Imprudence (27 page)

“Lord Akeldama is comprised of nothing but whims.”

“Fair point. I think it's how he keeps going. But I never once made the mistake of thinking them trivial. He isn't all brocades and pomade, you know. He's still a
vampire
. Vampires run deep.”

Percy looked at his charts. “Consequence of being the son of a very young and very silly immortal, I forgot how the old ones operate.”

“Or you lack the necessary interpersonal empathy.”

“That's not a very nice thing to say, Rue.”

“I'm not feeling very charitable at the moment.”

Percy looked so crestfallen at that, Rue decided to gentle her abuse. She needed him functional to fly the ship.

Footnote appeared at that juncture, intent on sniffing her shoes. Rue could sympathise. She was fond of footwear, too. She nudged him in Percy's direction, hoping the cat might alleviate his depression.

Footnote chirruped at the academic autocratically.

Percy chucked him under the chin as ordered.

Rue explained. “I came down to find out where we are going. She never said.”

Percy pointed to a map of Africa sprawled out over a pile of books. The Nile snaked down the right-hand side. He traced the long blue line with one finger out of Egypt, through Nubia and the Sudan, and into the contested wilds around Lake Victoria.

“We're going here, to the Source of the Nile.”

There was a march of letters across the map:
unexplored
. Rue felt a tinge of fear but refused to show Percy. They had travelled quite a bit in her wonderful little ship, but they had yet to leave the comparative safety of the empire's fortified territories.

“Well,” she said, “I made a promise on the back of your mistake. Let's hope we can survive them both.”

Percy returned to his charts. “There is a difficulty. No aetheric currents flow in that direction. Plenty of lower atmosphere wind, though. The locals have a saying: ‘sail the Nile south with the wind and north with the current'.”

“Is that what normal tourists would do?”

“Normal tourists wouldn't go uncharted.”

“Then we drift astray.”

“You should know.”

“Percy.”

“Sorry, Lady Captain.”

“It's not the fastest, and it'll take more propeller – we'll go through coal. You're sure atmosphere is our best option?”

Percy grimaced. “It's our
only
option.”

“South with the wind we go, then.”

Rue left him to it and went down to beard her ship's second fiercest lioness in her den.

Aggie Phinkerlington was more than normally impossible.

“I've no idea where he scuttled off to,” was all she would say to Rue's enquiry.

“Well, then, you had better prepare the ship for float yourself. We leave at sundown whether Quesnel Lefoux is back aboard or not.”

“Like that, is it?”

“We have an urgent mission and his private business cannot be allowed to interfere.”

“Taking it out on him, are you?”

“Oh for goodness' sake. Taking
what
out?”

“Your lovers' spat.”

“We aren't having a lovers' spat. This has nothing to do with me or him or us.”

“Oh no? And the fact that he was in here this morning looking like a depressed baked potato has nothing to do with an evening spent in your bed and not his own?”

Rue blushed, hot and humiliated. “You keep a careful watch on his comings and goings, don't you? Or is it me who interests you so strangely?”

Aggie sputtered in a rage so overpowering it rendered her speechless.

Rue followed up her advantage by calming her voice into condescension. “Your obsessive interest in my private affairs notwithstanding, you cannot go around besmirching my reputation.”

Aggie snorted. “You have no reputation. All your vaunted aristocratic connections and you're little more than an unmarried strumpet with parents in
trade
.”

As that was a concise if not particularly flattering assessment of her current situation, Rue could hardly protest. “You know a great deal more than you ought, don't you?”

“The old boffin is my friend. And he's my kind. You think you're too good for him with your snobbish ways and your fast connections.”

Rue frowned. “I'm confused. You're angry because I won't make an honest man of Mr Lefoux? You're protecting his interests against predatory little me?” Rue gestured to herself dismissively. “Because I'm known to swallow men whole like oysters in season? Look, if you must know, neither of us took advantage. It was a mutually agreed upon arrangement that is likely now over and
was never any of your concern
! Now, as a matter of official business, if you won't tell me where
my chief engineer
has gone, you had better get a message to him instructing him to return immediately. Is that clear?”

Aggie grunted.

Rue, in a temper, took that as a yes. She marched away muttering, “Is
nothing
secret aboard an airship?”

To which one of the sooties answered with feeling, “Not much, Lady Captain. Worse than a small town. If there ain't something interesting to talk about, we make it up, including each other's doings.”

Rue looked at the soot-covered scrap of humanity, feeling a sudden kinship. “Got you, too, did she?”

The boy rolled his eyes expressively. “You've no idea.”

Rue nodded and continued on her way.
Everyone's got problems, I suppose. Silly me to think mine so much more profound.
She wondered what Aggie's problems were, for certainly they were made manifest whenever Rue was in the room.

Fortunately they did not have to leave Quesnel behind. Although his manner of return was unusual: he bobbed abreast in a hot air balloon – a balloon that wasn't his. And he wasn't alone.

At first, when the balloon approached, Rue thought it was coming to share their obelisk. However, it was not a style of craft welcome in Shepheard's part of town. It was one of the roughed-up patchwork jobbies piloted by local tribesmen. It was small and nimble, retrofitted with a manual propeller to give it some manoeuvrability. It was more primitive than even Dama's old dirigible,
Dandelion Fluff Upon a Spoon
. However, it had been lovingly maintained, for all it showed its age in the smoothness of its gondola's wicker edge, rubbed by hundreds of hands pressed to lean over.

Quesnel hailed
The
Spotted Custard
as soon as they were in range, although the deckling in the crow's nest had already shouted down details of who was on intercept.

