Miss Tarabotti, who had developed rather unladylike homicidal tendencies toward the repulsive wax-faced thing, asked eagerly, “How?”
“Well,” said Lord Akeldama, “activation and control is usually in the form of a word or phrase. If one can find a way to undo that phrase, one can, in effect, turn the homunculus simulacrum off, like a mechanical doll.”
“A word like VIXI?” suggested Alexia.
“Very like. You have seen it?”
“Written across its forehead, in some kind of black powder,” Miss Tarabotti confirmed. “Magnetized iron dust, I would hazard a guess, aligned to the domain of the automaton's internal engine, possibly through an aetheric connection. You must find a way to undo it.”
“Undo what?” she asked. “The VIXI.”
“Ah.” Miss Tarabotti pretended to understand. “That simple, is it?”
In the darkness of their lonely cell, Lord Akeldama grinned at her. “Now you are playing me for a lark, my sweet. I am sorry I do not know any more. I have never had to deal with a homunculus simulacrum personally. Alchemic sciences have never been my forte.”
Alexia wondered what was his forte but asked, “What else do you think they are doing at this club? Aside from building an automaton.”
The vampire shrugged as much as his handcuffs would allow. “Whatever they do must, perforce, involve experimentation on vampires, possibly a forcing of metamorphosis. I am beginning to suspect that rove you killed—when was it, a week or so ago?—was not actually made supernatural at all but was manufactured as a counterfeit of some kind.”
“They have been abducting loner werewolves too. Professor Lyall found out about it,” Alexia told him.
“Really? I did not know that.” Lord Akeldama sounded more disappointed in his own abilities than surprised at the news. “Stands to reason, I suppose; might as well work with both sides of the supernatural living. I assure you, even these scientists cannot figure out a way to cut open or replicate a ghost. The real question is, what are they doing with all of us in the end?”
Miss Tarabotti shuddered, remembering that Countess Nadasdy had said the new vampires rarely lived beyond a few days. “It cannot be pleasant, whatever it is.”
“No,” Lord Akeldama agreed quietly. “No, it cannot.” He was silent for a long moment, and then he said soberly, “My dear child, may I ask you something, in all seriousness?”
Alexia raised her eyebrows. “I do not know. Can you? I did not think you actually possessed the capacity for seriousness, my lord.”
“Ah, yes, it is an assumption I have taken great care to cultivate.” The vampire cleared his throat. “But, let me give it my best attempt this once. It seems unlikely that I will survive this little misadventure of ours. But if I do, I should like to ask a favor of you.”
Miss Tarabotti did not know what to say at that. She was struck by how bleak her life suddenly looked without Lord Akeldama to color it. She was also amazed by his calm acceptance of his impending demise. She supposed that after so many centuries, death was no longer a fearsome thing.
He continued. “It has been a very, very long time since I have experienced the sun. Do you think you might wake me early one evening, with contact, so that I could see it set?”
Miss Tarabotti was touched by such a request. It would be a very dangerous endeavor for him, for he would have to trust her implicitly not to let go. If they broke contact for even a moment, he would immolate instantly.
“Are you certain?”
He breathed out acknowledgment as though it were a benediction. “Absolutely positive.” Just then, the door to the cell banged open. One of the flunkies came in and unceremoniously lifted Lord Akeldama over one bulky shoulder.
“Promise?” said the vampire, hanging limply upside down.
Miss Tarabotti said, “I promise,” hoping she would have the chance to live up to her vow.
With that, Lord Akeldama was carried from the room. The door was closed and bolted behind him. Miss Tarabotti, with nothing but her own thoughts for company, was left alone in the dark. She was particularly annoyed with herself; she had meant to ask about the brass octopuses appearing everywhere.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Among the Machines
Miss Tarabotti could think of nothing to do but wiggle her hands and feet to keep up blood circulation within the tight confines of the manacles. She lay there for what seemed like an age, simply wiggling. She was beginning to infer she had been forgotten, for no one came to check up on her, nor, indeed, showed any interest at all in her physical condition. She was quite uncomfortable, for corsets, bustles, and all other accoutrements of a lady's appropriate dress were not conducive to lying, bound, on a hard floor. She shifted, sighed, and stared up at the ceiling, trying to think about anything but Lord Maccon, her current predicament, or Lord Akeldama's safety. Which meant she could do nothing but reflect on the complex plight of her mama's most recent embroidery project. This, in itself, was a worse torture than any her captors could devise.
Eventually, she was saved from her own masochistic meditations by the sound of two voices in the corridor outside her cell. Both seemed vaguely familiar. The conversation, when they were in close enough proximity for Alexia to overhear the particulars, bore a distinct semblance to a guided museum tour.
“Of course, you must acknowledge that in order to eliminate the supernatural threat, we must first understand it. Professor Sneezewort's most worthwhile research has shown... Ah, in this cell, we have another rove vampire: splendid example of Homo sanguis, although rather young for exsanguination.