Madame Lefoux made good her escape, and Alexia, Ivy, and the nursemaid dressed and mobilized the three infants. They made their way down and out the front of the hotel where a docile, soft-eared donkey and companion boy stood awaiting them. The twins took up basket position with little fuss, Percy being given a bit of dried fig to gnaw upon and Primrose a length of silver lace to play with. Both wore large straw hats, Primrose looking quite the thing with her dark curls peeking out and her big blue eyes. Percy, on the other hand, looked rather uncomfortable, like a fat, redheaded boatman unsure of the high seas.
Prudence, set astride the donkey, drummed her chubby legs and grabbed the creature’s neck like a seasoned professional. What little sun she had experienced aboard ship had turned her skin a faint olive. Alexia was horribly afraid her daughter had inherited her Italian complexion. This spectacle, of three foreign children dressed in all the frills and lace of England’s finest, plus donkey, caused a stir in the streets of Alexandria. It was just as well, since they couldn’t move very quickly without Prudence falling off. The nursemaid walked alongside, keeping a watchful eye to them all, neat as a new pin in her navy dress, white apron, and cap. Mrs. Tunstell and Lady Maccon strode at the front, leading the way, parasols raised against the sun. Lady Maccon was dressed in a fabulous walking gown of black and white stripes, courtesy of Biffy, and Mrs. Tunstell in a complementary day dress of periwinkle blue and maroon plaid. Periodically they would pause to consult Mrs. Tunstell’s little guidebook, until this took too long, at which juncture Lady Maccon would simply pick a direction and stride on.
Alexia fell deeply in love with Egypt on that walk. There really was no other way of putting it. As suggested by Ivy’s Baedeker, Egypt had no concept of bad weather in the winter months, giving them instead a mild summer. The sandstone and mud brick buildings basked under the friendly orange glow, and the slatted rushes high above their heads made crisscrosses of shade at their feet. The flowing garb of the locals provided an endless shifting of bright colors against a muted monotone background. The native women carried baskets of food balanced upon their heads. Ivy, at first, thought this a peculiar kind of hat and was very interested in procuring one for herself, until she saw a woman lift the basket down and dole out bread to an eager donkey boy.
The gentlemen and ladies of Egypt seemed to possess a self-respect and innate gracefulness of manner, regardless of societal rank, that could only be thought engaging. That said, they also seemed inclined to sing while they worked, or sat upon their heels, or stretched out upon a mat. Alexia was not a particularly musical person, and her husband, a noted opera singer in his human days, had once described her bath time warblings as those of a deranged badger. But even she could recognize complete tunelessness, coupled to a certain rhythmic vocalization. The resulting renditions seemed a means of lightening labor or sweetening repose, but Alexia thought them monotonous and displeasing to the ear. However, she learned, as she had done with the harmonic auditory resonance disruptor, to disregard it as mere background hum.
As they tottered happily along, Alexia felt compelled to stop at many a small shop and one or two bazaar stands to investigate the goods on offer, mainly drawn, as was her wont, by delicious and exotic foodstuffs. Ivy and the child-burdened donkey trailed in her wake. The nursemaid paid due attention to her charges and was properly shocked by the foreignness of the city about them the rest of the time. “Oh, Mrs. Tunstell, would you look at that? Stray dogs!” or “Oh, Mrs. Tunstell, would you believe? That man is sitting cross-legged, on his front step, and his legs are bare!”
Mrs. Tunstell, meanwhile, became increasingly addlepated over their getting lost in a foreign land.
Prudence held on with all her might, and after taking in her surroundings with the jaundiced eye of a seasoned traveler, tilted her little head back, nearly losing her hat, and cooed in delight over the amazing sight of the many massive colorful balloons that hovered above the city. Egyptians were not yet proficient in dirigible travel but had for many hundreds of years played host to the balloon nomads of the desert skies, bronzed cousins to the Bedouin. The first of the English settlers named them Drifters, and the moniker stuck. A vast number hovered above Alexandria during the day, having come in for the markets and the tourist trade. They were every color of every hat Ivy had ever possessed, many of them patchwork or striped. As fascinating as the daily life of the natives might be, Prudence was lured by the promise of flight high above. She warbled her glee.
Thus pleasantly entertained, the group made its way through the city, pausing overlong only once, in one of the bazaars when Alexia was particularly taken by a fine display of leatherwork. Looking up, she noticed that the man seated behind the goods attractively arrayed on a colorful striped rug was not the same in looks as all the others they had encountered thus far. He had a different garb and bearing. His sharp, bearded features and steady gaze betokened firmness, resolution, and an autocratic nature. He was also
“Leather for the pretty lady?” he asked.
“Oh, no thank you. Simply looking.”
“You should look farther south. The answers to your questions lie in Upper Egypt, Miss Tarabotti,” said the Drifter, his accent thick but his meaning unmistakable.
“Pardon me. What did you just say?” Alexia was startled into asking. She looked for Mrs. Tunstell. “Ivy, did you hear that?” By the time she had turned back, the man was gone, shimmying up his rope ladder into the sky with remarkable dexterity and speed, almost supernaturally quick—impossible, of course, as it was still daylight.
Alexia watched him go with her mouth slightly open until a new voice said, “Leather for the pretty lady?” and a small boy, in typical Alexandrian garb, looked hopefully up at her from the exact place the man had just been.
“What! Who was that bearded man? How did he know my name?”
The boy only blinked his fringe of lashes at her, uncomprehending. “Leather for the pretty lady?”
“Alexia, are we finished here? I hardly see what you would want with such goods.”
“Ivy, did you see that man?”
“What man?”
“The balloon nomad who was just here.”
“Oh, really, Alexia, it says right here in my little book—Drifters don’t fraternize with Europeans. You must have imagined it.”
“Ivy, my dearest boon companion, have I ever
“Fair point, Alexia. In which case, I am very sorry to say that I did not observe the interaction.”
“A disappointment for you, I’m sure, for he was a remarkably fine specimen.”
“Oh, my, Alexia, you shouldn’t say such things! You’re a married woman.”
“True, but not a dead one.”
Ivy fanned herself vigorously. “La, Alexia, such talk!”
Lady Maccon only smiled and twirled her parasol. “Ah, well, I suppose time is of the essence. We should press on.” She tried to memorize the stall’s location and the color of the man’s balloon, a patchwork of varying shades of deep purples.
With no further disruptions, they made their way to the west end of Boulevard Ramleh, arriving by six o’clock exactly. Alexia left her party in ecstasies over Port Neuf, glittering rich and blue under the low light of the late afternoon sun. She strode swiftly inside and, finding it was English run and quite up to snuff, had her own valve in place exactly on time to transmit a message to Biffy. At least she hoped it was the right time; so many things could go wrong with aethographors.
“Ruffled Parasol in place,” her message ran. “Booking this time this location until departure.” She then added the Alexandria codes and waited with bated breath. Within moments, as ordered, there came a reply. Unfortunately, it was not the reply Lady Alexia Maccon would have wished.
Biffy’s sleep was troubled and not only by the fact that Professor Lyall boasted rather a small bed for two occupants. While neither of them was very large, Biffy was a good deal taller than his companion, which caused his feet to dangle off the end. Still neither would even think to suggest that they sleep apart, not now that they had discovered each other. Besides, once the sun rose fully, they both slept solidly enough to be thought dead, limbs wound together, breathing soft and deep. Nevertheless, Biffy’s dreams were colored by missed appointments, canceled events, and forgotten messages.
Channing Channing of the Chesterfield Channings had caught Biffy following Lyall into his room that morning. He raised one blond eyebrow in silent criticism but said nothing. However, they both knew they were due to come
