Lady Maccon nodded her understanding. Dirigibles catered to daylight folk, not the supernatural set. Vampires could not ride them, as they flew too high out of territory range. Ghosts were usually inconveniently tethered. And werewolves did not like to float—prone to terrible airsickness, her husband had explained the first and only time she intimated interest in such a mode of transport.
“Tomorrow afternoon,” she amended, “but let us talk of more pleasant things. Lord Akeldama, are you interested in hearing about some of Madame Lefoux’s inventions?”
“Indeed.”
Madame Lefoux described several of her more recent devices. Despite his old-fashioned house, Lord Akeldama was fascinated with modern technological developments.
“Alexia has shown me her new parasol. You do impressive work. You are not seeking a patron?” he asked after some quarter of an hour’s talk, clearly impressed with the Frenchwoman’s intelligence, if nothing else.
Understanding fully the unspoken code, the inventor shook her head. Given Madame Lefoux’s appearance and skills, Alexia was in no doubt she had received offers of a similar nature in the past. “Thank you kindly, my lord. You do me particular favor, as I know you prefer male drones. But I am happily situated and of independent means, with no wish to bid for immortality.”
Lady Maccon followed this interchange with interest. So Lord Akeldama thought Madame Lefoux had excess soul, did he? Well, if her aunt had turned into a ghost, excess soul might run in the family. She was about to ask an impolitic question when Lord Akeldama rose, rubbing his long white hands together.
“Well, my little buttercups.”
Uh-oh, Alexia winced in sympathy. Madame Lefoux had achieved Akeldama-appellative status. They would now have to suffer together.
“Would you charming blossoms like to see my newest acquisition? Quite the beauty!”
Alexia and Madame Lefoux exchanged a look, put down their teacups, and rose to follow him with no argument.
Lord Akeldama led them out into the arched and gilded hallway and up several sets of increasingly elaborate staircases. Eventually they attained the top of the town house, entering what should have been the attic. It proved, instead, to have been made over into an elaborate room hung with medieval tapestries and filled with an enormous box, large enough to house two horses. It was raised up off the floor via a complex system of springs and was quilted in a thick fabric to prevent ambient noise from reaching its interior. The box, itself, comprised two small rooms filled with machinery. The first, Lord Akeldama described as the transmitting room, and the second the receiving room.
Alexia had never seen such a thing before.
Madame Lefoux had. “Why, Lord Akeldama, such an expense! You have purchased an aethographic transmitter!” She looked about the crowded interior of the first room with enthusiastic appreciation. Her dimples were in danger of reappearing. “She’s beautiful.” The inventor ran reverent hands over the many dials and switches that controlled the transmitting room’s tangled gadgetry.
Lady Maccon frowned. “The queen is reputed to own one. I understand she was urged to acquire it as a replacement for the telegraph, shortly after the telegraph proved itself an entirely unviable method of communication.”
Lord Akeldama shook his blond head sadly. “I was vastly disappointed to read of the report of that failure. I had such hopes for the telegraph.” There’d been a noted gap in long-distance communication ever since, with the scientific community scrabbling to invent something that was more compatible with highly magnetic aetheromagnetic gasses.
“The aethographor is a wireless communication apparatus, so it does not suffer from such severe disruption to the electromagnetic currents as the telegraph,” Lord Akeldama explained.
Lady Maccon narrowed her eyes at him. “I have read of the new technology. I simply had not thought to see it so soon.” As a matter of course, Alexia had been angling for an invitation to see the queen’s aethographor for over a fortnight, with little success. There was some delicacy to its function that would not allow it to be interrupted during operation. She had also tried, unsuccessfully, to visit BUR’s aethographor. She knew that they had one at the London offices, because she saw rolls of etched metal lying about. Her husband had been utterly impossible about it. “Wife,” he had finally stated in abject frustration, “I canna interrupt business simply to satisfy your curiosity.” Unfortunately for Alexia, since they had come into government possession, both aethographors had been in constant operation.
