A Plague of Wizards Read online

  “Give PC Brimley your names as you leave the park,” Saba growled, “and pray I don’t find it necessary to show you any more magic.”

  * * * * *

  “From this point on, our entire focus will be on these wizards.” Saba looked around the conference room table at Police Detectives Richard Butler and Simon Freign, as well as Police Wizards Ammon Dominot, Piers Dillingham, and Martin Sanderson. “We’ll let the PCs take care of any items on the blotter. I want every use of magic in the city investigated, and I want a directory of every magic user, and I want them cross-referenced and up to date. Butler, you and Freign will make sure every proper wizard and every hedgie is listed. Dominot, you and your colleagues will determine the powers and abilities of everyone on that list.”

  “This is going to be seen as an invasion of privacy by some,” said Sanderson.

  “I don’t care if it is,” replied Saba. “Our duty is to keep the peace. Dominot hang back a minute. The rest of you, let’s get to work.”

  The two police detectives and two police wizards filed out of the room, leaving the other two men alone. Dominot was a heavy man, balding but with large mutton chops, and dark bags under his eyes.

  “Look Dominot, I’ll give it to you straight. I don’t trust wizards, and for good reason. I’ve worked with three, and they all tried either to kill me, or someone I care about. But I have known a few that, if not exactly trustworthy, I did like. Peter Bassington was one. Archie Brockton was another. Now, I don’t know Dillingham or Sanderson well enough to judge, but you were recommended by Wizard Brockton, so that goes a long way in my eyes.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I’m asking you: Do you trust them?”

  “Dillingham, I would trust with my life,” said the wizard. “I don’t know Sanderson well enough to swear to anything, but he seems okay.”

  “Fair enough. Of the wizards you’ve seen arriving in the city, are there any you know or trust.”

  “There are many that I know and more that I know of, and most of them I don’t trust for that very reason. But I do know one good wizard—good in that he is skilled and good that he is a decent fellow. His name is Fulbright Coote, and like myself, he was an apprentice to Wizard Brockton.”

  “That sounds promising. Is he looking for a position?”

  “I don’t think he’s interested in police work, but he might be willing to give us a hand in the short term.”

  “Good. I’ll leave it to you to contact him then.”

  * * * * *

  Before catching the trolley home, Saba had stopped by the confectioner’s to pick up a box of salt-water taffy. With the box tucked under one arm, he stepped through the front door and into the parlor. Risty, the lizzie butler was there to hand him the a copy of The Birmisia Gazette, along with an open bottle of Billingbow’s Sarsaparilla and Wintergreen Soda Water. He handed the lizzie the box of candy with instructions to put it up until after the family ate. Then he took his place in his chair, took a sip of his soda water, and opened the paper.

  The headline screamed “Police Overwhelmed!”

  “That pompous little twit,” snarled Saba under his breath.

  “I threw away the paper but Risty just went out and got another one.”

  His wife stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame, a wineglass hanging haphazardly from her fingertips. Loana Colbshallow was accounted by many to be one of the most beautiful women in all of Birmisia Colony. Like her daughter, she had multihued hair and eyes that were different colors. Her normally alabaster skin looked a little grey around the edges. Though she had recently lost about twenty pounds, she was still a very shapely woman—very thin of waist, but with a bosom and a bottom that could best be described as legendary.

  “Are we drinking already?”

  “Still,” she said.

  “What’s for dinner then?” He shook the paper open to the second page and looked for a story that wouldn’t infuriate him.

  He felt her sit on the edge of the sofa closest to him, separated only by the end table and the unlit oil lamp upon it.

  “I’m sure cook will come up with something appropriate.”

  “You can’t leave these kinds of decisions to the lizzies,” he said, still looking through the paper. “They have no taste for our kinds of food.”

  “That’s all you need me for, isn’t it?” she asked. “That’s all I am to you—just someone to plan your meals.”

  “Since you don’t even do that, I don’t suppose I really need you for anything.”

