Competence

by Gail Carriger

  “In South America?” Rue perked up.

  Prim nodded. “Where no one of our acquaintance has ever travelled. It’s supposed to be” - she cleared her throat delicately - “quite wild.”

  “How exciting. Are we after reports of more odd shape-shifters then?”

  “No. Vampires this time.”

  Rue snorted. The Indian vampires, the Rakshasas, had been no fun at all, to put it mildly. “Well, if we must.”

  “I think we must indeed. Your mother seems, well, worried about them.”

  “That can’t be right. Mother never worries about anything.”

  “I believe this part, here, suggests she thinks they might be dying out. The last of their kind. She wants us to save them.”

  Prim frowned, trying to better decipher the meaning. “Or exterminate them. Difficult to tell.”

  Rue nodded sagely. “Now that does sound like my mother.”

  Prim frowned in thought (then remembered this wrinkled her forehead most awfully, and stopped). “We’re charged with a kind of collect, preserve, and rescue mission. The last of a supernatural species, under grave threat.”

  Rue wrinkled her nose. “Generally speaking, I’m better at blowing things up. But if that’s what we are to do - save a vampire race - then I suppose we’ll do it.”

  Primrose felt compelled to words of caution. Ever her sacred duty around a friend like Rue. “Unfortunately, there’s no indication on the nature of the threat or the nuances of the species.”

  Rue shrugged. “Still, it’ll be nice to travel to that part of the world. No one I know has ever been to South America before. The lure of the unknown.”

  Primrose considered. “I don’t think Percy knows the high mountain dialects.”

  “Or the aetheric currents for that matter. They aren’t very well charted over the Pacific.”

  “He’s going to be both delighted and annoyed with this destination.”

  Rue laughed. “Oh no, he’s going to be thrilled. It’s a chance for him to make a name for himself. You know, I think by the time I’m done with him, your brother might be one of the world’s most renowned aetherographers.”

  Prim nodded. Her brother had already filed a report on a new current he’d discovered between the Sudan and Zanzibar. They were calling it the Tunstell Passage. Prim felt that sounded ever so slightly rude, but she admitted to the glory of it (when Percy wasn’t around to get puffed up about it).

  “Anything else from my mother?”

  Prim didn’t like to have to say this part. “She is warning us to stay away from Europe because of Rodrigo. Her spies in London report that the Templars are after both you and him now.”

  Rue looked militant. She didn’t like to be told what she couldn’t do by her mother. She didn’t mind being told what she could do, or being sent on quests and adventures, but being told not to return home? That was asking for trouble.

  Primrose braced herself.

  “Dama didn’t say anything!”

  “Would he?”

  “Not as such.” Rue crossed her arms and glared at Prim. As if Prim was responsible for the order and not Lady Maccon.

  “Perhaps you should reread his letter for hints.” Primrose tried a delicate nudge. “Look, darling, South America is far enough away to be out of everyone’s reach and jurisdiction - your parents, the Templars, you know, everyone.”

  Rue looked slightly less militant. “You have a fair point.”

  “So are we headed there? Parts unknown?”

  Rue nodded. “Yes, yes, I think we are. I’ll go tell Percy to set a course. I want to talk to him about this book group of his while I’m at it. I don’t know how I feel about him turning my ship into a reform school meets university all willy-nilly like that.”

  Prim did not feel compelled to defend her twin. He could get himself out of his own messes. But she did say, “Oh, you know Percy, I’m sure it wasn’t intentional.”

  Percy was only mildly offended to have his whirlwind of a captain descend upon him with outrageous demands. It was to be expected of Rue, quite frankly. And, after all, he couldn’t very well conduct any aether experiments until they were actually back inside the aetherosphere. So when Rue curtly informed him that they were headed to South America and the Andes Mountains, he struggled to hide his pleasure. This would be a fun journey. And they would be a long time inside aether, crossing the oceans and charting new currents.

  He rummaged around and set those few charts they did have aside. The first leg, to Port Moresby, was well charted, if not frequently floated by Her Majesty’s Airships.

