The Parasol Protectorate Boxed Set (41 page)

“But,
Maman
, I simply wanted to see what would happen!”

“So, now you see. What happens is it makes your
maman
angry and gets you nights and nights of cleaning as punishment.”

“Aw,
Maman
!”

“Right this very minute, Quesnel.”

Quesnel sighed loudly and scampered off with a “nice to meet you” directed over his shoulder at Lady Maccon.

“That will teach him to run experiments without some valid hypothesis. Go after him, please, Beatrice, and keep him away for
at least a quarter of an hour while I finish my business with Lady Maccon.”

“Fraternizing with a preternatural! You run a far more dangerous game than I did in my day, niece,” grumbled the ghost, but
she dispersed easily enough, presumably after the boy.

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Formerly Lefoux,” said Alexia defiantly to the now-empty air.

“Please do not concern yourself with her attitude. Even when alive, my aunt was difficult. Brilliant, but difficult. An inventor
like me, you see, but less socially indoctrinated, I am afraid.”

Lady Maccon smiled. “I have met many such scientists, and most of them could not claim brilliance as an excuse. That is not
to say they didn't claim it, of course, just that…” She trailed off. She was babbling. She wasn't certain why, but something
about the beautiful, strangely dressed Frenchwoman made Alexia nervous.

“So.” The inventor moved closer to her. Madame Lefoux smelled of vanilla and mechanical oil. “We find ourselves alone. It
is a genuine pleasure to meet you, Lady Maccon. The last time I was in the company of a preternatural, I was but a small child.
And, of course, he was nowhere near as striking as you.”

“Well, uh, thank you.” Alexia was a little taken aback by the compliment.

The inventor took her hand gently. “Not at all.”

The skin of the inventor's palm was callused. Lady Maccon could feel the roughness even through her gloves. At the contact,
Alexia experienced certain slight palpitations that had, heretofore, been associated only with the opposite sex and, more
specifically, her husband. Not much truly shocked Alexia. This did.

As soon as was seemly, she withdrew her hand, blushing furiously under her tan. Considering it a rude betrayal by her own
body, Alexia ignored the phenomenon and grappled ineffectually for a moment, trying to remember the direction of her inquiry
and the reason they were now alone together. Which was? Ah, yes, at her
husband's
insistence.

“I believe you may have something for me,” she said at long last.

Madame Lefoux doffed her top hat in acknowledgment. “Indeed I do. One moment, please.” With a sly smile, she moved off to
one side of the lab and rummaged about for a moment in a large steamer trunk. Eventually, she emerged with a long skinny wooden
box.

Lady Maccon held her breath in anticipation.

Madame Lefoux carried it over and flipped open the lid.

Inside was a not-very-prepossessing parasol of outlandish shape and indifferent style. Its shade was slate gray in color,
edged in embroidered lace, with a thick cream ruffle trim. It had a peculiarly long spike at its tip, decorated with two egg-sized
metal globules, like seedpods, one near the fabric and another closer to the tip. Its ribs were oversized, making it bulky
and umbrella-like, and its shaft was extremely long, ending in a chubby, knobby, richly decorated handle. The handle looked
like something that might top an ancient Egyptian column, carved with lotus flowers—or a very enthusiastic pineapple. The
parasol's parts were entirely of brass, in what looked to be variable alloys, giving it a wide-ranging coloration.

“Well, Conall's taste strikes again,” commented Alexia, whose own taste, while not particularly imaginative or sophisticated,
at least did not tend toward the bizarre.

Madame Lefoux dimpled. “I did my best, given the carrying capacity.”

Alexia was intrigued. “May I?”

The inventor offered her the box.

Lady Maccon lifted out the monstrosity. “It's heavier than it looks.”

“That is one of the reasons I made it so very long. I thought it might serve double as a walking stick. Then you would not
have to carry it everywhere.”

Alexia tested it. The height was ideal for just that. “Is it likely to be something I must carry everywhere?”

“I believe your esteemed husband would prefer it so.”

Alexia demurred. It leaned heavily toward the ugly end of the parasol spectrum. Many of her favorite day dresses would clash
most horribly with all that brass and gray, not to mention the decorative elements.

