The Parasol Protectorate Boxed Set (129 page)

She hesitated, for Alexia could not escape logic, even in crisis. The only diplomatic faux pas worse than a hive queen dying
at the hand of a scientist would be if she did so at the hand of Lady Maccon, soulless, muhjah, and werewolf lover.

As if to settle the matter, a tentacle came crashing toward them. It knocked Alexia back. She tripped and stumbled on her
weakened ankle and, for what felt like the millionth time that evening, fell back upon her bustle.

She landed next to Felicity and so wiggled over to her and slapped her about the face for a bit. Finally, her sister blinked
blue eyes open.

“Alexia?”

The infant-inconvenience was rather sick of this kind of overactive, not to say violent, treatment on behalf of its mother.
It thrashed in protest, and Alexia lay back suddenly with an “oof” of distress.

“Alexia!” Felicity may actually have been a little worried. She had never seen her older sister show any sign of weakness.
Ever.

Alexia struggled to sit back up. “Felicity, we have got to get away from here.”

Felicity helped Alexia to rise, just in time for them to see Lord Ambrose and two other vampires leap at the octomaton in
one tremendous coordinated charge. They draped and strapped down a sheet of fabric, what looked to be a very large tablecloth,
over the monster's head. Smart maneuver, for it momentarily blinded Madame Lefoux on the inside. She could neither steer nor
attack. The tentacles flailed futilely.

With the octomaton temporarily disabled, the countess sprang into action. So did her drones. They all ran to the open side
of the building, the countess moving at speed and clutching Quesnel tight to her breast. Without hesitation, she leaped over
the edge and down to the rubble. Quesnel let out a holler of fear at the plunge, quickly followed by what could only be a
whoop of exhilaration.

Alexia and Felicity tottered to the edge after them and looked down. Three stories. There was no way
they
could jump and survive, and there was no other apparent way to get down.

However, they did have an excellent perspective on the carnage and could watch the countess and her vampires race between
the tentacles of the octomaton and dash away into the moonlit city, swarming at last. The drones followed a little more judiciously,
climbing down out of what was left of the house by degrees and then running after, unable to keep up with the supernatural
speed of their mistress.

The octomaton screamed, or Madame Lefoux did, and set its flaming tentacle to burn away the tablecloth that obscured its vision.
As soon as it was gone, it took the inventor only a moment to realize that her quarry had escaped. Only Alexia and her sister
still stood in the swaying building—a structure that was clearly about to come tumbling down.

The monster turned to track the fleeing vampires. Then it crashed off through the streets, heedless of who or what it crushed.
Madame Lefoux either hadn't seen Alexia's plight or didn't care to help her. Alexia hoped fervently it was the former, or
her friend was indeed more heartless than she had ever thought possible.

“Bugger,” said Lady Maccon succinctly.

Felicity gasped at her language, even under such trying circumstances.

Alexia looked at her sister and said, fully knowing that Felicity wouldn't understand what she was talking about, “I'm going
to have to arrest her, in the end.”

The hive house yielded to gravity, tilting forward in a slow, reluctant creak.

The two women slid toward the edge. Felicity shrieked, and Alexia, in classic fashion given the tenor of her evening, lost
her balance and tumbled forward, also yielding to gravity. She went right over, scraping and scrabbling at the splintered
floorboards.

She managed to just hang on. Her parasol fell, landing among wall fragments, bits of art, and torn carpet far below. Alexia
dangled, desperately holding on to the side of a wooden beam that stuck slightly out above the abyss.

Felicity had hysterics.

Lady Maccon wondered how long her grip was going
to hold, grateful she'd removed her gloves. She was rather strong, but it had been a very long week and she wasn't up to her
prepregnancy standards. Plus she was carrying a sizable amount of extra weight.

Well,
she thought philosophically,
this is a very romantic way to die. Madame Lefoux would certainly feel cut up about it. So that's something. Guilt can be
very useful.

And then, just when she thought all was lost, she felt a puff of air behind her neck and a tingling stirring of the aether.

“What ho!” said Boots. “Can I be of any assistance, Lady Maccon?”

The basket-shaped gondola of Lord Akeldama's private dirigible came down out of the sky like some kind of fat and benevolent
savior.

Alexia looked over her shoulder at him from where she dangled. “Not especially. I thought I might simply hang about here for
a while, see what transpired.”

“Oh, don't fuss about her,” yelled Felicity. “Help me! I'm far more important.”

Boots ignored Miss Loontwill and directed the pilot to float in until the gondola section of the basket was just under Lady
Maccon.

The building lurched at exactly that moment, and Alexia, with a cry, lost her purchase on the beam.

