“Indeed.”
“Well, where is it?”
Madame Lefoux looked to her son. “Scat, you. Go find the cleaning mechanicals, hot water, and soap. Listen to your former great-aunt; she will tell you what can take water immersion and what will need to be cleaned and repaired by some other means. You have a very long night ahead of you.”
“But,
“So, now you see. What happens is it makes your
“Aw,
“Right this very minute, Quesnel.”
Quesnel sighed loudly and scampered off with a “nice to meet you” directed over his shoulder at Lady Maccon.
“That will teach him to run experiments without some valid hypothesis. Go after him, please, Beatrice, and keep him away for at least a quarter of an hour while I finish my business with Lady Maccon.”
“Fraternizing with a preternatural! You run a far more dangerous game than I did in my day, niece,” grumbled the ghost, but she dispersed easily enough, presumably after the boy.
“Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Formerly Lefoux,” said Alexia defiantly to the now-empty air.
“Please do not concern yourself with her attitude. Even when alive, my aunt was difficult. Brilliant, but difficult. An inventor like me, you see, but less socially indoctrinated, I am afraid.”
Lady Maccon smiled. “I have met many such scientists, and most of them could not claim brilliance as an excuse. That is not to say they didn’t claim it, of course, just that…” She trailed off. She was babbling. She wasn’t certain why, but something about the beautiful, strangely dressed Frenchwoman made Alexia nervous.
“So.” The inventor moved closer to her. Madame Lefoux smelled of vanilla and mechanical oil. “We find ourselves alone. It is a genuine pleasure to meet you, Lady Maccon. The last time I was in the company of a preternatural, I was but a small child. And, of course, he was nowhere near as striking as you.”
“Well, uh, thank you.” Alexia was a little taken aback by the compliment.
The inventor took her hand gently. “Not at all.”
The skin of the inventor’s palm was callused. Lady Maccon could feel the roughness even through her gloves. At the contact, Alexia experienced certain slight palpitations that had, heretofore, been associated only with the opposite sex and, more specifically, her husband. Not much truly shocked Alexia. This did.
As soon as was seemly, she withdrew her hand, blushing furiously under her tan. Considering it a rude betrayal by her own body, Alexia ignored the phenomenon and grappled ineffectually for a moment, trying to remember the direction of her inquiry and the reason they were now alone together. Which was? Ah, yes, at her
“I believe you may have something for me,” she said at long last.
Madame Lefoux doffed her top hat in acknowledgment. “Indeed I do. One moment, please.” With a sly smile, she moved off to one side of the lab and rummaged about for a moment in a large steamer trunk. Eventually, she emerged with a long skinny wooden box.
Lady Maccon held her breath in anticipation.
Madame Lefoux carried it over and flipped open the lid.
Inside was a not-very-prepossessing parasol of outlandish shape and indifferent style. Its shade was slate gray in color, edged in embroidered lace, with a thick cream ruffle trim. It had a peculiarly long spike at its tip, decorated with two egg-sized metal globules, like seedpods, one near the fabric and another closer to the tip. Its ribs were oversized, making it bulky and umbrella-like, and its shaft was extremely long, ending in a chubby, knobby, richly decorated handle. The handle looked like something that might top an ancient Egyptian column, carved with lotus flowers—or a very enthusiastic pineapple. The parasol’s parts were entirely of brass, in what looked to be variable alloys, giving it a wide-ranging coloration.
“Well, Conall’s taste strikes again,” commented Alexia, whose own taste, while not particularly imaginative or sophisticated, at least did not tend toward the bizarre.
Madame Lefoux dimpled. “I did my best, given the carrying capacity.”
Alexia was intrigued. “May I?”
The inventor offered her the box.
Lady Maccon lifted out the monstrosity. “It’s heavier than it looks.”
“That is one of the reasons I made it so very long. I thought it might serve double as a walking stick. Then you would not have to carry it everywhere.”
Alexia tested it. The height was ideal for just that. “Is it likely to be something I must carry everywhere?”
“I believe your esteemed husband would prefer it so.”
Alexia demurred. It leaned heavily toward the ugly end of the parasol spectrum. Many of her favorite day dresses would clash most horribly with all that brass and gray, not to mention the decorative elements.
“Also, of course, it had to be tough enough to serve as a defensive weapon.”
“A sensible precaution, given my proclivities.” Lady Maccon had destroyed more than one parasol through the application of it against someone else’s skull.
“Would you like to learn its anthroscopy?” Madame Lefoux became gleeful as she made the offer.
“It has anthroscopy? Is that healthy?”
“Why, certainly. Do you believe I would design an object so ugly without sufficient cause?”
Alexia passed her the heavy accessory. “By all means.”
Madame Lefoux took hold of the handle, allowing Alexia to maintain a grip on the top spire. Upon closer examination, Alexia realized the tip had a tiny hydraulic hinge affixed to one side.
“When you press here”—Madame Lefoux indicated one of the lotus petals on the shaft just below the large handle—“that tip opens and emits a poisoned dart equipped with a numbing agent. And if you twist the handle so…”
Alexia gasped as, just above where she gripped the end, two wickedly sharp spikes flipped out, one of silver and one of wood.
“I did notice your cravat pins,” Lady Maccon said.
Madame Lefoux chuckled, touching them delicately with her free hand. “Oh, they are more than simply cravat pins.”
“Of that I have no doubt. Does the parasol do anything else?”
Madame Lefoux winked at her. “Ah, that is just the beginning. In this, you understand, Lady Maccon, I am an artist.”
Alexia licked her bottom lip. “I am certainly beginning to comprehend that fact. And here I thought only your hats were exceptional.”
The Frenchwoman blushed slightly, the color visible even in the orange light. “Pull this lotus petal here, and so.”
Every noise in the lab fell silent. All the whirring, clanking, and puffs of steam that had faded into the background as ambient sound became suddenly noticeable by way of their absence.
“What?” Alexia looked about. All was still.
And then, moments later, the mechanisms started up once more.
“What happened?” she asked, looking in awe down at the parasol.
“The nodule here”—the inventor pointed to the egg attachment near the shade section of the parasol —“emitted a magnetic disruption field. It will affect any metal of the iron, nickel, or cobalt family, including steel. If you need to seize up a steam engine for any reason, this will probably do the trick, but only for a brief amount of time.”
“Remarkable!”
Again the Frenchwoman blushed. “The disruption field is not of my own invention, but I did make it substantially smaller than Babbage’s original design.” She continued on. “The ruffles contain various hidden pockets and are fluffy enough to disguise small objects.” She reached inside the wide ruffle and pulled out a little vial.
“Poison?” asked Lady Maccon, tilting her head to one side.
“Certainly not. Something far more important: perfume. We cannot very well have you fighting crime