Lord Akeldama picked up an etched metal roll, flattened it out, and slotted it into a special frame. “You put the message for transfer, so, and activate the aetheric convector.”
Madame Lefoux, looking about with avid interest, interrupted him mid-explanation. “You would, of course, first have to input an outgoing crystalline valve frequensor, just here.” She pointed to the control board, then started. “Where is the resonator cradle?”
“Aha!” crowed the vampire, apparently thrilled she had noticed this flaw. “This is the latest and greatest design, squash blossom. It does not operate via crystalline compatibility protocol!”
Madame Lefoux looked to Lady Maccon. “Squash blossom,” she mouthed silently, her expression half offended, half amused.
Alexia shrugged.
“Usually,” explained Lord Akeldama to Alexia, misinterpreting the shrug, “the transmitting component of the aethographor requires the installation of a specific valve, depending on the message’s intended destination. You see, a companion valve must also be installed in the other party’s receiving room. Only with both in place can a message transfer from point A to point B. The problem is, of course, that exact times must be agreed upon beforehand by both parties, and each must possess the appropriate valve. The queen has an entire library of valves linked to different aethographors dotted all about the empire.”
Madame Lefoux was frowning. “And yet your device has none? It is not very useful, Lord Akeldama, to transmit a message into the aether with no one at the other end to receive it.”
“Aha!” The vampire pranced about the tiny room in his ridiculous shoes, looking far too pleased with himself. “My aetheric transponder does not need one! I have had it installed with the latest in frequency transmitters so that I can tune to whatever aetheromagnetic setting is desired. All I need is to know the crystalline valve’s orientation on the receiving end. And to receive all I need is the right time, a good scan, and someone who has my codes. Sometimes I can even pick up messages intended for other aethographors.” He frowned a moment. “Story of my life, if you think about it.”
“Good Lord.” Madame Lefoux was obviously impressed. “I had no idea such technology even existed. I knew they were working on it, of course, but not that it had finally been built. Impressive. May we witness it in action?”
The vampire shook his head. “I have no messages to go out at the present time and am not expecting any incoming.”
Madame Lefoux looked crestfallen.
“So what happens, exactly?” asked Lady Maccon, who was still looking closely at the equipment.
Lord Akeldama was all too delighted to explain. “Ever notice that the metal paper has a faint grid on it?”
Alexia switched her attention to a scroll of metal Lord Akeldama handed her. The surface was, indeed, divided into a standardized grid. “One letter per square?” she hypothesized.
Lord Akeldama nodded and explained further. “The metal is exposed to a chemical wash that causes the etched letters to burn through. Then two needles pass over each grid square, one on top and the other on the bottom. They spark whenever they are exposed to one another through the letters. This causes an aether wave that is bounced off the upper aethersphere and, in the absence of solar interference, transmits globally.” His gesturing throughout became wilder and wilder, and on the last phrase, he did a little pirouette.
“Astounding.” Lady Maccon was impressed, both with the technology and Lord Akeldama’s ebullience.
He led them into the receiving room section of the aethographor.
“Receivers, mounted on the roof directly above us, pick up the signals. A skilled operator is required to tune out ambient noise and amplify the signal. The message then displays there”—he gestured, hands waving about like flippers, at two pieces of glass with black particulate sandwiched between and a magnet mounted to a small hydraulic arm hovering above—“one letter at a time.”
“So someone must be in residence to read and record each letter?”
“And they must do so utterly silently,” added Madame Lefoux, examining the delicacy of the mounts.
“And they must be ready in an instant, for the message destroys itself as it goes,” Lord Akeldama added.
“Now I comprehend the reason for the noise-proof room and the attic location. This is clearly a most delicate device.” Lady Maccon wondered if she could operate such an apparatus. “You have, indeed, made an impressive acquisition.”
