Reticence

by Gail Carriger

  She marched over to him, shoving Nips out of her way.

  “All right there, ol’ Verge?”

  “He’s alive?”

  “Here’s hoping.”

  “You’re not very reassuring, Spoo.”

  She tried an awkward pat to his shoulder.

  The fussy coot only glared at her. “Don’t mess up the line of my jacket.”

  “I’m trying to be nice.”

  “Nice would be if we had handguns aboard, and that puss-nodule in our sights.” Virgil pointed at the fishy lordling who’d shoved his master overboard.

  That was what Spoo liked about Virgil, he only pretended to be proper. Underneath it he was delightfully ruthless. The best sorts were, in Spoo’s experience, ruthless. One had to be, if one wanted to accomplish things in this world.

  The general sense of relief was short-lived, of course, because everyone started looking about and realizing that they were still at odds.

  Spoo gave Virgil a nudge. The enemy was regrouping. “Best get ourselves armed.”

  Virgil nodded and made for the Gatling gun. They only had a few bullets, and those could only be fired away from the ship, but he’d make them count.

  Spoo let out the low long whistle that informed her decklings to make themselves scarce. They obeyed instantly, disappearing up into the rigging. The soldiers ignored them. Spoo was used to that. She liked it, usually worked out in her favour.

  Meanwhile, the nobs were focused on silly things like verbal blistering. Lady Captain was red faced and high volume while their enemy seemed to take stony silence as a heavenly mandate.

  Aggie’s red head popped up out the hatch.

  Spoo sprang at her.

  “Got your shinks on you?”

  Aggie glared.

  Spoo glared back. “No time to be a tosser. You can yell later, things ’ave gone wonky. We lost the professor and the doctor. Captain won’t play nice for much longer.”

  “Dead?”

  “Overboard.”

  Aggie didn’t stay to talk. She was a right namby pill, but terribly good with a crossbow, and at least she knew when the bow was more necessary than her winching.

  “Be soft about it, ginger,” Spoo hissed after.

  Aggie made a rude gesture above her head, but didn’t stop climbing back down the ladder. Presumably in pursuit of her crossbow, wherever she’d managed to hide it.

  Spoo’s eyes sought the captain. Captain was this small round hot cross bun of a toff, wearing a military-style head consequence, with the three big white floofy feathers. Made her a top target, it did, but also made her easy to spot in a crowd. Spoo supposed that was important in a leader.

  Lady Captain was yelling at the fishy lordling so hard her feathers quivered. She was using language Spoo was tolerably certain no quality ought, which was mighty impressive. Fortunately, the man in question didn’t speak English. ’Specially fortunate since he was armed and Lady Captain was not. If he knew what she was barking at him, he’d have shot her on the spot. Spoo could sympathize with her captain. She, too, would be driven to berate a man who pushed her professor overboard. Assuming she had a professor of her own. Added to which, losing the new doctor like that. Rummy thing.

  Miss Prim was indulging in a bout of hysterics over losing her brother. All over tears and shrieks, and waving about her battle parasol in a manner that seemed entirely unthreatening, unless you knew what that parasol was capable of.

  Spoo wondered how much of the performance was genuine.

  Their Frenchie still had his darts, but he was doing that oily charming thing instead. He could be deadly with his charm. While the ladies blistered, he applied the balm of persuasion.

  Spoo assessed the situation. The Custard held the inferior position and the enemy had only one apparent weakness. Everyone was overly concerned for the wellbeing of the tiny lady. And she was, currently, simply sitting in her carrier thing, unguarded.

  Aggie’s head reappeared.

  Spoo gave what she hoped was a meaningful glare and small head tilt.

  Together, they ran to the tiny lady.

  At that juncture, they were noticed. Guns were pointed at them, but too late. Spoo had out her fish-gutting knife; it was long and thin and wicked sharp. She was pretty good in a knife fight, had to be, growing up dockside.

  Spoo scooped up the tiny lady and held her upright and in front, like a shield, one arm about her middle for support. The lady was sick, that much Spoo had gathered, but the lady must stand so Spoo could make her a proper prisoner. Spoo was strong, but it was still remarkably easy to support the lady with one hand, and press a knife to her throat with the other.

