Андреа Хёст - The Pyramids of London

“That’s possible.” Aunt Arianne fished in the flat pouch laced to her day belt. “Shall we anticipate lunch? Bring enough food to tide us over until tomorrow, and some soap. See if they have salve for your shoulder, as well.”

Eluned took the coin purse without commenting on this, but Eleri spoke up:

“Needs a new arm, not salve.”

“Can she not have both? I’ve budgeted for necessities, so don’t hesitate to tell me what’s required. It’s luxuries that will need to be postponed until I’ve settled the question of employment.”

“Will give you a list,” Eleri said promptly, and led the way out of the room, her attention clearly diverted to her design for a replacement arm. But as they opened the door into the vestibule, she returned to less technical matters.

“What did he say to you? That Carstairs? You’ve been different towards the Aunt since.”

Eluned didn’t answer immediately, not quite able to explain even to Eleri the anger and frustration she’d struggled with ever since Mother and Father died. She did not like nor want to admit to the roiling at the back of her thoughts, the longing to find and hurt, to demolish whoever had taken their parents away. The police’s quick dismissal of the idea of murder had left her seething, and the slow steps of their search had been like fingernails down her spine, working her anger into tighter and tighter knots. For a while she’d almost hated Aunt Arianne for not once crying, for being the person they were stuck with instead of Mother and Father.

“Dem Carstairs said Aunt Arianne nearly died,” she admitted. “And asked me to look after her.”

“She’s supposed to be looking after us,” Griff pointed out, emerging into the street and frowning at three men gawking from the entrance of the next warehouse down. “She hasn’t even asked why we were expelled.”

Eluned took care to nod politely before turning in the opposite direction and striding toward the corner. The rising wind tugged at her hair and shendy, and she gazed determinedly ahead.

“It’s not all that important why. We’re not going back there. Besides, the kind of person Aunt Arianne is doesn’t matter to me nearly as much as who I am. What does it say about me that it keeps surprising her when I notice she’s in pain?”

“Says you’re observant,” Eleri replied. “Take your point—no value in being at war—but not going to sit about while the Aunt chases after this Alban woman. Should be working on that mannequin.”

“No, I agree with her there.” Aunt Arianne had refused to allow Eleri to even unpack their grandfather’s mannequin. “If those sphinx statues are hunting the artificial fulgite, then recharging it or trying to release charge from it might draw their attention.”

“Do nothing? Stupid.”

“She’s going to ask her vampire about it,” Griff put in.

“Him? Connections to the palace and to a grove? Investigating the wind storms? Could even be one of Them.”

“If he is, he’ll be able to order Aunt Arianne to Tell Everything anyway,” Eluned said. “Besides, he already thinks she’s connected to the sphinxes somehow, and if he’s involved in the rest, he’ll know about the fulgite.” A far from satisfactory situation, but there was nothing they could do about it.

They turned the corner into a full gale, roaring down a long row of warehouses on one side, and terraces the other. The morning windstorm.

“What we can do is see whether anyone else has been investigating haunted or unresponsive fulgite,” Eluned went on, struggling to be heard. “You’ll have to visit at least one workshop putting together the new arm. There’s a lot we could find out.”

“Like how much it would be to buy one of those dragonflies,” Griff said, and they discussed this delightful if unlikely prospect for all of the windy walk down the long boundary of their unexpected back garden.

The street that ran behind the Deep Grove was much wider, lined with grander buildings, and busy with a flow of through-traffic. Directly opposite, buildings framed the northernmost entrance to the Great Barrows, while the nearest corner of the crossroads held a cluster of stores centred round a grocer’s.

“Cobbler and baker, and a teashop across the road,” Griff said. “Not bad. D‘you think they’d sell the makings of a kite here, Ned?”

“I think kites probably count as luxuries. And there’s so much in that house that we might have enough for a dozen kites and not know it.”

“Not ours,” Eleri said. “Last Keeper died and all her things were packed up, left there. Why?”

“No heirs, perhaps?” Eluned suggested, then quieted as they turned to climb the double step into the grocers‘, and discovered a crowd. There was scarcely room in the customers’ area of the store for them to slip in at the back out of the gale.

“…to be the new Keeper,” an elderly woman was saying authoratively. “The Moonfire Feast is less than a year from now. Dem Comfrey can hardly do that himself, so it only makes sense that he’s appointed a replacement for Dama Fulbright.”

“But another of the stone blood?” a portly man asked. “That’s far from likely. Are you certain, young Nabah?”

“Clothing that covered her completely, a veiled hat and an umbrella. In this heat, what does that mean but vampire?”

The self-assured voice belonged to the Daughter of Lakshmi, her orange and yellow sari barely visible through the small crowd. Eluned exchanged a glance with Eleri, thinking it would be best to step back out, but then a single voice rose clear above the murmur of discussion.

“Aunt Arianne’s not a vampire. She’s only bound to one.”

It was one of Griff’s special pleasures to make unexpected pronouncements, and he did not quail as nearly a dozen people turned to stare.

The elderly woman, her daybelt a most impressive piece of tooled leather with many dangling pouches, produced a muted bark of laughter. “Never was curiosity so swiftly rewarded,” she said. “My pardon, children.” She added a conspiratorial smile. “Not that I won’t push for more: do you mean that your aunt is bound to Dem Comfrey?”

“Someone called Makepeace. He sent her a key.” Griff, still wearing the key on its knotted shoelace, displayed it proudly.

“Indeed! This is grand news. Welcome to Lamhythe, young damini. I am Reswen Chelwith, Warden of the Borough.”

Her gaze, like that of the crowd, had gone from Griff to Eleri and Eluned behind him, and inevitably to Eluned’s right arm. This was a progression Eluned was entirely used to, although she could never train herself not to notice it. Instead she hefted her glass shield, and smiled politely as Eleri introduced them all before looking firmly toward the tall girl behind the shop counter.

“What can I get you, dama?” the girl asked obligingly, just as the man behind the opposite counter—one dedicated to postal services—cleared his throat.

“Customers only, please!” he called out, in a surprisingly deep voice for such a stretched and skinny man. “Make room, make room.”

In excited good humour the crowd decamped, leaving only the Tennings and the Daughter of Lakshmi, who produced a letter and a coin for a stamp.

Taking a relieved breath, Eluned smiled her thanks at the shop girl, who said: “Not that I’m not madly curious myself, mind you. I’m Melly Ktai. That’s my Dad. Welcome to Lamhythe.”

“Thanks.”

Now that the crowd had cleared out, Eluned’s attention had been caught by the rows of gleaming jars on the shelves directly behind Melly. Through the glass she recognised old favourites—sugared almonds, humbugs, marzipan mice—but many more colourful shapes.

“We’ll have three of everything over there,” Griff said immediately.