“We done then?”
“We are. Was that so horrible?”
Aggie gave her a level stare. “I suspect you’re warming up.”
Arsenic rolled her eyes. “Refrain from being injured or ill, Miss Phinkerlington, and we’ll meet but rarely.”
“Optimism does neither of us a service.”
“You’re likely right ’bout that.” Arsenic went with Aggie to the door and saw her out of the room.
“You should call me Aggie, Doc. I’ll come by sometime and we can shoot something.” She almost seemed hesitant. “If the offer’s still good?”
“I look forward to it.”
“Don’t tell porkers.”
Rue was standing outside in the hallway patiently waiting for one of them. She had an annoyed-looking Percy next to her.
Aggie gave the captain a nose wrinkle. Her attitude not at all subservient.
Rue snorted at her. Then looked at Arsenic. “Are you two getting chummy over murder?”
“Crossbows, Captain. What else?” snarled Aggie.
“Arsenic, do you shoot?”
“Unfortunate consequence of my upbringing.” Arsenic waved a magnanimous hand at her swoon room. “You waiting on me, Captain? Come in.”
Rue waddled in, dragging Percy behind her. Arsenic was impressed with the captain’s strength.
“Delivery for you, Doctor.”
“Just what I always wanted, my own personal librarian navigator. Sit down, Professor.”
Percy gave Rue a wild and desperate look.
“Stay, Percy,” said Rue, before waddling self-importantly back out and closing the door behind her.
Arsenic turned her professional eye on the man. “Sit down, Percy, please.” She felt rather emboldened, using his given name. As if they really knew each other and he didn’t hold her in disdain.
Percy’s eyes were stark with fear and his cheekbones sharper than ever. Arsenic tried to convince herself all admiration was purely aesthetic, that her attitude was professional, and she didn’t want to touch the soft skin stretched over those bones. She thought about the lump in her apron, another stolen scone. She’d taken up the habit of regularly pocketing scones for Percy. In case he ever gave her an opening. She thought it would be rather out of place to offer it during an exam, but she liked knowing she had it, just in case he needed soothing.
Percy had never before suffered such an embarrassment as discussing his own biological makeup with the most attractive lady of his acquaintance. Which was saying something with Ivy for a mother.
Not that her appearance should make any difference to her abilities, of course. But it made a difference as to how he reacted to her execution of such.
Her questions all seemed that much more intrusive, although he was in no doubt that she asked every patient exactly the same things.
The part where she looked at him through various magnification devices, his eyes and ears and such, was not so bad. The separation wrought by scientific device mitigated the sensation of her proximity. He tried desperately not to notice her breath on his face or the fact that she smelled a little like honeysuckle. Ought she not to smell like formaldehyde or some other medical pong?
Percy managed to maintain an impassive face and general indifferent air, until she went to palpate his throat and check his pulse.
Her touch was light and dry and sure. His pulse increased and he began to sweat. He thought he might faint or something equally ridiculous until he realized he was holding his breath and let it out in a whoosh.
“I willna bite, Professor. I assure you. I’m no vampire.”
“I’m not at all scared of vampires, Doctor.”
“Aye, of course na. You’re related to one. Mother’s side?”
“Actual mother.”
“I thought that wasna permitted.”
“She falls under the EEC Act. Extenuating exsanguinatious circumstances. A crisis in Egypt necessitated her metamorphosis. Prim and I were already born, obviously. So there was no undoing any of it.”
Arsenic shrugged and made a note in her notebook. “These things happen. Which means you possess the possibility of conversion yourself. Have you considered immortality?”
“No. Not interested.”
“You’re certain? Are you at all creative?”
“Not so as anyone would remark.”
“Was your mother?”
“Well, she had some innovative tendencies in the arena of hats, theatricals, and vocabulary.” Percy considered his mother’s horrible slim travel volume. “And some unfortunately lurid purple prose.”
“A writer?”
“Of sorts.”
“Do you write, Professor?”
“Only scientific papers.”
“Oh aye? I’d heard this. I understand you wrote the definitive work on werecats? Considering we have one aboard, I should verra much like to read it.”
He looked pleased but replied, “I doubt it will do you much good, Doctor. It’s not biologically explicit.”
“’Tis better than nothing. And why na? Does the physiology of shifter species na interest you?”
Percy frowned. “It felt intrusive to ask for particulars, considering Tash is practically family.”
“Because of your sister?”
Percy straightened. “You object to the match?”
The lovely doctor inclined her head. “Not at all.”
Percy swallowed around a sudden lump of fear. Before his sister’s unexpected breach with the marital standards of polite society, he would never have thought to ask, but now he felt it polite. “You are similarly inclined?”
“Nay. Just untroubled by the relationships of others. Whom she loves dinna impact me in any particular way. Why should I mind?”
“Because society, as a general rule, minds.”
“Considering society has done me no favours as a woman in a man’s profession, society can go hang itself.”
“Oh,” said Percy, flummoxed. “You’re a rebel.”
Arsenic tilted her head and regarded him out of those remarkable dark blue eyes. “Is that na the verra definition of this airship?”