  With a sob, she threw her wineglass at him and then jumped up and ran to the stairs. The blood-red liquid was splashed all across the paper, and dripped down onto his pants and the chair. He stood up, wadded up the paper, and threw it into the cold fireplace.

  “Risty! Get someone to clean this up.” He stomped into the kitchen and looked around. The cook was stirring something in a pot. “What the hell is that?”

  “Sssoot,” said Trix, the cook.

  “Soup? It’s too hot for soup. What else is there?”

  “Fisssh.”

  “Where is it?”

  She pointed at the oven.

  “Kafira. Risty!” He stomped back into the living room to find the butler. “Where is my mother?”

  “Tacktotott.”

  “Of course she is. Heaven forbid she should have dinner at home with her own family, when she could be across the street dining with aristocracy. Get the car ready.”

  He turned and climbed the stairs, two at a time. He stuck his head into DeeDee’s room. His daughter was at her desk, affixing postage stamps into her collection.

  “Good, you’re dressed. Go see that your sister is. We’re going out to dinner.”

  He stepped into his room and quickly changed into a new pair of trousers. The Brech tradition of husbands and wives having separate bedrooms enabled him to get dressed without more hysterics from Loana. Freshly clothed, he stepped out into the hall to find the two girls.

  “Come along, my beauties,” he said, taking Sen in one hand and DeeDee in the other.

  The family’s steam carriage was waiting for them, having been rolled out of the motor shed by two of the household lizzies, who were now in the process of checking the water level and lighting the coal in the firebox. Saba tossed his younger daughter into the back seat and then lifted the older into the front passenger side, before stepping around the vehicle and climbing behind the steering wheel.

  The two lizzies pushed the car down the drive and out onto First Avenue. They continued pushing for almost one hundred yards, until the car had enough steam to push itself. Saba waved absentmindedly to them, and they turned to walk back to the house, as he steered toward Town Square. It wasn’t dark yet, but the roads were much less busy than they had been even an hour earlier.

  “Do you feel like dining under the stars this evening?” he asked his daughters.

  “That sounds lovely,” said DeeDee. Sen didn’t reply.

  “Café Etta it is then.”

  He turned down Pine, taking it south, rather than driving up to Terrence Dechantagne Blvd. knowing that it would be the one street bound to be busy any time of day. At Forest, he turned west once again, at last coming to a stop to park next to the curb across from the restaurant.

  Café Etta was always busy, but at least there was no line. Taking hold of a girl in each hand, Saba guided them across the brick-paved street, and up the walk to the entrance. As soon as they entered, the Mirsannan manager met them.

  “Good evening, Chief Colbshallow. What a pleasant surprise.”

  “Your finest table, please.”

  “Right this way.”

  He led them to a table near the left side of the enclosure. Café Etta featured open-air dining, and was essentially nothing more than a cement platform covered with hardwood flooring and surrounded by a waist-high banister. Above the railing were strung colorful lights, but it was still far too light out for them to be lit. They took their seats, the manage
r providing a padded wooden block for Sen to sit on so that she would be the proper height to reach the table.

  The Mirsannan bid them farewell, but he was almost immediately replaced by a waiter.

  “If I may recommend the Saurolophus tail?”

  “What do you think, girls?”

  “I want bangers and mash,” said Sen.

  “You do have bangers and mash, don’t you?” asked Saba.

  “Of course.”

  “Bangers and mash all around then, and three Billingbow’s.”

  “Very good sir. Would you care to start off with some fruit perhaps? Or a nettle salad?”

  “Fruit,” said Saba. “This is the perfect time of the year of for a fruit aperitif.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  “I think we might have to have a fancy dessert too. What do you girls think of ice cream?”

  “I think quite well of it,” said DeeDee.

  “I wanted taffy,” said Sen.

  “Oh, I brought taffy home from work. I see no reason you can’t have ice cream and taffy.”

  “Spoiling the children, I see,” said a voice from over his shoulder.