  However, it was the second of Rue’s attacks that Percy was ill prepared for and found totally unwarranted.

  “I say, Rue! You object to my philosophy club?” Why on earth should she? “Barba non facit philosophum.”

  “No Latin, Percy,” Rue grumbled at him. “Look, is it safe? How do I know my dear cousin deadly Italian mucky-muck isn’t practicing his conniving arts and turning you lot to his side? Greek logic can be easily misapplied.”

  Are we back on this sides thing again? I blame cricket. Percy huffed. Why persist in seeing the world in black or white? Isn’t that the whole point of philosophy? Besides which, how dare she question my own moral fibre? “Speaking as the only one in this room with a confirmed soul, I should like it known that I am not at all at risk. In fact, I’m offended you should think me so weak spirited. Besides, whatever powers of persuasion your cousin has, said powers clearly lean towards the physical.”

  Of course, Rue took offence at that. “Are you implying that my cousin is intellectually inferior?”

  Percy snorted. “Compared to me? Of course he is.” Aren’t most people?

  He looked to Footnote for support. The little traitor was diving about Rue’s feet and purring up a storm. Rue was fond of very fancy shoes and so was Footnote.

  “Oh, Percy, you are a chump.”

  Why is the truth always so difficult for people to accept? “Everyone should know their strengths. I don’t believe that Mr Tarabotti would deny that his persuasive powers are not necessarily verbal or mental in nature. Particularly with a language barrier. It’s not an insult if it is not his objective. Now do stop being so willfully obtuse, Prudence Akeldama. You don’t even like the man.” Percy held up a hand when Rue, who was now slightly red in the face, clearly would have persisted. How can she not realise? None of this is important.

  Blessedly, she stayed silent. Percy pressed on. “If you want to know what’s going on, read the books and come to the discussion yourself. Now, let me get these charts in order and set our course.”

  “Oh, very well,” Rue unexpectedly agreed, albeit with ill grace.

  Percy blinked at this. Perhaps I am more persuasive than even I give myself credit for. “Good then.” He cleared his throat. “Well. That is… I think we will have our next meeting the evening after next, once we are safely in the grey. Our next hop is a slow current, it will take us two full days to get there from here, lots of reading time. We meet in Mr Tarabotti’s, uh, quarters.”

  Rue crossed her arms and nodded.

  “You’ll have to collect the Greeks from Anitra, as they are currently residing with her. She should be done soon, she’s an admirably fast reader.”

  “And my cousin?”

  “Oh, not quite so fast. But then English is not his best language and I don’t keep things in translation. Although I may have the original Greek. Probably wouldn’t work any better. I don’t think he speaks Greek. Perhaps in future I might acquire some treatises in Italian. I mean, if he stays aboard, it might improve—”

  “Percy, stop. Enough. Fine. I’ll talk to Anitra then.”

  So it was that Rue came along the next time Percy had a philosophical meeting with Rodrigo Tarabotti.

  The discussion got heated, but stayed fair, and ranged over the nuances of choice and preference, societal stipulations, and progression of the moral compass. The co
nversation thus proceeded in a manner that Percy enjoyed immensely, as did, apparently, the cousins. It reminded him of the good old days after hours at university. The spirit of true intellectual debate that might only be improved upon with the addition of small cigars and possibly port. Since he did not think Rue would condone either, Percy resolved to be happy with only conversation.

  Eventually the discussion petered out and Rodrigo asked, tentatively, about their situation so far as being stranded in Singapore went.

  Rue grinned at her cousin. Rue was not the type of girl to hold attempted kidnapping against a man, which was jolly decent of her, Percy felt. No doubt this confused Rodrigo, but it also seemed to charm him. He became more animated in his engagement, which in turn caused Anitra’s lovely dark eyes to go hot. Percy wondered if the seductive quality of Italian men was a measurable phenomenon and if it had anything to do with the hands waving about while talking. Perhaps their motion had a seductive dance effect, like when peacocks shook their tails at their mates.

  In answer to the Singapore question, Percy explained that Primrose had come to their rescue with a mushroom.

