Changeless Part 28

Lady Maccon knew this was as good as she was going to get, so, in characteristic fas.h.i.+on, she took it and asked for more. "Very good. Next I will need to compose and send a message on your aethographor. While I am doing that, if you would please collect all the artifacts you brought back from Egypt into one room. I should very much like to peruse them as soon as my message has been sent. If I cannot determine which artifact is most likely causing the humanity problem, I shall have my husband removed to Glasgow, where he should return to supernatural and recover with no ill effects." With that, she headed up to the top of the castle and the aethographor.

She was in for a prodigious surprise. For what should she find on the floor of the aethographor room but the comatose form of the bemused claviger who was caretaker of the machine and every single valve frequensor in Kingair's library broken to smithereens. The place was littered with glittering crystalline shards.

"Oh dear, I knew they ought to have been locked away." Lady Maccon checked the claviger, who was still breathing and as fast asleep as her husband, and then picked her way through the wreckage.

The apparatus itself was undamaged. Which made Alexia wonder; if the objective in destroying the valve frequensors was to prevent outside communication, why not take down the aethographor itself? It was, after all, an awfully delicate gadget easily and quickly disabled. Why smash all the valves instead? Unless, of course, the culprit wanted continued access to the aethographor.

Alexia rushed into the transmitting chamber, hoping that the fallen claviger had disturbed the vandal in the act. It looked like he had, for there, still sitting in the emitter cradle, was a unrolled scroll of metal with a burned-through message clearly visible upon it. And it was not not the message she had sent to Lord Akeldama the evening before. Oh no, this message was in French! the message she had sent to Lord Akeldama the evening before. Oh no, this message was in French!

Lady Maccon was not quite as good at reading French as she should have been, so it took her long precious moments to translate the burned-through metal.

"Weapon here but unknown," it said.

Lady Maccon was disgruntled that the b.l.o.o.d.y thing did not read like an old-fas.h.i.+oned ink-and-paper letter, with a "dear so-and-so" and a "sincerely, so-and-so," thus revealing all to her without fuss. Who had Madame Lefoux sent the message to? When had the message been sent-just before she was shot, or earlier? Was it really the inventor who had also destroyed the valve frequensors? Lady Maccon could not believe that wanton destruction of technology was Madame Lefoux's style. The woman adored all gadgetry; it would be against her nature to destroy it with such abandon. And, regardless of all else, what had had she been trying to tell them right before she was shot? she been trying to tell them right before she was shot?

With a start, Alexia realized it was getting on toward eleven o'clock, and she had best etch her message and prepare it to send right away. Currently, the only concrete action she could think to take was consultation with Lord Akeldama. She did not have the valves to contact the Crown or BUR, so the outrageous vampire would have to do.

Her message read simply, "Floote check library: Egypt, humanization weapon? BUR send agents to Kingair."

It was a long message for the aethographor to handle, but it was the shortest she could formulate. Lady Maccon hoped she could remember the pattern of movements the young claviger had used the evening before. She was generally good about such things, but she might have missed a b.u.t.ton or two. Still, there was nothing for it but to try.

The tiny transmitting room was much less crowded with only one person. She extracted Lord Akeldama's valve from her parasol and placed it carefully into the resonator cradle. She slotted the inscribed metal into the frame and pulled down the switch that activated the aetheric convector and chemical wash. The etched letters burned away, and the hydrodine engines spun to life. It was easier than she had thought. The director of the Crown's aethographic transmitter said one needed special schooling and certification to run the complicated apparatus-little liar.

The two needles raced across the slate, sparking as they met. Alexia sat in perfect silence throughout the transmission, and when it was finished, she removed the slate from the cradle. She wouldn't want to be so careless as the spy had been.

Lady Maccon bustled into the other chamber, which proved far more difficult to operate. No matter how many k.n.o.bs she twiddled or cogs she turned, she could not get the ambient noise down far enough to receive. Luckily, Lord Akeldama took his sweet time replying. She had nearly half an hour to get the receiving chamber quiet. She did not manage to get it down nearly so low as the claviger had, but it was eventually quiet enough.

