Timeless

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN The Truth Behind the Octopus

Everything was still chaos around her, but Lady Alexia Maccon sailed through it all on a sea of profound numbness. She allowed Madame Lefoux to take charge. The French inventor told the acting troupe about Lord Maccon’s death. She explained what had happened using scientifically precise language. She also informed them that they had failed to find Primrose.

For ten days, Ivy and Tunstell had waited, with no contact from the kidnappers, their hopes pinned on Alexia and Conall discovering the whereabouts of their daughter. Now Lady Maccon had returned with the earl dead, and Primrose still missing.

And Lady Maccon? Lady Maccon was also missing. Nothing seemed to reach her. She responded to direct questions but softly, quietly, and with long pauses. She was also uninterested in food. Even Ivy was shaken out of her own worry enough to be upset by this.

But Alexia did cope. Alexia was always one to cope. She did what needed to be done, once someone pointed it out to her.

Ivy, between tears, managed to explain that she had been unable to convince the aethographor to give her Lady Maccon’s messages. So Alexia went to bed, slept most of the day away with dreams full of Conall’s face as he fell, woke up, dressed automatically, and went to get the messages herself. There were nine of them from Biffy, one for every sunset she had missed. The more recent were merely worried notes of “Where are you?” but the earlier ones told such a depressing truth that Alexia was almost glad she was too numb to be affected by it.

Not Floote.

Not her Floote.

Not the man who had always been there for her. Always provided her with the necessary cup of tea and a soothing, “Yes, madam.” Who had changed her nappies as a baby, who had helped her sneak out of the Loontwills’ house as a young woman. Not Floote. Yet, it made horribly perfect sense. Who else but Floote would have had all the necessary contacts? Who else but Floote would have the training in how to kill a werewolf? Alexia had seen him take on vampires firsthand; she knew he had the ability.

Lady Maccon returned to the hotel, clutching her stack of messages in one hand, moving like an automaton through the bustling city streets that only a week and a half earlier she had found more friendly and charming than any other. In the hotel, she caught sight of Madame Lefoux and Ivy in one of the private parlors off the reception area. She floated past, not even realizing that she should extend an evening greeting. There was nothing left in her for even the social graces. She felt, in fact, very absent from herself. Adrift, as if nothing might bring her back again. Not even tea.

But at Madame Lefoux’s summoning gesture, she wandered into their private boudoir and, in answer to her friend’s polite inquiry as to her health, said, “As it turned out, it was Floote.”

Genevieve looked confused.

Ivy gasped and said, “But he was here. Floote was here, looking for you. We sent him down the Nile after you. I thought… Oh, silly me, he isn’t with you? I thought he would have caught up. Oh, I don’t know what I thought.”

Even that didn’t pull Alexia back to the here and now. “Floote was looking for me? He probably wanted to explain himself.”

Madame Lefoux pressed for details. “Explain what, exactly, Alexia?”

“Oh, you know, the God-Breaker Plague. Killing Dubh. That kind of thing.” Alexia tossed Genevieve the little stack of papyrus papers from the aethographor station. “Biffy says…” Alexia trailed off, standing quietly while Madame Lefoux read over the notes.

Ivy said, “Oh, Alexia, do sit down!”

“Oh, should I?” Alexia sat.

Prudence came running in. “Mama!”

Alexia didn’t look up.

The little girl grabbed at her hand. “Mama, bad men! Back.”

“Oh, yes? Did you hide under the bed again?”

“Yes!”

The nursemaid came in, clutching Percy to her trembling breast. “They came back, Mrs. Tunstell! They came back!”

Ivy stood, face pale, clutching at her throat with both hands. “Oh, heavens. Percy, is he all right?”

“Yes, madam. Yes.” The nursemaid passed over the redheaded infant to Ivy’s clutching embrace. Percy, unperturbed, burped contentedly.

“See,” said Prudence, still trying to get her mother’s attention.

“Yes, dear, very wise. Hiding under the bed, good girl.” Alexia was busy staring off into space.

“Mama, see!” Prudence was waving something in front of her mother’s face.

Madame Lefoux took it from her gently. It was a roll of heavy papyrus tied with cord. The inventor unwound it and read the missive aloud.

“ ‘Send Lady Maccon for the baby, alone. Tonight, after sunset.’ ” She added, “And they provide an address.”

