Part 22 (2/2)
He turned away from her words, his broad back stiff, but he did not deny them.
CHAPTER TEN
Aether Transmissions
Using the information Lord Akeldama had provided, and with the a.s.sistance of a personable young man the vampire referred to only as Biffy, Professor Lyall set up an operation. ”Ambrose has been meeting with various members of the incoming regiments,” Lord Akeldama had informed him over an aged scotch-a warm fire in the grate and a plump calico cat on his knee. ”At first I thought it was simply simply opiates or some other form of illegal trade, but now I believe it to be something more sinister. The hive is not only employing its vampire contacts-it's approaching any common soldier. Even the ill-dressed. It's opiates or some other form of illegal trade, but now I believe it to be something more sinister. The hive is not only employing its vampire contacts-it's approaching any common soldier. Even the ill-dressed. It's horrible. horrible.” The vampire gave a delicate little shudder. ”I cannot discern what it is they are buying up so greedily. You want to find out what Westminster is up to? Tap into those werewolf military connections of yours, darling darling, and set up an offer. Biffy can take you to the preferred venue.”
And so it was, on the information provided by a rove vampire, that Professor Lyall now sat in a very seedy pub, the Pickled Crumpet, accompanied by a spectacularly well-dressed drone and Major Channing. A few wobbly tables away sat one of Major Channing's most trusted soldiers, clutching several suspicious packages and looking nervous.
Professor Lyall slouched down and nursed his beer. He hated beer, a vile common beverage.
Major Channing was twitchy. He s.h.i.+fted long legs, jostling the table and slos.h.i.+ng their drinks.
”Stop that,” his Beta instructed. ”No one's come yet. Be patient.”
Major Channing only glared at him.
Biffy offered them a pinch of snuff. Both werewolves declined in thinly veiled horror. Imagine mucking about with one's sense of smell! Such a vampiric kind of affectation.
Some while later, with Professor Lyall's beer barely touched but Major Channing on his third pint, the vampire entered the pub.
He was a tall, exceedingly comely individual, who looked exactly as a novelist might describe a vampire-sinister and pensive with an aquiline nose and unfathomable eyes. Professor Lyall sipped his beer in salute. He had to give Lord Ambrose tribute-the man put on an excellent show. Top marks for dramatic flair.
Lord Ambrose made his way straight to the soldier's table and sat down without introduction. The tavern was loud enough to make an auditory disruptor unnecessary, and even Lyall and Channing with their supernatural hearing caught only about one word in ten.
The exchange moved quite rapidly and culminated in the soldier showing Lord Ambrose his collection of goods. The vampire looked each one over, then shook his head violently and stood to leave.
The soldier stood as well, leaning forward to ask a question.
Lord Ambrose clearly took offense, for he lashed out with supernatural speed, striking the man across the face so fast even a soldier's reflexes stood him in poor stead.
Major Channing immediately jumped to his feet, his chair cras.h.i.+ng back as he surged forward. Professor Lyall grabbed his wrist, halting his protective instinct. Channing all too often thought of his soldiers as pack.
The vampire's head swiveled around, focusing in on their little band. He hissed through his teeth, the tips of both fangs visible over thin lips. Then with a swirl of long burgundy greatcoat, he swept majestically from the inn.
Professor Lyall, who had never done anything majestically in all his life, faintly envied the man.
The young soldier came over to them, a harsh red welt about the side of his mouth.
”I'll murder the liverless b.a.s.t.a.r.d,” swore Major Channing, making as if to follow Lord Ambrose out into the street.
”Stop.” Professor Lyall's hand tightened on the Gamma's arm. ”Burt here is perfectly fine. Aren't you, Burt?”
Burt spat out a bit of blood but nodded. ”Dealt with worse at sea.”
Biffy picked his snuffbox off the table and tucked it into a coat pocket. ”So”-the young man gestured for the soldier to pull up a chair and join them-”what did he say? What are they looking for?”
”It's the weirdest thing. Artifacts.”
”What?”
The soldier bit his bottom lip. ”Yeah, Egyptian Egyptian artifacts. But not objects as we might have thought. Not a weapon as such. That's why he was so angry with my offerings. Thems is looking for scrolls. Scrolls with a certain image on 'em.” artifacts. But not objects as we might have thought. Not a weapon as such. That's why he was so angry with my offerings. Thems is looking for scrolls. Scrolls with a certain image on 'em.”
