The Young Sorceress Read online

  Senta stared open-mouthed as Zurfina turned and ascended the stairs. She could hear her climb two flights of stairs and she could hear the door to Zurfina’s study open and shut.

  “Six days!” she called up.

  The next morning, Senta pointedly ignored the black leather dress that was laid out for her at the foot of her bed. For as long as she had lived with Zurfina, new and almost always bizarre fashions, had appeared each morning in her bedroom. Choosing instead a bright red linen dress with black brocade, she matched it with a black top hat that featured a red ribbon. Downstairs she made a quick breakfast of bread and cheese. After that, she went to the storage room and retrieved a small bottle of blue liquid. Then she left out the front door, turning toward Town Square.

  She had spent the remainder of the previous evening sulking over being suddenly left all alone at home, and the fact that Zurfina had forgotten her birthday. This wasn’t too much of a surprise. Zurfina had only remembered one birthday of the last five, without being reminded, but at least she had always been there when the day had arrived. Zurfina, who was famous for cloistering herself away from the public eye, had suddenly gone away two years before and stayed away for months. She had done the same thing twice since then. Senta didn’t ask her what she was up to, and if she had, she doubted she would have received a straight answer. But now Zurfina was going to be gone during her birthday. It was enough to make her spit.

  Town Square now formed the head of a spike-shaped commercial district, driven south as the town of Port Dechantagne stretched itself in that direction. The square was filled with scores of people as Senta arrived. Locals were buying fine clothing at Mrs. Bratihn’s dress shop or the new haberdashery. Breakfast was being served at Mrs. Finkler’s Bakery Café. New arrivals were keen to visit Mr. Darwin’s shop, where he sold all manner of leather goods made from dinosaur skin. The busiest shop was by far Mr. Parnorsham’s Pfennig Store, where one could purchase anything from needles and thread to butter biscuits.

  Then there were the aboriginal denizens of Birmisia. Looking like a cross between an alligator and an iguana though standing upright, they had thick mottled skin ranging in color from olive to deep forest green. The shortest among them were more than five feet tall and though the largest easily topped seven feet, they usually hunkered down so as not to appear taller than humans. One could determine whether the humans were new arrivals or long time residents by their reactions to the lizzies. The former stared in fear and fascination, while the latter almost completely ignored them. There were fewer lizzies than humans, but not by much.

  As if the busy store patrons and working lizzies had not created enough hustle and bustle on their own, the loud honking call of a triceratops heralded the arrival of the new town trolley. The trolley system had been in operation for scant weeks now and the kinks were still being worked out. It ran in an elongated loop from the train station in the south, through the business district and north to the dockyards. This would eventually form the massive trunk of the trolley system and even now, new tracks were being laid by lizzie work crews on side streets that would form the system’s branches. The trolley car was a beautiful green and yellow one and had just been reassembled after the long trip from Greater Brechalon. It was just about the same size as the great three horned beast that pulled it. Harriet was one of three triceratops that had been captured shortly after Senta and the other first arrivals had set foot in Birmisia. She was completely at home around people and didn’t seem to mind at all pulling the railed vehicle. She hadn’t quite gotten the idea of how to bring it to a halt, so she passed the trolley stop by almost thirty feet before the driver could rein her in.

  “All right Harriet,” said Senta, patting the beast on the haunch before climbing aboard.

  The driver had stepped off to feed the triceratops some leafy branches so the vehicle waited almost ten minutes before starting up again. Once going, the trolley went through the great gate in the wall that separated the northern peninsula from the rest of the town. It passed rows of apartments and then dozens of warehouses before turning left and going downhill toward the dockyard. Only halfway down the hill however, Harriet apparently bothered by something pushing on her from behind, stopped and then began to back up, regardless of what the driver did. At last he pulled up on the emergency brake and turned to his passengers.

  “This is as far as we’re going today folks.”

  It was a short skip down Seventh and One Half Avenue to the dockyard offices, and Senta soon found herself looking in at the dozen or so officials at desks therein. Walking briskly past them, she stopped at the manager’s office and knocked.

  “Come in.”

