The Drache Girl

by Wesley Allison

  “He’s taking a nap next door,” said Sister Auni when queried. “He’s been here most of the night.”

  “How is she, doctor?” asked Saba.

  “I think she’s dying, though I have no idea why. There seems to be no sign of trauma or fever, no rashes or bites, but she’s been in a coma for days now. Her pulse is thready and weak. Sister Auni has cast spells of healing, invigoration, and poison nullification, but nothing seems to work.”

  “Have you cast a spell to remove a curse?” asked Senta, looking at Sister Auni’s thin face.

  “I cannot cast a spell of that power, as I suspect you know. Mother Linton could. What makes you suspect a curse?”

  “Is her luggage here?” asked Senta. “She didn’t leave anything at the tower.”

  “In the next room,” said Mr. Staff, now standing just behind Sister Auni in the hall.

  The sister stepped aside and Staff led Senta to the next room. Saba followed close behind and watched as the girl opened Miss Jindra’s steamer trunk and began rifling through it. As she pulled out articles of clothing, she tossed them casually on the floor. Finally she held up a roll of banknotes tied with a piece of twine.

  “These belong to Zurfina.”

  “How do you know?” wondered Saba. “That could be Miss Jindra’s savings.”

  “No,” said Staff. “She told me that she didn’t have much money. That has to be a few thousand marks. But what I don’t understand is why she would steal.”

  “It was just sitting there,” said Senta. “I’ll bet she thought nobody would miss it. She was probably right too. Fina doesn’t leave things like that to chance though.”

  “It doesn’t matter if it was lying around or not,” said Staff. “You just don’t take what’s not yours.”

  “Some people have a problem with temptation,” said Saba.

  Staff’s face twitched. Then he nodded.

  “I’ll put this back,” said Senta. “I think she’ll get better. If not, call in that priest lady to lift the curse.”

  The girl hopped, literally, taking one step at a time, down the stairs and away. Saba stayed only a few moments longer, and then he too left M&S Coal. As he walked across the square, he smiled to himself over the look on Staff’s face. He hadn’t meant to imply anything, but the man had clearly inferred something in Saba’s words about temptation. Saba knew what that inference was too, having stumbled across Staff and Mrs. Dechantagne-Calliere together. And now Mrs. C’s husband was locked in a cell. Oddly enough, just as he thought about cells in the police station, he almost bumped into his fellow police constable.

  “Feeling better?” asked Eamon.

  “Much,” said Saba, shaking hands. “What are you doing now?”

  “I’m getting our prisoners some breakfast.”

  “Prisoners?” he asked, emphasizing the plural.

  “Yes. I brought in Lon Fonstan a few hours ago.”

  “Drunk and disorderly?”

  “Yes.”

  The two men walked toward Finkler’s Bakery.

  “Did you hear about Mrs. Calliere?”

  “No. What about her?”

  “She’s dead.”

  “What?” shouted Saba. “What happened?”

  “Stroke or something.”

  “How could she have a stroke?”

  “Oh, no. Not Governor Calliere— Mrs. Calliere, the professor’s mum. She heard her son was under arrest and just keeled over dead.”

  “Kafira’s tit, Eamon. You scared the hell out of me.”

  “Sorry about that. I forgot you were in love with her… the governor, I mean. Not the old lady.”

  “I’m not in love with her.”

  “Sure you are. You’re in love with all the rich or powerful, usually married women.”

  They stepped into the bakery, which was already busy with customers and stepped back out a few minutes later with a small sack of crumpets.

  “I feel sort of bad about the level of breakfast we’re serving,” said Eamon.

  “Why?”

  “Well, Lon probably doesn’t eat this well, but the poor professor’s used to eating your mother’s cooking.”

  “That’s true,” said Saba, feeling at that moment that he could use a bit of his mother’s steak and kidney pie.

