Competence

by Gail Carriger

  Percy nodded. “Now mostly confined to carpets and pillows, I’m afraid. Tassels, I mean, not the Ottoman Empire.”

  Tasherit nodded sadly. “Although, that too. Once tassels were all over everything - parasols and belts, sleeves and the tops of slippers. It was magical. I do think of tassels as the height of civilisation, don’t you?”

  “Anitra has them at the ends of her braids.” It occurred to Percy that this was a rather bizarre conversation to be having with an immortal. But clearly Tasherit was particularly fond of a good tassel.

  The werecat nodded. “She does. She lets me wiggle them sometimes.” A quick glance up at that, and a flush of shock on her gorgeous face. “Not in a courting sort of way, mind you,” she hastened to add. “My preference is for genitalia on the inside, you understand.”

  That was not only embarrassing but a highly confusing statement to make.

  “Uh?” said Percy.

  “I mean to say, my intentions towards your sister are entirely honourable.”

  Percy flapped his mouth a bit, wondering what honourable meant, exactly, to a werelioness hundreds of years old. Finally he said, “I never thought that they weren’t.”

  The werecat let out a breath of air. “Oh, good. Rue tells me it is the custom in England to ask a male family member for permission to court his female relation? Yours is an extremely odd culture.”

  “Is it?” Percy squeaked.

  “Once, for us werelions, the queen had to be asked for permission to court the male breeder of a pride. But that was many decades ago. There are so few of us left, the tradition has long since been abandoned.”

  “Has it?” Percy really had no idea where this conversation was going.

  “So, may I please have your permission?”

  Percy baulked. “You wish to breed with me?”

  “No!” Tasherit practically shouted.

  “Oh, good. I don’t think Prim would like that at all. And she is my sister. I wouldn’t want to upset her quite that much. And as you are an immortal, it wouldn’t work anyway. You know, the breeding.” He was babbling and he knew it. But in Percy’s defence, this was a most uncomfortable conversation.

  Tasherit frowned at him. “I see what your sister means when she says talking with you is like dancing with jellied eel.”

  “She says that?”

  “Yes.” She looked around. “Now quickly, please, before she returns - may I court her, by your leave?”

  “Aren’t you already?”

  “Well, yes. But I should still like to have your permission to do so.”

  “I hardly think it makes a difference. You’re in for a slog either way.”

  “Nothing worth having is easy to acquire. Except cheese, of course, and even that took hundreds of years to reach my part of the globe. You see my point about the tassels?”

  “No longer popular? What has that to do with my sister… or cheese?”

  “I should have kept more around. Tassels, not cheese. Cheese doesn’t keep, tassels do.” Then, obviously to herself, “Why is this so difficult?”

  “Do you love her?” Hard to get a cat to be direct, but Percy would not budge on this one point. He may have resigned himself to lonely scholarly pursuits, but Primrose deserved affection. Also needed it, he suspected.

  Tasherit fidgeted under his direct gaze. Percy tried for a fierce glower in the manner of protective brothers the world over.

  “Well, Miss Sekhmet?”

  “Yes.”

  Simple, and, Percy thought, genuine. “Elucidate further, if you would.” It was not his role to make this easy for her.

  The werecat twitched and fidgeted in obvious discomfort. “Look, Professor Tunstell… Percy… I wish to keep your sister around. Or she can keep me. Or we can keep each other. Please let me?”

  I just got a cat to beg. This really is a most excellent day. Percy decided to stop while he was ahead. Although it was unexpectedly enjoyable to torture an immortal. “You may proceed. However, it’s possible she’s more stubborn than you. One might say that your time with tassels may have entirely ended.”

  The werecat looked determined. “Ever been stalked by a cat on the hunt?”

  “I do live with Footnote.”

  “We don’t give up easily.”

  “Well, fine then, hunt on. And if you’re successful I’ll give you this fez of mine as an engagement present.” He considered, Could one use the word engagement? “So to speak.”

  A stunning smile split across Tasherit’s already stunning face. “Thank you.”

  Percy quirked a brow. “I didn’t say I thought you’d succeed. Simply elected to sweeten the pot.”

