Imprudence (15 page)

Rue barked out orders, trying to cut through the yelling of excited decklings. “Threat headed belowdecks! Stop them! Willard, Spoo, marshal your troops. Don't forget your training.”

Spoo gave a series of piercing whistles. “Decklings to the ground! Invaders at the main hatch!” Those who had been waiting high up to pick off stragglers leapt down.

Willard left off trading blows and, with a signal from his beefy arm, called one of his fellows to replace him. The deckhand stepped in and Willard followed Spoo's decklings towards the three men wrestling with the hatch.

The main hatch was big and heavy but not difficult to open. It operated on a hydraulic pump, with a foot lever on both sides, so someone carrying, for example, a large wicker tea hamper could make it down without need of hands. Fortunately, the concept of a foot-activated door seemed incomprehensible to the enemy. Two were scrabbling about looking for a hand lever and the third was trying to muscle the thing open with his fingertips. Since the hatch fitted seamlessly into the deck, there was no way to get a grip and the man was merely bloodying his nails.

There were two other ways to get below. One was the ladder which Rue had just used from the captain's quarters to the quarterdeck aft. It was a non-standard modification, so even had the enemy stolen schematics of
The
Spotted Custard
they wouldn't know it was there. The other was the staff ladder near the forecastle, which no gentleman, not even one bent on criminal activities, would deign to use.

“He's staining my deck with his blood!” objected Rue.

“Don't you worry, Lady Captain, that's what swabbing is for,” comforted Spoo as she nipped by to join the fray.

The invaders rather gave up at that juncture. No doubt they had not anticipated the ship to be so well defended and so populated, everyone being on shift in preparation for the imminent float off.

The leader, one of the three trying to go below, looked up and made eye contact with Rue. He was a darkly handsome man, or would have been had his visage not been marred by a fierce scowl that only deepened upon seeing Rue. Of course, when they attacked, she'd been out of sight.
Aha!
thought Rue, pleased.
Scared of me, are you? Quite right.

Then Willard hit him broadside with one meaty fist. The man twisted away and yelled some fancy foreign word. With which all the invaders took off down the gangplank.

Two deckhands made to chase but Rue called, “No time. We've a current to catch.”

Decklings took pot shots with their crossbows at the retreating men, but only in a desultory fashion.

Just like that, it was over.

“I want to know what they were after.” Rue let frustration colour her voice. “Please report in with clues and theories. Nothing is too minor. Everyone understand?”

Her crew nodded.

“Now, is anyone injured?” No one seemed to be, except the tea hamper and one potted sunflower, which had taken the brunt of the battle. There were a few bumps and bruises, but nothing her crew might not garner during the ordinary course of work.

“Please see Miss Primrose for plaster and medicinals.”

They hadn't a medic on board, but Primrose was capable in a pinch. She emerged from where she had taken refuge, behind the overturned cartload of kippers. She'd lost her hat and a smoked fish now draped over her lovely hair in a jaunty manner. Rue forbore to say, although she really wanted to, how this would only make Prim more intriguing to Tasherit. The werelioness was awfully fond of kippers.

Rue continued issuing instructions. “Cook will be authorised to distribute alcohol to soothe the nerves as needed.” The decklings cheered, which made Rue rethink a little. “During off-duty shifts, obviously.” There was a murmur of disappointment. “But you have all earned hazard pay for this action. It's not your job to fight for the honour of
The
Spotted Custard
.” Another cheer. “I want you all to know how much I appreciate the effort.”

The decklings started up a raucous song at that.

“We are
The Spotted Custard
!

From the crow's nest to the tomb!

Spotted Custard
is your saviour,

or
Spotted Custard
is your doom!”

Aren't they precious? We have a chant.
Rue was utterly delighted. She wanted to march about in a drummer boy fashion, but that might be a smidgen undignified in a captain, so she only nodded to the beat with a pleased expression.

Rue raised a hand when everyone would have dispersed. “I know we are still an hour from float off, but let's get this basket up, shall we? London clearly isn't interested in doing us any favours. Decklings prepare the balloon, deckhands the propeller. I want those kippers cleaned up and loaded into storage. All non–crew members should be groundside in ten minutes and the gangplank tucked in. Navigation, prepare the helm for… Percy? Where the devil is Percy? Damnation, did they steal our navigator?”

Percy had not been kidnapped but had simply disappeared below via the captain's ladder to, as he explained when Rue found him, “Check on something.”

Rue became even more suspicious that their attackers were after a Percy-related whatnot. Percy could hold the secrets of the universe against all comers, however, for he utterly refused to elaborate further.

“I understand we are floating early?”

“Yes, I thought we might take in the view, drift above London for a bit.”

It being winter, London was a grey, gloomy thing. Percy was not impressed with this plan. “I did want to get in another chapter.”

“Human life, I'm afraid, must take priority. I won't give our enemy time to regroup
again
. Whoever they are.”

So
The
Spotted Custard
let loose her moorings and drifted up. At a safe height, she bobbed, taking the opportunity to tune her motions. It had been a few weeks since she'd tackled serious floating, and while their plotted currents were not challenging, one could never be certain with the aetherosphere. Rue wanted her crew prepared for anything, especially now.

The sun set and they rose higher, waiting for Percy to call the mark for wind-up and puff.

