Imprudence (14 page)

“You do that.” Rue sagged into one of the deck chairs, feeling thoroughly ashamed of herself. She had probably destroyed any possible French lessons with Quesnel; even his casual kisses would be gone now. She wished Primrose had been there because she would have smoothed it all over.
No
, thought Rue,
this is my mess.

“Spoo?”

“Yes, Lady Captain?” Spoo bounced up to her with less enthusiasm than usual. She looked almost frightened.

Rue felt even guiltier.

“I'll be in my quarters. Will you muster me once Navigator Tunstell has the charts in order?”

Spoo looked relieved. “Certainly, Lady Captain.”

Rue resurfaced at Spoo's knock a few hours later with spirits somewhat rallied. She'd always wanted to see Egypt. It was a matter of some intellectual debate as to how a metanatural would react to the God-Breaker Plague. Now she was going to find out. Of course, she had visited before, but she had been too young to remember. Her mother said she handled the plague fine, but everything had felt different when she was young. Shifting into werewolf form hadn't hurt, among other things.

On deck, Rue found Primrose had returned and was in conference with her twin under the big parasol that stretched over the navigation area.

“Oh, Rue, good, there you are.”

“Everything go well with the supplies?”

“Yes. And I found a nice young French girl to handle that other matter we discussed.”

“Excellent. Percy?”

“You aren't going to yell at me again, are you?”

Primrose perked up. “Rue yelled at you? Spiffing. I'm sure you richly deserved it.”

“I probably did.” Percy looked more than ordinarily morose. “But she wasn't very nice. To me or poor Mr Lefoux.”

“
Poor
Mr Lefoux, is it? Suddenly you're all over chummy?” Primrose was not to be taken in by her twin being pathetic.

“More a solidarity in misery. I'm certain I shall return to loathing him shortly.”

Rue was feeling guilty. “While I stand by my opinion of your behaviour, Percy, I might have couched it in somewhat kinder terms. For that, I apologise.”

Percy had many faults, but bitterness wasn't one of them. “Apology accepted. Now here's our course.” He laid out the charts and pointed to the various swirling currents.

“Have you informed Quesnel?”

“I have.”

“Without getting into a fight?”

“I suspect that he, too, is smarting from your… uh… lecture.”

Rue turned to Primrose. “Are the staff and supplies in order?”

“Just waiting on a few final necessities but we should be ready by sundown.”

“Are we missing anyone?”

“Virgil,” said Percy promptly. “I sent him after the latest Royal Society Bulletin. I have a subscription but they cannot seem to find the ship to deliver it. I'm waiting on a very important article.” He sounded suspiciously smug.

“Why on earth did you give them the address of a dirigible?” Prim rolled her eyes.

“This is where I keep my stuff. Books, beverages, boots, and so forth.”

“It's a
dirigible,
you wiffin. It moves!” Primrose was ever exasperated by her brother's obtuse belief that the world ought to conform to his whims, rather than the other way around.

He sniffed. “Regardless, I sent Virgil off to collect a copy. I wish to have the latest in hand before float off. There have been several pamphlets warning of the hazards of reading during air travel. The evidence is sadly compelling. I'm quite distressed. I'm considering abstaining from partaking while we are in transit. So I want to read this pamphlet before we leave.”

Rue and Primrose both stared at him, mouths agape.

Primrose put a hand to her cheek. “Not read while we travel? But you'll die!”

Percy always had a book open, even during mealtimes. The very idea of him abstaining for more than ten minutes was apocryphal.

Percy glared. “I assure you, I have plenty of self-restraint.”

Rue had no more time for his eccentricities. “I shall believe it when I see it. I hope Virgil returns before we are scheduled to depart.” Not only did she like the little chap, but he also seemed the only one able to tolerate Percy for any length of time. And if Percy wasn't going to read, well, all Virgil's resources would be required.

“We'll have to delay.”

Primrose shook her head. “For your valet? Brother dear, that's hardly a good reason.”

“No, for the
pamphlet
. Didn't I just tell you how important it was?”

“What's so important about it?”

“Never you mind.”

This looked to be deteriorating into sibling bickering, so Rue interjected. “Now, Prim, should we have tea?”

Primrose left off the bicker with alacrity. “Jolly good notion. Shall we take it in the stateroom?”

“My quarters, I think.”

“Ah, that bad, is it?”

“I'm afraid so.”

