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  THE PRICE OF MAGIC

  By Wesley Allison

  Smashwords Edition

  The Price of Magic

  Copyright © 2015 by Wesley Allison

  Revision 11-14-15

  All Rights Reserved. This book is not transferable. It is for your own personal use. If sold, shared, or given away it is a violation of the copyright of this work. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual people, living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Cover design by Wesley Allison

  Cover Image Copyright © Syda Productions | Dreamstime.com

  ISBN 9781310477683

  For Vicki, Becky, & John

   Senta and the Steel Dragon

  The Price of Magic

  By Wesley Allison

  Chapter One: A New Year

  Light streamed from every window out into the dark night. A group of caudipteryx skirted the edge of the shadows, snapping up insects drawn to the light, and leaving little three-toed tracks in the snow. In the distance, a train whistle sounded, setting several triceratopses to honking. Inside the thirty-room mansion of the Drache Girl, every gas lamp was lit and fires burned in all of the fireplaces. Recorded music played, but not loudly enough to drown out the happy conversation and laughter of the party guests. It was still an hour away, but everyone was excited to see the premier of the New Year. The gentlemen were dressed in black tie and tails. The ladies in their finest evening wear, the current fashion exposing as much of the shoulders and back as possible while their bottoms already enlarged by magnificent bustles, were exaggerated even more so by huge bows or cascades of lace.

  “Another beer?” asked Kieran Baxter, waving to a lizzie servant, who was even then weaving through the crowd in his direction with a silver tray loaded with frosty bottles. The lizzies were members of the cold-blooded reptilian native race of Birmisia Colony, on the Continent of Mallon, where the city of Port Dechantagne was located. Ranging in color from light olive to deep forest green, they gave the appearance of an alligator crossed with an iguana, if either had been able to walk around on their hind legs. Thick tails followed behind them, the tips a few inches off the floor.

  “I say, Baxter,” said Gyula Kearn, looking around. “I was just telling Vishmornan here that I feel like an old man in this crowd.”

  Kearn was an unprepossessing and slightly chubby man in his mid thirties, with thinning blond hair, but easily recognizable for missing his right arm below the elbow. His companion, Tait Vishmornan, was at least ten years older, and looked older still. Tall and gaunt, his still thick hair had long ago gone completely grey, and only the warm glow of the gaslights gave his pasty pallor any hint of health. Baxter on the other hand, about the same age as Kearn, was tall, lean, and well muscled. His red hair and boyish good looks made him a popular subject of discussion among the ladies of the town. He looked around the room.

  “We do seem to be the oldest ones here.” He grabbed two bottles from the tray carried past by the servant and handed them to the two men. “At least you have two young and beautiful wives.”

  Both men smiled and looked across the room at their wives. Bertice Vishmornan was probably the oldest woman at the party, though fifteen years younger than her husband. Her long blond hair wound up into a bun, she sat on the sofa listening intently to something that Honor McCoort had to say. Honor, a dark-haired beauty despite the scar running down the side of her face, clad in a simple brown dress, gestured with her left hand as she talked. Her husband Geert McCoort, sat next to her, holding onto her right hand like a child holding on to a balloon, as if she might, at any moment, float away. Behind the sofa, Melis Kearn was surrounded by a group of other young women, but there was no mistaking her. In addition to her dark skin and thick mass of black hair, she wore a gauzy Mirsannan gown of blue and gold, and had a thick, gold ring piercing her nose.

  “Carry on, gentlemen,” said Baxter, continuing on his circuit through the room. In the far corner, he found three young couples. Didrika Goose, Tiber Stephenson, Questa Hardt, Philo Mostow, Talli Archer, and Samuel Croffut all seemed to be talking at the same time. It was hard to tell, but the subject seemed to be steam carriages. That made sense, since they were all, at fifteen and sixteen years of age, ready to start driving. Tiber Stephenson and Samuel Croffut were strapping young men, and both frequently were found on the rugby field. Philo Mostow was tall and thin. Talli Archer was a pretty blond girl with a large gold cross on a chain around her neck. Stopping next to them, Baxter waited for their conversation to pause.

