The Young Sorceress

by Wesley Allison

  As the sun set and the train continued to chug on toward Mallontah, Senta got up from her seat and walked to the next compartment, where bunk beds lined the wall, each with a blackout curtain surrounding it. Her bunk was about in the middle of the car on the right hand side, second from the bottom, with two bunks above it. Not all the sleeping places were taken. Many more passengers made the trip from Mallontah to Birmisia, than visa-versa. As she climbed into her bed, there was just enough light outside for her to make out a massive herd of sauraposeidon moving across the plain. She was asleep almost immediately.

  “Ugh,” she said, squinting her eyes as the bright light through the window splashed on her face. It was morning already. “Uuthanum.”

  A window shade flipped down to cover the portal.

  Senta managed to sleep another half hour, before the sounds of people climbing out of their own beds around her forced the last remnants of slumber from her. Pulling back the blackout curtain revealed a startled man standing right beside her.

  “Good morning,” he squeaked.

  “Is it?” asked Senta.

  The man hurried away, scooping up two small children and pushing a woman along ahead of him. They were talking in hushed tones but Senta could clearly make out the words “Drache Girl.” A few others popped out of their beds along with her, but they all made a quick exit from the car, with the single exception of a man who decided upon seeing her to just go back to bed.

  She magiced herself clean, which wasn’t nearly as satisfying as a long hot bath. Then she magiced herself out of her nightclothes and into a new dress. The day before, she had worn her “Zurfina clothes,” but on this day chose a nice grey skirt with a large bustle, a white blouse that covered her from wrist to neck, and a white boater with a single flower stuck in the hatband.

  “I’m just famished,” she said to herself.

  Two compartments to the rear was the dining car. Tables lined each of the walls, covered with white linen tablecloths and fine ceramic dishes, making the train carriage look like a fine restaurant. Windows, larger than those on other cars, made the room bright and sunny. It also enhancing the sense of speed caused by the passing landscape. The only patrons in the dining car when she arrived were a couple that sat at a table in the far end, oblivious to anyone else. Senta sat down and a few moments later, a human waiter arrived.

  “Good morning, Miss. How may I be of service?”

  “Bring me a lovely full breakfast please.”

  A pair of diners entered from the opposite door, took one look at Senta sitting there, and turning around, left. The man and woman near the door continued talking, still not noticing anything but each other. Senta looked out the window until the waiter returned and placed a large plate in front of her. It was filled to overflowing with fried eggs, sausages, black pudding, bacon, mushrooms, baked beans, and hash browned potatoes.

  “No soldiers?” asked Senta.

  “Right away, Miss. Anything else?”

  “Tea.”

  It was less than three minutes until he returned with Senta’s toast and tea.

  “No lizzie waiters?” wondered the young sorceress.

  “No, Miss. No lizzies work on the train, though they are employed in the depot.”

  “What time do we reach St. Ulixes?”

  “Not until tomorrow night.”

  “Tomorrow night? Kafira in a handbasket!”

  After breakfast, Senta went back to her seat and pulled the gigantic book by Dodson out of her carpetbag. She propped the massive volume open in her lap, and promptly ignored it. Every once in a while she tried to force her mind to focus back to it, but something more interesting always came along—a herd of triceratops in the distance, an entire flock of flying reptiles, the snack trolley. By the sunset, she had managed to finish the first page of the preface. She flipped through a few pages to find an introduction, followed by a preface to the 172nd edition, followed by a foreword. She left the book on her seat when she went off to bed, hoping that someone would steal it, but it was still there the next morning.

  The third day on the train was not all that different than the first two, except that Senta ate both breakfast and tea in the dining car. She wore her same clothes for the second day in a row, and had lost all interest in looking at herself in the mirror. By late afternoon, she was so bored she decided that she needed to pull her hair out, scream, or set off a fireball in the train coach. Why hadn’t she thought to bring Graham or Hero with her? She would have gladly forgone food in exchange for the price of their tickets. Just after sunset, the conductor came through the car.

  “Forty-five minutes for St. Ulixes!” he called. “Forty-five minutes.”

  “Thank Kafira,” said Senta.

  She gathered her few things together and was ready to debark the train with forty-three minutes to spare.

  This was the first time that Senta had been to St. Ulixes, and she found it interesting—but not pleasant. The streets were dusty and even late into the evening they were filled with people and the reptilian locals. She was scarcely a hundred feet from the depot before she could feel the grit of dust between her teeth.

  “Oy,” she said, grabbing a passing man in laborer clothes. “Where’s a hotel?”

  He looked startled for a moment and then smiled unpleasantly. “Make a right at the corner, ‘ere—Clancy’s Place.”

  She found the place easily enough. It was a four-story building made of mud brick that looked as if it might topple over at any minute.

  “Probably all I can afford anyway,” thought Senta, ruefully.

  She stepped inside an open doorway to find a large room with a counter. Several of the dirty local reptilians were standing around, as well as a pair of humans that if anything, were even dirtier. A third man stood behind the bar and he looked even more likely to fall over than did the building in which he found himself. He was well past middle age, with bright red cheeks and a bulbous red nose. He wore and old top hat, which he doffed to reveal a head bare save for six or seven hairs stretching from one ear toward the other.