“Oh, Primrose!” Ivy burst into floods of tears.

Alexia said, “I suppose they were waiting for me to return.”

“Do you think they wanted you all along?” Madame Lefoux looked upset.

Alexia blinked. She felt as though her brain were moving like a snail—a real snail, slow and slimy. “That’s possible, but then, they kidnapped the wrong infant, didn’t they?”

The Frenchwoman frowned in deep thought. “Yes, I suppose they did. What if that’s it? What if they were after Prudence? What if they are taking you as a substitute? What if they still think they have Prudence, not Primrose?”

Alexia was already standing and wandering toward the door, her footsteps slow and measured.

“Where are you going?”

“It’s after sunset,” said Lady Maccon, as though it were perfectly obvious.

“But, Alexia, be sensible. You can’t simply trot to their orders!”

“Why not? If it returns Primrose to us?”

Ivy, trembling, could not speak. She looked back and forth between Alexia and the Frenchwoman. Her hat, a mushroom-puff turban affair with a peacock-style fan of feathers out the back, quivered with a surfeit of emotion.

“It could be dangerous!” protested Madame Lefoux.

“It’s always dangerous,” replied Lady Maccon flatly.

“Alexia, don’t be a peewit! You can’t want to die. You’re not one for melodrama. Conall is gone. You have to keep on going without him.”

“I am going. I’m going right out to find the kidnappers and retrieve Primrose.”

“That’s not what I meant! What about Prudence? She needs her mother.”

“She has Lord Akeldama.”

“That’s not quite the same thing.”

“No, it’s better—mother and father all rolled into one attractive package, and he doesn’t look to be dying anytime soon.”

“Oh, goodness, Alexia, please, wait. We must talk about this, devise a plan.”

Alexia paused, not really thinking out her next maneuver.

The hotel clerk came in to the parlor at that moment.

He approached Genevieve. “Mr. Lefoux? There is a gentleman for you. A Mr. Naville. Claims he has some important information to impart.”

Genevieve rose and brushed past Lady Maccon. “Just wait a few minutes, please, Alexia?”

Alexia merely stood, unresponsive. She watched as the Frenchwoman strode across the reception room to a small gaggle of gentlemen. One of them was very young. Another was carrying a leather case stamped with the image of an octopus. She watched Madame Lefoux tilt her head, lift up her short hair, and pull down her cravat and collar, exposing the back of her neck. She was showing them her octopus tattoo. Alexia’s brain said, Those are members of the Order of the Brass Octopus. Her practical side said, I hope she doesn’t tell them about the preternatural mummies. There will be a race to the bodies, to use them in munitions, to shift the balance against immortals. Her even more practical side remembered that there were men dressed in white willing to defend those mummies to the death. Her husband’s death.

The rest of her kept walking, in defiance of Genevieve’s request. She had her parasol hanging from its chatelaine at her waist. She had the address of the location on a scrap of paper. She moved across the reception room and out into the street, Genevieve unaware of her movements.

There Alexia hailed a donkey boy and told him the address. The boy nodded eagerly. With very little effort at all, she climbed astride, the boy yelled to his creature in Arabic, and they started forward.

The donkey took her into an unfamiliar sector of the city, a sad and abandoned-looking structure behind the customs house. She slid off the animal and paid the boy generously, sending him away when he would have waited. She climbed the step and pushed through the reed mats of the doorway into what looked to be some kind of warehouse, possibly for bananas, if the sweet smell was to be believed.

“Come in, Lady Maccon,” said a polite, slightly accented voice out of the dim echoing interior.

With a flitter of speed customary to the breed, the vampire was right up next to her, almost too close, showing his fangs.

“Good evening, Chancellor Neshi.”

“You are alone.”

“As you see.”

“Good. You will explain to me why the child isn’t working.”

“First let me see that Primrose is safe.”

“You thought I would bring her here? Oh, no, she is left behind, and she is safe. But I thought the abomination’s name was Prudence? You English and your many names.”

“It is Prudence. Did you want my daughter? You got the wrong child.”

The chancellor reeled back and blinked at her. “I did?”

“You did. You got my friend’s baby. She has not been happy about that.”

“Not the abomination?”

“Not the abomination.”

There was a long pause.

“So might we have her back, then?” Alexia asked.