  Lawrence Bratihn sat at a large desk covered with paperwork. He was not handsome, but possessed a rugged attractiveness with square shoulders and a large head. His thinning hair, parted in the middle was graying around his ears though his large handlebar mustache was thoroughly brown.

  “Good morning,” said Senta, gliding across the room, as the man quickly stood.

  “Good morning, Miss,” he said amiably, taking her offered hand.

  “I’m sorry I missed our meeting.” Senta pulled out the bottle of blue liquid and held it out for him. Bratihn looked at it for a moment.

  “Oh. I don’t need happiness potion.”

  “You don’t? I thought you were still taking it, since… you know.”

  Bratihn, once part of the expedition’s military, had been imprisoned in the lizzie city of Suusthek where he had been tortured and blinded. On his return, like many others who had experienced a great trauma, he had started taking Blessudine, the happiness potion blended by wizards and sorcerers, and had continued for some time even after magically regaining his eyesight.

  “No, I’ve stopped.”

  “Oh. Well, what did you want then?”

  “You have a copper delivery.”

  “Huh?”

  “You have a copper delivery.”

  “I have a copper delivery? What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Look for yourself.” Bratihn, unfazed by her language held out a shipping document. A company name was emblazoned across the top in a modern serif font—Bly, Bessemer, & Co. Ltd. “I assumed that was you. You’re the only Bly I know and Bessemer is your dragon, right?”

  “Bloody hell,” said Senta. “What am I supposed to do with a bunch of copper?”

  “I don’t know, but it’s got to come off the ship.”

  “Well, how much of it is there?”

  “Eighty tons.”

  “Kafira’s tit!”

  “Well, that’s not as much as it sounds. You can always arrange to have it stored until you figure it out.”

  “How much is a warehouse to rent?” wondered the girl.

  “Two hundred marks a month, but you don’t need a whole warehouse. Eighty tons of copper won’t fill up a third of a warehouse.”

  “That’s all right,” said Senta. “I’ll get a whole warehouse and you can have the copper transferred there.”

  “You can see Mr. Tower in the outer office about the warehouse, but there are other fees for unloading…”

  “Yes whatever,” Senta interrupted with a dismissive gesture Bratihn recognized from many years of familiarity with Zurfina.

  After arranging for the rental of the warehouse, Senta started back the way she had come. The trolley was right where she had left it, but now there was some kind of kerfuffle going on. It was difficult to see just what it was as a crowd had gathered around, but the honking cries echoing between the buildings made it clear that Harriet was unhappy.

  “Hey, give-over!” said Senta, pushing her way past two men.

  As soon as others began noticing who she was, a path parted before her, revealing an angry triceratops struggling against the harness that attached her to the trolley. Harriet had already turned to one side, pulling the wheels from the rails and now several men were pulling at ropes tied around her horns. The great boney frill surrounding he
r head was flushed bright red.

  “Hey! Knock that off, you wankers!” shouted a familiar voice from across the crowd. “Those horns aren’t for yankin’ on.”

  Senta looked to see her boyfriend Graham pushing past several new arrivals. He was about the same age that she was, though the dungarees and heavy shirt made him look older. He was almost a head shorter than Senta, with unkempt brown hair and a freckled face that was usually smiling, but which right now was twisted into a snarl. He jumped forward and pulled the rope away from the hands of one of the men and moved toward the dinosaur, murmuring soothing words. Harriet was in no mood now to be comforted though, and took a bite at him with her great beaked mouth.

  “Teiius Uuthanum,” said Senta, spreading her hands toward the enraged dinosaur.

  Almost immediately Harriet stopped twisting and pulling on the ropes, and two seconds later her massive head slumped as she closed her eyes. She remained standing, but slept, even giving a single honking snore.

  “Those horns aren’t for pulling on!” Graham shouted again at the men. “They’re for display! They’ll break off!”

  He threw the rope on the ground and stomped away. Senta hurried after him, catching up about halfway down the hill.

  “Graham,” she called.

  He half turned and scowled at her and then continued on.

  “Hey!”

  She ran after him and grasping him by the shoulder, turned him around.

  “What gives?” she asked.

