“Independence, is that what Tasherit calls it?” Rue kept herself from smiling. Prim did seem in some distress. Poor thing, she genuinely felt that she should do what was expected of her. What a horrible way to go through life.
Quesnel turned to Rue. “Like to go somewhere more private and be scandalous some more?”
“Absolutely.”
Without further ado, they made for the door, leaving the twins and Footnote in possession of the field.
Percy rounded on his sister. “You condone Rue’s behaviour?”
“What did I just say, Percy? Certainly not. But when have I ever been able to dissuade Rue from action in any way?”
“Good point.”
Quesnel and Rue made their way up the aft ladder to the captain’s quarters – nowhere else on The Spotted Custard seemed safe from interruption.
Door closed behind them, Rue crowded in close but Quesnel didn’t reach for her.
“You’ve been telling Primrose what we do together?”
“Some. She doesn’t want to hear details. Keeps pretending to faint. I’ve nothing but nice things to say, don’t worry.”
Quesnel winced. “While that’s kind of you, it’s a little odd to know you are reporting on an affair that should be kept private.”
Rue blinked. “Oh dear, have I broken some sacred code? You can’t possibly believe that your previous lady friends keep your exploits to themselves?”
Quesnel was blond, so his humiliation was instantly evident above his cravat. “Chérie, you are a lady, much as you resent it. As such, we should keep up a pretence of discretion.”
“Prim is nothing if not discreet.”
“What have you told her so far?” Quesnel rubbed his face with one hand, as though to wipe away the blush.
Rue grinned. “That I like your posterior. That kissing can be extended to other parts of the body. That you are very well shaped in all places.”
“Including…” Quesnel gestured to his trousers.
“Especially there.” Rue couldn’t help but enjoy his discomfort. All along he held the superior tactical position, being the more experienced partner; this was the first time she’d had the upper hand.
“Crikey.”
“How else is poor Prim to learn anything about male anatomy?”
Quesnel was staring at Rue with an expression she’d never seen before – half bemusement, half frustrated affection.
Finally he said, “I wouldn’t want to interfere in your intimate friendships, mon petit chou. However, I am – not to be blunt – your lover. Might my wishes be taken into account, just a little?”
Rue considered. “That’s a fair request.”
“Perhaps if you weren’t to detail the specifics of my anatomy and instead focused on generalities of technique? Referencing the book I gave you, for example.”
Rue blinked at him. “Would that make you feel better?”
“Most assuredly.”
“Then consider it done.”
Quesnel puffed out a breath. It fluffed up the lock of hair that always fell over his forehead.
“Although I don’t see why. You have a very nice anatomy.” Rue coupled her comment with an active form of appreciation.
Quesnel jerked against her with the cutest little moan. “Thank you, chérie, but I hope you understand that I only wish to share it with you.”
Rue grinned. She couldn’t exactly argue with that.
TEN
Egypt
Egypt was stunning from the air – different from both England and India. With The Spotted Custard’s propeller running and a stiff southbound breeze, they made good time over the Nile Delta, a vast triangle of lushness. One long curved side nested against the variegated blue of the Mediterranean, with two shorter lengths stretching south, coming to a point where the Nile began her more solitary run. Egypt was greener than Rue expected, although the outside of the Delta was a seemingly endless expanse of inhospitable tan desert.
Lady Maccon stood on the forecastle, looking west at the long spear of Alexandria cutting into the green with white marbled humanity.
“It looks different from above.” She made room for her daughter to stand beside her.
“We didn’t approach by air when we visited last?”
“Sea. There weren’t transcontinental dirigibles when I was your age. At least, not very good ones. You don’t remember?”
“I was very young, Mother.”
“Barely speaking. You had but one word to say to most things.”
“I did? What word was that?”
“No.”
Rue grinned. She had likely driven her mother to despair. “I was a difficult child?”
“Very. Still are.”
“Thank you, Mother. I can always trust you to be frank with me.”
“Don’t be maudlin, infant. It doesn’t suit.”
