The Pyramids of London Read online

  The Pyramids

  of

  London

  Andrea K Höst

  All characters in this publication

  are fictitious and any resemblance

  to real persons, living or dead,

  is purely coincidental.

  The Pyramids of London

  © 2015 Andrea K Höst. All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 978-1-925188-03-5

  Published by Andrea K Hösth at Smashwords

  www.andreakhost.com

  Cover art and map: Julie Dillon

  Table of Contents

  Description

  Acknowledgements

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Twenty-Nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-One

  Thirty-Two

  Thirty-Three

  Epilogue

  End Note

  Books by Andrea K Höst

  In World People

  In World Geography

  In World Mythos

  In World Other

  Description

  In a world where lightning sustained the Roman Empire, and Egypt's vampiric god-kings spread their influence through medicine and good weather, tiny Prytennia's fortunes are rising with the ships that have made her undisputed ruler of the air.

  But the peace of recent decades is under threat. Rome's automaton-driven wealth is waning along with the New Republic's supply of power crystals, while Sweden uses fear of Rome to add to her Protectorates. And Prytennia is under attack from the wind itself. Relentless daily blasts destroy crops, buildings, and lives, and neither the weather vampires nor Prytennia's Trifold Goddess have been able to find a way to stop them.

  With events so grand scouring the horizon, the deaths of Eiliff and Aedric Tenning raise little interest. The official verdict is accident: two careless automaton makers, killed by their own construct.

  The Tenning children and Aedric's sister, Arianne, know this cannot be true. Nothing will stop their search for what really happened.

  Not even if, to follow the first clue, Aunt Arianne must sell herself to a vampire

  Acknowledgements

  With deep thanks to Sherwood Smith,

  Antoine, and KA, for making this book better.

  Author's Note

  This book is in Australian English. A character list and glossary are included at the back.

  Map

  One

  Sunlight picked out motes of dust, and burnished mellow wood to match Arianne Seaforth's hair as she strolled through the Southern Nomarch's library. Heavy bookcases jutted from the inner wall, stopping short of the many-paned windows, and Rian walked along a corridor formed by the gap, watching a drama of wind.

  A rope had snapped. The First Minister's airship canted to one side, and then the ballonet bounced, threatening to smash the gondola onto Sheerside House's sweeping back lawn. The very problem First Minister Aquila had come to discuss was likely to strand her in Prytennia's battered south.

  Rian had travelled to Sheerside by train, not airship, and even heavy iron had shuddered beneath the morning windstorm. The journey had shown her a landscape scoured: trees and crops stripped by weeks of gusting onslaught, animals all either hiding or huddled in protective masses. Occasionally a roofless house displayed its innards.

  It was unusual for the second windstorm of the day to be prolonged, and Rian would in other circumstances be uneasy, but today she felt little more than academic interest, for she had come to a vampire's house to hunt a murderer.

  Lyndsey. One overheard name, and a location discovered from a discarded envelope, with no guarantee that either of them were connected to sudden death. Scant basis for the ten year sacrifice coming to Sheerside entailed, but in the months since Aedric and Eiliff's deaths, gaining a position to follow that name was the only real progress Rian had made.

  Movement drew her attention away from the airship. She had reached an area clear of shelving—one of the library entrances—dominated by a long reading table, the near end of which sat in the direct fall of sunlight. The reflection off the polished wood dazzled, so she had failed to see a young man sprawled at the far end of the table until he'd lifted one hand, thumb canted to form a partial frame for the scene outside. Blinking to help her eyes adjust, Rian moved away from the window, and the youth's hand dropped to rest flat. Otherwise he barely moved, head remaining pillowed on one arm as he studied her.

  "And what are you?" A soft, dreaming voice, cut with a note of derision.

  Having no idea where he stood in the hierarchy of the House, Rian replied neutrally: "Newly arrived."

  "A non-answer." He still didn't move, but swept his gaze up and down, taking in travel clothes that were well kept and nicely cut, but far from new. "Another governess for the brats? No, I have it." His nose wrinkled. "You're the new Wednesday."

  "Wed—" She realised what he meant, and held back instinctive rejection. She didn't like what being here would entail, but there was no point pretending it was not going to happen. "That's certainly one way to term it."

  "Come down in the world?" It wasn't a sympathetic question. "Let me guess—someone died and left you without sufficient fortune. You wanted to be kept in style?"

  "That's a very Roman attitude," Rian said, unbothered by such a wide shot. She considered him: a slight young man, not wearing a coat, and the laces missing from his shirtsleeves. His dark brown hair was several inches long, tousled and not quite curling. He didn't match his surroundings any better than she did. "What are you, the resident starving artist?"

  His eyes narrowed. "What makes you say that?"

  Rian lifted one hand, thumb canted at a right angle, and used it to partly frame the scene through the window. The gesture was something her father had often used. Out in the wind, a basket barrelled across the lawn, but the airship's attendants were winning their battle with its tethers.

  "I have some interest in photography," the young man said, sounding less than amused. Annoyed she'd seen that. "Could you be one of the Pyrial? No, you don't seem nearly lack witted enough to mistake which appetite's involved."