  They arrived at the police station, on the grounds of the militia base. While Saba sat down at the desk and began to thumb through some paperwork, Eamon took the prisoners their breakfast. He had been back in the cells for only a few minutes, when his shout brought Saba to his feet. There was a note of shock in Eamon’s voice that Saba didn’t remember hearing before, and he ran back through the cells to the last room—cell six. He came skidding to a halt just inside the doorway. Eamon stood, still holding the bag of crumpets, looking up at Professor Calliere, who was hanging by a short rope from the rafter.

  “Kafira,” said Saba. “Help me get him down.

  The two constables repositioned the cot, which the imprisoned man had obviously used to stand on, or had been forced to stand on. Atop it themselves, they lifted the hanging body up. Pulling his folding knife from his pocket, Eamon cut the thick rope, and they both lowered Professor Calliere down onto the bed. Saba felt for a nonexistent pulse. Then he reached behind to feel the back of the inventor’s thin neck beneath the rope knot. There was no doubt about it. His neck was broken.

  “Bugger and Blast,” said Saba.

  “Do you think we’re going to be in trouble over this?” asked Eamon.

  Saba just looked at him.

  “Only he was in police custody.”

  “We didn’t give him a rope, did we?”

  “No.”

  “Fonstan!” Saba stood up and stomped back through the rooms to cell number one, where Lon Fonstan was asleep. Saba kicked the man in the side.

  “Hey!”

  “Who came through here?”

  “What?”

  “Who came through here?” Saba kicked Fonstan again.

  “Ow!”

  “Calliere’s dead—hanged in his cell. Now either somebody came in and hanged him, or somebody brought him a rope and he did it himself. Either way, they had to have come through here. Now who was it? Who came through here?”

  “Nobody. Only her.”

  “Her who?” asked Eamon.

  “You know who he means,” said Saba. “Her with a capital H.”

  “Oh, the governor, do you mean?”

  “Yes Eamon, the governor.”

  Chapter Seventeen: Yuah and Honor

  “Of course I gave him the rope,” said Iolanthe.

  Yuah shuddered. No matter how close she had come to Iolanthe as a compeer, she had never forgotten that her sister-in-law and former employer could be merciless. It still seemed like being given a cold slap, to be forced to come face-to-face with that realization.

  “Why did you give him the rope,” asked Saba.

  “I thought about giving him a pistol. It would have been a much more appropriate way to do it. Unfortunately, I couldn’t count on Mercy not to shoot me instead of himself.”

  “He means, why did you help him kill himself,” said Yuah.

  “She knows what I meant.”

  “I don’t really need to explain it to you, do I Saba? You have lived with us since you were born. This family has been knocked down again and again, and I have done everything to build it back up. After three generations of incompetence and stupidity, I have made the Dechantagnes a great family name again. I will not let it be linked forever with treason. Can you imagine a public trial and then an execution? No, I will never allow something like that to happen.”

  “He was your husband, though.”

  “Yes. He was. And at least he had the decency to take the honorable way out.”

  Yuah couldn’t take any more. She stood up and walked out of the parlor, down the hallway, and into the library. She stopped inside the door and took a deep breath. Terrence was sitting in one of the overstuffed chairs with a book in his lap.
A pair of reading glasses was perched on the end of his nose, but he wasn’t really reading. She stepped over to him and placed her hand lightly on his shoulder.

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” he said.

  Jerking her hand away from his shoulder as though it had been burned, Yuah turned and rushed back out of the room. She leaned against the wall and placed both hands over her stomach. She could feel the cane strips in her corset but couldn’t feel the life growing inside of her. Continuing down the hallway, she stepped into the kitchen. One of the lizardmen was sweeping the floor and a black-haired teenaged boy sat eating a sandwich in the corner.

  “Can you drive me now, Marzell?” Yuah asked the boy.

