Timeless

“Sorry, darling, but your father has discovered something of interest he wishes us to see.”

Mrs. Tunstell glanced up. “Oh, is it a textile shop? I hear they produce the most lovely cottons in this part of the world.”

“Something more along the lines of ruffled parasols, I believe.”

Ivy was thick but not so thick as all that. “Oh, of course,” she said immediately, winking in a very overt manner. “Ruffled parasols. Naturally. Now, my dear friend, you won’t forget we have a private show in only a few hours. And while I know you are not integrated into the performance, your presence is desirable.”

“Of course, of course. This shouldn’t take very long.”

“Carry on, then,” said Mrs. Tunstell, although her friend was already trotting hurriedly away. Alexia heard Ivy say, “Lady Maccon is our particular patroness, don’t you know? Such a very gracious and grand lady.”

She was met outside the hotel by a large wolf. In order to make more of a thing of it, Alexia purchased a donkey rope off an obliging, though confused, donkey boy. This she clasped about Conall’s brindled neck, quite a feat of loops and twists, as she could not touch him and had to keep hold of Prudence. Eventually she was successful and it looked as though she were taking a very large dog for a walk.

Lord Maccon gave her a baleful look but submitted to the humiliation for the sake of propriety. They wended their way through the still-vibrant city; sunset seemed more an excuse to visit than an ending to daily activities. He led her a long way, due south down the Rue de la Colonne, past the bastions, through the outer slums of the city until they reached the canal. Alexia was beginning to worry about the time, concerned they might not make it back by the vampire visiting hour. Conall, in his wolf form, had little estimation of distance, and while Alexia was a great walker and never one to shirk exercise, traversing an entire city in the course of only an hour was really rather extreme, especially when carrying a disinterested toddler. Eventually, they developed a method by which Prudence rode astride her father, with Alexia gripping one hand firmly so as to keep everyone in their correct forms and fur.

The earl stopped imperiously at the bank of the canal, and it took Alexia only a moment to surmise they must cross it.

“Oh, really, Conall. Couldn’t this wait until tomorrow?”

He barked at her.

She sighed and waved over a reluctant-looking lad in command of a kind of reed raft obviously utilized to cross the canal.

The raft boy refused, with many shakes of the head and wide eyes, to allow the massive wolf into his little craft but was charmed into unexpected delight when said wolf took to the water and simply dragged his raft across. He had no need of the pole normally employed for the crossing. Lady Maccon forbore to say anything on the subject of the cleanliness of the water.

Alexia gave the lad a few coins and gesticulated in such a way as she thought might convince him to wait for them, while Conall shook out his coat violently.

Prudence clapped and giggled at her father’s antics, twirling about in the spray of dirty water. Alexia caught her daughter’s hand before she touched him.

Alexia thought it a good thing the locals were accustomed to the eccentricities of the English, for such a thing as Lady Maccon alone in the baser end of a foreign city with her only daughter and a large wolf should never be tolerated in any other part of the empire.

Nevertheless, she followed her husband dutifully, reflecting that this was one of the reasons she had married him, with the certain knowledge that life would never be dull. She often suspected it was one of the reasons he had married her as well.

The sensation was barely recognizable at first, but then she began to feel it—a tingling push, a little like the aether breezes against her skin when she floated. Only this sensation felt like the reverse. Aether tingling was like very mild champagne bubbles against the skin; this felt as though those bubbles were being generated by her own flesh. It was a faint sensation and it was almost pleasant, but it was odd. Had she not been alert for some new experience, she might not have even noticed.

Waving her arms about excitedly, Prudence said, “Mama!”

“Yes, dear, odd, isn’t it?”

“No.” Prudence was very decided on this. She patted Alexia on the cheek. “Mama and—” She waved her arms about. “Mama!”

Alexia frowned. “Are you saying that to you the air feels like me? How very odd.”

“Yes,” agreed Prudence, using a word Alexia hadn’t until that moment realized she possessed.

“Conall, is that what I think it is?” Alexia asked the wolf, her attention still on her wiggling daughter.

“Yes, my love, I believe it is,” said her husband.

Lady Maccon nearly dropped Prudence in startlement, looking up to confirm that her ears were not playing tricks on her and that her husband was standing a short distance away, fully naked and fully human.

Lady Maccon set down her daughter. The child toddled eagerly over to Conall, who scooped her right up, without fear. No need of it—Prudence remained her own precocious human self.

Lady Maccon went to stand next to him. “This is the God-Breaker Plague?”

“Indubitably.”

“I thought I should feel more repelled by it.”

“So did I.”

“On the other hand, when the mummy was in London—do you recall?—and caused half the city to come over all mortal, I didn’t register any sensations at all. This is almost as mild. It was only when I was in the same room as that awful mummy that I felt true repulsion.”

The earl nodded. “Sharing the same air. I believe that was the Templar’s phrasing for two preternaturals in the same place.”

Alexia looked out over the low mud brick houses of Alexandria’s poorest residents to the wide low black of nothingness beyond. “Is that the desert?”

“No. Desert has more sand. I believe that used to be a lake, all dried up now. It’s wasteland.”

“So there once was water and now there is none. Is it possible that the God-Breaker Plague has moved close to the city only since then? After all, we know preternatural touch is affected by water.”

“That is a thought. Hard to know. Of course, it is also possible that the city has expanded toward it. But if it has moved closer, you can bet the local vampires would not be happy about it.”

“Matakara’s real reason for summoning us?”

“Anything is possible with vampires.”

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. ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">