  Aggie, making things clear, stood next to her, crossbow pointed at the fishy lordling.

  “He’s in charge?” Aggie hissed at Spoo.

  “He’s important, I know that much.”

  “Good enough.”

  The soldiers and guards responded by aiming even more guns at them, but Spoo’s knife was awful close to that white neck.

  And so, impasse.

  Spoo stayed focused on the tiny lady, who seemed pretty relaxed for a toff with a gutting blade at her throat. Mayhap in Japan these things happened to toffs? She was also the lightest thing Spoo ever held, like one of them white feathers in Captain’s hat.

  Mayhap she was sicker than she looked?

  To be on the safe side, even though it was a fib of the first water, Spoo said, real loud into the now silent deck, “Anitra? You tell ’em my knife’s silver. You say that sure and clear. And you tell ’em Aggie’s got rowan and silver bolts too, ya hear?” As if either of them could afford silver, let alone get the permits out of BUR.

  Anitra looked at the captain.

  Lady Captain nodded. Her face was all stiff and serious, but she’d left off her yelling. Spoo hoped that was approval in her eyes.

  Even Miss Prim had given up on caterwauling.

  Anitra was spouting forth in that singsong language they insisted on speaking round these parts. Whatever she said, it didn’t stop things from being tense. But it did cause a shift in attention, negotiations began in earnest. Good, they should want that. Spoo and Aggie were providing incentive.

  The fishy lordling, wary eye to Aggie’s crossbow, was busy talking with Anitra. He sure was happy to talk now that the professor was gone and his life was in danger.

  Spoo shifted her grip on the tiny lady.

  “All right there, little flower?” she asked, knowing the lady couldn’t understand her, but feeling she ought to say something under the circumstances.

  “Yes, dear, thank you,” replied the tiny lady in clear, if accented, English.

  Spoo started but kept her grip. “You speak Queen’s.”

  “Some.”

  “You human?” She reminded Spoo of Tasherit, or Lord Akeldama. So still and calm and superior.

  “Not exactly.”

  “You shift or suck?” No response at that so Spoo pressed on. “You could get away from me then, no? Being all strong and such.”

  “If I wanted, but I really am ill. And I like where this is going.”

  “Do you now?”

  “I do not want to die. Not yet. Not for this.”

  “I can’t make promises.”

  “No, dear, not your knife. I mean the city.”

  Spoo didn’t understand, so she tried to soothe. “You just lean up against me then. I’ll make certain sure you don’t get actual hurt. Sound tops?”

  “Tops?”

  Spoo took that as agreement.

  Anitra, the captain, the fishy lord, and now the head guard were in deep discussion.

  Aggie gave Spoo a baleful glance. “This is fun.”

  “You love it,” snapped back Spoo. “Never so happy as when you might get to shoot things.”

  “Says the girl with the knife.”

  “Think I can’t recognize my kind?”

  Aggie sniffed. “We’re nothing alike, scrapper.”

  “Oh, shut your ma
w and prepare to kill someone.”

  “Don’t tell me like it’s your idea.”

  Spoo considered turning her knife on Aggie. She certainly deserved it more than the tiny lady, who seemed like a good egg. Spoo wondered what kind of supernatural she was. Mayhap a fairy of some kind? Were fairies even real? She’d seen some belter undead floating with the Custard but nothing with wings, not yet anyways.

  “Sure wish we had our werecat right about now.” Of all the toffs, Spoo liked Tasherit best. She was easiest to rub along with. Frenchie was fine, but he was a tradesman so not really a toff-lofty, and the new doc seemed solid, but she was basically in service. Of the aristocrats, the lioness was Spoo’s favourite. Frankly, things were never good on deck when she was asleep.

  Aggie ignored Spoo’s statement.

  The tiny lady didn’t. “What is a werecat?”

  Spoo saw nothing wrong in issuing another threat. “Lioness, lion, you have them?”

  Shake of the head.

  “You got cats?”

  Nod.

