The Pyramids of London

by Andrea K Höst

  "That depends on his reaction to Aedric and Eiliff's names." She glanced at Makepeace, who had propped his head on one fist. "As you say, the one who commissioned those automatons had small reason to steal them. We had a second visitor to Forest House—searching through the attic where Eleri has been setting up her workroom. So far as I can tell, this one came in through the street-side attic windows, and it took longer for the folies to notice. I don't think that bull creature could manage that."

  "Mm." It was difficult to tell if his boredom was feigned. "What did you expect 'Felix' would end up doing?"

  Rian stared. She'd said that when alone with Eleri and Eluned, with only Griff and the talkative young page nearby, and not within earshot. "How did you—?"

  Princess Aerinndís' husky voice cut through her confusion. "He can make you not notice him. The Amon-Re line can control minds." Hands neatly folded on the table, the Crown Princess looked merely disinterested when Makepeace turned an expression of genuine annoyance on her. "Pouting from someone so ancient is ever entertaining, Comfrey, but it wastes time. Accident or not, you've bound yourself an apprentice. Use her effectively, for in this matter I have no patience left for games."

  She had very dark blue eyes. It took increasing effort not to fall into them.

  Makepeace sighed as if greatly put-upon, but then lifted a shoulder. "Wednesday recognised the one calling himself Gaius Silvanus, come with the head of Ficus Lapis to show the progress of the tunnelling. In this fashion for taking the old Republic names, that one is exceptionally common, almost a cliché, and thus infinitely suspicious attached even to the junior assistant of a very reputable engineering firm. So who is this 'Felix'?"

  Putting aside the rather large revelation concerning the Amon-Re line's abilities, Rian said: "He's from the Tarinus branch of the Silvanii. Gaius Silvanus Tarinus. Felix is simply a family pet name."

  Makepeace clicked his tongue. "Now I know the expectations."

  "What relation to Darius Silvanus Tarinus?" Princess Aerinndís asked.

  "Grandson," Rian said. "Favourite grandson. The omens around his birth were particularly good, and when I knew him he was being groomed to be the family's bright hope, was in Dacia to observe a successful Proconsul's handling of his duties. Though that was ten years ago, and as I said I would not have expected to find him outside the territories of the Republic. Not digging tunnels, at any rate."

  "Perhaps he likes trains," Princess Leodhild said. "A lot of people do."

  The good humour of her words was belied by narrowed eyes and the glance she offered her niece, who responded only with: "I'll look into it."

  Rian hoped she hadn't brought unnecessary trouble down on Felix's head. After all, it was possible he had fallen out of favour, or simply refused his family's plans for him and pursued a career outside of politics. But his grandfather had served multiple times as one of the New Republic's Consuls and it truly was odd for Felix to be working in London.

  Still, while Rome would certainly care deeply about functioning artificial fulgite, Felix had no obvious connection to Aedric, so Rian set him aside and returned to her core concern.

  "Did you find anything suspect in Caerlleon?"

  Makepeace, still propped on one fist, shifted his gaze back to her. "The local Constabulary think you sadly obsessed, looking for conspiracies in an obvious accident."

  That was no revelation. "Yes. They liked to hold up Eluned as proof of Eiliff and Aedric's lack of care. I've done my best to prevent Eluned from realising that. What of Aedric's apprentice?"

  "The boy was right." Makepeace, clearly aware of how she stiffened at his words, waited a double beat before continuing. "A friend of this Willa's asked her to buy what she could—told her he planned to start his own workshop, and didn't want his current employer to realise. That same friend fronted the auction, unusually well-funded, and made any number of purchases. Primarily of containers of smaller objects. And then he died."

  "At the auction?" Princess Leodhild asked.

  "The evening after he took delivery, though he wasn't found until several days later. Fell and broke his neck, very clumsy. His purchases were still there, though, and his family had them on-sold in due course. But there would have been plenty of time to search through them."

  "A literal dead end, then?"

  "Not quite. The man had his friends. He managed to not gossip about his purchases, but he was known to associate with the local grey trade. The thriving market there is stolen fulgite, of course, but if that's the reason for his involvement, how did they know these two pieces of fulgite existed in the first place? And why weren't you and those brats of yours attacked before Sheerside?"