  “Mushroom? What is this word mushroom?” Rodrigo mulled it about in his mouth.

  Percy searched his Latin and limited Italian for the correct term. “Fungi?” he hazarded.

  Rodrigo threw his handsome head back and laughed. “Fungi, like the porcini? The food?”

  Percy nodded.

  Rue was also amused. “I like it. We shall call our new escape dropsy the Porcini.”

  Percy didn’t think it a great idea that Mr Tarabotti know there was a means of escaping the ship once said ship was fully afloat. But that was Rue for you, smart but not particularly crafty so far as evil was concerned.

  Percy said, carefully, “Not that we are keeping it inflated, mind you. It will be for emergency purposes only, so don’t go getting any ideas.”

  The Italian shrugged. “Bah! Is too late now. I cannot go back. Even if I wish it. I find I like it here. You are interesting humans. There is nothing bad with three meals a day and fun conversazione. Even if your food, she is abominevole.”

  Rue bristled. She kept an excellent cook aboard ship. So far as dirigible food was concerned, the Spotted Custard offered unprecedented delectables. “How dare you criticise the meals that I have been providing for you! At my expense, I’ll have you know, cousin!”

  Percy thought that Rue sounded and looked more like her mother when she put on airs.

  Rodrigo was not impressed. “You English. You know nothing of food. Do not play the food.”

  “Play the fool,” corrected Percy, quietly.

  Rue sneered. “I’d put you to work in the galley, if only I trusted you not to poison us all.”

  Rodrigo shrugged. “It would be more to do. And then, I should not keep with the eating of such poltiglia.”

  “Percy?” Rue turned on him, imperious.

  Percy considered. “Mud?” He hazarded a guess. “Or perhaps, mush?”

  “Mush?” Rue fairly shook in her boots, glaring at Rodrigo. And then again, “Mush!”

  “Si! It is as I speak it.” The Italian glowered, his eyes no longer hot except in anger. Suddenly he and Rue looked very much alike. Both tan, both willful, both fierce-browed and glowering.

  Percy might have tried to mitigate the heat of the argument except he had no idea what to say in times like this. He wasn’t any good when passions flew. He was usually the one to cause anger and disagreement, and even then, he didn’t know how to stop it. Especially then.

  He cleared his throat. “Are we all done with the Greeks, then? Should we move on to Aquinas next? Terribly interesting fellow, Aquinas.”

  Rodrigo’s fierceness softened. “I believe Miss Anitra wishes to join us to talk that book.”

  “Does she indeed?” The young lady had asked to read some of the Greeks, which Percy understood to be a means of connecting with Rodrigo. Percy supposed Formerly Floote must have given her some instruction. Formerly Floote was her adoptive grandfather, but he had lived and traveled with her and her family long enough to have found the time for epistemology. I mean to say, who wouldn’t?

  Rue looked interested at this addition to their book group. “And how would you know that, cousin?”

  Rodrigo Tarabotti grinned at her. “She brings me my meals.”

  “Oh yes, I did ask her to do that.”

  “She is bellissima, your aravani.”

  Rue looked to Percy for an explanation. They both knew bellissima meant pretty, but aravani was not a word Percy knew in either Italian or Latin. Then again, given their prisoner’s clear affection for the girl, it may be a pet name of some kind.

  “Aravani?” he pressed.

  Rodrigo shrugged. “There is no other word I know for this.”

  Percy shrugged too. It didn’t seem important so they left it at that. “So in a few days we meet again, wherever we are floating, and talk Aquinas? I’ll bring the books around shortly.”

  Rodrigo seemed delighted with the prospect.

  Percy didn’t know why, but he was pleased as well. This was rather fun, and whatever else it was doing, it certainly seemed to be having an effect on their prisoner. Which is to say, Rodrigo was still annoying, and still Italian, and most likely still evil. But he was warming towards them.

  Well, it was hard not to like Rue, she was eminently likeable with all her vivacious enthusiasm. Percy had a suspicion it would be difficult to be evil when Rue was around making it so very easy to have fun. Even if she was arguing.

