Imprudence (33 page)

From above, it looked like a great big smudge.

This place was more a creature of the modern age, as Rue had come to understand it, than any she had seen in Egypt. She half expected to find a railroad, spearing out into the desert towards Abu Hammed.

“The desert eats it up,” Anitra explained when Rue asked. “The tracks, I mean. It's been tried but it never lasts. One could parallel tracks along the Nile, as they do in the Delta, but the flooding is less predictable here. It'd have to stop half the year and then be dug out after. So, with no train, Wady Halfeh does the heavy lifting for aircraft in these parts.”

Rue nodded her understanding. “There's always lot of airships where trains can't go.”

“Exactly.”

Rue nodded. “Can't complain. After all, we intend to refuel here.”

“Nubia has a few way stations further south. But respectable dirigibles don't moor there unless it's an emergency. Even then I wouldn't recommend it. At least Wady Halfeh has
some
laws.”

Rue nodded. “Understood. Percy, take us down.”

The
Spotted Custard
sank down, de-puffing in stages towards what looked like the main dockyard. It wasn't designed up, like most dirigible service ports; instead it soared out over the Nile, bringing airships in low to tether to one island or another.

“We are responsible for our own water intake while moored?”

Anitra nodded. “Coal transfer takes place via a centralised venting system in the centre of town. See there?”

“Percy, take us there first, please.”

The coal-dispensing station looked like a massive cauldron, with holes plus anchor points at various junctures, like a strawberry pot. They were hailed the moment it became clear they were in need of fuel and directed into one vent by the gesticulations of a precariously stationed native boy.

Spoo supervised as they let out the lines to a group of eager local sooties whose hands reached out from the cauldron interior in an eerie disembodied manner. Like a poltergeist.

Anitra undertook a rapid haggle over cost.

Primrose, as ship's purser, stood by wearing a deeply contemplative expression more common when deciding how to dress for a ball.

For a price that Prim deemed just shy of extortionist, a tube was ejected outward and connected to the open porthole of
The
Spotted Custard
's boiler room. Coal was transferred aboard and gold transferred off. Transaction complete, they were gestured rudely away by the disembodied hands.

Rue directed Percy to moor far out over the rapids, at the most isolated island.

She still felt their position exposed. True, there were white-water rapids between them and shore, but there were also rope bridges aplenty and small light aircraft developed exactly to deal with the difficulty inherent in living near cataracts.

“I don't like this, Lady Captain. We're awfully easy to board.”

“Agreed, Spoo. But what can we do? We need water and this is the only way to take it on.”

Tasherit joined them, leaning over the forecastle rail.

“Not a particularly defensible military position.” Her attitude was deceptively casual.

“Nevertheless,” said Rue, “I'm afraid you must guard us against attack.” She looked down at her small shadow. “No shore leave, Spoo. Apologies.”

“Understood, Lady Captain.”

Quesnel appeared.

“Must everyone come up top right now when we are at our most vulnerable?” Rue asked the world at large.

“Got to supervise the water coming in, Lady Captain. It's not easy to draw off rapids.”

“Fine. Just please be careful.”

“Didn't think you cared.”

Rue glared.

Quesnel glared back.

“Softly, you two.” Miss Sekhmet was the only one brave enough to modulate the crackling friction between captain and chief engineer.

Rue considered Spoo's finer feelings and relented by walking away.

Miss Sekhmet strode the deck, stationing armed deckhands and decklings at various points, including up the sides of the balloon in lookout positions. She kept her own pistol at the ready. Spoo and Virgil manned the Gatling gun, although they were under orders not to use it in port unless given a direct command. Meanwhile, Quesnel, with Anitra on his arm, oversaw the sooties as they telescoped the hydrology tube down to sink into the rapids. It took seven tries to find a point deep enough not to break the pumps with too much air intake.

Rue carried her Parasol-of-Another-Colour open against the sun – it was greenish today – reassured in the knowledge of its armament. Acid was effective on everyone, and she wore goggles on her hat to pull down upon emission. She'd refilled its complement of lapis lunearis, lapis solaris, and lemon and basil tincture from the ship's medical cabinet. Thank goodness Primrose kept that fully stocked. She'd ensured the parasol's remaining four numbing darts were loaded. It occurred to her that, if necessary, the lemon and basil tincture might be added to barley water, improving taste and mood in one dose. The idea put a spring in her step.

Primrose wanted to leave
The
Spotted Custard
in search of a marketplace.

“Absolutely not.” Rue twirled her hideous parasol in frustration.

“But, Rue, we'll run out of food eventually.”

“How soon is eventually?”

“Well, three weeks. But we've no milk at all.”

“Too hot for tea anyway.”

“You aren't being reasonable. I'll be safe.”

“No, Prim, I can't spare the manpower to guard you if we don't need stores that badly.”

“Tell that to Cook.”

“You tell it to Cook. Needs must.”

“I hate it when you say that. You sound like your mother.”

“Don't be cruel. Now go below, please. And take your brother with you.”

Primrose sulked but did as Rue asked. “Come along, Percy. I'm sure there is something you need to research and we should keep an eye on Footnote.”

Percy was remarkably docile. “Indubitably. I was wondering about desert fauna and the relative frequency of sand fleas only yesterday.”

Rue was suspicious. She had long since realised Percy only got publicly pedantic about his studies when he was trying to cover something up. His emotions. Or his real interest. Or his activities. Or some less savoury research.

Perhaps it was because they were so very prepared.

Or perhaps their mysterious enemies hadn't any contacts in Wady Halfeh.

