Timeless

CHAPTER ELEVEN In Which Prudence Discovers Sentences

The Maccons made it back to the hotel in time to change and make themselves presentable before being taken to Queen Matakara and the Alexandria Hive. Chancellor Neshi was waiting for them expectantly in the lobby.

The Tunstells and their troupe were soon to follow, trotting down the stairs lugging set pieces and already dressed in their costumes for the first act, although the gentlemen were all sporting top hats for the journey. If their arrival at the hotel had been remarked upon with interest by the natives, their departure was even more noteworthy. Mrs. Tunstell’s dress was silver satin with an enormous quantity of fake pearl jewelry. Mr. Tunstell was attired as any fine gentleman about town except that his suit was of crimson satin and he had a short gold cape buttoned over one shoulder like a musketeer. Mr. Tumtrinkle, villainous from spats to cravat, wore black velvet with diamanté buttons, blue leather gloves, and a cloak of midnight blue satin that he swooped and swirled about like wings as he moved.

This time there was no need of donkeys. The hive queen had sent them a steam locomotive, a massive contraption worthy of even Madame Lefoux’s interest. The inventor, however, was nowhere to be found, having disappeared about her own business more hastily than Alexia had ever expected. Alexia felt, it must be admitted, rather abandoned and unimportant. After all, she had surmised that Madame Lefoux was sent along to Egypt to spy on her, and here she found herself the least of the Frenchwoman’s attentions.

The locomotive was a rangy, rumbling beast, a little like a stagecoach in shape but open topped. The flat back end was piled high with rushes, presumably for the comfort of the occupants, as there were no seats. As the thing rumbled down narrow roads and alleys designed with donkeys in mind, the straw did very little good. Never before had Alexia experienced such a bumpy ride. The locomotive belched bouts of steam high into a dark evening sky out of two tall smokestacks and was so loud that polite conversation was impossible.

Prudence, ghastly child, enjoyed the whole arrangement. She bounced up and down excitedly with each bump and rattle. Alexia was becoming horribly afraid that her bluestocking tendencies had transferred to her daughter, in spades. The infant was taken with anything remotely mechanical, and her fascination with dirigibles and other forms of transport was only increasing.

The Alexandria Hive house was situated off of the Rue Ibrahim within sight of Port Vieux on the eastern side of the city. The facade of the building was Greek in style. It was two levels high, the first level sporting widely spaced, large marble columns, and the upper level showcasing a colonnade of smaller supports open to the air in one long balcony. Inside, however, it was more as Alexia imagined one of the famous rock-cut tombs of the Valley of the Kings. There were doorways leading off of a vestibule, without doors, and woven reed mats spread on the floor. Basalt statues of ancient animal-headed gods stood all about like sentries at a masquerade. The walls were painted with more animal gods engaging in brightly colored and beautifully articulated myths. There was sinuously carved wood furniture here and there, but it was all quite primitive in shape and without adornment. The very starkness and lack of opulence was almost as awe-inspiring as the overabundance of riches that so characterized the vampires of Alexia’s homeland. Here was a hive that knew its wealth was purely and simply in the world it had created, not in the objects it had managed to accumulate.

The Tunstells and troupe trailed in behind Lord and Lady Maccon and stood in reverent silence, the atmosphere subduing even them for a short time.

Chancellor Neshi clapped loudly—Ivy started and emitted a little “Oh, my!” of surprise—and near on twenty servants appeared from one of the darkened doorways, all handsome, dark-eyed young men wearing white loincloths for the sake of modesty and nothing else. Each crouched expectantly at the foot of a visitor. Alexia glanced at Chancellor Neshi and realized, with a good deal of shock, that these young men were expecting to remove her shoes. Not only hers, but everyone’s! The gentlemen, each caught in the act of removing his outside topper, replaced the hat hurriedly and looked wide-eyed at one another. Realizing they would take their cue from her, Alexia lifted her foot to the young man’s knee and permitted him to unlace and pull off her sensible brown walking boots. Following Lady Maccon’s lead, the party allowed themselves to be divested of footwear. Alexia shuddered to see that her husband wore no socks and that Tunstell’s were mismatched. Only Prudence was delighted to have her shoes removed, not being a very great fan of shoes to begin with.