  “Uncle Maro!” cried Sen.

  Saba looked back over his shoulder to see Maro McCoort, what passed for a newspaper editor and publisher in Port Dechantagne. His carefully waxed mustache made his perpetual smirk even more pronounced.

  “He’s not your uncle, Sen. He’s your second cousin. Once removed.”

  “I’m happy to see you’re taking good care of my cousin’s little one,” said Maro. “I’ll admit I was as surprised as anyone to find out that you had taken on the job.”

  “She’s my daughter, you moron.”

  “Is that on the record? And while we’re at it, do you have any comment on the chaos being caused by the influx of wizards into the city and the police department’s inability to deal with it?”

  Saba stood up, knocking back his chair, though it didn’t fall over.

  “You wouldn’t know a proper news story if it bit you on your obnoxious face, you pretentious half-wit!” growled the police chief. “But if you want a comment on the record, here’s one for you: the biggest threat to public safety in Birmisia Colony is the lack of a reputable source of news and information.”

  Saba was extremely satisfied to see the smirk slide off McCoort’s face.

  “Perhaps our problem is that instead of finding qualified city leaders, we just advance from among our poorly-trained mutton shunters.”

  Saba’s fist shot out, impacting McCoort squarely on the nose, almost before he himself even realized that he had taken the swing. The publisher fell back, landing on his seat and smacking the back of his head against another diner’s chair. He clutched at his face as blood fountained from his nose.

  “Gentlemen!” cried the manager, running over. “We can have none of this behavior.”

  “Box up our food,” said Saba. “We’ll take it with us.”

  “Never mind; I’m leaving,” said McCoort, climbing to his feet. “I’ll owe you an answer for this!” he hissed, pointing at his own face.

  Saba looked around at the other patrons of the restaurant, some watching McCoort leave, but most staring at him. He turned and sat down, but he could still feel their eyes on the back of his neck. It was so quiet that one could hear the clattering of silver from the kitchen. The girls were both looking at him. Sen looked frightened, but DeeDee’s eyes displayed their usual adoration for him.

  “Sorry if I spoiled our meal,” he said.

  “That’s all right, Daddy. He’s a wanker.”

  “DeeDee, that’s not appropriate language for a young lady, true or not.” The waiter set a small bowl of mixed berries in front of each of them. “There now. Let’s enjoy our meal.”

  They arrived back at the Colbshallow home just after dark. While the lizzies put away the car, Saba gave each of the girls a piece of taffy and then sent them up to change into their nightdresses. He found his mother in the living room.

  “What do you mean just taking off like that and leaving your poor wife at home?”

  “I had to feed my children, Mother.”

  “There was a perfectly good stargazy pie in the oven.”

  “Oh, well I was not aware of that. Cook said fish and so I figured it was some horrible lizzie concoction.”

  “When has there ever been a horrible concoction made in a house where I lived?” she shrieked.

  “Well, you weren’t here. Were you?”

  “What did I do that was so wrong?” she cried, suddenly close to tears. “What mistake did I make to end up with thankless and inconsiderate boy?”

  “I’m not a boy, Mother,” he sighed, trudging toward the stairs. “I’m an old man—gone bad with age like wine turned to vinegar.”

  Loana was waiting in his bedroom, sitting in a chair with her feet pulled up under her. Her face was red and swollen.

  “I regret my words earlier,” he said, unbuttoning his shirt.

  “You don’t care about me,” she said in a small voice. “You don’t want me. I should just go away, so you wouldn’t have to put up with me anymore.”

  “Don’t talk foolishly.”

  “We don’t have a connection anymore.”

  “No, we don’t. Not since Virgil.”

  “It wasn’t my fault!” she shrieked.

  “I never said it was.”

  “But it’s what you think! You think I killed your son!” She jumped up, but immediately collapsed on the floor.

