Reticence

by Gail Carriger

  But Percy reserved his true and utter ire, his loathing above all other loathings, for weddings.

  Quite apart from everything else, they were the one social event for which a gentleman couldn’t readily form an excuse. Add that to the fact that weddings inevitably included flocks of young ladies driven to twitterpations, with marriage on the brain, and Percy within their grasp – pure torture.

  It wasn’t the young ladies’ fault per se. Percy found the society of most people tedious. The exchange of meaningless pleasantries required by polite society was an insult to his intellect. If he had to discuss the weather one more time he might… well, there was no knowing what he might do. No doubt he would find out at this event, because weddings brought out the worst in everyone.

  The only upside of a wedding was that during the first part one wasn’t required to do anything but sit in an uncomfortable pew.

  It occurred to Percy, while he shifted about to keep the blood flowing to his nether regions, that he was profoundly relieved his sister had a preference for her own sex. He’d have to thank her later. It meant that the chances of Percy ever having to actively participate in one of these blasted things was slim.

  Percy brought along a book about jellyfish migratory patterns, which was quite fascinating. He spent the entire ceremony reading that. He wasn’t a fool, though. He’d selected it in part because the outside was red and gilt, making it look biblical. The sacred jellyfish pilgrimage. He amused himself imagining the presiding bishop, a well-bearded elderly gentleman with unfortunate ears, wearing a mantle of jellyfish.

  No doubt it was a perfectly nice ceremony. Percy chose not to notice.

  As they left the church, Percy with Primrose on one arm and Tasherit on the other (for the sake of appearances), he realized his sister was crying.

  “What’s wrong, Tiddles? Surely it wasn’t all that awful.”

  “It was beautiful.”

  “Uh?” He looked hopefully at Tash for support, but even she seemed slightly overcome. Most un-catlike of her.

  Prim dabbed her eyes with an embroidered handkerchief. “It went so smoothly. And everyone is here. Well, not Rue’s blood parents or our mother but that’s probably for the best. Although I’m certain Rue misses her paw most awfully. Lord Akeldama did a glorious job of escorting her, don’t you feel? He looked so proud and beautiful. That outfit. Extraordinary. Like a great sparkling aspic jelly.” Apparently, Lord Akeldama’s apparel was sufficient to start the waterworks again.

  Percy looked around, bewildered. He caught sight of their too-lovely new doctor, who seemed mostly amused at being thrust unexpectedly upon a wedding. This was good. She’d need to be relaxed about getting thrust into things, if she were to survive The Spotted Custard. Then he realized he was staring at her – again! – which was vexing and, evidently, a new failing of his. He looked quickly back at his leaky sister.

  “Lord and Lady Maccon aren’t here? I hadn’t noticed.”

  “You hadn’t noticed? You hadn’t noticed that the bride’s parents were in absentia? Oh Percy, for goodness’ sake. It’s not as if Lord Maccon could be mistaken for Lord Akeldama, and you know they would have both led her down the aisle if he were present. And it’s not as if you can overlook Rue’s mother, either, if she’s in a room. I mean Aunt Alexia isn’t exactly quiet. Of course they aren’t here! Rodrigo is here. Aunt Alexia wouldn’t even be able to be in the same city as him, remember? I think that’s the general breadth of preternatural effect, the weather being clear and all. We’re lucky, it being springtime.”

  Marvellous, thought Percy, we’re on to the weather already.

  “We’re off to see them next,” Prim continued in a tone suggesting Percy ought already to know this.

  Percy considered. Did I know? Sometimes people made plans around him while he was thinking about more important things. Like whether time travelled in waves, lines, or cycles, or if it was a particulate gas, like aether. Hummm …

  “Percy? Percy!”

  “What? Oh yes, where are we going next?”

  “Casually floating to Egypt.” That was Tasherit’s amused addendum.

  Percy glared at her. “I missed the part where Rue’s parents weren’t invited. That isn’t odd? In a wedding? No parent?”

  Prim clasped her free hand to her chest and glared at him. But at least she’d stopped crying. They’d joined the bride’s side and were waiting to throw flowers (or shoes, or small bits of bacon, or something equally ridiculous) at the wedded couple. Peculiar custom.