Chancellor Neshi bustled off, presumably to herald their arrival, at which juncture Mrs. Tunstell broke the hush with a startled, “My goodness gracious, would you look at that god creature there? Its head is nothing but a single feather.”

“Ma’at,” explained Alexia, who had a particular interest in ancient mythology, “goddess of justice.”

“One would perhaps call her feather-head?” suggested Tunstell to much general hilarity. The spell of the ancient world around them was broken.

Chancellor Neshi returned. “She is ready to see you now.”

He led them up a set of cold stone stairs to the second level of the house, full of more cool, dark, windowless stone rooms, tomblike and torch-lit. From the upper vestibule, they were led down a long hallway that ended in a small open doorway that let onto an enormous room.

They entered. The room was certainly big enough to stage a play. Against the wall directly opposite the hallway door and halfway down on each side stood a series of low wooden divans with red cushions. The floor was spread with more intricately woven reed mats and the walls were again painted. These were done in a similar style to the ancient-looking images below but depicted a wide range of current events, from the Turkish invasion to the incorporation of Western technology, from the great Nutmeg Rebellion to the antiquities trade and tourism. It was a record of Egypt’s modern history in bright pigment and perfect detail. It was odd to see the figures of bustled and trussed Europeans, British uniforms and army ships, all in the awkward childish style of papyrus paintings.

On the divans against either wall sat a string of striking and somber young persons who could only be the drones of the hive. They wore native dress but, Alexia noted with interest, both the men and women, in defiance of all she had observed so far, had their heads uncovered. She supposed this must be a kind of rejection of native religion in favor of worshipful loyalty to queen and hive.

Directly opposite the door in the position of greatest importance was what looked to be a large parasol. It was suspended from the ceiling, with great swaths of silken cloth hanging from around the edge. Richly colored and strikingly beautiful, the drapes formed a kind of tent, just large enough for one person to stand within. Alexia couldn’t help feeling that whoever was inside could probably see out and was watching her every move.

To one side of this shrouded parasol sat four vampires. There was no doubt that they were, indeed, vampires. For, out of some custom alien to England, they were all showing their fangs to the guests. Vampires in London rarely showed fang without prestated, postintroduction intent. To the other side sat one more vampire, whom Chancellor Neshi went to join. Next to the dragoman were two empty spots.

After a moment of silently watching the odd crowd of mixed aristocracy and overdressed thespians, all six vampires rose to their feet.

“The entirety of the Alexandria Hive,” whispered Lord Maccon to his wife.

“We are honored,” said his wife back.

A stunningly lovely drone stepped forward, moving with liquid grace across the wide, empty floor until she stood before them. Her features were strong without being manly, her brows heavy, her mouth generous, her lips stained dark red by skilled artifice. She wore full, wide black trousers that ballooned well out and then came in at the ankles. Over this was a long black tunic, nipped in tight along arms and torso with a wide swath of fabric at the wrists and hem, floating away from the hips like a gentleman’s frock coat. The wider parts of the tunic and the bloomers were patterned in gold leaves, and she wore a great quantity of gold jewelry about fingers, wrists, neck, ankles, and toes.

“Welcome,” she said in perfect Queen’s English, making a graceful gesture with her arms, like a dancer, “to the Alexandria Hive.” Her large, dark eyes, lined heavily in black, swept over the crowd of actors before her.

“Lord and Lady Maccon?”

Alexia wanted desperately to take her husband’s hand, but she thought he might need his supernatural abilities at any moment. So she shifted Prudence more firmly on her hip, taking strange comfort from the presence of her child, and stepped forward. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Conall also segregate himself from the group.

