Heartless: The Parasol Protectorate: Book the Fourth (29 page)

If Alexia had not been so enthralled, with her face pressed firmly to the carriage window, she would have missed the porcupine. But she was and so she didn’t.

She banged on the roof of the carriage with her parasol, sharp and loud. “Halt!”

The coachman pulled the bays up, right there in the middle of the busy thoroughfare—aristocracy had its privileges and Woolsey’s carriage was crested.

Lady Maccon lifted up the speaking tube she’d recently had installed and belled through to the box.

The coachman picked up his receiver. “Yes, madam?”

“Follow that porcupine!”

“Certainly, madam.” In his years of service to Lord Maccon, the poor man had received far more ludicrous requests.

The carriage lurched to the side, causing Alexia to drop her end of the tube, which swung from its heavy metal cord and whacked her in the arm. There was no high-speed chase—for which Alexia was grateful, as she’d had quite enough of those to last a lifetime, thank you very much!—because the porcupine, which happened to be on a lead like a little dog, was moving at a sedate pace often interrupted by curious bystanders. The creature was obviously out for a stroll for that purpose, to attract interest and attention on a night practically designed for such displays of eccentricity and ostentation.

Eventually, traffic allowed the carriage to pull a little ahead of the porcupine and stop. The coachman came around and let Lady Maccon down in time for her to accost the owner.

“Ah, pardon me, madam,” said Lady Maccon to the young lady in charge of the porcupine before realizing that they were already acquainted. “Why, Miss Dair!”

“Goodness me, Lady Maccon? Should you be in public in your condition? You are looking most encumbered.” The vampire drone seemed genuinely surprised to see her.

“But it is a lovely evening to be out, as you obviously realize, Miss Dair.”

“Indeed, the moon has got his cravat on.”

“If you don’t mind my asking, what on earth are you doing strolling the streets of London with a zombie porcupine?”

“Why shouldn’t I be enjoying the company of my new pet?” Miss Mabel Dair, renowned actress, was exactly the type of original female to elect to keep a pet porcupine, but Lady Maccon would have none of it.

“New pet, indeed! A whole herd of those nasty creatures attacked me and my husband only recently.”

The actress paused, a look of defensiveness suffusing her pretty face. “Perhaps the inside of your carriage, Lady Maccon, might be a better place for this conversation?”

Mabel Dair boasted a stylish figure, if a little round, with an arrangement of curves that cemented her appeal firmly among a specific class of fashionable gentlemen. And, if the rumors were to be believed, one very fashionable woman, Countess Nadasdy. Miss Dair had risen to prominence and become the reigning darling of the West End via the Westminster Hive’s unflagging support. She’d
engaged in no less than three continental tours and garnered a considerable amount of popularity in the colonies as well. She had copious blond curls done up in high piled coques of the very latest style, and her face was pleasingly sweet. She gave off an entirely unwarranted air of innocence, for Miss Dair was a woman of strong character—an excellent rider, a dab hand at cards, and a personal friend to the countess as well as being her drone. She also had very good taste in evening dresses. A woman not to be taken lightly, porcupine or no.

She and her pet climbed inside the Woolsey carriage, leaving her escort to shadow them on the street. Lady Maccon turned her attention from the actress to the porcupine. It looked very like those that had attacked her husband, which is to say, not exactly alive.

“An undead porcupine,” insisted Lady Maccon with conviction.

“Ah, yes, I see how you might make that kind of assessment, but no. That is not possible, as it was never alive.” The actress settled herself in the facing seat next to Alexia, smoothing out the silk skirts of her green gown as she did so.

“It can’t be mechanical. I tried a magnetic disruption emission on them and nothing resulted.”

“Oh, did you? Well, it’s worth knowing Albert here has been field tested against one of the best. I should like to see the emitter you used.”

“Yes, I wager you would.” Alexia made no move to show her anything whatsoever about her parasol or its armament. She gestured at the porcupine, which had settled into a kind of crouch at the actress’s feet. “May I?”

