“A professional handler,” answered Floote curtly, as though that were explanation enough.
Madame Lefoux gave Floote a very long look. “And how long did Alessandro Tarabotti work for the Templars?”
“Long enough.”
Alexia gave Floote a stern look. “And how long did you?”
Floote came over al inscrutable at that. Alexia was familiar with that attitude; he got it when he was about to clam up and become his most cagey. She faintly recal ed from her nightmare time locked away in the Hypocras Club, some scientist saying something to the effect of Templars using soul ess as agents. Had her father real y been so bad as that? To work for a people who would have regarded him as not human. No. Could he really?
Alexia did not have an opportunity, however, to try and crack Floote’s hard, curmudgeonly shel , for someone came out into the courtyard and began walking purposeful y toward them. A Templar, but this one seemed perfectly capable of looking Alexia ful in the face.
The man wore practical middle-class dress twisted into absurdity through the presence of a white sleeveless smock with a red cross embroidered on the front. This absurdity was somewhat mitigated by the sinister presence of a particularly large sword.
At his approach, Alexia and Madame Lefoux extracted themselves from the bench seats.
Alexia’s nightgown ruffles got caught on the rough wood in a most annoying manner. She tugged them away and drew the robe closed more securely.
Looking down at her attire and then back up at the man approaching, Alexia grinned.
We are all dressed for bed.
This Templar also wore a hat of such unsightliness as to rival one of Ivy’s more favored investments. It was white and peaked, boasting yet another red cross emblazoned on the front and gold brocade about the edge.
Floote stood at Alexia’s side. Leaning over, he whispered in her ear, “Whatever you do, madam, please do not tel him about the child.” Then he straightened to his stiffest and most butlerlike pose.
The man bared his teeth when he reached them, bowing slightly. It could not possibly be a smile, could it? He had very straight white teeth, and a lot of them. “Welcome to Italy, daughter of the Tarabotti stock.”
“You are speaking to me?” Alexia said dumbly.
“I am preceptor of the temple here in Florence. You are considered a smal risk to my eternal soul. Of course, there wil be five days’ cleansing and a confessional after I have terminated contact with you, but until then, yes, I may speak with you.”
His English was simply too good. “You are not an Italian, are you?”
“I am a Templar.”
At a loss over what to do next, Alexia resorted to politeness and proper etiquette.
Trying to hide the fuzzy slippers under the fril y hem of her nightgown, she curtsied. “How do you do? Al ow me to introduce my companions, Madame Lefoux and Mr. Floote.”
The preceptor bowed a second time. “Madame Lefoux, I am familiar with your work, of course. I found your recent paper on the aerodynamic adjustments needed to compensate for aether currents quite intriguing.”
Madame Lefoux looked neither flattered nor inclined to make smal talk. “Are you a man of God or a man of science?”
“Sometimes I am both. And, Mr. Floote, how do you do? I believe I am familiar with your name as well . You are in our records, yes? You have maintained an unwavering connection to the Tarabotti stock. An intriguing display of loyalty not normal y engendered by preternaturals.”
Floote said nothing.
“If you would al please fol ow me?”
Alexia looked at her companions. Madame Lefoux shrugged and Floote appeared only slightly more stiff than usual, but he was blinking apprehensively.
Alexia figured there was nothing for it but to play along.
“With pleasure,” she said.
The preceptor led them through the temple, al the while talking to Alexia in a mild, silky voice.
“And how do you like Italy, My Soul ess One?”
Alexia did not like his use of the possessive, but nevertheless tried to answer this question. Since she had not, as yet, seen very much of the country, it was difficult. Stil , from what she had glimpsed out of her window that morning, she had formulated one ready opinion. “It is very orange. Is it not?”
The preceptor gave a little chuckle. “I had forgotten how extremely prosaic the soul ess are. Here we sit in Florence, the most romantic city on God’s earth, queen of the artistic world, and she finds it orange. ”
“Wel , it is.” Alexia gave him an inquisitive look. Why should she be the only one on the defensive? “I read somewhere that the Templars have an initiation ritual involving a dead cat and a duck made from a rubber tree. Is that true?”
“We do not discuss the secrets of the brotherhood with outsiders. Certainly not with a soul ess.”
“Wel , certainly, you would like to keep that a secret.” He looked dismayed but did not rise to the bait. Apparently, he was unable to. He could not refute her statements without discussing the very secrets he hoped to hide. Alexia relished her smal victory.
The rest of the temple, as it turned out, was just as richly furnished and religiously decorated as the parts Alexia had already observed. There was a certain sparseness to the design and a complete absence of personal items that gave the place the unmistakable aura of a monastery despite its luxuriousness. This feeling of piety was helped along by the general hush and quiet al about.
“Where have al the other gentlemen gone?” Alexia asked, surprised not to have encountered any of the many men they had seen in the dining courtyard.
“The brothers are practicing, of course.”