  “Did you get something to eat?” he asked them.

  “Those little meat pies were delicious,” said Questa, her dark skin giving away her Mirsannan heritage, though her clothing and accent were all Brech. “I’m stuffed full now, though.”

  “There’s plenty more of everything. Try the little meatballs. You look like you could still eat, Croffut.”

  Young Croffut gave a half nod-half shrug.

  “I’ll send around more Billingbow’s, too.”

  “Yes, I wouldn’t mind a drink,” said Didrika, a thin, blond young woman with a strong family resemblance to the hostess.

  Baxter snapped his fingers in the air and waved to the lizzie who was now serving Billingbow’s Sarsaparilla and Wintergreen Soda Water to the Colbshallows, the Shrubbs, and the Hertlings.

  “Is Birmisia still all that you thought it would be?” asked Saba Colbshallow, quickly grabbing another bottle from the tray as the lizzie turned to leave. He was a tall handsome man with a slight bend in his nose.

  “I could never have believed my life would be so wonderful,” replied Leoni Hertling. “Don’t get me wrong, I was happy to leave Freedonia. It’s harder for girls there now than it was before the war. So when they offered passage to the new land in exchange for six months of service, I jumped at it. But never did I imagine that I would meet such a wonderful man as my Hertzal.”

  She wrapped her hands around her husbands arm and squeezed as he smiled happily. Both, like most ethnic Zaeri, had jet-black hair. His was shaved close around his ears, while hers, still very thick, was bobbed just above the collar.

  “As fine a man as any woman could want,” said Eamon Shrubb, raising his bottle in salute. Though just as tall as Saba, he was much more heavy set, giving one the impression of a stone wall.

  “He’s handsome, and a great provider,” she continued, “and such a good listener. And can you believe it? Here I am, on New Year’s Eve, in the,” she lowered her voice to a whisper, “the Drache Girl’s house.”

  “You know, your husband was part of her little gang,” said Loana Colbshallow, a stunningly beautiful woman. With her voluptuous form and pretty face, she would have stood out in a crowd even without her multi-hued blond hair, ranging from straw to honey to auburn, and her large expressive eyes—one brown and one hazel. “They were quite a little pack of hoodlums, from what I understand.”

  “I don’t know that I would call them hoodlums,” said her husband, “but they were known mischief-makers.”

  “What’s life without a little mischief,” said Eamon, elbowing Hertzel. “Am I right?”

  Hertzel nodded. He hadn’t spoken since he was a child and had witnessed the deaths of his parents in Freedonia.

  The sixth member of the group, Eamon’s wife Dot, smiled and nodded too. Though not as mute as Hertzel, she seldom spoke, having been deaf since birth, and having been, as a child, teased about her voice. She jumped a little as her niece, Dovie Likliter touched her shoulder from behind. Both Dot and Dovie shared the same alabaster skin and copper red hair.

  “I’m sorry, Aunt Dot,” said Dovie, stepping in front of her. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  “It’s okay,” said Dot. “Hav
ing fun?”

  “Ever so much. We’ve been playing Whispy in the library, but I had to get up to stretch my legs. Don’t you think this is a wonderful way to end the year? Leave it to the Mirsannans to have such a decadent tradition. But I am glad that we’re copying them.”

  Dot nodded.

  “Now I’d better get back, or Sandy will wonder where I’m off to.”

  The fifteen year old girl made her way back through the open doorway and down the short hall to the library, where she found her date, Sandy Partridge standing near the fireplace, holding a plate in each hand.

  “I’ve got you something to eat,” he said, handing her one of the plates.

  “Thank you. Tired of playing?” She gestured toward the large round table.

  “I thought I’d let someone else have a go.”

