Blameless - By Gail Carriger Page 0,112

neurosis—is there anyone around who doesn’t want to study or kill me?”

Floote raised a tentative hand.

“Ah, yes, thank you, Floote.”

“There is also Mrs. Tunstell, madam,” he offered hopefully, as if Ivy were some kind of consolation prize.

“I notice you don’t mention my fair-weather husband.”

“I suspect, at this moment, madam, he probably wants to kill you.”

Alexia couldn’t help smiling. “Good point.”

The Templars had been standing in still and, unsurprisingly, silent vigil over this conversation. Quite unexpectedly, one of those at the back gave a little cry. This was followed by the unmistakable sound of fighting. Poche began barking his head off even more loudly and vigorously than before. Apparently less eager to attack when faced with real violence, the dog also cowered behind his master’s tweed-covered legs.

At a signal from the Templar who appeared to be the leader—the cross on his nightgown being bigger than the others—most of the rest whirled about to confront this new threat from the rear. This left only three Templars and the German scientist facing Alexia and her small party—much better odds.

Floote went about busily reloading his two little pistols with new bullets.

“What—?” Alexia was mystified into inarticulateness.

“Vampires,” explained Madame Lefoux. “We knew they’d come. They have been on our tail these last few days.”

“Which was why you waited until nightfall to rescue me?”

“Precisely.” Monsieur Trouvé twinkled at her.

“We wouldn’t want to be so boorish,” added Madame Lefoux, “as to arrive unexpectedly for a visit without a gift. So we brought plenty to go around.”

“Very courteous of you.”

Alexia craned her neck to try and make out what was going on. It was appropriately dark and gloomy in the catacombs, and hard to see around the men standing before her, but she thought she might just be able to see six vampires. Goodness, six is practically an entire local hive! They really and truly must want her dead.

Despite being armed with wicked-looking wooden knives, the Templars seemed to be getting the worst of the encounter. Supernatural strength and speed came in rather handy during close-quarters fighting. The three Templars still facing them turned away, eager to join the fight. That helped even the odds a bit, putting them in a two-to-one ratio. The battle was proving to be peculiarly silent. The Templars made little noise beyond the occasional grunt of pain or small cry of surprise. The vampires were much the same, silent, swift, and lethal.

Unfortunately, the broiling mess of fangs and fists was still blocking Alexia’s only means of escape. “What do you say—think we can worm our way through?”

Madame Lefoux tilted her head to one side thoughtfully.

Alexia dropped her skirts and lifted her free hand suggestively. “With my particular skill set, such an endeavor could be quite entertaining. Monsieur Trouvé, let me just show you how this parasol works. I think I may need both my hands free.”

Alexia gave the clockmaker some quick tips on those armaments that might be used under their present circumstances.

“Beautiful work, Cousin Genevieve.” Monsieur Trouvé looked genuinely impressed.

Madame Lefoux blushed and then busied herself with her cravat pins, pulling out both of them: the wooden one for the vampires, and the silver, for lack of anything better, for the Templars. Floote cocked his pistol. Alexia took off her gloves.

They had all forgotten about Mr. Lange-Wilsdorf—an amazing achievement considering that his absurd excuse for a dog was still yapping away at the top of its lungs.

“But you cannot possibly leave, Female Specimen! I have not completed my tests. I did so want to cut the child out for dissection. I could have determined its nature. I could—” He left off speaking, for he was interrupted by a loud growling noise.

Channing came dashing up. The werewolf was looking a tad worse for wear. His beautiful white fur was streaked with blood, many of his wounds still bleeding, for they were slower to heal when administered by a silver blade. Luckily, none of the injuries appeared to be fatal. Alexia didn’t want to think about how the preceptor might look right about now. It was a safe bet that one or more of his injuries were fatal.

Channing lolled a tongue out and then tilted his head in the direction of the pitched battle going on just ahead of them.

“I know,” said Alexia, “you brought the cavalry with you. Really, you shouldn’t have.”

The werewolf barked at her, as if to say, This is no time for levity.

“Very well, then, after you.”

Channing trotted purposefully toward the broiling mass of vampires and Templars.

The German scientist, cowering