Lord Maccon sniffed and then gave a little cough.
Alexia’s own senses were so assaulted she could only imagine what her husband smelled. There was the intoxicating scent of honey, cinnamon, and roasted nuts. There was also a rather noxious gas emanating from various water-based smoking devices, hoarded by elderly men crouching on stone steps to either side of the narrow street. Underneath the other smells came the unmistakable odor of sewage, not unlike that of the Thames during a hot summer.
Conall turned to her with a wide grin on his handsome face. “That smells like you!” he said as though he had made some great discovery.
“Husband, I do hope you aren’t referring to that noxious smoke nor the scent of bodily waste.”
“Of course not, my love. Those pastries over there. They smell like you. Would you like to try one?” He knew his wife so well.
“Is Ivy fond of hats? Of course I would love to try one!”
The earl moved with alacrity over to the cleanest looking of the street vendors and in short order returned bearing a small sticky, flaky object. Alexia popped it into her mouth without hesitation, only to have her sense of taste assaulted by honey, nuts, exotic spices, and crisp flakes of some impossibly thin pastry.
She chewed in silence. It was far too sticky for anything else. “Amazing!” was her official pronouncement once she had finally swallowed. “Remember what it is called, would you, dear? Then I can order more when we arrive at the hotel. I’m delighted you think I smell like something so delicious.”
“You are delicious, my dear.”
“Flatterer.”
The dragoman took charge of their highly distracted and distractible party and shepherded them toward a long string of donkeys with companion donkey boys who stood waiting under a nearby awning.
“Oh, aren’t they perfectly sweet!” exclaimed Mrs. Tunstell.
“They are very fine donkeys, aren’t they, Ivy? Such long velvet ears. Look, Prudence.” Lady Maccon directed her daughter’s attention to the string.
“No!” said Prudence.
Ivy shook her head. “No, Alexia, I mean the donkey boys. Look at those lovely almond-shaped eyes and such thick lashes. But, Alexia, is their skin meant to be so dark?”
Alexia didn’t dignify this question with an answer.
At which point Mrs. Tunstell came upon a realization that proved even more startling. “Are we expected to ride those donkeys?”
“Yes, Ivy dear, I do believe we are.”
“Oh, but, Alexia, I don’t ride!”
Despite Ivy’s protestations, which continued vociferously, there commenced a great round of strapping bags onto donkeys and climbing aboard donkeys, while Alexia and the other ladies of the party attempted to negotiate sidesaddle. The toddlers were popped into woven baskets, which the donkeys wore like panniers. The Tunstell twins were suspended together in one set, and Prudence in another, counterbalanced by her mechanical ladybug, which peeked its little antennae over the edge of the basket coyly. Mr. Tumtrinkle went on one side of his donkey and immediately off the other, so that he, like the luggage, had to be strapped into place. After seeing his wife safely up top, Tunstell threw his leg over easily enough, for he was quite nimble and athletic. Unfortunately, his trousers were not so flexible. They ripped loudly, exposing much of his scarlet drawers to the evening air and causing his wife to shriek in horror and faint forward onto the neck of her donkey. Lord Maccon guffawed loudly. Prudence clapped in appreciation. Madame Lefoux made her way genteelly to a nearby stand where she purchased one of the robes so favored by the locals. This Tunstell donned with all the enthusiasm and amiability of an actor accustomed to odd apparel in front of a large audience.
Ivy awoke from her swoon, noted her husband now wore what amounted to a dress, in public, and fainted again. The donkey beneath her was composed and unimpressed by her histrionics.
Conall refused donkey transport, as did their vampire dragoman. Even donkeys, placid creatures as they were, preferred not to carry werewolves or vampires. Lord Maccon perfectly understood this. After all, he was a good deal faster on four paws anyway, so the very idea was preposterous, and he would far rather snack upon the beast than ride it—particularly at this moment with ten days at sea and no live meat the entire time. Lastly, riding a donkey was pointless even when he had been mortal, for his long legs would touch the ground on either side of the wee thing. So he and the guide walked at the front, leading the way and chatting in a forced manner that had nothing to do with the fact that they were from different cultures and everything to do with the fact that one was a vampire and the other a werewolf.
As they trundled through the street, it became clear that they were as much a spectacle for Alexandria as Alexandria was for them. The great port city had been made much of over the last few decades, and the British army called there regularly, but high lords and ladies, small pale children, and troupes of English actors were practically unheard of and quite enthralling as a result.
Many Egyptians came to watch them. The natives pointed with interest at the ladies’ hats, the gentlemen’s top hats, Alexia’s parasol, the odd shapes made by wardrobe and props, as though they were some kind of circus come to parade among them.
Alexia spent a good deal of her time trying to absorb every aspect of the city in the dim light of evening. They arrived at their abode, Hotel des Voyageurs, all too quickly for her, and she could not wait until the next day when she might see Egypt in all its glory. There was the expected chaos once more that saw them all, after much discussion and exchange of moneys, settled into a single floor of the hotel. The ladies took to their rooms for tea and rest, the children went down for naps, and the gentlemen retired to either the nearest bathhouses or the hotel’s dubious smoke room, as suited their individual natures.
Lord Maccon helped his wife disrobe, merely raising one eyebrow when a gun dropped out of her corset and clattered to the floor. One became accustomed to such things when one was married to Alexia. Then he reacquainted himself with every aspect of her body, as if he had not just done so onboard the SS Custard that morning. Alexia threw herself wholeheartedly into the activity, having learned early on in their marriage that this was an exercise she found both enjoyable and entertaining. It also left her, generally speaking, relaxed and pleased with the world. Not so her husband. Not on this particular night, for even lying next to her on what had proved to be quite a resilient bed, he was what could only be described as twitchy.
“Conall, my love, what is the matter?”
“Foreign land,” he said curtly.
“And you don’t know the lay of it?”
“Exactly so.”
“Well,” she said with a supportive smile, “go on, then. We shall be fine without you for a few hours.”
“Are you quite certain, my dear?”
“Yes, quite.”
“You aren’t trying to get rid of me?”
“Now, Conall, why would I want to do a thing like that?”
He grunted noncommittally.
“You will be careful, won’t you?”
“Of what, precisely?”
“Oh, I don’t know, random God-Breaker Plagues running amok? We only just arrived. I’d greatly prefer you not go missing or die quite yet.”
“Aye-aye, Captain.”
With which her husband gave her a passionate kiss, sprang naked from the bed, and exited their room rather spectacularly by way of the balcony in wolf form. Alexia wrapped the woven blanket about herself and made her way across the room rather less precipitously. She looked to see if she could spot him dashing through the streets off into the desert, but he was already out of sight. It was quarter moon, but he was restless from little exercise on board and he needed to hunt. She tried not to imagine what poor mangy desert creature he would end up eating. As the wife of a werewolf, one had to ignore certain unsavory aspects of cuisine and ingestion.