  “Well, then imagine one ten times larger. Big teeth. Human during daylight. As you do.”

  The little lady looked startled. “They are still alive?”

  “In some parts of the world.”

  “But that is wonderful.”

  “Like cats, do you?”

  “Of course.”

  “What kind are you, then? I mean to say, you a vampire? You’re awful pale.”

  “Jikininki?” The tiny lady shuddered against Spoo. “No. Kitsune.”

  “Oh? Whatsat?”

  “Fox.”

  “Belter,” said Spoo because that explained why the lady was so light. “Foxes are awful pretty.”

  The tiny lady preened. “Why, thank you.”

  The kitsune was starting to shake a bit and lean more heavily against Spoo – out of need or greater trust or both. Spoo was uneasy. She should let her sit but that wouldn’t be threatening enough. So she took on as much of the fox’s weight as possible.

  Spoo turned her attention back to her surroundings.

  The fishy lord made a sudden move towards Lady Captain and the lead Japanese soldier, as if he were going to draw his sword and lop off both their heads.

  Aggie shot a bolt at him, missing his head by an inch. She loaded in another and took aim without even checking where the first had gone.

  “You tell them,” said Aggie to Anitra, “that I only miss once.”

  The lordling looked at Aggie. His expression was pretty impassive but Spoo suspected he was impressed. He stopped reaching for his weapon.

  Spoo rolled her eyes. “I thought you hated the captain.”

  “It’s the principle of the thing. I have a prior claim to decapitation.”

  “That’s fair,” said Spoo. “You were here first.”

  “Exactly.”

  Suddenly all the Japanese soldiers relaxed. At a gesture from their captain, two of them turned and ran down the gangplank, apparently in pursuit of something important.

  Miss Prim rang the bell for more tea.

  Before the two guards returned the tea materialized, Spoo took this as a point of pride. Honestly, it mattered not what occurred abovedecks, Cook was ready to serve at all times.

  Tea was poured and passed to all the toffs, including the fishy lordling and the head soldier cove. A footman even came over with a cup for Spoo’s charge. They were using the best china.

  “You can lower your knife now, Spoo.” Miss Prim followed the footman.

  Lady Captain yelled at Spoo and Aggie, “We’re keeping both of them.”

  “Who?” yelled Spoo back. “Who are we keeping?”

  “Lady Sakura and Lord Ryuununununu, oh dear, that is a worrisome name. The lord chappie.” Captain gestured to the fishy lordling.

  Miss Prim explained further. “But keep your blade ready. They’ve gone for a contract and a clamp.”

  “A what and a what?”

  Miss Prim gave a small sigh. “Big on honour around these parts. Apparently, since we lost two of ours with one push, we’re allowed to keep two of theirs of equal value. Anitra negotiated for the lord there and his lady here. So long as we stay docked in Edo, we can keep them aboard. In exchange, the government is going to track our people down below and get them back to us. We’re to wait here until they do. Rue’s signing a contract about it all. To ensure we don’t float away with our hostages the Custard gets bolted down to the dock. Hence the clamp.”

  Spoo was not best pleased. “Clamp sounds hard to break free of.”

  “Yes, Spoo, I believe that’s the general idea.”

  “I don’t much like it.”

  Miss Prim’s expression indicated that she felt similarly but was too ladylike to agree. “Until the clamp arrives, we’re still in a standoff. So if Miss Aggie will keep with the crossbow and you with the knife, though not quite so threatening, that would be good.”

  Aggie relaxed her stance but stayed focused on the lord.

  Spoo let her hand fall to her side but stayed supporting the lady and didn’t sheath her knife.

  “You two did good,” said Miss Prim, who never stinted on praise when it was due.

  “Belter,” said Spoo, happy her instincts had been correct.

  Aggie didn’t say anything, but Spoo suspected a little flush of pleasure. Hard to tell in lantern light.

  Miss Prim trundled off to do whatever it was she was always bustling about doing that revolved around manners and etiquette and silly suchlike.

  The lordling looked torn, like he wanted to come over and take the tiny lady away from Spoo, but also like he wanted to fight the captain. Or the Japanese soldiers. Or both.