She landed with a thud inside the basket. Her feet failed her and she went backward, once more onto the bustle, which had
very little resilience left after the evening's extensive abuse. After a moment's consideration, Alexia just flopped right
there on her back. Enough was enough.

“Now me, now meee!” shrieked Felicity, and she
seemed to have good cause, for the structure was indeed falling.

Boots looked the young woman up and down, no doubt taking in the bite marks on her white neck. The remains of the house might
well be tumbling down that very moment, but he hesitated.

“Lady Maccon?” Boots was a very well-trained drone.

Alexia sucked at her teeth and looked up at her sister. “If we must.”

The pilot gave the balloon some lift and it rose. Tizzy put out his arm politely, as though escorting Miss Loontwill in to
dinner, and Felicity stepped off the ledge and into the dirigible with all the dignity of a terrified kitten.

The building crumbled behind her. The pilot pulled one of his propeller levers hard, and the airship let out a great puff
of steam and surged forward, just in time to escape a large chunk of roof as the last of the hive house crumbled to the ground.

“Where to, Lady Maccon?”

Alexia looked up at Boots, who was crouched over her in evident concern. The child inside her was continuing to express its
distress with the night's events. Lady Maccon could think of but one place to go, with her husband out of commission and the
moon still high and bright above them. All of her normal hidey-holes were inaccessible: Madame Lefoux's contrivance chamber
was out of the picture, and the Tunstells were still in Scotland.

BUR, she was confident, would already be investigating the scene of the destruction below or chasing the octomaton as it crashed
through the city. BUR had an arsenal of weaponry at its disposal—their own aethertronic Gatling guns, mini-magnatronic cannons,
not to mention
Mandalson custard probes. Let
them
try to stop Madame Lefoux for a while. They probably wouldn't be any more successful than she, given the inventor's intellectual
skills and mechanical abilities, but they might slow her down. Alexia, after all, had only a parasol. Then she swore, realizing
that she didn't even have that anymore. It was lying below, probably buried under half a collapsed building. Ethel was secured
in the reticule tied at her waist, but her precious parasol was gone.

“I'm certain you gentlemen would agree with me. It's at times like this that what a girl needs is some serious council on
her attire.”

Boots and Tizzy looked with deep concern at Alexia's sorry state of dress, her bustle flattened, her hem filthy, her lacy
trim soot-covered and burned.

“Bond Street?” suggested Tizzy seriously.

Alexia arched a brow. “Oh, no, this is a profound clothing emergency. Please, take me to Lord Akeldama.”

“At once, Lady Maccon, at once.” Boots's face was suitably grave behind the muttonchops. The dirigible floated up a little
higher and, with another violent puff of steam, set a brisk glide north toward Lord Akeldama's town house.

L
ord Akeldama had arranged for a dirigible landing green to be built on the roof of his town house. It was shifted off to one
side, allowing room for his aethographor's cuspidor-like receiver. Lady Maccon wondered that she had not noticed this before,
but then she didn't spend much time investigating rooftops as part of her daily routine.

The dirigible touched down as light as a meringue. Given that bipedal motion hadn't been doing her many favors that evening,
Alexia reluctantly clambered to her feet. Much to her delight, Lord Akeldama had made allowances for a dignified exit from
the transport here at its home base. A drone bustled over with a specially designed peaked step ladder that flipped over the
side of the gondola basket and then telescoped out to the required height on each side. This permitted one to climb up one
side and down the other with great solemnity and aplomb.

“Why,” wondered Alexia, “don't you float around already carrying that little ladder?”

“We thought nobody would be disembarking before we returned home.”

Felicity climbed out after her sister and stood in haughty disapproval to one side. “What a way to travel! One can hardly
countenance how acceptable floating has become. So unnaturally high up. And to land on a roof! Why, Alexia, I can see the
tops of buildings. They are not landscaped properly!” All the while complaining, Felicity patted at her hair to ensure it
hadn't been disturbed by air travel or her near-death experience.

“Oh, Felicity, do be quiet. I have had quite enough of your prattle for one evening.”

Summoned by that secret instinct possessed only by the very best of servants, who always know when the mistress is in residence,
Floote appeared at Alexia's elbow.

“Oh, Floote!”

“Madam.”

“How did you know I would be here?”

Floote arched a brow as though to say,
Where else would you possibly end up on full-moon night but on Lord Akeldama's rooftop?

“Yes, of course. Would you please take Felicity here back to our house and lock her in a room somewhere? The back parlor.
Or possibly the newly configured wine cellar.”

Felicity shrieked, “What?”