  It might have been difficult to find humans in Birmisia who were willing to work as servants, but it was surprisingly simple to find young men willing to serve as drivers for one of only two steam carriages on the continent. Terrence had given out that the position was open and had faced an avalanche of applicants. He had narrowed the selection down to three boys, and had let Yuah choose her favorite. She had chosen one of the Zaeri boys from Freedonia. Marzell Lance was a serious young man of sixteen, with a shock of perpetually mussed black hair and brown eyes. He always seemed to be hungry. Though he had proven he could not only drive, but maintain the steam carriage, that was not why he had been chosen. He, like so many coming from Freedonia, had arrived alone. His sister, the only member of his family with him, had died on the ship.

  Marzell jumped up and held open the outside door. Yuah walked through and he followed. The steam carriage was parked near one of the sheds. It looked as pristine as it had when it had arrived on the ship from Greater Brechalon. The minor damage caused by Yuah’s accidental diversion into a snow bank had been repaired, and from the rich black leather of the seats to the shining copper bonnet, it was clean and polished.

  “I’ll have to fire up the boiler, Ma'am,” said Marzell.

  “I know. That’s fine.”

  Marzell held out a helping hand for Yuah, as she stepped up into the passenger seat. As she sat with folded hands in her lap, he stepped around to the back to light the boiler. He shoveled in several more scoops of coal for good measure as well. Then, popping back around to the driver’s side, he climbed in.

  “If I had known you were planning to go out, Ma'am, I would have fired it up earlier.”

  “I know. It’s all right.”

  “Where did you want to go, Ma'am?”

  “Please stop saying ‘Ma'am’. I feel old enough as it is.”

  “Yes, Ma'am. Where did you want to go, Ma… Mrs. Dechantagne.”

  “Take me to Miss Hertling’s home, please.”

  Shifting the vehicle into gear, Marzell stepped on the forward accelerator, but with a still relatively cool engine, the steam carriage rolled forward very slowly. It seemed as though it took at least five minutes to reach the gate, which was no more than fifty feet away. Once the young man had gotten out and opened the gate though, steam had built up enough that they were able to start down the road at a respectable speed. It was less than ten minutes later that Yuah was knocking on Honor’s door.

  The front door of the small cottage opened and Honor stepped outside. She immediately pulled Yuah to her and enfolded her in her arms. Tears welled up in Yuah’s eyes, but she bit her lip and fought them back. By the time her friend let go of her, she had screwed her face back into order.

  “Come in.”

  “Just a minute. I didn’t know if you were here. I have to tell Marzell that I’ll be staying a few minutes.”

  “Tell him you’ll be a couple of hours and that he should come back,” said Honor. “Don’t argue. Just do it.”

  Yuah did as she was told, and as Marzell took off with a whoosh in the steam carriage, she stepped inside the Hertling house and closed the door behind her. Honor was stirring the contents of a large crockery bowl with a big wooden spoon. Her typical brown and black dress was covered by a white apron, now stained with a brown smear.

  “I made Hertzel a cake last week, so now I’m making one for Hero.”

  “Chocolate?”

  “Yes. Cocoa isn’t as dear now that the ships are stopping at Enclep again.”

  She tilted the bowl over and began scraping the contents with the spoon out into a cast iron pan. Then she carried the pan over to the stove, opened the oven door, and stuck her free hand inside. Judging that the coals were right, she slid the pan inside and shut the door.

  “Come sit down,” said Honor. “We have half an hour before it’s done baking.”

  She sat down on the rather worn couch that was the centerpiece of combination living room and kitchen. She patted the seat next to her, indicating where Yuah should sit. Yuah did so, sitting stiffly, her back several inches away from the couch’s back.

  “You weren’t ready to attend shrine last Sabbath?” asked Honor.

  “The dress wasn’t ready.”

  “You don’t need the dress. You have plenty of clothes.”

  “I have some old servant clothes. All of my new clothes, from the past year and a half, are way too ostentatious.”

  “That’s one way to describe it. You could probably wear one of my dresses. Although I arrived on continent with a single shrine dress, I now have three.”

  “You bought not one but two dresses?”

  “Of course not. I made them.”

  “I’m sure they’re lovely,” said Yuah. “But I imagine I would have to stuff the bodice with kitchen washcloths to make it fit.”