  Percy made it a point never to throw anything.

  He looked around, avoiding Prim’s exasperated frown, and nodded at Madame Lefoux and Miss Imogene, who stood on the groom’s side. Miss Imogene was beaming and even Madame Lefoux was showing dimples. They clearly approved the match. Percy wondered if he could bend Madame Lefoux’s ear about Floote’s tank at some point. His calculations suggested a few modifications might be in order. He didn’t want to discuss this with Quesnel, because, well… Quesnel was irksome.

  Prim kept talking, unfortunately. “Not invited! Of course they’re invited! But you know Rue’s father can’t leave Egypt anymore.”

  “He can’t?” Percy had lost the conversational thread.

  “Oh my goodness, Percival Ormond Tunstell! Must you be so tiresome? Remember the whole trip where we floated them to Egypt and how we had to keep Lord Maccon in the tank because he was going mad?”

  Percy nodded. “Oh yes, that’s right. I see, well, good thing they didn’t attend the ceremony, isn’t it? Why didn’t you say so at the start? Wouldn’t do to have an insane werewolf at a wedding.”

  Prim emitted an exasperated wheezing noise.

  “What was that, young Percy?” A warm voice spoke behind them.

  The Alpha of the local werewolf pack and his Beta had joined their party.

  Primrose turned to the two gentlemen in evident relief. “Oh, Lord Falmouth, what a pleasure. Do save me from my brother? He’s so impossible. And Professor Lyall, what a delight to find you back in London at long last. Are you enjoying the move to Blackheath?”

  Lord Falmouth, otherwise known as Biffy, gave Prim a small polite smile. “We are indeed. It suits the pack well. Thank you for asking. A very pleasant evening to you too, my dear, and you, Percy. And Lady Tasherit! I’d no idea you’d be staying with the Custard. Surely all that floating about can’t be good for the supernatural constitution?”

  “I manage.” Tasherit looked as smug as only a feline could when confronted with a lycanthrope. Werecats are superior to werewolves in this matter. She didn’t say it, but even Percy, who wasn’t a perceptive person, heard her unspoken words. Fortunately, she wasn’t looking to tease the wolves too much, as she quickly added, “The little one here gave me good reason to stay.”

  “Did she indeed?” Biffy’s eyes ran approvingly over the two ladies. “Excellent. Lovely hat, by the way, Miss Primrose.”

  Prim clutched at Percy’s arm and let out a small sigh. As if the Alpha’s hat accolades meant something profound. Well, Percy supposed that Lord Falmouth was a noted authority on all things hat. He also possessed a great deal of social standing as London’s first Alpha dandy. It was nice to know his sister had the wolves on her side, if the vampires decided to object to Prim’s choices in hats, or romantic partners, for that matter.

  Primrose hadn’t yet told their mother about Tasherit.

  Percy hoped his mother wouldn’t ruin everything. He liked Tasherit and he liked Prim with Tasherit. It was nonsense for anyone to feel otherwise. Although, to be fair, their mother was entirely composed of nonsense.

  He looked back at Miss Imogene and Madame Lefoux. They’d been together for ages. So it was clearly possible for two ladies to give a good showing.

  The conversation had gone on, as usual, without Percy. This is what comes of weddings, he thought glumly. I fritter away my considerable intellect thinking about relationships, and emotions, and my mother.

  A lull and Percy could ask s
omething that actually interested him. “How’s the research trundling along these days, Professor Lyall?”

  That permitted Percy and the pack Beta a modest scientific discourse, while everyone poured out of the church and assembled to either side of the doorway.

  Biffy was soon flanked by members of his pack, most of whom Percy ought to know well enough to name, but didn’t. The only one he did know, the odious Gamma, Major Channing, was not in attendance. Biffy explained that Channing had something to do for the Bureau of Unnatural Registry in Hyde Park.

  “Not good at weddings, anyway, our Channing,” explained Professor Lyall.

  Percy wondered if he himself might utilize a similar excuse going forward?

  Finally Rue and Quesnel, arm in arm and safely wed, walked out. Well, waddled in Rue’s case.

