Defy or Defend

by Gail Carriger

  “Oh, crickets,” said Sir Crispin. His big body shuddered and he twitched in her hand.

  Dimity felt hot and powerful, only slightly terrified, and very eager. “Oh my,” she said, having lost her chatter in surprise at the warmth and hardness and how much it made her want more. “I have to, uh, go, I think, now, before I can’t.”

  With which she waltzed out, because there were things the Honey Bee needed to accomplish, and Dimity’s desires would have to wait a bit longer. Then she waltzed back in, in time to catch Sir Crispin adjusting himself and looking uncomfortable. Which was delightful.

  “Oh, and Cris, dear?”

  “Yes, Sparkles?” he said on a long sigh, voice sandy.

  “I’ve a shopping list for you. Be a love and go into town for me first thing?”

  “Of course, dear.”

  She blew him a kiss.

  “You’re going to be a terror, aren’t you?”

  She waggled her eyebrows at him, feeling tremendously pleased with herself. “If you’re very, very lucky.”

  He groaned happily, and she trotted back out, about her plans and schemes.

  Dimity’s list was extensive and it kept Crispin dashing about collecting packages, and ordering more stuff, and posting letters, and such like for positively hours. There was a list of very specific items that a town like Nottingham could provide, but only after much effort and expense.

  She had these noted in a neat hand:

  Absolutely Vital:

  1. Trouve automated rotating chamois.

  2. Any leather-bound volume by Ralph Waldo Emerson, poetry preferred, similar forward-thinking American authors also acceptable.

  3. A London playbill, something bold, successful, and recent, e.g. The Phantom of Bedlam’s Bottom.

  4. Parisian fashion plates, Spring 1869 only.

  5. Something frilly, pretty, and colorful – shawl perhaps? Use best judgement.

  6. Additional gentlemen’s ballet attire, perhaps not striped, but still tight, for you, of course – remember your adoring public.

  Cris did his best, but it took longer than he expected. He also retrieved the newly pressed key, not liking the danger it represented but knowing she was, in fact, good at her job.

  He returned in time for midnight tea, which had apparently become a tradition. Dimity had gathered everyone, from hive to new staff to visiting tradesfolk, in the dining room. There the humans were eating and the three vampires were holding court.

  Lord Finbar was bending the ear of Rosie, one of the new parlormaids. Or Cris thought that was her name. He was waxing poetical about something and she was looking up at him raptly, showing off the long slim column of her neck. Lord Finbar was still tortured by the woes of the world, but he was also clearly enjoying telling her all about his torment. In great detail.

  Lord Kirby was in animated discussion with a carpenter and an upholsterer about the interrelationship of wood and fabric. His silver hair was pulled back in a loose knot and his medieval robes appeared to be dark blue tonight rather than black, both an improvement on his original appearance. Unfortunately, the robe was still velvet. But as Dimity would say, these things took time.

  Justice was there too, sitting next to Dimity and engaging in what appeared to be a long argument on the nature of color choices, contrast versus complementary, and what they said about a person’s vital humors.

  Cris walked in, acquired a cup of tea, and sat down nearby in time to hear Dimity say, “I find whites very challenging, don’t you, Justice darling? They attract bits of dust and stray smudges so easily. I should so love to see you in color. White does so – for lack of a better term – whitewash you out.” She turned to the plasterer. “No offense, Mr Headicar. Honestly, Justice sweetie, your complexion is so wonderfully pale already. Don’t you think blue would set it off beautifully?”

  Justice looked intrigued. “Blue is Gantry’s favorite color.”

  “There, you see, I knew blue would suit. Shall we go shopping together? Tomorrow night perhaps? My husband is so busy about his dance practice and his errands, I should love to have you as an escort. We could look at night attire as well, find something frilly.”

  Justice hung his head only a little at the gentle dig. “Yes, I believe I owe you a new night-rail.”