Lord Akeldama grinned.
Alexia gave him a sly look. “So what precisely is your compatibility protocol, Lord Akeldama?”
The vampire pretended offense, looking coquettishly up at the ceiling of the box. “Really, Alexia, what a thing to ask on your very first showing.”
Lady Maccon only smiled.
Lord Akeldama sidled over and slotted her a little slip of paper upon which was written a series of numbers. “I have reserved the eleven o’clock time slot especially for you, my dear, and will begin monitoring all frequencies at that time starting a week from today.” He bustled off and reappeared with a faceted crystalline valve. “And here is this, tuned to my frequency, just in case the apparatus you employ is less progressive than my own.”
Alexia tucked the little slip of paper and the crystalline valve into one of the hidden pockets of her new parasol. “Does any other private residence own one?” she wondered.
“Difficult to know,” replied Lord Akeldama. “The receiver must be mounted upon the roof, so one could conceivably hire a dirigible for air reconnaissance and float about looking for them, but I hardly think that an efficient approach. They are very dear, and there are few private individuals who could see to the expense. The Crown, of course, has two, but others? I only have the list of official compatibility protocols: that is a little under one hundred aethographors dotted about the empire.”
Reluctantly, Alexia realized that time was getting on, and if she intended to leave for Scotland, she had much to do in the space of one night. For one thing, she would have to send round to the queen to alert her to the fact that her muhjah would be missing meetings of the Shadow Council for the next few weeks.
She made her excuses to Lord Akeldama. Madame Lefoux did the same, so that the two ladies found themselves exiting his residence at the same time. They paused to take leave of one another on the stoop.
“Do you really propose to float to Scotland tomorrow?” inquired the Frenchwoman, buttoning her fine gray kid gloves.
“I think it best I go after my husband.”
“Should you travel alone?”
“Oh, I shall take Angelique.”
Madame Lefoux started slightly at the name. “A Frenchwoman? Who is that?”
“My maid, inherited from the Westminster Hive. She is a dab hand with the curling iron.”
“I am certain she is, if she was once under Countess Nadasdy,” replied the inventor with a kind of studied casualness.
Alexia felt there was some kind of double meaning to the comment.
Madame Lefoux did not give her the chance for further inquiry, as she nodded her good-bye, climbed into a waiting hackney, and was gone before Lady Maccon had time to say more than a polite good night.
Professor Randolph Lyall was impatient, but no one would ever guess it to look at him. Partly, of course, because currently he looked like a slightly seedy and very hairy dog, skulking about the bins in the alley next to Lord Akeldama’s town house.
How much time, he was wondering, could possibly be required to take tea with a vampire? A good deal, apparently, if Lord Akeldama and Lady Maccon were involved. Between the two of them, they could talk all four legs off a donkey. He had encountered them in full steam on only one memorable occasion and ever since had avoided the experience assiduously. Madame Lefoux had been a surprise addition to the party, although she probably was not adding much to the conversation. It was odd to see her out of her shop and paying a social call. He made a mental note: this was something his Alpha should know about. Not that he had orders to watch the inventor. But Madame Lefoux was a dangerous person to know.
He shifted about, nose to the wind. Some strange new scent on the air.
Then he noticed the vampires. Two of them, lurking in the shadows well away from Lord Akeldama’s house. Any closer and the effete vampire would sense their alien presence, larvae not of his line in his territory. So, what were they there for? What were they about?
Lyall lowered his tail between his legs and slunk a quick circle behind them, coming at them from downwind. Of course, vampires had nowhere near as fine a sense of smell as werewolves but they had better hearing.
He crept in close, trying to be as silent as possible.
Neither of the vampires were BUR agents, that was for certain. Unless Lyall missed his guess, these were Westminster’s get.
They did not appear to be doing anything but simply watching.
“Fangs!” said one of them finally. “How bloody long can it take to have tea? Especially if one of them ain’t drinking it?”
