Imprudence (25 page)

The Maccons were let the best rooms. The owner himself saw them settled before bowing out in an obsequious manner. Rue gave the decklings some coin and the afternoon off, to be home before sundown. Thus the aristocrats found themselves alone in the sitting room as the heat of the day pressed down.

“Young Percy,” said Paw, “a private word if you would?”

Percy, surprised, followed Lord Maccon into a separate chamber, leaving the ladies to enjoy a light repast of tea and sandwiches.

“Not bad tea, actually.” Lady Maccon was begrudging. “I suppose they must cater to British preferences. I wonder how much it costs them to import?”

“Mother, are you sure of this decision? I worry about leaving you two in this foreign place alone.”

“Don't be silly, infant. We're well equipped to handle ourselves. He's looking better already, wouldn't you say?”

“He's certainly looking older, if that's what you mean.” Rue nibbled at a funny honey nut biscuit thing.

“Good. He may catch up with me and we shall look the same age.”

Primrose came over perturbed by illogic. “I don't think mathematics quite work that way, Lady Maccon.”

Mother laughed. “I was trying to lighten the mood. Infant here looks so concerned about life. Or death, as it were.”

Awkward silence permeated the room. Prim poured more tea rather desperately.

Finally, Lady Maccon pulled out her parasol, the ugly one that sprayed things when it wasn't shooting other things or being used as a blunt instrument. “Prudence dear, I should like you to have this now.” She passed the accessory over. “You know its worth.”

Rue took it gingerly. “Certainly I do, but, Mother, are you certain? It's very important to you, and you should find a weapon far more useful than I. Particularly as you are residing in a
public
hotel.”

“Ah, but you, my child, can't steal immortality inside the God-Breaker Plague. It should make me feel better knowing you had a good weapon. When you leave Egypt and can be metanatural again, I thought Miss Primrose here might be interested in the accessory.”

Primrose was shocked at being included in a family concern. “Oh, I shouldn't want to take on a family heirloom.”

Lady Maccon snorted. “Don't be ridiculous, girl, I'm not sentimental. I've had half a dozen or so of the bally things.”

Primrose whispered into Rue's ear in an excess of shock, “Your mother is gifting us with a
second
-
hand
parasol?”

Rue hid a smile. Her mother was, at her best, overbearing. She was also not one to be challenged on points of generosity. Best to accept her dubious gift and have done with it.

“You've ordered a replacement from Madame Lefoux already, then?”

Lady Maccon grinned at her daughter. “Naturally. With new features designed specifically for a desert climate. I'm looking forward to the modifications about as much as Genevieve is looking forward to designing them. She does love a challenge.” Her mother's words were coloured with that peculiar affection reserved exclusively for Quesnel's mother. “And there will be a nice
new
one for you, Miss Tunstell, eventually – full of useful and ladylike necessities, like perfume, and handkerchiefs, and piccolos, and very small truncheons, and what have you. You'll want to consider the practical applications to your own daily activities. I find it is always best to go custom in these matters.”

Primrose looked startled. “Thank you kindly but I've plenty of perfectly lovely parasols.”

“It's the principle of the thing.” Lady Maccon was not making a lick of sense.

“Well, then, I cannot wait to return to London to oversee its creation.” Prim's expression spoke volumes. She was hoping to intercede with Madame Lefoux in order to ensure it was fashion forward, perhaps with a removable shade so she could change the colour.

“I don't think Genevieve would like that. She doesn't like to be watched while she works.”

And Primrose didn't like to be surprised with ugly accessories. There was a battle in the future. But for now, Prim was lady enough to accept her fate, ugly as it was likely to be.

“Well, thank you for my part, Mother. It will be nice to hit people with something more elegant than a mop.”

“A mop!”

“Too long to explain. Now, would you show us how this one works please?”