Percy considered that a moment. He supposed they were, each of them in their way, rebelling against something. “Fair point. Are we finished, Doctor?”
“We are indeed, Professor. May I follow you back to the library for that paper?”
Percy’s tummy went tense at the thought of Arsenic in his sacred space, but he agreed in the hope that she might take what she needed away to her quarters.
Unfortunately, she found his library charming. No doubt it helped that Footnote greeted her with evident delight. Then Virgil arrived with tea, gleefully dashing off for a second cup and audibly whispering, “Sir! You have company!”
The valet returned with a second teacup and a plate of gingersnaps. It was no wonder she chose to stay.
Arsenic was polite about it. She curled into a yellow wingback chair and read his paper on werecats in complete silence. Normally the chair was Footnote’s but the cat ceded it to her on the understanding that she would compensate by providing her lap. Arsenic dutifully compensated.
Percy, eventually, forgot she was there and was able to relax. He was therefore startled when, an hour later, she cleared her throat and asked if he had anything in his collection concerning metanaturals. At which juncture he was left to explain how rare metanaturals were, and there was only one other named on record, Zenobia, and that was only because of Lord Akeldama. So she asked if she might read about preternaturals, given that they had one of those aboard too.
He passed her what he had on the soulless, which also wasn’t much. The two slim volumes, one of them Italian in origin, had been obtained via his club and government connections in a slightly underhanded and pleasingly illicit manner. Percy had a nefarious streak when contraband books were involved.
Arsenic sat still as she read, moving only to make a note in a small leather-bound doctor’s handbook. At one point, she te
ntatively asked for clarification on a preternatural term. No doubt she knew of his friendship with Rodrigo. Percy was shocked to find he was more excited to answer her question and engage in intellectual conversation than he was irked by the interruption. How out of character.
Her question showed she had a sharp scientific mind and a way of thinking about the supernatural and adjacent unnatural states distinctly different from his own. Her spirit of enquiry being medically based, her insights were all bent towards the practical results of abilities on the body – as opposed to on the spirit or the rest of the world.
One question led to another and suddenly they were – not to put too fine a point on it – in conversation.
Percy found her perspective fascinating and she seemed equally enamoured of his. By dinnertime Percy was shocked to realize they’d spent the better part of four hours in contemplative conversation broken by long stretches of reading, supplemented with tea.
Never had he spent a more pleasing evening in his life.
Percy had even asked her opinion on a topic or two of his own interest. Much to his shock. Percy, as a general rule, never consulted anyone else about anything, unless they were long dead and had written it down.
But he found Arsenic’s insight enlightening. He greatly admired her ability to simply state that she held an opinion, rather than attempt to invent information or flapdoodle over inconsequentialities.
When she stood and stretched (Percy absolutely did not note the trimness of her figure) and then excused herself to freshen up before the meal, Percy was shocked by four things.
First, she’d covertly left him a scone on his desk, which she’d obviously filched special. He remembered from her interview she didn’t like scones herself.
Second, he immediately missed her company. He, who preferred to be alone!
Third, he found her charming. Charming. Percy never found anyone charming!
And finally, that the chair smelled faintly of honeysuckle, and he wished for it to remain so always.
When he sat down in her place, despite the dinner bell, the seat was warm from her slight form. He liked that she’d been there. Loved that she had chosen to spend time with him.
Footnote glared at him, since his was not the right lap. Percy was struck by a flight of fancy, imagining Arsenic in his lap, with Footnote on top of both of them. A tangle of limbs and books and cat and comfort. He was startled by the depth of his own yearning.
Percy depuffed the Custard into Constantinople for a refuel with even more than his customary skill. He was showing off. And he positively glowed when Rue, who was sparse with praise, told him what a good job he’d done of it – in front of Arsenic.
They headed back up into the grey and navigated due south on one of the more crowded currents. This, too, was a smooth float and Percy was pleased that the aetherosphere seemed in support of his courtship. Then he wondered if that was what he was doing. Was he floating with aplomb as some oddball form of courtship? To puff and depuff to the best of his abilities, as if he were a kind of puffed-up peacock putting himself on display for a suitable peahen. Was Arsenic his peahen?
Was that a romantic pet name? Peahen?
Despite Arsenic not being part of the deck crew, their new doctor made a point of appearing abovedecks for every major current hop. Probably for the thrill of it and the change of pace, but everyone was pleased to see her taking an interest. She was more skilled than Percy at integrating into a crew. They already liked her better than they’d ever liked him. He observed this with an odd sort of pride.
And she continued to steal scones for him.
Definitely courting behaviour.
Only Percy didn’t know how to really do it. (Peahen, he eventually decided, was not a good name for one’s beloved. He’d have to do better. What did the ancients use? Time to research.)
Percy understood the mechanics of courting, of course. One ought to write a lady sonnets, send her flowers, and purchase the odd trinket or two. But the only flowers aboard the Custard were the potted sunflowers to help cleanse the aether of malignant humours. They ought not to be cut and presented to doctors. Besides, Percy had never understood the notion of gifting the dead sexual organs of a plant to females. It seemed oddly threatening. Trinkets might be the way to go. Tokens of affection. If he were crafty, he might find Arsenic some expensive medicine that was rare and highly coveted. Mercury, perhaps? Or something more simple like castor oil? Or was that the daisy of the medical world? Percy resolved to investigate around Cairo for castor oil after depuff. If he had the chance.