Mabel Dair considered the request. “If you must.” Then
she bent and lifted the little creature up to the bench between them so that Lady Maccon could examine it at her leisure.

At such close range, it became clear rather quickly that there was no way it had been, or ever would be, alive. It was a construct of some kind, its inner workings covered over in skin, fur, and spines that made it
look
like a porcupine.

“I thought mechanimals were outlawed.”

“This is not a mechanimal.”

“It has been made without any ferric parts? Inspired, indeed.” Lady Maccon was duly impressed. She was no Madame Lefoux, to be able to understand the construct’s makeup fully in the space of only a few minutes’ examination, but she was well enough versed in scientific literature to know she held some very advanced technology in her grasp.

“But why use such skill merely to create a pet?”

Mabel Dair shrugged, an elegant little movement, refined so as not to disturb the fall of her gown. “The extermination mandate has been retracted. Your relocation and adoption agreement was quite a masterly maneuver in the great game. My mistress was impressed. Not that I am admitting to anything, of course, but those first porcupines were highly experimental. They were not as effective as we had hoped, so she has let me make a pet of one of the few we have left.”

“Ingenious technology.” Lady Maccon continued her examination of the little creature. There were small clips behind each of its ears that, when pressed, popped open to reveal some of the inner workings in the brain area.

“I supposed it would have been far more dangerous
had it been a real African zombie.” She tapped at one of the faux bones. “Remarkable. I take it the hive has filed all the appropriate licensing with the patent office? Must be one of the countess’s pet scientists, since I haven’t read anything from the Royal Society on the subject. Is it designed specifically to withstand a magnetic disruption?” Then she noticed that the porcupine had ceramic and wooden moving parts held together with string and sinew, greased with some kind of dark waxy liquid. Alexia had misinterpreted this as blood, but closer inspection revealed it to be of exactly the same type as that found in the Hypocras Club’s automaton. “Oh, dear. Did you get hold of some of the Hypocras Club’s reports? I thought BUR put a lockdown on those.”

“Only you, Lady Maccon, would draw such a connection.” Miss Dair was beginning to look a little nervous.

At that juncture, it occurred to Lady Maccon to ask, “Why are you in my carriage, Miss Dair?”

The actress recovered her poise. “Ah, yes, well, Lady Maccon, there has been a breach in social etiquette, and it was only when you accosted me in the street that I realized it. I know the countess would want me to rectify the situation. You must believe, we understood that on full-moon nights you were otherwise occupied or we should never have neglected you.”

“What
are
you on about?”

“This.” Miss Dair handed Alexia an embossed invitation to a full-moon party taking place later that night.

The Maccons and the Nadasdys always invited each other to their respective festivities. The Westminster vampires, out of tether and hive bounds, had never been able to visit Woolsey Castle, and the countess herself, of course,
could not leave her house. But Lord and Lady Maccon had visited her on several occasions, always staying exactly as long as was polite and no longer. Vampire hives were not comfortable places for werewolves to be, particularly Alpha werewolves, but the social niceties must be observed.

Alexia took the invitation reluctantly. “Well, thank you, but I have a busy schedule, and at such late notice, please understand I will try to put in an appearance but—”

Miss Dair continued making the excuses for her. “In your current condition, that would be difficult. I understand perfectly and the countess will as well. But I didn’t want you to think we were slighting you in any way. Case in point, I have been instructed by my mistress to inform you, should we encounter each other, that we are officially delighted with your new living arrangements and wish it to be known outright that there are no hard feelings. Or”—she paused delicately, her actress training becoming apparent—“consequences.”

As if they were not the ones who had been actively trying to kill me!
Lady Maccon, in a huff, said pointedly, “Likewise. Perhaps next time if your lot told me why they were trying to exterminate me from the start, much unnecessary chaos could be avoided. Not to mention loss of porcupine life.”