The dark-eyed drone came closer. She looked to Conall first. “Lord Maccon, you are welcome to Alexandria. It has been many centuries since a werewolf visited this hive. We hope it will not be so long before the next one graces us with his presence.”

Lord Maccon bowed. “I suspect,” he said, because he had no tact, “that will rather depend on the course of this evening’s events.”

The drone inclined her head and turned dark eyes to Alexia. “Lady Maccon, soul-sucker. You, too, are welcome. We do not judge the daughter by the father’s actions.”

“Well, thank you I’m sure. Especially as I never knew him.”

“No, of course you didn’t. And is this the child?”

Prudence was quite riveted by the beautiful lady. Perhaps it was all the gold sparkles and jewelry, or the liquid way the drone moved. Alexia hoped it wasn’t all the face paint; the last thing she needed was a daughter with a keen interest in feminine wiles. She would have to cede all such training to Lord Akeldama.

“Welcome to the Alexandria Hive, stealer of souls. Your kind we have never had the pleasure of entertaining before.”

“Remember your manners, dear,” said Alexia to her daughter without much hope.

Prudence proved unexpectedly equal to the challenge. “How do you do?” she said, enunciating very clearly and looking quite directly at the lady drone.

Alexia and Conall exchanged raised eyebrow looks. Very good, thought Alexia, we got ourselves a peppery one.

The drone stepped aside and waved one graceful hand, offering the two empty spots on the divan next to Chancellor Neshi. “Please, be seated. The queen desires the performance to begin directly.”

“Oh,” protested Ivy, “but she is not here! She will miss the opening act!”

Tunstell put an arm about his wife’s waist and hustled her to one corner of the room to prepare.

The drone clapped her hands and once more dozens of servants appeared. With their assistance, the actors managed to set up one half of the room as a stage, screening off the doorway in the middle. They had the servants move all of the many torches and lamps to that side of the room, throwing the other, where drones and vampires sat in perfect silence, into eerie darkness.

The Death Rains of Swansea was not a performance that improved markedly upon a second viewing. Still there was something appealing if not entertaining about Ivy and Tunstell’s antics. Mr. Tumtrinkle pranced his evil prance, and twirled his dastardly fake mustache, and swirled his massive cloak most voraciously. Werewolf hero Tunstell strode back and forth, trousers ever in great danger of ripping over his muscled thighs, coming to the rescue as needed and barking a lot. Ivy fainted whenever there was cause to faint, and swanned about in hats of such proportions it was a wonder her head didn’t collapse like a griddle cake under the weight. The supporting cast was, of course, much diminished in size, playing both vampires and werewolves as script demanded. In order to save time, but causing no little confusion as to the plot—no matter what their character at the moment—they wore both the fake fangs and the large shaggy ears tied about their heads with pink tulle bows.

The bumblebee dance went off a treat, the watching vampires and drones almost hypnotized by the spectacle. Alexia wondered if the allegory was wasted on them, or if they, like her, had an appreciation for the ridiculous. Of course, Alexia had only heard Chancellor Neshi and the beautiful drone speak, so it was also possible none of the others understood a word of English.

At the end, vampire queen Ivy returned to werewolf Tunstell’s arms after much separation and anxiety, and all was sweetness and light. The torches were dimmed and then raised, and the servants brought in extras to fill the room with an orange glow.

Alexia and the actors waited with bated breath. And then, oh, and then, the assembled vampires and drones rose to their feet crying out in adoration, trilling their tongues in a great cacophony of vibratory sound that could only be utter appreciation. Alexia even observed one or two of the vampires wipe away sentiment, and the beautiful drone with the amazing dark eyes was weeping openly.

The lady drone stood and rushed forward to congratulate Ivy and Tunstell with open arms. “That was wonderful! Wonderful! We have never seen such a performance. So complex, so brilliant. That dance with the yellow and black stripes, so perfectly articulating the emotion of immortality. How can words even begin to describe… so moving. We have been honored. Truly honored.”