  Tasherit reached forward, lightning quick, and batted at the tassel dangling over the side of his face. Percy was rather pleased with himself for not flinching.

  “I think I shall like having you as a brother-in-law.”

  Which might, just possibly, have been the nicest thing anyone had ever said to Percy. So, of course, he blushed beet red and turned away to pretend he had something very important to do down low, under the Mandenall Probe.

  They had ended their chat none too soon, because Primrose reappeared with Anitra in tow. Rue and Quesnel joined them on the poop deck for a consultation. Since Percy was the only one who couldn’t leave his station, they all came to him.

  As it should be.

  Although, because Tasherit was still sitting on the edge of the navigation pit, legs dangling, the others all did the same. Percy wasn’t entirely convinced he approved the precedent this set. Seemed awfully casual and possibly disrespectful. Still, he was having such a pleasant day, he decided not to make a fuss.

  Percy was looking awfully red in the face when Primrose arrived back at the poop deck, but that could be for any number of reasons. What worried Prim more was how incredibly pleased her brother looked. Almost - Dare I think it? - happy. Probably something to do with that academic paper on bubbles that he intended to write. The one that will change the world. Or what have you.

  Rue got straight to the point. “Ladies and gentlemen, we essentially have our ladle enemy trapped. The question is, What to do with them? Do we destroy them utterly and shoot them out of the sky? Do we board and attack hand-to-hand at great risk to ourselves? If we board, do we take prisoners or simply try for the airship alone? We already have enough trouble with the one prisoner we’ve got - where would we put more? Yet I’m not entirely comfortable simply killing everyone aboard. That seems wasteful. Your thoughts?”

  Primrose felt it incumbent upon her to add, “We are strangers, new to this area. Locals might look at such behaviour askance.”

  Percy said, “I’d really like to take a closer look at that ladle, Captain. Take a few measurements, make more calculations based on closer inspection.”

  Quesnel said, “I concur. We already know most of their technology is older than our own, but it would be good to know how much older.”

  Primrose blinked. Did Quesnel just…? Yes, he did. He sided with my brother. Amazing.

  Tasherit shook her head. “Not a good idea. Boarding is always a logistical challenge even if we could deploy highly trained warriors. The enemy knows their ship much better than we ever could. It’s too easy for them to hide and to ambush us. In addition, we’ve got no one trained in the correct combat techniques. That includes me. Even the best of our deckhands is a mere amateur.”

  Prim knew Tasherit was referring to Bork, a former boxer and very handy at fisticuffs if it came to it. If Tasherit thinks of him as an amateur, she must really be embarrassed by the rest of us.

  Rue sighed. “I see your point. Still, it would be nice to find out why we were attacked. I mean to say, they don’t know us. We don’t know them. Was it mistaken identity? Or do they treat all strangers like that here?”

  Primrose spoke again, taking it as her duty to find a balance. Everyone was making good points. The scientists wanted to know how, Rue wanted to know
why, but they were ill equipped to discern either without considerable physical risk. “How about we approach them and get close enough to simply ask, without boarding?” she suggested.

  Everyone stared at her.

  Prim soldiered on. “That way we might see what they have to say. Take a closer look at their ship without risk of combat. Keep our guns trained, knowing they’d have rearmed by then, themselves. Percy, you could make some estimated guesses, and Quesnel, you could see most everything with advanced-focus opera glasses. After all, we did open up a massive hole in their hull right into engineering.”

  Rue was nodding. “That seems an acceptable compromise.”

  Percy looked like he didn’t agree at all, he’d never settle for less than actual measurements. But, for a change, he didn’t say anything. Instead he gave a curt nod. “I’ll start now, then. If it’s all the same to you, Captain? Virgil can take over navigation. I’ve got a set of very high-powered lenses and we’ll be losing light soon. It is getting on to sunset.”

  Oh dear, thought Primrose, we missed luncheon. Everyone must be starving. I shall go get Cook to rustle up a picnic.

  Quesnel nodded as well. “I’ll go get my opera glasses and some sketch pads.” He disappeared below. Percy followed after.