But then there would be the awkwardness of actually giving her the gift. What would he say? How would he say it?
Here, my lovely peahen, I have brought you a bottle of castor oil. Please come sit in a chair with me in my library and don’t talk too much and when you do speak, say something smart? If we’re lucky the cat will sit on top of us.
He shuddered at the notion, and wanted badly to court Arsenic with nothing more than a companionable silence while reading. But presumably one had to state one’s intent in matters of affection, if one ever wished to move beyond reading.
She’d said she was a rebel. Wasn’t a silent courtship terribly rebellious?
Would she even welcome his suit? She did seem to like to look at him. And how did he feel, after spending the better part of his life avoiding LIMPs, entertaining the notion of a lady companion? He felt like he’d have to hide it all from his sister.
Such was the manner of Percy’s thoughts during their travel.
Whether or not she perceived it as courting, the lovely Arsenic did, in fact, join Percy to read happily in silence, while he did the same. Whenever he was not required on deck at the helm, and she was not required in her swoon room, they could be found together in the library. They even chatted on occasion.
If the others noticed that the professor and the doctor were spending a good deal of their time together, they made no comment. This was either terribly circumspect (which Percy considered highly unlikely) or they were the subject of a great deal of gossip behind closed doors (which Percy felt was practically guaranteed). He was, of course, horribly embarrassed.
But by the time Percy realized what was happening, Arsenic took it as a given that his library, his armchair, and his cat were hers. Percy would have been far more embarrassed to come up with some excuse to boot her at that juncture than he was suffering under his sister’s and Anitra’s knowing looks, not to mention Rue’s, Rodrigo’s, and Quesnel’s occasional snicker. Besides, he didn’t want to boot her. He was beginning to hope that he himself might be added to the list of things that were hers.
Even if Virgil was absolutely horrid whenever he brought in tea.
“Tea for two,” the valet would say, in an arch tone with an impossibly smug smile.
Percy could only hope that Arsenic didn’t notice. If she did, he hoped she would realize all mockery was at his expense and not hers.
Percy contented himself with a scathing and softly muttered corvus oculum corvi non eruit whenever he caught one of his erstwhile friends, employees, or nominal enemies giving him a knowing look.
In the meantime, he determined to enjoy Arsenic’s company and not hope for too much more while he figured out what to do about it. Any form of enjoyment was so alien to his nature that he did have to resolve firmly to appreciate it.
It was, therefore, all too soon for Percy, when they settled out of the aetherosphere above Cairo.
Arsenic had a quick consult with the customs officials in Cairo, Anitra acting as interpreter, to establish that there were no prevalent illnesses, tropical disease outbreaks, or other medical concerns at the moment.
She was informed, curtly, that all was well, so long as one did not count the God-Breaker Plague, and even that was retreating.
Since the God-Breaker Plague, technically, wasn’t a plague at all but more an anti-supernatural zone, Arsenic didn’t humour the officious young men with a response.
Q
uarantine was simple enough. The ship had visited and been registered before. Within a few hours, they were flagged up and obelisk moored and ready to climb to ground.
“The good thing is, we aren’t inside the plague zone yet.” Rue leaned against the railing and watched their heavy rope ladder get lowered.
“Wasn’t that the point of bringing your father here?”
“Yes indeed, and he spends much of his time just inside it, with my mother just outside of it. It’s a compromise. She can’t stand being inside for too long and he isn’t sane outside. They keep moving house to stay exactly on the border, as the plague zone shrinks southwards. We’ll need to find out where they are, at the moment.”
“Awkward kind of marriage.”
“Too true.” Rue looked pensive. “But it’s the best solution they could come up with. They were already an odd match, preternatural and werewolf. I shouldn’t really exist, you realize? Not practically.”
“You’re a miracle of the modern age.”
“She is the miracle of the modern age,” said Rue’s husband, coming up and kissing her cheek.
Rue grinned at Quesnel, but continued blathering with Arsenic. “Will it hurt the child, do you think, going inside the zone? I can try to avoid it if necessary.”
“How does it make you feel?”
“Sort of buzzing and odd. It’s not as unpleasant as my mother finds it, apparently. Or Rodrigo.”
Rodrigo, hearing his name, swaggered over to them.
Rue turned to him. “Are you going to come meet Mother? You’re related, after all.”
Rodrigo raised one eyebrow at her. “And how would I do that?”
“Oh yes, of course.” Rue shook her head at herself.
Arsenic had been doing her reading and understood the particulars now. “Two preternaturals canna share the same air.”
“Although,” said Rue, cheeky, “they might be able to share the same pond.”
“What?” asked Arsenic and Rodrigo at the same time.
“Water mitigates preternatural abilities.”
“Aye, so you said before.” Arsenic considered. “Share the same air. I wonder if it means literally that there is something in the air that makes preternatural abilities work or na work, and also metanaturals. Captain, can you change shape inside the plague zone?”
Reticence Page 12
