Imprudence (30 page)

The closer they got to Luxor, the more profound the nullifying feeling of the plague. Rue learned to tolerate it. She spent most of her time standing on the main deck, eyes glued to magnification lenses, watching the Nile below. Paddle ferries chugged along while old-style dahabiyas, with their two triangular sails, nipped in and around them. Closer to the embankments, small reed rafts floated, from which scantily clad young men slapped the water with big sticks in a pretty, if confusing, method of fishing. Or was it crocodile control?

They arrived in Luxor as the sun set on the third day. It seemed to grow larger as it sank, a massive orange globe tinted red at the bottom by the dust of the desert. Primrose owned a dress that did that.

Luxor was greener than Cairo, the Nile near the city dotted with half-formed islands. The banks were thick with palm trees, which crowded into the sandstone of the town, while rocky grey monoliths spiked out of the desert beyond.
The
Spotted Custard
floated in over the massive statues of Memnon, sitting in faceless judgement over those little islands, like two stern governesses. Primrose –
Baedeker's
in hand – pointed out Karnak at one end of the town and the Temple of Luxor at the other.

At Rue's orders,
The
Spotted Custard
and company remained high above the city. The feeling of the plague was simply too unpleasant if they de-puffed even slightly. The decklings were disappointed. They wanted to see the Valley of the Kings up close.

That evening, Rue was to host a Drifter gathering. Quesnel declined to attend. Primrose didn't feel it was her place and Miss Sekhmet made herself obligingly scarce. Which left Rue and Percy, of all people, to welcome their guests.

It was a still night, with little wind, so the balloons performed their dance in stately majesty. Slipping about each other like the most dignified of matrons at a church ball, they collected into pods of ten or so family groups and cast out more of those massive nets. Each pod netted to another, until all hundred-plus airships were linked together.

Quesnel, on deck for this occurrence, was impressed despite himself. “I had a friend at university, used to draw schematics of molecules in just such a manner. He theorised that chemical bonds were more net-like than stick-like in the Kekulé model.” He spoke mostly to himself.

“Preposterous.” Percy overheard the mutter.

“Yes, so our professor always said. But if one were to conceive of molecules on a two-dimensional plane and then extrapolate into three dimensions? Perhaps netting bonds is not quite so outlandish.”

At that juncture, a holler and a thrown net saw the
Custard
bonded to the greater molecule as well.

“Note how the nets allow for each individual ship to sway and bob about where a stiffer material would not? Is it so far-fetched to imagine a molecule might enjoy equal flexibility?”

“Oh, go below, Mr Lefoux, do.” Percy's tone was only mildly annoyed. “No one is interested in your ridiculous theories on the chemistry of airships.”

With a bow, Quesnel unexpectedly did as instructed.

Percy was disappointed at being denied a theoretical debate.

Rue felt a twinge of pain. It wasn't like Quesnel to cede an intellectual point, much less take an order from Percy. He must be feeling quite low. She stopped herself from following him.

Around them, the nets became walkways by which matters of business were conducted. Women began paying social calls on other balloons. Children commenced games with one another. After a complex series of greetings and gift exchanges, each group decided upon a representative. These converged upon Rue's dirigible.

Rue felt a distinct pressure to make her guests welcome and not to commit any outrageous social gaffes, if she could possibly help it. Considering social gaffes were her forte, she was nervous.

Twelve leaders from the various family groups – plus Anitra, Floote, Percy, and Rue – were too many for the
Custard
's stateroom, so they held the assembly on the main deck. The Drifters seemed not at all insulted by an al fresco setting. Nor were they disturbed by the delighted shrieks of the decklings, who had discovered that the net walkways were particularly amenable to a modified game of cricket.

“Spoo,” ordered Rue from over the railing, “don't let anyone fall off!”

Spoo waved at her from the middle of the net where she was bouncing higher and better than anyone else. “Course… not… Lady… Captain,” she yelled at the apex of each bounce.