Tunstell and Ivy and the entire troupe looked quite overwhelmed by such an enthusiastic reception. Both Tunstells blushed deeply and Mr. Tumtrinkle began to blubber in an excess of emotion.

The drone wafted over to Ivy and embraced her warmly. Then she linked one arm with Ivy’s and the other with Tunstell’s and guided them gently from the room. “You simply must tell me the meaning of that interpretive piece in the middle? Was that an illustration of the soul’s perpetual struggle with infinity, or a social commentary on the supernatural state in continuing conflict with the natural world as both host and food supply?”

Tunstell replied jovially, “A bit of both, of course. And did you notice the series of tiny leaps I performed stage right? Each one a hop in the face of eternity.”

“I did, I did, I did indeed.”

Thus agreeably conversing, they wandered down the hallway. There was a brief rustle of activity, and Ivy came bustling back, having extracted herself from her escort. She hurried into the room and made for Lady Maccon.

“Alexia,” she said in a significantly hushed tone. “Have you your ruffled parasol?”

Alexia, did, in fact, have her parasol with her. She had found over the years it was always better to be on the safe side when visiting a hive. She gestured to her hip where it dangled off of a chatelaine at her waist.

Ivy tilted her head and winked significantly.

“Oh,” said Alexia, making the connection. “Pray do not concern yourself, Ivy. Do go enjoy a well-earned repast. The parasol is fine.”

Ivy nodded in a slow, suggestive way. Feeling that her secret society duties had been satisfactorily discharged, she went bustling after her husband.

After a moment’s hesitation, the rest of the drones moved forward and introduced themselves, those who spoke English at least, to the acting troupe. After an exchange of pleasantries, mention of coffee was made, and they, too, were guided expertly from the room. This left Lord and Lady Maccon behind with Prudence and the six vampires.

Chancellor Neshi stood. “Are you ready now, My Queen?” he asked of the curtained off area.

No verbal response emanated from within, but the draped cloth twitched slightly.

Chancellor Neshi said, “Of course, my queen.” He gestured for Lord and Lady Maccon to stand and come to face the front of the draped parasol. Then he pulled aside the curtains, tying them back with gold cords to each side.

Had Alexia not spent a good deal of time in Madame Lefoux’s contrivance chamber prior to it being repurposed as a werewolf dungeon, she might have been startled by the contraption revealed. But she had seen an octomaton rampage through London. She had been attacked and then rescued by mechanical ladybugs. She had flown in an ornithopter from Paris to Nice. This was nothing by comparison. And yet, it was probably the most grotesque invention of the modern age. Worse than the disembodied hand in a jar under that temple in Florence. Worse than a dead body in an afterlife extension tank. Worse even than the wax-face horror of the Hypocras automaton. Because those creatures had all been dead or manufactured. What sat in the raised dais behind that curtain was still alive or still undead—at least in part.

She, for Alexia assumed it must be a she, sat atop what could only be called a throne. It was mostly made of brass. Its base was some kind of tank housing two levels of liquid, the bottom a bubbling mess of yellow that heated the upper composed entirely of a viscous red fluid that could only be blood. The arms of the throne were fitted with levers, nozzles, and tubes, some under the emaciated hands of the occupant, others going into or coming out of her arms. It was as though the woman and the chair had become one and not been separated for generations. Some parts of the chair were bolted directly into her flesh, and there was a bronze half mask covering the lower part of her face from nose to throat, presumably providing a constant supply of blood.

Only Lady Maccon’s good breeding kept her from committing the vile act of involuntary purging right then and there on the reed mat. There was something particularly horrific about knowing that, because the queen was immortal, all those places where the chair speared into her flesh must be constantly trying to heal themselves.

Chancellor Neshi did a most humiliating thing. He knelt upon the floor and bowed forward all the way to the ground, touching his forehead to the reed mat. Then he stood and waved Alexia and Conall farther forward. “My Queen, may I present Lady Maccon, Lord Maccon, and Lady Prudence. Maccons, may I present Queen Matakara Kenemetamen of Alexandria, Ruler of the Ptolemy Hive ad Infinitum, Lady Horus of Fine Gold in Perpetuity, Daughter of Nut, Oldest of the Vampires.”