“Also, of course, it had to be tough enough to serve as a defensive weapon.”

“A sensible precaution, given my proclivities.” Lady Maccon had destroyed more than one parasol through the application of
it against someone else's skull.

“Would you like to learn its anthroscopy?” Madame Lefoux became gleeful as she made the offer.

“It has anthroscopy? Is that healthy?”

“Why, certainly. Do you believe I would design an object so ugly without sufficient cause?”

Alexia passed her the heavy accessory. “By all means.”

Madame Lefoux took hold of the handle, allowing Alexia to maintain a grip on the top spire. Upon closer examination, Alexia
realized the tip had a tiny hydraulic hinge affixed to one side.

“When you press here”—Madame Lefoux indicated one of the lotus petals on the shaft just below the large handle—“that tip opens
and emits a poisoned dart equipped with a numbing agent. And if you twist the handle so…”

Alexia gasped as, just above where she gripped the end, two wickedly sharp spikes flipped out, one of silver and one of wood.

“I did notice your cravat pins,” Lady Maccon said.

Madame Lefoux chuckled, touching them delicately with her free hand. “Oh, they are more than simply cravat pins.”

“Of that I have no doubt. Does the parasol do anything else?”

Madame Lefoux winked at her. “Ah, that is just the beginning. In this, you understand, Lady Maccon, I am an artist.”

Alexia licked her bottom lip. “I am certainly beginning to comprehend that fact. And here I thought only your hats were exceptional.”

The Frenchwoman blushed slightly, the color visible even in the orange light. “Pull this lotus petal here, and so.”

Every noise in the lab fell silent. All the whirring, clanking, and puffs of steam that had faded into the background as ambient
sound became suddenly noticeable by way of their absence.

“What?” Alexia looked about. All was still.

And then, moments later, the mechanisms started up once more.

“What happened?” she asked, looking in awe down at the parasol.

“The nodule here”—the inventor pointed to the egg attachment near the shade section of the parasol—“emitted a magnetic disruption
field. It will affect any metal of the iron, nickel, or cobalt family, including steel. If you need to seize up a steam engine
for any reason, this will probably do the trick, but only for a brief amount of time.”

“Remarkable!”

Again the Frenchwoman blushed. “The disruption field is not of my own invention, but I did make it substantially smaller than
Babbage's original design.” She continued on. “The ruffles contain various hidden pockets and are fluffy enough to disguise
small objects.” She reached inside the wide ruffle and pulled out a little vial.

“Poison?” asked Lady Maccon, tilting her head to one side.

“Certainly not. Something far more important: perfume. We cannot very well have you fighting crime unscented, now, can we?”

“Oh.” Alexia nodded gravely. After all, Madame Lefoux
was
French. “Certainly not.”

Madame Lefoux pushed the shade up, revealing that the parasol was of an old-fashioned pagoda shape. “You can also turn it
thus”—she flipped the parasol around so that the shade was pointing the wrong direction—“and twist and press here.” She pointed
to a small nodule just above the magnetic disruption emitter, in which a tiny dial was set. “I have designed it to be quite
difficult to operate, to prevent any unfortunate accidents. The rib caps of the parasol will open and emit a fine mist. At
one click, these three will emit a mixture of
lapis lunearis
and water. At two clicks, the other three ribs will emit
lapis solaris
diluted in sulfuric acid. Make certain that you, and anyone you care about, stay well out of the blast area and upwind. Although
the
lunearis
will cause only mild skin irritation, the
solaris
is toxic and will kill humans as well as disabling vampires.” With a sudden grin, the scientist added, “Only werewolves are
resistant. The
lunearis
is, of course, for them. A direct spray should render the species in question helpless and gravely ill for several days.
Three clicks and both will emit at once.”

“Quite outstanding, madame.” Alexia was suitably impressed. “I did not know there were any poisons capable of disabling either
species.”

Madame Lefoux said mildly, “I once had access to a partial copy of the Templar's Amended Rule.”

Lady Maccon's mouth dropped. “You what?”

The Frenchwoman elucidated no further.

