Timeless by Gail Carriger Page B

best question she could, given Lord Akeldama’s evasiveness. “What
can
you tell me about Queen Matakara?”
    The vampire raised his gem-studded monocle and looked at her through the clear glass. “Not quite the right question, sweetling.”
    “Oh, very well. What
will
you tell me about Queen Matakara? Given that I will be taking your adopted daughter into her hive whether you like it or not.”
    “Hard line, my little
marmalade pot
, but better. I will tell you that she is very old, and her concerns are not that of the shorter lived.”
    “No advice at all, not even for Prudence’s sake?”
    The vampire looked at her, a slight smile on his face. “You are not above playing all the cards you have been dealt, are you, my darling girl? Very well. You want my advice? Don’t go. More than that? Be careful. What Queen Matakara
says
is never the whole truth, and what Queen Matakara
is
has been hidden by the sands of time. It is not that she no longer cares to win; it is that she does not play the game at all. For you and I, my dear, who live for such petty diversions, this is practically impossible to comprehend.”
    “Then why ask to see Prudence? Why involve herself?”
    “There you have the
real
danger, my clementine, and the
real
question, and, of course, there is no way for us to understand the answer.”
    “Because she is outside of our understanding?”
    “Precisely.”
    “Unusual woman.”
    “You haven’t yet seen the way she dresses.”
    While Lyall tracked down dirigible possession records, and Lord Maccon dashed about looking for clues, Lady Maccon planned her trip. Or, to be precise, she told Floote what she wanted and he made the necessary arrangements and procurements. The Tunstells were accounted for, and much to Alexia’s disgust, Countess Nadasdy insisted on sending one of her drones along as ambassador for the English hives.
    “She only wants to keep an eye on
me
,” she objected to Floote while they contemplated which traveling gowns were best suited to an Egyptian climate. “Do you know who she’s sending? Of course you do.”
    Floote said nothing.
    Lady Maccon cast her hands up into the air in exasperation and began pacing about the room, gesticulating wildly in accordance with her Italian heritage.
    “Exactly! Madame Lefoux. That woman simply cannot be depended upon. I’m surprised the countess trusts her so far as she can throw her. Although, I suppose being a vampire, she could throw her quite far. Then again, perhaps she is sending her along because she doesn’t trust her. I mean, who is Genevieve favoring these days? Me, the vampire, the OBO, or herself?”
    “A woman of conflicted loyalties, madam.”
    “To say the least! She must live a very complicated life. I’m certain I could never be so duplicitous.”
    “No, madam, not in your nature. I shouldn’t let it concern you.”
    “No?”
    “You can be guaranteed of at least one thing, madam. This time she doesn’t want you dead.”
    “Oh, yes? How can I know this?” Alexia huffed, and sat on her bed, her lace robe floating out around her in a waterfall of opulence. “You know, Floote, I really enjoyed her company. That’s the difficulty.”
    “You still do, madam.”
    “Don’t be familiar, Floote.”
    Floote ignored this, in the manner of long-time family retainers everywhere. “It will be good for you to have someone like her along, madam.”
    “Like what? What do you mean, Floote?”
    “Sensible. Scientific.”
    Alexia paused. “Are you speaking as my butler or as my father’s valet?”
    “Both, madam.”
    Floote’s face was, as always, practically impossible to read. But after days of packing and organizing, Lady Maccon was beginning to get the distinct impression that he did not approve of Egypt.
    “You don’t want me to go, do you, Floote?”
    Floote paused, looking down at his hands, perfectly gloved in white cotton, as was appropriate to upstairs staff.
    “I made Mr. Tarabotti two promises. The first