Brechalon (2 page)

“
What’s up?” she asked
Maro.

“
There’s a wizard setting up over
there,” he replied.

Climbing to their feet, they ran in the
direction that the other children had gone. Sure enough, a man in a
brown suit but wearing a black cape had placed his bowler hat on
the grass upside down, so that people could throw money in, and he
was already performing his first magic. He swirled his right hand
around in a circle parallel to the ground and spoke a series of
magic words.

“
Uuthanum Izesic.” He grinned. “I
give you the floating platform!”

Though it was invisible, there was a
disc-shaped platform just below where he had formed the circle with
his hands, and children rushed forward to sit on it. A few even
tried to stand, though they were quickly pushed off by those
wanting their turn. The round field of force lasted only a few
minutes and then it was gone and the wizard was on to his next
trick. He charmed a woman and made her act like a chicken and then
he summoned a horse from out of thin air. He turned a boy’s hair
blue and he made a passing steam carriage’s horn meow like a cat.
His grand finale was to induce snow to fall from the hazy but
relatively cloud-free sky. This earned him cheers from the children
and more than a few coins in his hat from the adults despite the
snow lasting only a few minutes and none of it sticking.

“
It’s time to get home,” Maro told
Senta, as the wizard gathered his earnings.

Senta thought she saw the wizard give her a
strange look as she passed, but she paid little attention. Wizards
were strange folk. She raced after her cousin who shot across
Avenue Phoenix, dodging in and around traffic. They ran all the way
to the Great Church of the Holy Savior, which marked the edge of
the Old City. Then they skipped their way through block after block
of tenement buildings. At last they arrived at their own building—a
fifteen story stone structure that leaned ever so slightly to the
right. Tramping up the narrow stairs, they reached their Granny’s
apartment on the twelfth floor.

Together the two children pressed against the
door, tumbling inside when Maro turned the knob. They expected to
find Granny, and indeed they did, but they were surprised to find
her leaning over a tiny bassinette, gooing at the contents. Near
her, sitting on the floor was a toddler with very fine, very blond
hair. There were already four children living with Granny—Senta and
Maro, Maro’s brother Geert, and their cousin Bertice. Now it
appeared that there were two more.

“
This is Ernst,” said Granny,
patting the toddler on the top of the head. “And this is her baby
sister Didrika.”

Senta stepped quickly across the room and
stared down into the bassinette, Maro at her side. The sleeping
baby inside couldn’t have been more than a few weeks old. The few
whisps of hair on her head were strawberry blond and the tiny bow
shaped mouth was pursed, as if she was dreaming of a
bottle.

“
Aw, cute,” said Senta.

“
We’re not going to have enough
food,” said Maro.

“
We’ll make do,” said Granny. “But
you two will have to go to work. Maro, Mr. Blackwell has secured a
place for you at his printing shop. And Senta, you will work at the
café in the Great Plaza.”

“
Who are they, anyway?” asked Maro,
indicating the new children.

“
They are your cousins. My boy
Colin was their father. He died in the war. Now they’ve lost their
mother to a fever.”

Twenty minutes later Maro and Senta were making
the long trip downstairs to the sub-basement to get a bucket of
coal.

“
I guess we have to grow up now,”
Maro said. “I don’t see why those damn kids have to come
here.”

“
Their parents are dead,” Senta
replied. “Just like yours and mine.”

“
Your parents aren’t
dead.”

“
Uh-huh. Granny said
so.”

“
I heard your Mom just didn’t want
you.”

“
Who wouldn’t want me?” said Senta.
“I’m just cute.”

Maro made a noncommittal noise and they
continued down the stairs.