Alexia took the parasol, turning it about in her hands reverently. “I shall have to change over half my wardrobe to match
it, of course. But I suspect it will be worth it.”

Madame Lefoux dimpled in pleasure. “It
will
also keep the sun at bay.”

Lady Maccon snorted in amusement. “As to the cost, has my husband dealt with the necessities?”

The Frenchwoman held up a small hand. “Oh, I am well aware that Woolsey can see to the expense. And I have had dealings with
your pack before.”

Alexia smiled. “Professor Lyall?”

“Mainly. He is a curious man. One wonders, sometimes, as to his motivations.”

“He is not a man.”

“Just so.”

“And you?”

“I, too, am not a man. I simply enjoy dressing like one,” replied Madame Lefoux, purposefully choosing to misinterpret Alexia's
question.

“So you say,” replied Lady Maccon. Then she frowned, remembering something Ivy had said about the new hat shop: that actresses
like Mabel Dair were known to frequent it. “You are dealing with the hives as well as the packs.”

“And why would you say that?”

“Miss Hisselpenny mentioned that Miss Dair visited your establishment. She is drone to the Westminster Hive.”

The Frenchwoman turned away, busying herself with tidying the laboratory. “I provide to those who can afford my services.”

“Does that include loners and roves? Have you catered to, for example, Lord Akeldama's taste?”

“I have not yet had the pleasure,” replied the inventor.

Alexia noted that the Frenchwoman did not say that she had not
heard
of him.

Lady Maccon decided to meddle. “Ah, this is a grave lapse! It ought to be rectified immediately. Would you be free for tea
later this evening, say around midnight? I shall consult with the gentleman in question and see if he is available.”

Madame Lefoux looked curious but wary. “I believe I could arrange to get away. How very kind of you, Lady Maccon.”

Alexia inclined her head in grand-dame fashion, feeling silly. “I shall send around a card with the address, if he is amenable.”
She wanted to meet with Lord Akeldama alone first.

Just then, a new noise made itself heard through the hubbub of machinery, a querulous, high-pitched, “Alexia?”

Lady Maccon whirled about. “Oh dear, Ivy! She has not made her way down here, has she? I believe I closed the door to the
ascension chamber behind me.”

Madame Lefoux looked unperturbed. “Oh, do not concern yourself. It is only her voice. I have an auditory capture and dispersal
amplifier funneling sounds in from the shop.” She pointed to where a trumpet-shaped object was cabled to the ceiling. Lady
Maccon had thought it some kind of gramophone. But Ivy's voice emanated from it, as clearly as if she were in the laboratory
with them. Astonishing.

“Perhaps we should return to the shop and attend her,” suggested the inventor.

Alexia, clutching her new parasol to her ample bosom like a newborn child, nodded.

They did so, to find that the gas lighting was up and running once more. And that, under the bright lights of the empty shop,
Miss Hisselpenny was still reposing on the floor, but now seated upright and looking pale and confused.

“What happened?” she demanded as Lady Maccon and Madame Lefoux approached.

“There was a loud bang, and you fainted,” replied Alexia. “Really, Ivy, if you did not lace your corset so tight, you would
not be so prone to the vapors. It is reputed to be terribly bad for your health.”

Miss Hisselpenny gasped at the mention of
underclothing
in a public hat shop. “Please, Alexia, do not spout such radical folderol. Next thing, you will want me to engage in dress
reform!”

Lady Maccon rolled her eyes. The very idea:
Ivy
in bloomers!

“What have you got there?” Miss Hisselpenny asked, focusing on the parasol Lady Maccon clasped to her chest.

Alexia crouched down to show the parasol to her friend.

“Why, Alexia, that is quite beautiful. It does not reflect your customary taste at all,” approved Miss Hisselpenny with glee.

Trust Ivy to like the hideous thing for its looks.

Miss Hisselpenny glanced eagerly up at the Frenchwoman. “I should like one just like it, in perhaps a nice lemon yellow with
black and white stripes. Would you have such an item to hand?”

Alexia giggled at Madame Lefoux's shocked expression.

“I should think not,” the inventor croaked out finally, having cleared her throat twice. “Should I”—she winced slightly—“order
you one?”