  Three married couples, Shemar and Dutty Morris, Bernie and Hero Markham, and Kaspar and Gabrielle Drake sat around the table playing cards, along with Gabrielle’s little sister, Abigail Bassett, and her date Peter Bassington.

  “I don’t think I want to play Whispy with a wizard,” said Sandy.

  “Peter wouldn’t cheat,” replied Dovie. “Anyway, it’s not like anyone’s playing for money.”

  At that moment, Baxter stopped at the table on his way through the room.

  “Watch out for this one,” he said, pointing at the top of Bassington’s head.

  “Honestly, I don't do card tricks,” said Bassington, taking his hands away from his cards, and giving a shrug. The cards stayed right where he had left them, floating above the table. His date squealed with delight. The other players all laughed.

  Baxter continued on into the dining room, where the lizzie wait staff brought the empty trays and left with filled ones, while other lizzies took the used trays to be cleaned and then brought more, laden with food, out to the table. Three men stood along the wall. One of them, restaurateur Alwijn Finkler observed the procedure with a scowl.

  “They don’t know how to serve properly,” he grumbled.

  “And you’re not supposed to be working,” said Collier Wissinger, one of his companions.

  “Quite right,” said Baxter, stopping in front of them. “As long as the food gets out and it tastes good, that’s all that matters.”

  “Well of course it tastes wonderful,” said Alwijn. “When Finkler caters your event, you get nothing but the very best.”

  “I take it your parents are home with your children?”

  “My in-laws, yes, and my mother.” He nodded thoughtfully. “I trust them with my life, of course. I was just thinking a few moments ago though that there must be fifty children, whose parents are here while they are being looked after by lizzies. If the beasts went wild, like they did eleven years ago, the cream of colony would we wiped out.

  “Good Kafira, what a horrible thought,” said Wissinger. He turned to Baxter. “Your little girl is being taken good care of, yes?”

  “Let’s just say that little Senta is more than safe,” Baxter told him. Then changing the subject, “I was sorry that your famous cousin wasn’t able to attend.”

  “Well, he said that he was going to bed early, but he’ll probably be up all night writing.”

  “Have you read any of his new book? It comes out next month, doesn’t it?”

  “He let me read a few passages,” said Wissinger. “It is very, very… um, racy.”

  “Well, how could it not be?” asked Baxter. “I mean, I met her. The woman was one of a kind. What do you think, Charmley?”

  Walter Charmley rubbed his chin.

  “I’ll be honest. I don’t really remember Zurfina that well. I only saw her a few times, at a distance. You know, it’s getting harder and harder to tell which things are actual memories and which things I’ve just heard about so much that I think I remember them.”

  “What are we talking about?” asked Gaylene Finkler, Alwijn’s wife and one of three women, at that moment, arriving from the parlor.

  “Nothing, really,” said her husband.

  “Wasn’t my wife with you?” asked Walter.

  “She’s talking to Melis Kearn,” said Willa Tice. “Watch out or she might appear tomorrow morning with a nose ring.”

  “I know what you were talking about,” said Ernst Goose, pushing back a strand of her long blond hair. “You’re talking about what everybody else is talking about.”

  “They should be back in a fortnight,” said Willa. “Won’t it be exciting to have actual aristocracy in the colony?”

  “They’re still the same people they always were,” said Alwijn. “There’s no reason to expect them to act differently just because they’ve met the king.”

  “Absolutely,” agreed Baxter. “I can assure you that Radley Staff won’t have his head turned because he’s been made a Baron.”

  “What about Augie Dechantagne?” wondered Ernst. “How does a ten year old boy deal with becoming a viscount and an earl and whatever else the king decided to make him?”

  “Well, it’s not like he didn’t already strut around like a little lord,” said Wissinger. “You know what he did when Ari Grayton threw a stone at his sister? He walked right up to Grayton’s father and told him, ‘I plan on shooting your son tomorrow, just so you know.’”

  “I’ve heard that story before,” said Baxter. “I think it’s probably grown with the telling.”

  “All I know is that Ari Grayton is back in Brechalon now at boarding school.”