With the lower half of her head concealed, it was difficult to determine Matakara’s exact appearance. Her eyes were large and very brown, too large in that emaciated face. She had the dark complexion of most native Egyptians, grown darker as it shrunk in against the bone, like that of a mummy. She had a blue wig atop her head and a snake coronet made of gold set with turquoise eyes on top of that. Over the parts of her body not attached to the throne, she wore simple white cotton draped and pleated stiffly and a quantity of gold and lapis jewelry.

Despite the grotesqueness of the contraption and the pathetic appearance of the woman confined within it, Alexia was hypnotized by those huge eyes. Rimmed in black kohl, they stared fixedly at her. Alexia was convinced the queen was trying to communicate with her a message of great import. And she, Alexia Maccon, was too thick to comprehend it. The expression in those eyes was one of immeasurable desperation and eternal misery.

Lord Maccon made his bow, removing his hat in a wide, sweeping gesture and doing a creditable job of it. He did not look as surprised by the queen’s appearance as Alexia felt, which made her wonder if BUR had received some kind of prior warning. She believed that she made a decent effort at disguising her own shock as she curtsied. Prudence, standing quietly by her side, hand firmly gripped in Alexia’s, glanced back and forth from monstrosity to mother before performing her own version of a half bow, half curtsy.

A sound of disgust emanated from the queen and her contraption.

“She wants you to bow,” hissed the chancellor.

“We just did.”

“No, Lady Maccon, all the way.”

Alexia was quite shocked. “Like an Oriental?” Her gown would barely permit kneeling and her corset certainly would not permit her to bow forward.

The earl looked equally taken aback.

“You are in the presence of royalty!”

“Yes,” Alexia agreed in principle, “but to kneel on the ground?”

“Do you know how many strangers the queen has allowed into her presence over the last few centuries?”

Lady Maccon could hazard a guess. After all, if she looked as bad as Matakara did… “Not a lot?”

“None at all. It is a great honor. And you should bow, properly. She is a great woman, an ancient lady, and she deserves your respect.”

“She does?”

Conall sighed. “When in Rome.”

“That’s just it, dear, we aren’t. We are in Alexandria.”

But it was too late; her husband had already swept off his hat a second time, knelt, and bowed forward.

“Oh, Conall, the knees of your trousers! Don’t put your head all the way down. We don’t know where that floor has been! Oh, now, Prudence, you don’t have to follow Daddy’s example. Oop, there she goes.”

Prudence had nothing like her mother’s reticence. Frilly yellow frock notwithstanding, she pitched forward and put her head to the ground with alacrity.

Feeling she was the last holdout, Alexia glared at her husband. “You’ll have to help me back up. I can’t possibly manage on my own without ripping my dress.” So saying, she knelt slowly down and tilted herself forward as much as her foundation garments would allow, which wasn’t very much. She nearly overbalanced to her left. Her corset creaked under the strain. Conall hoisted her back up, turning human for that one moment.

Chancellor Neshi went to stand next to his queen, on a pedestal of just the right height to bring his ear to her mouth area but ensuring he was no higher than she. The vampire queen spoke to him in a whisper. Alexia looked at her husband inquiringly, wondering if his supernatural hearing picked up anything.

“No language I know,” he said unhelpfully.

“The queen says that Europeans do everything wrong, writing from left to right, uncovering the head to enter a room yet leaving the feet confined.” Chancellor Neshi stood stiff-backed to state this, like a town crier, acting the mouthpiece for his queen. Then, without waiting for an answer to these accusations of backward behavior, he turned to listen once more.

“My queen wishes to know why all foreign children look the same.”

Alexia gestured with her free hand at her daughter, who was standing in unusual docility by her side. “Well, this particular child is Prudence Alessandra Maccon Akeldama.”