“You mean it doesn’t suit you.” Lady Maccon had ever avoided sentimental talk. It made her uncomfortable at the best of times and irritable the rest of the time. “Feelings,” Mother was prone to saying, “are meant to be felt and not discussed.”
Lady Maccon changed the subject. “Should we awaken your father?”
“After we’ve gone to ground, I think.” Rue twirled her parasol. It was burgundy with a thick fringe and a tassel. She thought it rather natty, more because it matched her cutwork leather bicycle boots than anything else. She also enjoyed the way the fringe moved. She’d chosen her dress with its white vest over a puff-sleeved shirtwaist and burgundy striped skirt because it matched the boots and not, as might ordinarily be the case, the other way around.
Rue explained. Her mother liked explanations. “It’ll be several hours yet until we’re able to de-puff over Cairo. Why wake him only to suffer a dodgy tummy?”
“As long as we do wake him during daylight. It’s full moon tonight.”
“Is it? I’d lost track. Best keep him tanked until tomorrow morning, then. Sorry, Mother, I know you miss him. But we have Miss Sekhmet to control already.”
Lady Maccon raised her eyebrows. “Actually, I’m rather enjoying the peace and quiet.”
Rue made a condescending noise, not fooled in the slightest.
Lady Maccon gave one of her wide smiles. “Very well, I have missed him. He leaves a large hole when he isn’t around. Being a large sort of beastie, I suppose that’s only to be expected.”
Rue resumed enjoying the view. They were high enough up and early enough in their approach so as not to be sharing the sky with many. A few other transcontinental dirigibles de-puffed out of the grey, flashing into being above them – a mail carrier here, a private pleasure craft there.
“Full moon’s a bother. Delays matters.” Rue turned back to her duties as captain. “Spoo? Warn Miss Tunstell, would you, please? Miss Sekhmet will need confinement tonight. I’m sure Primrose has the moon on calculation, but just in case. Best not let moons creep up on a girl. Miss Tunstell hates to be surprised by celestial bodies.”
“Who doesn’t?” Spoo had been lurking nearby in the guise of coiling rope. She made no attempt to hide the fact that she was eavesdropping on aristocrats. “Will do, Lady Captain.”
Lady Maccon watched the deckling scamper off. “Cracking laddie, that Spoo.”
Rue felt no need to inform her mother of Spoo’s gender. Lady Maccon was at her best when not confused.
“Absurd name they’ve given you.”
“Lady Captain? I rather like it. Better than Captain Infant, which would likely be your preference.”
Her mother cackled. “She goes mad, like the wolves?”
“Tasherit? Yes, but in a crazy cat way. She runs about with her tail all fluffed up chasing invisible prey, stops suddenly, and claws violently at whatever is nearest. We’ve had to resurface her room several times. If there weren’t weight to consider, I’d do the whole interior in metal. Prim came up with the notion of wrapping her bedposts and furniture in coiled rope and covering the walls in this rush matting we acq
uired in India. Not aesthetically the decoration I’d choose for myself, and Uncle Rabiffano would have fits if he saw it, but she hasn’t destroyed anything since. Except the mats and the rope. And no matter where we travel, those seem easy to come by.”
Lady Maccon was intrigued. “Fascinating.”
“I’ve a theory that each shifter, as a matter of course, is true to their animal spirit on the full moon. It seems to be part of the curse.”
“She doesn’t think of it that way, does she? As a curse, I mean.”
“No. Miss Sekhmet is proud of her state, for all she keeps it secret. I believe, when she metamorphosed, it was a noble calling. Or it’s simply that cats are intrinsically snobbish.”
Her mother nodded. “What happened to her pride?”
“Sensitive subject. I’ve not enquired closely. Perhaps she is a loner. Cats are like that, too.”
