Андреа Хёст - The Pyramids of London

Putting aside the rather large revelation concerning the Amon-Re line’s abilities, Rian said: “He’s from the Tarinus branch of the Silvanii. Gaius Silvanus Tarinus. Felix is simply a family pet name.”

Makepeace clicked his tongue. “Now I know the expectations.”

“What relation to Darius Silvanus Tarinus?” Princess Aerinndís asked.

“Grandson,” Rian said. “Favourite grandson. The omens around his birth were particularly good, and when I knew him he was being groomed to be the family’s bright hope, was in Dacia to observe a successful Proconsul’s handling of his duties. Though that was ten years ago, and as I said I would not have expected to find him outside the territories of the Republic. Not digging tunnels, at any rate.”

“Perhaps he likes trains,” Princess Leodhild said. “A lot of people do.”

The good humour of her words was belied by narrowed eyes and the glance she offered her niece, who responded only with: “I’ll look into it.”

Rian hoped she hadn’t brought unnecessary trouble down on Felix’s head. After all, it was possible he had fallen out of favour, or simply refused his family’s plans for him and pursued a career outside of politics. But his grandfather had served multiple times as one of the New Republic’s Consuls and it truly was odd for Felix to be working in London.

Still, while Rome would certainly care deeply about functioning artificial fulgite, Felix had no obvious connection to Aedric, so Rian set him aside and returned to her core concern.

“Did you find anything suspect in Caerlleon?”

Makepeace, still propped on one fist, shifted his gaze back to her. “The local Constabulary think you sadly obsessed, looking for conspiracies in an obvious accident.”

That was no revelation. “Yes. They liked to hold up Eluned as proof of Eiliff and Aedric’s lack of care. I’ve done my best to prevent Eluned from realising that. What of Aedric’s apprentice?”

“The boy was right.” Makepeace, clearly aware of how she stiffened at his words, waited a double beat before continuing. “A friend of this Willa’s asked her to buy what she could—told her he planned to start his own workshop, and didn’t want his current employer to realise. That same friend fronted the auction, unusually well-funded, and made any number of purchases. Primarily of containers of smaller objects. And then he died.”

“At the auction?” Princess Leodhild asked.

“The evening after he took delivery, though he wasn’t found until several days later. Fell and broke his neck, very clumsy. His purchases were still there, though, and his family had them on-sold in due course. But there would have been plenty of time to search through them.”

“A literal dead end, then?”

“Not quite. The man had his friends. He managed to not gossip about his purchases, but he was known to associate with the local grey trade. The thriving market there is stolen fulgite, of course, but if that’s the reason for his involvement, how did they know these two pieces of fulgite existed in the first place? And why weren’t you and those brats of yours attacked before Sheerside?”

“Did Willa know about the fulgite?” Rian asked.

“No. Only about the commission of an automaton, and she seems to have taken that at face value.”

“That’s all I knew as well, before Sheerside,” Rian said. “The children had managed to keep it strictly secret, and Aedric and Eiliff had certainly taken pains to obscure the true nature of their commission. If they succeeded, the most likely source of information would be whoever commissioned them.”

“And when a hasty search gave them only one of the fulgite pieces…” Makepeace lifted his head from its prop, frowning. “Ma’at vampires are far from the only truth diviners among the god-touched. If someone of that sort had questioned you when you didn’t know about the fulgite, that would explain the progression, and the determination to get hold of the household contents.”

If that was correct, then Rian had talked to one of the thieves—the most probable people behind Aedric and Eiliff’s deaths. But she had spoken to dozens while sorting out the estate, none of whom stood out as particularly unusual.

Saying this, she added: “And then something happened to make them decide I had it after all. It’s possible Dama Hackett mentioned a strangely-behaved automaton, but since no-one stole Monsieur Doré while I was unconscious, that seems unlikely. Which leaves the sudden interest of a sphinx. If those sphinxes have an interest in the artificial fulgite, perhaps whoever stole the other piece has encountered them already.”

She turned to Princess Leodhild, careful to keep her tone entirely unassuming. “Did you have any fulgite with you, Your Highness?”

Princess Leodhild looked unexpectedly amused. “I did not. But that creature was not interested in me at all. Only the room I was in.”

Princess Aerinndís studied her aunt, then said: “I recall hearing that Prince Gustav assisted in fighting off the attack.”

“Roared about distractingly, at least. Though that axe of his is something of the Aesir’s, and might well have done some damage if he’d been silly enough to actually engage the creature.” She chuckled. “Too clever for his own good, that one, with his pretty little wing painted on his wrist. Lovely shoulders, though.”

‘A man with a painted wing’ was someone who saved money while not caring about the cost to others. Rian had encountered a couple on her own account, and treated them with due contempt, for the Dose was far cheaper than the equivalent the Thoth-den had developed for women. Prince Gustav’s motives were unlikely to be penny-pinching, despite Prytennia’s laws and centuries of Suleviae rule making clear the futility of staking claim to the Trifold throne by means of a blood tie.

Her reminiscent smile fading, Princess Leodhild continued: “There was an interesting lamp in his room. A small thing in a leather holder, not much larger than a travelling clock. It cast patterns on the ceiling. The cabinet it stood on was crushed, and I’m not certain what happened to the lamp. Once we knew about this fulgite issue, I amused myself asking Msrah whether he happened to own such a thing. Which he does not.”

“No reason to suspect it’s powered by artificial fulgite,” Makepeace said.

“It can be a working assumption,” Princess Leodhild said, shrugging magnificently. “We need to get on, try to draw some conclusions. Let us say the sphinxes are connected to the windstorms—based on their appearance during a prolonged storm, and Egypt’s sudden interest in helping us—and that they are hunting certain pieces of fulgite. And here is a thought: that theft of the fulgite shipment at the beginning of the year—that happened before the first of the windstorms, did it not?”

“Well before,” Makepeace said.

“When did this latest spate of haunted automaton stories break out?”

“Those never really go away, but again…since the theft.”

“Excellent. So the shipment contained special fulgite—artificial or haunted—and these sphinxes want it particularly. They certainly seem able to find it, if our understanding of the events at Sheerside are correct, which suggests some connection. Perhaps it’s the Egyptians who have developed a process for creating artificial fulgite. A god-touched method would explain the success.”

The princess glanced at Makepeace, who didn’t respond, so she continued.

“But even if that was so, it does not explain the determination to retrieve fulgite if they can produce it. There must be something more, a reason why the Huntresses have descended on us in such force.”

“It was news of the sphinxes that brought them,” Makepeace said. “Not fulgite.”