Abandoning Percy abovedecks, the two young ladies went below together.

R
ue filled Primrose in on everything, from her father's deteriorating condition, to her suspicion that Quesnel had known and her lashing out at him. She told Prim about her fear for her parents and about Dama's revelations.

Primrose listened patiently, making sympathetic murmurs in all the right places. She held Rue's hand, squeezing it during the dramatic bits.

“Oh, I say!” was her devout utterance when Rue finished. “And I thought my news was something exciting.”

“Your news? And here I am babbling about my problems.” Rue was arrested. “What news?”

Prim extracted her hand and drew off her gloves. A very expensive-looking ring graced her left hand.

“You're engaged!” squeaked Rue.

“To the finest gentleman I ever saw. Such nice legs.” Primrose did seem sincere about it.

“Um, to which one, exactly?”

“Lieutenant Plonks.”

“Oh.”

“I know, but that is his only real drawback. Can you imagine me as a Mrs Norman Plonks? It hardly bears repeating. But he is handsome, and respectable, and Queen Mums will adore him. She's been encouraging me to get married. I'm almost past my prime.”

Rue tried not to let her disapproval show. Primrose was always so supportive. Rue owed her enthusiasm. But Prim had no real model of married life, since her father had died tragically when she was young. Rue had only heard it spoken of in hushed tones. A theatre actor of considerable repute, Mr Tunstell had taken a deep breath before Dionysus's famous soliloquy to the dancing Minotaurs, inhaled a pickled grape, and perished onstage to resounding applause for a most realistic portrayal. “It's how he would have wished to go,” was all Lady Maccon ever said at Rue's prodding, “wearing a loincloth in front of a cheering crowd.”

As a direct result, Primrose had never got over her fear of pickled grapes and she'd no practical example of what love was like. Aunt Ivy lamented her loss with no less a commitment than Queen Victoria did Albert, although Ivy returned to colour after the appropriate period of mourning. Nothing, not even the death of a beloved spouse, could make Ivy Tunstell eschew colourful hats for very long. But she refused to talk of her husband, enmeshed in the tragedy of his loss.

Rue was as sympathetic as she could be to the fact that Primrose was suckering herself for life to some minor officer because she thought that was the proper thing. This Plonks would have no idea what a prize he'd garnered and would likely squirrel Prim away with utter disregard for her organisational talents and interest in adventure. Besides which, Rue was tolerably certain that Primrose's real affections lay elsewhere.

She prodded. “And what about Tasherit?”

Prim went still. “What about her?”

“Have you told her of your engagement?”

“Not yet.”

“Ah.”

“What do you mean by ‘ah'?”

“I'm thinking she might not be overly happy about it.”

“Really, Rue, why should a werelioness care what I do with my future?”

If Primrose wanted to remain obtuse, Rue wasn't going to force reality upon her. Rue had been raised by Lord Akeldama and thus understood deviating taste. Primrose had been raised by Ivy Tunstell and thus understood hats. She would never accept being wholly outside society's purview.

Tasherit had a rough road ahead of her
. If she decides to take it.
She
was
a cat; she might simply settle for a less challenging sunbeam.

Rue demurred. “She holds you in high esteem is all. I should think she, like all of us, would like to meet the gentleman before you marry him.”

Prim blanched. “She would eat him alive.”

Rue pretended not to hear. “Have you told your brother?”

“Yes, silly blighter. He laughed at me and asked not to be in the wedding party.”

Rue swallowed down a smile, surprising herself.
Amazing
how a few minutes in Primrose's company makes everything that much better.

By the time the young ladies resurfaced, the workers had gone and
The
Spotted Custard
seemed as close to her original pristine state as possible. Decklings scurried about. Deckhands lumbered in their wake, issuing orders. Percy was in full navigator splendour, holding court over Footnote and Virgil.

Virgil had returned so recently from his errand that they were in time to watch him hand over the fated pamphlet. Percy bent over the manuscript, flipping through it rapidly, searching for a specific article.

“It isn't here!” He reached the end and discarded the now-insulting document petulantly.

His valet was appropriately sympathetic.

Footnote made a little
mur
-
rup
noise of enquiry.

“My point exactly! Where is it?”

Rue and Primrose trundled up.

“Where's what?” asked Rue.

Percy whirled. “Never you mind. It's a surprise. Should it ever happen.”