  “Oh, you want to see me now?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “We were supposed to meet last evening. I was going to buy you dinner at the new restaurant. I’ve been saving for weeks. Any of this sound familiar? Instead I ate beef in a boot by myself.”

  “Beef in a boot? You mean filet de boeuf en croute? Seems like I should be the one who is angry. All I had was a sandwich.”

  “Hardly my fault,” said Graham. “I had to eat mine alone with all the people in Café Ada watching me.”

  “It couldn’t have been that bad. Your brother-in-law took care of you, didn’t he?”

  “More like he took pity on me, just like everyone else did for the poor tosser that got himself stood up by his girl.”

  “I’m sorry, all right? I had a thing with Zurfina. You have to make allowances.”

  “I make all kinds of allowances, but even I can only take so much.”

  “I will make it up to you,” said Senta. “We’ll go on a pic-nic together tomorrow. You still have roast beef left over, don’t you?”

  The boy nodded.

  “Good. We can eat it cold. I’ll pack tea and biscuits and we’ll have a nice day in the park.”

  “All right,” said Graham begrudgingly. “I’ll pick you up at your house—eleven sharp.”

  “I’ll be ready,” promised Senta.

  As a partially mollified Graham walked down the hill toward the docks, Senta turned and cut through the rows of apartment buildings to arrive back at Town Square, heading straight for the dress shop. Mrs. Bratihn had been operating her establishment for some years now and in the past year, Senta had become one of her best customers, filling her wardrobe with new dresses and Mrs. Bratihn’s coffers with money. When Senta stepped inside, Mrs. Bratihn and her assistant Mrs. Luebking were enjoying a cup of tea.

  “Hello dear,” called Mrs. Luebking. “Come and join us for a cuppa.”

  “Didn’t I tell you that dress would look wonderful on you?” said Mrs. Bratihn, pouring tea for the young sorceress. “Red is your color. Well, I have to admit, any color is really your color.”

  “Yes. I like it so much that I want another just like it in pink.” Senta took the cup. “Three sugars please.”

  “I don’t think black brocade will work with pink. What do you think Mrs. L?”

  “White might be nice,” opined Mrs. Luebking. “A bit of lace, do you suppose?”

  “Whatever you think best,” said Senta.

  The bell over the door rang and Yuah Dechantagne stepped inside. She was a strikingly beautiful woman in her late twenties with flashing brown eyes and long brown hair. Her midnight blue dress looked as though it had never been worn before—because it hadn’t—and it was made of the finest Mirsannan silk. Around her perfect neck, hanging from a golden chain, she wore a diamond that would have made kings and queens choke on their wine. When she saw Senta, her eyes narrowed.

  “I’ll come back,” she said flatly, and turning, she left.

  “Any idea what’s chewing on her livers?” wondered Senta. “She hasn’t talked to me in months, and even then she was being a twat.”

  “I don’t know,” said Mrs. Bratihn, blushing at Senta’s language. “She’s clearly upset about something, but then you know she hasn’t been the same since Captain Dechantagne’s death.”

  “Well, I’ll get out of here and maybe you can sell her six or ten dresses.”

  “That’s very gracious of you,” said Mrs. Luebking. “She is our best customer.”

  “…and you are one of our favorites,” added Mrs. Bratihn, taking Senta’s teacup.

  The Drache Girl exited the dress shop and didn’t see Mrs. Dechantagne anywhere outside, but had barely crossed the square when she ran into Mrs. Dechantagne’s sister-in-law, Mrs. Staff, outside Finkler’s Bakery. Colonial Governor Iolanthe Dechantagne-Staff was only slightly older than Mrs. Dechantagne and only slightly less beautiful, though striking in her own way with beautiful auburn hair and unusual aquamarine eyes. Her Thiss green dress was just as fine, though of a more traditional cut. Pulled along by the hand was her five year old daughter Iolana, an angelic-faced child with long curly blond hair and dressed to match her mother.

  “Senta,” snapped Mrs. Staff upon seeing her. “Good. I need to see you.”

  “Where’s your dragon?” asked little Iolana. “I want to play with him.”