  "You obviously feel strongly about blood service."

  He made a low, disgusted noise. "It's the most pathetic of ideas. That kind of bond—it's not meant to be a business transaction." He'd finally found the energy to sit up, all the better to glower at her.

  "Meant to be? What is it meant to be, then?"

  He shifted one shoulder, a sketch of a shrug. "Raw. Revolting. Profound. Anything but watered-down, antiseptic domestication."

  Perhaps he was the resident poet. Rian would have left him to his opinions, but since the primary reason she had accepted the chance to become the 'Wednesday' at Sheerside was to investigate its occupants, she couldn't pass up any opportunity. And for all she knew, this was the 'Lyndsey' she was searching for. After so long failing to make any progress, she wasn't going to turn away on account of a little annoyance, and so refocused the calm centre that had taken her through far more difficult conversations.

  A voice with a hint of a northern accent forestalled any att
empt at subtle interrogation. "Dama Seaforth?"

  Rian turned. A man had opened the library's door. Tall and impeccably dressed in light tunic and a long pleated shendy in summery shades of blue and cream, he had his eyelids blackened in the Egyptian manner, the kohl only a few shades darker than his skin.

  "I'm Evelyn Carstairs," he went on. "Are you ready for your tour of the building?"

  "Yes, indeed."

  As Rian headed for the door the poet-photographer switched his glower to the new arrival, who simply nodded and said: "I beg your pardon for interrupting, Dem," and moved so Rian could precede him.

  Rian heard the poet murmur as she left the room, and thought he said, "Dairy orientation," but paid no further attention, looking with interest at her guide. What day would he be to her 'Wednesday'?

  "I knew Sheerside House was large," she said, "but I underestimated the tangle. I thought I'd followed the directions on how to find you, but—"

  "But if ever there was a mot juste for Sheerside's design, it would be 'labyrinthine'," Carstairs said. "Start by thinking of it in three sections. The tower, which is the oldest, holds the offices. The centre block surrounds the tower and is where you'll find the kitchens, most of the dining and function rooms, and the entrances to the Underhouse. The residences, the newest and largest section, brackets the centre block. There's also the Underhouse, of course, but you won't need to concern yourself with that yet. It's not barred to you, but the lighting in most areas is kept low, and there are some dangers."

  Not least the vampire she had come to serve: Msrah, Nomarch of the Southern Dragonate. "I think I'll concentrate on finding my way to my room, to start with," Rian said, and he smiled and obligingly took her upstairs, then taught her how to reach the nearest bathroom, the breakfast room, the main and garage entrances, and finally a day room with an elegant arrangement of chairs and lounges, and even a piano. Glass-panelled patio doors rattled in the gale.

  "This particular room is given over to us—Lord Msrah's Bound," Carstairs said. "It's quiet most days, and more active in the evenings."

  "Will my nephew and nieces be permitted here?"

  "Of course." Carstairs paused at the doors, looking right, and Rian followed his gaze to see the region's greater pyramid, much taller than the Nomal House's tower. The main portion was slate grey, while the upper third was capped with a green-tinged stone.

  "There are fifteen children currently part of the household," Carstairs continued. "Including the Lord's son Kafele. Most, like your charges, will be away at school until the end of the summer term. When they are here they will be given some supervised activities and of course are forbidden the Underhouse, but are otherwise free to explore. It's a glorious place for a child. So long as the chaos is limited, play is encouraged. I had endless adventures learning its corridors."

  "You grew up here?" Rian asked.

  "My parents are also of the Nomarch's Bound," Carstairs said. "After I had my fill of travelling, I returned." He smiled, perhaps in response to her expression. "It's the politics that drew me back. Lord Msrah has a finger on the world's pulse, and I missed knowing so much about what was going on."

  The patio doors rattled violently, and he turned to pull a chased bronze lever. With a subdued whir, metal wings descended. Rian had seen the blue and silver expanses above the windows when she arrived. Ma'at's Wings: protective blessings in the Egyptian style. She had not realised that they functioned as shutters.

  "Are there levers outside?" she asked, picturing herself locked out after some midnight snooping.

  "Yes, though they will sound an alert if used," he said, directing her toward a collection of chairs by the fireplace. "And if the House is under attack the shutters can only be released from inside, either at the central control, or with an override."

  "Does that happen often?"

  "Actual attacks, no. More than a few false alarms. See over there—" He indicated a series of labelled bellpulls. "The red is the alarm. That will lock down the entire House. The last time there was any real reason to use it was nearly twenty years ago, during the Automaton Riots. If it's something less than an invading force, use the Security pull."

  He went on to describe routines of the household: meals, mail, laundry, cleaning. The location of the Nomal House's Circle, and also arrangements to accommodate visitors who did not bow to the Trifold. And then, at last, the part of Rian's future that was the price of her investigation.