Rue chose to be placating. “Very well, be like that. Everything ready for departure?”

Percy consulted his watch. “In about two hours and twenty-seven minutes.” He looked pleadingly at his sister. “Nosh? I'm starving. Plus it feels as if I haven't slept in a million years. Oh wait, I haven't.”

Primrose took pity on him. “I'll go and rustle up a picnic, shall I? Rue?”

“Yes, please.” Rue perked up. “Hard-boiled eggs and pickled gherkins?”

“Sugarplums, if you're taking requests,” added Percy.

“I'll see what Cook has lying about. I don't want to interfere with his system. You know how he gets just before a float.”

“Of course!” said Rue and Percy in unison. Better never to upset a cook.

Primrose glided away.

Footnote, who knew very well what was what, followed.

They returned shortly. Primrose was in possession of a hamper of comestibles, including a wedge of Stilton, crusty bread, and the requested boiled eggs. Footnote was licking his chops.

After luncheon, Rue reviewed their course while Percy read. The last book before they floated, Rue supposed, wondering what tome could possibly be worthy of such an honour.

She peeked at the cover. “
On the Respiratory, Restorative, and Regenerative Applications of Aspic Jelly
.”

Well, there you have it.

They should not have been faulted for being unprepared. After all, who would have thought a daytime attack at all likely?

It took Rue a few minutes to realise that
The
Spotted Custard
was, once more, under siege. She had just re-emerged after an afternoon nap belowdecks via the captain's ladder.

Primrose was supervising the delivery of a cartload of kippers, dried apricots, raspberry jam, and other vital necessities. The gangplank was down as the last of the provisions were wheeled up.

Tea was laid out near navigation. Rue was contemplating whether she could manage a scone, when she suddenly had no options at all. The tea hamper was knocked up into the air and on top of her by a man apparently intent on throttling Percy.

Percy was understandably surprised to find himself under threat of strangulation.

Rue was not surprised at all. She often wanted to throttle Percy. But then, she
knew
him. Fortunately, he was not as easy a mark as he appeared. Aunt Ivy was quite silly – everyone knew this – and it's not like one became less silly because one turned into a vampire. However, she was not wilfully ignorant. She insisted both her children – yes, even the girl – be trained to protect themselves. Thus Primrose and Percival Tunstell knew the rudiments of self-defence against vampires specifically, but that translated pretty darn well to everyone else.

Percy twisted and elbowed his assailant in the throat.

Rue struggled to extract herself from a newly intimate relationship with the tea hamper.

Percy delivered a very nice punch to his opponent's eye. The man, who may or may not have been one of those who tried to board before, pulled a knife and turned his attention onto Rue.

Rue found a grip on the hamper and swung it in a wide arc, clipping him on the side of the head. Until that moment she had not realised how satisfying the sound of wicker crunching could be.

It didn't fell the ruffian, but it dazed him enough for Percy to get in another punch.

“Bloody hell,” said Percy, shaking his hand, “that hurts.”

“Imagine how he feels.” Rue's attention drifted to assess the larger situation. She needed to establish command.

“Percy, can you manage this?”

“If I must.”

Rue left the poop deck for the quarterdeck. Away from the helm and associated clutter, the quarterdeck afforded her a better vantage point on the battle taking place on the main deck below.

Several ruffian types had boarded once again. Decklings had one invader up against the forecastle break, four deadly crossbows pressing against his delicate parts. Other decklings had taken to the rigging and were poised for a clear shot, should any of the enemy try to escape. Deckhands engaged two others in fisticuffs.

The three remaining enemies seemed to be trying to make their way belowdecks via the main hatch to the staircase.

Behind her came a crash as Percy brought one of her potted sunflowers down on his assailant's head. The man fell, insensate.

“Oh, Percy, really, must you waste my disinfecting sunflowers?”

Percy look prim. “The evidence supporting the efficaciousness of sunflower use in aetherosphere transit is sketchy at best.”

Rue turned back to the battle.
What are they after? Percy's research perhaps? Or Quesnel's preservation tank?
A tank that would allow vampires and werewolves to travel by air was a gold mine. No doubt Professor Lefoux was busy writing up petitions to modify the patent, now that they knew it worked on werewolves.
Quesnel will have told me everything. Or Mother will have.
Inventors did talk to each other. If someone knew what that tank could do and blabbed? It could be a target. And now her father was inside it.