* * * * *

Iolanthe Dechantagne pursed her lips and
narrowed her unique aquamarine eyes at the man in front of her who
seemed to wilt in her gaze. They were in one of the back bedrooms
of the Dechantagne house at Number One, Avenue Dragon. Occupying an
entire city block and four stories high, the house had dozens of
bedrooms, so many that Iolanthe was sure she hadn’t visited them
all. She had been in this one though, many times. Not recently. So
many rooms made the house expensive to heat and to care for, and
right now Iolanthe needed her money for things other than taking
care of a too large house. She had ordered all the rooms in the
back two thirds of the building closed off, the furniture covered
and the other contents sold or stored. But this room was untouched.
The dust covered furniture was still home to dust covered personal
items: brush, razor, strop, journal, war medals,
shotgun.

“
Well?” she said, ice clinging to
the consonants and a cold wind blowing through the vowel sound. The
servant actually shivered.

“
I didn’t think you meant this
room,” said the man.

“
And why would that be?”

“
This is the Master’s room. I mean
it was his room. I mean I thought…”

“
My brother is master of this house
now. And you are not paid to think.” Iolanthe could feel the
presence of Zeah Korlann, her head butler, just behind her right
shoulder, but she didn’t acknowledge him. “I said I wanted all of
these rooms closed off, and that includes this one. Cover the
furniture and sell the other things, and if you can’t sell them,
burn them.”

The man nodded shakily. Iolanthe turned on her
heel. Zeah was standing just far enough to the side that he
wouldn’t have to move if she walked directly back out of the room.
He was a tall dignified man with clear intelligent eyes and hair
that was a bit more salt than pepper. He had served the Dechantagne
family since before Iolanthe was born, and his family had served
them since the time of Iolanthe’s great-great grandfather. He stood
completely straight, his right hand resting on the shoulder of a
boy of thirteen or fourteen. Iolanthe raised one
eyebrow.

“
Um.” Zeah cleared his throat.
“Young Saba here needs to be assigned a position in the
house.”

“
He is engaged in his studies, yes?
I believe I pay for a tutor, do I not?”

“
Yuh… yes. But Saba had his
fourteenth birthday some time ago. It is time for him to work in
the afternoons, after finishing with Master Lockley.”

“
Do have an opinion?”

“
I wuh… was thinking assistant
porter.”

“
Very well.” Iolanthe took three
steps towards the door, then stopped and turned around. “What did
he receive for his birthday?”

“
You guh… gave him a very nice puh…
puh… pair of pants.”

“
Perfect,” she said.

“
Muh… Miss?” said Zeah, leaving the
boy where he was and stepping forward. He stood looking at her as
if measuring whether he should continue.

“
Yes?” she asked at
last.

“
Might you not want to keep suh…
some items of a more puh… puh… personal nature?”

“
Nothing of my father’s is of
interest to me or my brothers. He was a disgrace to the family name
and the sooner I can forget about him the better. Wastrel. Coward.”
She pressed her lips together to say the other word. How she wanted
to say it. Murderer. But the word stayed in her mouth. She stared
at Zeah, daring him to ask something else.

“
Yuh… yes Miss.”

It took a full ten minutes to walk to the front
of the house, that portion which was in use, and once there it took
far too long to reach her boudoir. She had to detour around the
hallway where workmen were busy installing an elevator. It was the
last of many improvements that Iolanthe had made to the house in
the past two years.

Yuah was waiting in the boudoir. Yuah was
Iolanthe’s dressing maid, as well as being Zeah’s daughter. Two
years younger than Iolanthe, Yuah had grown up with her and her
brothers. There was a time that Iolanthe had thought of the younger
woman as a sister. Without a word, she turned and shrugged off her
jacket, which Yuah caught and immediately placed on a hanger. Then
she was back to unbutton Iolanthe’s day dress and help her remove
it. This was followed by the large rear bustle made vital by modern
fashion and the Prudence Plus fairy bust form corset. And for the
first time all day, Iolanthe was able to take a deep
breath.

“
I won’t need you for a few hours,”
she said, as Yuah draped her day gown over her shoulders. “You may
retire.”

“
Thank you, Miss.”

