The Curious Case of the Werewolf by Gail Carriger Page B

Phinkerlington, who pinked once more at such direct attention. Not a bad looking chit, really.
    As he walked away, he heard the baronet say, in tones of deep censure and insufficient softness, "Really, Leticia, an Italian is most inappropriate. You must stop blushing at him so significantly."

    Mr. Tarabotti found Floote exactly where Floote ought to be, at the center of a milling whirl of dark limbs and bright fabric, engaged in a protracted bout of fisticuffs. It was unsurprising that Floote, who had fought werewolves in Scotland and vampires all along the French Riviera, was holding his own. What was surprising was that he did this while still clutching the jar.
    Alessandro removed his jacket and laid it atop a low mud brick wall. He rested his hat carefully alongside. The jacket was tailored to perfection, flaring with just under enough fullness so as not to be thought dandified. It had three sets of invisible pockets in the lining, each housing a collection of sharp little sticks: silver, wood, and peppermint. The silver was for werewolves, the wood was for vampires, and the peppermint was for Mr. Tarabotti. Mr. Tarabotti was rather fond of peppermint. He was also fond of that jacket; it wouldn't do for it to be harmed, and he wouldn't need the weaponry, not in the middle of the day. He did transfer the letter of marque from the jacket to a waistcoat pocket next to his monocle and his miniature antikythera device, for extra security. Then he dove into the fray.
    Alessandro was not burdened with Floote's sentimental British predilection towards proper violent comportment. When Mr. Tarabotti fought, he used both his fists and his feet, drawing on some spate of skills he'd learned in the Orient. He would have been summarily thrown out of White's, for his technique was, it must be admitted, most ungentlemanly.
    He enjoyed himself immensely.
    Mr. Tarabotti had always been fond of the occasional pugilistic endeavor, ever since he was a boy – reveling in that delicious slap and crush of flesh against flesh. He relished the heated blood buzzing through his brain, numbing all senses but those vital to security – sight and touch. Any pain was a boon, a reminder of watchfulness that he must keep his mind in play only so much as it did not hinder.
    It was almost too easy. Floote's attackers were ill prepared for Mr. Tarabotti's sudden appearance. Soon enough, the swirling mix of appendages and colorful flowing robes resolved itself into three local malcontents: one fallen and two running away.
    While Floote recovered his equanimity, Mr. Tarabotti sat astride the fallen man. He grabbed at the man's arms, pressing them to the ground.
    "Who hired you?" he asked in English.
    No response.
    He repeated himself in Italian.
    The man only looked up at him, dark eyes wide. He writhed about in the dirt, shaking his head frantically back and forth as though in the throes of some fit. Then, before Floote could put down the cat and render assistance, the man surged up, shook Alessandro off, and dashed away.
    When Floote would have gone after, his master stayed him with a touch.
    "No advantage in following. We won't extract any information from the likes of him – too frightened."
    "Of us?"
    "Of whoever paid them to engage the foreigner brandishing a dead cat."
    "Hired by your contact, sir? Perhaps he changed his mind about notifying the government."
    "No, no, I think not. There is someone else in play. Or several someones. Deuced inconvenient. Not to mention, insulting. As if I would gad about town dressed like a manservant."
    He went to retrieve his jacket and hat.
    "Who might be looking to stop you, sir?" Floote came over and straightened his master's lapel, checking the fit of the shoulders for good measure.
    "Much good that blasted cat has done us. I thought it would provide quite the excuse for visiting Egypt. Now it's just making us easy to identify." The cat had caused quite the flutter at customs. Officials were used to dead animals