  The assembled decklings, sooties, and other scamps from The Spotted Custard let go their dirigible candle lanterns, which floated up into the night. They also set forth a cacophony of hoots and whistles. Everyone else threw flowers, mostly snowdrops, and not bacon. Percy was slightly disappointed.

  “Oh, it’s as pretty as I planned.” His sister pressed her free hand to her mouth in an excess of delight.

  “You did good, little one.” Tasherit’s voice had that tone it only got around Prim. Warm enough to make Percy uncomfortable.

  Biffy said, “You organized the wedding, Miss Primrose?”

  “Of course she did.” Percy was moved to defence by the wonder in the werewolf’s tone. “Primrose organizes everything.” Only he was allowed to criticize his sister.

  “That was approval, young man, not censure.” Biffy was not at all riled. He was remarkably calm, for a werewolf Alpha. Not at all like Rue’s father, who was, in Percy’s opinion, a temperamental grouch.

  Rue and Quesnel did look remarkably happy and pleased with life (even Percy had to grudgingly admit that). Following them came Lord Akeldama and a small bevy of drones. Last out of the church were Rodrigo and Anitra, who’d stood up with the couple.

  They’d discussed it being Primrose and Percy in the positions of honour. But Prim wanted to be in the crowd making certain everything went smoothly. Percy flat-out refused. In the end, Rue had been persuaded by the irony of it all, having the cousin who had tried to kill her stand as witness. It held a certain paradox that appealed to her sense of humour. Not to mention that Anitra, wearing her best Drifter robes, all gold fringed and foreign, was a jab in the eye of every British snob there.

  For as long as he’d known her (and that was his entire life), Rue hated to do anything the normal way, so Percy was not surprised that she took her vows with an Italian preternatural best man and an aravani matron of honour – damn the consequences.

  Dr Ruthven was standing with the decklings. Spoo was bending her ear. Virgil was nearby, sporting an impossibly tall top hat. Percy was glad she’d company but also envious of the two young persons. She was clearly delighted by their antics, clapping as the lantern dirigibles floated up.

  Professor Lyall was suddenly next to him. At some point Prim had dropped Percy’s arm and taken Biffy’s instead.

  “The Italian who stood up with Quesnel, he looks familiar. Like someone I knew long ago.”

  Percy tilted his head. “Rodrigo Tarabotti. Rue’s cousin.”

  Professor Lyall started. “Preternatural?”

  “Of course. Otherwise Lady Maccon, at least, would be in attendance.”

  “I didn’t know.” Professor Lyall was usually so inscrutable. Yet his eyes were suddenly swimming with emotion. Sad? Happy? Bewildered? Lost?

  Percy wished he were better at reading people, but he was only good at reading books so he said nothing. This was beyond him.

  Professor Lyall recovered. “Floote, I suppose?”

  Percy cocked his head. “He kept an eye on him, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “And you lot found him again?”

  “Not really. He found us. Tried to kill Rue, got Quesnel instead.”

  “What?”

  “As you can see, it all worked out, in the end. Quesnel survived and we adopted Rodrigo. His character required reforming. I applied Greek philosophy and then a strong dose of Higher Common Sense.”

  “Oh?”

  Percy was quite proud of this achievement. “Rodrigo’s not bad, simply soulless. We deduced that a book group might give him a strong ethical foundation. Then he fell in love, so it all worked out.”

  “In love?”

  “With Anitra. The Drifter woman, next to him. They married at the New Year. Much nicer wedding. None of this fuss and bother.”

  Professor Lyall looked strangely pleased. “Yes, that would work. Love usually does, you know? With preternaturals.”

  Percy didn’t know, but he’d a working theory and was glad to have it corroborated by an outside source. He’d hate to have Rodrigo go rotten again and have to come up with an entire new course of study. Giving a man a surrogate soul was challenging work. He was pleased to find the solution was to give the man a heart. And even more pleased that it had been Anitra to do so. Percy liked Anitra. She was quiet and kind and never disturbed him in his library.

  “Will you introduce me to him, Professor Tunstell?” asked Professor Lyall softly.

  “Now?”

  “Later. At the reception.”

