“So there once was water and now there is none. Is it possible that the God-Breaker Plague has moved close to the city only since then? After all, we know preternatural touch is affected by water.”
“That is a thought. Hard to know. Of course, it is also possible that the city has expanded toward it. But if it has moved closer, you can bet the local vampires would not be happy about it.”
“Matakara’s real reason for summoning us?”
“Anything is possible with vampires.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
In Which Prudence Discovers Sentences
The Maccons made it back to the hotel in time to change and make themselves presentable before being taken to Queen Matakara and the Alexandria Hive. Chancellor Neshi was waiting for them expectantly in the lobby.
The Tunstells and their troupe were soon to follow, trotting down the stairs lugging set pieces and already dressed in their costumes for the first act, although the gentlemen were all sporting top hats for the journey. If their arrival at the hotel had been remarked upon with interest by the natives, their departure was even more noteworthy. Mrs. Tunstell’s dress was silver satin with an enormous quantity of fake pearl jewelry. Mr. Tunstell was attired as any fine gentleman about town except that his suit was of crimson satin and he had a short gold cape buttoned over one shoulder like a musketeer. Mr. Tumtrinkle, villainous from spats to cravat, wore black velvet with diamanté buttons, blue leather gloves, and a cloak of midnight blue satin that he swooped and swirled about like wings as he moved.
This time there was no need of donkeys. The hive queen had sent them a steam locomotive, a massive contraption worthy of even Madame Lefoux’s interest. The inventor, however, was nowhere to be found, having disappeared about her own business more hastily than Alexia had ever expected. Alexia felt, it must be admitted, rather abandoned and unimportant. After all, she had surmised that Madame Lefoux was sent along to Egypt to spy on
The locomotive was a rangy, rumbling beast, a little like a stagecoach in shape but open topped. The flat back end was piled high with rushes, presumably for the comfort of the occupants, as there were no seats. As the thing rumbled down narrow roads and alleys designed with donkeys in mind, the straw did very little good. Never before had Alexia experienced such a bumpy ride. The locomotive belched bouts of steam high into a dark evening sky out of two tall smokestacks and was so loud that polite conversation was impossible.
Prudence, ghastly child, enjoyed the whole arrangement. She bounced up and down excitedly with each bump and rattle. Alexia was becoming horribly afraid that her bluestocking tendencies had transferred to her daughter, in spades. The infant was taken with anything remotely mechanical, and her fascination with dirigibles and other forms of transport was only increasing.
The Alexandria Hive house was situated off of the Rue Ibrahim within sight of Port Vieux on the eastern side of the city. The facade of the building was Greek in style. It was two levels high, the first level sporting widely spaced, large marble columns, and the upper level showcasing a colonnade of smaller supports open to the air in one long balcony. Inside, however, it was more as Alexia imagined one of the famous rock-cut tombs of the Valley of the Kings. There were doorways leading off of a vestibule, without doors, and woven reed mats spread on the floor. Basalt statues of ancient animal-headed gods stood all about like sentries at a masquerade. The walls were painted with more animal gods engaging in brightly colored and beautifully articulated myths. There was sinuously carved wood furniture here and there, but it was all quite primitive in shape and without adornment. The very starkness and lack of opulence was almost as awe-inspiring as the overabundance of riches that so characterized the vampires of Alexia’s homeland. Here was a hive that knew its wealth was purely and simply in the world it had created, not in the objects it had managed to accumulate.
The Tunstells and troupe trailed in behind Lord and Lady Maccon and stood in reverent silence, the atmosphere subduing even them for a short time.
Chancellor Neshi clapped loudly—Ivy started and emitted a little “Oh, my!” of surprise—and near on twenty servants appeared from one of the darkened doorways, all handsome, dark-eyed young men wearing white loincloths for the sake of modesty and nothing else. Each crouched expectantly at the foot of a visitor. Alexia glanced at Chancellor Neshi and realized, with a good deal of shock, that these young men were expecting to remove her shoes. Not only hers, but everyone’s! The gentlemen, each caught in the act of removing his outside topper, replaced the hat hurriedly and looked wide-eyed at one another. Realizing they would take their cue from her, Alexia lifted her foot to the young man’s knee and permitted him to unlace and pull off her sensible brown walking boots. Following Lady Maccon’s lead, the party allowed themselves to be divested of footwear. Alexia shuddered to see that her husband wore no socks and that Tunstell’s were mismatched. Only Prudence was delighted to have her shoes removed, not being a very great fan of shoes to begin with.
Chancellor Neshi bustled off, presumably to herald their arrival, at which juncture Mrs. Tunstell broke the hush with a startled, “My goodness gracious, would you look at that god creature there? Its head is nothing but a single feather.”
“Ma’at,” explained Alexia, who had a particular interest in ancient mythology, “goddess of justice.”
“One would perhaps call her feather-head?” suggested Tunstell to much general hilarity. The spell of the ancient world around them was broken.
Chancellor Neshi returned. “
He led them up a set of cold stone stairs to the second level of the house, full of more cool, dark, windowless stone rooms, tomblike and torch-lit. From the upper vestibule, they were led down a long hallway that ended in a small open doorway that let onto an enormous room.
They entered. The room was certainly big enough to stage a play. Against the wall directly opposite the hallway door and halfway down on each side stood a series of low wooden divans with red cushions. The floor was spread with more intricately woven reed mats and the walls were again painted. These were done in a similar style to the ancient-looking images below but depicted a wide range of current events, from the Turkish invasion to the incorporation of Western technology, from the great Nutmeg Rebellion to the antiquities trade and tourism. It was a record of Egypt’s modern history in bright pigment and perfect detail. It was odd to see the figures of bustled and trussed Europeans, British uniforms and army ships, all in the awkward childish style of papyrus paintings.
On the divans against either wall sat a string of striking and somber young persons who could only be the drones of the hive. They wore native dress but, Alexia noted with interest, both the men and women, in defiance of all she had observed so far, had their heads uncovered. She supposed this must be a kind of rejection of native religion in favor of worshipful loyalty to queen and hive.
Directly opposite the door in the position of greatest importance was what looked to be a large parasol. It was suspended from the ceiling, with great swaths of silken cloth hanging from around the edge. Richly colored and strikingly beautiful, the drapes formed a kind of tent, just large enough for one person to stand within. Alexia couldn’t help feeling that whoever was inside could probably see out and was watching her every move.
To one side of this shrouded parasol sat four vampires. There was no doubt that they were, indeed, vampires. For, out of some custom alien to England, they were all showing their fangs to the guests. Vampires in London rarely showed fang without prestated, postintroduction intent. To the other side sat one more vampire, whom Chancellor Neshi went to join. Next to the dragoman were two empty spots.
After a moment of silently watching the odd crowd of mixed aristocracy and overdressed thespians, all six vampires rose to their feet.
“The entirety of the Alexandria Hive,” whispered Lord Maccon to his wife.
“We are honored,” said his wife back.
A stunningly lovely drone stepped forward, moving with liquid grace across the wide, empty floor until she stood before them. Her features were strong without being manly, her brows heavy, her mouth generous, her lips stained dark red by skilled artifice. She wore full, wide black trousers that ballooned well out and then came in at the ankles. Over this was a long black tunic, nipped in tight along arms and torso with a wide swath of fabric at the wrists and hem, floating away from the hips like a gentleman’s frock coat. The wider parts of the tunic and the bloomers were patterned in gold leaves, and she wore a great quantity of gold jewelry about fingers, wrists, neck,
