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.
CHAPTER SIX
In Which the Parasol Protectorate Acquires a New Member
Lord 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.”