  “What can I do for you, Girlie?”

  “How much is a room?”

  “Two marks, G.B.”

  She sat her carpetbag beside her foot and rummaged through her purse, pulling out her last two banknotes.

  “Two marks,” she said, sliding the bills across the dirty counter to him. “And I need you to have one of your lizzies locate someone—a Brech gentleman by the name of Brockton.”

  “That’ll be another two marks.”

  “No, you’re going to do it for free,” said Senta.

  “Why would I do that?”

  The young sorceress glanced toward her left, where one of the lizardmen was edging closer, looking suspiciously like he was after her carpetbag.

  “Intior uuthanum err,” she said, pointing toward him.

  The reptile opened his mouth wide as a strange hissing gurgle escaped him. He began twitching, dropping down first to his knees and then over onto his side as the strange noise continued to emanate from his mouth.

  “Not that one,” said Senta, looking back at the man. “You’ll need to send a different lizzie.”

  “He’s here,” said the man, nodding emphatically for no apparent reason. “He’s on the second floor here in the hotel.”

  “You were going to charge me two marks to find someone you already knew was here in this building?”

  “Was. Not now. No. Absolutely not. In fact, the first night here is free. Here’s your money.” He slid the two banknotes back across the counter. “Room 301, two flights up, just off the stairs. I can have a trog take your bag.”

  “Tell Mr. Brockton that Miss Bly shall see him in the morning,” said Senta, stooping to retrieve her bag. “And no, I won’t need anyone to take my bag. “Uuthanum Izesic.”

  She tossed her bag aside, but it stopped and floated in midair. Then as she crossed the room and started up the rickety staircase, the hovering carpetbag followed her.

/>   “Oh, your key!”

  “I don’t need a key either,” she said, without turning back.

  Senta slept soundly, despite being in a strange place with city street noises that continued all night long. She woke up, magiced herself clean, and then had to do the same thing with her clothes. She had brought only the one change, so it was either her skirt and blouse or her leather “Zurfina” clothes. In the end, she decided on a combination of the two. She wore her leather pants and leather corset, but put her white blouse on beneath it, finishing her look off with her high black boots and her boater.

  She found Mr. Brockton, dressed in a brown suit and a bowler, standing at the bottom of the stairs. He was a short, slight, and unassuming man, with a brown handlebar mustache. He smiled thinly when he saw her.

  “You make an extremely poor secret operative, Miss Bly,” he said. “Did you have to announce to all Mallontah that you were the Drache Girl?”

  “I didn’t tell anybody,” said Senta.

  “Everybody knows who you are, especially dressed like that.”

  “Well I never asked to be a secret agent then, did I?” said Senta. “I just came because Smedley said he wanted me to pick something up.”

  “And did Wizard Bassington not use the words ‘safe’ and secret’?”

  “Maybe he did.”

  “I was against this from the very beginning,” said Brockton. “I’m not sure it’s in the best interest of the Kingdom, but this is Bassington’s field. Come along, we’ll breakfast before we complete the transfer.”

  He led her down the street to a small outdoor café. There were no tablecloths, but at least the tables looked as though they had been wiped down, and the waitress was a young woman who looked as though she bathed. She was a redhead, several years older than Senta.

  “Tea and scones,” said Brockton.

  The waitress nodded and headed off.

  “I never really cared for scones,” said Senta.

  “Trust me. There isn’t much worth eating in this city. At least scones are unlikely to make you sick.”

  “So you work with Smedley?”

  “I work for him,” said Brockton. “I’m a journeyman wizard, second level thank you very much. Wizard Bassington is much more powerful than I am.”

  “He didn’t seem all that when I saw him last.”

  “Then he was playing with you.”

  The waitress returned and set a pot of tea on the table, along with two cups. This was followed by two plates, each with a large scone sitting upon it, and small crockery bowls of butter and honey. After setting the table, the woman stood silently beside them. Finally Senta looked up at her.

  “So you’re her, then?” asked the redhead.

  “Her who?” demanded Senta.

  “No, she isn’t who you think,” said the wizard, slipping a banknote into the waitress’s hand. “And you’ll tell no one that you saw us.”

  The woman shrugged and walked away.

  They finished their breakfast in silence. Then Brockton led the young sorceress out the café’s back exit into an alley. They made their way through a maze of buildings and must have crossed half the city before they entered into a small mud brick hut. Though it looked no larger than ten by ten feet on the outside, inside the building, was a room at least thirty feet square, outfitted with wood paneled walls and large, overstuffed leather chairs. Three young men sat drinking tea. They rose when Senta entered. They were all dressed in suits, much like the one Brockton wore. The centermost of the three was oldest, about twenty-five, tall, and quite handsome. Slightly younger, the man to his right was shorter and chubby, and he wore a yellow fez atop his curly hair that reminded Senta of Suvir Kesi. The third fellow was scarcely older than Senta, with hair so blond it was almost white, and very large blue eyes.

  “This is my cadre of magical power,” said the wizard with a hint of sarcasm. He pointed to the youngest. “My own apprentice: Fulbright Coote. And these are…”

  “I am the first apprentice of the Great Wizard Bassington,” said the eldest.