“
I’m going to write Augie. Do you
want me to send him your regards?”

“
Yes, Miss.”

As Yuah left the room, Iolanthe sat down at the
small desk in the corner and pulled out a sheet of her personal
stationary and her fountain pen. In her best hand she wrote her
letter.

Augie,

I read with interest your description of
Birmisia. It sounds like just the type of place for our enterprise.
I was especially interested in the fact that there are as yet no
other parties interested in establishing a colony there. It is
distant, but that may very well end up being an advantage. Terrence
has put forth Cartonia as a possibility, but with your experience
in Birmisia, we will have first hand information and expertise.
Continue to learn all you can. You know what we need. I don’t have
to tell you. In any case, I have a meeting with the Prime Minister
later in the week and hope to begin negotiations.

On a personal note, Terrence arrived yesterday.
He looks as well as can be expected. Yuah sends her regards. As
always, return with your shield or on it.

Sincerely,

I. Dechantagne

* * * * *

Yuah Korlann arrived in the servants dining
hall just a moment after her father and Saba. Half a dozen kitchen
workers under the supervision of the head cook, Mrs. Colbshallow
scurried around preparing for the luncheon. Mrs. Colbshallow had
been the head cook since Yuah was a little girl. She was a wonder
in the kitchen. She was also Saba’s mother and she gave him a big
squeeze as she passed by.

“
There’s my handsome boy,” she
said.

“
Mother!” he whined
back.

“
Are you looking for something to
eat, dear?” Mrs. Colbshallow asked Yuah.

“
Yes, I’d better eat while I have
the chance. You know how she is.”

“
Don’t get cheeky,” said her
father.

“
I’ll get you a nice plate,” the
head cook replied, waving over one of the kitchen staff. “You know
I think you need to put on a bit of weight. You can’t catch a man
if you’re all skin and bones.”

“
Don’t worry about that,” said
Yuah, sitting down across the table from Saba. “I’m not likely to
run into a man around here, and if I did, no man is going to be
interested in me.”

Saba’s adoring gaze, which Yuah chose to
ignore, said as plainly as words that he thought he was interested
and he thought no other man worthy of the position. But it was her
father who spoke.

“
You’re far too young to worry
about a man. Why, you’re barely twenty.”

“
I’m twenty three, Papa. Another
two years and I’ll be an old maid.”

“
Nonsense,” said Mrs. Colbshallow,
setting down in front of Yuah a plate with a large sandwich atop a
tremendous pile of golden chips. “You’re still young and you can
find a man easily enough, if um… well, are you determined to that
he be of your faith?”

“
Of course she is,” said
Zeah.

“
As long as he has all his parts, I
don’t care if he worships apple trees and sacrifices chickens when
the moon is full. It’s not as if I’ve been to shrine in years
myself.”

Zeah and Yuah belonged to the minority Zaeri
religion, a faith that had once been the dominant belief all across
Sumir, while Mrs. Colbshallow and her son, and most of the other
staff were Kafirites. Kafira Kristos who had lived and died two
thousand years before, had been a Zaeri Imam, but her followers had
broken away from the main faith upon her death and supposed
resurrection. Now millions worshipped her as the Holy Savior and
the daughter of God and those ethnic Zur who remained true to their
faith and the few converts to the Zaeri religion were the subjects
in most places of animosity, prejudice, and discrimination. At
least they were in most places outside the Dechantagne home. Miss
Dechantagne would brook none of that.

“
Excuse me,” said a voice from the
doorway. Everyone in the room turned to see Master Terrence leaning
nonchalantly against the doorframe. None of the staff were sure
just how long he had been standing there. “Mrs. C, could I get one
of those sandwiches? I’m really not in the mood to sit through one
of Iolanthe’s luncheons.”

Mrs. Colbshallow had the plate in his hands
almost before he finished speaking, and though he hadn’t asked for
one, she pressed a chilly bottle of beer into his other
hand.