was far more disconcerting than simple swelling. Baxter had never seen or heard of anything like it, and he had no idea what to do about it.
* * * * *
“What’s your man?” asked Augie Dechantagne as he slid his wooden playing piece, marked to resemble a utahraptor forward to attack a similar wooden piece controlled by his cousin Iolana.
“Drache Girl,” she said.
“No fair!” he cried. “That’s supposed to be your lizzie witch doctor.”
“No, he’s over here.” She pointed to another wooden square several inches closer to her. “I moved him when you were eating all my lizzies with your tyrannosaurus.”
“I’m not playing anymore!”
“It’s just as well,” said Iolana, taking off her glasses and rubbing her eyes. “You know you can’t win when I have the Drache Girl.”
“Yuh huh. What if I have Hoonan Matriarch?”
“What if I have Insane Witch Woman?” the girl countered, sliding her glasses back into place on her button nose.
“Tonahass Ssotook,” he snarled.
Iolana slapped him across the cheek. Insane Witch Woman was a powerful piece that guaranteed victory for its owner, but that was no excuse for such profanity. Augie jumped to his feet, tears escaping his already full eyes, and ran from the room, but not before kicking the little wooden squares across the rug. The girl set about gathering the pieces all up and putting them back into their cloth bag. She was just finishing as her Aunt Yuah entered the parlor and sat down on the sofa.
“Good morning, Aunt Yuah.”
“Come here,” ordered her aunt, as she sat down. “Let me see your new dress.”
Iolana sat the game on the coffee table and standing in front of the woman, twirled around. Her shin-length red dress with a trim of yellow bows was spread out around her by the three petticoats beneath it.
“Yes, you look just darling.” Yuah, reached out and adjusted a red bow in flowing locks of blond hair. “What do you think of it?”
“I love it,” said the girl. “It’s even nicer than the dresses that Mama buys for me. Thank you.”
“Well, if you are going to grow up to be a princess, you must look the part, mustn’t you?”
“I have no desire to be a princess, Aunt Yuah.”
“You have no desire… What kind of five-year-old child talks that way? What kind of little girl doesn’t want to grow up to be a princess? What exactly do you want to be then?”
“I want to go to Brech City and attend at St. Dante University,” said Iolana. “I’m going to read every book ever written and be a professor of literature.”
“I never heard of anything so ridiculous. Women do not become professors of anything, let alone professors of literature.”
“Tonahass Ssotook,” muttered the girl.
The smack of her aunt’s palm meeting her cheek echoed throughout the lower floor of the mansion.
Upstairs in the nursery, Cissy sat on the wooden toy box, Augie curled up in her lap, as she rocked the cradle containing little Terra back and forth. She looked from one to the other. The little girl was almost too big for the cradle. In fact she was almost too big for her baby bed. Soon the family would have to bring in a grown up human bed and convert the nursery to a bedroom. The boy’s tears had stopped and now he absentmindedly played with the lizzie’s dewlap as she hissed soothingly to him. He was already too big for the nursery and his uncle was converting the room
in the far back corner of the house into a suitable boy’s room. It had already been outfitted with wood paneling and a gold rug. A dresser, a desk, and chair had been moved in, and several stuffed dinosaur heads had been mounted on the wall.
Yuah passed the doorway heading toward her bedroom. Cissy shifted and Augie leaned back and looked up at his nurse.
“Go down and tlay with Iolana,” said Cissy.
“I don’t want to. I don’t like her anymore.”
“Little hoonan say wrong words. Little hoonan know it. Tell her sorry.”
“I’m not sorry. She wasn’t playing fair.”
“Tell her sorry. She loves little hoonan. He loves her.”
“No I don’t,” he said, but got up and stomped out of the nursery.
Cissy stood and stepped through the doorway, but instead of following the boy down the sweeping staircase, she turned right toward Yuah’s bedroom door. She gently turned the doorknob, not surprised to find it locked. Lifting the knob up with both hands, she bumped the door with her shoulder. It opened and she stepped inside.
“Get out you…” Yuah started. She was lying on her bed, her head propped up on two pillows, with a small glass vial of blue liquid in her hands. “Oh, it’s you. Don’t bother me. I want to be alone.”
Cissy crossed the distance in the blink of an eye, snatched the tiny bottle from her hands and threw it across the room. It dashed to pieces against the cold stones of the unused fireplace.
“You stupid bloody bitch!” Yuah jumped to her feet on the bed. “That was two hundred marks!”
Suddenly her eyes jumped toward the small nightstand beside the bed. Cissy followed her eyes to see a small wooden box with several more of the tiny vials. They both jumped for the little box, but the reptilian was quicker. With a swift motion, it too flew into the fireplace, the box breaking apart and the bottles all smashing to pieces.
Yuah let out a cry halfway between a scream and a growl and jumped onto Cissy’s shoulders. The lizzie easily pulled her away and tossed her on the bed. With a quick backward kick, she shut the door. Then she grabbed the woman by the shoulder and dragged her to her feet.
“I’ll kill you, you stupid lizzie.”
“No!” hissed Cissy. “Kill yourself! Kill yourself with staahstiachtio. Yuah whant to die? I do it for you now!”
She pressed a claw-tipped finger against the skin right between the woman’s eyes.
“Yuah whant to die?”
Yuah whimpered and then sobbed. “Go ahead. Do it.”
“Is it what you whant? Whant Augie to be orphan? Terra? Grow with no…”
Yuah broke down into uncontrollable weeping. Cissy let her go and she wilted down onto the bed, where she lay crying.
Someone pounded on the door.
“What’s going on in there?” called Mrs. Colbshallow.
“You whant Augie and Terra to live like lizzies with no family? You have to not staahstiachtio. None. None.”