Lady Maccon did so. “Twist the handle just so and blades come out the tip. See? Very sharp, one silver, one mahogany. Press this button here and the dart emitter is open and activated. You've only four darts left, so use them wisely. Normally you get six. They're a species of numbing poison – works well on humans, not quite so well on immortals.” She reached down to point to a dial at the base of the ferrule, before the fabric started and hidden by a top ruffle. “You have three mists – lapis lunearis in water, lapis solaris in acid, and a lemon basil tincture. The first is for werewolves and it will also discolour human skin. The second is for vampires, and it's acid, so it will burn almost anything else. The last causes a nasty reaction in supernatural creatures but does no permanent damage. You're out of the acid, I'm afraid. There are pockets here and here in the ruffle to stash things.”

“Mother, that's amazing. I had no idea it was so comprehensive.” Rue took the parasol, handling it with more respect than she had ever thought to show an accessory.

Lady Maccon grinned. “It's most useful.”

Another awkward silence fell.

Rue felt the finality of it engulf her. She cleared a throat choked with sentiment.

“Perhaps we should make our goodbyes?” Rue thought a clean break might be best. She and her mother had never been very good at this kind of thing.

Lady Maccon raised one hand. “There is something I should like to do first. It is a bit silly. Which, to be fair, is all your mother's fault, Primrose dear. I had to invent something, you see, rather on the spot. And now it is tradition. Ridiculous, but tradition.”

Primrose was serious. “Most traditions are ridiculous, Lady Maccon. Look at Eton.”

“Point taken. If you ladies would please stand?”

Mystified, Rue and Prim stood, skirts rustling.

“And open your parasols?”

When Mother got this way, it was best to play along. Rue opened her second-hand parasol, surprised at how heavy it was – full of deadly fluids and armaments.

Primrose objected. “Lady Maccon, we are indoors!”

“This will only take a moment.”

Prim popped open her own lavender confection, edged in black chiffon ruffles and black velvet bows to match her dress.

Lady Maccon looked like she would blush if her complexion allowed it. “Please spin your parasols three times and repeat after me:
I shield in the name of fashion, I accessorize for one and all, pursuit of truth is my passion, this I vow by the great parasol.
”

Wide-eyed with suppressed amusement, Rue and Prim did as requested, reciting the strange pledge in unison.

“Here I was worried about Paw going balmy. Now I think it might be you, Mother.”

“Hush, infant. Now, raise your parasols to the ceiling.”

Rue and Prim raised happily. But when Lady Maccon produced a small knife from her décolletage and unsheathed it to show a sharp silver blade, they exchanged worried looks.

The strain of Paw's illness was too much for her – Mother really has gone barmy.

“Come here, girls.” Lady Maccon gestured.

They pottered reluctantly over, baffled.

“May the blood of the soulless keep your own soul safe.” Lady Maccon sliced into the pad of her palm. She grabbed Rue's hand and did the same, pressing the two cuts together.

“What!” said Rue. But then it was over.

Lady Maccon gestured at Prim in her most commanding way.

After a long stare, Primrose reluctantly took off her glove and allowed the same.

“Mother, you're a loon.” Rue sucked the cut to stop the bleeding.

Lady Maccon sighed. “Let me explain. Sit down, both of you.”

They sat.

“For years now I've been running a sort of secret club. It's for emergency use, communication, and generally keeping an eye on things around the empire. Your mother is a member, Lady Primrose. She goes by the moniker Puff Bonnet.”

Primrose tied a silk handkerchief in a neat bow about her own cut. “Not a very covert name. Anyone could guess.”

“Yes, well, she hasn't made many contributions since turning vampire. I go by Ruffled Parasol. And Biffy by Wingtip Spectator.”

Rue was startled into commenting. “Uncle Rabiffano is part of your club?”

“Indeed, as are you two now. You're all grown up, infant dear. Gained your majority and all that entails. I thought it time to pass along my connections. I have a feeling you will need them more than I.” She handed over a stack of documentation. “Other informants of note: the top sheet lists those in Egypt, plus any additional code names I know of. These aren't members, mind you, just contacts. Not all are trustworthy. Watch out for the Wicker Chicken in particular, very tricky, that one. Weapons and weaknesses are noted in cipher. It uses the Isinglass cypher. I fancy you are already familiar with that.”

Primrose took the package delicately. “I'm better with paperwork.”

Rue only stared at her mother.

“You'll need code names.” Lady Maccon cocked her head in enquiry.

Rue and Prim exchanged glances.