  He picked her up by the shoulders and guided her, sobbing, through the door from his bedroom into hers. Placing her on the bed, he pulled the covers up around her neck. As he expected, his mother was in the hallway.

  “Have one of the lizzies fetch her some tea,” he ordered.

  “She needs hot chocolate, and I’ll fix it for her myself.”

  “As you prefer.”

  He returned to his room and finished changing into his nightshirt. Slipping into a robe, he stepped quietly to DeeDee’s room and peered inside. She was reading from a small green leather-bound book.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked.

  “What’s the matter with what?”

  “What is the matter that you are reading?”

  “Oh, it’s poetry. Do you remember Iolana?”

  “Of course I do, but I’m surprised that you do.”

  “She was a wonderful teacher,” said DeeDee.

  “Just remember,” he said. “You can learn with a good teacher, a bad teacher, or no teacher at all, if you are dedicated to learning.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He kissed her on the forehead and then made his way to the door of Sen’s room, peeking inside. She was in bed with her eyes closed and mouth open. Stepping to the bedside, he turned down the lamp before bending over and kissing her on the forehead.

  “Good night, my poor little motherless girl.”

  * * * * *

  Several hours later, Sen stirred in her bed and opened her eyes. She sat up and looked around and then climbed down from the bed and walked to the corner, where she and DeeDee had hastily arranged a pile of blankets and pillows.

  “Can I sleep with you?” she asked.

  “Of course,” replied Allium, throwing back the blankets. “Climb in.”

  The girl slid next to the warm body and fluffed a pillow for her head. She closed her eyes with a whimper.

  “Why so sad?”

  “I miss my old house and my old Daddy.”

  “Yes, I’m not too fond of anyone here,” said Allium. “Would you like me to kill them all for you?”

  “No. I like DeeDee.”

  “Then we could simply run away together, far away from here.”

  “I don’t know… My new Daddy said that I could see my old Daddy soon.”

  “You’ll have to stay long enough to see him.”

  “Where do you go in the daytime?” asked Sen.

  “Oh, I’m still here. Sometimes I sit on
top of the bookcase. Sometime I lie under the bed.”

  “But your invisible?”

  “Yes, at least when I want to be.”

  “I want to go to sleep now.”

  “Sleep, my little dumpling. Sleep.”

  Chapter Four: Bryony

  The very eastern edge of Port Dechantagne, just south of Zaeritown, was dominated by many groups of small housing developments constructed by BB&C and other firms who wanted to take advantage of the city’s growth. Most of these consisted of a score or so of small cottages situated around a little park. The area quickly became the most sought after real estate for Birmisia Colony’s burgeoning middle class—those who could afford better than an apartment in the brownstones near Lizzietown, but who were nowhere near affluent enough for the great mansions and estates near the northern central part of town. The main thoroughfare through neighborhood was Victory Boulevard. It was a four lane red brick-paved street, lined on either side with gas streetlamps, and with a broad grassy median that accommodated side-by-side trolley tracks. The west end of Victory Boulevard ended at Victory Park and in the east it, along with its trolley line, extended two hundred yards past the last group of houses. From there it turned into a single lane, winding gravel road that led some eleven miles to the small village of Villa Cochon.

  Turning south from Victory on Ghiosa Way led one through one of these little neighborhoods. Five houses sat on the left and three on the right, and then there was a turn west on Dante Street. Around the corner was the park with swings, park benches, and a pond, frequented by shore birds from the ocean several miles to the north. Ghiosa Way itself, ended with a wood fence as a barricade. Though beyond it, the street might some day continue, for now, it was remarkably dense woodland just a dozen feet away. The last house on the left side of the little street, right next where it ended, was a small yellow cottage, with a white railing and posts on the front porch, a white-framed window just left of the white front door, and a similar window looking down from the attic between the eaves. The cobblestone pathway leading up to the front steps was lined with large ferns of the type commonly found in the area, and the yard was filled with several pines and a maple that had escaped the fate of those that had been cut to make room for the comfy little domicile.