  Dimity was clearly embarrassed to have such an intimate item mentioned at tea, but no one except Cris was listening to their conversation. “Yes, my dear, you might.” She lowered her voice conspiratorially and nodded towards Cris. “I believe my husband has expressed an interest in something comprising less material.”

  Justice looked with wide delighted eyes between them. “Then may I...?”

  Dimity nodded. “You may keep that one. But shopping is still in our future.” She evaluated Justice’s piratical white floppy shirt. “Perhaps something a bit more fitted?”

  Justice looked down at himself. “But I’m so thin.”

  “You’re svelte, darling!” Dimity protested. “You simply need the right cut and we shall see you for the perfect petite flower that you are. Gantry will adore it, I promise.”

  Justice nodded, still wide-eyed. “Blue... You’re certain?”

  “Without question,” Dimity sipped her tea gravely and nodded, then turned sparkling eyes on Sir Crispin. “Now, husband, have you brought me everything I asked for?”

  Cris knew a cue when he heard one. He finished his own tea, stood and came about to peck her on the cheek. “Of course, dear heart. I think I might practice next tonight, if there’s space for me? I left your packages in the hall.” He slipped her the old key and the copy, an easy exchange in her lap beneath the tablecloth.

  She grasped easily onto their artist personas. “Yes, you should, and I will play for you again. Did you find something less striped?”

  “Yes, I believe it should suffice. There’s very little ready-made sportswear hereabouts.”

  “Lace abounds, but not much else, I’m afraid.”

  Justice agreed, grave. “Nottingham is, fashionably speaking, sadly behind the times.”

  Dimity shrugged. “If we must send to London, we must, but I think we can make do. The sitting room should suffice for your use this evening, my dear. Would you bring me the automated chamois you acquired, please, before you change?”

  Cris left to do as requested, returning with a fancy box labeled Trouve in big swirling letters.

  Dimity took it from him with a grin, then passed it over to Lord Kirby. “Lord Kirby, this is for you.”

  The vampire looked truly surprised, as though no one had ever given him a gift before. It was possible it had been a long while – as patrons, vampires often gave gifts, but rarely received them. He opened it as if the box itself were something quite precious and extracted a large automated device that resembled a duster, but instead of a feathered end, it had a kind of knob covered in soft suede.

  “It’s a chamois for applying furniture polish. You see? You press that little lever there, just so, and ta-da!” Dimity pointed.

  The chamois whirred in a rapid and rather enthusiastic manner.

  The entire tea table gasped in approval.

  “Oh!” said Rosie, her eyes round in awe.

  Dimity looked to her. “Would you like the duster version, Rosie? The same handle apparatus comes decorated with yellow enamel flowers and a puffy lambswool duster at the end.”

  “Oh yes, please, ma’am!”

  “I am afraid my husband needs to dance after tea, but perhaps, Lord Finbar, if you would be so kind? Mr Carefull can tell you where to purchase it.”

  Lord Finbar looked quite pleased to be asked to go on an errand for a parlormaid. “I would be not undelighted to provide the necessary lambswool.”

  “Oh, Lord Finbar, you are too kind!” Rosie jumped on her cue. Cris thought she was quite perceptive.

  Lord Kirby twirled his chamois again. He looked shyly at Dimity. “It’s really very fine, isn’t it? I’d no idea
such things existed.”

  “My dear Lord Kirby, there is a whole world of gadgetry awaiting you.”

  Cris watched this whole exchange with a kind of awed pride. His Sparkles did remarkably good work. With one wood polisher, she’d convinced Lord Finbar to leave the house in pursuit of a love token, gotten Lord Kirby interested in the modern age, and guided both vampires into chatting happily with the humans amongst them.

  Even Justice was looking with interest at the exchange and the chamois. Taking stock of others rather than dwelling solely on his own tragic love story.

  Dimity turned to the vampire waif next to her. “They are applying similar technology to curling tongs these days. It’s really quite fantastical.”

  “Do go on, Mrs Carefull. I am all interest,” replied the vampire.

