The Parasol Protectorate Boxed Set

by Gail Carriger

  “Ah, Lady Maccon, do come in.”

  “Countess Nadasdy, how do you do? You are adjusting to rural life, I see.”

  “For a girl with as unsullied a nature as I, the countryside is unobjectionable.”

  Lady Maccon paused, verbally stymied by the countess using the words unsullied and girl to describe herself.

  The vampire queen glanced away from Lady Maccon’s ill-disguised discomposure. “Thank you, Dr. Caedes. You may leave us.”

  “But, My Queen!”

  “This is a matter for Lady Maccon and I, alone.”

  Alexia said quickly, “Countess, may I present Major Channing?”

  “You may. Major Channing and I are already acquainted. I’m sure he won’t mind allowing us a few moments of privacy?”

  Major Channing looked like he would mind, but realizing that Dr. Caedes was about to leave his queen with a preternatural decided it was all in good faith.

  “I shall be just outside the door, my lady, should you need anything.”

  Alexia nodded. “Thank you, Channing. I’m convinced all will be well.”

  So Alexia found herself alone in a blue room with a vampire queen.

  After Felicity and Madame Lefoux departed, the shop turned into a frenzy of fashionable ladies in pursuit of hats, but Biffy’s staff of assorted shopgirls had it well under control. He did a quick lap to ensure no lady was purchasing anything that did not suit her coloring, complexion, demeanor, station, or creed. He then left his accessories to the tender mercies of Britain’s shopping public and retired down to the contrivance chamber to catch up on necessary paperwork. He was engaged at first, it must be admitted, in beautifying said paperwork by trimming the corners and adding necessary swirls and flowers to the text.

  It had all happened rather organically. Because he was there most nights, and the contrivance chamber was the new dungeon for Lord Maccon’s wolves, Biffy had assumed responsibility for a good deal of pack organization. Professor Lyall didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he rather approved, so far as Biffy could tell. He wondered if the professor, after decades of sole stewardship, was relieved to have someone else take on part of the burden.

  Since Madame Lefoux had removed all her machines, instruments, and gadgets, the contrivance chamber was a good deal more cavernous. Biffy thought it could use some nice rose-patterned wallpaper and a brocade cushion or two. But, given that its new purpose was as a full-moon prison, there was no point in wasting wallpaper on werewolves.

  The dandy circled the huge room slowly, imagining himself swanking about a massive ballroom in one of Paris’s fancy hotels—except he was checking the security of the pulley system, not waltzing with worldly Parisian ladies in obscenely large headdresses. Everything seemed to be secure. Gustave Trouvé had done an excellent job. The massive cages, iron coated in a silver wash, were strong enough to hold even Lord Maccon, yet they rose to the ceiling via a cranking mechanism that even the weakest claviger could operate. Biffy looked up contemplatively at the bottoms of the cages and wondered if he might not turn them into some kind of chandelier. Or at least ornament them with some ribbons and a tassel or two.

  He settled behind his small desk in one corner of the room. There was pack business to attend to: a puzzle over one of the new recruits and a petition from a loner for one of his clavigers to be put up for metamorphosis. Several hours later, he stood, stretched, and packed away his work. He considered the fact that all around town, plays were ending, clubs were filling with smoke and chatter, and the gentlemen follies were at large. Perhaps he might change and catch the last of the evening’s entertainment before sunrise. He had been required, by dint of association, to give over some of his dandified ways after becoming a werewolf, but not all of them. He fingered delicately the unruly curls of his hair. Some young men about town had recently assumed a certain level of scruff and simulated messiness. Biffy liked to think it was his influence.

  The pack town house was dark. Everyone was taking advantage of the lures that London had to offer with little risk of accidental change for the youngsters or chronic boredom for the elders. He was making his way upstairs when he caught a smell, an unusual one not ordinarily associated with his abode. Something spicy and exotic and—he paused, trying to think—sandy. He turned, tracking with small short sniffs, following the alien scent toward the back of the house and the servants’ domain.

