Unless they did so by pretending to be children, of course.
Which was an interesting possibility.
He made a note.
Arsenic added her own frisson of biological practicality to any debate. She was delighted to learn that the shape of a pishtaco’s fangs differed from that of a British vampire’s. She immediately theorized that it had to do with the difference in the chemical structure of fat versus blood.
Percy liked it when she went into gruesome physiological detail, Rodrigo tolerated it, and Anitra would duck her head and hide behind her veil. Percy was charmed by most anything Arsenic said or did, which was irksome but inevitable. Because she was smart in ways he was loath to admit he wasn’t. There was little Percy found more admirable in another person than that.
“What happens,” Arsenic wanted to know, “if Rue touches both a vampire and a werewolf at exactly the same time? What happens when she touches one and then another, or if they touch each other and then she touches them? Has anyone studied the preternatural effect on two supernatural creatures at once? Have the Templars?”
Rue was on restricted touch until after the baby, but Rodrigo said he was willing to experiment if they could get Tasherit and some other supernatural to play with him. He said this with an unpleasant gleam in his eye. But they hadn’t another supernatural aboard (Floote didn’t count, because his body had to stay en-tanked). So Arsenic’s questions remained unanswered. Percy admired her for thinking them in the first place and hoped they might get to try her experiments, and write papers on the results. They might even, he blushed to say it, co-author something?
She said, without any concern whatsoever, that he was welcome to write anything he liked, and take credit, she only wanted to know how things worked. Percy decided he would share the byline with her, whether she liked it or not.
A thought that was startling in and of itself.
He was a little sad, though, that despite a distinct sympathy of intellect, and a profoundly high quality of debate (and the fact that she had called him bonnie), Arsenic did not seem inclined to further their association beyond convivial friendship and scones. He supposed it was for him to pursue further intimacy, being the gentleman in this equation. But Percy was entirely unsure how to go about that. He might need to actually talk to his sister on the subject. Primrose had, after all, successfully courted a woman herself.
He couldn’t bear that idea, so decided to ask Rodrigo’s opinion instead. After all, he was an Italian, weren’t Italian men supposed to be the best lovers in all the world?
“You must woo her with the tongue,” was Rodrigo’s disgustingly crude advice.
“I beg your pardon!”
“Bah! You English. So stiff.”
That gave Percy even more graphic ideas. “I say, that’s going too far.”
Rodrigo snorted. “Seduce her. Love her. Kisses! You talk and talk and talk and talk. Too much talk. More kisses.”
So much for Rodrigo’s advice.
Unfortunately, Primrose, while delighted to be asked, was equally unhelpful.
“Oh, Percy, simply see if she’d like to be wooed and then woo her. Must you make everything so complicated?”
“I hardly think wandering up and saying, Pardon me, Dr Ruthven, but would you like to be courted by, well, me? is particularly romantic. Or is it? I really don’t know.”
Prim rolled her eyes. “Say it in Latin.”
Percy actually considered that. But it seemed just as daunting. If not more so. Latin made it real.
The thing was, his entire life Percy had been good at anything he put his mind to. But only those things. He was perfectly well aware that in matters convivial he was an abysmal failure. Arsenic was important, so he didn’t want to fail her. It was a bitter pill to swallow, doctor pun intended, but he figured he ought to read up on such things as love poetry and romance before he attempted anything like a direct approach.
His much-vaunted library was sublimely lacking in these arenas. He’d have to expand his collection as soon as may be. The question was: Byron or something Greek? The French were supposed to be good at love, surely one of them had written a guidebook? He could, of course, ask Quesnel but the very idea of approaching the man, hat in hand, on such a matter was profoundly horrific. So it was that Percy decided to pine quietly, and think a little too much about the shape of Arsenic’s mouth and the trimness of her figure and the sharpness of her mind, and hope against hope that she would make the first gesture.
Arsenic was not ignorant of Percy’s interest. And since she found him attractive, even in his acerbic awkwardness, possibly because of it, she was also not averse to his overtures.
Except, of course, that he didn’t make any. Despite many a pocket scone.
He seemed to genuinely enjoy her company, which was rare for him, according to Spoo. He snapped at her a great deal less than he snapped at everyone else, but it stopped there. They spent the month in and out of the grey floating around the world by stages, progressing towards their destination, but not really progressing towards anything else.
She had visions of convincing him out from behind his desk and into the wingback chair. Of dumping Footnote out of his lap and sitting there herself. Or pressing her cold nose into the warmth of his neck. Of something less bold, simply smoothing the wrinkle in his forehead when he was reading so hard.
She considered asking his sister about it all, but that felt a little too wicked and underhanded, rather too much like something her mother would do. Arsenic tried hard not to be that kind of woman. Although occasionally she would lick her lips, as Mother had taught her, and watch his eyes dilate and his breath shorten.
So she bided her time and wondered about simply creeping into his bed one evening and seeing how he might react. But he was so proper, he might experience a fit of the vapours.