“Yes, indeed. What did happen to them?”

“Lime pit.”

“Oh. Oh! Very good, Lady Maccon. I should never have thought of that.”

“Is this little creature still armed with the projectile spines? Some kind of numbing agent, I assume.”

“Yes, but not to worry—he’s quite tame. And it is for my protection and not any ulterior motive.”

“I am very glad to hear it. Well, Miss Dair, can I take you to your destination, or would you prefer to walk? I can see you might wish to display your pet to advantage. Your mistress is looking to profit by the new technology, isn’t she?”

“You know vampires.”

Normally polite company wouldn’t mention pecuniary matters, but Miss Dair was only an actress, so Alexia said, “You’d think owning half the known world would be enough for them.”

Mabel Dair smiled. “Control, Muhjah, comes in many different forms.”

“Indeed it does, indeed it does. Well . . . ,” Lady Maccon picked up the speaking tube and addressed her coachman. “Pull up here, please. My companion wishes to alight.”

“Very good, my lady,” came the tinny reply.

The carriage pulled to the side, allowing Miss Dair and her porcupine to disgorge themselves and continue their promenade.

“Perhaps we will enjoy the pleasure of your company later tonight, Lady Maccon.”

“Perhaps. Thank you for your scintillating conversation, Miss Dair. Good night.”

“Good night.”

They parted, many a reveler now curious as to the relationship between a werewolf’s wife and a vampire drone. The rumors were out concerning Biffy. Was Lady Maccon trying to poach yet another key player from the vampire’s camp? New gossip was set in motion. And that, too, Alexia realized, might have been all part of Miss Dair’s scheme in visiting with her.

She spoke once more into the tube. “Chapeau de Poupe, if you please.”

It was early still, so far as the night’s festivities were concerned. No establishment of worth in all of London would dare be closed on such an evening. Thus Lady Maccon was unsurprised to find Madame Lefoux’s hat shop not only open but also occupied by multiple ladies of worth and their respective escorts. The hats, suspended on their long cords from the ceiling, swayed to and fro, but without imparting their usual aura of undersea calm. There was too much clatter and bustle (in both senses of the word) for that. Alexia was surprised to find that Madame Lefoux herself was not in residence. For all her more atypical pursuits, the inventor normally made a point of putting in an appearance in her shop on busy nights. Half the reason the ladies chose to frequent Chapeau de Poupe was on the off chance they might encounter the scandalous proprietress in all her top-hatted glory.

In her absence, Lady Maccon trundled in and stood, confused. How was she to make her way to the contrivance chamber without someone seeing her? She respected Madame Lefoux’s wish to keep the chamber, its activities, and its entrance a secret from the general public. But with what seemed to be at least half said general public milling about in the shop, how was Alexia to return the papers and consult the inventor on the nature of the porcupines without being observed? Alexia Maccon was many things, but stealthy was not one of them.

She made her way to the counter—an attractive high table painted white to add to the modern atmosphere that was a hallmark of Madame Lefoux’s refined taste.

“Pardon me?” Lady Maccon used her best, most imperious tone.

“I’ll be right with you, madam,” chirruped the girl who stood there. She was all bright chatter and false friendliness, but her back remained quite firmly presented. She was busy rustling through stacks of hatboxes.

“I don’t mean to interrupt your work, young lady, but this is an urgent matter.”

“Yes, madam, I am certain it is. I do apologize for the delay, but as you can see, we are a little understaffed this evening. If you wouldn’t mind waiting just one more moment.”

“I must see Madame Lefoux.”

“Yes, yes, madam, I know.
Everyone
wishes the personal attention of the madame, but she is unavailable this particular evening. Perhaps one of the other ladies might be of assistance?”

“No, really, it must be Madame Lefoux. I have some important paperwork to return to her.”

“Return? Oh, did the hat not suit madam’s needs? I
am
sorry.”