The Parasol Protectorate Boxed Set (153 page)

Alexia determined she would have to borrow Ivy Tunsell's guidebook in order to make sense of these directions, possibly attached to Ivy herself, but she made a mental note of the details.

“Thank you, my good man. I'll need to book to send a message for just after sunset London time, from here to England. Can you arrange such a thing?”

“Certainly, my lady. That should be something on the order of six o'clock in the evening. But I will ascertain the particulars and make the appointment for you.”

“You are most efficient.” Alexia, missing Floote quite dreadfully, gave the man a generous gratuity for his pains and wandered into the dining room to see if any of her party were about yet.

Ivy, Tunstell, the nursemaid, and the children were all there causing a ruckus at one of the larger tables. Prudence had her mechanical ladybug and was trundling about banging into people's chairs in a most indiscriminate
manner. Alexia was mortified by such behavior. What was the nursemaid thinking, allowing the infant to bring the ladybug to a public eatery? Tunstell was explaining, in large expansive gestures, the thrilling plot of
The Death Rains of Swansea
to some poor unfortunate tourists at the adjoining table. Ivy was fretting over her Baedeker's guidebook, and the nursemaid was busy with the twins.

Lady Maccon scooped up her errant child.

“Mama!”

“Have you eaten, poppet?”

“No!”

“Well, food, then. Have you tried one of those cinnamon pastry thingamabobs?”

“No!”

Still unsure if
no
was Prudence's new favorite word or if she actually knew what it meant, Alexia guided the ladybug with her foot and made her way, baby on hip, to the Tunstells' table.

“Oh, Lady Maccon, how delightful!” extolled Tunstell upon seeing her. “Lady Maccon, may I introduce our new acquaintances the Pifflonts? Mrs. Pifflont, Mr. Pifflont,
this
is Lady Maccon.”

One is never sure, upon being introduced, whether one should trust in the arranger of the association, particularly when that arranger was Tunstell. Nevertheless, it was Lady Maccon's business to be gracious, so gracious she was. The Pifflonts turned out to be antiquities experts of some amateurish Italian extraction, quiet and well mannered and exactly the type of people one would like to meet in a hotel. Careful inquiry, and control over Tunstell's exuberance, turned the conversation to the couple's journey through Egypt, which was nearing its close. They
were about to return home, abiding only one or two more days before catching a steamer to Naples.

The following unexpectedly intellectual discourse was interrupted by the advent of Lord Conall Maccon wearing a cloak and, so far as Alexia could tell, nothing else. She was horrified. First her daughter went around bumping into people with a ladybug and now her husband appeared without shoes.
Well, there goes that acquaintance!
She couldn't even bear to look at the faces of those nice Pifflonts.

She stood and scuttled swiftly to the earl where he loomed in the doorway.

“Conall,
really
!” she hissed. “At least pull on some boots so you have a facade of decency!”

“I require your presence, wife. And the bairn.”

“But, darling, at least a top hat!”

“Now, Alexia. There is something I wish you to see.”

“Oh, very well, but do go away. There's blood at the corner of your mouth. I can't take you anywhere.”

Lord Maccon vanished around a corner of the hall and Alexia hurried back to the table. She made their excuses and scooped up Prudence, despite her daughter's protestations.

“No! Mama. Nummies.”

“Sorry, darling, but your father has discovered something of interest he wishes us to see.”

Mrs. Tunstell glanced up. “Oh, is it a textile shop? I hear they produce the most lovely cottons in this part of the world.”

“Something more along the lines of ruffled parasols, I believe.”

Ivy was thick but not so thick as all that. “Oh, of course,” she said immediately, winking in a very overt
manner. “
Ruffled parasols
. Naturally. Now, my dear friend, you won't forget we have a private show in only a few hours. And while I know you are not integrated into the performance, your presence is desirable.”

“Of course, of course. This shouldn't take very long.”

“Carry on, then,” said Mrs. Tunstell, although her friend was already trotting hurriedly away. Alexia heard Ivy say, “Lady Maccon is our particular patroness, don't you know? Such a very gracious and grand lady.”