  "Did Willa know about the fulgite?" Rian asked.

  "No. Only about the commission of an automaton, and she seems to have taken that at face value."

  "That's all I knew as well, before Sheerside," Rian said. "The children had managed to keep it strictly secret, and Aedric and Eiliff had certainly taken pains to obscure the true nature of their commission. If they succeeded, the most likely source of information would be whoever commissioned them."

  "And when a hasty search gave them only one of the fulgite pieces..." Makepeace lifted his head from its prop, frowning. "Ma'at vampires are far from the only truth diviners among the god-touched. If someone of that sort had questioned you when you didn't know about the fulgite, that would explain the progression, and the determination to get hold of the household contents."

  If that was correct, then Rian had talked to one of the thieves—the most probable people behind Aedric and Eiliff's deaths. But she had spoken to dozens while sorting out the estate, none of whom stood out as particularly unusual.

  Saying this, she added: "And then something happened to make them decide I had it after all. It's possible Dama Hackett mentioned a strangely-behaved automaton, but since no-one stole Monsieur Doré while I was unconscious, that seems unlikely. Which leaves the sudden interest of a sphinx. If those sphinxes have an interest in the artificial fulgite, perhaps whoever stole the other piece has encountered them already."

  She turned to Princess Leodhild, careful to keep her tone entirely unassuming. "Did you have any fulgite with you, Your Highness?"

  Princess Leodhild looked unexpectedly amused. "I did not. But that creature was not interested in me at all. Only the room I was in."

  Princess Aerinndís studied her aunt, then said: "I recall hearing that Prince Gustav assisted in fighting off the attack."

  "Roared about distractingly, at least. Though that axe of his is something of the Aesir's, and might well have done some damage if he'd been silly enough to actually engage the creature." She chuckled. "Too clever for his own good, that one, with his pretty little wing painted on his wrist. Lovely shoulders, though."

  'A man with a painted wing' was someone who saved money while not caring about the cost to others. Rian had encountered a couple on her own account, and treated them with due contempt, for the Dose was far cheaper than the equivalent the Thoth-den had developed for women. Prince Gustav's motives were unlikely to be penny-pinching, despite Prytennia's laws and centuries of Suleviae rule making clear the futility of staking claim to the Trifold throne by means of a blood tie.

  Her reminiscent smile fading, Princess Leodhild continued: "There was an interesting lamp in his room. A small thing in a leather holder, not much larger than a travelling clock. It cast patterns on the ceiling. The cabinet it stood on was crushed, and I'm not certain what happened to the lamp. Once we knew about this fulgite issue, I amused myself asking Msrah whether he happened to own such a thing. Which he does not."

  "No reason to suspect it's powered by artificial fulgite," Makepeace said.

  "It can be a working assumption," Princess Leodhild said, shrugging magnificently. "We need to get on, try to draw some conclusions. Let us say the sphinxes are connected to the windstorms—based on their appearance during a prolonged storm, and Egypt's sudden interest in helping us—and that they are hu
nting certain pieces of fulgite. And here is a thought: that theft of the fulgite shipment at the beginning of the year—that happened before the first of the windstorms, did it not?"

  "Well before," Makepeace said.

  "When did this latest spate of haunted automaton stories break out?"

  "Those never really go away, but again...since the theft."

  "Excellent. So the shipment contained special fulgite—artificial or haunted—and these sphinxes want it particularly. They certainly seem able to find it, if our understanding of the events at Sheerside are correct, which suggests some connection. Perhaps it's the Egyptians who have developed a process for creating artificial fulgite. A god-touched method would explain the success."

  The princess glanced at Makepeace, who didn't respond, so she continued.

  "But even if that was so, it does not explain the determination to retrieve fulgite if they can produce it. There must be something more, a reason why the Huntresses have descended on us in such force."

  "It was news of the sphinxes that brought them," Makepeace said. "Not fulgite."

  "Sphinxes from Hatshepsu's tomb, hunting fulgite, and in turn sought by Egypt." The princess pursed her lips. "Could Hatshepsu herself have Answered? Done something to her tomb guardians that allows them to produce fulgite?"