“No,” said Prudence. No one listened. Prudence was to find this all too common in her young life.

Chancellor Neshi continued to speak for his queen. “Daughter of a hellhound, named for a soul-sucker and a bloodsucker. The queen wishes to know if she works.”

“Pardon?” Alexia was confused.

“Is she a Follower of Set? A Stealer of Souls?”

Lady Maccon considered. It was a fair question, of course, but Alexia was too much a scientist to answer in the affirmative. Instead she said carefully, “She manifests the abilities of a supernatural creature after having touched him, if that is what you are asking.”

“A simple yes would have sufficed, soul-sucker,” said the chancellor.

Lady Maccon looked hard into Queen Matakara’s sad eyes. “Yes, but it would not be true. Your names for her are not my names for her. Have you called my daughter and me here, Venerable One, simply to insult us?”

Chancellor Neshi bent to listen and then seemed to engage in a brief argument. Finally he said, “My queen wishes to be shown the truth.”

“What truth, exactly?”

“Your daughter’s gifts.”

“Oh, now wait a moment there!” interjected Conall.

“It can be tricky,” hedged Alexia.

Queen Matakara’s finger twitched on the arm of the chair, lighting a small spark of flame for a brief moment. This seemed to be a signal, for one of her hive darted forward and, in a flash of smooth movement, scooped Prudence up. Prudence let go of her mother’s hand and was otherwise untroubled. Alexia let out a cry of anger. The vampire in question, however, instantly dropped the toddler because he had unexpectedly lost the strength he had no doubt enjoyed for centuries. He probably possessed the ability to maintain his grip, but the surprise was overwhelming. His fangs vanished. Prudence hit the ground with a thud but, being now immortal, sustained no injury. She leaped up, little fangs bared, grubby hands reaching. She was intrigued by the bronze chair with all of its switches and levers. Prudence was one to manhandle first, ask questions later. Much later, perhaps when she was grown up and could formulate a complete study. Most of the time this was mere childish enthusiasm and no more disconcerting than Baby Primrose’s constant groping for trim and feathers, but now Prudence was a vampire, and she had more than enough strength to do some serious damage to that chair.

Lady Maccon dove forward. Luckily, Prudence was so fascinated she did not bother to flee. Alexia got a hand around her arm in quick order, averting catastrophe.

The vampires, all frozen in startled horror for those brief, awful minutes, jumped to their collective feet and placed themselves between the Maccons and their queen. They were all shouting accusations at Alexia and Prudence in rapid, high-volume Arabic.

One of them nipped forward, hand back to strike Alexia full across the face.

Holding Prudence in both hands, Alexia could not go for her parasol, even had she been fast enough. She flinched away, curling protectively about her daughter, shielding Prudence from the blow.

Suddenly, standing between Alexia and the vampire was a very large, very angry brindled wolf. His hackles were raised, his huge white teeth were bared, and saliva dripped down from the pink of his gums.

It was a terrifying thing to confront for any creature, let alone those who had not seen a werewolf in hundreds of years.

Lord Maccon interposed himself between his wife and the hive and backed up until he was flush against the fabric of Alexia’s skirt.

Alexia took the opportunity, with the vampires’ attention now focused on this new threat, to switch Prudence firmly to one hip and release the parasol from the chatelaine with her free hand. She raised it up, arming the tip with a numbing dart. At the same time, understanding the meaning behind her husband’s consistent furry pressure against her legs, she began backing slowly toward the door.

One of the vampires feinted in the earl’s direction. At the same time, another made a lunge for Alexia. Without break for thought, the werewolf charged the first, grabbing him about the hamstring and hurling him hard into the other vampire. Both vampires crumpled to the floor for a short moment before bouncing back to their feet. Alexia, without pause, shot one of them with a numbing dart. He fell right back down again, and this time stayed there for a while before reeling groggily to his feet.

Alexia began backing with greater intent toward the doorway, not shifting her attention from the milling clot of angry vampires. Conall stuck close, maintaining a snarling, barking, growling ferocity that encouraged space between the vampires and his wife and daughter.