  “Well,” Dimity was saying, while Cris left the room, “Your hair, of course, is perfectly lovely, but if we added a little curl to it, a touch more, simply imagine how well it would bounce as you walked down the stairs, or cast yourself into Mr Ogdon-Loppes’s arms? Bouncing hair is all the rage these days. I mean to say, hair that flows is very becoming too, but bounce, I assure you, is the way of the future.”

  Cris left her to it. Without question, she had everything well in hand. Even the bouncing. Especially the bouncing.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The Tragedy of the Colors

  And so it proved to be the case.

  By the end of their first week at the Nottingham Hive, Lord Kirby had begun to carry around his automated chamois in a special holster that Justice found for him while out shopping with Dimity. Lord Kirby treated the chamois more as a kind of pet than an actual functioning tool, patting it affectionately from the sash he now wore about his robes.

  Crispin made this observation to Dimity.

  Dimity instantly sent Cris out about town to enquire after puppies – Corgi puppies in particular. Everyone knew Corgis were a good dog breed for the supernatural set.

  By Sunday, a big-eared, short-coupled, enthusiastic Corgi puppy was suddenly in their midst. The puppy spent a good deal of time tripping everyone up as they went about their decorating tasks and leaving hair on positively everything, especially the black velvet. No doubt this was part of Dimity’s intent in acquiring him – Corgis and velvet were incompatible. The little chap was so patently adorable that no one minded – they simply paused to pet him and tell him how marvelous he was. He had a tendency to stare deeply into one’s eyes and then roll over given the slightest sign of affection. Lord Kirby was instantly enamored, and named the puppy The Tragedy of the Commons, as if he were a racing steed instead of a dog. This got rather quickly shortened to Trudge. Cris even saw Mr Theris sneak the puppy treats on more than one occasion.

  As the house came to colorful life about them, Cris began to notice other changes Dimity had wrought as well.

  Justice left off the piratical white shirts, and started wearing colorful silken robes, long skirts, and eventually, with a mix of delight and self-consciousness, a becoming blue day dress.

  No one batted an eye. Vampires were known to be eccentric. In fact, Justice looked so much like a vampire queen, Cris thought (with amusement, mind you) that agents coming in fresh to Budgy Hall knowing it had vampires in residence would get mighty confused. The Nottingham Hive now apparently boasted two female vampires, and when had that ever happened? Never. Not in the history of hives.

  Not that any of them had seen the actual hive queen yet. Crispin wondered if this was Dimity’s secondary solution. If the baroness remained sane but refused ever to appear above ground again, Justice could simply be the de facto queen, and no one would really be the wiser.

  Cris wondered if that would work.

  When asked directly, Dimity said she’d consider it, and she would ask Justice how he felt about female pronouns. They left it at that for the time being. With the threat of death and BUR intervention riding on the reappearance of the baroness, that had to be the priority. Besides, BUR could be right in its extreme measures – if the queen remained below, there was a good chance the hive would slide back into Goth the moment Dimity left.

  On the bright side, after a week Lord Finbar had improved considerably. He’d given over the romantics and was reading some of the more modern poets. He was also exploring transcendentalism. His jackets were still black velvet and drooping, but he’d started to branch out in the area of cravats. With Rosie’s gentle encouragement, he’d been persuaded into a blood-red satin fluff. Dimity said she had high hopes that jewel tones were in his immediate future.

  Cinjin Theris proved the most challenging. Despite being the recipient of playbills lauding the delights of the stages of London, he remained stubbornly in Nottingham. Dimity said she’d hoped he would leave of his own volition – finding himself on the losing end of hive control, the road to theatrical fame might seem an easier goal.

  Eventually Dimity suggested that Cris try applying some pressure, Mr Theris being the type of man never to trust a woman in any way.

  Cris caught the actor one evening reciting a piece of Shakespeare to the new kitchen staff. Cris was impressed despite himself. The man did have a genuine talent for the stage. Crispin spent a good hour convincing Theris that he should at least visit London, simply to experience some small amount of its dramaturgic wonders and expose directors to his manifold talents. Cris was as flattering as he could be to a man he abhorred.