  "What, lay it like eggs?"

  Princess Leodhild made a choking noise, then threw her head back and laughed. Makepeace grimaced, but Princess Aerinndís smiled.

  Rian looked away, and found Makepeace was watching her, but thankfully he didn't comment, simply saying: "I hope you're wrong, Hildy."

  "So am I," Princess Leodhild said, sobering. "If this is artificial fulgite, and it is produced not by chemical process, but by some god-touched gift, and whatever produces it is here..."

  "Then we will no doubt receive many more deputations offering to help with windstorms," Princess Aerinndís said, unmoved by visions of disaster. "This theory is almost entirely guesswork."

  "Oh yes, held together by string and paste," Princess Leodhild agreed. "Still, the timing makes me fairly certain that there is a link between the storms and those sphinxes, and the sphinxes and the fulgite. The rest, well, we shall see. What about this climbing bull of yours, Comfrey? Linked to the sphinxes?"

  "It didn't resemble anything I've seen out of Egypt. At a guess, that belongs to the thieves."

  "A better description than 'a clawed bull' would help me in searching for it," Princess Aerinndís said.

  "How many clawed bulls could there be in London?"

  "Do you have paper and a pencil?" Rian asked. "I saw enough to give you an idea of it."

  Directed to the table behind her, Rian produce a clean sketch, and slid it across to the Crown Princess.

  "And yet, not an hour ago, you told me you hadn't the talent for art," Princess Leodhild said.

  "I was thoroughly trained. This is simply a skill for me, not a calling."

  "The winds can play with that then," Makepeace said, tilting his head to glance at the picture. "And send it off to Bermondsley to see whether she can identify it among the known god-touched—it's rare there's something I don't recognise. I'll continue on after the thieves. Hildy, you could, perhaps, tolerate more of Gustav in order to see where leading questions take you. And Wednesday will pursue Folly."

  There was a hint of mockery in that last, which Rian ignored, her own attention on the Crown Princess' hands as she lifted the sketch.

  "What of the second piece of fulgite?" Princess Aerinndís asked. "Do you not want to send it for analysis?"

  "The original experiment—the idea that this particular fulgite will produce an automaton capable of functioning without command—is worth pursuing." Makepeace folded his arms, and dropped his head down to rest on them, adding: "The thing is moving, isn't it?"

  "Not while we've been there," Rian said. "But it was no longer in the place we left it. The amasen wouldn't have shifted it?"

  "Lila has been tasked with guarding and reporting, no more."

  Blinking at the discovery of a name, Rian said: "You can speak to them?"

  "Cernunnos can."

  "Then that's settled for now," Princess Leodhild said, briskly. "Thank you for coming in, Dama Seaforth, and do send word if anyone else pronounces you saviour of Prytennia. Don't forget that Tete wants you, Comfrey."

  Makepeace heaved another sigh, but levered himself out of his chair obediently. Rian quickly followed suit, making the briefest of bows before trailing her vampire out. She couldn't resist stealing one last glance back at the Crown Princess, languidly rising, and then put the woman out of her thoughts.

  Ignoring Makepeace's derisive expression she said: "You really were at Forest House all along? Griff will be disappointed—he's very attached to the idea of a secret entrance to the house."

  Her vampire didn't respond immediately, climbing the spiral stair. But he paused in the shade of the tower's portico entrance and turned a measuring look on her. Rian was aware of her own heartbeat quickening, but ignored the memory of teeth, not allowing physical fear to keep her from meeting his gaze.

  "No," he said, eventually. "Only at the end. I came in through the grove, as I do here."

  "Grove? In Gwyn Lynn Palace?"

  "Any collection of trees is a grove to Cernunnos." Makepeace followed the edge of the portico around to a walkway heavily draped in vines, and strode on ahead, passing quickly through a section where the wind-burned leaves let through the hazy light of the afternoon sun.

  Wondering how many of the design decisions of the palace had been made to accommodate the Wind's Dog, Rian waited until the man had reached a shadier point, then said: "I was thinking that the Suleviae were demonstrating a remarkable trust in my ability to hold my tongue, but of course it's simply that you've made it impossible for me to speak out of turn."