Lord Akeldama's response began to appear inside the black magnetic particulates between the two pieces of gla.s.s, one letter at a time. Trying to breathe quietly, Alexia copied down the message. It was short, cryptic, and totally unhelpful.

"Preternaturals always cremated," was all it said. Then there was some kind of image, a circle on top of a cross. Some kind of code? That was rich! Blast Lord Akeldama for being coy at a time like this!

Alexia waited another half an hour, past midnight, for any additional communication, and when nothing further materialized, she turned the aethographor off and left in a huff.

The house was abuzz. In the main drawing room across from the front parlor, in which remained Tunstell and his charges, a cheery fire burned in the fireplace and maids and footmen bustled about setting out artifacts.

"Good gracious, you did do a little shopping in Alexandria, now, didn't you?"

Lady Kingair looked up from the small mummy she was arranging carefully on a side table. It appeared to have started life as some kind of animal, perhaps of the feline persuasion? "We do what we must. The regimental pay isna adequate to cover Kingair's upkeep. Why should we not collect?"

Lady Maccon began looking through all the artifacts, not quite certain what she was looking for. There were little wooden statues of people, necklaces of turquoise and lapis, strange stone jars with animal-head lids, and amulets. All of them were relatively small except for two mummies, both still properly clothed. These were more impressive than the one they had unwrapped. They resided inside curvy, beautifully painted coffins, the surfaces of which were covered in colorful images and hieroglyphics. Cautiously, Alexia moved toward them but felt no overwhelming repulsion. None of the artifacts, mummies included, seemed any different from those she had seen on display in the halls of the Royal Society or, indeed, in the Museum of Antiquities.

She looked suspiciously at Lady Kingair. "Are there no others?"

"Only the entertainment mummy we unwrapped, still upstairs."

Lady Maccon frowned. "Did they all come from the same seller? Were they all looted from the same tomb? Did he say?"

Lady Kingair took offense. "They are all all legal. I have the paperwork." legal. I have the paperwork."

Alexia sucked her teeth. "I am certain you do. But I understand very well how the antiquities system works in Egypt these days."

Sidheag looked like she would like to take umbrage at that, but Alexia continued. "Regardless, their origins?"

Frowning, Lady Kingair said, "All different places."

Lady Maccon sighed. "I will want to see the other mummy again in just a moment, but first..." Her stomach went queasy at the very idea. It was so uncomfortable, to be in the same room with that thing. She turned to look at the rest of the Kingair Pack, who were milling about looking unsure of themselves, large men in skirts with scruffy faces and lost expressions. For a moment Alexia softened. Then she remembered her husband, comatose in another room. "None of you purchased anything privately that you are not telling me about? Things will go dreadfully ill for you if you did"-she looked directly at Dubh-"and I find out later."

No one stepped forward.

Lady Maccon turned back to Sidheag. "Very well, then, I shall take one more look at that mummy. Now, if you would be so kind."

Lady Kingair led the way up the stairs, but once there, Alexia did not follow her into the room. Instead she stood at the door, looking intently at the thing. It pushed against her, so that she had to fight a strange urge to turn and run. But she resisted, staring at the withered dark brown skin, almost black, shrunken down to hug those old bones. Its mouth was slightly open, bottom teeth visible, gray and worn. She could even see its eyelids, half-lidded, over the empty eye sockets. Its arms were crossed over its chest as though it were trying to hold itself together against death, clutching its soul inward.

Its soul.

"Of course," Alexia gasped. "How could I have been so blind?"

Lady Kingair looked to her sharply.

"I have been thinking all along that it was an ancient weapon, and Conall that it was some plague your pack caught and brought back with you from Egypt. But, no, it is simply this this mummy." mummy."

"What? How could a mummy do such a thing?"

Resisting the terrible pus.h.i.+ng sensation, Lady Maccon strode into the room and picked up a piece of the mummy's discarded bandage, pointing to the image depicted on it. An ankh, broken in half. Like the circle on top of a cross in Lord Akeldama's aethographic message, only fractured.

"This is not a symbol of death, nor of the afterlife. That is the name"-she paused-"or perhaps the t.i.tle, of the person the mummy was in life. Do you not see? The ankh is the symbol for eternal life, and here it is shown broken. Only one creature can end eternal life."