  “Quiet child,” said her mother. “I have business to discuss. Tell your mistress to come by my office tomorrow. I am in need of magical expertise.”

  “Um, Zurfina is indisposed.”

  “Then come yourself.”

  “Will there be some sort of payment involved?” asked Senta, thinking about the cost of a warehouse rental as well as the cost of a new dress.

  “I am already paying Zurfina. You are her apprentice. If she isn’t doing her job, then it’s up to you to do it.”

  Mrs. Staff turned and continued on her way. Little Iolana looked back over her shoulder.

  “Tell Bessemer I said ‘hi’.”

  The young sorceress managed to make it home without being waylaid by anyone else, but as she hung up her hat inside the door, she sighed in exasperation.

  “I’m that popular,” she said to herself. “I have to be four places at once.”

  Then she paused. “I have to be four places at once.”

  She smiled, and then said. “Uuthanum uusteros pestor.”

  Chapter Two: The Blond Girl

  Two Years Earlier:

  Isaak Wissinger sprang suddenly from his cot, motivated by a particularly enthusiastic bedbug. He was immediately sorry, as the pain in his back was exacerbated by the sudden movement. He looked back down at the vermin filled, inch thick mattress, a few pieces of straw sticking out of a hole in the side, sitting on an ancient metal frame. It was a sleeping place not fit for a dog. Then he laughed ruefully. That was exactly how he and every other Zaeri was thought of here—as dogs.

  The Kingdom of Freedonia, like the rest of the civilized world was divided in two. There were the Kafirites, who ruled the world. And there were the Zaeri, who had long ago ruled it. Two thousand years ago, Zur had been a great kingdom, one that along with Argrathia, Ballar, and Donnata ruled the classical world. Then a single dynasty of kings, culminating in Magnus the Great, had conquered the rest of the known world, and made Zur civilization the dominant culture. Zaeri, the Zur religion, with its belief in one god, had replaced the pagan religions of the civilizations that Magnus and his fore
bears had conquered. Even when Magnus’s empire had splintered into many successor kingdoms, the Zaeri religion had remained dominant.

  Then a generation later, a Zaeri imam named Kafira had begun teaching a strange variation of the religion in Xygia. Kafira had taught the importance of the afterlife, an adherence to a code of conduct that would lead one to this afterlife, and a general disregard for the affairs of the world. Her enemies had destroyed her, but in so doing they had made her a martyr. From martyr, she rose swiftly to savior and then to godhead of a new religion, one that had spread quickly to engulf all that had been the Zur civilization. In the following millennia, the Kafirites had converted the remaining pagans to the creed of their holy savior, thereby making it the only religion in the world of man—the only religion in the world of man save those who held onto the ancient Zaeri belief.

  Now here in Freedonia it was no longer safe to be a Zaeri. First it had become illegal for Zaeri to be doctors or lawyers, and then actors or publishers. Then laws had been passed which made it illegal for Zaeri to own businesses or property. Finally entire neighborhoods became forbidden to Wissinger’s people and they had been pushed into ghettos, segregated from the other Freedonians.

  Wissinger spent the day picking up garbage on the street. That was his job here in the ghetto. He had been an award-winning writer when he had lived in Kasselburg, but here in Zurelendsviertel he walked the street, a silver zed pinned to his jacket, picking up refuse. At least people didn’t treat him like a garbage man. The other Zaeri knew him and respected him. They asked his opinion about things. They called him “professor” when they spoke to him. It was not like that at all with the Freedonian soldiers who occasionally made a sweep through the ghetto. They would as soon kick an award-winning writer to the side of the road as they would a street sweeper.

  Back once again in his room, he pulled his tablet and pencil from its hiding place behind a loose board and continued writing where he had left off the day before. He could not live without writing. He wrote down what had happened that day, what he had seen, what he had heard. He wrote about the death of Mrs. Finaman, brought on no doubt by lack of nutrition, and he wrote about her husband’s grief at the loss of his wife and his unborn child. He wrote about the sudden disappearance of Mr. and Mrs. Kortoon, and the speculation that they paid their way out of the ghetto. And he wrote about the disappearance of the Macabeus family, and the speculation that something sinister had happened to them.