Alexia tested it. The height was ideal for just that. “Is it likely to be something I must carry everywhere?”
“I believe your esteemed husband would prefer it so.”
Alexia demurred. It leaned heavily toward the ugly end of the parasol spectrum. Many of her favorite day dresses would clash most horribly with all that brass and gray, not to mention the decorative elements.
“Also, of course, it had to be tough enough to serve as a defensive weapon.”
“A sensible precaution, given my proclivities.” Lady Maccon had destroyed more than one parasol through the application of it against someone else’s skull.
“Would you like to learn its anthroscopy?” Madame Lefoux became gleeful as she made the offer.
“It has anthroscopy? Is that healthy?”
“Why, certainly. Do you believe I would design an object so ugly without sufficient cause?”
Alexia passed her the heavy accessory. “By all means.”
Madame Lefoux took hold of the handle, allowing Alexia to maintain a grip on the top spire. Upon closer examination, Alexia realized the tip had a tiny hydraulic hinge affixed to one side.
“When you press here”—Madame Lefoux indicated one of the lotus petals on the shaft just below the large handle—“that tip opens and emits a poisoned dart equipped with a numbing agent. And if you twist the handle so…”
Alexia gasped as, just above where she gripped the end, two wickedly sharp spikes flipped out, one of silver and one of wood.
“I did notice your cravat pins,” Lady Maccon said.
Madame Lefoux chuckled, touching them delicately with her free hand. “Oh, they are more than simply cravat pins.”
“Of that I have no doubt. Does the parasol do anything else?”
Madame Lefoux winked at her. “Ah, that is just the beginning. In this, you understand, Lady Maccon, I am an artist.”
Alexia licked her bottom lip. “I am certainly beginning to comprehend that fact. And here I thought only your hats were exceptional.”
The Frenchwoman blushed slightly, the color visible even in the orange light. “Pull this lotus petal here, and so.”
Every noise in the lab fell silent. All the whirring, clanking, and puffs of steam that had faded into the background as ambient sound became suddenly noticeable by way of their absence.
“What?” Alexia looked about. All was still.
And then, moments later, the mechanisms started up once more.
“What happened?” she asked, looking in awe down at the parasol.
“The nodule here”—the inventor pointed to the egg attachment near the shade section of the parasol—“emitted a magnetic disruption field. It will affect any metal of the iron, nickel, or cobalt family, including steel. If you need to seize up a steam engine for any reason, this will probably do the trick, but only for a brief amount of time.”
“Remarkable!”
Again the Frenchwoman blushed. “The disruption field is not of my own invention, but I did make it substantially smaller than Babbage’s original design.” She continued on. “The ruffles contain various hidden pockets and are fluffy enough to disguise small objects.” She reached inside the wide ruffle and pulled out a little vial.
“Poison?” asked Lady Maccon, tilting her head to one side.
“Certainly not. Something far more important: perfume. We cannot very well have you fighting crime unscented, now, can we?”
“Oh.” Alexia nodded gravely. After all, Madame Lefoux was French. “Certainly not.”
Madame Lefoux pushed the shade up, revealing that the parasol was of an old-fashioned pagoda shape. “You can also turn it thus”—she flipped the parasol around so that the shade was pointing the wrong direction—“and twist and press here.” She pointed to a small nodule just above the magnetic disruption emitter, in which a tiny dial was set. “I have designed it to be quite difficult to operate, to prevent any unfortunate accidents. The rib caps of the parasol will open and emit a fine mist. At one click, these three will emit a mixture of lapis lunearis and water. At two clicks, the other three ribs will emit lapis solaris diluted in sulfuric acid. Make certain that you, and anyone you care about, stay well out of the blast area and upwind. Although the lunearis will cause only mild skin irritation, the solaris is toxic and will kill humans as well as disabling vampires.” With a sudden grin, the scientist added, “Only werewolves are resistant. The lunearis is, of course, for them. A direct spray should render the species in question helpless and gravely ill for several days. Three clicks and both will emit at once.”
“Quite outstanding, madame.” Alexia was suitably impressed. “I did not know there were any poisons capable of disabling either species.”
Madame Lefoux said mildly, “I once had access to a partial copy of the Templar’s Amended Rule.”
Lady Maccon’s mouth dropped. “You what?”
The Frenchwoman elucidated no further.
Alexia took the parasol, turning it about in her hands reverently. “I shall have to change over half my wardrobe to match it, of course. But I suspect it will be worth it.”
Madame Lefoux dimpled in pleasure. “It will also keep the sun at bay.”
Lady Maccon snorted in amusement. “As to the cost, has my husband dealt with the necessities?”
The Frenchwoman held up a small hand. “Oh, I am well aware that Woolsey can see to the expense. And I have had dealings with your pack before.”
Alexia smiled. “Professor Lyall?”
“Mainly. He is a curious man. One wonders, sometimes, as to his motivations.”
“He is not a man.”
“Just so.”
“And you?”
“I, too, am not a man. I simply enjoy dressing like one,” replied Madame Lefoux, purposefully choosing to misinterpret Alexia’s question.
“So you say,” replied Lady Maccon. Then she frowned, remembering something Ivy had said about the new hat shop: that actresses like Mabel Dair were known to frequent it. “You are dealing with the hives as well as the packs.”
“And why would you say that?”
“Miss Hisselpenny mentioned that Miss Dair visited your establishment. She is drone to the Westminster Hive.”
The Frenchwoman turned away, busying herself with tidying the laboratory. “I provide to those who can afford my services.”
“Does that include loners and roves? Have you catered to, for example, Lord Akeldama’s taste?”
“I have not yet had the pleasure,” replied the inventor.
Alexia noted that the Frenchwoman did not say that she had not heard of him.
Lady Maccon decided to meddle. “Ah, this is a grave lapse! It ought to be rectified immediately. Would you be free for tea later this evening, say around midnight? I shall consult with the gentleman in question and see if he is available.”
Madame Lefoux looked curious but wary. “I believe I could arrange to get away. How very kind of you, Lady Maccon.”
Alexia inclined her head in grand-dame fashion, feeling silly. “I shall send around a card with the address, if he is amenable.” She wanted to meet with Lord Akeldama alone first.
Just then, a new noise made itself heard through the hubbub of machinery, a querulous, high-pitched, “Alexia?”
Lady Maccon whirled about. “Oh dear, Ivy! She has not made her way down here, has she? I believe I closed the door to the ascension chamber behind me.”
Madame Lefoux looked unperturbed. “Oh, do not concern yourself. It is only her voice. I have an auditory capture and dispersal amplifier funneling sounds in from the shop.” She pointed to where a trumpet-shaped object was cabled to the ceiling. Lady Maccon had thought it some kind of gramophone. But Ivy’s voice emanated from it, as clearly as if she were in the laboratory with them. Astonishing.
“Perhaps we should return to the shop and attend her,” suggested the inventor.