Part 14 (1/2)

Tunstell nodded, clearly unable to speak.

There came a faint smell of vanilla, and Madame Lefoux's voice behind them said, ”Poison.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

Problematic Octopuses and Airs.h.i.+p Mountaineering

Randolph Lyall was old, for a werewolf. Something on the order of three hundred or so. He had long since stopped counting. And through all that time, he had played this little game of chess with local vampires: they moved their p.a.w.ns and he moved his. He'd been changed shortly before King Henry absorbed supernaturals legally into the British government, so he'd never known the Dark Ages, not personally. But he, like every other supernatural on the British Isles, worked hard to keep them from returning. Funny how such a simple objective could so easily become adulterated by politics and new technology. Of course, he could simply march up to the Westminster Hive and ask ask them what they were about. But they would no more tell him than he would tell them Lord Maccon had BUR agents watching the hive twenty-four hours a day. them what they were about. But they would no more tell him than he would tell them Lord Maccon had BUR agents watching the hive twenty-four hours a day.

Lyall reached his destination in far less time than it would have taken by carriage. He changed into human form in a dark alley, throwing the cloak he'd carried in his mouth about his naked body. Not precisely dress appropriate for paying a social visit, but he was confident his host would understand. This was was business. Then again, one never could tell with vampires. They had, after all, dominated the fas.h.i.+on world for decades as a kind of indirect campaign against werewolves and the uncivilized state s.h.i.+fting shape required. business. Then again, one never could tell with vampires. They had, after all, dominated the fas.h.i.+on world for decades as a kind of indirect campaign against werewolves and the uncivilized state s.h.i.+fting shape required.

He reached forward and pulled the bell rope on the door in front of him.

A handsome young footman opened it.

”Professor Lyall,” said Professor Lyall, ”to see Lord Akeldama.”

The young man gave the werewolf a very long look. ”Well, well. You will not mind, sir, if I ask you to wait on the stoop while I inform the master of your presence?”

Vampires were odd about invitations. Professor Lyall shook his head.

The footman disappeared, and a moment later, Lord Akeldama opened the door in his stead.

They had met before, of course, but Lyall had never yet had occasion to visit the vampire at home. The decoration was-he discerned as he peered into the glittering interior-very loud.

”Professor Lyall.” Lord Akeldama gave him an appraising look through a beautiful gold monocle. He was dressed for the theater, and one pinky pointed out as he lowered the viewing device. ”And alone. alone. To what do I owe this honor?” To what do I owe this honor?”

”I have a proposition for you.”

Lord Akeldama looked the werewolf up and down once more; his blond eyebrows, darkened by artificial means, rose in surprise. ”Why, Professor Lyall, how charming. charming. I think you had best come inside.” I think you had best come inside.”

Without looking up at Madame Lefoux, Alexia asked, ”Is there anything built into my parasol to counteract poison?”

The inventor shook her head. ”The parasol was designed as an offensive device. Had I known we would need an apothecary's kit, I would have added that feature.”

Lady Maccon crouched down over Tunstell's supine form. ”Run to the steward and see if he has an emetic on board, syrup of ipecac or white vitriol.”

”At once,” said the inventor, and dashed off.

Lady Maccon envied Madame Lefoux the masculine attire. Her own skirts were getting caught about her legs as she tried to tend to the afflicted claviger. His face was paper white, freckles stark against it, and there was a sheen of sweat on his forehead dampening his red hair.

”Oh no, he is suffering so. Will he recover soon?” Miss Hisselpenny had defied Alexia's order and tracked them down to the observation deck. She, too, crouched over Tunstell, her skirts spilling about her like a great over-iced meringue. She patted uselessly at one of Tunstell's hands, which were clenched over his stomach.

Alexia ignored her. ”Tunstell, you must try to purge yourself.” She made her voice as authoritative as possible, disguising her worry and fear with gruffness.

”Alexia!” Miss Hisselpenny was appalled. ”Imagine suggesting such a thing. How undignified! Poor Mr. Tunstell.”

”He must eject the contents of his stomach before the toxin enters his system any further.”

”Do not be a ninnyhammer, Alexia,” replied Ivy with a forced laugh. ”It is just a bit of food poisoning.”

Tunstell groaned but did not move.

”Ivy, and I mean this with the kindest and best of intentions, b.u.g.g.e.r off.”

Miss Hisselpenny gasped and stood up, scandalized. But at least she was out of the way.

Alexia helped Tunstell to turn over so he was on his knees. She pointed a finger over the side of the dirigible autocratically. She made her voice as low and as tough as possible. ”Tunstell, this is your Alpha speaking. Do as I tell you. You must regurgitate now.” Never in all her time had Alexia supposed she would someday be ordering someone to throw up their supper.

But the command in her voice seemed to get through to the claviger. Tunstell stuck his head under the rail and over the side of the dirigible and tried to retch.

”I can't,” he said finally.

”You must try harder.”

”Regurgitation is an involuntary action. You cannot simply order me to do it,” replied Tunstell in a small voice.

”I most certainly can. Besides which, you are an actor.”

Tunstell grimaced. ”I've never had cause to vomit onstage.”

”Well, if you do this, you shall know how if you need to in the future.”

Tunstell tried again. Nothing.

Madame Lefoux returned clutching a bottle of ipecac.

Alexia made Tunstell take a large gulp.

”Ivy, run and fetch a gla.s.s of water,” she ordered her friend, mostly to get her out of the way.

In moments, the emetic took effect. As unsavory as the supper had been to eat, it was even less pleasant going the other direction. Lady Maccon tried not to look or listen.

By the time Ivy returned with a goblet of water, the worst was over.

Alexia made Tunstell drink the entirety of the gla.s.s. They waited a full quarter of an hour more while his color returned, and he was finally able to attain an upright position.

Ivy was in a flutter over the whole incident, agitating about the recovering man with such vigor that Madame Lefoux was driven to desperate measures. She extracted a small flask from her waistcoat pocket.

”Have a little nip of this, my dear. Calm your nerves.” She handed it to Ivy.

Ivy nipped, blinked a couple times, nipped again, and then graduated from frantic to loopy. ”Why, that burns burns all the way down!” all the way down!”

”Let's get Tunstell to his room.” Alexia hoisted the redhead to his feet.