They hadn't enough chairs for all their visitors, which turned out to be no bad thing, for the men – and by clothing and prevalence of beards they were men – chose to sit cross-legged directly on the deck.

Primrose, blushing and desperate, fetched cushions from everyone's beds so the visitors need not sit on the hard wood. This seemed to be both a kindness and a luxury. The cushions were met with murmurs of approval. Prim saw to the distribution of cups of tea, which seemed to be a kindness and a confusion, and then scones with strawberry preserve, which were universally regarded with suspicion and then delight. The niceties having been observed, she made herself scarce with almost improper haste. Rue couldn't blame her – there were men, in robes, sitting on the floor.

Rue, with a shrug, joined them. Percy, askance, followed suit. He looked uncomfortable and unsure as to why he had to be there. Floote took a seat next to Rue, and Anitra next to Percy.

Floote asked in her ear, “Is that
the
parasol?”

Rue patted her mother's hideous accessory where it rested tucked against her side. “It's one of them. She's had quite a few over the years.”

Floote raised his eyebrows. “Two while I was with her.”

Rue smiled. “Tough on parasols, my mother. She already has a desert-edition replacement on order.”

“I never doubted.” Floote gave a little seated bow, either to Rue or the parasol it wasn't clear which.

One of the few men without a beard spoke first. Despite the fact that he wore light-coloured robes and no veil, he had a voice that was – without question – female. This confused Rue. Particularly when Anitra translated, “He is welcoming us all to the circle and thanking you for the generosity of food and drink.”

Rue wasn't one to question; if the handsome older woman across from her wished to be a
he
, why gainsay?

Anitra continued her role as interpreter. “Ay asks if the young lord will be speaking for himself or if the fire hair is his voice in matters of barter.”

“I'm sorry, what?”

Anitra dimpled a little. “You are the
young lord
. Mr Tunstell is the
fire hair
.”

“I'm
what
?” Rue looked down at her considerable bust. The light blue tea-gown she wore was not as daring as a ball gown, but the square neckline for all its lace trim did nothing to conceal the fact that she was, most determinately, a woman. If anything, it advertised this fact. There were
bows
all the way down the front.

Anitra tried to explain, “You captain this ship, and you are wearing something similar to a blue robe.”

Rue continued to blink.

Floote said, his voice cracked with age or exhaustion or humour or all three, “They think of you as male.”

Rue regarded the leader who had started the talks with new interest. “Women in charge are thought of as men?”

Floote nodded.

“Right, then, do continue. Please inform them that I shall speak for myself.”

The woman who was no-woman, Ay, waited politely until Rue nodded at her and then continued.

Anitra said, “He is congratulating you on the beauty of your airship and your crew.” After another lengthy statement from Ay, Anitra blushed and covered her mouth to hide a smile. “And wishes to know if your woman is entertaining suitors? Ay represents a very powerful family and he thinks she would make an excellent wife. He enjoyed the little fluffy breads very much.”

This was getting most bizarre. “Primrose? She – wait,
he –
is interested in
marrying
Primrose? Because he liked the scones?”

“Oh I say!” said Percy. “That's not on. That's my sister you're haggling over.”

Rue kept a straight face. “Please thank her – er, him – for the compliment and inform him that Miss Tunstell has a prior commitment.” Primrose, Rue realised, had been wearing a navy dress. That colour seemed the provenance of women. Rue supposed it wasn't so odd to have attire intimately linked to social conventions. After all, back in England, an inordinate amount of time and attention was spent on the niceties of mourning garb. The presence or absence of black crêpe in British society was certainly as esoteric to an outside observer as gender-determining robes were to Rue.

Ay inclined her head and then waved in a dismissive manner.

Anitra said, “It is of no great import.”

Floote whispered to Rue, “Good response.”

Anitra explained, “Ay's offer may have been sincere or it may have been a compliment. In either case, it is now acquitted without shame to either party.”

Rue whispered back, “You mean, she might actually wish to marry Prim, in that also acting as a man?”