“I can’t do it!” wailed Yuah. “I want to do it, but it’s too hard. It’s too hard. Just kill me. Just kill me.”
“No,” said Cissy. “Yuah whill do it. Yuah whill do it for Augie and Terra. There whill be no more staahstiachtio. None.”
Yuah looked up at her through bloodshot eyes.
“None,” said Cissy. “Yuah say it. None.”
“None,” Yuah repeated. “No more.”
Chapter Twelve: The End
A full complement of diners surrounded the Dechantagne table for the first time in a great while. Radley Staff sat at the head of the table, his wife on his right hand and his daughter on his left. Looking proudly from his spot directly opposite his uncle was Augie Dechantagne, a stack of books between his chair and his bottom. His mother sat on his right hand and his sister, in her high chair, on his left. Filling in the seats between Iolanthe and Terra were Mrs. Colbshallow and her son and daughter-in-law. On the other side of the table were Cissy and two guests—Honor Hertling and her little sister Hero.
“How wonderful to have us all together,” said Staff, waving for one of the servants to start filling the soup bowls.
“It will make for a lovely Oddyndessen,” said Honor Hertling.
“For a what?”
“It’s a Zaeri holy day,” said Yuah, her eyes never quite moving up from the table. “We don’t really celebrate it anymore in Brechalon.”
“Well, how lovely,” said Mrs. Colbshallow. “It’s always wonderful to learn new things.”
“Should we…” said Staff. “Would you… Is a prayer appropriate, considering?”
“We don’t usually do that,” said his wife, drumming her fingers on the table.
“Surely it can’t hurt… guests and all.”
“I could offer a simple prayer,” said Honor, and when Staff gave a nod that she should continue, she closed her eyes and intoned, “Great Lord, as you did with Odessah before his great journey, give us your blessings on this day. Amen.”
“In Kafira’s name, Amen,” said Loana Colbshallow, making the sign of the cross.
She was followed about three ticks later by both her husband and mother-in-law.
The lizzies quickly served onion soup. This was followed by a fruit and cress salad. As soon as the salad plates had been removed, the servants began placing the main course. Mrs. Colbshallow, though of course knowing nothing of Oddyndessen, had put together as fine a meal as she ever had. A large pork roast was the center point, though there was also poached fish. Pudding, peas, chips, and roasted mixed vegetables were placed on overflowing plates around the table.
“Wonderful as always mother,” said Saba Colbshallow.
“I think you’ve outdone yourself, Mother Dear,” said his wife.
“Here, here,” agreed Staff. “Dearest?”
“The problem is Mrs. Colbshallow,” said Iolanthe, “your meals are always so perfect.”
Everyone at the table sat staring, not sure if there was more to come, and not sure whether this was intended as an insult or a compliment.
“Thank you,” said Mrs. Colbshallow after a minute. She turned to Honor Hertling. “It’s a shame that your brother couldn’t attend.”
“Yes. He sends his regrets, but two ships came into port today, so he was needed at the docks. I hear that the lizzies have begun to move back in to Lizzietown, General Staff.”
“Yes, some of them have. It’s just Mr. Staff.”
“Some are moving back into town,” said Iolanthe. “But I have let it be known that these savage witch doctors will not be tolerated.”
She turned and stared at Yuah, but her sister-in-law never looked up from the table. Yuah just sat and absentmindedly moved the peas around her plate with her fork.
* * * * *
Intrepid girl reporter Nellie Swenson stalked along the alley between Sixth and Seventh and One Half Avenues. A single gas streetlamp half a block away barely illuminated the rough outlines of the buildings as a thick fog rolled in from Crescent Bay. She carefully turned the handle of the warehouse’s back door and the latch opened with a click. Stepping inside and closing it behind her, she pressed her back against the cool metal and listened. Detecting no sound, she carefully walked a dozen steps into the vast room. Then she pulled a candle and a handful of white phosphorus matches from a small handbag. She knelt down to the floor and struck one match after the other, but though they sparked briefly, they didn’t light. What was the use of all those people getting bone disorders working in match factories if the matches wouldn’t even light?
“Would you like a little help?” asked a deep, rich voice in the darkness.
A thin narrow flame shot out across the floor, illuminating the great whiskered face of the steel dragon. The flame traveled the five or six feet between the two of them and then made a sudden left turn and curved around the girl, continuing until it had completely surrounded her and reconnected to form a circle. The flame near the creature’s mouth went out, but the circle continued to burn. The fire never topped three or fo
ur inches from the floor, but it was enough to illuminate much of the warehouse interior.
Nellie stared open-mouthed at the monster.
“What exactly are you looking for?”
“I’m looking for the truth,” she said, screwing up her courage and straightening her back. “I’m going to find out what that little witch is up to. I’m going to find out and I’m going to report it in The Herald Sun.”
“I’m very sorry to tell you that you are not,” said the dragon.
“What are you going to do, eat me?” she asked defiantly. Then her shoulders slumped. “You’re not going to eat me, are you?”
“I’m not going to eat you, but I am afraid that this is the end of Miss Nellie Swenson.”
A figure stepped from behind a large piece of machinery and walked into the light of the encircling fire. Even before the flickering light illuminated her face, it was clear that it was the young sorceress, Senta Bly.
“You may kill me, but you’ll never get away with it.”
“Oh, I will get away with it,” said Senta, smiling evilly. “At this point I suppose I can get away with just about anything I want. If someone was going to stop me, it would be pokey here.” She pointed a thumb at the dragon. “He’s sort of the voice of my conscience.”
With a quick skip, the girl reporter jumped over the flames and ran for the back door. Just before she reached it, it opened of its own accord and the Drache Girl stepped inside, blocking her exit. Nellie quickly glanced behind her to see Senta exactly where she had been before. The two were identical right down to their clothing.
The Young Sorceress Page 17
