Imprudence

by Gail Carriger

  “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.”

  “That does lessen the inconvenience. What will you give to the decoys, and what to your own personal escort, all of whom undertake a certain amount of risk in your protection?”

  Good question, thought Rue. What will I give? What do I have to trade that these men might want?

  “I offer contacts with a new trade concern in Cairo. A lucrative tea import business that will need middlemen.”

  “And why would a tradesman use Drifters with small balloon capacity over faster and more effective trains?”

  “Fair point,” said Rue. She regarded Ay. How much is Primrose really worth?

  Percy seemed to follow this line of thinking and elbowed Rue. “Don’t you dare trade my sister.”

  “Well, what else do we have, Percy? Your books?”

  “No! Fine,
by all means, offer them Primrose, for you are not trading my library!” He paused, frowning. “How about aetheric current charts? I could copy those over.”

  Rue thought that a pretty good idea; although the Drifters’ balloons were not designed for aetherosphere puffing, they could float short ways if they wished to. She made the offer.

  The Drifters looked intrigued but doubtful.

  Rue consulted Anitra and Floote. “I could have Cook make up all the scones our stores allow. And they can have the rest of the bally port. But really I can’t offer much more from our supplies. We’ve no idea when we might get supplies again. We will need to eat.”

  “How much sugar do you have?” Floote asked.

  Rue raised her eyebrows. “I’d have to ask Primrose, but quite a lot. I’ve a terrible sweet tooth.”

  “Like your mother.”

  “Be fair, she has a general tooth.”

  “Offer them all you can spare.”

  Anitra explained, “It’s a coveted delicacy in these parts.”

  Rue took a breath and sacrificed her beloved lemon tarts on the altar of human safety. “A sugar loaf of this size” – she made the shape with her hands – “to each family group that remains to help.”

  That resulted in murmurs of delight. Several of the men nodded; they were temped, but it still wasn’t enough.

  Rue looked to Floote. “What else might they like? I have a great number of shoes and Primrose has hats and parasols and such. I don’t suppose…”

  “They might like the parasols.”

  “I’m going to need Primrose at this juncture. I can’t trade away a lady’s accessories without her knowledge any more than I can trade away her person. In Prim’s case, the accessories likely carry more weight. Percy, go and fetch your sister, please. And ask her to bring as many of her least favourite parasols as she can spare.”

  Percy stood, grumbling. “Don’t you dare give them my books while I’m away.”

  He left.

  Floote said, “I suppose he knows they can’t read?”

  “It would never occur to Percy that anyone couldn’t read. Don’t burst his bubble. I prefer him worried. And nothing makes Percy more worried than the possibility of diminishing his library.”

  The twins returned momentarily and there was a murmur of dissent as Primrose drew up a deck chair, joining the circle behind where Percy and Rue sat. Primrose would never sit on the floor of anything for any reason. Ever. International incident or not.

  While Anitra said something that seemed to soothe matters over the presence of a foreign female in a deck chair, Rue turned to her friend.

  “We’re in sticky negotiations, asking them to continue escorting us. I’ve had some luck offering up most of the ship’s sugar stores. Sorry. Now we were thinking maybe your parasols would appeal.”

  “Oh, were we?”

  “I’ll buy you replacements when we return to London.”

  Prim grinned. “Only funning. Of course you may have them. Well, not all of them, but most will be out of fashion by the time we get home anyway. I’ll be receiving one of your mother’s specials as well. I have decoration plans for that, which should result in not needing most of these.” She gestured and Spoo staggered forward to dump a full dozen parasols of different shapes, sizes, colours, and decorations in the centre of the circle.

  While the visitors crowded forward, grabbing for their favourites, Rue said, “That’s very generous, Prim. Thank you.”

  “And you mock me for my excessive accessory collection.”

  “Never! I’d give them my shoes if I could.”

  “Just goes to show you that parasols trump shoes every time.”

  Rue didn’t argue because, really, Primrose was being very philanthropic.

  “Any other ideas?”

  Between them they managed to come up with more offerings. All their available perfume oils, several bars of soap, glassware from the table setting, two silver candlesticks, three thick fuzzy carpets showing Uncle Rabiffano’s impeccable taste, two dozen scones, some muffins, several tins of spices, and four of Prim’s least favourite hats were offered up.

  And they had an agreement.

  Still the Drifters seemed reluctant to make any concrete promises.

  “It’s not that they don’t find the goods sufficient,” explained Anitra, when Rue and Primrose began scrabbling for more disposable offerings. “It’s that they believe the quest ill-omened.”

  “Why?”

  Anitra shrugged. “There has been no sign or portent.”

  “How do we arrange a portent?” Rue was not above fabricating fate, if it would not be tempted.