The vampire went from confused, to angry, to resolved. “No. If I cannot use the abomination, I will use you. She cannot be let to suffer any longer.”

“Is this about Queen Matakara?”

“Of course.”

“Or should I say Queen Hatshepsut?”

“To use that name, you should say King Hatshepsut.”

“What does your queen want with my daughter?”

“She wants a solution. An easy solution. One that could be smuggled in and then back out with none of the others noticing. But, no, this had to be difficult. There had to be two black-haired English babies, and we got the wrong one. Now I am stuck with you.”

“I am not easy to smuggle.”

“You most certainly are not, Lady Maccon.”

“Yes, but why?”

“Come with me and you will learn why.”

“And Primrose?”

“And we will return to you the useless baby.”

He led her from the building and together they walked toward the hive.

It was a long, quiet walk through the city. Lady Maccon allowed herself to drift on that sea of absence.

Despite this, she found herself eventually thinking about Queen Matakara. Trapped in that chair, her eyes as sad as anything Alexia had ever seen or felt until now. They were the eyes of someone who wanted to die. She could sympathize.

“It’s Matakara,” she said into the silent night, stopping in her tracks.

Chancellor Neshi stopped as well.

“She set the God-Breaker Plague originally and she started it up again. She and my father.” Alexia talked out her revelations. “They struck a deal.”

The chancellor continued for her. “He broke with the OBO without telling them what he found. He agreed not to tell the Templars either. In return he got to continue the plague’s expansion with the certain knowledge that eventually it would take my queen, too.”

“Why not just bring a preternatural mummy into the room with her? Wouldn’t that work?” Alexia began walking once more.

The vampire said, exasperated, “Do you think I haven’t tried? But your father left iron orders. None of my people ever seem to be able to get to a preternatural body fast enough. It’s like they are networked. It’s like there is someone in charge who keeps an eye on all the preternaturals in the world. He won’t let me break the original agreement, even from the grave.”

Alexia wondered if Floote had done as he said and had her father’s body cremated, or if Alessandro Tarabotti was one of those who lay exposed above Hatshepsut’s Temple. “Why not simply ask me to do it? I was right there. I would have been happy to touch her.”

“Not in front of the others. They can’t know that their queen wants to die. They can’t possibly know. Done at the wrong time, they would swarm—swarm without a queen. That is not pretty, Lady Maccon. I could sneak a child in and out easily enough, but you, Lady Maccon, are not sneaky. Besides, if Lady Maccon, English, killed Queen Matakara, it would cause an international incident.”

“Why not simply stick with the plan and wait for the plague to expand? It’s already reached the edge of Alexandria.”

“The OBO found out. A concession to excavate at the temple was issued. Our time has run out. When I heard of your child, I thought she would be an easy solution. I could sneak her in and my queen would be free at last. Done quietly, before dawn, and my drone could have her back out again and no one the wiser.”

“But why you, Chancellor?”

“The queen trusts me. I am almost as old as she. I, too, am ready to die. But the others, they are young yet.”

Alexia paused again in her walking. “Is that what would happen? I didn’t know. When a queen dies, all her hive goes with her?”

“And go quietly if it is timed correctly.”

“You were willing to do that to your hive?”

“It is the pharaoh’s way. To travel with servants into the afterlife. Why shouldn’t we all die together?”

Alexia could understand what came next. He would get her in to the queen, he would arrange for her to touch Matakara, and she would die. So, too, would Alexia, as the other vampires in their pain and loss would kill her outright, and baby Primrose as well.

“Have you thought this through, Chancellor?”

“Yes.”

“You are cursing me to die with this last desperate gambit.”

“Yes.”

“You know, you could still borrow Prudence? She’s small enough to sneak in and out.”

“Too late, Lady Maccon.”

“I thought things were never too late for an immortal. Isn’t that the point? All you creatures have is time.”

Chancellor Neshi only led the way into the hive house.

Alexia followed. She couldn’t think of anything better to do.

It was much the same as before. A crowd of servants descended upon them to remove their shoes, and the chancellor went off to alert his queen as to Lady Maccon’s presence.

However, Alexia was much less welcome without her actor escort. She couldn’t understand what the other drones and vampires said to Chancellor Neshi when she appeared at the throne room entrance, but it was said very loudly and angrily.

Above them, Queen Matakara sat on and in and within her throne of blood and watched everything with tortured eyes.