She was met outside the hotel by a large wolf. In order to make more of a thing of it, Alexia purchased a donkey rope off an obliging, though confused, donkey boy. This she clasped about Conall's brindled neck, quite a feat of loops and twists, as she could not touch him and had to keep hold of Prudence. Eventually she was successful and it looked as though she were taking a very large dog for a walk.

Lord Maccon gave her a baleful look but submitted to the humiliation for the sake of propriety. They wended their way through the still-vibrant city; sunset seemed more an excuse to visit than an ending to daily activities. He led her a long way, due south down the Rue de la Colonne, past the bastions, through the outer slums of the city until they reached the canal. Alexia was beginning to worry about the time, concerned they might not make it back by the vampire visiting hour. Conall, in his wolf form, had little estimation of distance, and while Alexia was a great walker and never one to shirk exercise, traversing an entire city in the course of only an hour was really rather extreme, especially when carrying a disinterested toddler. Eventually, they developed a method by which Prudence rode astride her father, with Alexia gripping one hand firmly so as to keep everyone in their correct forms and fur.

The earl stopped imperiously at the bank of the canal, and it took Alexia only a moment to surmise they must cross it.

“Oh, really, Conall. Couldn't this wait until tomorrow?”

He barked at her.

She sighed and waved over a reluctant-looking lad in command of a kind of reed raft obviously utilized to cross the canal.

The raft boy refused, with many shakes of the head and wide eyes, to allow the massive wolf into his little craft but was charmed into unexpected delight when said wolf took to the water and simply dragged his raft across. He had no need of the pole normally employed for the crossing. Lady Maccon forbore to say anything on the subject of the cleanliness of the water.

Alexia gave the lad a few coins and gesticulated in such a way as she thought might convince him to wait for them, while Conall shook out his coat violently.

Prudence clapped and giggled at her father's antics, twirling about in the spray of dirty water. Alexia caught her daughter's hand before she touched him.

Alexia thought it a good thing the locals were accustomed to the eccentricities of the English, for such a thing as Lady Maccon alone in the baser end of a foreign city with her only daughter and a large wolf should never be tolerated in any other part of the empire.

Nevertheless, she followed her husband dutifully, reflecting that this was one of the reasons she had married him, with the certain knowledge that life would never be dull. She often suspected it was one of the reasons he had married her as well.

The sensation was barely recognizable at first, but then
she began to feel it—a tingling push, a little like the aether breezes against her skin when she floated. Only this sensation felt like the reverse. Aether tingling was like very mild champagne bubbles against the skin; this felt as though those bubbles were being generated by her own flesh. It was a faint sensation and it was almost pleasant, but it was odd. Had she not been alert for some new experience, she might not have even noticed.

Waving her arms about excitedly, Prudence said, “Mama!”

“Yes, dear, odd, isn't it?”

“No.” Prudence was very decided on this. She patted Alexia on the cheek. “Mama
and
—” She waved her arms about. “Mama!”

Alexia frowned. “Are you saying that to you the air feels like me? How very odd.”

“Yes,” agreed Prudence, using a word Alexia hadn't until that moment realized she possessed.

“Conall, is that what I think it is?” Alexia asked the wolf, her attention still on her wiggling daughter.

“Yes, my love, I believe it is,” said her husband.

Lady Maccon nearly dropped Prudence in startlement, looking up to confirm that her ears were not playing tricks on her and that her husband was standing a short distance away, fully naked and fully human.

Lady Maccon set down her daughter. The child toddled eagerly over to Conall, who scooped her right up, without fear. No need of it—Prudence remained her own precocious human self.

Lady Maccon went to stand next to him. “This is the God-Breaker Plague?”

“Indubitably.”

“I thought I should feel more repelled by it.”

“So did I.”

“On the other hand, when the mummy was in London—do you recall?—and caused half the city to come over all mortal, I didn't register any sensations at all. This is almost as mild. It was only when I was in the same room as that awful mummy that I felt true repulsion.”