Floote looked at Felicity with an expression that was as close to a smile as Alexia had ever seen on his face—a tiny little
crinkle at one corner of his mouth. “Consider it done, madam.”

“Thank you, Floote.”

The butler took a very firm grip on Felicity's arm and began leading her off.

“Oh, and, Floote, please send someone to check around the rubble of the Westminster Hive house right away, before the scavengers
get there. I believe I accidentally dropped my parasol. And there might be some nice bits of art lying about.”

Floote didn't even flinch at the knowledge that one of the most respected residences in London was now in ruins. “Of course,
madam. I assume it is now permitted to give out the address?”

Lady Maccon gave it to him.

He moved smoothly off, dragging the protesting Felicity behind him.

“Sister, really, this is uncalled for. Is it the tooth marks? Is that what has you overset? There are only a few.”

“Miss Felicity,” Alexia heard Floote say, “do try to behave.”

Boots, finished mooring down the dirigible, came up next to Alexia and offered her his arm. “Lady Maccon?”

She took it gratefully. The infant-inconvenience really was being quite troublesome at the moment. She felt as though she'd
swallowed a fighting ferret.

“Perhaps you could take me to the, uh, closet, Mr. Bootbottle-Fipps? I feel I ought to lie down. Just for a moment, mind you.
There is still a loose hive to deal with. I suppose I should try to determine where Countess Nadasdy has gone. And Madame
Lefoux, of course. She should not be allowed to rampage.”

“Certainly not, my lady,” agreed Boots. Who clearly felt, as Alexia did, that rampaging under any circumstances was uncalled
for.

They had barely made it off the roof and down the staircases toward Lord Akeldama's second best closet
when a panting drone appeared before them. He was a tall and comely fellow with an affable face, a mop of curly hair, and
a loose, floppy way of walking. He also had the most poorly tied cravat Alexia had ever seen within walking distance of Lord
Akeldama. She looked with shock at Boots.

“New drone,” Boots explained to Lady Maccon before turning amicably to face the young man.

“What ho, Boots!”

“Chip chip, Shabumpkin. Looking for me?”

“Rather!”

“Ah! Need a mo' to see her ladyship squared away properly.”

“Oh, no, not just you, my dear chap. Looking for Lady Maccon as well. Care to follow?”

Alexia looked at the young man as though he had crawled from somewhere smelly. “Must I?”

“'Fraid so, your ladyship. Himself has called an emergency meeting of the Shadow Council,” explained the drone.

“But it's full moon—the dewan can't attend.”

“Several of us pointed this out to him. Niggling detail, said he.”

“Oh, dear. Not at Buckingham, I hope?” Alexia clutched at her stomach, appalled at the very idea of any further travel.

The dandy grinned. “In his drawing room, madam. Where else?”

“Oh, thank goodness. Have Floote follow me there, would you, please? Once he's finished with his current line of business.”

“'Course, Lady Maccon. My pleasure.”

“Thank you, Mr., uh, Shabumpkin.”

At which Boots straightened his spine, took a firmer grip on Alexia's arm, and guided her carefully down the next few sets
of stairs and into Lord Akeldama's infamous drawing room. Once there, Shabumpkin nodded to them amiably and gangled off.

Lord Akeldama was waiting for her. Alexia was unsurprised to note that while she'd been dashing about London tracking an octomaton,
the vampire had engaged in nothing more stressful than a change of clothing. He was wearing the most remarkable suit of tails
and britches she had ever seen, candy-striped satin in cream and wine. This he had paired with a pink waistcoat of watered
silk, pink hose, and pink top hat. His cravat, a waterfall of wine satin, was pinned with a gold and ruby pin, and matching
rubies glittered about his fingers, monocle, and boutonniere.

“Can I get you anything, Lady Maccon?” offered Boots after seeing her safely ensconced in a chair, obviously concerned over
her evident physical discomfort.

“Tea?” Alexia named the only thing she could think of that universally cured all ills.

“Of course.” He vanished after a quick exchange of glances with his master.

However, when the tea was brought in some five minutes later, it was Floote who brought it, not Boots. The butler left quickly
but Alexia was in no doubt he'd taken up residence very close to the outside of the door.

Lord Akeldama, in some distress, did not produce his harmonic auditory resonance disruptor, and Alexia did not remind him.
She figured she might need Floote's advice on whatever occured next.

“So, my lord?” said she to the vampire, not at all up for dillydallying.

Lord Akeldama got straight to the point. Which was, in and of itself, a marker of his distress.

“My
precious
plum blossom, do you have
any
idea who is sitting in the back alleyway behind the kitchen
right this very moment?
”

Since Alexia was pretty darned convinced she would have spotted the octomaton from the roof, she took her second best guess.