Alexia inched toward her.

Chancellor Neshi went and retrieved Primrose from some hidden sanctum. The baby seemed perfectly unharmed. She waved chubby arms at Alexia, in one fist clutching a large necklace of gold and turquoise.

One of the drones noticed that Lady Maccon was moving toward his queen and launched himself at her. He was a slender fellow, but wiry and muscled, plenty strong enough to hold her.

Alexia thought of going for her parasol. She thought of diving at the queen, getting her bare hand to the woman’s exposed forehead. She thought of grabbing Primrose and running away from them all. She thought of struggling against her captor. She could probably break free; she’d had enough experience with that by now. For a proper Englishwoman, she was adept at the application of elbows and feet to delicate anatomy. She thought of doing many things, but she actually did none of them. She pushed herself back into the numbness and let it wash over her, for the first time in her life inclined to do nothing at all, to wait and see.

The arguing continued.

Then there was a tumult in the hallway and two drones brought in a struggling Madame Lefoux.

“Alexia! I thought you would be here.”

“You did? Oh.”

“It was the only logical explanation. Once I removed the idea that a vampire wants to live forever, I was left with the answer. Matakara started the plague, both times. First against the werewolves and later against the vampires and herself. And if she wanted to die that badly, she’d try to get either you or Prudence to touch her.”

“And how could you blundering in here now possibly help?” Alexia was confused but not angry. She didn’t have enough emotion left to be angry.

“I brought reinforcements.”

At which juncture a mechanical ladybug trundled into the room with Prudence riding atop it. “Mama!”

At that, Alexia did get angry. “Genevieve, what were you thinking! To bring my daughter into a hive of vampires, one of them a kidnapper who wanted her in the first place? A hive whose queen wants to die. A hive that will go mad if that happens.”

The Frenchwoman smiled. “Oh, I didn’t bring only her.”

Bustling in after Prudence came the acting troupe. The thespians wore identical expressions of seriousness and were armed with the stage swords and props of their trade. They were led by Ivy Tunstell and her husband. Ivy wore an undersized admiralty hat in white and black with a particularly large ostrich feather out the top, and Tunstell’s trousers, while tight, were made of leather for battle.

The practical part of Alexia thought that an acting troupe was hardly reinforcements against a hive of vampires.

The advent of this crowd of theatrical invaders caused a tizzy. There were colorful fabrics and people flying everywhere, as the actors employed stage fighting, tumbling, and, in the case of one young lady, ballet to dodge their opponents. There was a good deal of shouting and one operatic war cry from Mr. Tumtrinkle.

Tunstell began quoting Shakespeare. Ivy charged for her daughter, parasol wielded in a manner Alexia felt did her proud. The drone holding the infant stood with mouth slightly open for sufficiently long enough to allow Ivy to bop him hard on the head and yank her daughter away. Alexia half expected her dear friend to then faint at her own audacity, but Ivy Tunstell stood firm, child on hip, parasol at the ready. The tiny part of Alexia that was not numb was outlandishly satisfied.

With uproar continuing and the vampires and drones distracted, Alexia resumed creeping toward the hive queen. Matakara wanted to die. Matakara who had started everything. Matakara who was responsible for her husband’s death. Well, Lady Alexia Maccon would see her dead. And gladly!

Alexia made it to the base of the platform upon which the gruesome chair stood. She caught Chancellor Neshi’s eye and he nodded, encouraging her, before continuing his argument with one of the other vampires. Alexia wondered if anyone else even understood what was going on.

Just as she was about to climb up, a vampire grabbed her around the waist. He lost his strength upon contact but maintained his grip. He yanked her around and bore her down to the floor. As she fell, Alexia could see all was not going well for Madame Lefoux’s would-be invasion.

Ivy, clutching Primrose, was fending off two drones with her parasol, but soon enough their surprise at her attire would wear off and she would succumb. Gumption only got a girl so far. Tunstell had Prudence’s ladybug held high and was bashing it about. Mr. Tumtrinkle was faced off against a vampire and not doing well, as might be expected. Even all his fancy fencing tricks from Hamlet and the Overcooked Pork Pie—a Tragedy were not fast enough nor strong enough, or, quite frankly, deadly enough for an immortal.

A scream diverted Alexia’s attention. A vampire launched himself at Ivy, going for her neck. The drone attacking her fell back.

