Waistcoats & Weaponry

by Gail Carriger

  None of them objected.

  HELPFUL BARNACLEGEESE

  Sophronia pushed her way through the crowd. Her mother was at the top of the stairs, agitating like a malfunctioning mechanical. Her father seemed to be already at the cards. Sophronia was glad to note his absence. One less parent to bamboozle.

  “Who are you and why have you brought those animals to my party?” Mrs. Temminnick demanded. She must be near hysterics, for she knew better than to address a werewolf with anything but the strictest courtesy. Poor Mumsy did not like chaos, which made it all the odder that she had eight children.

  Sophronia stepped up. “Mumsy, I believe I may be of assistance.”

  “Sophronia, this wouldn’t be your fault, would it? Did you invite these… these… hirsute interlopers? Is that academy a complete failure? I thought you were doing so well.”

  “Now, Mumsy, I brought the son of a duke to Ephraim’s party, didn’t I?”

  “That is something.”

  “Well, this is Lady Kingair, daughter of an earl, a very important person indeed.” Technically it was slightly more complicated than that, but daughter of an earl was good enough for Mumsy.

  Mrs. Temminnick looked at Sidheag doubtfully. Not for the first time, Sophronia wished her dear friend sometimes dressed the part of a peer. Today Lady Kingair was wearing a gown so drab that even a governess wouldn’t have bothered.

  “But, but, dear, that dress is tweed.… Oh, has she come costumed as a parlormaid?” Mrs. Temminnick was disposed to be optimistic on behalf of an earl’s daughter.

  “Now, Mumsy”—Sophronia was quick on the flip—“don’t you see? It’s a symbolic allegory of the famous myth of Romulus and Remus. Since a werewolf is almost never female, Lady Kingair has dressed as a nanny to foil the wolf shape and properly represent the she-wolf who fed the great hero-founders of Rome.”

  Mrs. Temminnick balked.

  Sophronia looked at her, eyes wide. “Oh, dear, isn’t it obvious? I thought it was obvious. I’m sure Sidheag did, too. Didn’t you, dear?”

  Sidheag balked almost as much as Sophronia’s mother.

  “Goodness, well, at least they are giving you some kind of education at that finishing school.” Mrs. Temminnick liked that she hadn’t understood a word her daughter had said.

  “I could say it in Latin, if that would help?”

  “No, dear, no, not Latin as well as tweed. Not in one night.”

  “Oh, Sophronia!” Sidheag did not want to play along. Fortunately, she also seemed incapable of cogent speech. Solid, unflappable Sidheag was so relieved to see Sophronia, it seemed she might cry. Or cast herself into Sophronia’s arms. Impossible options in public, the both of them.

  Sophronia had thought Sidheag would be recovered by now, yet she seemed to have gotten worse.

  Since she was unable to console her friend with intimacy, Sophronia’s training kicked in. “Mumsy, Lady Kingair appears to have misplaced her mask on the journey. Was it terribly distressing, Sidheag dear? Why don’t I take her to the family parlor for a restorative cup of tea? I might be able to settle matters, find another mask. This would get us all away from the ball. Ephraim would like that.”

  Brought back to the purpose of the masquerade, Mrs. Temminnick could think of no better solution.

  Dimity appeared at Sidheag’s elbow.

  No one mentioned the werewolves, although Sophronia and Dimity both nodded at them. Politeness deemed they only be acknowledged, not addressed directly. When in wolf shape, they couldn’t exactly engage in polite conversation. It was thought best not to remind them of this fact by attempting an introduction.

  Mrs. Temminnick threw her hands up to heaven. “Fine, fine, but the young gentlemen all stay here dancing!”

  “Of course, Mumsy. They can make up the numbers.” Sophronia sent a silent prayer to Pillover to keep Soap and Felix from murdering each other.

  “This way, Sidheag dear.” Sophronia grabbed her friend’s hand. It was icy cold. Sidheag must have ridden through the rain for hours. Sophronia guided Sidheag hurriedly away from the ball.

  Captain Niall and his unknown companion followed. It was a mark of how little, if ever, Mrs. Temminnick fraternized with werewolves that she had decided to categorize both as friendly dogs, rather than naked men. Otherwise, she would never have permitted them to accompany her daughter.

