Steven Harper - The Doomsday Vault

“No, no,” he reassured her. “That’s something else I came up with. My ship uses helium, which doesn’t explode.”

“Well! Mr. Ennock, I have to say I find you intelligent and resourceful, and the way you lifted that generator made me truly appreciate how much a man you are.”

He laughed again. “How do you always know exactly what to say to a man?”

“I know what to say to you. ” And she kissed him while the gondola swung gently beneath their feet. They parted and laughed.

“You didn’t lie about the gondola being too big for the envelope,” Gavin said. “Even though you thought it might hurt. Thank you.”

Gavin picked her up in one fluid motion, swung her around in a circle, and kissed her again. His tongue slid into her mouth, and she accepted it, smooth and soft. He set her down, and she put a hand up to catch her hat.

“Oh! That was engaging,” she said with a laugh. “Should we fly your new ship to the hotel?”

“I have to paint her yet,” Gavin said. “Let’s hire a carriage.”

Claridge’s, formerly Mivart’s, had gained a reputation as London’s only proper hotel for international political travelers. It was five stories of glass and red brick that occupied an enormous section of corner at Davies Street and Brook’s Mews. Alice adjusted her hat and allowed Gavin to help her down from the carriage. The afternoon was overcast, but not foggy, so they didn’t have to worry about plague zombies-not that even zombies would have dared wander close to Claridge’s.

In preparation for visiting an ambassador to the Orient, Alice had spent considerable time in a Third Ward attic searching for a suitable dress while Gavin washed up. She chose an afternoon dress of deep gold silk-and found she didn’t like wearing it. No matter how carefully Kemp and her little automatons altered the garment, the restrictive corset and annoying skirts got in the way. But she was calling on the Chinese ambassador, and she could hardly do so in trousers. At first, she chafed at having to follow the rules so shortly after being freed from them, but then she realized the dress was a disguise for a secret agent, which made her feel better.

Gavin’s coat and trousers allowed him freedom of movement and made much more sense. He certainly cut a dashing figure, with his powerful build, startling blue eyes, and white-blond hair. He dressed like a gentleman, but moved like a rake, and she saw envious glances from passing women as he offered her his arm outside the carriage to escort her indoors.

The concierge met them inside the lobby doors. Gavin showed him a silver badge. “We’re looking for the Chinese ambassador,” he said. “Crown business.”

Sometime later, they were ascending in a tiny lift, and Alice was examining a handwritten card the concierge had given them.

“ His Honor Jun Lung, room 310 ,” she read. “You’d think he’d have more names than that. What do you know about China?”

“Nothing,” Gavin admitted as the lift stopped.

Alice knocked at the appropriate door, and it was opened by a young man in a long blue coat, which was heavily embroidered and had wide sleeves. His black hair was pulled back and plaited in a braid that hung down his back. Gavin showed the badge again and gave their names.

“We need to see His Honor, the Ambassador Jun Lung,” he said.

“Sorry. His Honor see no one.” The servant’s English was heavily accented.

“It’s Crown business,” Alice said.

The servant bowed. “Sorry. His Honor see no one.” And he shut the door.

Alice and Gavin looked at each other, dumbfounded. “That frankly didn’t occur to me,” Alice said. “Now what? Break the door down?”

“I don’t think that would put His Honor in a good mood. Maybe if we left him a note?”

“How do we know he’d read it?” Alice said. “A telegram might-”

The clatter of the lift interrupted them. From the cage emerged another Chinese servant, also in a blue coat. He was pushing a cart with covered dishes on it. Exotic smells wafted from them, and Alice wondered if the ambassador had his own private chef in the hotel kitchen.

“Here’s an idea,” Gavin muttered. He put a hand in his pocket and approached the man. “I wonder if you could help me, sir. I need to talk to the ambassador.” He took his hand from his pocket, and Alice caught a flash of silver. Something dropped to the carpeted floor as Gavin laid a heavy coin on the linen-covered cart. The servant flicked the coin away as if it were an insect and kept going, his expression wooden. Then he jerked the cart to a halt, leaned down, and scooped the fallen object from the floor.

“Where you get this?” His eyes were wide.

“That’s mine,” Gavin said sharply. “Give it back now.”

“Where?” the man repeated.

“It was a present from a friend. Give it back, or I will hit you. Very hard.”

The servant dropped it into Gavin’s palm and bowed twice. “You come with me, please. Please, you come now.” Abandoning the cart, he opened the hotel room door and ushered them inside.

Alice was half expecting the rooms to be decorated in Oriental fashion, with carved dragons and Oriental wall hangings, and silk everywhere. Instead, she found a set of lavish hotel rooms, with generous furniture, thick carpets, large windows, and a marble fireplace. A middle-aged man sat in an armchair with his back to the door, a book in his lap. The servant scurried over to him and bowed, leaving his head down until the man acknowledged his presence with a word. They exchanged several sentences in Chinese before the servant returned.

“His Honor see you now.” He brought Alice and Gavin over to the sitting area, and the man rose to his feet. He wore a long, gold-bordered scarlet robe, which was embroidered with dozens of designs. A wide, round cloth hat covered his head, even though he was indoors, and his angular face was clean-shaven. Alice floundered. Should she bow? Offer her hand? Her schooling in etiquette had covered what to do when meeting everything from a priest to a baronet to the Queen herself, but not a dignitary from the Chinese Empire. Gavin looked equally perplexed.

The ambassador solved the problem for them by offering his hand first to Alice and then to Gavin. “I am Jun Lung, nephew of the Guanxu Emperor and ambassador to England.”

“Alice, Baroness Michaels, daughter of Arthur, Baron Michaels,” Alice said.

“Gavin Ennock, agent of the Third Ward,” Gavin said.

“And a friend,” Jun added. “Please, sit. My servants will bring food.”

Before Alice had time to wonder at the friend remark, a servant settled her on a chair and Gavin on a sofa, then quickly set small tables near their elbows while another servant, the one who had brought them inside, trundled the cart up and uncovered the food trays. Three mechanical spiders leapt out from under the cart and climbed to the table. They scooped food onto plates, which they rushed to set on the little tables. But instead of simply leaving the plates there, each spider captured a bit of food between two tendrils. Before Alice could react, “her” spider climbed up her arm, perched on her shoulder, and poked the food at her. She was so startled, she opened her mouth to protest. The spider dropped the morsel neatly between her lips and scuttled down her arm for more. Gavin and Jun received their food in the same way. Jun watched them both for their reaction. Gavin was working to hide his surprise, and Alice quickly schooled herself into an expression of nonchalance. One didn’t remark on food or how it was served. It was, though, quite delicious and a bit spicy, with ginger in it.

Jun started with small talk, asking Alice about her family, and then Gavin about his, and she felt compelled to do the same for Jun. She kept a practiced expression of politeness on her face, though inside, beneath the dress, she was prowling like a tiger, wanting to pounce on obvious questions. Jun, however, refused to come to the point. Alice quickly sensed she was in a game, one whose rules she knew well-the first to bring up the real subject would have to tell everything. Gavin started to interject, but Alice caught his eye and gave a slight shake of her head to stop him, and all the while the spiders popped food into their mouths.