  “I don’t think that will be necessary anymore. You seem to have filled out quite a bit already.”

  They talked for half an hour as the smell of chocolate cake filled the small house. Periodically, Honor opened the oven and eyed the brown contents of the baking pan. At last she deemed it ready and pulled it out of the oven, placing it on the table. Yuah wiped something from her forehead and realized that it was perspiration. The warmth of the stove had brought the temperature of the room up quite a bit since she had arrived.

  “I think I have to get out of here. It’s just a bit too warm.”

  “That’s fine,” said Honor. “The cake has to cool before I can frost it. And I’m too hot too. I thought we could go visit Egeria Lusk.”

  “Egeria? Why?

  “She is your father’s fiancée.”

  “Which explains why I would visit her.”

  “Well, I know her quite well you know. We see each other all the time at council meetings. Your brother-in-law worked quite closely with her for quite a few years.”

  “I don’t want to talk about that,” said Yuah, surprising herself at how much her tone sounded like Terrence.

  “I’m sure she would appreciate the company.”

  “All right, but Marzell took the carriage.”

  “It’s not that far. We can walk. Come along.” Honor wrapped herself in a cloak, and then stood by the door, looking expectantly.

  Yuah rolled her eyes. “Fine.”

  The two women felt the shock of the crisp outside air on their warm skin. The sky was dark blue and tremendous white clouds rolled along quickly though there was very little breeze at ground level. Several microraptors crawled along in the yard, scavenging for insects.

  “Cute little beasts,” said Honor. “I would set out some food for them, if it wouldn’t mean velociraptors at my door.”

  “I find them rather creepy,” said Yuah. “They just don’t look right with four wings. I miss the robins back in Brech. Even the flying reptiles there were more pleasant than the birds here.”

  “There are quite a few regular birds in the woods along the coast. To be honest, I don’t think I ever noticed birds back in Freedonia.”

  “They didn’t look like these, though?”

  “No, I don’t suppose they did. And you’ve neatly diverted the conversation away from why you don’t like Egeria.”

  “I like Egeria just fine. I gave my father my blessing for them to get married, you know.”
/>
  They walked along the gravel road, past a dozens of neatly kept little cottages. Five or six women were at work in their yards, preparing the soil for family gardens. In front of one home, a dozen small children were playing together under the watchful eye of two elderly women, who sat on a wooden bench. One was knitting, the other smoking a pipe.

  “Egeria and I don’t have much in common,” said Yuah. “She’s a genius, you know.”

  “It doesn’t have anything to do with her religion?”

  Yuah stopped walking and looked at Honor.

  “Are you daft? I live in a house full of Kafirites. I’m married to one.”

  “Yes, but the Dechantagnes are notably unreligious. And you are one.”

  “Yes,” said Yuah in a low voice as she began walking again. “I am one.”

  They passed beyond the blocks of small cottages that marked the Zaeri portion of Port Dechantagne and into an area with large white houses with two story columns and fenced in yards with fountains and reflecting ponds. Egeria Lusk’s home was a stately two-story structure. Though not as large as the Dechantagne home, it housed far fewer inhabitants. As Honor and Yuah approached, the door opened, revealing the only occupant—a rather short, quite pretty redhead. Egeria was wearing a long white dress, simply decorated with antique lace.

  “Good morning,” she said. “Please come in.”

  “My God!” said Yuah, as she stepped into the house. “Look at this place.”

  Yuah had been in Egeria’s house before, but that was some time ago, and since then her father’s fiancé had substantially redecorated. The front door opened into a foyer, with a large arched walkway into the parlor. Both rooms were exquisitely decorated with hand-carved wooden moldings, golden drapes, and beaded chandeliers. Of course, those had been in place before. Now birch and cherry wood chairs and marble-topped accent tables were spaced around the parlor, which was dominated by a beautiful grand piano, the open lid of which was graced with a painting of angels in the clouds. On the wall above the piano was an eight-foot tall painting of the same angels in different poses. Vases full of cut flowers, white and yellow predominating, were everywhere.