  “Speaking of,” said Willa. “I haven’t seen Iolana in a while.”

  “That’s Lady Iolana,” corrected Wissinger. “Maybe we should look for her. It wouldn’t do to lose her.”

  “I’ll check the garden,” said Baxter, leaving the others, crossing the room, and exiting through the stained glass doors. The brisk air felt good after the warmth inside, but it was only a few seconds before the chill began nipping at his hands and ears.

  Though the center of the garden was well lit, there were plenty of dark corners. Baxter glanced around quickly, almost missing the couple snogging against the northwest verge.

  “A word, Maro,” he said, taking a couple of steps in their direction.

  Maro McCoort started, turning to look over his shoulder, revealing between him and the wall, Sherree Glieberman, her large glasses askew. While she straightened them, smoothed down the bodice of her dress, and rearranged the large cross she wore on a chain around her neck, he stepped quickly over to where Baxter stood.

  “This is a party, not a Mirsannan seraglio.”

  “You’re not my father,” said McCoort.

  “No, and I’m not hers either, lucky for you,” said Baxter. “Besides it’s too cold out here for the young lady. He blew steam into the air in front of him.

  “Let’s go back inside,” McCoort returned to Sherree and guided her by the shoulders past Baxter.

  “We’re almost married,” she said, peering at the man through her thick glasses as they passed.

  “I’d smack the smug off both of them for a pfennig,” Baxter muttered, once they were inside.

  “Now, now,” said a soft female voice from behind and above him. “We don’t want to create disharmony in the family.”

  He turned and looked up. Draped across the projecting gable above the door was a dragon. It was about halfway in size between a very large dog and a small pony, covered with interlocking scales from the tip of its whiskered snout to the end of its barbed tail. In the warm glow of the gaslight spilling through the windowpane, the scales looked orange, rather than the coral color they appeared in the daylight.

  “And you have nothing better to do than to spy on me?” said Baxter.

  “I was just sitting here, minding my own business. You’re the one who came outside.”

  He grunted an agreement. “You haven’t seen Lady Iolana, have you?”

  “Second floor sitting room,” said the dragon, pointing with a clawed thumb.

  Stepping back inside, Baxter took the back staircase to avoid
as many party guests as possible. At the end of the hallway, he poked his head into the sitting room to see Iolana Staff perched on the sofa, wearing a lovely red gown and a matching red top hat on the cascading golden hair that framed her flawless face. Next to her, Ascan Tice leaned lazily back, a half-smile on his lips as he listened to her speak.

  “Lady Iolana?”

  “Oh, good Kafira. Please don’t call me that.”

  “You might as well get used to it,” he said. “And, as a young lady, it’s not appropriate for you to be unchaperoned with a gentleman.”

  “We’re just discussing tyrannosauruses. I’m going hunting with my father, once he’s back. Would you like to come along?”

  “I’m not much of a hunter,” said Baxter. “Why don’t you both come downstairs? Your friends are missing you.”

  “I highly doubt that,” replied Lady Iolana, nevertheless getting up and starting for the doorway. Ascan stood and followed in her wake.

  “How is your book doing?” Baxter asked her, as the three of them descended the front staircase.

  “Still selling well. Birmisia is a popular topic across the empire and I had the good fortune to be the first to completely chronicle its history.”

  At the bottom of the stairs, they ran into Talli Archer and Questa Hardt, who had become disengaged from their dates.

  “Isn’t it exciting, Iolana?” asked Questa. “How many fellows do you suppose will visit you tomorrow?”

  “What do you mean?” wondered Iolana with a frown.

  “It’s New Year’s Day, silly. Gentlemen callers come to visit all the eligible young ladies. They visit a few minutes, leave their cards, and then are off to visit someone else.”

  “I am familiar with the custom,” said Iolana. “I’m sure you’ll have dozens of callers. You’re sixteen and an exotic beauty. I’m just a child though. I won’t turn fourteen until Treuary.”