Imprudence (13 page)

“It's not shocking, I promise.”

“Very well, then.”

“I am two thousand two hundred and fifty-one years old. Did you know?”

“I calculated about that.”

She'd managed to surprise him, not a frequent or comfortable sensation for a vampire. “You did?”

“Your accent slips sometimes. My guess is Ancient Greek, likely Macedonian. Plus you think like a military strategist even when it's only tea plantations.” She paused and took her best guess. “Alexander, is it? Your given name, I mean.”

He laughed. “I knew all those expensive tutors would come back to haunt me.”

“What happened to your eyes?”

“Ah. Not everything stays the same with metamorphosis. I lost battle scars as well. Flaws are fixed.”

“It was a flaw?”

“Apparently.”

“Could we talk more, sometime, about your history and what's true and what isn't?”

Dama gave a sad smile, no fang, only memories peeking around the corners. “I think it's best left as it has been written down. Why mess with the past? It can't be altered.”

Which explained a little of why he was so accepting of change. Lord Akeldama was the only vampire Rue knew not set in his ways. Even Aunt Ivy, who was very young for a vampire, was already fixed in her preferences and persuasive in her opinions on hats.

“I hate to send you out there, Puggle, alone. You will be careful?”

“Pish-tosh. I have my crew. And my new gun. And my metanatural abilities. I came back from India all right, didn't I? Mucked it up a bit, but survived. This is only Egypt.”

“My dearest
girl
, even the
Romans
were changed by Egypt.”

“You'll be here when I get back? Exactly like this, waiting.”

“Exactly so. And your room will be there and more importantly your closet, but I'll have ordered you all new dresses for the season.”

Rue grinned, feeling better about everything.

Rue returned to
The
Spotted Custard
as the sun rose pink above the grey fog of the city. Primrose met her at the top of the gangplank looking tired and worried. They examined each other's faces.

Whatever Primrose saw seemed to make her feel better. “You're well?”

Rue nodded. “I'm well. You?”

“Topping. I put your mother in the best guest quarters. Knowing her, we might want to hire a lady's maid to dance attendance while she is in residence.”

“We're headed to Egypt.”

“Mr Lefoux said we might be. I assumed she is accompanying us?”

“Correct assumption.”

Primrose was resigned. “I'll nip round to the agency this morning, see if they have a nice stable young French girl who doesn't understand much English and wants to travel. Best, I think, if your mother isn't entirely understood by her staff.”

“Fantastic idea. We should try to keep regular hours while she is aboard, and formal meals. That way she has to dress. That will keep her at least partly occupied.”

They moved together towards the centre of the quarterdeck where Spoo and the head deckhand stood in consultation with the lead builder.

Primrose checked the state of the sun. “I'll send to market as well. Egypt is quicker to get to than India, right?”

“I believe so, but only Percy knows the particulars.”

“I'll have to wake him up.” His sister did not look thrilled with the idea.

“We need to know the best current to catch anyway, put a departure time into place.” Rue was not above batting her eyelashes so Primrose would awaken the beast.

“As long as you realise Quesnel is still up.”

“Blast them, can't they sort this out like civilised gentlemen?”

“We
are
speaking of Percy.”

“Point taken.”

Prim deemed the matter settled and moved them efficiently on. “And the market, anything I should stock with Lady Maccon in mind?”

“Oh, Mother eats everything and likes it. I wouldn't worry about her. Horrible sweet tooth.”

Primrose nodded. “Tea later? I'd like to know what happened last night.”

“Later,” agreed Rue. “I should be better able to discuss it then.”

Primrose kissed her cheek softly. “I'll just go get my wrap, wake Percy, and be off. I'm sure I can borrow Mother's carriage.”

“If you want to drive yourself, you can use the Maccon dogcart. It's still sitting on the green.”

Primrose looked horrified at the very idea. “No, thank you. Ladies don't drive bounders.”

“Tell that to my mother. Send Percy up when he's decent, would you please?”

“By all means.” Primrose whisked off, leaving Rue to the builders.

The builders were absolutely convinced it would be highly dangerous to take
The
Spotted Custard
up without a week's more repairs. Which, knowing builders, actually meant three weeks.

Rue said, “You have three hours,” hoping Percy and the currents would concur.

The man in charge sputtered, not accustomed to ultimatums from young ladies. Mr Bapp had a face like a squished puffin which had eaten something sour a decade ago and never recovered.

Rue talked over his sputter. “Spoo, please raise as many decklings as we can spare. I want some left fresh and rested for float, but the rest we can loan to Mr Bapp here.”

Spoo nodded and scampered off.

“Willard?”

The head deckhand looked at Rue expectantly. “Yes, Lady Captain?”

“Can engineering spare any muscle?”

He considered. “Two, perhaps. But if the
Custard
does turn out to be shaky, we'd best keep some in reserve.”

“Agreed. Do what you can.”

Quesnel appeared abovedecks, blinking in the sunlight.

“Three hours, gentlemen.” Rue left the men to grumble about females with unreasonable expectations.

“
Chérie?
” Quesnel's face was contorted with concern. “Are you well?” His hand jerked forward and then fell to his side, empty.

Rue didn't want pity from him; besides, she had purpose now. She concentrated on the impending trip almost desperately. “How soon can we boil up for takeoff?”

Quesnel snapped into engineer mode. “Less than an hour. We only need basic maintenance down below. We've been running at full capacity for a week.”

“And my father?”

“Very well preserved.”