The earl nodded. “
Sharing the same air
. I believe that was the Templar's phrasing for two preternaturals in the same place.”

Alexia looked out over the low mud brick houses of Alexandria's poorest residents to the wide low black of nothingness beyond. “Is that the desert?”

“No. Desert has more sand. I believe that used to be a lake, all dried up now. It's wasteland.”

“So there once was water and now there is none. Is it possible that the God-Breaker Plague has moved close to the city only since then? After all, we know preternatural touch is affected by water.”

“That is a thought. Hard to know. Of course, it is also possible that the city has expanded toward it. But if it has moved closer, you can bet the local vampires would not be happy about it.”

“Matakara's real reason for summoning us?”

“Anything is possible with vampires.”

T
he Maccons made it back to the hotel in time to change and make themselves presentable before being taken to Queen Matakara and the Alexandria Hive. Chancellor Neshi was waiting for them expectantly in the lobby.

The Tunstells and their troupe were soon to follow, trotting down the stairs lugging set pieces and already dressed in their costumes for the first act, although the gentlemen were all sporting top hats for the journey. If their arrival at the hotel had been remarked upon with interest by the natives, their departure was even more noteworthy. Mrs. Tunstell's dress was silver satin with an enormous quantity of fake pearl jewelry. Mr. Tunstell was attired as any fine gentleman about town except that his suit was of crimson satin and he had a short gold cape buttoned over one shoulder like a musketeer. Mr. Tumtrinkle, villainous from spats to cravat, wore black velvet with diamanté buttons, blue leather gloves, and a cloak of midnight
blue satin that he swooped and swirled about like wings as he moved.

This time there was no need of donkeys. The hive queen had sent them a steam locomotive, a massive contraption worthy of even Madame Lefoux's interest. The inventor, however, was nowhere to be found, having disappeared about her own business more hastily than Alexia had ever expected. Alexia felt, it must be admitted, rather abandoned and unimportant. After all, she had surmised that Madame Lefoux was sent along to Egypt to spy on
her
, and here she found herself the least of the Frenchwoman's attentions.

The locomotive was a rangy, rumbling beast, a little like a stagecoach in shape but open topped. The flat back end was piled high with rushes, presumably for the comfort of the occupants, as there were no seats. As the thing rumbled down narrow roads and alleys designed with donkeys in mind, the straw did very little good. Never before had Alexia experienced such a bumpy ride. The locomotive belched bouts of steam high into a dark evening sky out of two tall smokestacks and was so loud that polite conversation was impossible.

Prudence, ghastly child, enjoyed the whole arrangement. She bounced up and down excitedly with each bump and rattle. Alexia was becoming horribly afraid that her bluestocking tendencies had transferred to her daughter, in spades. The infant was taken with anything remotely mechanical, and her fascination with dirigibles and other forms of transport was only increasing.

The Alexandria Hive house was situated off of the Rue Ibrahim within sight of Port Vieux on the eastern side of the city. The facade of the building was Greek in style. It
was two levels high, the first level sporting widely spaced, large marble columns, and the upper level showcasing a colonnade of smaller supports open to the air in one long balcony. Inside, however, it was more as Alexia imagined one of the famous rock-cut tombs of the Valley of the Kings. There were doorways leading off of a vestibule, without doors, and woven reed mats spread on the floor. Basalt statues of ancient animal-headed gods stood all about like sentries at a masquerade. The walls were painted with more animal gods engaging in brightly colored and beautifully articulated myths. There was sinuously carved wood furniture here and there, but it was all quite primitive in shape and without adornment. The very starkness and lack of opulence was almost as awe-inspiring as the overabundance of riches that so characterized the vampires of Alexia's homeland. Here was a hive that knew its wealth was purely and simply in the world it had created, not in the objects it had managed to accumulate.

The Tunstells and troupe trailed in behind Lord and Lady Maccon and stood in reverent silence, the atmosphere subduing even them for a short time.

