And Lady Maccon was stuck with vampires in her basement. “Curses, I have been rather neatly played.”

Another contraction hit her, and she had no more thought for her present domestic predicament. She suspected this was somewhat akin to the pain her husband felt upon changing shape.

Rumpet put out a hand to steady her. “My lady?”

“Rumpet, there is an octomaton on our doorstep.”

“So I noticed, my lady. And half of BUR has just arrived as well.”

Alexia looked. It was true. Several of BUR’s human members, on the octomaton’s trail out of London, had finally caught up. She thought she could see Haverbink’s tall, strapping form. “Oh, God. The pack will turn on them, they’re food.” And even as she watched, one of the werewolves left off fighting Madame Lefoux’s creature and charged one of the BUR agents. “We must protect them. Get the pack members back inside!”

“Indeed, madam.”

“Call up the clavigers. Tell them to bring the necessary equipment and open the silver cabinet.”

“Immediately, madam.” The butler moved toward a nested triangular alcove formed by the staircase. Next to the large cowbell that he rang at mealtimes there dangled a silver chain. At the end of that chain was a silver key. Next to it was a special glass box containing a large horn. Rumpet broke the glass with one swift punch of his gloved hand. He placed the horn to his lips and blew.

Not the most dignified of sounds emanated forth, a kind of farting noise. But it rattled through the castle in a way that suggested the sound had been manufactured specifically to permeate rock. The clavigers instantly assembled around Rumpet in the hallway. Pack policy dictated that every pack member have at least two clavigers. Lord Maccon had six these days, and there were a few extras loitering about as well.

Rumpet used the key to open the silver cabinet, an old mahogany monstrosity that gave no clue as to its true contents. Inside, instead of the usual household valuables—candlesticks, baby spoons, and the like—was the claviger kit. Displayed in neat rows and on special hooks were silver manacles, enough pairs for every member of the pack; silver knives; a few precious bottles of lapis lunearis; and, most importantly, the fishing nets. These were spun of silver cord, weighted at the corners, and used to capture and weaken a wolf without damage. Dangling from little hooks in each door were fifty fine silver chains with fifty fine silver whistles.

The clavigers, grim-faced, armed themselves and took up the nets. Each put a whistle over his head. They were so high-pitched that no human ear could possibly make out the sound, but wolves and dogs were violently affected by the noise.

Alexia thought of something. “Try to bring in Biffy first. Remember he’s still susceptible to pup-stage sun damage. Take care—he’ll be the most vicious. Oh, my goodness, what will I say if he accidentally eats somebody?”

Six of the biggest and best clavigers ran to the stables, and Alexia heard the roaring sound of the steam-powered penny-farthing wagons starting. Two clavigers per wagon—one to steer and one to cast the net—they roared out and down the hillside, steam trailing in a white cloud behind them. The other clavigers ran after.