Eventually, Rue gestured at her friend with a thumb. “The Ledger for that one.”

Prim grinned. “Makes me sound all dark and ominous. And organised. I like it. And you, Rue, you should be… ?” She trailed off, frowning.

“Hot Cross Bun.” Rue was firm on this.

Lady Maccon sputtered. “Infant, that sounds quite rude.”

Rue was unwavering. “I always said I'd rather be called a hot cross bun than a bit of crumpet and I'm sticking to it.”

“Tradition demands you both be accessories of some kind.”

Prim produced a dainty little ledger from her reticule, the one with the lavender leather cover in which she tallied the daily accounts. “Ledgers
are
accessories.”

“So,” added Rue, “given the right set of circumstances, are hot cross buns.”

Lady Maccon could not argue with that.

Rue pressed for further information on this club of her mother's. “Dama is a member? I learned Isinglass from him.”

“Somewhat. We do share the cypher, just in case. He has a code name, Goldenrod, but I didn't give it to him. It doesn't pay, my dear, to involve Lord Akeldama in
all
one's secrets, much as I adore him.”

“You adore someone who isn't me, wife?” Lord Maccon returned, Percy in his wake.

Rue looked to her mother.

Lady Maccon shook her head. Nothing else needed to be covered that afternoon on the subject of secret societies and code names.

Primrose squinted at her brother suspiciously. “Percy, you look priggish. Well, more priggish than usual. It's unsettling. Stop it at once.”

“I've had some good news, sister darling.”

“That's no excuse.”

Rue made the motions of departure. It was past time to make their farewells. Prim and Percy could argue for hours if given the right incentive, like priggishness.

“Mother, Paw, it's been a pleasure transporting you here. I shall be certain to visit as often as I can. I do hope your tea endeavours prove both profitable and distracting.”

Lady Maccon stood as well. “Thank you, infant.” She held Rue in an oddly fierce embrace for a long moment. Rue relaxed into the unexpected joy in her mother's touch. There was no reason for it. Lady Maccon had nothing to steal from her that plague and sunlight hadn't already rendered moot. It was nice, once in a while, not to be frightened of her mother.

“You'll look after Paw, won't you?” Without his supernatural abilities, Lord Maccon could not hear his daughter's whisper.

“Since the day we married, I've watched over that lummox. I'm not stopping now,” Mother answered equally softly, with a wealth of love in her voice.

“Good. Someone has to.”

“And you?”

“I'm fine on my lonesome.” Rue drew back, smiling into Lady Maccon's worried brown eyes.

“Fortunately for me, you aren't alone.” Mother tilted her head slightly towards the twins who were still bickering amicably.

“Too true.”

“You'll be careful, infant? Now you're officially grown up and legally autonomous?” It was both a question and a statement rolled into one, as if Lady Maccon were trying to reassure herself.

“'Course I shall.” Rue was unused to hesitancy from Alexia Maccon. “I'm your daughter after all.”

Mother seemed to lose her voice and with a funny little wince, let her go and twirled away. Fishing about for a handkerchief, she dabbed at her eyes. “Blasted desert dust.”

Primrose moved to distract her with more formal farewells.

Rue turned to her Paw.

He engulfed her in a fierce hug, fairly cracking her spine with affection. He snuffled into his beard unashamedly. He hadn't his wife's sense of propriety or gravitas. “Take care of yourself, little one. Try not to get into too much trouble.”

“We'll keep an eye on her, Lord Maccon,” said Percy in a most un-Percy-like cheerful manner.

Lord Maccon grunted at him and let his daughter go.

Rue and Prim gathered up their parasols. Percy went to find his hat, which he'd naturally forgotten in the other room.

“Oh.” Lady Maccon gave a little sigh of annoyance. “One more thing. I really shouldn't but I think you ought to know.”

“What is it, Mother?” Rue felt a tinge of fear.

“It's that ragamuffin's tank. The one we used for Conall.”

“Yes?”

“It's not meant for werewolves or vampires or anything similarly animate. It's a ghost holder, for the preservation of dead bodies and the maintenance of a tether. Keeps a ghost from going poltergeist for much longer than normal, as long as you stick the dead body in quickly.”