Floote inclined his head.

Anitra laughed. “Ay has two wives already. And three children.”

Rue reeled. “How is that possible?”

Floote went deadpan. “To know, I believe you must ask the wives. Now focus.”

Rue focused. She was aware that she must play by Drifters' rules.
The
Spotted Custard
could not afford to be abandoned on its own so far from Cairo. Now that they had the escort, it would be better if they could keep it.

The other leaders around the circle introduced themselves. They all seemed, by voice and facial hair, to be biologically male, although Rue decided not to take anything as truth until told so.

Rue tendered her gratitude for their assistance thus far and the meeting proceeded apace. With Anitra's and Floote's help, Rue believed she avoided cultural pitfalls. But she wasn't entirely certain, given the fact that she comprehended neither language nor expressions. Percy, too, although adept at foreign tongues, could no more follow this conversation than he could a school of gossiping goldfish. He stuck his nose in the air and whispered to Rue that it was, “Quite a primitive tongue,” in a tone that suggested he was annoyed that the language was outside his comprehension and that the opposite was actually the case. It was too sophisticated for even his vaunted brain to follow.

Anitra explained that the family leaders had gone as far as they felt necessary in helping Goldenrod and were reluctant to continue floating south. “They understand you are hunted but not why they should involve themselves further.”

Rue wondered if they had any idea why the
Custard
was being chased. Given Anitra's reverential attitude to werecats, should Rue present Tasherit's case? Would that work for or against them? But Anitra had insisted Tasherit not attend this meeting, so perhaps it was best not to petition for werelioness protection.

Rue decided not to mention cats. “I understand your position. I'm most grateful for such assistance as you have rendered thus far. I would beg your indulgence a little further on my journey.”

Anitra shook her head. “They are not ones for charity, Lady Prudence.”

Rue frowned. “Trade?”

Anitra said something, making a gesture with her arms. The men all sat up straighter, suddenly very interested.

Anitra said, “Do you have coffee? It is the custom upon opening a barter.”

Rue grimaced in disgust.

“Wine?” suggested Floote.

Rue narrowed her eyes. “Will port do?” She hated port, yet for some reason Cook had seen fit to stock a very great deal for the journey.

“Splendid.”

Rue leaned back out of the circle and gestured with one arm at Spoo. In classic Spoo fashion, she'd left her game to sit nearby in the guise of some vital task – whittling a wedge of cheese or what have you. “Run to Primrose, please, Spoo. Have her release two—”

“Four,” interrupted Floote.

“Four bottles of port from stores. Have the footman bring them up with some of those little serving glasses Cook likes so much. The footman, mind you,
not
Primrose herself.”

“Consider it done, Lady Captain.”

“Thank you, Spoo.”

“Lady Captain?”

“Yes, Spoo?”

“Please don't say or do anything exciting until I get back?”

“I have a feeling nothing untoward will occur until the port arrives. Now hurry along.”

Spoo dashed below.

Ay leaned forward. Anitra translated for her. “You wish to open negotiations?”

“I do.”

“You need to know exactly what you're asking for. Request more initially. Then back down. Saves face for everyone.” Floote seemed invested in helping Rue through this murky situation. It was the most sentences she'd yet heard him string together.

Rue could only be grateful.

They waited for the port.

It arrived, along with Spoo, the footman, and many small glasses. Ay seemed disappointed it wasn't Primrose but cheered considerably when the port was passed around. More bottles were placed in the centre of the circle where anyone could reach them.

Everyone sipped gravely. Delighted smiles crossed the faces of the men.

To each their own
, thought Rue. “I should like to continue our escort for the next week, into the deep desert, plus escort for the four decoy dirigibles going in opposite directions.”

“A large request. You take us away from our normal trade routes and hunting grounds, simply because you are being hunted yourself.”

“Those with the decoys may follow any path they wish, hunting or trade. It is only those who accompany me who are required to stick to a specific path.”