  The family parlor was a cozy enclave of puffy furniture and unbreakable objects much used by the Temminnick children over the years. They settled Sidheag on the couch nearest the fire. Dimity sat next to her, patting her on the arm, trilling consoling banalities.

  Sophronia sent one of the clangermaids off to retrieve tea. She then suggested to Captain Niall and the strange werewolf that they find some of Gresham’s old clothing in the nursery and requested they go change shape there. She worried about the second werewolf, who was a good deal larger than the captain. It meant he would be a good deal larger as a man as well, and Gresham was not particularly large.

  With werewolves gone and fire stoked, Sidheag stopped shaking. The tea, once it arrived, had its customary effect—engendering comfort and loosening the tongue. That’s tea for you, thought Sophronia, the great social lubricant. Soon they had the whole story out of her. No wonder tea was considered a vital weapon of espionage.

  “I begged Gramps to go home.” Sidheag’s Scottish accent was thick in her distress, or perhaps from arguing copiously with her great-great-great-grandfather recently.

  Dimity hadn’t the strength in the face of such distress, so Sophronia said what they all knew had to be true.

  “It’s treason, Sid. You know he can’t. They betrayed him as well as the queen.”

  “But the pack should stay whole. He killed… he did what had to be done, let that be an end to it. Why can’t he forgive the others?” Sidheag adored her pack; she only wanted it to stay together.

  “You know he won’t,” said Sophronia softly.

  Frustrated out of her sadness, Sidheag snarled, “Of course I bloody know it! Worse now, he can’t. He did as he said he would! He up and challenged for the Woolsey Pack and won. He’s garnered himself a new family! A replacement pack.”

  Sophronia’s mind whirled. “Lord Vulkasin is dead?”

  Sidheag nodded, her anger abated and the tears returned.

  Sophronia was strangely relieved. She’d only seen the werewolf Alpha of the Woolsey Pack a few times, and had never been introduced, but he seemed cruel and unhinged. Knowing the world was without him was oddly cheering. But it didn’t solve Sidheag’s problem.

  “And now he’s lost to me. I had to choose.”

  Sophronia’s eyes widened as she grasped Sidheag’s meaning. “Are you saying you had to choose between the Kingair Pack and your grandfather?”

  Dimity’s face was white with distress. “Whyever would you have to do that?”

  Sophronia felt faintly ill. Poor Sidheag.

  “I canna maintain a relationship with both—Gramps killed his Beta. Killed him! Yet the pack betrayed Gramps. I just…” Sidheag paused, struggling to explain why she was rejecting the only father she had ever known. “It’s up to me to fix it, don’t you see?” Normally so taciturn, she became loquacious in her despair. “No matter what they tried to do, I love them. Someone has to look after them. Hold them together.”

  “Oh, dear Sidheag.” Dimity fairly crumpled in sympathy.

  Bumbersnoot, having been set on the floor by Sophronia, bumped up against Sidheag’s ankle, his tail tick-tocking slowly.

  “So if it’s not Lord Maccon with you, who is the other werewolf?” Sophronia asked.

  “Don’t you recognize him?” Sidheag seemed to think his identity obvious.

  “No. All the werewolves I’ve ever seen were in human form, except for Captain Niall.”

  Sidheag looked inquiringly at Dimity, who also shook her head.

  “That’s the dewan.”

  “The dewan!” Sophronia and Dimity said it together, shocked. Only the werewolf in
charge of all other werewolves. Only the queen’s personal adviser. Only the werewolf representative on the Shadow Council. Only the man who saw to werewolf assignments in the army itself!

  If Mumsy knew who she just called an animal she’d be mortified.

  The door opened and in came Captain Niall, decidedly too tall for Gresham’s clothes. The trousers were short as a cockle-hunter’s and the shirt was basically cuffless. Still, the important parts were covered. The captain, who was a bit of a fancy lad, for a werewolf, was uncomfortable in his shrunken getup, but presentable enough to be among humans. He came to crouch next to Sidheag, his handsome face deeply concerned, his trousers straining alarmingly. He put his back to the fire and placed a hand on the arm of the couch near Sidheag’s repulsive tweed skirts. His fingers twitched slightly, as if he would like to stroke her hand in sympathy. Sidheag, for her part, leaned into his presence, taking reassurance there. Neither had the courage to actually touch.

