The Price of Magic Page 8

  Though Senta’s cousin Maro usually ran the shop, today his older brother Geert was behind the counter. He grinned at the sorceress.

  “Good day, cousin,” he said. “You look incredibly beautiful.”

  “Thank you, and hi yourself. What’s all this then? Aren’t you usually gluing about this time of day?”

  “Maro’s running the printer today. He’s doing his wedding invitations.”

  “Wedding invitations? Who’s he marrying?”

  “Sherree, of course. They’ve been engaged for a year.”

  “She’s the one with the eyeglasses?”

  “Yup.”

  “I can’t remember anything else about her,” said Senta, “except, she must be a Kafirite. She wears that bloody big cross all the time.”

  “Yup. Her family’s very religious.”

  “Hmm. This should make life interesting at McCoort and McCoort.”

  The world of humanity was divided into two religions, and unlike the beliefs of the lizzies, both were monotheistic. Many thousands of years ago in an almost forgotten empire called Zaerphon, the Zaeri religion had flowered. It was spread across the world by a Zur conqueror: Magnus the Great. For the first time, humans everywhere worshipped the same God. Even when Magnus’s empire had splintered into many successor kingdoms, the belief that he had spread continued on. Then a generation later, a Zaeri prophet named Kafira had begun teaching a strange variation of the religion in the land of Xygia. Kafira had preached the importance of the afterlife, an adherence to a code of conduct that she said would lead one to this afterlife, and a general disregard for temporal affairs. The last of these three tenets of Kafira’s teaching had put her at odds with the Zaeri High Priests and the Xygian King, for supporting the priesthood and paying the King’s taxes were, for them, priorities. They taught her the error of her ways by giving her an ignoble death, crucifying her on the cross, thereby cementing her position as martyr. As her prophets spread her words though distant lands, her followers recognized her first, as a savior, and then as the only begotten daughter of the Zaeri God. The Kafirites, as her followers were known, spread quickly to engulf all that had been the Zur civilization, converting it to their creed, making Kafirism the only religion in the world of man—save those few who held onto the ancient Zaeri belief. In the centuries since, the Zaeri had been frequent targets of hatred and discrimination by some Kafirites. The attempted genocide of the Zaeri by King Klaus II of Freedonia was only the latest and worst.

  Geert McCoort had married Honor Hertling, Hero Markham’s older sister. Though she had not asked him to, he had converted to the Zaeri faith, something that was already a bone of contention between the two brothers. This could only increase with the addition of another devout Kafirite in the family.

  “Honest discourse is a good thing,” said Geert, sagely.

  “You sound like your wife. How is she?”

  “She’s fine. She’s helping out at the community center today, serving meals to the needy.”

  “No little McCoorts on the horizon?”

  “No, and please don’t mention anything about them to Honor. She worries sometimes that I might leave her because she can’t have children. We knew that was a possibility after her accident. She lost most of her leg and had some internal injuries. The honest truth is I’m not that fond of children anyway. I could live happily the rest of my life with just Honor and me.”

  “Besides, you’ll have nieces and nephews.”

  “And lots of little cousins,” said Geert, with a smile.

  “Oh yes, I had forgotten about Bertice’s children.”

  “And yours.”

  “Oh yes, I had forgotten about her too.”

  “So what can I do for you today? I know you have the Gazette delivered, so you must be here for Mr. Wissinger’s new book.” He held up the crimson-bound volume.

  “I do need one of those,” said the sorceress, taking it and stuffing it into her handbag. “Mostly though, I’m just visiting today. You see, I’m going out of town for a while—to Bessemer’s fortress. I wanted to touch in before I left.”

  “You’re not taking Sen, are you?”

  “Everyone’s making a fuss,” she said with a frown. “If I don’t see her before I leave, tell your lovely wife hello for me.”

  “She’ll be happy to hear it,” he said, with a straight face.

  “I’ve known her since I was a little kid and I’ve never done anything to her,” said Senta, “and yet, she’s still afraid of me.”

  He smiled. “She really, really is.”

  She sighed. “Toodle-pip then.” Then she slipped her handbag over her left arm, turned, and headed toward the door.

  “Be careful,” he called after her.

  She waved a hand in reply.

  Outside, she turned and walked to the Gazette building, next door, to see Maro. Just before she reached the door however, it opened and out stepped a pretty seventeen-year-old, with waves of beautiful golden hair, set off by her white day dress and large white hat. Around her neck was a gold chain, holding a large cross, suspended between her bosoms, and on her face was an extremely thick pair of glasses that made her eyes look huge.

  “Well hello,” said Senta. “If it isn’t my soon-to-be cousin: Shirley.”

  “It… It’s Sherree,” said the girl, turning a shade closer to the white of her dress.

  “Is it?”

  Sherree nodded.

  “I didn’t get to see much of you at New Year’s Eve. You were at my house, weren’t you? Maro didn’t bring someone else?”

  “No. I was there.” She cast a quick glance through the glass door, as if looking for rescue.”

  “What a relief.” Senta wrapped her right arm around Sherree’s shoulders. The rest of the world seemed to fade away around them. “You know, you’re marrying into an important and wealthy family. I suppose that will be quite a change for you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What with your humble origins and all.”