  “And I am the second apprentice of the Great Wizard Bassington,” said the one with the fez.

  “Ah, Geert and Shaun,” said Senta.

  “You know of us?” grinned Shaun. “People have mentioned us?”

  “Don’t worry,” said Senta. “Nothing good.”

  “Boys, wait in the other room please,” Brockton instructed.

  None of the three looked very pleased about it, but they all three bowed at the waist to Senta. They then filed out of the room through a doorway in back and into a room, which seemed from Senta’s perspective, at least as large as the one in which she was standing.

  “Now then. The boys know that I’m giving you something valuable of course, but they don’t know what it is.”

  The wizard stepped to a heretofore-unnoticed bookcase and easily pushed it aside, revealing a large wall safe. Twirling the tumbler dial through more than a dozen numbers, he at last pulled down the lever, opening the door, and extracted a large metal case, roughly the size of a hatbox, with a handle on top and a padlock on the side. He waved Senta over to a small table, set the box down, and extracting a key from his pocket, removed the pad lock. He gestured for her to open it.

  Flipping the latch, Senta pushed back the box’s lid and stared at the contents. The air seemed to have been pulled out of the room and her stomach was suddenly filled with molten iron.

  “Kafira’s Holy twat!” she gasped. “Is that what I think it is?”

  Nestled in the box, amid thick padding, was a perfectly round orb, about thirteen inches in diameter. It was colored light pink and dotted with white spots.

  Senta suddenly realized that Brockton had answered her question several moments before and that she had been standing with her mouth open looking at the… She looked up.

  “Is it?”

  “Yes,” said Brockton. “It’s an egg.”

  She narrowed her eyes and glared at him.

  “A dragon egg,” he said.

  * * * * *

  Wissinger had spent a week in St. Ulixes. He had been back to the train depot three times during that time and had been frightened away each time. Once he had seen Von Grieg, and the other two times he had seen unknown men wearing on their lapels the fylfot pins of the Reine Zauberei. He used all his money the first two days and had to resort to begging in order to stay alive. He slept in alleys and was no longer afraid of the Trogs. They didn’t bother him. He had nothing they wanted.

  He was sitting, his back against an alley wall, wondering if he should bother to get up and beg for his breakfast or let himself die when he saw her. She quickly passed between two buildings, but it was all the look that he needed. Jumping to his feet he sprinted after her. It was Zurfina. He was sure of it. Who else dressed like that? Turning the corner, he saw her in the distance. She was walking along with a man. Hurrying after them, the writer was almost within shouting distance, when she and the man entered one of the many identical mud brick huts in the neighborhood. He stopped twenty feet from the door, wondering whether he should follow her in. No, he would wait for her.

  Wissinger waited for almost two hours, but when she stepped out of the doorway, he immediately knew that he had made a mistake. This wasn’t Zurfina—at least it wasn’t the Zurfina he knew. This was a mere girl, and yet she looked like the woman that had twice visited the writer in the ghetto and once more on the S.S. Waif des Vaterlands. And that similarity went beyond the bizarre leather clothing. If she wasn’t Zurfina, she had to be associated with her somehow—her daughter maybe, or her sister.

  The girl was accompanied by three men and a boy, who surrounded her like a cordon as she walked through the street. She carried a bulging carpetbag in her hand and Wissinger was bothered that none of her male companions offered to carry it for her. The five of them stepped out onto what passed for a main thoroughfare in St. Ulixes, and Wissinger followed along right behind them.

  No sooner had they turne
d the corner, than there were several loud cracks of rifle fire. Two of the men with the Zurfina girl were shot, the older man though the chest and the younger man wearing a fez, right through the head, spraying both the girl and the boy with blood and brains. Before the two bodies had even fallen, bolts of magical energy shot from down the street at the remainder of the party. More rifle fire followed.

  “On the roof!” shouted Wissinger involuntarily when he spotted half a dozen men with rifles on the roof across the street.

  The girl raised her hand and a massive ball of flame shot from her toward the riflemen. The entire building on which they were perched exploded. She gave Wissinger a quick glance before turning her attention to the attack coming from down the street.

  Human beings and trogs alike fled the area, some diving into open doorways, others simply running for their lives. Walking down the center of the street were three men. Wissinger felt a little thrill of fear as he realized that Von Grieg was one of them. The others were the two Reine Zauberei that he had seen at the train station. They waved their hands and bolts of energy shot from their fingertips. The girl waved her hand and the bright blue balls of magic ricocheted away, crashing into buildings and starting more fires. She waved again and thick black smoke rose from the ground which, added to the smoke from the fires, quickly engulfed the entire street.

  “Come here,” she called, and it took Wissinger a few seconds to realize that she was talking to him.

  He ran over before the smoke made it completely impossible to see.

  “Help them get him off the street.” She pointed to the man who had been shot through the chest, and the writer saw that he was still breathing and awake.

  Wissinger took one arm and the boy took the other. They dragged him away as the remaining man fired off his own magical missiles through the smoke in what could only have been the most general direction toward his enemies.