The Chess Queen Enigma (5 page)

I was fairly certain I saw him pause, eyes widening ever so slightly, when his attention skimmed over my companion. But Sir Mycroft gave no other indication he'd seen or recognized his daughter.

I tried to imagine why Desirée Holmes—or, as I'd known her when she was my vampire-hunting mentor, Siri—might have found the man marriageable. He exuded power, he certainly had some wealth, and he wasn't unattractive . . . but Sir Mycroft did not seem like a man who'd woo a woman or care for a wife. He certainly didn't care much for his motherless daughter.

“Announcing Her Royal Highness, Princess Lurelia Gertillia Vasvenne, and the Lord Regent of Betrovia, Mikalo Terrence!” cried the powerful voice.

More music began to play. Probably the Betrovian National Anthem, but I wasn't sure. I didn't find it very pleasant. It sounded more like a funeral march than anything meant to promote patriotism. Or maybe the point was to remind the Betrovians of those who'd died for their country?

Loud cheers erupted, and some tinny-sounding drums rolled as the two Betrovians stepped into view from beneath the arbor.

Since the Lord Regent had not been in the private chamber when Mina and I were presented to Princess Lurelia, my eyes were drawn to him. He was short and rotund and had an incredible blond mustache that extended far beyond his cheeks. It curled into black coils at the ends. What little hair he had was also straw-blond, tipped with black, and gathered into a tail at the nape of his neck.

He seemed to be making up for the princess's colorlessness, for his clothing was red, gold, purple, and blue. The bright hues made it hurt to look at him, so I turned to the young woman at his side.

Although she did gaze up and around, there was still no sign of interest or enthusiasm in her expression. She paced forward with her fingers on the arm of the Lord Regent, and stood as silent and still as a ghost while the ceremony proceeded.

There was a lot of talk—a
lot
of talk—about trade agreements and taxes and historical events that I didn't give two figs about. Lord Cosgrove-Pitt turned out to be very long-winded, Mr. Oligary was hardly any more brief but at least he told a few jokes, and Sir Mycroft didn't speak at all.

“Zhank you vor your most gracious welcome,” said the Betrovian Lord Regent, when all of the British speeches were finished and he and Princess Lurelia stood alone on the stage with Princess Alix.

To my dismay, the Regent rambled on for a time as well, his black-tipped mustache dipping and swaying as he spoke. On and on and on. I wondered how the two princesses could stand there so still in their heavy layers of gowns. I was fidgeting, and I wasn't even wearing heavy court dress.

At last, the Regent seemed to wind down. “And so, as a token uff our esteem vor our English brethren, zhe Betrovian Royal Family is pleased to present Her Royal Highness Princess Alexandra with a letter—”

“A
letter
?” I muttered to no one but myself. “All this for a letter? That's it? No jewels or gold or a—a mechanized horse or something like that?”

I never heard the rest of his description, for Mina's sharp elbow jabbed me in the ribs. “The letter is from Queen Elizabeth, you dolt! I was attempting to give you its history in the carriage, but you had no interest. Perhaps now you will give me your complete attention, so you can be fully cognizant of the importance of the British-Betrovian relations.”

I didn't care. And one would have thought she'd take the hint when I began to edge toward the food table again. All the speechifying made me hungry. I had seen some puffy delicacies that looked like little blue clouds and I wanted to make sure I got one before they were gone. And then there was that bright red beverage that fizzed so much little sprays shot out from the top of the punch bowl.

But to my dismay, Mina followed me, hissing in my ear about missing epistles—which I figured out were letters—and
Byzantine treasure (which did get my attention somewhat) and finally something about Queen Elizabeth and a Betrovian duchess.

She would have continued until midnight, I'm certain, if she had the chance, whether I was listening or not. But I was just about to reach for one of the frothy blue clouds when I was rescued.

“Why, Miss Stoker. I cannot tell you how pleased I am to see you in attendance . . . and that you have found your way to my favorite part of the food table as well,” a voice murmured in my ear. “If I may?”