  Sherree frowned. “My family is quite well off. My father is an engineer at M&S Coal. We’re important members of the community. My mother is secretary of the Ladies Auxiliary.”

  “So, important people.”

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  “And good people,” added Senta.

  “Yes.”

  “The right sort of people,” suggested the sorceress.

  “That’s right,” said Sherree, tossing her chin up. “We’re good, God-fearing Kafirites, and Brech through and through.”

  “Don’t you have a little friend who is half Mirsannan?”

  “If you mean Questa Hardt, we’re not friends. I had her over a few times, just so she could see how proper Brechs live. She’s certainly not in our class. She’s actually quite ugly with her dark skin.”

  “Do you feel the same way about your little Mirsannan half-brother?”

  “Wha… what are you talking about?” Sherree’s face, which had returned to its normal color, now started turning red.

  “I’m talking about the little boy your father has with his mistress, Purna Mouliets.”

  “How dare you, you witch! You don’t know anything! You don’t even know my name!”

  Senta reached out and touched the girl’s nose with her left forefinger, which caused her to freeze, even though no magic was used, other than the magic of good, wholesome fear.

  “Oh Sherree Demetria Glieberman, I know everything. I know everything about your father, Beeman the engineer, and his father Artus, also an engineer, and his father Beeman, for whom your father was named, who was a smuggler, bringing See-spice to Brech from Enclep. I know everything about your mother Acadia—how she won’t let your father touch her, and how she fantasizes about some of your little friends. And I know everything about you, Sherree—how you were doing a little more than snogging in my garden on New Year’s Eve, how you’ve got a worn copy of Agria’s Virgins in the Spring under your mattress, with page 79 turned down on
the corner—that’s one of my favorites too. I know how you plan to twist my cousin Maro and split him away from his brother, because even though he’s going to be disgustingly rich, and he’s good-looking, and you honestly do have feelings for him, you can’t stand the thought that he’s related to those filthy zeets.”

  “I’m… I’m a good Kafirite,” said Sherree, her gigantic eyes filling with tears.

  “You’re a horrible little snot.” The sorceress squeezed her even closer. “You’re going to marry Maro. I’ve seen it in the future. Nothing I can do about it.”

  Sherree pulled her eyes away and turned her head, but Senta took her by the chin and turned her face back.

  “You will do nothing to disrupt Maro’s family,” Senta’s voice lowered to a whisper, “my family, because I can do so many things to you.”

  “What are you going to do—turn me into a salamander?” She struggled to pull away, but Senta held her firm.

  “Does that frighten you? No? What if I told you I would shrivel up your insides, so that they fell out you fanny, and blew away on the wind like so much dust?”

  Sherree burst into tears and tried to pull away again. This time, the sorceress let her go. The world seemed to return to normal. Without another look at the girl, Senta stepped through the door to confront the smell of ink and the sounds of a steam-powered printing press.

  “Hey Senta,” called Maro, pulling a lever to stop the press and sending a large whoosh of steam into the air. “What’s the news?”

  “I thought you were the news man.”

  “That’s right, I am,” he said, smiling as he smoothed down his mustache with both hands, revealing that his right hand was missing the last two fingers. Stepping around the press, he pulled a printed sheet out and held it up for her. “What do you think?”

  “Nice font,” said Senta, looking it over. “The wedding isn’t until Quaduary? Why are you printing the invitations now?”

  “It’s going to be a big deal. The best wedding ever. We’ve got to get everything in place.”

  “It’s awfully close to my birthday. I suppose I can’t throw a big birthday party that same week.”

  “You don’t usually do anything on your birthday,” he noted.

  “No, but I’ve recently discovered the joys of being a hostess.”

  “I know. I had a great time New Year’s.”

  “I was just telling your fiancé that I thought you had,” said Senta.

  “So, are you just visiting or what?”

  “Your brother can fill you in,” she said. “It’s so tiresome always repeating myself.”

  “You know you sound more and more like Zurfina.”

  “Hmm. Well, I’m off to take Didrika and Ernst to tea.”

  Senta didn’t need to teleport to reach her next destination; it was just down the block and across the street. She walked up to the brownstone apartment, shaded in a grove of giant willows, and knocked smartly. The door opened and Didrika Goose, a thin, blond woman of twenty, who looked very much a younger version of Senta, peered out. Didrika and Ernst Goose were Senta’s cousins, as well as Geert’s and Maro’s cousins, the five of them being products of three siblings.

  “Hello, Senta. Come in.”

  “How are you, Dear?” asked Senta, kissing the girl on the cheek.

  “Peachy,” said Didrika, leading her cousin to a small parlor. “What are you doing out and about?”

  “I came to ask if you had plans for tea.”

  “Ernst!” called Didrika toward the back room. “Come out! Senta’s here!”

  Ernst stepped out into the parlor. She was a five-year younger, and perhaps slightly prettier, version of Didrika, with her blond hair falling almost to the middle of her back, though on this day, she wore it up. Her white dress just matched her sister’s, and she was carrying a crimson copy of Mr. Wissinger’s book.