Alexia unhooked her parasol, took aim, and then realized she was out of numbing darts. She turned the middle nodule right and out popped the wooden stake at the tip. She began bashing about with it. She dared not use the lapis solaris; the acid would surely do just as much damage to one of her actor defenders.

Prudence, who had taken initial refuge from the kerfuffle under a small table, emerged at Ivy’s terrified scream. She charged the vampire attacking Mrs. Tunstell and beat at his ankle with her tiny fists. It was enough contact to turn her vampire, and him not. He was left gnawing uselessly on Ivy’s bloodied neck, and Prudence turned into a bouncing blur of excited infant with supernatural abilities. She was of very little help as she merely bucketed about, not knowing her own strength, hurling everyone aside whether vampire, drone, or actor. Behind her, Ivy crumpled to the floor, still managing to support Primrose but suffering from shock or loss of blood, or both.

And then, leaping up to the balcony from the street below and charging into the room via the open window came a massive beast. And atop the wolf, looking as dignified and butlerlike as might be possible for a man riding a werewolf, was Floote.

Alexia stopped trying to touch Queen Matakara and turned in a slow, ponderous manner. She felt as though she were seeing and experiencing everything underwater.

“Conall Maccon, I thought you were dead!”

Lord Maccon looked up at his wife from where he had his jaws about a vampire’s leg, let go, and barked at her.

“Do you know how I’ve been suffering for the last week? How could you? Where have you been?”

He barked again.

Alexia wanted to throw herself at him and wrap both arms and legs about him. She also wanted to whack him over the head with her parasol. But he was there and he was alive and everything was suddenly working again. The numbness vanished and Alexia took in the world around her. Her brain, somewhat absent for the better part of a week, returned to full capacity.

She looked to her butler. “Floote, what have you done?”

Floote only pulled out a gun and began shooting vampires.

“Prudence,” Alexia called sharply, “come to Mama!”

Prudence, who had been, until that moment, busy trying to suck the blood out of the arm of a very surprised drone, stopped and looked over at her mother. “No!”

Alexia used that tone of voice. The voice that Prudence rarely heard but knew meant trouble. “Right this very moment, young lady!”

For Prudence, currently a vampire, right this very moment was very fast indeed. In a veritable flash, she was at Alexia’s side. Alexia grabbed her daughter, turning her human once more, and then, without any kind of compunction at all, lifted her up and set her in the lap of Queen Matakara of Alexandria.

Prudence said, “Oh, Dama,” in a very somber voice and looked deep into the tormented eyes of the ancient vampire. Her little face was as grave and gentle as any nurse ministering to the wounded on a battlefield. She stood up on the frail woman’s lap and reached for her face.

Madame Lefoux, having somehow determined what was happening, even through the chaos, appeared on the other side of the aged queen. The inventor assessed the situation. In a few quick movements, she flipped several toggles and snaps at the bottom of Queen Matakara’s mask. The awful thing fell away, exposing the vampire’s face fully to Prudence’s metanatural touch.

Under the mask, Matakara’s skin was sunken against the bones of her chin, but it was clear she had once been quite beautiful. Her face was heart shaped with an aquiline nose, broadly spaced eyes, and small mouth.

Prudence, drawn by the newly exposed flesh, placed one small, chubby hand to the vampire’s chin. It was a sympathetic, intimate gesture, and Alexia couldn’t help but imagine that her daughter somehow knew exactly what she was doing.

Complete and total pandemonium resulted.

All the vampires in the room turned as one, leaving off whoever they had been fighting with or feeding on. They charged. This only frightened Prudence who, now a vampire once more, leaped nimbly out of the way and dashed about the room pell-mell.

Matakara, mortal and still attached to her chair, jerked against the straps and tubes, letting out a silent scream of agony.

One of the vampires turned to Alexia. “You! Soulless. Make it stop!”

Lord Maccon, still a wolf, mouth dripping with old dark vampire blood, leaped to his wife’s defense. His hackles were up, his teeth bared in a snarl.

“She cannot die,” cried out one of the vampires. Clearly more of them spoke English than Alexia had previously supposed. “We have no new queen!”

“So you, too, will die.” Lady Maccon was unsympathetic.

“More than that, we will go mad. We will take Alexandria with us. Just think of the damage even six vampires can do to one city.”