Chancellor Neshi stepped forward, slowly and with empty hands held up in supplication. “Please, Lord Maccon, we are unused to such antics.”

Conall only growled, low and furious.

If Alexia had expected an apology at that juncture, she was sorely disappointed. The man, showing not insignificant bravery, only inched closer and gestured the wolf toward the door like a porter. “This way, my lord. We thank you for your visit.”

Taking that as a statement of permission, Alexia turned and strode from the room with all haste. No sense in dawdling where one was unwanted. After a moment’s hesitation, Conall followed.

Prudence struggled mightily in her mother’s arm, but Alexia had had enough of that for one night and gripped her tightly.

The infant cried out, “No! Mama, no. Poor Dama!” in her high treble and strained back to the room.

Feeling her daughter’s attention shift and possessed by the same compulsion, Alexia paused and turned to look back. The hive vampires stood in a huddle before their mistress, but the dais raised Queen Matakara high enough for Alexia’s eyes to meet those of the vampire queen above the crowd. Alexia was struck once again by the profound unhappiness there and by the belief that Matakara wanted something of her, wanted it enough to bring her all the way to Egypt. How can I help you with anything? Alexia felt a tug at her dress and saw Conall had his teeth firm about her hem and was tugging her into motion. She did as she was bid.

Chancellor Neshi had to jog to catch up. After a moment’s thoughtful regard, the vampire directed his conversation at Alexia, rather than her now-hairy husband. As if nothing unbecoming had happened, he inquired politely, “May we offer you some coffee before you leave?” They walked down the cold stone stairs to the entrance.

“No thank you,” responded Alexia politely. “I think we had better depart.”

“Mama, Mama!”

“Yes, my dear?”

Prudence took a deep breath and then said slowly and carefully, “Mama, get her out.”

Alexia looked to her daughter in startlement. “Are we speaking in complete sentences now, Prudence?”

Prudence narrowed her eyes at her mother suspiciously. “No.”

“Ah, well, still, that is an interesting theory. Trapped, you think. Against her will? I suppose anything is possible.”

Biffy and Lyall spent that night much as though nothing of significance had happened in the previous one. They met with Lady Kingair and proceeded with the investigation as if there had been no fight, no life-altering decision, and no beginnings of a romance.

Lady Kingair sniffed and then glared at the two men suspiciously when they entered the room, but apart from that, made no comment about any change in state. If she noticed they were more relaxed around one another or the little touches they sometimes exchanged without quite realizing, she made no comment.

Biffy was sure Floote knew, because Floote always seemed to know such things. The butler attended to their requirements with the same solicitous efficiency as always. Perhaps more so, as it seemed that without Lady Maccon’s demands to occupy his time and attention, he was ever on hand to help them with anything they might need.

Lyall spent his time looking over all the evidence they had gathered on the owners of private dirigibles in London. He compared these to political and tradesmen’s concerns in Egypt but was unable to come up with any connections. Lady Kingair delved into the manufacture and distribution of sundowner bullets, trying to determine who might have access and why, but this also seemed fruitless. Biffy concentrated his efforts on Egypt and what Dubh might have found there. The man had clearly been inside the God-Breaker Plague zone to have emerged so weakened. Biffy gathered together passenger manifests on trains and steamers out of Egypt, attempting to access baggage information on the theory that, due to his emaciated state, Dubh must have been traveling in the company of at least part of a preternatural mummy on the voyage home. He must have disposed of it, or it had been stolen, as no supernatural creature in London had experienced ill effects upon his return.

Biffy was not one to get easily distracted, but after several hours immersed in manifests of one kind or another, he found himself drawn into an obscure treatise on the nature of the God-Breaker Plague written some fifty years ago. That, in turn, referenced a different report from the very first antiquities expeditions some hundred and twenty or so years prior. Something in the two documents struck him as odd, though he could not pinpoint the particulars. This sent him into a flurry of activity, pulling books on Egypt down from the library and sending Floote off to collect reports from the foreign office on the subject. The God-Breaker Plague was of peculiarly little interest to daylight folk and of particular secrecy to vampires and werewolves, so there was very little substantial information.