  Primrose asked, “When the time comes to approach them, what should I do?”

  Rue smiled. “Nothing, dear, stand there looking useless and pretty with your parasol ever at the ready. We may still need an element of surprise.”

  Prim nodded. “Done. Meanwhile, should we eat?”

  “Yes, very fine notion, just one moment more.” Rue’s sharp tawny gaze fell on their Drifter. “Anitra, how good is your Spanish?”

  “I’ve been making a study of it with Professor Tunstell, but neither of us are fluent. We’ll do our best.”

  “If Percy is busy examining their ship, conversation will naturally fall upon you, I’m afraid.”

  Anitra straightened her spine. “May I make a recommendation then, Captain?”

  “Please do.” Rue smiled encouragingly, clearly attempting not to railroad the girl.

  Aw, thought Prim, she’s trying to be kind! How sweet. She gave her friend a nod of approval.

  “If we waited until sunset, my grandfather could join us. His Spanish is excellent.”

  Rue shook her head. “I think not. This is anti-supernatural territory, remember?”

  “If he were to stay hidden? Floating with only his head above the floorboards, for example, near my feet where he can’t be seen from overboard. He could help me to understand.”

  “Perhaps. But that still is quite risky.” Rue nibbled on her lip.

  Anitra nodded. “There is another option.” She paused and grimaced. “Rodrigo Tarabotti. He’s fluent. He’s been helping me learn the language.”

  “He could betray us.” Rue’s tone was more hopeful than suspicious.

  “Have both my grandfather and Rodrigo join us, then? The one could keep an ear to the other.” Anitra was standing her ground. A good thing, Primrose felt, as she had a predilection for timidity which would do her no favours aboard the Spotted Custard.

  Rue frowned. “Waiting until nightfall gives us one other advantage.” She looked to Tasherit.

  The werecat tapped her cheek with her fingers, thinking. “You want me in lioness form?”

  Rue nodded. “You can leap further than any of us can jump, and if we do end up having to board them…”

  Tasherit finished the thought. “Far better to have an immortal shifter fighting on your side.”

  “Your lioness is very impressive.” Rue grinned.

  Primrose felt a strange touch of jealousy at that. Not that she thought Rue was flirting with Tasherit, but that she, Primrose, could not be the one to deliver such a compliment. Praise comes so easy to me with everyone else. Why not with Tasherit? She deserves it too.

  Tasherit continued. “It’d be better if we were lower down. I’m stronger the further we get from the grey.”

  Rue nodded. “If we are waiting for sunset we have some time. If we gunned down one of their helium balloons, they’d likely drop twelve puffs or so. Horrible waste, of course, but it’d sink them.”

  Tasherit nodded.

  Primrose interrupted. “Meanwhile you should take a nap, Miss Sekhmet, you look peaky. I’ll organise food for everyone, the gentlemen will make notes and draw sketches and argue about calculations.”

  Rue was nodding her agreement. “And I’ll let Spoo shoot that balloon. She needs the practice.”

  Primrose laughed. “She’ll love you forever.”

  Virgil appeared at that juncture. “Can I help with the shooting of balloons?”

  Rue shook her head. “You’re needed here in navigation. Sorry, my lad.”

  “Spoo always has all the fun.”

  “You’re a valet, not a deckling.” Primrose felt firmly that everyone and everything belonged in its place and that a place should be found or built for everyone and everything. It might even be her philosophy on life. Poor Virgil kept drifting.

  Virgil looked resigned. “I suppose I do get to wear much nicer britches.”

  “That’s the spirit!” Rue stood and patted him on the shoulder. “Your pit, Mr Virgil.”

  “Yes, Lady Captain.” Virgil hopped down.

  They dispersed about their separate duties.

  Rue and Anitra went to consult with Bork, Willard, and Spoo.

  A moment later the Gatling rat-tat-tatted out. There were shouts from their enemy and one of their balloons began the death wiggle. They sank, rather faster than anyone thought they would. That ship was definitely older and out of date.