“Oh?” Alexia had no idea what their host was talking about, but he clearly believed that she ought to. “Um, practicing what, exactly?”
“The fighting arts.”
“Oh.” Alexia tried a new tactic after that, asking about some of the artifacts on display in an effort to get him to reveal more about his agenda.
The preceptor explained one or two with the same smooth calmness. “Salvaged from the treasury at Outremer,” he said of an entirely unremarkable piece of rock raised in glory atop a marble column, and, “The letter written by Preceptor Terric of Jerusalem to Henry I ” of a papyrus scrol yel owed with age.
Madame Lefoux paid attention with the interest of a bluestocking. Alexia was intrigued by the history but mostly mystified; she found religious relics rather dul , so the meaning was general y lost on her. The preceptor failed to reveal any useful secrets despite her cross-examination. Floote strode stoical y behind, disregarding the artifacts being described and focusing on the Templar leading them.
Eventually, they ended their tour in a massive library, which Alexia supposed must pass for the relaxation area. The Templars didn’t seem like the type of men to boast a card room. Not that she minded; Alexia had always preferred libraries herself.
The preceptor rang a little hand bel , like those Alexia had seen worn by cows, and within moments a liveried servant appeared. Alexia narrowed her eyes and drummed her fingers. After a rapid conversation in Italian, in which the preceptor did most of the talking, the servant left.
“Did you catch that?” Alexia asked Madame Lefoux in a whispered tone.
The Frenchwoman shook her head. “I do not speak Italian. You?”
“Apparently not well enough.”
“Real y? Italian and French?”
“And a little Spanish and some Latin.” Alexia grinned. She was proud of her academic achievements. “We had this fantastic governess for a while. Unfortunately, Mama found out that she was fil ing my head with useful information and dismissed her in favor of a dance instructor.”
The servant reappeared with a tray covered in a white linen cloth. The preceptor lifted this with a flourish to reveal not tea but a piece of mechanical gadgetry.
Madame Lefoux was immediately intrigued. She apparently preferred such things to tea. There was no accounting for taste.
The preceptor al owed the inventor to examine the device at length.
Alexia thought it looked… uncomfortable.
“Some sort of analog transducer? It bears a passing resemblance to a galvanometer but it isn’t, is it? Is it a magnetometer of some kind?”
The Templar shook his head, face stiff. Alexia realized what it was that bothered her so excessively about this man—his eyes were flat and expressionless.
“You are clearly an expert in your field, Madame Lefoux, but no. Not a magnetometer.
You wil not have seen one of these before. Not even in one of England’s famed Royal Society reports. Although, you may know of its inventor, a German: Mr. Lange-Wilsdorf?”
“Real y?” Alexia perked up at that name.
Both Floote and Madame Lefoux shot her dirty looks.
Alexia backed hurriedly away from any show of enthusiasm. “I may have read one or two of his papers.”
The preceptor gave her a sharp glance out of his dead eyes but seemed to accept her statement. “Of course you would have. He is an expert in your field; that is”—the man flashed her another nonsmile of perfect teeth—“in the field of you, as it were. A remarkable mind, Mr. Lange-Wilsdorf. Unfortunately, we found his faith”—he paused meaningful y—“inconsistent. Stil , he did devise this wonderful little tool for us.”
“And what is it designed to detect?” Madame Lefoux was stil troubled by her own inability to understand the gadget.
The Templar answered her with action. He cranked a handle vigorously, and the machine whirred to life, humming softly. A little wand was attached to it by means of a long cord. There was a rubber stopper at the wand’s base, which corked up a glass jar in which the end of the wand resided. The preceptor pul ed off the glass, exposing the wand to the air. Immediately, the smal contraption began to emit a metal ic pinging noise.
Madame Lefoux crossed her arms skeptical y. “It is an oxygen detector?”
The Templar shook his head.
“A methane detector?”
Yet another shake met that guess.
“It cannot possibly be aether. Can it?”
“Can’t it?”
Madame Lefoux was impressed. “A miraculous invention, indeed. Does it resonate to alpha or beta particles?” Madame Lefoux was a fol ower of the latest theory out of Germany that divided up the lower atmosphere into various breathable gases and divided the upper atmosphere and its travel currents into oxygen and two types of aetheric particles.
“Unfortunately, it is not that precise. Or, I should say, we do not know.”
“Stil , any mechanism for measuring aether ought rightly to be considered a major scientific breakthrough.” Madame Lefoux bent once more over the contraption, enraptured.
“Ah, not quite so important as al that.” The preceptor reined in Madame Lefoux’s enthusiasm. “It is more a device for registering the absence of aetheric particles, rather than measuring their presence and quantity.”
Madame Lefoux looked disappointed.
The Templar elaborated further. “Mr. Lange-Wilsdorf referred to it as an aether absorption counter. Would you al ow me to demonstrate its application?”
“Please do!”