  Biffy heard the murmur of voices, his fine wolf hearing alerting him even through the shut kitchen door. Men’s voices, one of them deep and authoritative, the other higher and more lilting. The first sounded familiar, but it was difficult to tell who it was, as they both were speaking in a foreign tongue Biffy couldn’t quite place.

  The conversation ended and the outer door to the kitchen opened and shut, letting in the sound of the back alley and a brief whiff of rubbish. Lightning fast, Biffy nipped into the shadows under the staircase at the far side of the hall, watching for the other party of the conversation.

  Floote emerged from the room. The butler did not notice Biffy, merely gliding about his duties.

  Biffy stood a long time in the dark, thinking. Then he realized what language it had been. Interesting that Lady Maccon’s pet butler spoke fluent Arabic.

  “Well.” Alexia stood before the queen of the Woolsey Hive and narrowed her eyes at the woman. “Here I am, Countess, at your disposal. How can I help?”

  “Now, Lady Maccon, is that any way to address your betters?” Countess Nadasdy didn’t move from her stiff pose.

  Alexia privately suspected, due to the tightness of the dress, that she couldn’t.

  “You have taken me away from an evening with my family, Countess.”

  “Yes, on the subject of which, we understood Lord Akeldama would have primary care for the abomination and yet…” The vampire let her words trail off.

  Alexia understood perfectly. “Yes, and he does. Prudence lives with him. And please refer to my daughter by her name.”

  “But you live next door and visit quite frequently, I understand.”

  “It is necessary.”

  “A mother’s love or a child’s affliction?” The countess widened her cornflower-blue eyes significantly.

  “Someone has to cancel her out.”

  The countess grinned suddenly. “Difficult is she, the soul-stealer?”

  “Only when she isn’t herself.”

  “Fascinating way of putting it.”

  “You simply must learn to relax your standards, Countess, or Prudence could run ragged all over London, even getting so far as Barking.” Alexia, nettled that she had been offered neither seat nor tea, allowed some of her annoyance to creep into her voice. “Is this the nature of your summons or did you have something particular you wished to discuss with me?”

  The vampire queen reached out to a small side table. Alexia was certain she heard the dress creak. The queen gestured Alexia to come closer, using a small scroll of parchment she had resting there.

  “Someone wishes to meet the abomination.”

  “What was that? I’m afraid I didn’t quite catch it. Wishes to meet who, did you say?” Alexia looked pointedly out a nearby window.

  Countess Nadasdy showed fang. “Matakara wishes to meet your child.”

  “Mata-who? Well, many people wish to meet Prudence. Why should this particular person signify to any—”

  The countess interrupted her with a sharp gesture. “No. You misunderstand. Matakara, queen of the Alexandria Hive.”

  “Who?”

  “Oh, how can you be intimate with so many immortals, yet be so ignorant of our world?” The countess’s beautiful round face became pinched in annoyance. “Queen Matakara is the oldest living vampire, possibly the oldest living creature. Some claim over three thousand years. Of course, no one knows the actual number with any certainty.”

  Alexia tried to fathom such a vast age. “Oh.”

  “She has shown a particular interest in your progeny. Generally speaking, Queen Matakara hasn’t
shown an interest in anything at all for five hundred years. It is a great honor. When one is summoned to visit her, one does not delay.”

  “Let me get this perfectly clear. She requires me to travel, to Egypt, with my daughter, on her whim?” Lady Maccon was, perhaps, less impressed than she ought to be by the interest of such an august body.

  “Yes, but she would prefer if the reason for your journey were not publicly known.”

  “She wants me to travel to Egypt with my daughter under subterfuge? You have heard of my daughter’s antics, have you not?”

  “Yes.”

  Alexia huffed out a breath in exasperation. “Not asking very much, is she?”

  “Here.” The countess passed her the missive.

  The sum of the request, or more properly the order, written in a slightly stilted manner that suggested the writer’s first language was not English, was indeed as had been discussed.

  Alexia looked up from it, annoyed. “Why?”

  “Because she desires it, of course.” Clearly Queen Matakara had the same kind of superior social power over the countess as the Queen of England did the Duchess of Devonshire.