Alexia looked around. Madame Lefoux had lost her hat but otherwise stood strong. She was tussling with the beautiful female drone on the opposite side of the throne. Mr. Tumtrinkle lay fallen in one corner. Alexia wasn’t certain he still breathed. Several of the other thespians were looking worse for the wear. One of the younger, prettier actresses bled copiously from multiple neck bites. Floote stood in the midst of the melee, wooden knife in one hand, an expression of utterly unbutlerlike ferocity on his face. When he caught Alexia’s eye, his customary impassivity immediately returned. Then, coming from the far side of the room, Alexia heard a strangled choking sound and saw Tunstell sobbing, his red head bent over the crumpled form of Ivy.

Alexia’s friend lay broken and bloodied, her neck a ruin of torn flesh. Baby Primrose, unharmed, lay squalling in the crook of Ivy’s flaccid arm. Tunstell scooped the child up and clutched her to his breast, still sobbing.

A shout distracted Alexia from the tragic scene—one of the other vampires managed to capture Prudence. He ran toward Alexia with the toddler’s struggling form held out at arm’s length, as if in an egg-and-spoon race. Alexia knew he would try to hand her the child. She dodged away. Not that she didn’t love her daughter, but right then she certainly didn’t want to touch her.

Lord Maccon snarled and intercepted the attack, perfectly understanding Alexia’s predicament.

“Wait!” yelled Alexia. “I have an idea. Chancellor, what if we could get you a new queen?”

The vampire stepped forward. “That is an acceptable proposal, if Matakara has the strength to try and we have a volunteer? Who do you suggest?”

Alexia looked thoughtfully at Madame Lefoux.

Even in the middle of grappling intimately with the beautiful drone, the Frenchwoman shook her head madly. The inventor had never sought immortality.

“Don’t worry, Genevieve, I had someone else in mind.”

Around her everything stilled as Alexia walked across the room to where Ivy Tunstell lay. Her bosom companion’s breathing was shallow, her face unnaturally pale. She did not look long for this world. Alexia was familiar enough with death to know when it stalked a friend. She swallowed down hard on her own unhappiness and looked to Ivy’s beloved husband. “Well, Tunstell, how would you like to be married to a queen?”

Tunstell’s eyes were red but it took him no time at all to make the decision. He had once been a claviger and had spent his life on the fringe of immortal society. He had sacrificed his own bid for metamorphosis to marry Miss Ivy Hisselpenny. He had no compunctions or reservations. If Ivy were to be dead or a vampire, he would rather her be a vampire. Tunstell was the most progressive man Alexia had ever met.

“Try it, Lady Maccon, I entreat you.”

So Alexia signaled to one of the vampires in that utterly autocratic way of hers. The vampire came to do her bidding, when only a few minutes earlier he might have killed her where she stood. He carried Ivy over to drape her on Matakara, setting the actress on the queen’s lap like a ventriloquist’s doll and arranging her to lie back so Ivy’s neck was near Matakara’s mouth. Ivy’s head lolled back.

Chancellor Neshi pulled a set of leather belts with chain links attached and strapped them over Ivy, lashing her tightly against his queen. Then he turned and nodded at Lady Maccon.

Alexia took Prudence into her arms.

Queen Matakara turned back to a vampire.

She began spouting a string of words, ancient-sounding words, not Arabic at all but some other language. Her voice was commanding, melodic, and very direct. Chancellor Neshi leaped to her side and bent to her ear, whispering frantically. The other vampires stilled, waiting.

Alexia wasn’t quite certain what they thought was happening. Would they know that their queen was still destined to die? Did they know the bargain the chancellor was striking? Did they understand the ancient tongue, or did they still think there was a chance?

Chancellor Neshi leaped back down and approached Alexia. When Conall growled and would not let him near, Alexia said, “All is well, husband. I do believe I know what he wants.”

Chancellor Neshi sidled past the still-bristling wolf. “She desires your assurance, Soulless, that you will see the deed done, whether this metamorphosis is successful or not.”

“You have my word,” said Alexia. She was thinking of Countess Nadasdy, a younger and stronger queen. The countess had failed to metamorphose a new queen. Yet here Alexia was wagering all their lives on Ivy Tunstell having excess soul and Queen Matakara enough strength to draw it out of her.