  “I was just reading about you,” she said to Senta.

  “I’m in it too? I’ll have to actually read it then.” Senta reached into her handbag and pulled out her own copy, flipping it open to a random page.

  Suddenly there was flash of light. On the page in front her was a photograph. It was a photograph she knew well, because the original was hanging, framed, above her bed. It was hand-colored over a sepia-toned image, so that the result was much more real looking than a painting. In front of a lush green forest backdrop was a Mirsannan divan with long wooden legs and large lazy padded arms. Reclining across its width, one arm draped over the end, one leg bent lazily at the knee was Zurfina, naked. And lying across the divan in the other direction, in a mirrored pose, was Senta—just as naked. Her front bits were hidden behind Zurfina’s flaring hips, but her bosoms were completely unobscured.

  “Sweet Kafira,” said Senta. “What did the boys do?”

  Didrika leaned over and looked at the picture. “The boys didn’t print that. They can’t. They don’t have the equipment to print photographs into books.”

  “Is it in your copy too?” Senta asked Ernst.

  “No,” she said, opening the book. “Well, it wasn’t, but now it is.”

  “Zurfina,” growled Senta. “What did you do, you twat?”

  Chapter Six: Child of the Sunrise

  The horrible red head turned toward them. Lady Iolana Staff felt a thrill of fear as the great yellow eyes met her own. It was by far the closest she’d ever been to a tyrannosaurus. The great black body pivoted toward them and took a single step in their direction. She could hear it sucking air through its fist-sized nostrils even at a hundred yards away.

  “You mustn’t be frightened,” said her father’s voice at her shoulder. “You must never be frightened.”

  “I can be frightened, can’t I?” wondered Benny Markham.

  “Quiet,” said Mr. Staff. “Everyone take careful aim. Remember what we talked about. You want the spot right between those useless little arms. I shall be very cross if anyone shoots it in the head and ruins the trophy.

  Iolana raised her rifle to her shoulder just as the monster took a second step toward the group of humans and lizzies. In her peripheral vision, she could see Benny, Walter, and Augie doing the same thing. Although just outside the range of her eyes, she knew that Ascan was as well.

  “Not yet,” said Mr. Staff. “Let’s see if she’ll get a little closer.”

  It seemed as if the creature simply went from standing still one moment, to running at them with the speed of a locomotive. Opening its great jaws, it unleashed the most horrible roar that could be imagined. All four of the others began firing, but even with the tyrannosaurus bearing down upon them, Iolana could feel her father’s eyes watching her rather than the beast. She fired ten perfectly centered rounds in eight seconds, before calmly dropping the clip from the bottom of the rifle and slapping in another. The second clip proved entirely unnecessary, as the monster dropped to the ground, her massive blood-red head still fifteen feet away.

  Iolana flipped on the safety and slung the rifle to her shoulder before turning to Mr. Staff, who stood smiling at her, his own firearm still cradled, unused, in his arm.

  “Well done,” he said.

  “Sweet Kafira, full of grace, thanks for our protection,” whispered Walter Charmley.

  “No offense to your beliefs,” said Benny, “but I’d like to thank whoever invented the repeating rifle.”

  “Oliver Winston-Davies,” said Iolana, stepping away from the others and toward the tyrannosaurus. “In 1855. Thankfully ours are rather improved over his model.”

  “Be careful Iolana,” called Ascan Tice. “Make sure it’s dead before you get too close.”

  “She’s dead,” replied Iolana, reaching down and placing her palm against the blood red skin just behind the creature’s still open yellow eye.

  The monstrous hind leg kicked into the air. Several of the others jumped, and Benny let out a squeak.

  “It’s nothing but her reflexes,” said Iolana. “You were the queen of your world, weren’t you?”


  She then turned and sat on the creature’s neck. “Let’s have a photograph, then. Are you ready, Mr. Buttermore?” She placed the butt of her rifle on the dinosaur’s jaw, holding it upright beside her. She lifted her chin and smiled with only a little bit of a smirk.

  Edin Buttermore was indeed setting up the hatbox-sized camera on its tripod.

  “Almost ready for you, My Lady. Let’s adjust the focal length. Here we go. Now hold still… There we have it. That will make a spectacular print.”

  “I’m surprised you were willing to carry all that equipment out here into the wilderness,” said Benny.

  “These are some of the first good dinosaur pictures,” said Buttermore. “I could get famous from these. Besides, I thought it would be a good idea to be out of town until the Drache Girl left.”

  “It’s not your fault that her picture just appeared in all of those books,” Benny replied. “She knows that. Senta’s quite reasonable. Not that I’m saying I wouldn’t have chosen to get out of town, had I been in your position.”

  “I knew that photo would be trouble years ago when I took it. I didn’t even want to. But how do you say no to Zurfina?”

  “A naked Zurfina, at that,” added Ascan.

  “Yes, well, even Senta couldn’t say no to her. As I recall, she didn’t want to sit for the picture, and it turns out, I suppose, she had good reason.”

  Iolana stepped away from the dead tyrannosaurus as the lizzies hurried forward and began hacking at the neck.