The Parasol Protectorate Boxed Set (143 page)

Biffy felt a small frisson of horror. “Do
all
Alphas go sour?”

“All of the old ones, I'm afraid. Fortunately, most of them die fighting off challengers. But the really strong ones, the ones who live past three or four hundred, they all go—as you say—sour.”

“And how old is Lord Maccon?”

“Oh, don't you worry about him.”

“But he'll get there?”

“I suspect he might be one of the ones who does.”

“And you have a plan?”

Professor Lyall gave a small huff of amusement. “I believe
he
does. You believe ours is a far more ugly world than that of the vampires, don't you, young pup?”

Biffy said nothing at that.

“Perhaps they simply hide it better. Had you considered that?”

Biffy thought of his dear Lord Akeldama, all light heart, pale skin, and sweet fanged smiles. Again, he said nothing.

Professor Lyall sighed. “You're one of us now. You made it through the first few years. You're controlling the change. You're taking on pack responsibility.”

“Barely. Have you seen the way my hair is behaving of late? Practically scruffy.”

They hailed a hansom cab and slung themselves inside. “Fenchurch Street, please, my good man, the Trout and Pinion Pub.”

The fly got them there in good time, and they alighted before a questionable-looking establishment. For this part of town, near the docks, being more of a mind to cater to the daylight folk, it was quiet late at night. Nevertheless, the pub looked unfortunately popular.

The locals quieted at the advent of strangers, especially one dressed as flawlessly as Biffy. A murmur of suspicious talk circulated as they made their way to the bar.

The barmaid remembered Biffy. Most women of her class did. Biffy was a good tipper and he never groped or expected anything. Plus he dressed so well he tended to make a favorable impression on females of the species.

“Well there's my fine young gentleman, and ain't it been an age since I clapped eyes on you last?”

“Nettie, my dove”—Biffy put on his most extravagant mannerisms—“how are you this
delightful
evening?”

“Couldn't be better, ducky. Couldn't be better. What can I get you boys?”

“Two whiskeys, please, my darling, and a little of your company if you have a mind.”

“Make that three and I'll sit on your knee while we drink 'em.”

“Done!” Biffy slapped down the requisite coin, plus a
generous gratuity, and he and Lyall made their way over to a small side table near the fire.

Nettie hollered back for a replacement barmaid, then joined them, carrying the three whiskeys, sloshed into tumblers. She settled herself, as threatened, on Biffy's knee, sipping her drink and twinkling hopefully at both men. She was a buxom thing, perhaps more round than Lyall favored, if Biffy was any judge of the man's taste, but of very pleasant disposition and inclined to chatter once steered in the correct direction. Her hair was so blond and fine as to be almost white, as were her eyebrows, giving her an expression of uninterrupted wonder that some might have taken for stupidity. Biffy had yet to determine whether this was actually the case.

“So, how's the pub fared since I visited last, Nettie my dove?”

“Oh, well, let me just tell you, love. Old Mr. Yonlenker—you remember, the bootblack down the block?—tried to clean his own chimney just last week, got himself wedged right proper for two days. They had to use lard to get him out. And then…” Nettie chattered on about all the various regulars round the neighborhood for a good twenty minutes. Biffy let the wave of gossip wash over him. Professor Lyall paid dutiful attention and Biffy asked enough questions to keep her going.

Finally he prodded gently, “I hear there was a bit of a flutter at the station the other night.”

Nettie fell obligingly into the trap. “Oh, wasn't there ever? Gunshots! Young Johnny Gawkins round Mincing Lane said he's sure he saw a man taking off by private dirigible! Round these parts, can you imagine? And then of course there was the fire, same night. Can't say as
how the two are linked, but I ain't saying they're not, neither.”

Biffy blinked, confounded for a moment. “Young Johnny say anything about the man's looks?”

“Gentlemanly, think he said. Though nothing up to your standards, of course, me young buck. You sure ain't half curious about it, aren't ya?”

