Lady Maccon was not quite as good at reading French as she should have been, so it took her long precious moments to translate the burned-through metal.
“Weapon here but unknown,” it said.
Lady Maccon was disgruntled that the bloody thing did not read like an old-fashioned ink-and-paper letter, with a “dear so-and-so” and a “sincerely, so-and-so,” thus revealing all to her without fuss. Who had Madame Lefoux sent the message to? When had the message been sent—just before she was shot, or earlier? Was it really the inventor who had also destroyed the valve frequensors? Lady Maccon could not believe that wanton destruction of technology was Madame Lefoux’s style. The woman adored all gadgetry; it would be against her nature to destroy it with such abandon. And, regardless of all else, what had she been trying to tell them right before she was shot?
With a start, Alexia realized it was getting on toward eleven o’clock, and she had best etch her message and prepare it to send right away. Currently, the only concrete action she could think to take was consultation with Lord Akeldama. She did not have the valves to contact the Crown or BUR, so the outrageous vampire would have to do.
Her message read simply, “Floote check library: Egypt, humanization weapon? BUR send agents to Kingair.”
It was a long message for the aethographor to handle, but it was the shortest she could formulate. Lady Maccon hoped she could remember the pattern of movements the young claviger had used the evening before. She was generally good about such things, but she might have missed a button or two. Still, there was nothing for it but to try.
The tiny transmitting room was much less crowded with only one person. She extracted Lord Akeldama’s valve from her parasol and placed it carefully into the resonator cradle. She slotted the inscribed metal into the frame and pulled down the switch that activated the aetheric convector and chemical wash. The etched letters burned away, and the hydrodine engines spun to life. It was easier than she had thought. The director of the Crown’s aethographic transmitter said one needed special schooling and certification to run the complicated apparatus—little liar.
The two needles raced across the slate, sparking as they met. Alexia sat in perfect silence throughout the transmission, and when it was finished, she removed the slate from the cradle. She wouldn’t want to be so careless as the spy had been.
Lady Maccon bustled into the other chamber, which proved far more difficult to operate. No matter how many knobs she twiddled or cogs she turned, she could not get the ambient noise down far enough to receive. Luckily, Lord Akeldama took his sweet time replying. She had nearly half an hour to get the receiving chamber quiet. She did not manage to get it down nearly so low as the claviger had, but it was eventually quiet enough.
Lord Akeldama’s response began to appear inside the black magnetic particulates between the two pieces of glass, one letter at a time. Trying to breathe quietly, Alexia copied down the message. It was short, cryptic, and totally unhelpful.
“Preternaturals always cremated,” was all it said. Then there was some kind of image, a circle on top of a cross. Some kind of code? That was rich! Blast Lord Akeldama for being coy at a time like this!
Alexia waited another half an hour, past midnight, for any additional communication, and when nothing further materialized, she turned the aethographor off and left in a huff.
The house was abuzz. In the main drawing room across from the front parlor, in which remained Tunstell and his charges, a cheery fire burned in the fireplace and maids and footmen bustled about setting out artifacts.
“Good gracious, you did do a little shopping in Alexandria, now, didn’t you?”
Lady Kingair looked up from the small mummy she was arranging carefully on a side table. It appeared to have started life as some kind of animal, perhaps of the feline persuasion? “We do what we must. The regimental pay isna adequate to cover Kingair’s upkeep. Why should we not collect?”
Lady Maccon began looking through all the artifacts, not quite certain what she was looking for. There were little wooden statues of people, necklaces of turquoise and lapis, strange stone jars with animal-head lids, and amulets. All of them were relatively small except for two mummies, both still properly clothed. These were more impressive than the one they had unwrapped. They resided inside curvy, beautifully painted coffins, the surfaces of which were covered in colorful images and hieroglyphics. Cautiously, Alexia moved toward them but felt no overwhelming repulsion. None of the artifacts, mummies included, seemed any different from those she had seen on display in the halls of the Royal Society or, indeed, in the Museum of Antiquities.
She looked suspiciously at Lady Kingair. “Are there no others?”
“Only the entertainment mummy we unwrapped, still upstairs.”
Lady Maccon frowned. “Did they all come from the same seller? Were they all looted from the same tomb? Did he say?”
Lady Kingair took offense. “They are all legal. I have the paperwork.”
Alexia sucked her teeth. “I am certain you do. But I understand very well how the antiquities system works in Egypt these days.”
Sidheag looked like she would like to take umbrage at that, but Alexia continued. “Regardless, their origins?”
Frowning, Lady Kingair said, “All different places.”
Lady Maccon sighed. “I will want to see the other mummy again in just a moment, but first…” Her stomach went queasy at the very idea. It was so uncomfortable, to be in the same room with that thing. She turned to look at the rest of the Kingair Pack, who were milling about looking unsure of themselves, large men in skirts with scruffy faces and lost expressions. For a moment Alexia softened. Then she remembered her husband, comatose in another room. “None of you purchased anything privately that you are not telling me about? Things will go dreadfully ill for you if you did”—she looked directly at Dubh—“and I find out later.”
No one stepped forward.
Lady Maccon turned back to Sidheag. “Very well, then, I shall take one more look at that mummy. Now, if you would be so kind.”
Lady Kingair led the way up the stairs, but once there, Alexia did not follow her into the room. Instead she stood at the door, looking intently at the thing. It pushed against her, so that she had to fight a strange urge to turn and run. But she resisted, staring at the withered dark brown skin, almost black, shrunken down to hug those old bones. Its mouth was slightly open, bottom teeth visible, gray and worn. She could even see its eyelids, half-lidded, over the empty eye sockets. Its arms were crossed over its chest as though it were trying to hold itself together against death, clutching its soul inward.
Its soul.
“Of course,” Alexia gasped. “How could I have been so blind?”
Lady Kingair looked to her sharply.
“I have been thinking all along that it was an ancient weapon, and Conall that it was some plague your pack caught and brought back with you from Egypt. But, no, it is simply this mummy.”
“What? How could a mummy do such a thing?”
Resisting the terrible pushing sensation, Lady Maccon strode into the room and picked up a piece of the mummy’s discarded bandage, pointing to the image depicted on it. An ankh, broken in half. Like the circle on top of a cross in Lord Akeldama’s aethographic message, only fractured.
“This is not a symbol of death, nor of the afterlife. That is the name”—she paused—“or perhaps the title, of the person the mummy was in life. Do you not see? The ankh is the symbol for eternal life, and here it is shown broken. Only one creature can end eternal life.”
Sidheag gasped, one hand to her lips, and then she slowly lowered it and pointed to Lady Maccon. “A curse-breaker. You.”