  They exchanged a single brief yet deep look of… sympathy? Something more?

  Sophronia couldn’t pinpoint what, but something significant had occurred between them on their recent journey. A connection had shifted, as if they saw each other as equals now.

  Then Captain Niall said, as there was no point in hiding the fact that both werewolves had overheard the conversation, “If I may present the gentleman in question?”

  Sidheag said, airily, “Oh, of course, no secrets here.”

  “There are always secrets,” corrected Sophronia softly.

  The dewan entered the Temminnicks’ shabby family parlor. Oh, how chagrined Mumsy will be. Then again, perhaps not. As silly as Captain Niall’s appearance was, the dewan looked sillier.

  He was a large man who had been metamorphosed somewhat late in life. He had dark hair tinged with gray, and a wide face with deep-set eyes. His mouth was a little too full, reminding Sophronia of Felix. He had a cleft in his chin, and his mustache and muttonchops were quite bushy. For a werewolf who was at least a hundred years old, the facial hair was stylishly modern. Unfortunately, Gresham’s clothing was stretched to indecency. It was doing little to disguise the necessary, and looked as if it might stop doing that at any moment. All the protruding parts, of which there were a great deal, were covered in such a quantity of hair as to make the young ladies present wonder if the dewan were not partly wolf all the time.

  Sidheag did not show the leader of all English werewolves any deference. She didn’t even bother to stand, merely saying, “Lord Slaughter, may I present my dearest friends, Miss Temminnick and Miss Plumleigh-Teignmott?”

  The dewan, with great dignity for a man so experimentally dressed, answered with, “Young ladies, how do you do?”

  Dimity and Sophronia curtsied, careful not to show any neck, as custom demanded. “My lord,” they said in unison.

  Sidheag said, lip curled, not looking at the great man, “He says there is nothing even he can do to change this outcome and I must stay out of it.”

  The dewan sighed the sigh of an older gentleman dealing with a hysterical young girl. “Lord Maccon has made his bed and must lie in it. That bed is Woolsey. Frankly, with Vulkasin the way he was, it is not so terrible an outcome. Politically, Lord Maccon will be good to have closer to town. I’ll give him plenty to do, keep him out of trouble.”

  Sidheag wailed, “But he has left Scotland forever! I must be allowed to attend my pack!”

  “Admirable sentiments, as I have said before, young lady. But they aren’t your pack, you are not a werewolf, and this is not your concern. Allow Captain Niall and me to manage Kingair, and me to deal with their punishment for attempted treason. Exile, I think, for a decade or two. Now that we have delivered you back to the safe bosom of your friends, we must be on our way. Captain, shall we?”

  Captain Niall stood, unhappy, and cleared his throat. He said to the assembled young ladies, “I do not blame Lord Maccon for his choices. For an Alpha werewolf to be betrayed by his Beta—there is no worse pain. It cuts through the heart and mind, but also what is left of the soul. It tears at the bonds of pack, the instinct that holds us as one unshakable group. Lord Maccon could never unify Kingair again after this, nor would he want to. But he is still strong enough to hold a pack. Woolsey will do well for him. Please, take care of your friend, and keep this in mind? Try to get her to understand?”

  Sidheag looked betrayed and unreasonably angered by his statement. She jumped to her feet, hands fisted at her sides. “I dinna give two tail shakes about Gramps! He has abandoned the others. What are they to do? What are we to do? How will my pack survive without an Alpha? Who will look after my uncles? Who will plead for a lesser punishment?”

  Captain Niall shook his head sadly. “Please, give us time, Lady Kingair. This is not your concern.”

  Sidheag said, softly, looking to Sophronia for understanding, “I asked Gramps to bite me.”

  Sophronia gasped.

  Dimity let out a squeak of alarm.

  Bumbersnoot trundled in a shocked circle, as if he actually understood what was happening.

  “Oh, Sidheag. You didn’t.” Sophronia tried to be gentle. Sidheag was suffering so much, but such a request was plain stupid.

  Sidheag growled, sounding rather werewolf-like. “He refused that, too! Too young, he said. Last of the Maccon line, he said. Not ready, he said.”

  “Female!” cried Dimity in frustration.