  “No, I mean to ask, why should I inconvenience myself with a trip?”

  “Ah, yes, preternaturals, so very practical. I understand Egypt is lovely this time of year, and I believe there is something more that you have overlooked.”

  Alexia read the letter again and then flipped it over. There was a postscript on the reverse side. “I believe your husband is missing a werewolf. And you are missing a father. I can help you with both.”

  Alexia folded the parchment carefully and tucked it into her reticule, next to Ethel. “I’ll prepare to leave at once.”

  “My dear Lady Maccon, I surmised that might be the case.” The countess looked sublimely pleased with herself.

  Alexia sneered. Nothing was more annoying than a self-satisfied vampire, which, given that seemed to be their natural state, was saying something about vampires.

  A great hullabaloo out in the corridor heralded some kind of emergency. There was a good deal of yelling and then a banging at the door to the Blue Room.

  “I left orders not to be disturbed!” yelled the queen, moved to irritated vocalization, if not actually moved to, well, move.

  Said orders, however, were clearly to be disregarded, for the door burst open and in stumbled Dr. Caedes, Major Channing, and Madame Lefoux. They were carrying between them an exquisite young woman with dark hair, whose eyes were closed and body ominously floppy. Her perfection was marred by a great gash at the back of her head that bled copiously.

  “Oh, really! I just had this room made over,” said Countess Nadasdy.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Several Unexpected Occurrences and Tea

  It’s Asphodel, My Queen. Riding accident.”

  The vampire queen made a beckoning motion with two fingers. “Bring her to me.”

  The three carried the drone over to her mistress. The girl’s breathing was shallow, and she did not move.

  “Dead drones are so inconvenient. Not to mention the hassle in finding an adequately fit, able, and attractive replacement.”

  “I think you should try for the bite, My Queen.”

  Countess Nadasdy looked at her vampire companion skeptically. “You do, do you, Doctor? I suppose it has been a while since I took the gamble.”

  The door crashed open once more and Mabel Dair appeared in the aperture, resplendent in a bronze riding gown with red trim. The actress swept into the room. “How is she?”

  Miss Dair sashayed across the thick carpet and cast herself forward to kneel on the floor next to Countess Nadasdy and the injured drone. “Oh, poor Asphodel!”

  Alexia had to give the actress credit for a moving performance.

  Madame Lefoux stepped forward and bent to press Miss Dair’s shoulders soothingly. “Come away, chérie. There’s nothing we can do for her now.”

  Mabel allowed herself to be gentled into a standing position and away from the hive queen. “Oh, you will try, please, won’t you, mistress? Asphodel is such a sweet girl.”

  The queen wrinkled her nose and looked back down. “I suppose she is quite pretty. Very well, bring me my sippy goblet.”

  Dr. Caedes sprang into action. “At once, My Queen!” He vanished from the room.

  While they waited for him to return, Alexia turned to the new arrivals. “Good evening, Madame Lefoux. Miss Dair.”

  “Lady Maccon, how do you do?” replied the actress. Hands were clasped to her trembling bosom, and the bulk of her attention was still centered on the dying girl.

  Madame Lefoux merely tipped her head in Alexia’s direction and gave her a small, tight smile. Then she returned her attention to the actress, placing a solicitous arm about the woman’s waist.

  Dr. Caedes returned, bearing a small silver goblet with some kind of lid attached to the top. It looked like those cup attachments designed for gentlemen with mustaches. He passed it to the queen, who took it in one hand.

  “Prepare the girl.”

  Dr. Caedes grabbed the comatose woman by the shoulders and shifted her into his mistress’s lap. His supernatural strength made the task an easy one, even had the girl not been relatively slight. He turned her head so that she rested with the side of her neck exposed.

  The queen took a drink from the goblet, swished the contents around in her mouth, and paused, an intense look of contemplation on her face. Then Countess Nadasdy bared her teeth, both the longer regular fangs, the feeders, and the smaller fangs to either side, the makers. Alexia wasn’t quite certain on the logistics of vampire metamorphosis. They were secretive about the details, and rarely were scientists, save their own, permitted to observe. But she knew the current theory held that feeders sucked the blood out while makers pumped blood in, so metamorphosis occurred by process of the queen literally giving her own blood over to the new vampire.