  “But my lady, the baroness! Her needs must be met,” protested the drone, emphasising that he alone was responsible for delivering nibbly shepherdesses to the vampire queen.

  Cris shrugged. “My wife will take care of it.”

  Mr Theris evaluated him. “Send you to do it, will she?”

  Cris was wearing his new dancing costume. It was plain and gray, but still tight, and looked almost like the attire Arctic explorers donned under their suits for warmth.

  Mr Theris curled a lip. “She’d like your looks. Except, of course, that she doesn’t like any kind of change, so she might also engage in a bout of histrionics.”

  Cris nodded gravely. “But you need to think of your own career. She doesn’t value you as an actor, clearly. Has she ever even asked you to perform for her?”

  “Well, no, now that you mention it.”

  “You are owed your patronage dues as drone too, do you know that? Ethically and legally.”

  “It’s not like I feed her.” His voice was petulant. Clearly, he got the queen her shepherdesses on sufferance. Cris wondered if this was part of his obsession with controlling the hive. Had the queen stopped sucking from his neck after her retreat, thus irreparably damaging his confidence in his role as her drone and his place in the hive?

  “Well there, you see? She’ll be fine if you go down to visit London.”

  “And the others? Lord Finbar and Lord Kirby occasionally sip from me.”

  “Lord Finbar has Rosie now. And I believe Lord Kirby and the carpenter are coming to an arrangement. You will be missed, of course, but the hive should be fine for a short while.” Cris wanted to emphasize that Theris’s control over the hive was slipping, and that he had other options, without his feeling too threatened.

  The arrogant fellow did seem to be considering the proposition.

  Cris sweetened the pot. “It seems such a shame to deprive London of your skills. You could simply... find out.”

  “I suppose a few days away couldn’t hurt.”

  Crispin went in for the kill. “I’m giving you a letter of introduction to an acquaintance of mine, Lord Akeldama. Perhaps you’ve heard of him?”

  “Who hasn’t? Nottingham isn’t the ends of the earth, you know. He funds half the plays in the West End, and even an opera or two.” The actor’s tone was one of extreme avarice.

  “So, you realize what he can do for you? He could buy your contract off this hive, either to be his drone or to put you on the stage as his new favored star.”

  “Interesting pros
pect.” Theris narrowed his eyes. No doubt he knew what Crispin was trying to do – get him away from the Nottingham hive. But if the results were to his advantage, he was the kind of man to take until there was nothing left to give.

  “Isn’t it, though?” Crispin had reservations about Theris’s character, but they were the kinds of flaws that a vampire like Lord Akeldama might enjoy taking advantage of. Plus, the drone really was a very good actor, and Lord Akeldama was also an extensive patron of the theatre, morals or no morals. It might indeed work out positively for all concerned.

  Dimity could not be more pleased by her successes over the course of their first week. She was generally best at this kind of mission, but never before had she had one more exactly suited to her particular talents. She thought it might be time to approach the queen soon – setting the stage to advantage first, of course.

  Really, she found herself thinking more than once, why hasn’t the War Office had me work with vampires before? Perhaps I should have taken a job with BUR from the get-go.

  Now that she had managed to lift the three hive members out of their collective doldrums, Dimity was really rather enjoying their company. Lord Kirby, in particular, was a reluctant charmer. He never smiled, of course, but there was something pleasing about the intensity of his adoration for mahogany, and something sweet about the way he glowered while shaking a finger in reprimand at Trudge. The Corgi, of course, only licked the cool finger and went about his doggie business trailing the enamoured Lord Kirby after him.

  Lord Kirby even complimented Dimity on her modernizing Budgy Hall. He was the only one to notice that more gas lighting had been installed. The old metal runners in the halls had been ripped up too, the ones for the mechanicals that no longer existed. Dimity updated the flooring and then put down colorful new Persian rugs to match the wallpaper. Lord Kirby said they were lovely and soft and wouldn’t Justice appreciate them under his bare feet as he wafted about?