Or perhaps the town was simply too wrapped up in its own business.

But no attack came.

The
Custard
was able to set back out only a few hours later in relative harmony.

Everyone stayed tense, though. A gaggle of off-duty decklings remained glued to the aft railing, scanning the northern skies beyond their Drifter escort for hunters to reappear.

Perhaps the enemy's repairs took longer than estimated. Or perhaps the
Custard
's refuelling in record time gave them a consistent lead, but no one else broke the skies. They had the whole world to themselves as they left Wady Halfeh far behind and headed into the desert. The Nile disappeared. The moon rose into the sky, and below them was nothing but rolling sands and the jagged shadows of craggy rocks.

For the first time, Rue moved beyond the long arm of the British Empire. It felt terrifying and freeing all at once. A little like attaining her majority. They glided into skies even the East India Company feared to float. It was dangerously peaceful.

That evening they dined under the stars. Their Drifter escort made silent shadows about them touched by the occasional glimmer of lantern light.

After dinner, Rue, feeling antisocial, leaned over the rail near the quarterdeck, watching Primrose, Percy, Tasherit, Anitra, and Quesnel talk on the forecastle. The gentlemen and Anitra puffed small cigars. A marker of how casual shipboard life became was that they did so without smoking jackets. Quesnel's blond head bent solicitously as he listened to something Anitra said. The group laughed. Their humour tinkled out over the silent night and died in the sands below.

Floote caught her staring. “He turned out a better man than I expected.”

“Quesnel or Percy?” Rue paused and then added, “Or Tasherit?”

The former valet gave a chuckle. “Quesnel. He was quite the rascal.”

“And now he is quite the rake. You might warn your granddaughter.”

“Might I?”

“I would.”

“For your good or for hers?”

“Ouch. Were you this blunt with my mother?”

“I said very little.”

“Because she didn't need help?”

“I'm too old to sit idly by and watch young people be foolish with their hearts.”

That made Rue smile. “I thought that was what old people did – allowed us to repeat their mistakes.”

“Perhaps.”

“You think he is really interested in Anitra?”

“I think we seldom regret the risks we take as much as the times we did not try at all.”

Wonderful, now he talks in riddles.
Rue looked at their balloon shadows, grateful that they weren't alone above an unkind world.

Floote followed her gaze, leaning his old bones against the railing. His breath was shallow and quick, although he had not exerted himself.

“I am still amazed they agreed to come.” Rue thought it might be intrusive to ask about his health.

“They are curious about you. And about Lady Sekhmet.” He gave the werecat a title, as if she were nobility. “One of the reasons to keep her from meeting them initially.”

“Ah, I see now.”

“Ironic, really. That they rush to keep her kind from becoming slaves, when shape-shifters once enslaved all Egypt.”

“I know Ancient Egypt was once werewolf ruled. The God-Breaker Plague was born to cast the wolves out. Are you saying it wasn't wolves or that it wasn't wolves
alone
?”

Floote's lined face was thoughtful. “Your grandfather once uncovered a tomb containing the mummy of a jackal-headed creature. There is good reason to call it Anubis form. Mr Tarabotti kept it secret. He was a man who preferred secrets. Ironic that it is you, half a century later, who broke that seal and exposed the world to the fact that there are more than just werewolves changing shape around us.”

“To be fair, it was Quesnel and Percy who did that.”

Floote raised one eyebrow at her.

Rue considered the past, frowning. “How many animal-headed gods were there in the Egyptian pantheon?”

“Enough to keep you busy hunting a long time, Alessandro's granddaughter.”

“Back then, were werelionesses really so bad?” Floote was clearly a resource. Rue was surprised to find she admired him for it. She was beginning to realise she'd wasted opportunities to learn from her parents. Her mother's history was fascinating. Rue had always thought her so staid and old-fashioned! She refused to be so foolish now.

“The pharaohs of Egypt controlled vast numbers of slaves with crook and flail. And the living gods controlled the pharaohs. I would say the werecats were as bad as any other. Until they realised their mistake might be deadly.”

Unheard, for she had silent feet even without a cat form to call upon, Tasherit joined them. Rue jumped when her perfect profile suddenly appeared on the other side of Floote, silhouetted against the waning moon.

She said, “We were the first to abdicate.”

Floote nodded at her. “There are no great cats on the walls of tombs built after the Middle Kingdom.”

“There were so few of us left at that point. And we were tired of ruling. Cats have never played nice with others.”

Rue gave her a suspicious look. “Are you trying to tell me
cats
gave up being
gods
? Preposterous.”

Floote gave a dry chuckle. Tasherit did not respond.

Rue tried another question, gesturing at the nearby balloons with a sweep of her hand. “You think the people of Egypt forgive you their long imprisonment?”

“Humans have short memories.”

Rue cocked her head. “Even Drifters?”

“Ah, but they were never ours to begin with. They had no flight back then, but they were always nomads. We could no more hold them than we could the shifting sands. This is no betrayal of history, them helping us now.”

“Interesting,” said Floote. As if Tasherit's one statement had changed his whole perspective on the situation.

The werecat flashed them both a wide smile. “Drifters like cats.”

Then suddenly, just like that, she shifted form. A large lioness stood on hind legs next to them, with paws against the railing and tail swishing behind her.

Instinctively, Rue raised her hand to provide the necessary control with touch. She looked to the moon. It was not full.

Miss Sekhmet shook herself, like a dog after a swim, her thick golden fur silvered in the moonlight.

With instinct dampened and safety assured, Rue realised that she, too, had felt it lift. The numbing oppression that surrounded her since they entered Egypt was gone.