Chancellor Neshi clapped loudly—Ivy started and emitted a little “Oh, my!” of surprise—and near on twenty servants appeared from one of the darkened doorways, all handsome, dark-eyed young men wearing white loincloths for the sake of modesty and nothing else. Each crouched expectantly at the foot of a visitor. Alexia glanced at Chancellor Neshi and realized, with a good deal of shock, that these young men were expecting to remove her shoes. Not only hers, but everyone's! The gentlemen, each caught in the act of removing his outside
topper, replaced the hat hurriedly and looked wide-eyed at one another. Realizing they would take their cue from her, Alexia lifted her foot to the young man's knee and permitted him to unlace and pull off her sensible brown walking boots. Following Lady Maccon's lead, the party allowed themselves to be divested of footwear. Alexia shuddered to see that her husband wore no socks and that Tunstell's were mismatched. Only Prudence was delighted to have her shoes removed, not being a very great fan of shoes to begin with.

Chancellor Neshi bustled off, presumably to herald their arrival, at which juncture Mrs. Tunstell broke the hush with a startled, “My goodness gracious, would you look at that god creature there? Its head is nothing but a single feather.”

“Ma'at,” explained Alexia, who had a particular interest in ancient mythology, “goddess of justice.”

“One would perhaps call her feather-head?” suggested Tunstell to much general hilarity. The spell of the ancient world around them was broken.

Chancellor Neshi returned. “
She
is ready to see you now.”

He led them up a set of cold stone stairs to the second level of the house, full of more cool, dark, windowless stone rooms, tomblike and torch-lit. From the upper vestibule, they were led down a long hallway that ended in a small open doorway that let onto an enormous room.

They entered. The room was certainly big enough to stage a play. Against the wall directly opposite the hallway door and halfway down on each side stood a series of low wooden divans with red cushions. The floor was spread with more intricately woven reed mats and the walls
were again painted. These were done in a similar style to the ancient-looking images below but depicted a wide range of current events, from the Turkish invasion to the incorporation of Western technology, from the great Nutmeg Rebellion to the antiquities trade and tourism. It was a record of Egypt's modern history in bright pigment and perfect detail. It was odd to see the figures of bustled and trussed Europeans, British uniforms and army ships, all in the awkward childish style of papyrus paintings.

On the divans against either wall sat a string of striking and somber young persons who could only be the drones of the hive. They wore native dress but, Alexia noted with interest, both the men and women, in defiance of all she had observed so far, had their heads uncovered. She supposed this must be a kind of rejection of native religion in favor of worshipful loyalty to queen and hive.

Directly opposite the door in the position of greatest importance was what looked to be a large parasol. It was suspended from the ceiling, with great swaths of silken cloth hanging from around the edge. Richly colored and strikingly beautiful, the drapes formed a kind of tent, just large enough for one person to stand within. Alexia couldn't help feeling that whoever was inside could probably see out and was watching her every move.

To one side of this shrouded parasol sat four vampires. There was no doubt that they were, indeed, vampires. For, out of some custom alien to England, they were all showing their fangs to the guests. Vampires in London rarely showed fang without prestated, postintroduction intent. To the other side sat one more vampire, whom Chancellor Neshi went to join. Next to the dragoman were two empty spots.

After a moment of silently watching the odd crowd of mixed aristocracy and overdressed thespians, all six vampires rose to their feet.

“The entirety of the Alexandria Hive,” whispered Lord Maccon to his wife.

“We are honored,” said his wife back.

A stunningly lovely drone stepped forward, moving with liquid grace across the wide, empty floor until she stood before them. Her features were strong without being manly, her brows heavy, her mouth generous, her lips stained dark red by skilled artifice. She wore full, wide black trousers that ballooned well out and then came in at the ankles. Over this was a long black tunic, nipped in tight along arms and torso with a wide swath of fabric at the wrists and hem, floating away from the hips like a gentleman's frock coat. The wider parts of the tunic and the bloomers were patterned in gold leaves, and she wore a great quantity of gold jewelry about fingers, wrists, neck, ankles, and toes.