  “I’d be delighted.” An odd request that a werewolf would want to meet a curse breaker. Especially one such as Rodrigo Tarabotti. The Italian had, after all, spent most of his life hunting and killing werewolves.

  “And perhaps I might visit The Spotted Custard one night before you leave? I should like to speak with Formerly Floote.”

  Percy shrugged. “I’m not the ship’s secretary of supernatural encounters.” The Beta looked taken aback, so Percy hurried on. “You’re welcome to try. He can be eccentric, like most ghosts.”

  “He’s still cohesive?”

  “Mostly. The Lefoux tank is a work of genius.”

  “Yes. She’s brilliant.”

  “I think this one is mostly Quesnel’s doing.” Percy didn’t like to give such credit to the man, but he strove for truth in all things, and Quesnel was a shipmate.

  “He’s also brilliant. A good match for our little Rue.”

  “You think?”

  “You don’t?”

  “Mr Lefoux and I are not always of the same mind in matters of publication accreditation.”

  “A serious business.”

  “Very. But he seems to please Rue. Not that she isn’t easily pleased.” That might not be a nice thing to say at their wedding, so Percy pressed on. “And he is disposed to find her adorable and diverting rather than ridiculous, which is key to cohabitation, I suspect.”

  “Do you indeed, young Percy?” Professor Lyall looked like he might be secretly laughing at him.

  Percy gave him a hard stare. “I beg you to remember who my mother is.”

  Professor Lyall sobered instantly. “Of course. You would know ridiculous, wouldn’t you?”

  Percy drew himself up. “No one is better equipped to judge tolerance for silliness than I.” He nodded towards his sister as well. Who certainly wasn’t as bad as their mother, but could be quite frivolous when the occasion demanded. Her dress for this evening’s festivities was so replete with furbelows and frills she practically fluttered about the churchyard. Percy thought Dr Ruthven’s golf outfit far more practical and flattering.

  I must stop thinking about that female. It wasn’t like him to notice strange women’s sportswear.

  He sighed at himself.

  Professor Lyall was circumspect in the face of human weakness and allowed the subject to drop.

  Arsenic was in awe, the wedding was massive. Hundreds of people were in attendance, yet Miss Tunstell had them herded from one location to the next with the speed and efficiency of the best brigadier – although a very ruffled version thereof.

  Arsenic stuck with Spoo and the other decklings, for they had only minor responsibilit
ies and were disposed to enjoy themselves in a less formal manner. Spoo explained that since the party numbered so many of the supernatural set, the celebration was to be held in Vauxhall Bob.

  “Some of Kingair came all the way from Scotland, not to mention the London Pack. Woolsey Hive sent delegates and so did Baroness Tunstell. That means two different werewolf packs, and two different vampire hives. Add in Lord Akeldama, who’s a rove. Things could get royally wigged.” Spoo looked pleased at the prospect.

  Arsenic was intrigued by the predatory currents. She was also relieved she’d brought along her medical kit.

  Based on the hanging gardens of Babylon – or what historians thought those gardens might look like – Vauxhall Bob showcased meticulous mathematical topiary and fine symmetrical sculptures, combined with automated oscillating waterfalls and fountains. It featured exotic botanicals collected from all over the Empire harmoniously balanced against traditional herbaceous borders – ferns and palm trees in equal measure.

  A marvel of modern engineering, Vauxhall Bob was also mobile (unlike its grounded compatriot, Vauxhall Gardens, which everyone thought of as terribly old-fashioned). It could crank upwards to become several stories high, providing privacy for special events, like weddings. Once deployed, steam and clockwork kept different sections rotating slowly while others raised and lowered, puffing quietly and emitting white steam out the base, which gave it the appearance of resting upon a cloud. Bob also boasted unique hydro-brolly action, should the weather attempt one of those spontaneous showers so typical of early spring in London.

  It was, in the end, a work of art that could be appreciated from within or without. A visual testament to technological dominance.

  Arsenic herself had never attended anything so grand as to be inside Bob. Those who walked arrived first, because that was the state of London traffic during the start of the season. The garden was lowered and waiting for them.

  Spoo introduced Arsenic to The Spotted Custard’s deckhands, Bork and Willard, who were also in charge of security for the evening.