  Sidheag shook her head as if tossing aside the very fact of how unbelievably risky such a request was. Maybe one in a thousand men survived the bite and managed metamorphosis into a supernatural. And for women… well, Sophronia knew of only three female werewolves in all history.

  Sidheag looked to Captain Niall. “So, what are we going to do?”

  The werewolf said, not unkindly, “We are going to do nothing. You three are going to return to school, like good girls. I’ve written a note explaining Lady Kingair’s extended absence.”

  The dewan had grown increasingly impatient. “Niall, we really do not have the time to humor children further, not even Lady Kingair. As it is, we will lose a night’s travel tomorrow. It’s full moon, after all. We shouldn’t have come here. We should have tried for Kingair before the moon.”

  “We’d never have made it,” said the captain. Then, like a good loner, he acquiesced meekly to the dewan’s insistence, saying politely to the ladies, “I will take my leave of you now. Best wishes for safe travels back.”

  Sidheag looked for a long moment at the werewolf captain. It was almost one of those longing looks Lady Linette made them practice. Only this one, Sophronia thought, had a modicum of sincerity to it that she herself had yet to master. She felt guilty watching Sidheag expose her emotions in such a way—intrusive.

  So Sophronia turned to make her farewell to the dewan. “You will not stay to meet my mother? She’ll be sorry to have missed you, as Lord Slaughter, of course. I do not believe my parents play in the same political arena as the dewan.”

  He looked at her, concentrated on her as a person for the first time, and not an inconvenient schoolgirl. “And you will not tell them of your lessons at finishing school? Or of this conversation?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  The great man nodded. “Lady Linette does good work.”

  Dimity said nervously, “It was kind of you to escort Sidheag here.”

  “I should not have done so but for Captain Niall’s insistence. And he is necessary. Speaking of which, Captain? Now, please.” It was not a request.

  With the barest of courtesy, the two werewolves strode from the room.

  When Sophronia and Dimity turned back, Sidheag was trying to pull herself together, eyes glassy.

  “I can’t believe you rode through the night from London on wolf-back!” said Sophronia, gently applying admiration.

  “I can’t believe you requested the bite,” said Dimity, more accusatory.

  “I can’t believe my own Gramps turned me down,” huffed Sidheag, a little color returning to
her cheeks.

  “Thank goodness for small mercies,” said Sophronia.

  “You called, Ria my love?” said Lord Mersey, letting himself into the room.

  “Oh, mercies, Lord Mersey. Yes, I see. Ha ha,” Sophronia was quick to respond.

  “Don’t call her that,” said Soap, still entirely masked, following the other young man inside.

  “I tried to stop them, but goodness, it’s nice to get away from all those ruffles,” said Pillover, trailing in last of all. He bent to pat Bumbersnoot, who clattered in greeting.

  Sophronia said, “This is wonderful.” She walked to the door, stuck her head out, and said, “Would any other eligible young men like to join our party? I don’t know, to attract more of my mother’s unwanted attention?”

  Dimity said, on a slight smile, although still tending to Sidheag’s finer feeling, “Be sensible, Sophronia, we don’t know any other eligible young men.”

  The boys must have missed the two werewolves, for they made no mention of having seen the dewan. Lord Mersey, at least, would have recognized him and made some derogatory remark.

  Pillover and Soap settled easily into the group. Pillover being Dimity’s brother, and Soap Sophronia’s friend, they assumed levels of intimacy that would have given Mrs. Temminnick hysterics. For one thing, they sat far too close to the young ladies.

  Felix stayed to the outside, held back by society’s protocols. He pretended keen interest in Bumbersnoot.

  “What’s the dilemma, ladies?” he asked, perceptive enough.

  This was too much of a crisis to stand on social airs. “Come sit, Felix,” Sophronia said, intentionally dropping his title. “This is an emergency, no time for folderol. Soap, take off that ridiculous mask.”

  Felix started when Soap removed the mask. “You! The chimney sweep.”

  Soap swept him a seated bow. “The same.”

  Felix spluttered.

  Sophronia interrupted before things could get out of hand. “Both of you, behave. Now, Sidheag, what do you need from us? More tea?”

  Dimity began pouring for everyone. When it became clear the pot was likely to run dry, she went to the door, corralled a clangermaid, revived the pot, and returned, having wedged the door shut with an armchair as added precaution.