Sidheag gasped, one hand to her lips, and then she slowly lowered it and pointed to Lady Maccon. "A curse-breaker. You."

Alexia smiled a tight little smile. She looked to the dead thing sadly. "Some long-ago ancestor, perhaps?" Despite herself she began to back away from it once more, the very air about the creature driving her away.

She looked to Lady Kingair, already knowing her answer. "Do you feel that?"

"Do I feel what, Lady Maccon?"

"I thought as much. Only I would would notice." She frowned again, mind racing. "Lady Kingair, do you know anything about preternaturals?" notice." She frowned again, mind racing. "Lady Kingair, do you know anything about preternaturals?"

"Only the basics. I should know more, were I a werewolf, for the howlers would have told me the stories that, as a human, I am not allowed to hear."

Alexia ignored the bitterness in the older woman's voice. "Who, then, is the oldest of the Kingair Pack?" She had never missed Professor Lyall more. He would have known. Of course he would. He was probably the one who told Lord Akeldama.

"Lachlan," Lady Kingair answered promptly.

"I must speak with him directly." Alexia whirled away, almost b.u.mping into her maid, who stood behind her in the hallway.

"Madame." Angelique's eyes were wide and her cheeks pink. "Your room, what haz 'appened?"

"Not again!"

Lady Maccon dashed to her bedchamber, but it looked the same as when she had last left it. "Oh, this is nothing, Angelique. I simply forgot to tell you about it. Please see it is tidied."

Angelique stood forlornly among the carnage and watched her mistress rush back downstairs. Lady Kingair followed sedately after.

"Mr. Lachlan," Alexia called, and that earnest gentleman appeared in the vestibule, a look of concern on his pleasant face. "A private word if you would be so kind."

She led the Gamma and Lady Kingair across the hall into a tight huddle away from the other pack members.

"This may come as a strange question, but please answer to the best of your knowledge."

"Of course, Lady Maccon. Your wish is my command."

"I am muhjah." She grinned. "My command is your command."

"Just so." He inclined his head.

"What happens to us when we die?"

"A philosophical conversation, Lady Maccon? Is now the time?"

She shook her head, impatient. "No, not us here. I mean to say we as in preternaturals. What happens to preternaturals when we die?"

Lachlan frowned. "I have not known very many of your kind, rare as they fortunately are."

Alexia bit her lip. Lord Akeldama's message said preternaturals were cremated. What would happen if one was not? What would happen if the body was never allowed to decompose? Ghosts displayed, in their very nature, the fact that excess soul was tethered to the body. As long as the body could be preserved, the ghost would stick around-undead and progressively more insane, but around. Surely the ancient Egyptians would have discovered this for themselves through the process of mummification? It might even be the reason they mummified. Was there something about not not having a soul that was also connected to the body? Perhaps soul-sucking abilities were coupled to a preternatural's skin. After all, it was through her touch that Alexia managed to negate supernatural power. having a soul that was also connected to the body? Perhaps soul-sucking abilities were coupled to a preternatural's skin. After all, it was through her touch that Alexia managed to negate supernatural power.

She gasped and, for the first time in her stalwart life, actually felt near to fainting. The implications were endless and terrifying. The dead bodies of preternaturals could be turned into weapons against the supernatural. Preternatural mummies, like the one below, could be divided up and transported about the empire, or even turned into a powder and made into a poison! A humanity humanity poison. She frowned. Such a drug might pa.s.s through the body after digestive processing, but still, for a time, a werewolf or vampire would be mortal. poison. She frowned. Such a drug might pa.s.s through the body after digestive processing, but still, for a time, a werewolf or vampire would be mortal.

Lachlan and Lady Kingair remained silent, staring at Alexia. It was almost as though they could see the gears and cogs in her head moving. Only one question remained to be answered: why was she repelled by the mummy? She asked Lachlan, "What happens when two preternaturals meet?"

"Oh, they dinna. Not even their own bairns. You never met your father?" Lachlan paused. "Course, he wouldna been the type. But, regardless, they simply dinna. Preternaturals canna stand to share the same air as one another. 'Tis naught personal, simply unbearable, so they tend to avoid the same social circles." He paused. "Are you saying somehow yon dead mummy is doing all this?"