  Virgil depuffed the Spotted Custard, pacing them down through the air. They came to a stop riding a new breeze, one that was carrying them gently inland.

  Prim’s ears popped.

  Tasherit gave a little sigh of relief and some of the tension, which was likely part of what made her so twitchy, left her shoulders.

  “Better?” Primrose asked, concerned.

  “Much.”

  “Nap now?” Prim pushed her friend in concern.

  “Yes, and you’re visiting the galley. Shall we?”

  Primrose found herself accompanying the werecat below decks. They paused, uncomfortably, in the hallway outside Tasherit’s room.

  “I like your brother,” said the werecat.

  Prim pursed her lips in surprise. “You’d be the first.”

  “I thought the ladies went mad for him.”

  “They do, but I don’t think they ever actually like him. He’s more like something they want to collect and put on the mantelpiece.”

  “Look at the pretty smart man in my drawing room?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Poor Percy.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far.” She paused. “Percy? You call him Percy now?”

  “We’ve reached an understanding.”

  “You have? What kind of understanding?”

  “It involves tassels.” Tasherit grinned wide and self-satisfied. Prim’s knees wobbled slightly. She wasn’t sure if it was fear or the opposite of fear that caused her stomach to clench. I’m simply hungry.

  “Tassels?” she asked, seeking clarification.

  “Tassels.” Tasherit leaned in, no doubt waiting for Prim to bolt.

  Primrose straightened her spine and stood her ground.

  The werecat smelled of hot sands and whipped cream, warm salt and mellow sweet. As she had once before, Tasherit pressed close, rubbing Primrose’s cheek with her own. This was not a kiss of the lips but of the flesh, satin smooth - an affection and a claiming in one. Then she nuzzled in against Prim’s neck, under the high lace collar of her day dress.

  It made Primrose feel languid and cherished and fluttery and flushed all at once.

  Tasherit scraped her teeth lightly across the spot directly under Prim’s ear. No bite, just the smallest of nibbles.<
br />
  Prim’s whole body tingled.

  The werecat drew back. “You taste divine. And you smell like amber and honey and milk.”

  Primrose swallowed, and Tasherit watched the movement of her neck muscles with avid chocolate eyes. Possessive. Dangerous.

  Prim searched desperately for a safe topic. “Should I bring you something to eat, before you sleep?” Her voice had gone overly husky, but strangely enough, she wasn’t embarrassed by that.

  “No, I’ll bother Cook when I wake up at sundown. But thank you for the thought.”

  I’m always thinking of you. “You’re welcome. I’ll instruct Cook to put something nice and bloody aside for you.”

  The werecat gave her a tiny genuine smile.

  Primrose backed away, frightened of how utterly she needed to lean in. She wanted more of cheek against cheek, lips against skin, teeth against neck.

  “You say the nicest things, little one.”

  “Sleep well.” Primrose fled.

  Just before sunset, Primrose took up position next to Bork, who was manning the Gatling gun. She’d changed into evening attire for the negotiations, as was right and proper. Her dress was a midnight-blue velvet affair trimmed in delicate black lace and a tasteful sprinkling of crystal. She chose it because on a dark evening like this one, it was good camouflage. Plus it matched the night sky, the crystals like tiny stars scattered across the bodice. Primrose liked things to match. It also had gargantuan puffed sleeves, so big she needed her shoulder crinolines to support them. As the saying went: the bigger one’s sleeves, the more angelic one’s appearance. Primrose rather thought that massive sleeves would make her look intimidating to an enemy unfamiliar with current fashions.

  However, the gown, while stunning, did not have any pockets. After much consideration, and with no little embarrassment, because if it became necessary she’d have to pull it back out again - in public! - Prim wedged her pistol down the front of her bodice into her corset. It fitted there well enough. She may not be as generously endowed as Rue, but her pistol was also only a .22.

  Primrose did pause to consider the fact that she could stash any number of pistols inside her sleeves, and perhaps she should devise a means to do so in future, but for now, having one down her decolletage would have to suffice. In the end, she had to carry her battle parasol anyway, at night, so she was doomed to make a fool of herself over weaponry no matter what.