”Hieroglyphic?”
Burt nodded.
”What image, did he say?”
”Seems they're quite desperate, 'cause it was pretty indiscreet of him to tell me, but, yeah, he said. Something called an ankh, only they want it broken. You know, in the picture, like the symbol was cut in half.”
Professor Lyall and Biffy looked at one another. ”Interesting,” they both said at the same time.
”I wager the edict keepers have some kind of record of the symbol.” Biffy, of course, had some knowledge of vampire information sources.
”Which means,” Lyall said thoughtfully, ”this has happened before.”
Alexia left her husband soundly asleep. After centuries as an immortal, he had forgotten how a mortal body seeks succor in slumber when it has injuries to deal with. Despite the excitement, the night was young and most of the rest of the castle was still awake.
She nearly ran full tilt into a rapidly scuttling Ivy in the hallway. Miss Hisselpenny had a fierce frown decorating her normally amiable face.
”Good Lord, Ivy, what an expression.” Lady Maccon leaned casually on her parasol. The way things were progressing this evening, she was unwilling to part with the accessory.
”Oh, Alexia. I do not mean to be forward, but I really must venture: I simply loathe Mr. Tunstell.”
”Ivy!”
”Well, I mean to say, well, really! He is so very impossible. I was given to understand that his affection for me was secure. And one little objection and he switches allegiance quite flippantly. One might even call him flighty! To bill and coo around another female so soon after I went to such prodigious lengths to break his heart. It gives him the countenance of a, well, a vacillating b.u.t.terfly!”
Lady Maccon was arrested trying to imagine a cooing b.u.t.terfly. ”Really, I thought you were still quite enamored of him, despite rejecting his suit.”
”How could could you think such a thing? I positively detest him. I am in full agreement with myself on this. He is nothing more than a billing-cooing you think such a thing? I positively detest him. I am in full agreement with myself on this. He is nothing more than a billing-cooing vacillator vacillator! And I shall have nothing more to do with a person of such weakened character.”
Lady Maccon was not quite certain how to converse with Miss Hisselpenny when she was in such a mood. She was accustomed to Ivy-overset and Ivy-chatterbox, but Ivy-full-of-wrath was a new creature altogether. She opted for the fallback position. ”You are clearly in need of a fortifying cup of tea, my dear. Shall we go and see if we can hunt one down? Even the Scots must stock some form of libation.”
Miss Hisselpenny took a deep breath. ”Yes, I think you may be right. Excellent notion.”
Lady Maccon solicitously shepherded her friend down the stairs and into one of the smaller drawing rooms, where they ran into two clavigers. The young gentlemen were more than eager to hunt down the requisite tea, see to Miss Hisselpenny's every whim, and generally prove to the ladies that all good manners had not fled the Highlands along with its complement of trousers. As a result, Ivy forgave them their kilts. Lady Maccon left her friend to their stimulating accents and tender care and went in search of Madame Lefoux and the broken aethographor, hoping for a peek at its functional component parts.
It took her some time to track the ma.s.sive machine down. Castle Kingair was a real castle, with none of Woolsey's practical notions on conservation of s.p.a.ce and gridlike layout. It was very large, with a propensity for confusing itself with additional rooms, towers, and gratuitous staircases. Lady Maccon was logical in her approach (which may have been her mistake). She surmised that the aethographor must be located in one of the many castle turrets, but which one which one proved to be the difficulty. There was a decided overabundance of towers. Very concerned with defensibility, the Scots. It took a good deal of time to climb the winding steps to each turret. She knew she was in the right area, however, when she heard the cursing. In French, of course, and not words that she was familiar with, naturally, but she was in no doubt as to their profane nature. Madame Lefoux appeared to be experiencing some form of inconvenience. proved to be the difficulty. There was a decided overabundance of towers. Very concerned with defensibility, the Scots. It took a good deal of time to climb the winding steps to each turret. She knew she was in the right area, however, when she heard the cursing. In French, of course, and not words that she was familiar with, naturally, but she was in no doubt as to their profane nature. Madame Lefoux appeared to be experiencing some form of inconvenience.
When she finally attained the room, Alexia came face-to-face, or as is were, face-to-bottom, with yet another good reason for the lady inventor to don trousers. Madame Lefoux was on her back, half underneath the apparatus, only her legs and backside visible. Had she been in skirts, it would have been a most indelicate position.
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