Madame Lefoux was leaning back slightly, a faint look of amusement on her lovely face. “What could your ladyship possibly mean?”
“Was he in attendance upon you as Alpha, as earl, or as the head of BUR investigations?”
Madame Lefoux dimpled once more at that. “Ah, yes, the many faces of Conall Maccon.”
Alexia bridled at the Frenchwoman’s use of Conall’s first name. “And how long, exactly, have you known my husband?” Abnormal dress was one thing, but loose morals were an entirely different matter.
“Calm yourself, my lady. My interest in your husband is purely professional. He and I know each other through BUR transactions, but he visited me here a month ago as the earl and your husband. He wished me to make you a special gift.”
“A gift?”
“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, Maman, I simply wanted to see what would happen!”
“So, now you see. What happens is it makes your maman angry and gets you nights and nights of cleaning as punishment.”
“Aw, Maman!”
“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 husband’s insistence.
“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 unscented, now, can we?”
“Oh.” Alexia nodded gravely. After all, Madame Lefoux was French. “Certainly not.”
Madame Lefoux pushed the shade up, revealing that the parasol was of an old-fashioned pagoda shape. “You can also turn it thus”—she flipped the parasol around so that the shade was pointing the wrong direction—“and twist and press here.” She pointed to a small nodule just above the magnetic disruption emitter, in which a tiny dial was set. “I have designed it to be quite difficult to operate, to prevent any unfortunate accidents. The rib caps of the parasol will open and emit a fine mist. At one click, these three will emit a mixture of lapis lunearis and water. At two clicks, the other three ribs will emit lapis solaris diluted in sulfuric acid. Make certain that you, and anyone you care about, stay well out of the blast area and upwind. Although the lunearis will cause only mild skin irritation, the solaris is toxic and will kill humans as well as disabling vampires.” With a sudden grin, the scientist added, “Only werewolves are resistant. The lunearis is, of course, for them. A direct spray should render the species in question helpless and gravely ill for several days. Three clicks and both will emit at once.”
“Quite outstanding, madame.” Alexia was suitably impressed. “I did not know there were any poisons capable of disabling either species.”
Madame Lefoux said mildly, “I once had access to a partial copy of the Templar’s Amended Rule.”
Lady Maccon’s mouth dropped. “You what?”
The Frenchwoman elucidated no further.
Alexia took the parasol, turning it about in her hands reverently. “I shall have to change over half my wardrobe to match it, of course. But I suspect it will be worth it.”
Madame Lefoux dimpled in pleasure. “It will also keep the sun at bay.”
Lady Maccon snorted in amusement. “As to the cost, has my husband dealt with the necessities?”
The Frenchwoman held up a small hand. “Oh, I am well aware that Woolsey can see to the expense. And I have had dealings with your pack before.”
Alexia smiled. “Professor Lyall?”
“Mainly. He is a curious man. One wonders, sometimes, as to his motivations.”
“He is not a man.”
“Just so.”
“And you?”
“I, too, am not a man. I simply enjoy dressing like one,” replied Madame Lefoux, purposefully choosing to misinterpret Alexia’s question.