Tasherit appeared on deck. She reached her long graceful arms above her head for a stretch, taking in the busy crew with interest.

“What's going on? Pleasure jaunt?”

Primrose stared at the werecat, eyes popping.

Rue explained. “Had to lift earlier than planned. We had visitors. Your troops, by the way, did marvellously. I'm impressed.”

Tasherit lowered her arms. “They're charmingly enthusiastic. Early, you say? Are we off somewhere particular, then?”

“Oh goodness. I forgot you've been asleep. We're headed to Egypt. I do apologise. It must feel as if we catnapped you.”

The werelioness only grinned. “Don't be silly, I'm thrilled. It's one of the reasons I joined up with you, Lady Prudence. Never a dull moment. It's been ages since I visited Egypt. Could get a little awkward for me, given the plague and all. Plus, in some circles, I'm not at all welcome. But we'll worry about that when we get there, shall we?”

She moved to join the twins in the navigation area. Her nose twitched and she narrowed her big brown eyes at Primrose. “Little flower, you smell positively delicious.”

Prim blushed scarlet. “There was a kipper incident.”

“Don't stop,” begged the werecat.

Primrose rolled her eyes. “Would you like some?”

The lioness was not to be diverted. “Of you or the kipper?”

Primrose glared.

Tasherit would have twitched whiskers, had she sported them at the moment. “If we intend to break aether soon, then yes please. I should eat before I'm forced back to bed. Kippers would be lovely.”

The aetherosphere reputedly made vampires insane and werewolves ill. The werecat was affected as well, although not so badly. The moment they entered the grey, Tasherit fell into the deepest, most immovable sleep. Like a vampire during the daylight, she appeared dead, curled in a tight ball. Rue had asked her why she was different, able to travel in the aetherosphere where other supernaturals could not.

In classic fashion, Tasherit had answered with no answer. “I'm a lioness, darling. Heights are what cats
do
. We're good at being solitary, hence my lack of hive or pack… well,
pride
in my case. And we're good at being high up. And we're good at sleeping. I can't wake until we are out of aether, though. I doubt you can steal my form either, little skin-stalker.” At Rue's expression, she added, “It might be dangerous to try. I am accustomed to the catnap-solid-state-flop. You are not.”

Kippers arrived and Tasherit ate them with alacrity, accompanied by a large mug of heavy cream. She had horrible table manners, so the others left her to it, bustling about putting everything in order. Primrose retreated to wash her hair, given that while the kippers themselves had been removed, the stench had not.

Primrose still hadn't told the werecat about her engagement. Her gloves stayed very firmly on.
Little coward.

Tasherit completed her meal and returned below to prepare for the journey.

Rue was looking one final time over the rail at the dim lights of her home city when she heard Percy having an annoyed one-sided conversation. He was on the blow horn to engineering.

Rue marched over and put out her hand.

Relieved, the navigator passed her the speaking tube.

The voice on the other end was mid-diatribe. “What the hell is going on up there? I thought we had another twenty minutes. What are we doing floating unnecessarily? You're wasting fuel, Mr Tunstell. I can't promise we'll make the beacon without risk. Stop larking about.”

“It's me, Mr Lefoux.”

“Rue, what the hell?”

Quesnel was calling her by her real name. He
must
be annoyed.

“We were attacked. I thought it prudent to float off before it could happen a third time.”

Quesnel's tone altered. “Are you injured? Is anyone hurt? How's the ship? I'm coming up.”

“No, you most certainly are not! We have only a few minutes before first puff and I want you in the boiler room. Everyone is perfectly fine. Tasherit's been training them, remember? There may be a sunflower that needs to be put out of its misery, though.”

“She hasn't been training you.”

“I'm fine, too. How's my father? Did he wake after sunset?”

“No. Nor should he, if my calculations are correct. The tank should hold him in an optimal non-degenerative sleep state for the entire trip. And keep him from aether illness once we enter the grey.”

“Should?”

“It's not designed for werewolves,
chérie
.”

“Oh? What is it designed for? Vampires?”

“It's designed for apologies and reparations. Or so my mother tells me.”

“Lovely. Some day do you think you might reveal the particulars?”

“Some day. You sure you're unhurt?”

“I'm sure. I had an ignominious encounter with a tea hamper, which I roundly defeated, I'll have you know.”

Quesnel laughed. “Of course you did. Very brave.”

The tension was still there. Rue had apologised to Percy but not to Quesnel. The same truth held. He had deserved the reprimand, but she should have been less cruel about his shortcomings.

She only said, “Everything on track for float on your end?”

“
Naturellement
.”

“Then we will see you at supper once we've made our current.”

“Yes, Captain.” Quesnel sounded as tired as Rue felt.

“Carry on.”

The puffing went smoothly and they achieved flotsam status with no trouble at all from any Charybdis currents. For all their bickering and dislike of one another, Percy and Quesnel made for a synergistic team. Primrose reappeared smelling of violets and kept Rue company while Percy manned the tiller and the puffer buttons with an aplomb one would not have thought possible a month ago. He was such a bookish boffin that to witness him acting like a sailor out of some piratical yarn was surprisingly charming. Percy could never look tough, not with his winsome face, but he could look dashing. Rue saw a glimpse, briefly, of what made him so deadly when allowed to roam free among impressionable young ladies.