Quesnel cast a line over and the deckhands winched him in until the two airships bobbed as close as they may without balloons clashing. At this juncture, Quesnel and his friends cast out a thick net between the two ships. Rue's crew scuttled to anchor their side taut, so that it became a hammock meets walkway.

Quesnel trotted across. He was uncommonly graceful, bouncing only slightly. Two other figures climbed up to the net behind him and followed.

Rue met him at the rail. “You're late.”

“Now,
chérie
, you said we might have the afternoon. It's not yet teatime. Not that I wasn't perishing for lack of your scintillating company.”

“Yes, yes, you're horribly charming. Sadly, circumstances have changed.”

“I'm no longer charming?”

“Cairo is no longer charming.”

Quesnel sobered. “What
circumstances
?”

“Percy is an outstanding rotter, not to mention a terrific chump.”

“Well, I know that! You know that. That's nothing new.”

“The problem is that now
everyone
knows.” Rue glanced away from his twinkling violet eyes. The two strangers moved more slowly over the mesh than Quesnel, although they were clearly accustomed to the technique of net strolling. Both wore the flowing robes favoured by natives. The man was swathed in white, bent and frail, assisted by a younger female in black.

Rue explained. “Percy has exposed Miss Sekhmet's existence in an effort to get back at you. Now we are all on the hook to make it right with her and the werecats.”

Quesnel took this in stride. “I take it you'll relay details later?”

Rue nodded. “Over dinner.”

He flinched.

At which she realised he might be implying later
later
, over pillows instead of port. Not knowing how to react, she kept the conversation on business. “Do we have passengers or visitors?”

“That will depend on you, Lady Captain.” Quesnel's tone became formal.

“There could be a more convenient time.”

“On
The
Spotted Custard
it's rarely convenient. I will go down and resume my duties, if you would only talk with them? They've come a long way to meet you.”

“Me? Oh dear. Is this a metanatural thing?”

Quesnel tilted his head, giving nothing away.

“If you insist. Come and see me later, once we're in float? Official business. There's something we need to discuss. I'm afraid my mother has spilled the beans.” Rue could hardly believe this man had concealed so much from her.
Who is going to die?
she wanted to ask
. Why didn't you just tell me about the true purpose of the tank? Why don't you trust me?

“Ominous.”

“You've no idea.”

“I'll just make introductions and be off.”

Quesnel helped the old man and the younger woman down from the net.

“Lady Akeldama, please allow me to introduce Grandfather Panettone and Miss Panettone. Grandfather, Miss Panettone, this is my captain and friend, Lady Prudence Alessandra Maccon Akeldama.”

Quesnel bowed and then left.

Rue, conscious of her duties as hostess, led her strange visitors over to Prim's shaded sitting area.

“Mr Panettone, Miss Panettone? Do sit. Tea? I'm afraid we stock the English variety.”

The old man nodded, looking as if he would like to smile in pleasure at the idea. But he did not have the kind of face that smiled well.

Rue hailed a footman and sent him for tea, hoping Cook wouldn't be too mad at the disruption to float off preparations. Apparently not, for the footman reappeared promptly with a fresh pot and a few biscuits.

Miss Panettone was a lively little thing, thin but with a round cheerful face darkened by the sun. She did not wear the full veil as Rue had seen on most women in Cairo and her hair was pulled out to frame her face. Her features were pleasingly symmetrical, with serious liquid black eyes and thick lashes. She wore black robes, fitted at the top, with a velvet belt around her hips from which hung colourful tassels. Her robe's skirt and sleeves were richly embellished with gold embroidery. Over the top she wore a dark blue velvet vest with yellow embroidery which reminded Rue of a Spanish bull dancer. The embroidery was a repeated motif of a stylised balloon.

“A pleasure to meet you, Lady Prudence.” Miss Panettone had a strong accent. Her voice was oddly familiar. As were her eyes.

“We have met before.” Rue poured tea, frowning. It was not a question.

“I did not think you would remember.”

“You wore a fuller veil and you called me
Puggle
. Anitra, I think it was.”

She dimpled. “He trained you well.”

Rue thought of Dama drilling her on names and faces and how to remember them. She'd thought at the time it was merely for society gatherings. “Do you have another message for me?”

Anitra's smile widened. “Not this time.”

“And this is your grandfather?” Rue wondered if the young lady's elderly relation knew she was a spy for a British vampire rove.

Anitra inclined her head. Unlike other Egyptian women, she wore no jewellery except tiny glass jars dangling from her ears.

Rue turned to the gentleman. He was very old, perhaps in his nineties. It was hard to tell with a face so wrinkled and leathery from sun and wind. His features were undistinguished, as if they were trying hard to be forgotten. His eyes may have been blue. His expression was mild, almost self-effacing, as if he were accustomed to being overlooked.

Rue inclined her head. “Panettone is not a Drifter name.”

“Indeed it is not. It's Italian.” His voice was clipped and perfect. He spoke English as if born to it. “And Anitra is not my real granddaughter. In the desert skies, g
randfather
is a term of respect.” Was he British or Italian or something else? It was difficult to tell under all those wrinkles – robes and skin.

Rue sat back, sipping her tea. “I'm afraid my ship must depart soon. What can I do for two friends of Mr Lefoux's? And, perhaps, my father's?”

Anitra dimpled again. “Goldenrod has not called upon my services recently. Although my family will always respect him.”

Her grandfather added, “And Mr Lefoux was merely a means of introduction. I once travelled with his mother.”