For King and Country, page 34
“I’m beginning to think that the meals in your parents’ home lacked variety,” said Augie.
Maria nodded.
“In the north, they make it with pastry dough and put fruit in it,” said Clitus. “My second cousin Bertie sends me one every Kafira Mass.”
“Speaking of,” said Maria. “It’s almost time to start decorating.”
“I didn’t think we did that,” commented Terra.
“We do since Maria arrived,” said Iolanthe.
“Since we are a Zaeri household, we don’t celebrate Kafira Mass, really” explained Maria. “We just decorate the house for the winter season.”
“Winter starts in Hamonth,” said Yuah, “not in Kafirius.”
“It’s cold enough today to feel like winter,” said Clitus.
“You won’t say that if you’re here long enough to experience actual winter, Your Highness,” said Gladys, pushing her glasses back up her nose.
“Clitus, please, and I’m afraid I’ll have to take your word for it. We shall be long gone before Hamonth.”
The servants returned with bowls of thick velociraptor soup.
“Lovely,” said Esther. “I was just telling Iolana that we need to eat more soup.”
“Has anyone seen Iolana today?” wondered Maria.
Esther shook her head.
“We’re not likely to see her for a week at least,” said Terra. “She’s catching up on her reading.”
“She’d better be doing more than reading,” said Iolanthe.
“What is it she’s supposed to be doing?” wondered Esther.
“Producing the next Baron of Saxe-Lagerport-Drille.” There was silence around the room and after almost a minute, she continued. “I’m sure Clitus will agree that doing one’s duty is very important.”
“Yes, I do,” said Clitus, “as long as it doesn’t preclude one’s own happiness.”
Iolanthe didn’t contradict him, although she looked like she wanted to.
The lizzies returned with the main course—iguanodon liver with onions, pickled beet roots, and sautéed mixed greens.
“It’s a shame that Birmisia is so far away from Brechalon,” said Clitus. “I think people back home would love this. I’m going to miss dinosaur meat when we get back.”
“As a matter of fact,” said Augie. “I’m thinking very seriously of trying to export some dinosaurs to Sumir. I don’t know how it’s going to work out, but it could be very lucrative.”
“I should think so.”
“I’ve already purchased Pleeney Island, off the east coast of Brechalon. It’s about thirty-five square miles of young forest. The previous owners were harvesting timber there. If some iguanodons and a few smaller beasts can survive the trip, I plan to start a breeding colony there. Farming and processing centers will follow, if providence allows.”
“My nephew has proven adept at making money,” said Iolanthe. “Now, if he could only prove as adroit at his military responsibilities.”
“There are plenty of soldiers in the world already,” said Yuah. “There’s no need to drag my boy into a war.”
“We already have one warrior in the family,” said Augie, gesturing toward his little sister.
The group was served desert, which was steamed rice pudding. Afterwards, in ones and twos, they said goodnight and left the dining room.
“Will I see you upstairs later?” Maria asked Augustus.
“Um, yes. We need to talk.”
When he was the only one left in the room, besides the lizzies cleaning up after the meal, Augie stood and walked to the parlor. There, he found a tall, heavy set man with blonde hair, a few years older than himself, waiting for him.
“Good evening, Your Lordship,” said the man.
“Good evening, Mr. Buttermore. How are you? How are your parents and your lovely wife?”
“All doing well, sir.”
“That’s good. That’s very good. I need you to do something for me.”
“Yes, sir?”
“There’s a man in town named Anson Krause, a new arrival. I want you to find out everything there is to know about him.”
“I’ll get right on it, sir.”
“Sooner would be better than later, Mr. Buttermore. If you can have it for me, say, in two days’ time, there will be a substantial bonus for you.”
“I understand, Your Lordship.”
“Good,” smiled Augie.
Chapter Twenty-Six: The Enhanced Creation Spell
“I’ve got it!” said Senta, sitting bolt upright in bed.
“What have you got?” asked Karl, running his fingers over her naked spine.
“Our wedding date, stupid. We shall get married in Sexuary of next year. I shall become Mrs. Karl Watson and you will become Mr. Senta Bly.”
“That’s quite a ways off. You don’t want to pick an earlier date?”
“No. It will be lovely. It will be late spring, and all the flowers will be in bloom. We’ll have the ceremony here, in the garden.”
“You don’t want a church wedding? Will we at least have a priest to officiate?”
“That’s not a real word,” she said, looking over her shoulder.
“It is. I promise.”
“Well we don’t need a priest. Bessemer will do it. A god is better than a priest.”
“He’s not a real god though.”
She rolled over so that she was lying stomach down on top of him and patted his cheek with the palm of her hand.
“You don’t have to convert,” she said.
He kissed her on the lips and then rolled her back off of him. Getting to his feet, he walked across the room to the bathroom. She rolled back into his spot, reveling in the remaining body heat trapped in the mattress.
“I’ve got an appointment this morning,” he said. “Would you like to meet for lunch?”
“I’m having lunch with Zoey and Sen,” said Senta. “What kind of appointment do you have?”