  At which moment Footnote came striding up, because cats have perfect timing when they care to use it. Tail high, the little tuxedo was enjoying full run of the ship with Tasherit confined to her room. Upon seeing the assembly, Footnote, being a social beastie, strutted into the exact centre of the circle. Naturally, with everyone focused there, he assumed the pile of objects was his by rights.

  The crowd fell into a shocked silence as the cat trotted around, twitching his whiskers at hats, parasols, perfume bottles, and sugar loafs, batting at this or that. The silence stretched as he made a second wider circle, sniffing everyone’s feet. The Drifters held perfectly still. Satisfied that he had claimed everything for cat-kind, Footnote flopped in front of Percy, showing his belly – cat language for “scratch my neck but don’t you dare actually touch the belly”. Footnote had handsome white tummy markings which went up to his throat. He also had white spats, impressively long white whiskers, and a white tail tip. He was quite the natty dresser. After receiving the requisite neck scratches, he sat back up, stuck his rear foot high into the air, and proceeded to give himself a good wash in a most indelicate area.

  Primrose was enormously embarrassed. She bent forward from her chair to shoo him away.

  Floote stopped her. “No, Miss Tunstell, watch.”

  A murmur of excitement buzzed through the circle. The visiting leaders began talking to one another in hushed tones.

  The suppressed tension made Rue nervous. She reached for her second-hand parasol, gripping the knobby handle that activated various secret weapons. She began categorising the armaments in her head, wondering what might be most effective on such a large number of people.

  Floote said, “I don’t think that will be necessary, Lady Akeldama. See?”

  Ay spoke and Anitra translated. “We have a deal.”

  Rue was shocked. “What?”

  “The decoy ladybugs will have their escorts away from here. My family, along with Ay’s, have agreed to continue southward with you.”

  “But how?”

  “They like your cat.”

  Only Percy was unsurprised by this. “He is a very nice cat, as cats go. Spoiled rotten, of course. But what cat isn’t?”

  “Just like that?” After a long session of tense negotiations, Rue couldn’t believe her luck.

  Anitra laughed. “Cats are considered the visible soul of a ship, to have a black and white one is very rare and very lucky in these skies.”

  Ay tilted her head back and swallowed the last of her port. Around the circle, the others did the same. Rue and Percy followed suit.

  Without further ceremony, the party dispersed. No farewells were made to Rue or her companions. Although a few of the visitors made an effort to approach Footnote and give him a head scratch. Footnote took this as his due.

  They watched from the deck as the departing leaders bounced across the nets.

  “Why do you think they wanted the hats?” Primrose asked. “Not that I’ll miss them: Mother’s gifts, every one. Frankly, they couldn’t have gone to a better home than the middle of an Egyptian desert where no one is likely to see them ever again.”

  “From what I could gather, they mean to use them as balloon toppers. Sort of like figureheads on a boat,” Anitra explained.

  Rue grinned hugely. “You mean, like an actual tiny hat atop a big ballo
on head?”

  Primrose started to laugh at the picture this presented.

  Anitra nodded.

  Percy said, “I don’t see what’s so funny. It’s a perfectly acceptable way to display a highly decorated object of high rank. Mother would be proud.”

  Prim snorted. “No, she would not, and don’t you dare tell her. Better the hats sacrificed themselves for our continued survival than ended up cultural curiosities collected by floating nomads.”

  The sound of a horn broke through their merriment.

  “What’s that mean?” Rue asked.

  Anitra winced. “That’s lookout scouts on the far edge balloons. Incoming hostiles. Grandfather, why don’t you go below? You’re looking tired.”

  Floote gave his adopted granddaughter a funny sigh but did as she suggested. He did look tired, bent over and shaky as he approached the stairs.

  Rue frowned. Floote’s eyes were always so alert that sometimes she forgot how old he was. And he’d just spent the better part of an hour sitting on the floor. “Poor thing, someone should help him. Those stairs aren’t easy for anyone save decklings. Primrose, would you?”

  “By all means.”

  “And if there’s going to be trouble, you might stay below yourself.”

  Primrose nodded and trotted after Floote, offering him a supporting arm.

  “Not you this time, Percy.” Rue forestalled the redhead when he would have followed. “Don’t look so worried. We aren’t going to stay and fight. I need you at the helm. It’s time to test the Custard’s mettle and make a break for it. Come on.”

  “Oh good. I prefer running away.” Difficult to tell if Percy was being sarcastic.

  Rue accompanied him to the navigation pit and picked up the speaking tube.

  “What?” Aggie barked at the other end.

  Rue hadn’t time for animosity. “Grab that nasty-looking crossbow of yours, Miss Phinkerlington, and get up here on the double. No arguing. And put Mr Lefoux on the line.”

  Surprisingly, Aggie did as ordered.

  “Chérie?”

  “We’ve got unwelcome visitors. Heat up the engines. We’re testing her mettle.”

  “Do we have an escort?”

  “That we do.”

  “Nicely done.”

  “It’s all Footnote’s fault.”