“Biffy, I don’t mean to disturb your readings, but you appear to be getting a tad distracted from our original objective.”

Biffy looked up at his Beta, rubbing his eyes blearily. “Mmm?”

“You seem to be delving further and further back in time. Away from our murder investigation. Are you tracking something of relevance?”

“There is something peculiar going on with this plague.”

“You mean aside from the fact that it exists at all, a pestilence of unmaking affecting only supernatural folk?”

“Yes.”

“What, exactly, are you on to, my boy?” Lyall crouched down next to Biffy, where he sat on the floor, surrounded by books and manuscripts.

Lady Kingair looked up from her own papers.

Biffy pointed at a line in one of the older texts. “Look here, one hundred and twenty years ago, reports of the plague being situated as far as Cairo. See here, particular mention of the pyramids being clean.”

Lyall tilted his head, a sign Biffy was to continue.

“And here, a similar mention. No one seems interested in charting the exact extent of the plague, possibly because it would take a werewolf interested in scientific investigation, and willing to turn mortal on a regular basis as he walked through the desert. But so far as I can tell, fifty years ago, the God-Breaker Plague stretched from Aswan to, still, Cairo.”

“Well?”

Biffy shook out a map of the Nile River Valley. “Taking into account topography and allowing water features and territory markers, much as werewolves and vampires do themselves, the plague would have extended like so.” He drew a loose circle on the map with a stick of graphite. “So far as I can tell, the initial extent, here, remained fixed for thousands of years, ever since werewolves were divested of their rule and the plague began.”

Lyall bent over the map, intrigued. “So what has you worried? This all seems to be as the howlers sing it. Ramses, the last pharaoh, who lost the ability to change and became old and toothless because of the God-Breaker Plague.”

“Yes, except sometime after this last report, the one dated 1824, it moved.”

“What! What moved?”

“Well, perhaps not moved. Perhaps expanded is a better word. Look at the more recent reports on the plague BUR got hold of, dated a few decades ago. Admittedly they come out of the Alexandria Hive and one loner wolf who braved the desert out of some kind of religious fervor. But I would say, at a conservative guess, that the God-Breaker Plague has expanded some one hundred miles in the last fifty years.” Biffy drew a second larger circle on his map. “Here. It now includes Siwah and Damanhúr and stretches all the way to the outskirts of Alexandria.”

“What!”

“Something happened five decades ago that caused the plague to start up again.”

“This is not good,” stated Professor Lyall baldly.

“You think our Dubh might have been carrying this information back to us?” wondered Lady Kingair.

“He was sent looking for preternatural mummies. What if he found more than any of us had wagered on?”

“Why be so obsessed with contacting Lady Maccon on the subject?” Lady Kingair seemed to find this point particularly aggravating.

“Well, she is a preternatural,” said Biffy.

“We must send them an aetherogram immediately with this information. Do you have an appointment scheduled with Lady Maccon, Biffy?” asked Lyall.

“Yes, I… How did you know?”

“Because it’s what I would have done in your place. When is it?”

“Tomorrow at sunset.”

“You must relay this information to Lady Maccon.”

“Of course.”

“And you must warn her of… you know…” Lyall gestured with his head at Lady Kingair.

“Yes, that your secret is out, that our pack is about to change. I know.”

“You are still not resigned to the change?” Lyall cocked his head to the side and lowered his voice.

“You will leave me, and you will leave me with a great deal of responsibility.” Biffy looked up at him out of the corner of his eye, pretending further interest in the map of Egypt so as to disguise any sentiment.

“I believe you might have just proven how well placed my faith is in you.”

“Well, gentlemen,” interrupted Lady Kingair, “how about you prove Lord Maccon’s faith and figure out who shot my Beta?”