“Oh, you know me, Nettie, terrible one for scandal-mongering. Tell me, has Angie Pennyworth had her baby yet?”

“Not as how! Twins I tell you! And her without two pennies to rub together, and no da never did come forward. Crying shame, that's what I say. Though of a certainty an' we're all thinking it's
you know who
.” The barmaid gestured with her pale head at a skinny lad lurking in the far corner, nursing a pint.

“Not Alec Weebs? Never!” Biffy was appreciatively shocked.

“Oh, believe it.” Nettie settled herself in for another round.

Biffy gestured at the replacement barmaid for more whiskey.

Professor Lyall nodded at Biffy imperceptibly in approval. A gentleman in a private dirigible wasn't much to go on since the recent upsurge in dirigible popularity, but it was better than nothing. And at least there were records of dirigible sales. That narrowed their suspect list.

L
ord Akeldama was back from his walk, Prudence was down for her nap, and Tizzy and the nursemaid were relieved of their duties for the moment. The vampire was holding court in his drawing room with a small collection of drones arrayed around him, a bottle of champagne on the end table, and the fat calico cat on his lap. Truth be told, Lord Akeldama had transformed into rather a homebody since becoming a father, much to London's surprise. This was because home had become, under Prudence's influence, even more exciting than the social whirl of the ton. Besides, Lord Akeldama had nothing but time; he could afford a few decades to play at parenting. He had, after all, never indulged in such an experience before. When one was a vampire as long-lived as he, new experiences were hard-won, difficult to find, and treasured—like good-quality face powder.

“Alexia, my
dearest
custard cup, how
are
you? Was it a perfectly
horrid
night?”

“Pretty much horrid, yes. And how was your stroll in the park?”

“We were the statement of the hour!”

“Of course you were.”

The drones amicably made room for Alexia to sit, standing prettily while she did so. They then returned to their own chattering, leaving their master and his visitor to carry on together. However, Alexia was very well aware that ears were perked. Lord Akeldama's drones were trained in such a way as to suit their own intrinsic natures, and in the end, one could never take the love of gossip out of a soul once embedded there. They were as much interested in Lord Akeldama's secrets as they were in everyone else's.

“Lord Akeldama, do you think we might have a little word, in confidence? I have had a rather interesting summons and I could use the benefit of your advice.”

“Of course, my
dearest girl
! Clear the room, please,
my darlings
. You may take the champagne.”

The drones rose and trooped obligingly out, closing the door behind them.

“Ah, the dears, they are probably all pressed in a huddle with their collective ear to the jamb.”

“Prudence and I have been summoned to visit Queen Matakara, in Egypt. What do you make of
that
?”

Lord Akeldama was not as awed as Lady Maccon might have hoped. “Ah, my dearest
sugar drop
, I am only surprised it has taken her so long. You aren't
actually
considering going, are you?”

“Not to put too fine a point on it, but yes. I've always wanted to see Egypt. There is also a pack matter Conall wishes to investigate there. I have even devised a cover story.”

“Oh, Alexia, my rose hip, I
really
wish you wouldn't. Not Egypt. It's not a nice place, so hot and smelly. Full of tourists in muted colors. The puggle might be endangered. And I, of course, could not accompany you.”

“Endangered by bad smells and muted colors?”

“Not to mention local dress. Have you seen what they wear in that country? All loose and flowy,
abominable
concessions to comfort and practicality.” Lord Akeldama's hand floated up and out in the air in a simulation of the flutter of robes worn by exotic tribesmen. He lowered his voice. “There are too many secrets and too few immortals to keep them.”

Alexia pressed further. “And Queen Matakara, have you ever met her?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

Lady Maccon looked at her friend sharply. “What manner?”

“A very long time ago, my dearest pudding drop, you might say she was
responsible for everything
.”

Alexia gasped. “Oh my giddy aunt! She
made
you!”

