“Well, yes, Europe of course. But all the way to Egypt? Do they have tea there?” Ivy wasn’t looking wholly opposed to the jaunt. Ever since her trip with Alexia to Scotland, Mrs. Tunstell had rather a taste for foreign travel. Alexia blamed the kilts.
She pressed her advantage. “I would, of course, fund the expedition and make the necessary arrangements.”
“Oh, now, Alexia, please, you embarrass me.” Ivy blushed but did not refuse the offer.
“As your patroness, I feel it my duty to spread the deeply moving message inherent in your play. The bumblebee dance alone was a masterpiece of modern storytelling. I do not think we should deny it to others merely because of distance and questionable beverage options.”
Mrs. Tunstell nodded, her pert little face solemn at this profound statement.
“Besides”—Alexia lowered her voice significantly—“there is also a matter for the Parasol Protectorate to handle in Egypt.”
“Oh!” Ivy was overcome with excitement.
“I may call upon you in your capacity as Agent Puff Bonnet.”
“If that is the case, I shall speak to Tunny and we shall take measures and make preparations immediately! I shall need more hatboxes.”
Alexia blanched slightly at this ready enthusiasm. The Tunstells’ acting troupe numbered nearly a dozen, plus assorted sycophants. “Perhaps we could narrow the scope of your production down slightly? This is a delicate matter.”
“Such a thing might be possible.”
“Down to, perhaps, only you and Tunstell?”
“I don’t know. There is the wardrobe to consider. Who will look after that? And one or two of the supporting roles are perfectly vital to the story. And what about the twins? I couldn’t possibly leave my beloved poppets. We will need our nursemaid along, as I couldn’t manage without her. Then there is…”
Mrs. Tunstell continued to prattle on and Alexia let her. After a good long negotiation, Ivy concluded she could narrow her entourage down to ten, Tunstell and the twins not included, and she would collect the names and paperwork and send them on to Floote as soon as possible.
It was decided that they could leave by the end of the next week, all details being finalized. Lady Maccon departed feeling that the hard part was over and that all she need do now was persuade her husband as to the sensibleness of hiding themselves in plain sight among a bunch of actors.
She sent a note round to Countess Nadasdy instructing her to tell Queen Matakara that if the Alexandria Hive were to express particular interest in seeing a performance of The Death Rains of Swansea, it might also get a visit from Lord and Lady Maccon and their unusual child. Queen Matakara was to demand the play be performed before her in person, in her own home, and to that end was asking the Tunstells’ Acting Troupe a la Mode to travel to Egypt specially. Alexia and Conall would be invited along as patrons.
By the time Lady Maccon had completed this task, the pack was home and a general ruckus of large men had resulted. Conall stuck his head round the doorjamb to say there was nothing new concerning Dubh and did she know where Biffy had gotten to?
Alexia replied that, no, she didn’t and would he please come in and let her explain her plan before he gallivanted off again. He did, and she did, and after a good deal of grumbling, he accepted the necessity of traveling under cover of thespians.
“And now,” announced Alexia, “I am going to have a chat with Lord Akeldama. I want his perspective on this summons from Queen Matakara, and I should inform him of my imminent protracted absence from the Shadow Council. He will have to handle the dewan on his own.”
“If you think it necessary.”
“My dear, you really must come around to the fact that Lord Akeldama knows useful things. Things even you and BUR don’t know. Plus, he is Prudence’s legal guardian. If we wish to take her out of the country, even at a vampire’s request, we must ask his permission. It is the way of things.”
Lord Maccon gestured her on magnanimously, and Alexia took herself next door without further ado.
Upon waking that evening Biffy was understandably bothered to hear of Dubh’s death. However, it was a middling bother. He had never met the man, and, if the rumors were to be believed, he hadn’t missed out on much. Besides, it was difficult to mourn the loss of anyone who had spent a good deal of his life in Scotland. Biffy was tolerably more disturbed by the fact that he had developed a cowlick while asleep that would not lie flat no matter what he did.
Biffy wondered if this attitude might be considered crass. He wouldn’t want to be thought crass. It was simply that he still felt disconnected from his werewolf brethren. They had little conversation that did not revolve around sports or ballistics. Major Channing had a well-tied cravat, but really, even Biffy could not forge a relationship based solely upon attractive neck gear.
Biffy skirted off early to see to the hat shop and returned for a midnight snack to find Lord and Lady Maccon out and those few others still in residence dressed in black waistcoats. With a sigh, he went to change, disliking Dubh more for the alteration in his wardrobe than the poor man probably deserved.
He was picking idly at a plate of kippers when Professor Lyall wandered in, spotted him, and said, “Oh, good, Biffy, just the man I was looking for.”
Biffy was startled. Professor Lyall had always been scrupulously kind to him, but other than doling out responsibility for the contrivance chamber and associated paperwork, the Beta had had very little to do with Biffy. Taking care of Lord Maccon was a full-time job, a fact Biffy understood all too well. He was such a very large and fearsome man, and so very scruffy. Biffy was part afraid of the Alpha, part in awe, and part driven by a pressing need to get him to a tailor.