So they circled each other in mental harmony and physical frustration, a kind of dance Arsenic was unsure of finishing, only knowing it was a waltz to which she had never learned the steps.
Percy wasn’t given to flights of fancy. He would never call himself a student of aestheticism and he was perennially more intrigued by the function of the world than by its appearance.
However, even he could appreciate the utter glory and breathtaking beauty of the Paper City. When seen from above, Edo the floating metropolis, the cloud of lanterns, was like a constellation of flying flower-buds. It was brilliant and colourful and impossible.
The whole ship’s complement, even the most pragmatic and business-minded of the decklings, stopped in awe and stared down at Edo the moment they depuffed into the atmosphere above Japan.
Percy was so stunned he didn’t even think to close down the Mandenall Probe, or keep a hand to the helm, or really, do anything at all but stare across the deck and out over the railing at the bit of Edo that he could see from the navigation pit.
Then, as if compelled by some mystical force, he found himself climbing out of the pit. Leaving The Spotted Custard entirely without guidance, he joined Rue and his sister at the railing of the poop deck.
“I’ve never seen anything like it.” That was Arsenic, coming to stand with them. The doctor’s mellow voice was deepened by awe.
Rue nodded. “One of the Seven Wonders of the Age of Steam. And I thought the Maltese Tower was something special. This… This is…” She was at a loss for words.
Miracles do happen.
Edo was a city above a city. The memory of an ancient time made light and rising towards the heavens, it floated by means of brightly coloured paper lanterns. The technological mystery of their phosphorescent lift-lights was jealously guarded, and Percy was greatly looking forward to sunset when they would flicker into self-illumination. But even in daylight they were miraculous, celebratory and cheerful, and impossibly vast under the bright sun.
The lanterns supported, swaying below each, the fine light-coloured and lacquered houses of Japan’s elite, like so many gilded birdcages.
Far
below Edo, nestled in the curving island that was mainland Japan, sat Tokyo, the new city built on the ruins of Old Edo, after the salvaged pieces had taken flight. Tokyo was a shining example of modern technology, smoky at the edges but bright and spired at its heart, even under the rainbow light filtering through the Paper City above. Tokyo’s busy seaport was a forbidden fantasy of prismatic light, while Edo’s float-port above was a thing of welcoming ethereal wonder.
Thus far no Westerner had ever visited Tokyo. But of all the thousand travellers who had visited and described Edo, not a one had done it justice.
The lanterns were fixed by multiple ribbons to one another, paper flags fluttered from the lines connecting them. Tassels, kites, and hanging plants decorated the bottoms of Edo’s residences, draping and waving in a slight breeze.
Percy noticed instantly the thing that always caused comment among the scientific community. Edo had no anchor to the ground. Nothing, apparently, connected the Paper City to its Tokyo counterpart. Yet it stayed in place. In Japan this was called magic.
Percy did not believe in magic. He wanted badly to know how it was actually done.
But the people of Japan were notoriously closed-lipped, remaining autonomous and disconnected from global society. The Paper City was their compromise and the only place where Japan mingled with the outside world, tightly controlled and extremely polite.
Percy became nervous simply looking at the precise fragile beauty of Edo. He was phenomenally bad with restrictive manners, having assiduously avoided those places where etiquette was most required. He’d never even been presented at court. He’d better try to keep his mouth shut in Japan. He was self-aware enough to know that talking inappropriately was a Percival Tunstell character flaw. When he saw something worthy of comment, he usually, unfortunately, commented.
“Do the colours have meanings?” Arsenic wondered.
It was Rodrigo who answered her. He was the only one among them who’d visited Edo before. “In Japan, everything has meaning.”
“It looks so fragile and unstable. I feel as if tossing aside a peach pit might tear through everything and cause a grand collapse.” Primrose fiddled with her hat.
“I’m certain it’s more sturdy than that. Edo has, after all, existed for a while.” Rue was frowning.
Percy explained, because he’d read about it. “It’s coated with a kind of glue made from seaweed and then also wax. The lanterns are actually quite strong, and many of the largest and most important ones, like that one there that looks like a huge red sphere? Those aren’t paper at all, but silk, which makes a stronger balloon than the canvas we use for the Custard.”
“Percy, why do you always have to spoil beauty with explanation?” Primrose didn’t look away from Edo.
“One would think it might enhance your appreciation.”
“No, one wouldn’t, you puffed-up chump. The mystery is all gone now!”
“I appreciate knowing,” said Arsenic, giving Prim a side-eye.
“Well, you would, you’re an intellectual too.” Percy said it without realizing he’d extended praise, and blushed to hear the admiration in his own voice.
“Of a type, you two. It’s exhausting. Go talk about technicalities on the other deck, would you? Let us bask in wonder.” Prim, apparently, had reached a state of such comfort with their new doctor that she felt fine snapping at her.
Rue looked up. “Wait a second. Percy, what are you doing here? Who’s flying the ship?”
“Ah, yes right, we’re drifting.” Percy made a face.
“Are we indeed? Do you think you might want to go stop that?” Rue made a face back at him.
