Alexia didn’t want to awaken Conall—he was catching up on a few hours of sleep after a very hectic day—but she had news to relate and she was near to dropping from exhaustion herself.
She’d been awake over twenty-four hours with no trace of poor Primrose. No ransom note, no trail, nothing. The sun would set in less than an hour, and Alexia felt like she’d been at her inquiries for an age.
“Conall!”
He snuffled into the pillow.
She reached out to touch his bare shoulder with her bare hand, turning him human. Even that didn’t awaken him. He was knackered. Lord knows what he had been up to, gallivanting around angry and then tracing the baby and dealing with politicians. He had probably expended a lot of energy. And the sun was very hot and bright in Egypt.
“Conall, really. Wake up.”
The earl blinked tawny eyes open and glared at her. Before she could react, he gathered her in against him in a warm embrace. Always amorous, her husband. Then he seemed to remember that not only was there a crisis, he was still angry over her siding with Professor Lyall.
He pushed her away petulantly, like a small child. “Yes, Alexia?”
Alexia sighed, knowing he needed time to forgive her, if he ever would, but finding it hard not to be able to hold him under such nerve-wracking circumstances. “I’ve just had a message from Biffy. Or, better said, I remembered at the last minute my standing aethographor appointment. I managed to relay to him the current crisis, not that he could do anything, but I thought home ought to know. He sent a note back. Then I had to stop. The transmitter was booked and they booted me off. Me! Now, of all times! You know, I tried to extend the time, but the little old lady behind me in the queue had a terribly important message for her grandson and would not be reasoned with!”
“Someday, Alexia, you will be that little old lady.”
“Oh, thank you very much, Conall.”
“The message?” her husband prodded.
“Biffy says that he has traced the epicenter of the God-Breaker Plague to one particular bend in the Nile River, near Luxor.”
“And this relates to Primrose how?”
“It might. Because I managed to, well, um, bribe a few of the dahabiya captains down at the dock.”
The earl raised an eyebrow.
“Madame Lefoux definitely hired a boat, one of the fastest and best on the line, to take her upriver. But not to Cairo, only by way of Cairo. No, her fare was for Luxor, or that’s what one man said, based on the amount of money he observed changing hands. She had a mysterious bundle with her and she asked a lot of questions. So what do you think?”
“Very suspicious. I think we should go after her.”
Alexia bounced slightly. “Me too!”
“How are Mr. and Mrs. Tunstell?” Lord Maccon switched topics.
“Coping tolerably well. Tunstell, at least, has been responding to direct questions. Ivy is difficult but then that is Ivy for you. I think we can leave them for a few days and follow Genevieve up the Nile.”
“Right, then. The sooner we set out the better.” Conall lurched out of bed.
Alexia tried to be practical. “But, my love, we both need rest.”
“Still mad at you,” he grumbled at her using an endearment.
“Oh, very well. But, Conall, we still need rest.”
“Ever the pragmatist. We can rest on the train to Cairo. I think we can still catch one. It won’t be as fast as Madame Lefoux, not if she hired one of the new steam-modified dahabiyas. But it will put us only a day behind her.”
Alexia nodded. “Very well, I’ll pack. You tell the others. And get Prudence, please. She’s asleep in the nursery. I’m not leaving her behind with a baby snatcher on the loose.”
The earl lumbered from the room, shirt hanging loose about his wide frame and his feet bare, before Alexia could stop him and make him dress. She supposed Ivy and Tunstell would be too distraught to take umbrage. She began a whirlwind of packing, throwing everything she could think of into two small cases. She had no idea how long they might be but figured they ought to travel as light as possible. Prudence would have to leave her mechanical ladybug behind.
Lord Maccon returned a quarter of an hour later with a sleeping Prudence tucked casually under one arm and Tunstell trailing behind.
“Are you certain I can’t accompany you, my lord?” The redhead was looking frazzled. His trousers were not as tight as usual.
“No, Tunstell, it’s best if you stay. Hold down the home front. It’s possible we could be on the wrong track, that Madame Lefoux isn’t the culprit or isn’t following the culprits. Someone with a reasonable sense of responsibility must remain here to deal with the authorities, keep making a stink, keep them hunting.”
Tunstell’s face was serious, no smiles for once. “If you think it best.”
Conall nodded his shaggy head. “I do. Now, don’t hesitate to bandy my name about if you need the authority.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
Alexia added, “If Ivy feels up to it, there are messages coming in for me at the aethographor station every evening just after six. Here is a letter of permission granting Mrs. Tunstell the authority to receive them in my stead. Even so, they may not accept a substitute without my presence, but it’s the best I can do at short notice. Only if she feels up to it, mind you.”
“Very well, Lady Maccon, if you’re certain I won’t do?” Tunstell was clearly falling back on his claviger training in order to deal with this crisis.
“I’m afraid not, Tunstell my dear. The individual sending the messages from London will only respond to me or Ivy.”
Tunstell looked puzzled but didn’t question Lady Maccon further.
“Good luck, Tunstell. And I am sorry this has happened to you and Ivy.”
“Thank you, Lady Maccon. Good luck to you. I hope you catch the bastards.”
“As do I, Tunstell. As do I.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
In Which We Learn Why Werewolves Don’t Float
There were no more trains to Cairo that day, which meant Lady Maccon and her husband were forced to return to the dock and hire river transport. It was easier said than done. Despite the fact that they were now familiar with Lady Maccon and her autocratic demands, the captains did not want to set out until the following morning. Then there was the price to negotiate. Very few dahabiyas carried any kind of modern conveniences—augmented small-craft outboard steam propellers or tea kettles, for example—making them mere pleasure vessels designed to be pulled slowly up the river by mule or, worse, human power!
“It’s all so very primitive!” huffed Alexia, who might ordinarily have enjoyed such a leisurely mode of transport.
Her excuse for such bad behavior must be that she was, at this juncture, exhausted, dusty, worried about Primrose, and tired of carrying Prudence. It was after sunset and the toddler was entirely in her charge. Under such circumstances, everyone’s tempers were fraying, even Prudence, who was hungry. The quintessential Egyptian lack of urgency and insistence on haggling and negotiation was driving the efficient Lady Maccon slowly insane.
It was almost midnight and they were talking with the eighth captain in a row when a tap came on Alexia’s shoulder. She turned around to find herself face-to-face with an extraordinarily handsome man, his features familiar, his beard cut neat and sharp—their Drifter rescuer from the bazaar.
“Lady? You are ready now, to right the wrong of the father?” His voice was deep and resonant, his words clipped by an Arabic accent and limited English.
Alexia looked him over. “If I say yes, will that get me any closer to Luxor?”
“Follow.” The man turned and walked away, his dark blue robe a swirl of purpose behind him.