“Welcome,” she said in perfect Queen's English, making a graceful gesture with her arms, like a dancer, “to the Alexandria Hive.” Her large, dark eyes, lined heavily in black, swept over the crowd of actors before her.

“Lord and Lady Maccon?”

Alexia wanted desperately to take her husband's hand, but she thought he might need his supernatural abilities at any moment. So she shifted Prudence more firmly on her hip, taking strange comfort from the presence of her child, and stepped forward. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Conall also segregate himself from the group.

The dark-eyed drone came closer. She looked to Conall
first. “Lord Maccon, you are welcome to Alexandria. It has been many centuries since a werewolf visited this hive. We hope it will not be so long before the next one graces us with his presence.”

Lord Maccon bowed. “I suspect,” he said, because he had no tact, “that will rather depend on the course of this evening's events.”

The drone inclined her head and turned dark eyes to Alexia. “Lady Maccon, soul-sucker. You, too, are welcome. We do not judge the daughter by the father's actions.”

“Well, thank you I'm sure. Especially as I never knew him.”

“No, of course you didn't. And is this
the child
?”

Prudence was quite riveted by the beautiful lady. Perhaps it was all the gold sparkles and jewelry, or the liquid way the drone moved. Alexia hoped it wasn't all the face paint; the last thing she needed was a daughter with a keen interest in feminine wiles. She would have to cede all such training to Lord Akeldama.

“Welcome to the Alexandria Hive, stealer of souls. Your kind we have never had the pleasure of entertaining before.”

“Remember your manners, dear,” said Alexia to her daughter without much hope.

Prudence proved unexpectedly equal to the challenge. “How do you do?” she said, enunciating very clearly and looking quite directly at the lady drone.

Alexia and Conall exchanged raised eyebrow looks.
Very good
, thought Alexia,
we got ourselves a peppery one
.

The drone stepped aside and waved one graceful hand,
offering the two empty spots on the divan next to Chancellor Neshi. “Please, be seated. The queen desires the performance to begin directly.”

“Oh,” protested Ivy, “but she is not here! She will miss the opening act!”

Tunstell put an arm about his wife's waist and hustled her to one corner of the room to prepare.

The drone clapped her hands and once more dozens of servants appeared. With their assistance, the actors managed to set up one half of the room as a stage, screening off the doorway in the middle. They had the servants move all of the many torches and lamps to that side of the room, throwing the other, where drones and vampires sat in perfect silence, into eerie darkness.

The Death Rains of Swansea
was not a performance that improved markedly upon a second viewing. Still there was something appealing if not entertaining about Ivy and Tunstell's antics. Mr. Tumtrinkle pranced his evil prance, and twirled his dastardly fake mustache, and swirled his massive cloak most voraciously. Werewolf hero Tunstell strode back and forth, trousers ever in great danger of ripping over his muscled thighs, coming to the rescue as needed and barking a lot. Ivy fainted whenever there was cause to faint, and swanned about in hats of such proportions it was a wonder her head didn't collapse like a griddle cake under the weight. The supporting cast was, of course, much diminished in size, playing both vampires and werewolves as script demanded. In order to save time, but causing no little confusion as to the plot—no matter what their character at the moment—they wore both the fake fangs and the large shaggy ears tied about their heads with pink tulle bows.

The bumblebee dance went off a treat, the watching vampires and drones almost hypnotized by the spectacle. Alexia wondered if the allegory was wasted on them, or if they, like her, had an appreciation for the ridiculous. Of course, Alexia had only heard Chancellor Neshi and the beautiful drone speak, so it was also possible none of the others understood a word of English.

At the end, vampire queen Ivy returned to werewolf Tunstell's arms after much separation and anxiety, and all was sweetness and light. The torches were dimmed and then raised, and the servants brought in extras to fill the room with an orange glow.

Alexia and the actors waited with bated breath. And then, oh, and then, the assembled vampires and drones rose to their feet crying out in adoration, trilling their tongues in a great cacophony of vibratory sound that could only be utter appreciation. Alexia even observed one or two of the vampires wipe away sentiment, and the beautiful drone with the amazing dark eyes was weeping openly.