  He hoped the man was being honest with them about his prospects. If he really did have nowhere to go, perhaps he might stay with them voluntarily for a while.

  But Aquinas first.

  I must see to the nature of this man’s soul, Percy charged himself firmly. Which is laughable. I have become a priest of mercy in my old age. Me. Who’d have thought it?

  CHAPTER FIVE

  A Grey and Melancholy Danger

  As Percy had indicated, the first leg of their journey to South America was essentially painless. At least for the mortals aboard ship. The aether currents were slow and quiet and the crew subdued and industrious. The immortals, of course, slept.

  Primrose always felt a little melancholy within the grey. Being inside the aetherosphere was like being suspended in a dry fog - everything felt muffled, and there was nothing to do or see.

  Rue tended towards grumpiness, because she said the grey made her ache and tingle. Percy said that this was likely something to do with the ambient aether interacting with her metanatural abilities. And then he wanted to perform experiments on her. Rue bopped him on the back of his head with a sausage link and told him to mind his own business.

  Miss Sekhmet, of course, being a supernatural creature, fell into a deep deathlike sleep. Prim worried that prolonged exposure to the grey wasn’t healthy for a werecat. After all, werewolves got horribly airsick, and vampires went insane when immersed in such vast quantities of aether. Tasherit brushed off any concern (expressed by Rue at Prim’s request) with a dismissive wave and simply confined herself to her room. Where, no doubt, she curled into a ball and suffered alone, if indeed she suffered at all. Prim refused to worry further. Which she told herself firmly every time she walked past Tasherit’s closed door and was tempted to check. Strangely, she found herself walking by that door a great deal more frequently than her duties ordinarily allowed.

  Formerly Floote, being also a creature of aetheric representation, could not make any appearances. He was trapped inside his dead body in its Lefoux tank.

  Percy muttered something about tethers not existing inside aether, or being subsumed by aether prevalence, or there being too many possible tethers or something. Percy found the reactions of the supernatural when exposed to the aetherosphere rather too fascinating for Prim’s comfort. He was always threatening to bring vampires up in the Custard and see what happened. This appeared to be a specific obje
ctive of her brother’s, merely because the last report of vampire aetherosphere exposure was over forty years old. Which didn’t mean it was a good idea. Poor vampires! Prim felt a sudden satisfaction that they were floating to the rescue, as it were.

  Fortunately for any vampire foolish enough to take Percy up on his planned course of experimentation, Rue had put her foot firmly down on the matter. This came as no surprise considering she had a beloved vampire for an adoptive father. Percy was not allowed to tender an offer, not even by post to a rove. Nor could he invite anyone in person. Nor could he slip his request into conversation when in polite society. Not that he ventured into polite society all that often. Rue made her wishes explicitly clear, and did not give Prim’s twin any kind of loophole. Rue was accustomed to dealing with Percy. And this could only be thought a good thing. Because if Percy went up against vampires, Prim would not wager on the vampires.

  Regardless of Percy’s thwarted endeavours, with no werecat, no ghost, and the captain twitchy and maudlin, things were markedly subdued during their float further eastwards. To pass the time, Primrose put the decklings and sooties through lessons. She was teaching them reading, mathematics, social graces, the quadrille, and minor stabbing techniques. Useful things like that. She avoided Percy, because he was a pill, and chatted pleasantly with Quesnel when the opportunity arose.

  Primrose rather liked Quesnel, once he stopped flirting with her. He was better off concentrating on and flirting with Rue, who flirted back. Quesnel seemed the only thing able to lift Rue’s spirits. He’d rather embraced the role, doing everything he could to put a smile on their captain’s face. It was nice to see. And odd, in a love affaire. Primrose had never thought humour and genuine affection might be involved in romance. Who would have considered it even possible?

  They dropped out of the grey and depuffed over Port Moresby, which was served by a tiny fueling station. However, it was so very rarely used that they were able to top up their helium and even take on a bit of reserve for the Porcini. The boiler room also got a full restock of coal.