Timeless

Conall?”

With which Lord and Lady Maccon went dashing after their errant child.

Everyone left behind was very confused, especially when they found a torn child’s nappy next to the forgotten ladybug and no evidence of little Lady Prudence anywhere in the lounge.

“You look tired, Professor. No insult intended, of course. And you make it intentionally difficult to tell, but I am beginning to believe that that little wrinkle about the pocket of your waistcoat indicates exhaustion.”

“How very wise of you, young Biffy, to note my mood from the state of my waistcoat. Have you noticed anything else significant occurring around town of late?”

Biffy wondered if this was some kind of werewolf test to assess his skills of observation. Or perhaps Professor Lyall wanted to know what information Biffy might impart to a fellow pack member, or whether he would keep his own council, or whether he would tell Lord Akeldama, or whether he would tell Lady Maccon. He would, of course, tell all parties. He wouldn’t tell them all everything, or even all the same thing, but he would tell them all something. What other point could there be in gathering the information in the first place? In this, he and his former master disagreed. Lord Akeldama liked to know things for their own sake. Biffy liked to know things for the sake of others.

He answered Professor Lyall in a roundabout way. “London’s rove vampires are acting up. I had one in the shop this very evening, throwing his weight around like he was a queen. It’s a good thing the contrivance chamber is hidden. His drones were nosing about after something, and it wasn’t hats.”

Lyall looked Biffy up and down, assessing. “You’re coming along nicely, young Biffy. You’ll make an excellent replacement.”

“Replacement for what?”

“Ah, as to that, patience is a virtue, my dear boy. Now, this thing with the roves, how long has it been going on would you say?”

“They’ve been getting worse over the last few years, but it’s gone quite tannic indeed since our Alphas left. Why, one rove accused me of purposefully not stocking gaiters. Made quite a fuss over it. I never stock gaiters! And just this evening I saw one of them feeding in the street. Assuredly, it was down near the embankment. But still, in the open air? I mean to say, that’s almost as bad as picnicking in the park. Eating in public! It’s simply not done.”

Lyall nodded. “And the rove parties are getting rather wild as well. Do you know BUR had a missive from Queen Victoria on the subject? Bertie was seen at one of the Wandsworth events. She is a progressive, our dear Regina, but she is not all that progressive. Her son fraternizing with a hive on a regular basis—not at all acceptable. I understand the potentate got an earful on the subject.”

“Oh, dear. Poor Lord Akeldama.” Biffy brought all his new werewolf culture and his old vampire training to bear on the situation. “Is all this vampire ruckus because we werewolves are living inside their urban territory?”

“That is one theory. Any others?”

“Is it because Countess Nadasdy is no longer in Mayfair? There is no queen for London central. Could that be causing dissonance?” Biffy watched Professor Lyall’s face closely. He would never have called the Beta handsome, but there was something very appealing in the mildness of his expression.

“That is a thought. Lord and Lady Maccon and their Alpha nature might have held them back somewhat, but London is missing a queen, and the Grande Dame of Kentish Town is simply too far away to oversee matters in Westminster and the south side of the Thames.”

Biffy knew a little of London’s northern queen. “She also cares very little for the affairs of society. Not even fashion.”

“There are some vampires,” Lyall said, “very few, but some, gone off like that.” He sniffed in a way that suggested the odor of rotten meat that undercut the scent of all vampires.

If Biffy understood nothing else, he understood significant emphasis in speech. “What can we do about it?”

“I shall have BUR keep a close eye on the roves, call in the rest of our pack if I have to, but full-moon revels are likely to be overly fervent this month. And there is little I can do then. We can but hope that Lord and Lady Maccon complete their business quickly and return home before a second full moon, as one alone may tax us to our limits.”

Biffy said, off the cuff, “Or we could find a replacement queen.”

“Volunteering for the position?”

“Why, Professor, is that wittiness I detect?”

“Only for you.”

“Charmer.” Biffy tapped him on the arm playfully.

Professor Lyall started slightly and then actually looked embarrassed by the casual contact.

Prudence led them on a merry dance about the ship, ending her jaunt hidden in a lifeboat on the port side of the promenade deck. Conall managed to catch her. Despite her supernatural strength, he also managed to hold on to her long enough to transfer her to his wife.

“Mama!” said the wriggling girl who resulted from this transaction. And then, as they were on the outer deck and she was wearing only a pink party dress, “Brrrr!”

“Yes, well, dear, you have only yourself to blame for that. You know you have to avoid your father at night.”

“Dada?”

“Yes, precisely.”

Lord Maccon waved shyly at his daughter, standing a good distance away to forestall any additional accidents.

“Oh, now, Prudence, look at that,” said her mother, pointing up.

“No,” said Prudence, but she looked up.

Above them was the postal dirigible, lashed to the moving steamer and being dragged along as deliveries were transferred between the two. Mail was dropped down a taut silk chute. Alexia thought it looked like fun and wondered if people ever came aboard in such a manner.

“Any mail for Casablanca?” the assistant deck steward yelled, marching to-and-fro. “Mail for Casablanca? Departure in ten minutes! Any mail?” He continued his call and went down to the lower decks.

The floating post was a good deal different-looking from the passenger dirigibles Alexia was accustomed to utilizing. Prudence was duly fascinated. Lord Maccon took it as an opportunity to skulk off in pursuit of port in the smoke room, and possibly a nice game of backgammon.

“Bibble!” was Prudence’s opinion. The infant was excessively fond of air flight, although she had yet to try it personally. There was some fear that, like her father and other werewolves, she would fall victim to airsickness. Her fondness was merely exhibited in pointing at dirigibles and squeaking whenever she happened to spot one above the town or when she was taken on a walk to Hyde Park. Occasionally, she was even allowed to sit in Lord Akeldama’s private air transport, Dandelion Fluff Upon a Spoon, when it was at rest upon the roof of the vampire’s town house. And, of course, she had multiple toy dirigibles, including one that was an exact replica of Dandelion Fluff Upon a Spoon.

The postal dirigible was very sleek and stealthy in appearance. Alexia and her daughter were riveted. Its balloon section was narrowed for speed. It had six aether current propellers, and its barge section was mainly one massive steam engine. Any other available space was utilized by the post itself and a small number of passengers, mostly businessmen, who were willing to trade luxury and comfort for speed.

Prudence was enthralled and might have stayed a good deal longer, but her teeth started to chatter. Lady Maccon noticed and took her daughter to the nursemaid for a new nappy and some warmer clothing. It was some time before Alexia remembered that the deck steward had attempted to deliver mail to her.

Lady Maccon went in pursuit of her deliveries, finding them in good time and then, suspicious of the contents, went to find her husband. She guessed well what it was from the shape of the box and supposed Conall might want