Percy glared at her and then gestured around where the entire crew stood pressed along the ship’s railing, including most of engineering, who’d come up to see why they weren’t being shouted at down the speaking tube on a depuff.
“You expect me to run the old girl all on my lonesome, do you, Captain?” Not that Percy didn’t feel a little pang at deserting his post. Usually, he was above fascination with the extraordinary, except where it afforded him a scholastic paper and academic advancement. But Edo really was remarkable.
Spoo put it best. “Golly, that’s a piece of something like, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Spoo, it is, but in order to prevent us crashing into one of the most famous cities in the world, we should probably resume our positions and pilot an approach, yes?” Rue was being sensible.
Since it wasn’t that common for Rue to be sensible, everyone took heed, and jumped to work. Only those who had no depuff duties were left staring.
Stratocumulus lux, thought Percy, trying to remember his cloud terms. Only made of paper and colour.
He resumed his place at the helm and guided them down slowly, keeping a watchful eye for the Imperial vanguard. This would be a thousand times worse than the customs check in Egypt. Japan held its secrets close and guarded, but that didn’t mean it respected the secrets of others. Nothing was allowed to put the Paper City at risk and odd things were considered dangerous.
Sure enough, well before they were in Gatling-gun range, let alone hailing distance, they were approached by a sleek black dirigible, lacquered shiny and svelte. It looked not unlike a gleaming crow with a bird figurehead at its prow, feathers painted orange on the black balloon, and trailing wings of fabric on each side that presumably helped with guidance, and made it look like it was wearing an opera cloak.
The officials who hailed them from its deck were also dressed in black. The military uniform was inspired by the Americans, with flat cap and orange sash across the front, and plenty of gold epaulettes at the shoulders, and a bit of a cape at the back.
There was a great deal of bowing and exchange of civilities, with Percy himself leading while Anitra assisted, as it became abundantly clear that despite her superior mastery of the language, the officials preferred to communicate with a man.
This made Rue sneer and Prim smile. His sister liked to be underestimated, Rue did not.
It took several hours for the officers to search the ship. After a great deal of discussion, they confiscated all the bullets for the Gatling guns, although it was clear they would have preferred to seize the guns themselves. They also tried to find and remove every other gun aboard the ship, including Tasherit’s rifle from the corner of her room while she still slept, curled in a ball in the middle of the bed.
Weapons seemed to be their main focus. They refused to allow The Spotted Custard any closer to the Paper City with even one projectile aboard.
Quesnel managed to keep his dart emitter, which looked enough like an elaborate bracelet to escape suspicion. Spoo reported that Aggie made a great show of annoyance when the guards searched engineering, abusing the small kettle boiler in the guise of repairs. Aggie being female, the authorities tried to ignore her, but Aggie persisted in a great deal of banging. The end result was the boiler room was less well searched than other parts of the ship.
Rodrigo sneered while the officials removed a small mountain of weaponry from his and Anitra’s quarters. But Percy had no doubt there were more still available to him elsewhere. He was also the kind of man who could turn a diminutive potato into a means of mass decapitation. Primrose also maintained possession of her battle parasol. No doubt that was a result of its innocuous appearance as a mere feminine frippery. So, all was not lost. Also, when Tash woke up they had a lioness. Which wasn’t quite a projectile but almost as good.
There was a great deal of fuss over Percy’s library, where the guards clearly wished to confiscate a number of his precious books. Percy glared at them and spoke eloquently of fair trade, The Spotted Custard’s significant political connections back home, and his own academic prowess. Upon learning that they might be permitted access to information in a more legitimate (and polite) fashion, the officials relented. Then they proceeded to undertake the same rigmarole with Arsenic and her medicines. She responded with the same defence, stressing that she was eager to share her knowledge wit
h her physician colleagues among the Japanese. She managed to be both demure and charming while she spoke, a tactic the officials responded to positively.
As the vampires were wont to say, sweet blood beats rotten flesh every time.
Her feminine wiles and genteel appearance did something to excite official interest. Percy was frightened at first that they might perceive her negatively as an uppity scientific female who should not even think of communicating with Japanese male doctors. Then he deduced that their excitement revolved around the fact that she was female. Apparently, they wished to retain her in a medical consult as soon as may be.
Arsenic stiffened. “Is Edo suffering from a disease or illness? Because, if so, I willna allow my ship to dock.”
The officials hastened to reassure her that no, there was nothing plaguing the Paper City. One of their great noblewomen was afflicted with a mysterious lethargy, and they hoped Arsenic might see to the lady’s comfort, given that their own doctors had proved ineffectual.
“We believe,” the officer whispered, as if greatly embarrassed, bowing so low Percy had a challenging time interpreting his speech without visible mouth movement, “that it is a female complaint.”
Percy himself blushed as he said this to Arsenic.
The doctor nodded and agreed to visit the afflicted lady as soon as they were safely docked, before Percy could stop her from being rash.
Rue took her to task, later, of course, after the officials departed with a float-trunk full of the Custard’s best deadly weaponry. “We could have traded your services!”
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