The Price of Magic Page 14

  Their room, the imperial suite, was on the top floor. Though Iolana had no doubt that it was the finest hotel room in the building, probably in the entire city, it wasn’t overly impressive. A small parlor, two very small bedrooms, and a bathroom with a toilet and a claw foot tub squeezed together so close they actually touched. Counting all four rooms together, the suite was only slightly larger than Iolana’s bedroom at home.

  “Is there anything you need?” Mr. Staff asked her.

  “No, Father. I’ll read my evening book and then I’m off to bed.”

  “What are you reading tonight?”

  “Burson’s The Wide Open.”

  “Very good,” he said. “We could all stand to be reminded of the importance of conserving our lands.”

  “That’s an unusual position of a coal magnate.”

  “Yes, but then coal magnate would appear well down on the list of words I use to describe myself. Good night, Dear.”

  “Good night, Father.”

  By the time Iolana was up and dressed the next morning, her father was already gone. She found a small restaurant on the hotel’s first floor and ordered a short fry-up. The server, a bored-looking young man only slightly older than she, served her eggs, bacon, and white pudding with a cup of tea. The meal wasn’t horrible, but it was certainly nothing to write home about. Long after finishing her food, she sat sipping tea. She was lost in thought, thoughts she later couldn’t recall, when Tiber Stephenson suddenly appeared beside the table.

  “Well, I’m here.”

  “So you are,” she said, looking up and blinking. “When you said you would send a car, I just assumed that it would take me to where you were.”

  “That was the plan,” said Tiber. “Then I found out that we owned a carriage and that I could actually get away with driving it, since my mother is thousands of miles away.”

  “Lots of seventeen year old boys drive.”

  “I’ll hire you as my lawyer and you can argue the case before her, but I’m not going to hold out much hope.”

  “So where are we going?” asked Iolana, getting up as he pulled out her chair for her.

  “I thought we could check out the Church of St. Ulixes, and then maybe look through the marketplace. You never know, we might find some long lost treasure. At the very least, I can find souvenirs for my brothers. Then if you want to live dangerously, we can try some street food for lunch.”

  Iolana gave him a skeptical look.

  “I’ve heard the locals make these sandwiches for humans called Sonn-Sees,” he said. “They’re supposed to be really good.”

  “Well, I suppose there had to have been some reason why I carry a detoxicant in my purse. Lead on, great white hunter.”

  The steam carriage awaiting them in front of the hotel was a shiny new, yellow Sawyer and Sons model 12, built in Birmisia. The overflow valve was whistling as Tiber helped Iolana up into her seat and then stepped around to climb up behind the wheel. Throwing it into gear he shot down the street. The first hundred yards were wide and clear, but the way quickly narrowed and became congested with pedestrians and handcarts. They made so little headway that the steam valve began to scream and Tiber was forced to get out and open the relief cock to prevent the engine from exploding.

  Finally, after an hour of moving far more slowly than they would have if they had been walking, the street opened up again, and they shot up a slow incline toward their destination. The large church, at the top of a barely noticeable hill, was constructed of square blocks hewn from ocean coral.

  “You know, it’s just the color of the Drache Girl’s dragon,” said Tiber.

  “Zoantheria,” said Iolana. “Yes, yes, you are quite right. Beautiful, but it doesn’t seem quite right for a church.”

  In form, The Church of St. Ulixes was modeled after The Great Church of the Holy Savior in Brech City. It was a massive and highly ornamented building. Iolana was quite familiar with the original only from photographs and diagrams, having never been to Brechalon. This church was imposing from its lowest level, with its forty steps, festooned with columns across its entire front. Its first story, which featured sixteen immense stained glass windows, was topped by dozens of statues of angels and saints. More stained glass was featured on the floor above. Atop the highest story was the great dome, held aloft by still more columns, matching the columns on the ground level. At the very top, was a silver cupola, its square shape contrasting with the dome itself. Atop the cupola, was a silver statue of the crucified savior.

  “Ours is bigger,” said Tiber, referring to The Church of the Apostles in Port Dechantagne.

  “We mustn’t be like that,” said Iolana. “We must appreciate each for its uniqueness.”

  “You’re right, of course.”

  They parked the car and walked to the front of the church and up the steps. The front door was locked, so they didn’t enter, but took the walkway that led around the building as they examined the scenes from the Holy Scriptures illustrated in stained glass.

  “That’s an interesting shape for church windows,” observed Iolana, pointing to those on the first floor. “They’re different from the ones down here.”

  “You see there?” Tiber pointed. “They swivel open. That way they can take advantage of the light and probably the breeze.”

  “Pretty and utilitarian,” she said.

  “There’s Euryops the shepherd girl slaying the Minotaur,” said Tiber, pointing again.

  “I didn’t know you were so well-versed in the scriptures.”

  “Oh, everyone knows that one,” he said, moving on. “This one is more of a stretch. It’s Hobard, calling down one of the twelve plagues of Argrathia.”

  “The third plague, I believe—rain of toads,” said Iolana. “You’re family is not particular religious. I don’t see any of you at church.”

  “My grandmother used to tell us tales from the scriptures as bedtime stories. Do you attend church every week?”