"Maybe death expands our soulless abilities so they no longer require touch. Just as a ghost's excess soul can move outward from its body to the limits of its tether." Alexia looked at them both. "It would explain the ma.s.s exorcism within a specific radius."

"And the fact that this pack cannot change." Lady Kingair was nodding.

"Ma.s.s curse-breaking." Lachlan frowned.

Just then they heard the murmur of voices from behind the locked door near them. The parlor door clicked open, and Tunstell stuck his red head out. He started back upon seeing the three of them standing so close.

"Mistress," he said, "Madame Lefoux has awakened."

Alexia followed him inside, turning to Lady Kingair and Lachlan before shutting the door. "I need hardly tell you how dangerous the information we just discussed."

Both looked appropriately grave. Behind them, the rest of the pack emerged from the artifact room, curious at Tunstell's appearance.

"Please do not tell the rest of your pack," Alexia asked, but it sounded like a command.

They nodded and she shut the door.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The Latest Fas.h.i.+on from France

Tunstell was bent over the inventor, helping her to sit upright on the small settee, when Alexia entered. Madame Lefoux was looking groggy, but her eyes were open. They focused on Alexia as she walked into the room, and the Frenchwoman gave a slow smile-there were the dimples.

"My husband," asked Lady Maccon, issuing forth her own brief upturn of the lips, "has his condition changed also?" She went to Conall's side, a mountain of a man on the tiny little couch. Its bowed, claw-foot legs looked like they were buckling under his weight. She reached down to touch his face: slightly scruffy. She had told told him he needed a shave. But his eyelids remained closed, ridiculously long eyelashes flat against his cheek. Such a waste of good eyelashes. She'd said only last month how much she resented him for them. He'd laughed and tickled her neck with them. him he needed a shave. But his eyelids remained closed, ridiculously long eyelashes flat against his cheek. Such a waste of good eyelashes. She'd said only last month how much she resented him for them. He'd laughed and tickled her neck with them.

Her reminiscences were interrupted, not by Tunstell's voice answering her question, but by Madame Lefoux's slightly accented musical one. It was a little dry and croaky from lack of water.

"He will not regain his senses for some time, I am afraid. Not if he was disabled by one of the new sleeping darts."

Lady Maccon went over to her. "What was it, Madame Lefoux? What happened? What were you trying to tell us this morning? Who shot at you?" Her voice became very cold. "Who shot my husband?" She was confident she knew the answer, but she wanted Madame Lefoux to be the one to tell her. It was time the inventor chose a side.

The inventor swallowed. "Please do not be angry with her, Lady Maccon. She does not do it intentionally, you understand? I am convinced she doesn't. She is simply a little thoughtless-that is all. She has a good heart, under it all. I know she has.

"I found the aethographor, all those beautiful valves smashed to bits. How could she do such a thing? How could anyone?" There were tears now leaking out of those green eyes. "She went too far with that, and then when I came to tell you, instead I found her searching your room. That was when I knew it had gotten out of hand. She must have been looking for your crystalline valve, the one she knew you had, the one for Lord Akeldama's transmitter. To destroy it as well. Such destruction. I never knew she was capable. To push someone off a s.h.i.+p is one thing, but to destroy such perfectly functional beauty as a crystalline valve frequensor-what kind of monster does that?"

Well, that certainly told Alexia where Madame Lefoux's priorities lay.

"Who is Angelique working for? The vampires?"

Madame Lefoux, having talked herself out, nodded.

Lady Maccon swore, using words her husband would have been proud of.

Tunstell was shocked. He blushed.

"I suspected she was a spy, of course, but I did not think she would become an active agent. She did such lovely things with my hair."

Madame Lefoux tilted her head as though she could understand perfectly.

"What is she after? Why has she been doing this?"

The Frenchwoman shook her head. With her top hat off and her cravat untied, she looked almost feminine, most unlike herself. Softer. Alexia was not certain she liked it. "I can only suggest-the same thing you are after, muhjah. The humanization weapon."

Lady Maccon swore again. "And, of course, Angelique was standing just there. Right behind me in the hallway when I figured out what it was."

Madame Lefoux's eyes widened.