I looked up to find Mr. Richard Dancy standing at my elbow. A curl of light brown hair had fallen over his forehead, and his sideburns were trimmed short and neat. He had a square jaw with a handsome cleft chin, and showed dimples when he smiled. Blue eyes twinkling with warmth, he offered me a tiny doily-covered plate holding a frothy blue cloud. I had remembered to remove my gloves for once, and I reached for the tiny puff of sweetness. “Why, thank you, Mr. Dancy.”

My smile was warm, partly because he was one of the few—well, the only—young men I knew from London Society who was gracious and
wasn't
boring, and partly because Mina's lecture had been stopped in its tracks.

“Am I to assume that since you are in attendance here, you shall also be gracing the dance floor at the Official Welcome Ball tomorrow evening?” Our voices remained low so as not
to disturb the Exchange of National Gifts, which appeared to be continuing without our attention. Fortunately.

Mr. Dancy stood close enough that I could feel the warmth of his arm near mine and smell a hint of something pleasant, while at the same time maintaining a proper distance.

At least he would never back me into a dark corner and steal a kiss.

“Indeed I shall,” I managed to reply, irritated that the thought of Pix had broken into my concentration. He always managed to put me into a foul mood, blast him.

“Then I must make certain to find your pages—surely you must have two or three of them—in the dance album immediately upon arriving, for I fully intend to claim at least two waltzes. Perhaps three. And I must warn you, Miss Stoker . . . even spilt lemonade won't keep me from squiring you about the ballroom this time.”

My heart skipped a little beat and I smiled up at him. “I shall endeavor to keep from wearing
eau de limone
, then, Mr. Dancy, for I should hate to see you disappointed.”

He grinned and was reaching for another tiny plate when the room plunged into pitch black.

A woman screamed, and a chorus of surprised voices filled the air. I heard the sounds of people moving, of clunks and bumps and a heavy scraping noise. A male voice shouted for everyone to remain calm, and someone else directed people to remain in their places. That was a good suggestion, for I couldn't see my hand in front of my eyes. There was a
distinct chill in the air, as if a drafty window had been opened. Someone floundered against me, flailing in the darkness (Mina, of course), and from the other side, a hand steadied my arm.

“Have no fear, Miss Stoker. I'm certain the lights will be fixed momentarily.” Mr. Dancy probably meant well, but he would have been better off keeping Mina from stumbling into the food table than offering me assurances. I was the only female in the room—probably in all of London—who had no reason to be afraid of anything.

The hair on the back of my neck lifted and prickled. I wasn't sure whether it was because someone had opened a door and released a draft, or for some other reason.

A red-eyed, sharp-fanged reason.

Blast and blots
. I hadn't thought to bring a stake.

Pulling from Mr. Dancy's grip, I slipped into the close throng of people. His “Miss Stoker? Where have you gone?” was lost in the chaos.

There was a dull clang and the sounds of scuffling. Someone bumped into me from behind, and that same person grappled with my sleeve and bodice to steady herself.

“Blast it, Mina, just stay where you are,” I said from between gritted teeth, as she hissed, “The princess! Get to the princess!”

“What do you think I'm trying to
do
?”

Just as I pulled free of her death grip, the soft glow of a light beamed from a corner, illuminating the familiar face of
Inspector Grayling. Of course he'd have a light-up gadget on hand—he was such a cognoggin. After a moment, more and more circles of light began to fill the chamber. And finally, the full lights came on and everything was back to normal. The murmurings and strained exchanges settled into conversation, and the tension in the chamber relaxed.

I had pushed my way toward the stage and looked over the crowd to assure myself Princess Lurelia was still there. Yes, there she was—unharmed and just as drab as ever. I turned to point this out to Mina when someone exclaimed, “The letter! It's gone!”

This caused another surge of excited voices to rise. Some people shouted, others muttered and gasped. Most everyone seemed to spin around in place, looking for the missing letter.

“It vahs right here, in zhees case!” Lord Regent Terrence cried in Betrovian-accented English. His bi-colored mustache fairly quivered with indignation as he jabbed a finger at the small case standing next to the chess table. The case had been positioned conveniently near the edge of the stage. “Efferyone saw it! And now it's gone!”