  "You must begin to prepare yourself at least two days before you are due to serve the Lord," Carstairs said. "Conserve your energy so your ka is at its peak. Avoid alcohol, and foods that affect the potency of your blood—strawberries, peppermint, cinnamon, aniseed—the list is quite long. You'll find a copy in your room, but we simplify the issue by placing 'safe' meals in green serving dishes. It's no disaster if there is some slip, but of course we aim to be as efficacious as possible. Do not use tobacco or opium at all.

  "The Lord usually rises in the early afternoon. On the day you are to serve, be ready any time from midday. You should not leave the house on the day of your service, and no further than the grounds during the two days before. Ensure that your clothing does not prevent access to your wrists."

  Watered-down, antiseptic domestication. Rian shook the thought away as Carstairs rose and pulled back one sleeve to expose walnut-toned flesh. There were no marks, no scarring.

  "Avoid perfumes during the preparation days, and of course wash well. The Lord will send for you soon after rising, and we usually wait here or in our rooms as a matter of convenience. He will lick your wrist, which will numb the physical sensation somewhat, but not enough for your skin to not know it has been pierced. Unless circumstances are unusual, he will take little blood—between a spoonful and half a cup. Only if he has been injured will he need more. The amount of ka he draws from you will vary considerably, particularly if he has weather work to do. Life force recovers more quickly than blood, so there will be times when he draws heavily, and when he does so, the wound will be shallow, merely an access to your ka, rather than your blood. Only on the rarest of occasions will he deeply drink both. You've gone very pink."

  Startled, Rian laughed. "It's...odd to apply to myself," she said, and saw comprehension in Carstairs' eyes. It did not help that he was a more than attractive man. Habitually correct, but saved from pomposity by an equal measure of charm.

  "There is an inevitable amount of embarrassment," he said. "But the Lord is very good, and sees no need to underline certain aspects. It's not the drawing of blood, but the ka that is the challenge to face. First because it hurts—it always hurts, a sensation almost as if your breath is being stolen away, or as if you are being threaded through a needle. During the bonding, the Lord will draw only lightly on your ka, to limit your distress, but he will drink deeply of your blood. Then he will cut his finger and mingle his blood with that at your wrist, before allowing you to drink from him. Not a great deal, and after the first time only a few drops, to keep you at a balance. You will feel his ka transferring to you, and when you have drunk you will stay in the Underhouse while the Lord's blood reproduces in you. As you were warned, there are risks—there can be very individual physical reactions to colonisation—so you are monitored during the transition. For the first week or so after the bonding you will be sensitive to light, but you will stabilise as the colony matures. You will likely begin to be aware of the presence of living creatures near to you, and notice an increase in physical strength. And, since the Lord is of the Shu line, you will become quite sensitive to changes in the weather."

  Because she would have gone part of the way toward becoming a weather vampire. Not a small change. "That must make days like this—"

  "Gales can try the nerves, yes. Though it is useful for avoiding being caught out in the rain. Once the growth of the Lord's blood has stabilised it will be considerably more beneficial for him to drink from you, and your ka will have become aligned with his so that, while it still hurts when he draws it, it i
s—" He paused, full lips quirking. "It is a sweet pain."

  Many centuries of literature had dwelled on that 'sweet pain', so this was certainly not news, but it was rare to discuss it with someone who had experienced it.

  "What are unusual circumstances?"

  "Outside of injury? If something has prevented him from feeding for a period. Difficult manipulations of the weather. Or if he journeys somewhere we cannot go, when he may store against future need. It is rare that we wouldn't travel with him, however."

  "Evie, the Lord wants you."

  The speaker was a freckle-spattered young woman in a blue tea gown of the Continental style. Carstairs stood immediately, with a murmur of apology for Rian, and resumed his coat.

  "This is Dama Hackett. Delia, Arianne Seaforth. Dama Hackett will look after you, Dama Seaforth."

  "Been having the speech?" Dama Hackett asked, as Carstairs strode briskly off. "Are you thoroughly mortified?"

  "Just squirming." Rian smiled at the red-headed woman, and added her to her list of possible suspects. "Are you—?"

  "One of the Lord's Bound? Yes and no—I'm technically still bound, but the Lord has begun the process of releasing the bond. Though they say it never leaves you fully. You're my replacement."

  For some reason this made Rian feel awkward, but the woman patted her arm companionably.

  "And so looking forward to it. I'm off to kick up my heels, disport on sun-kissed beaches, dance in the snow and racket about, mad and wild. To...to live a disorderly life."

  "Is it so very structured here?" Rian asked, as they headed back toward her bedroom.

  "Your time will be structured. Sheerside itself can be very variable, since so many dignitaries visit to consult Lord Msrah, and new staff are always coming and going. Today everything's been a hidden hive thanks to the First Minister arriving—or, more to the point, not leaving, and bringing extras. But—" The woman shrugged. "Two weeks from now will be my hundredth birthday, and I've seen the world change and change again, but I don't feel like I'm living in it. And..." Her lips curved. "And, to be frank, Evie was starting to look a little too tempting. After dallying with both his parents over the years, and having wiped his bottom for him when he was a tot, I can't quite reconcile myself to temptation."