“Countess Nadasdy?”

“Behind the kitchen! By my longest fang! I—” He interrupted himself. “Gracious me,
buttercup,
but how
did
you know?”

Even coping with the violent kicking and squirming in her tummy, Alexia couldn't help but smile. “Now you know how I always
feel.”

“She swarmed.”

“Yes,
finally.
You wouldn't believe what it took to chivy her out of that place. You'd think she was a ghost, so tightly tethered as to
never be separated from her fixing point.”

Lord Akeldama sat down, took a deep breath, and composed himself. “
Darling
marigold, please don't tell me you're responsible for… you know.” He fluttered one perfectly white hand in the air,
like a dying handkerchief.

“Oh, no, silly. Not me. Madame Lefoux.”

“Oh. Of course. Madame Lefoux.” The vampire's expression was arrested, deadpan at this latest bit of information.

Lady Maccon swore she could see the cogs and wheels of his massive intellect whirring away behind that effete painted face.

“Because of the little French maid?” He finally hazarded a guess.

Lady Maccon was enjoying having the upper hand for once. She had never dared to hope that someday she would have more information
in a crisis than Lord Akeldama.

“Ah, no—Quesnel.”

“Her son?”

“Not exactly hers.”

Lord Akeldama stood up from his casual lounging posture. “The little towheaded lad the countess has with her? The one who
ripped my jacket?”

“That sounds like Quesnel.”

“What's the hive queen doing with a French inventor's son?”

“Ah, apparently, Angelique left a will.”

Lord Akeldama tapped one fang with the edge of his gold and ruby monocle, pulling all the threads together right before Alexia's
eyes. “Angelique is the boy's real mother, and she left him to the tender care of the
hive?
Silly bint.”

“And the countess stole him from Genevieve. So Genevieve built an octomaton and destroyed the hive house trying to get him
back.”

“Upon my word, that's escalating things rather much.”

“I daresay it is.”

Lord Akeldama stopped tapping and began swinging his monocle back and forth while he took up a slow pace about the room. His
white brow creased in one perfect line between the eyebrows.

Lady Maccon rubbed her protesting belly with one hand and sipped tea with the other. For once, the magic liquid was unable
to disseminate any beneficial effects.
The child was not happy, and tea was not going to pacify the beast.

The monocle stilled.

Alexia straightened up in her chair expectantly.

“The question remains, what is to be done with an entire hive skulking in my back alley?”

“Have them in for tea?” suggested Lady Maccon.

“No, no, not possible, little cream puff. They can't come in here.”

Vampires were peculiar about etiquette. “Buckingham Palace? That should be relatively secure.”

“No, no. Political nightmare. Vampire queen in the palace? Trust me,
darling,
it is never a good idea to have too many queens in one place, let alone one palace.”

“To be really safe and buy us some extra time, we really ought to get her out of London.”

“She won't like that at all, but there is
sense
to the suggestion, bluebell.”

“How long do we have? I mean to say, how long does a swarming usually last?”

Lord Akeldama frowned. Concerned over whether he should give her this information, she suspected, rather than over any possibility
of his not having it. “A newly made queen has months to settle, but an old queen has only a few hours.”

Lady Maccon shrugged. Only one solution readily presented itself. It was the safest place she knew of—defensible and secure.

“I will have to take her to Woolsey.”

Lord Akeldama sat down. “If you say so, Lady Alpha.”

There was something in his tone that gave Alexia pause. He sounded like that when he had recently purchased a
particularly nice waistcoat. She couldn't understand why he should be so self-satisfied with this predicament. As her benighted
husband would say,
vampires
!

Someone had to do something. They couldn't let the Westminster queen simply cool her heels in an alleyway behind Lord Akeldama's
and Lord Maccon's respective houses. What a scandal if the papers ever found
that
out! Alexia very much hoped Felicity was locked away. “It will only be until we can determine what's to be done with her.
And how to resolve this situation with Quesnel. Hopefully without destroying any other perfectly innocent buildings.” Lady
Maccon tilted back her head and yelled, “Floote!”

The rapidity of Floote's appearance suggested he had, indeed, been waiting just outside the door.

“Floote, how many carriages do we have in town?”

“Just the one, madam. Just arrived back in.”

“Well, that'll have to do. Hitch up the goers and have it brought round to the back, please. I shall meet you there.”

“A journey? But, madam, you are unwell.”

“Can't be helped, Floote. I cannot justifiably send a hive of vampires into a den of werewolves alone and without diplomatic
assistance. The clavigers would never allow it. No, someone has to go with them, and that someone has to be me. The staff
at the castle won't listen to anyone else, not on full moon.”