“I’m meeting with some of the heads of the University of Birmisia. They don’t have an anthropology department and I want to convince them to let me create one and to lead it.”
“You know something about this subject then?”
He stuck his head out of the bathroom. His face was half covered with shaving cream.
“I’m an archaeologist.”
“And is that the word you used a minute ago?” she demanded.
“Anthropology. Archaeology is a branch of anthropology.”
“Obviously, I knew that,” she said, rolling her eyes.
“It’s all right,” he said. “I’m not marrying you for your mind. It’s that sensual, illustrated body of yours.”
“Really?” she said, lifting her bottom into the air and shaking it a bit. “Maybe you would like to see the pretty pictures now?”
“I can’t,” he said, ducking back into the bathroom. “I don’t want to be late.”
“Be that way,” she growled.
Rolling off the bed and to her feet, she stomped out of the room and down the stairs, without bothering to dress.
* * * * *
“Lizzie Affairs is upstairs,” said the man behind the counter. He pointed at the ceiling. “Khikhiino.”
“I believe the word that you are looking for is khikheto,” said Esther. “I am not looking for Lizzie Affairs, however. I am looking to place my name on the ballot for city council.”
The clerk in the third-floor office of the Gurrman Building had seen many lizardmen across the counter from him. They frequently mistook his office for the office one floor above. Never had he encountered a lizzie, however, who could speak such fluent Brech, and without the usual hissing accent. And now that he looked at her, he could see she was no ordinary lizzie. She was wearing a dress and carrying a handbag.
“What?”
“I’m here to throw my hat into the ring, metaphorically speaking.”
“You can’t do that.”
“Why not?” asked Esther.
“You’re a lizzie.”
Esther raised her hands to her face.
“Good Kafira! You’re right. Here I was thinking that I had some kind of skin condition.” She turned around to Willa, standing right behind her.
“Did you know I was a lizzie?”
“No, but you know, now that I think about it, it does make sense. It explains your teeth.”
“What’s wrong with my teeth?”
“Nothing, dear.”
“So,” said Esther, turning back around. “What do I have to do?”
“You can’t run in an election,” said the man behind the counter, still looking dazed.
“No, I can’t run in a race, but I can run for city council, at least according to Governor Staff.”
“Mrs. Government… um, Mrs.… Governor Staff said you could run?”
“My adopted mother,” said Esther.
“But you’re not going to win.”
“Probably not, but I’m going to give it the old college try. What exactly are the requirements to run for office?”
“Um… none.”
“Then what do I need to do?”
The man shook himself and then retrieved a ledger book from behind the counter.
“I just need to ask you some questions. Name?”
“Esther Ssaharranah Staff.”
“Sex?”
“Female.”
“Age?”
“Sixteen.”
“You’re only sixteen?” asked the man.
“Seventeen in Treuary,” said Willa, leaning around Esther’s shoulder.
“Um… address?”
“Number 100, First Avenue.”
“All right,” said the man. “That’s all we need. Your name will appear on the ballot. The election will be held on the fourth.”
“Well, that’s it then,” said Esther, turning around.
“I hope you win,” said Willa.
“Not likely.”
“You have my vote, at least.”
* * * * *
Senta was standing on the western edge of the old town square, gazing across the road, when her daughter stepped off the trolley. The girl had a sour look on her face. Senta looked down at herself, sure that her daughter was upset at her about something, but she couldn’t detect anything wrong with her appearance. She was wearing a new red walking dress and a white boater with a red ribbon.
“So, did you bite down on a lemon then?” she asked the girl.
“No. I just ran into Eugenie DeWitt.”
“Friend of yours?”
“Not hardly. She called me Senta Bly the lesser.”
“Unkind if not inaccurate,” said Senta.
“Well, she can think about the accuracy as she’s waiting for her hair to grow back in.”
“Let’s go into the café. Zoantheria should be along shortly.”
“What were you looking at when I arrived. Were you staring at somebody?”
“No, I was just looking across the way. That’s where Mr. Parnorsham’s Pfennig Store used to be. We used to hang out there all the time as kids. Right next door was Mrs. Bratihn’s dress shop. That’s where I bought my own dress for the first time.”
“All right. Let’s go eat.”
“Don’t you want to hear more about my youthful adventures?” asked Senta.
“What’s it to me what went on back in the dark ages?”
The girl turned and walked into Finkler’s Bakery Café. Her mother, grumbling about impudent cubs, followed her.
Port Dechantagne’s original eating establishment was a small operation with counter service and three indoor tables, and a patio with six tables. When the two sorceresses stepped inside, all but one of the tables became immediately vacant and those who had been standing in line, all decided to dine elsewhere.
“Always happy to see two lovely ladies,” said the young man at the counter. “I can’t say as you’re doing much for my business.”
“Hello, Aalwijn,” said Sen. “Haven’t seen you for a while.”
“I’ve been in Mallontah for a couple of months. Dad’s thinking about expanding the business there.”
“Does anyone call you Aalwijn the lesser?” wondered Senta.