The day crawled on. They drifted sedately towards the southern tip of the delta, where Cairo nested. The sun rose higher and beat down upon them with an unremitting disregard for the fact that it was autumn. Below, the green narrowed, that eerie edge, where the trees abruptly stopped and desert began, crept closer. It gave Rue a sense of impending doom, a sensation so alien to her nature she thought it likely due to a tea deficiency. Or I’m hungry. The world always seems a worse place when I’m hungry.
As if on cue, Primrose summoned them to an alfresco luncheon.
Tasherit declined to join. She was awake, but napping and not enamoured of abovedecks dining during daylight.
All the ladies sported parasols, not just Rue. Lady Maccon carried her brownish greenish one full of pockets and secrets. It was generally considered hideous by all, including Lady Maccon, and never matched anything she wore, possibly by design. Rue had once overheard a drone asking after its presence. Her mother replied, “I’ve made peace with its appearance, rather like my nose. Neither is fashionable, but both work as designed and haven’t, to the best of my knowledge, frightened any children.” Today she had paired it with an afternoon dress of a stiff wine-coloured-silk-embroidered with a paisley pattern and a grey velvet men’s style jacket. The ensemble was the height of fashion and certainly new. The only possible explanation for her mother’s wearing it being that Uncle Rabiffano had been shopping.
Rue wondered if he had known this trip was imminent and ordered a new wardrobe for Mother full of practical travelling gowns suitable to a foreign climate. It made her feel bitter. How long had Uncle Rabiffano been planning to take Alpha? How long had he known Paw’s time was up?
Primrose was standing under a large deck parasol at the head of the table, gesticulating at footmen with her parasol. She was embracing French fashion this afternoon in a fitted dark umber dress free of all decoration except brown velvet appliqué at the neck, cuffs, and hem. The dress covered her from throat to wrist to toe yet managed to be sublimely sexy and ought, by rights, not to appear on an unmarried lady. She was also still in a temper from confronting Tasherit earlier.
Thus Rue said only, “Daring dress, Prim. Is it new?”
“Yes. Now that I’m an old engaged woman, I thought I might cultivate sophistication.”
“Don’t strain anything.”
Lady Maccon, never one to talk fashion when food was on offer, sat without comment and began loading up her plate. They ate informally aboard ship and rarely stood on ceremony. Rue had thought her mother would find this upsetting, but Lady Maccon embraced it readily when she realised it meant she never had to flag a footman down for a refill.
“Is everywhere we go likely to be more sunny than old Blighty?” Rue chose a safe subject as she took her seat.
“Very likely.” Primrose forced a cheerful tone and poured the tea with a liberal hand for all comers. Even Lady Maccon was doled out a cup without comment. Fortunately she was not at all offended by the assumption that she would prefer tea to wine or water.
Percy left the navigation in Virgil’s capable hands and gangled over to thump down across from her ladyship. “I say, it is rather too warm, isn’t it?”
“Buck up, Percy.” Quesnel took a chair next to Rue, looking damp and fresh. He’d splashed his face with water before coming to table.
Percy regarded the company glumly. “I detest nice weather. Everyone feels compelled to do things out of doors.”
Quesnel’s violet eyes twinkled. “Egypt is celebrated for her prevalence of outside activities.”
“Frenchmen.” Percy snorted.
They consumed a light meal of boiled whiting in parsley sauce and roast widgeon in orange gravy, with turnip and cauliflower for the corners, and baked codling pudding for afters. Rue’s sensation of dread over the encroaching desert abated along with the gravy. Rue would drink gravy out of a teacup if it were proper.
They sat back, talking idly over the pudding. Quesnel was disposed to be at his most amicable, which helped lighten everyone’s mood. Except Percy. Even Lady Maccon laughed at one of his off-colour puns and then got annoyed with herself for doing so.
“You’re as bad as your mother,” she told him.
“I shall take that as a compliment.” He mock bowed at her.
“You jolly well should.”
It was easy to linger in the oppressive heat, sipping tea while the crew rotated through their midday meal. They didn’t move until a deckling on lookout gave a cry from the crow’s nest.