  "You were the one looking to put a collar around your throat."

  "The children weren't." The standard mesmeric abilities of vampires did not allow for nuanced commands, but she'd felt him lay an order to hold their tongues upon them. A control of minds, perception—what would that permit?

  "Are you an open secret? Had I just not heard the gossip?"

  He ignored her, leading the way into the Sulevia Leoth's section of the royal residences, to an uncomfortably warm room thrumming with song. The children sprawled on cushions, and shifted as the two triskelion descended to whirl around Makepeace's head.

  "Go roast someone else," he said, waving a hand as if shooing flies. "Tete, I hope you've something worthwhile to show me."

  The youngest of the Gwyn Lynn family jumped to her feet and took the dangling cuff of Makepeace's sleeve in both her hands.

  "She has a whole sequence done," Princess Iona said, levering herself up on one elbow while the rest of the children clambered upright. "Tete makes lumiscope strips," she added, her gaze now on Rian. "She won't show them to us until Comfrey has sneered at them."

  The youngest princess was pulling Makepeace urgently toward one of the room's three exits, but Griff had set himself up as a roadblock.

  "Why don't you talk old-fashioned?"

  Makepeace sidestepped. "Why would I?"

  "Because people talked differently back when you were growing up?"

  "People talk differently in Lutèce as well, but I see no reason to speak French to you." He glanced at Rian. "I'll send one of the midges to see you out."

  "I'll do that," Prince Luc said.

  "So obliging, Luc," Princess Iona murmured from her cushions. "What are you up to?"

  "Indulging my curiosity," her brother said. "You never look properly."

  "What's that supposed to mean?" The princess began to sit up, but then lay back as if the effort was too great. "Ah, I'll get it out of you later. Lovely to meet you all. Thanks for the excuse to skip lessons."

  Rian was pleased with her charges for responding with reasonable aplomb, particularly as one Gwyn Lynn was disappearing out the room, a second half-asleep, an
d the third's attention almost entirely on the animal in her lap. The last quietly indicated an exit.

  The twins seemed particularly subdued, but Griff's spirits bounded as soon they were out of sight of the puppy, and he peered eagerly in every direction, keen to view as much of the palace as possible.

  "I intended to ask our escort if we could visit the Stone Garden," Rian said to the young prince, "but I suspect that's where you're taking us."

  "Then I was right," Prince Luc said, looking pleased. "It took me an age to work out why your nephew seemed so familiar."

  "Me? What do you mean?"

  Attention divided, Griff almost walked into the page who had been their initial guide, who had clearly been lurking ready to escort them back. She skipped nimbly aside, and at a word from the prince fell into step behind them.

  "You look a great deal like your father when he was your age," Rian explained.

  "What's that got to do with anything?" Griff studied the prince suspiciously. "You never met my father, did you?"

  "In a way, I grew up with him," Prince Luc said. "You'll see in a minute, we're nearly there."

  They had reached the Crossing Gallery, and headed right, collecting numerous interested glances and a discreet escort of the guard who had been stationed at the entrance to the royal residences. The Stone Garden was only a short walk beyond the Gallery: a conservatory looking out over the western reach of Lake Gwyn Lynn, its glass and restrained plantings carefully designed to complement a work that had taken so many years of Charlotte Seaforth's life.

  "The Processional," Eluned said, brightening. "I was hoping to see it."

  "One of the highlights of the palace," Prince Luc said, and added to Griff: "Can you see what I meant now?"

  The look Griff offered him was deeply suspicious, and the boy walked toward the centre of the room as if expecting some trick or trap. Rian watched his face anticipating the moment of recognition, but the unreality of the day combined with fragments of her own childhood and made it difficult to overlook that this was the first opportunity Rian herself had had to see her mother's masterwork in full. She had become someone who counted, who received invitations, and could go to a palace as a guest not a servant, using the front entrance, even indulged with tours of its treasures. And this abrupt increase in her own value had so little to do with her determined effort to climb out of a well, but mere circumstance.