“My friends all call me A.J.,” he said, “for Aalwijn Junior.”
“What’s good today?”
“Everything’s good,” he said, looking over her shoulder. “Since your dragon is here, might I recommend the egg salad sandwich with savory winter squash soup.”
Senta glanced behind her to see Zoey stepping through the doorway.
“Yes, we’ll have that, times three.”
She stepped over and took a seat at the closest table. Sen and Zoey followed and took two of the remaining three seats.
“I thought we were learning a spell today,” said Zoey, “not having a tea party.”
“This is lunch,” said Sen. “What’s got you corset in a twist.”
“Something I can’t discuss in front of a child?”
“Do tell,” said Senta.
“Lord Dechantagne giving his wife too much attention?” said Sen, with a smirk.
Zoey glared at her.
“What do you care if he butters her crumpet once in a while?” asked Senta. “He dotes on you.”
“What do you know about it?” snapped Zoey.
“I know everything about it, because I scry the three of you as often as I can. It’s very entertaining.”
“It is,” agreed Sen.
Zoey’s eyes shot back to her.
“You can’t scry me!”
“No, but I can scry the two of them.”
“She’s very advanced,” said Senta. “She, for one, has been keeping up on her magical training.”
“I’ve been busy,” grumbled the dragon in human form.
“Busy whining,” said Sen.
“The girl is right again,” said Senta. “If you’re going to do something about it, do it. Eat her, or drop her in the ocean, or… I don’t know, something creative. If you think it’s a problem, solve it, though I can’t for the life of me understand why it’s bothering you. She’s a little mouse—just something to amuse your boy while you’re away. If he doesn’t have her, he might find someone who really is a threat.”
“Like whom?”
“Well, he is a very cute young fellow. I could give him a turn.”
“He wouldn’t want you,” sneered Zoey.
Senta snapped her fingers and suddenly in her place sat a woman ten years younger, with long, dark hair and large brown eyes, and a bosom overflowing the plunging neckline of a scarlet evening dress.
“I’ll bet this would draw his eye. It’s a little bit of his sister, and little bit of his mother,” the strange woman glanced down at her cleavage, “and quite a lot of Loana Colbshallow. Maybe you should try this form on?”
“I want him to look into this face,” said Zoey, pointing to herself. “I want him to look into these eyes and nobody else’s.”
“Maybe that’s the problem,” said Sen. “When he does it with her, he can’t see her eyes. She’s usually face down and ass up.”
“Stop talking now, both of you,” growled Zoey. “If either of you ever bring this up again, I’ll kill you.”
“I didn’t think we brought it up this time,” said Senta, returning to her true form.
Aalwijn Jr. arrived and set a bowl and dish out in front of each of them, containing, respectively, rich orange soup and an egg salad sandwich on coarse grain pumpernickel.
“I wondered what the difference was between winter squash soup and summer squash soup,” said Senta.
Aalwijn Jr. stared at her for a moment.
“This one has more cream,” he said at last, before returning to his counter.
“Aren’t you glad we’re here on egg salad day?” Senta asked Zoey, as she brought a spoonful of the soup to her lips.
“You’re going batty in your old age and confusing me with Bessemer.”
The sorceress narrowed her eyes.
“Don’t mind her,” said Sen. “She’s just shirty about the local aristocracy.”
The girl took her sandwich, dipped it in her soup, and took a large bite.
For the next five minutes, the three of them ate and stared at one another. Zoantheria finished before the other two and leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms.
“So, why are we here?”
Senta picked up her bowl and drank the last of her soup from it.
“It’s time to expand on your abilities,” she said, wiping away a soup mustache with her napkin. “You both know all the best spells, but not how to use them to best effect. Today we will be playing with the spell of creation.”
* * * * *
An hour later, the three women found themselves at the park, far out on the peninsula. The first park in Port Dechantagne was located beyond the docks and the warehouse district, next to the cemetery, and had far fewer visits by the public than newer recreational areas. A few people walked along the eastern edge of the grassy sward, but most of the park was empty. From where Senta, her daughter, and Zoey stood, they could look north and see the statue of Augustus P. Dechantagne and the park’s large gazebo. Looking south, down the hill, they could see over the warehouses to the docks, and out over Crescent Bay. Two large transport ships sat at dockside next to H.M.S. Sovereignty. Across the water, a mile away, rested H.M.S. Fearless, the destroyer.
“Why are you talking to us about the creation spell,” said Zoey. “We can both do it.”
“Yes, I thought I had mastered it when I was seventeen,” said Senta. “Let’s see both of you use it then.”
Zoantheria raised her hand and recited, “Sieor uuthanum sembia.” A parasol appeared in her hand. She opened it and twirled it above her shoulder.
“Pathetic,” said Senta.
Sen snorted. Then raising her own hand, she said, “Sieor uuthanum sembia eetarri tortestos err.”
A brand-new shining red steam carriage appeared in front of them.
Senta looked at Zoey and arched her brow. “Sixteen syllables.”