Rue winced, but stopped any other reaction. “Excellent. Soon as I've conferred with Percy, I'll call down with a time for float off. No need to stoke up until we know the specifics.”

Quesnel nodded but didn't go anywhere.

Awkward silence descended.

Rue scanned her craft. The deck was crawling with people, all busy about repairs or preparations.

He shifted close, intimate, as if he wanted to grab her.

Then Primrose reappeared in her cloak and hat, bade them farewell, trotted down the gangplank, and headed in the direction of the hive house and her mother's carriage. Percy followed her as far as the deck, wearing a dressing gown draped over a shirt and trousers, and no hat. His hair was a wild spiky mess of ginger and his spectacles were askew. Virgil must not yet be awake.

Footnote trailed after. Tasherit having gone to sleep with the sunrise, he was free to roam the whole ship at will.

“Tiddles said you wanted me?” Percy was annoyed enough to employ his sister's hated pet name.

Rue looked him over. “We're headed to Egypt on the next available current. You'll need to plot a course.”

“What? Now?”

“Yes. Now.”

“But I haven't slept yet.”

“And whose fault is that?”

Percy stuck a thumb in Quesnel's direction. “His.”

Rue was bound and determined to stopper
that
over before it could get started again. “Don't you dare. Charts, Percival. Now!”

Percy snorted and looked down at Footnote.

“You see what I put up with?” Footnote licked a paw. “No respect. You realise I am one of the most brilliant minds in all England and she orders me to
make charts
.”

True Percy was smart, but since he seemed oh so aware of that fact, Rue wasn't in the mood to humour one of his snits. Of course, he might think he was being funny; difficult to tell with Percy.

Percy continued babbling at the cat. “How trying it is to be constantly catering to lesser intellects. Not you, obviously.”

Footnote stopped washing and stared at his master as if he had never considered the matter and was now moved to deep contemplation.

“Percy,” rumbled Rue in a threatening tone.

“I'd like to see you build, install and maintain a working preservation tank.” Quesnel couldn't help but defend his own intellect.

“And I'd like to see you write a proper paper on a new species of supernatural examining all the theoretical implications and ramifications of the aetheric imprint on the vital humours. Rather than superficial waffle. Seems we're both doomed to disappointment.” Percy left off the cat for more aggressive intercourse.

Uh
-
oh
, thought Rue,
here we go again.
She was exhausted and really had, she felt, put up with a lot. Rue was like her Paw in that her default reaction when unhappy was rage.

She yelled, quite violently, and at the top of her lungs. “Enough!”

It was so loud it paused the workers on the main deck. Spoo's small face popped up from behind a pile of rope. Rue was a jolly commander, but not exactly awe-inspiring at the best of times. Clearly she had a pair of lungs on her and the fact that, until now, she had rarely used them seemed to make them all that more effective.

With a pointed gesture, Rue made it clear she was yelling at her compatriots and not her crew. The crew went back to work, although Spoo remained watching, wide-eyed. The thought of the young girl – who was really Rue's charge as much as her employee – acted as the discipline Rue needed.

Percy and Quesnel had both snapped their mouths shut and were staring at her.

Rue opted for a low fierce diatribe. “Enough, both of you. I don't care who is in the right or who is in the wrong and frankly neither does anyone else. Come to an agreement or stop talking to each other. At this point, either is acceptable. Percy, you are behaving like a petulant child whose favourite toy has gone missing. If you wanted credit for the discovery so badly you ought to have written and sent the paper in for publication while we were still in India. They had a perfectly decent aethographic transmitter.”

Percy was sputtering.

Quesnel was nodding smugly.

Rue rounded on the inventor. “Mr Lefoux, don't you dare think you're not culpable. You know Percy well enough to predict how he might react. The fact that you didn't include him in the authorship is an outright insult. I might even accuse you of intentionally stirring up malcontent.”

Quesnel started to protest.

Rue overrode him. “If it wasn't intentional, it was certainly small-minded.”

At which Percy started looking smug and Quesnel crestfallen.

So Rue switched again. “Don't you dare look pleased with yourself, Percival Tunstell. The only reason you aren't a complete disappointment is because I've never expected you to actually rise to any given occasion.”

Percy winced.

That might be taking things a bit too far, but it seemed once her mouth started flapping it was not inclined to stop.

“And, Mr Lefoux, let's be perfectly clear on that other matter, while we are at it.”

Percy tried not to look interested.

Quesnel tried not to look apprehensive.

“Let us say, for the sake of argument, you didn't know how your article would affect your colleague aboard
my
airship. In that case you are not petty but thoughtless. Imagine how that insight into your character affects my opinion of you? What other relationships are you likely to be thoughtless about? Especially considering you didn't see fit to tell me any of this. Not your publication, not your travel plans, not even the fact that you knew” – she took a breath to steady her voice, which was inexplicably trembling – “
you knew
something was wrong with
my father
and you didn't tell me that
either
!”

Rue had no idea why she was unleashing upon poor Quesnel. Nor why the bulk of her ire had switched to the inventor when really both he and Percy were blameworthy. She was trembling with agitation. Quesnel was pale and miserable.

It was Percy who risked putting a hand to her arm. “Stop, Rue. Just stop.”

Rue subsided like a hot air balloon deflating.

Quesnel said in a tight, rough voice, “I'll just go and make certain the boilers are in order. You'll let me know the course hops once they are charted, Mr Tunstell?”

“Certainly, Mr Lefoux,” replied Percy quietly. And then to Rue, “I'll go and see what seems the best course.”