Professor Lyall wished he had brought his gun. Difficult to carry, though, in one’s mouth.
“Remember, he wants it done stealthy; we are simply checking. Don’t want to go at it with the werewolves over nothing. You know…”
Lyall, who did not know, wanted to very badly, but the vampire, most unhelpfully, did not continue.
“I think he’s paranoid.”
“Ours is not to question, but I believe the mistress agrees with you. Doesn’t stop her from humoring—”
The other vampire suddenly held up a hand, cutting his companion off.
Lady Maccon and Madame Lefoux emerged from Lord Akeldama’s town house and made their good-byes on the stoop. Madame Lefoux swung herself up into a cab, and Lady Maccon was left alone, looking thoughtful on the front steps.
The two vampires moved forward toward her. Lyall did not know what they intended, but he guessed it was probably not good. It certainly was not worth risking his Alpha’s wrath to find out. Quick as a flash, he slithered underneath one of the vampires, tripping him up, in the next movement lunging for the other, teeth snapping hard around anklebone. The first vampire, reacting rapidly, jumped so fast to one side as to be almost impossible to follow, at least for normal sight. Lyall, of course, was not normal.
He leaped, meeting the vampire halfway, lupine body slamming into the man’s side, throwing him off. The second vampire lunged toward him, grabbing for his tail.
The entire scuffle took place in almost complete silence, only the sound of snapping jaws marking the activity.
It gave Lady Maccon just enough time, although she did not know she needed it, to climb into the Woolsey carriage and set off down the street.
The two vampires both stilled as soon as the vehicle was out of sight.
“Well, that’s a sticky wicket,” said one.
“Werewolves,” said the other in disgust. He spat at Lyall, who paced, hackles raised, between them, forestalling any idea of pursuit. Lyall paused to sniff delicately at the wad of spit—eau de Westminster Hive.
“Really,” said the first to Lyall, “we weren’t going to harm one hair of that swarthy Italian head. We simply had a little test in mind. No one would have even known.”
The other elbowed him, hard. “Hush y
ou, that’s Professor Lyall, that is. Lord Maccon’s Beta. The less he knows about anything, the better.”
With that, the two doffed their hats at the still growling, still bristling wolf in front of them and, turning, took off at a leisurely pace toward Bond Street.
Professor Lyall would have followed, but he decided on more precautionary measures and set a brisk trot to follow Alexia and ensure she arrived home safely.
Lady Maccon caught Professor Lyall when he came in, just before dawn. He looked exhausted, his already lean face pinched and drawn.
“Ah, Lady Maccon, you have waited up for me? How kind.”
She searched for the sarcasm in his words, but if it was there, it was cleverly disguised. He was good. Alexia often wondered if Professor Lyall had been an actor before metamorphosis and somehow managed to hold on to his creativity despite sacrificing most of his soul for immortality. He was so very skilled at doing, and being, what was expected.
He confirmed her suspicions. Whatever it was that had caused the wide-scale lack of supernatural was definitely heading north. BUR had determined that the hour of London’s return to supernatural normal correlated with the departure of the Kingair Pack toward Scotland. He was not surprised that Lady Maccon had arrived at the same conclusion.
He was, however, decidedly against the idea that she should go trailing after.
“Well, who else should go? I, at least, will remain entirely unaffected by the affliction.”
Professor Lyall glared at her. “No one should go after it. The earl is perfectly capable of handling the situation, even if he doesn’t yet know he has two problems to deal with. You seem to have failed to realize we all wandered around undamaged for centuries before you appeared in our lives.”
“Yes, but look what a mess you have made of things prior to my arrival.” Lady Maccon was not to be dissuaded from her chosen course of action. “Someone has to tell Conall that Kingair is to blame.”
“If none of them are changing, he’ll find out as soon as he arrives. His lordship would not like you following him.”
The Parasol Protectorate Boxed Set Page 40