“Well, darling, there is no need to put it so crassly as all that!”

So many questions cluttered Alexia's mind at this revelation that her head very nearly did take to spinning. “But how did you get
here
?”

“Oh, silly child. We can move long distances, for a short period of time, right after metamorphosis. How else do you think vampires managed to migrate all over the world?”

Alexia shrugged. “I suppose I thought you simply expanded outward in ever-increasing circles.”

Lord Akeldama laughed. “There would have to be considerably more of us for that, my darling sugar lump.”

Lady Maccon sighed, then asked the best question she could, given Lord Akeldama's evasiveness. “What
can
you tell me about Queen Matakara?”

The vampire raised his gem-studded monocle and looked at her through the clear glass. “Not quite the right question, sweetling.”

“Oh, very well. What
will
you tell me about Queen Matakara? Given that I will be taking your adopted daughter into her hive whether you like it or not.”

“Hard line, my little
marmalade pot
, but better. I will tell you that she is very old, and her concerns are not that of the shorter lived.”

“No advice at all, not even for Prudence's sake?”

The vampire looked at her, a slight smile on his face. “You are not above playing all the cards you have been dealt, are you, my darling girl? Very well. You want my advice? Don't go. More than that? Be careful. What Queen Matakara
says
is never the whole truth, and what Queen Matakara
is
has been hidden by the sands of time. It is not that she no longer cares to win; it is that she does not play the game at all. For you and I, my dear, who live for such petty diversions, this is practically impossible to comprehend.”

“Then why ask to see Prudence? Why involve herself?”

“There you have the
real
danger, my clementine, and the
real
question, and, of course, there is no way for us to understand the answer.”

“Because she is outside of our understanding?”

“Precisely.”

“Unusual woman.”

“You haven't yet seen the way she dresses.”

While Lyall tracked down dirigible possession records, and Lord Maccon dashed about looking for clues, Lady Maccon planned her trip. Or, to be precise, she told Floote what she wanted and he made the necessary arrangements and procurements. The Tunstells were accounted for, and much to Alexia's disgust, Countess Nadasdy insisted on sending one of her drones along as ambassador for the English hives.

“She only wants to keep an eye on
me
,” she objected to Floote while they contemplated which traveling gowns were best suited to an Egyptian climate. “Do you know who she's sending? Of course you do.”

Floote said nothing.

Lady Maccon cast her hands up into the air in exasperation and began pacing about the room, gesticulating wildly in accordance with her Italian heritage.

“Exactly! Madame Lefoux. That woman simply cannot be depended upon. I'm surprised the countess trusts her so far as she can throw her. Although, I suppose being a vampire, she could throw her quite far. Then again, perhaps she is sending her along because she doesn't trust her. I mean, who is Genevieve favoring these days? Me, the vampire, the OBO, or herself?”

“A woman of conflicted loyalties, madam.”

“To say the least! She must live a very complicated life. I'm certain I could never be so duplicitous.”

“No, madam, not in your nature. I shouldn't let it concern you.”

“No?”

“You can be guaranteed of at least one thing, madam. This time she doesn't want you dead.”

“Oh, yes? How can I know this?” Alexia huffed, and sat on her bed, her lace robe floating out around her in a waterfall of opulence. “You know, Floote, I really enjoyed her company. That's the difficulty.”

“You still do, madam.”

“Don't be familiar, Floote.”

Floote ignored this, in the manner of long-time family retainers everywhere. “It will be good for you to have someone like her along, madam.”

“Like what? What do you mean, Floote?”

“Sensible. Scientific.”

Alexia paused. “Are you speaking as my butler or as my father's valet?”

“Both, madam.”

Floote's face was, as always, practically impossible to read. But after days of packing and organizing, Lady Maccon was beginning to get the distinct impression that he did not approve of Egypt.

“You don't want me to go, do you, Floote?”

Floote paused, looking down at his hands, perfectly gloved in white cotton, as was appropriate to upstairs staff.