  “I used to, but not so much anymore. Every once in a while I go with the Korlanns, and I still go to shrine with Auntie Yuah when she goes.”

  “Do you think you’ll convert then?”

  “Well, that would certainly take me off the list of suitable spouses, as far as your parents were concerned, wouldn’t it?” She laughed. “But no. I find neither religion particularly compelling. Perhaps I’ll start worshipping dragons, like the lizzies. Praise Yessonar.”

  They completely circumnavigated the church and then returned to the car.

  “What do you suppose the trogs worship?” wondered Tiber.

  “You know, I have no idea. Maybe we’ll find out at the marketplace.”

  “Now we have to go,” he said. “It’s not just for fun. It’s educational.”

  Less than half a mile from the church, they again became mired in the trog-filled street. When they had taken an hour to go, what Iolana thought, couldn’t have been more than fifty yards, Tiber turned into a side street and parked. Hopping around back, he opened the relief cock, and then continued around to help Iolana down to the ground.

  “Oi! You, boy!” he called to a trog sitting on a step. Pulling a one-mark coin from his pocket, he handed it to the reptilian. “If I come back and my car is in good shape, I’ll give you five more. Savvy?”

  “Sssavvy. Take care car,” the creature croaked back.

  “Come along, Lady Iolana.” He took her hand and led her down the block, glancing back over his shoulder. “I do hope that trog is a capitalist.”

  “You did what you could,” said Iolana.

  It was another mile by foot until they reached the vast open-air market of St. Ulixes. Here they found thousands of stalls manned by reptilian vendors selling everything that a trog or a human might conceivably want to buy. There were all types of textiles from rugs to clothing. There were leather goods, and a great many things made from driftwood or carved coral or seashells. Fruits, vegetables, and meats were sold unprepared and stalls selling all types of cuisine
were spread throughout the marketplace. One particular stall had quite a crowd of humans around it.

  “This is what I was telling you about,” said Tiber. “This is where they sell the Sonn-Sees. Wait here and I’ll get us a couple.”

  “I don’t know…” said Iolana, but he was already off.

  Several trogs scurried over to her and reached out their hands, begging. Iolana unclipped the opening of her purse to look for a few coins. She had to move the .45 caliber revolver out of the way to get to them, so she transferred it to her left hand. Finally finding several shiny pfennigs, she held them out, but the trogs were gone. Slipping the money and the gun back into her purse, she stepped quickly over to a stall selling coral creations.

  “How lovely,” she said, picking up a necklace made of coral beads with a large coral cross. She looked at the wrinkled, grey trog behind the counter. “How much?”

  “Ten mark,” it croaked.

  “And how about this dagger?” She picked up a long thin blade, obviously Brech-made, but with a handle crafted from coral, polished smooth.

  “Twenty.”

  “Too much,” she said, setting it back down.

  “Fifteen,” said the trog.

  “I’ll give you twenty for both.”

  The trogs fin twice flipped up and down on top of its head, but then it nodded. Iolana fished two gold decimarks out of her bag, careful this time not to reveal the revolver. She stuffed her purchases into the purse beside it just as Tiber returned carrying two long, thin sandwiches, half wrapped in newsprint. He handed one to her.

  “This is interesting,” said Iolana. “Somehow I didn’t expect bread, at least not in the traditional sense. This is a bit like a Mirsannan baguette.”

  “As I said, they make these for the humans. It’s not what they normally eat.” He took a bite. “Vinegary. Try it.”

  She took a tentative taste.

  “Hmm. Pickled vegetables, mint, and some kind of grilled dinosaur—I can’t tell what kind.”

  “According to one of the local Brechs, it’s called kileskus. Apparently, they’re thick in these parts. I gather they’re rather like the deinonychus at home, only without the feathers.”

  “Well, I never thought that deinonychus would be good, but I know some people do eat them.”

  “And sometimes they return the favor,” said Tiber. “Wasn’t it a flock of deinonychus that Augie told me almost ate the two of you?”

  “Yes, and Terra and Mr. Korlann too.”

  “Imagine, an entire generation of Dechantagnes wiped out at once,” said Tiber.

  “And one less opportunity for you to marry into old money,” she pointed out.

  “Kind of you to think how it would affect me,” he said, before taking another bite of his sandwich.

  “Did you find a souvenir for your brothers?” she asked.

  He shook his head.

  “Well, let’s look over this way.”

  They strolled along the edge of the market, looking at handcrafted items, as they ate. At last they came to a table covered with weapons of all types.

  “What is this?” asked Tiber, pointing. “Some type of rifle?”

  “Blow gun,” croaked the trog behind the counter.

  “A blow gun? How does it work?”

  The reptilian picked up the four-foot-long device, along with a small, feathered dart. Placing the end against his left nostril, he pointed it up toward the top of a nearby clay brick building, where a row of several dozen small black birds rested. Giving a quick snort, he fired the dart, and a split second later, one of the birds dropped to the ground, dead. The others flew away.

  “I say!” said Tiber. “That’s bloody impressive. Can humans use them? I don’t think I can blow out of my nose that hard, and even if I could, I don’t think I want to.”