  The countess opened her mouth wide. The makers were dripping perfect drops of dark blood, almost black. Alexia wondered if the contents of the sippy goblet acted as a catalyst.

  Dr. Caedes bent and looked into his queen’s mouth. “I believe we may proceed, My Queen.”

  Lady Maccon could only hope that the vampire metamorphosis process was less brutal than the werewolves. Her husband had practically eaten Lady Kingair whole in order to change her. It was most indelicate. The last thing Alexia wanted was to witness the vampire version of a three-course meal.

  “Should we be watching this? Isn’t unbirth a matter for family intimates only?” Alexia asked Major Channing on a hiss.

  “I think we are remaining as witnesses apurpose, my lady. She wants to prove her strength.” The major seemed not at all perturbed by the prospect.

  “Does she? Why? Did I look as though I doubted it?”

  “No. But our Alpha has managed two successful metamorphoses in the past three years. That has got to smart something awful for the vampires.”

  “You mean, I have stumbled into some kind of eternal tiddlywinks match? Who can make the most immortals? What are you people, schoolroom children?”

  Major Channing tilted his hands, palms up, in supplication.

  “Oh, for goodness’ sake,” said Alexia, and then hushed, for the countess was biting down at last.

  It was a good deal more elegant than with the werewolves at first. Countess Nadasdy sank her feeder fangs deep into the flesh of the girl’s neck and then kept going until she was far enough in for the maker fangs to sink in as well. She cradled both arms about the woman and leaned back so that she was held up to her mouth like a tea sandwich. The girl’s slack white face tilted toward the small audience. Countess Nadasdy closed her eyes, assuming an expression of ecstatic bliss. She moved not one muscle, except that Alexia could see a strange up and down fluttering in her neck, like a cow regurgitating its cud, only faster, smaller, and in both directions.

  Asphodel remained limp in her mistress’s arms for a long while, until her whole body j
erked—once. Alexia jumped in reaction, as did Major Channing. Madame Lefoux gave them both a quelling look.

  Asphodel’s eyes popped open, wide, startled, looking directly at the observers. Then she began to scream. It was a deep, drawn-out cry of agony. Her pupils dilated, darkening and changing color, extending outward until her entire eyeball was a solid deep red.

  The girl’s eyes began to bleed. Drops of blood leaked out, running down the sides of her face and dripping off her nose. Her screams became gargles as blood began to pour out of her mouth, muffling the cries.

  Dr. Caedes said, “Enough, My Queen. It isn’t taking. There will be no making this one over.”

  The hive queen only continued to suck, her expression beatific. Her arms were beginning to lose their hold, however, and she was sagging over the girl.

  Dr. Caedes stepped forward and ripped Asphodel off of his queen’s fangs. Under normal circumstances, Alexia suspected he would not have been able to do so. All vampires were strong, but queens were reputed to be the strongest of them all. However, the countess’s beautiful eyes, when they finally opened, were sunken with exhaustion.

  Dr. Caedes yanked the maid from the countess’s grasp and threw her to the floor like a used dishrag. The girl convulsed one final time and stilled.

  Alexia went to bend over her solicitously, careful not to touch her in case, somehow, this was all as it was meant to be, and preternatural contact might interfere with the process of metamorphosis. The girl, however, was motionless. Lady Maccon looked up from her crouch at Major Channing. The werewolf shook his blond head.

  Dr. Caedes spoke into the shocked quiet of the Blue Room. “My Queen, it did not take. You need to feed and restore your strength. Please, put the makers away. I will call in the drones.”

  Countess Nadasdy turned an unfocused gaze onto her vampire companion. “Didn’t it work? Another one gone. How unfortunate. I shall have to buy a new dress, then.” She looked around, catching sight of the fallen girl and Lady Maccon bent over her. She laughed. “There’s nothing you can do, soul-sucker.”