Percy – uninterested if it didn’t immediately contain threat of death, literary revelations, or academic standing – resumed his post at the helm.
Rue, Quesnel, Prim, and Lady Maccon took to the forecastle to squint into the haze and see what was causing the ruckus. The trees below them fell away in favour of a massive city, indistinct at this height from the colour of the desert but clearly a city by its angularity. The Nile was also fully exposed for the first time, where she ran along one side.
Cairo.
What had caught the deckling’s attention wasn’t Cairo, but beyond, to the starboard side where the famous pyramids rose up. Three brown angled shadows stood against the brightness of the desert sands – large and wide, tall and narrow, and a little one further away. How big they must be to stand out so when buildings and trees remained indistinct blurs!
“A true feat of engineering.” Quesnel’s voice was reverent.
The Spotted Custard did not drift any closer, for Percy was de-puffing them into Cairo and no nearer to the pyramids. Eventually they tore their eyes away to look at the city.
The vegetation around the river gave way reluctantly to a vast network of buildings both ancient and modern, mostly sandstone with some marble. Trees permeated throughout, particularly near the river and in prescribed city parks. There were several colossal yellow buildings with thick walls and forbidding auras – fortresses. Dotted about were graceful onion-shaped spires of mosques. The city was criss-crossed by tracks, black spidery lines over sand, dirt, and brick. Tracks in the sky, too, sliding up to unbelievably tall obelisks for dirigible shipping and receiving. Airships of various kinds were sunk over the Nile, taking on water, mixing with a river already crowded by boats and rafts. The closer they got, the more they could see of industry. A smattering of soot lay over everything and a haze lurked above the city – the dirty consequence of technological achievement.
The mooring obelisks were carved of exotic stone, black basalt, white marble, red rhyolite, and something green Rue couldn’t identify. They were ringed and notched at the top with posts, serving dirigibles, hot air balloons, ornithopters, and other, weirder sky boats. Some were used by only one airship, while others were surrounded by clusters of patchwork and striped balloons, like enormous bouquets of fat painted hyacinth bulbs.
Lady Maccon pointed at a cluster. “Nomadic desert tribes. Twenty years ago they were called Drifters. They may still use the name. Cousins to the Bedouin, they took to the skies long ago.”
“They’re beautiful. For the first time, my darling Custard actually fits right in.” Rue was delighted. The Spotted
Custard’s cheerful red balloon with its big black spots was in good company in Cairo. In London, airships tended to be more sombre in appearance.
Percy, at the helm on the opposite end of the ship, had to yell to get Rue’s attention. “How do we know where to tether?”
At which juncture, he came under attack from a native bird.
“Pigeon!” Rue ran from the forecastle, dashed across the main deck, hoisted her skirts, and leapt up to the quarterdeck, parasol swinging. “Get it!” Rue had a horror of pigeons.
But this particular bird behaved unlike any she had ever met. It landed without fear right next to Percy in the navigation pit. At rest, it was clearly not a pigeon at all, nor was it made of flesh. It was made of metal. And mechanical. And utterly forbidden.
Everyone on board stared at it with mouths agape.
Quesnel followed Rue, although without parasol brandishment, coming to stand next to her, looking up at the creature on their poop deck.
His face was white in shock. “Is that a… mechanimal?”
Lady Maccon came after.
“I thought they were prescribed.” Primrose joined them.
“They are!” Rue and her mother spoke at the same time.
Percy was unperturbed. He looked at the bird as if a tropical bug or small child had approached him, which is to say, without much interest or intent to engage.
“Percival,” said Lady Maccon in a low frightened voice, “come away from there this instant. Those things are explosive.”
Rue panicked. “Get it off my ship!”
Prim clutched her hands together. “Oh dear oh dear oh dear. Didn’t they destroy most of London half a century ago?”
Lady Maccon remained calm. “That’s the rumour.”
Quesnel’s face stayed incandescently enthralled. “To think, in my lifetime! I got to see a mechanimal, in person.”
Imprudence Page 16