I swallowed my own comment—which would have been along the lines of “Who cares?”—and caught Mina's eye. She was right behind me, fire in her eyes.

“Hurry!” My partner began pushing me toward the small dais.

What the blooming fish did she expect me to do? An old letter from Queen Elizabeth might be of interest to someone
like Miss Adler or Sir Franks, the museum director, but I didn't care. As long as the princess was all right, and there weren't any UnDead in the vicinity, I had no reason to be involved. Thievery was a job for Scotland Yard.

But Miss Mina Holmes is a force all her own. She shoved me forward so firmly I stumbled from the crowd and nearly slammed into the platform.

Before I could turn and glare at her, I found myself looking up at Princess Lurelia. Our eyes met, and for a moment I thought I saw a flash of something there . . . Excitement? Interest? Or perhaps it was just a glint from the lights, for whatever I might have seen was gone. The princess's expression was the same blandly polite one of before. She seemed as stiff as her starched petticoats, which were so brittle they made a crinkling sound as she gave a nod and turned back to the Lord Regent.

Mina had brushed past me and made her way to Miss Adler, who'd come forward and was speaking with Princess Alix from below the stage. Our own royal's face was strained and set, but I couldn't hear what they were saying.

The only thing left for me to do was to ensure the chilly breeze that had filtered over me was nothing more than a drafty door or window, and not an UnDead. But I wasn't sure how to go about proving there
hadn't
been a vampire around.

I pushed my way through the crowd, which was still chattering about the missing letter, and headed toward the east end of the chamber. It led deeper into the museum,
while the western end was an exterior wall. The southern side tucked up next to the main galleries and was where most visitors would have come. Eastward was the direction I supposed an UnDead—or anyone else, such as a thief—would have made an escape, for it would be easy to lose one's pursuers in the maze of halls, and an UnDead would not go outside, as it was an unusually sunny day in September.

I was looking for any sign of a shadowy figure—with or without red eyes—lurking in the alcoves or behind the tall, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, or down other corridors—when I stubbed my foot on something that shouldn't have been there.

The large, heavy object made a soft grating sound across the hardwood floor. I looked down, intending to shove it out of the pathway, when I saw what it was.

A stone statue, as long as my forearm. It was supposed to be a person, I think. Mina would probably know what kind it was or what age, and probably who it depicted. Someone appeared to have knocked it over . . . or
placed it there
. I went cold.

But it wasn't the entity or the face that caught my attention and sent that chill down my spine. It was what the statue's stone hand was holding. Brandishing, like a shield or weapon.

Or a threat.

Surely it couldn't be a coincidence that the statue's fist was gripping an
ankh
.

“E
valine,
there are no coincidences
.” I glared at her reflection in the mirror behind me as one of the hairpins I was attempting to utilize slipped from my fingers. I muffled an unladylike exclamation and bent to pick it up, which is easier said than done whilst wearing a corset.

Miss Stoker had arrived unannounced at my home, ostensibly to provide transportation to the Official Betrovian Welcome Ball. But, though clearly dressed for the event, she was nearly an hour too early. And aside from that, Princess Alix had already arranged for a carriage to pick me up. Apparently, Her Royal Highness was determined I would attend, and in a timely manner.

“How many times must I remind you that coincidences simply don't happen?” I continued, jabbing the pin into place at the back of my head. If only my hair wasn't so thick and unmanageable . . . and if I had a lady's maid like Miss Stoker
did. Mrs. Raskill was useless when it came to coiffures and fashion, and the one time she'd suggested my employment of her niece Kitty for such tasks had been an undisputed disaster. “It's utterly impossible that statue
fell
by accident. The Arched Room is a library, and there are only
small
artifacts in cases. An Eighteenth Egyptian Dynastic statue—especially one of that size—doesn't belong anywhere in a library, it belongs in the Egyptian Saloon! Someone put it there.
She
put it there.” And Lady Cosgrove-Pitt had been present at the Welcome Event, further strengthening my belief.