  “Soft-skin use little mouth.”

  “I’m going to look at that bird,” said Iolana, walking toward the building.

  “I want two of those blow guns and two dozen darts. How much will that be?”

  Iolana didn’t hear the rest of the negotiations. The words were quickly lost in the buzz of the crowd. She stopped in front of the building and looked down at the dead bird. Sure enough, the little feathered dart was sticking from its breast. She reached down and pulled it out. Then she turned it over in her hand. It was quite small, more than enough to kill a sparrow or a starling, but nothing much larger. She didn’t suppose Claude and Julius Stephenson could get into too much trouble with such weapons.

  The wind changed direction, blowing strands of her golden hair across her face and blowing open the cloth that was draped across the doorway of the building in front of her. She caught a glimpse of prone bodies. Stepping slowly forward, she pushed the greasy cloth aside and looked into the darkened chamber beyond. Several dozen humans lay sprawled across the dirt floor. They moaned and cried and jerked their bodies, but kept their eyes closed as though asleep.

  “Where is she?” cried a woman, lying near the door. She then jerked spasmodically and vomited onto the ground.

  Iolana jumped when something touched her shoulder, but it was only Tiber. He looked quickly around, disgust registering on his face.

  “It’s an opthalium den,” he said.

  “How horrible.”

  “Let’s get out of here. I’ll take you back to your hotel.”

  Chapter Eleven: Coup

  Tokkenoht walked wearily toward the hearth room, intent on nothing more than plopping down on her sleeping mat and letting blessed sleep take her. She stopped short when Szakhandu, who was standing beside the doorway, held up her hand.

  “What is it?”

  “Don’t go in yet. Hsrandtuss is mating with Ssu.”

  “Again?”

  “Yes.” She shrugged. “The king wants to mate… he needs to, and neither of us is ready. Kendra doesn’t want to and so that leaves Ssu. I wish I was ready.”

  “Why is that, do you suppose?” muttered Tokkenoht.

  “Why what? Why do I want to mate? Or why doesn’t Kendra?”

  “No. Why are you and I not ready? This isn’t our first season.”

  “I have an opinion,” said Szakhandu.

  Tokkenoht motioned for her to continue.

  “I think it is stress.”

  “What is stressing us? We have plenty to eat and drink.”

  “Mental stress. You are high priestess and I am chief diplomat. I don’t know about you, but this whole mess with the humans is worrying my tail.”

  “You’re not on about that again, are you?” growled Hsrandtuss, his bulk suddenly filling the doorway. “I’ve sent a message to the human city. Either they can pay a ransom, or I will mark humans’ tails and banish them. We should hear back from them by the next bright face.”

  “Great King,” said Szakhandu. “I hesitate to point it out, but the soft-skins have no tails for you to mark.”

  “Well figure out a place for me to mark them!” he hissed, pushing past them. “Do I have to do everything myself?”

  “The humans mark thieves here,” said Tokkenoht, pointing to the webbing between her thumb and forefinger. Then she stepped through the doorway and collapsed on her mat, asleep in seconds.

  The high priestess jerked awake when someone grabbed hold of her. She thought she was being attacked for a moment, but when she opened her eyes, it was only Szakhandu.

  “What? Why are you waking me?”

  “You have slept late. It is past the morning meal.”

  “So?”

  “The prisoners want to speak to you.”

  “What prisoners?” wondered Tokkenoht.

  “The human prisoners—the soft-skins.”

  “Why do they want to talk to me?” she wondered. “How do they even know me?”

  “They want to talk to the high priestess,” said Szakhandu. “You are the high priestess, aren’t you?”

  “All right, all right. Paint me, and then have Kendra meet me at their cell.”

  “
She is already there,” said Szakhandu, pulling her toward the paint.

  A few minutes later, with the smallest amount of paint acceptable, but wearing her feathered cape, Tokkenoht allowed her fellow royal wife to lead her down to the holding cells. Two large males guarded the door, but opened it for the two of them. Inside, they found another guard and Kendra, along with the four human prisoners. They looked well enough and had been allowed to clean themselves daily, but the hair on their faces had grown, making them seem much more animal-like.

  “Good morning, wife of my husband,” said Tokkenoht to Kendra. “Are you gravid with eggs yet?”

  “I think I might be. I have no appetite.”

  “Yes, that is a sure sign.” She looked at the prisoners. “Now, what is it that they want?”

  Kendra turned and spoke the lyrical language of the humans. To the lizzies, it sounded like the calls of small birds. The humans answered, sometimes talking over one another. They talked far longer than the priestess had expected, until Kendra finally raised her hand for them to stop.

  “These two are eggs from the same female.” She pointed to two of the humans. “They have the same name—Tardut, that’s as close as I can pronounce it anyway. This one’s name is Neiers, and that one is Grissinski. He is the one that has much to say to you. He says that our god will not like him being imprisoned. He says that Yessonar will punish us if he is not released.”

  “Tell him it is I who speak for the god here and not him. Tell them all that we have sent word about them to the human city. We will know their answer in another ten days or so.”

  Kendra spoke the human tongue again and Grissinski answered, loudly, waving his arms.