“I made Mr. Tarabotti two promises. The first was to keep you safe. Egypt is not safe.”

“And the second?”

Floote shook his head ever so slightly. “I can't stop you, madam. But
he
wouldn't want you to go.”

Alexia had read her father's journals. “I have done a great deal in my life he would not have approved of. My marriage, for one.”

Floote went back to packing. “He would want you to live as you wished, but not in Egypt.”

“I am sorry, Floote, but it's time. If you won't tell me the missing parts of my father's life, perhaps someone there will.” Alexia had always thought Floote's loyalty was absolute. Floote had stayed with her pregnant mother when Alessandro abandoned them. He had changed her nappies when she was a babe. He had left the Loontwill household to attend Alexia after her marriage to a werewolf. Now, she thought for the first time, perhaps it was his loyalty to her dead father that was unshakable and she was merely a proxy player.

Later that night, when her husband came home, Alexia curled against him rather more fiercely than she ordinarily might. Conall knew his wife well enough to sense the confusion and offer physical comfort of the kind she had given him only a few evenings earlier. In his touch, Alexia found reassurance. She also realized that with both Conall and Ivy along, she was leaving her home interests unsupervised. Lyall owed his loyalty to Lord Maccon, and she considered him an unreliable source ever since she found out he was behind the Kingair assassination attempt. Lord Akeldama's motives were always his own. Who did that leave her?

Things remained excitedly on the go all that week. Biffy carved out what time he could for his precious hats but nevertheless found himself drawn into the excitement of Dubh's murder investigation and Egyptian travel. He simply couldn't abstain. He was overly intrigued by the affairs of others.

He did manage to return to his duties as lady's valet.
He rather adored Lady Maccon, and had from the moment she first appeared in Lord Akeldama's life. She had such an endearingly practical way of looking at the world. He had once described her to a colleague as the type of female who was born a grande dame. Everyone and everything had a proper place or she would see they were put into one of her own devising. Although she did require his guidance in the manner of her toilette. So far as Biffy was concerned, that, too, was an admirable quality in a lady. He enjoyed being needed, and Lady Maccon would be lost without him.

Which was precisely what she said as he fussed about with her hair. “Oh, Biffy, how do you do it? So lovely, you know I should be utterly lost without you.”

“Thank you very much, my lady.” Biffy finished cleaning the curling tongs and placed them into a drawer, standing back to take a critical look at his masterwork.

“That will do, my lady. Now, what would you like to wear this evening?”

“Oh, something sensible I think, Biffy. I won't be doing anything more exciting than packing.”

Biffy went to look at her row of dresses. “How are preparations coming along for the trip?” He selected a day gown of cream striped in red with a cuirasse bodice of black velvet and a matched black underskirt. He paired this with a forward-tilting wide-brimmed hat with masculine overtones counteracted by a great array of feathers. Alexia thought the hat a little much but bowed to Biffy's judgment and allowed herself to be trussed up.

“Admirably, I believe. All of us should be prepared to leave the day after tomorrow. I am rather looking forward to it.”

“I do hope you enjoy yourself.”

“Thank you, Biffy. There was one more thing. I was wondering if I might prevail upon you. That is…” Lady Maccon paused, as though embarrassed or unable to find the words.

Biffy immediately left off fastening all the copious small buttons at the back of her gown and circled around to stand next to her, meeting her eyes via the looking glass. “My lady, you know you have only to ask.”

“Oh, yes, of course. But this is a matter of some delicacy. I want it to be your own choice. Not one driven by pack or status.”

She turned so they could look at each other face-to-face and took one of his hands in hers. He felt the effect of her touch instantly, an awareness of mortality, a dimming of his supernatural senses. It was a little like dropping out of the aether into the lower atmosphere, a sinking sensation in the stomach. He had learned to ignore the feeling. What with dressing and arranging Lady Maccon's hair, he experienced it frequently.