  The tiny lady said something sharp in her native tongue at the man. The fishy lordling subsided.

  “That man,” the fox-lady said to Spoo.

  “Difficult?” suggested Spoo.

  “The best ones always are. But he might let me sort it out sometimes, after hundreds of years.”

  “Hundreds? He undead too? Also a fox? He’s too big, right?”

  She ignored Spoo. “After all, he got us into this mess.”

  “But that means he wants to be the one to get you out of it. Otherwise he’d be asking for help. He don’t like that part, I wager. Pride, I’m thinking. Pride’s a rummy old thing with gents.”

  The little lady grinned. “Yes.”

  “How long you been stuck?” Spoo wasn’t sure if the fox-lady was stuck with the lord, or stuck in the city, or some other kind of stuck. But stuck she certainly seemed to be.

  “Too long.”

  “We’ll help,” said Spoo, with confidence. Because whatever it was that had the fox-lady trapped, Spoo was convinced her captain would want to break her free. Lady Captain loved to meddle in the affairs of foreign countries and supernatural creatures.

  “You will? Why?”

  “It’s Lady Captain’s favourite thing.” Spoo gestured at the captain with her knife. “Well, after puff pastry and shoes.”

  “Helping?”

  “More meddling and helping.”

  “She could be kitsune,” said the lady, as if this were a compliment.

  Given the captain’s particular set of abilities, that was an entirely true statement. So Spoo agreed, “She could.”

  After what amounted to a not very bad fall out of the sky (parachutes certainly helped in that arena), Percy became rapidly and personally acquainted with the fact that actually landing a parachute was perhaps not so easy as the deployment part of the equation.

  It transpired that (as Arsenic informed him kindly later while she splinted his ankle) the problem with parachutes was one needed to be trained in the final descent. Since neither of them were, they mostly ended up crashing. Percy landed quite hard, one leg twisted under him. It hurt enough for him to be in no fit state to appreciate Arsenic’s weight atop him. Not that this lasted overlong, because she recovered from their fall, and rolled off him to commence doctoral fussing.

&nb
sp; “’Tis na broken.” Small firm hands efficiently checked over his trousers. Her touch was nice, even if it was impersonal, perhaps slightly too nice. Percy was happy for the pain as this kept said trousers under control. He distracted himself by noticing that the trousers themselves were a great deal worse for wear – torn and soiled. Whatever they’d landed in was damp. Silty moisture squished through his fingers as he levered himself upright.

  “Dinna sit. I’ve na checked the rest of you.”

  “It’s only my leg. And my attire.” Percy wrinkled his nose. Not that he was a fancy lad, but he couldn’t abide being mucky.

  “The mud cushioned our fall, otherwise your leg would be broken.”

  “I’m to be grateful for the squelch?”

  “Aye, m’eud—” She stopped herself.

  “You can call me m’eudail,” said Percy, feeling quite bold. Perhaps the result of a near-death encounter.

  Arsenic wrapped his lower leg with the belt part of her obi. If she blushed to touch him so intimately, he couldn’t tell in the dark.

  “I mean to say, if you wish to call me m’eudail. I like it, you calling me that. I don’t know what it means, I don’t speak Gaelic.” He stumbled on the dismount.

  Percy wished he could be charming. But of the many insults and superlatives that had been used to describe Percival Tunstell over his lifetime, charming had never been among them.

  “M’eudail is like dear. I’m glad you like it. And what should you call me?”

  Darling? That seemed somewhat formal. Percy wondered what it was in Latin, but he’d never had cause to study endearments. He supposed dulcis was sweet, but dulcissima seemed a bit of a mouthful.

  Unfortunately, he’d now been thinking too long on the subject and things were awkward. She was looking disappointed in his lack of response.

  He might have apologized but he wasn’t sure for what, so he gave credit where it was due instead. “I do believe you just saved my life.”

  She flashed him a smile while she tied off the improvised bandage. “No need to fawn upon me as a result.”

  Percy grinned back. His whole leg throbbed, migrating up from his twisted ankle.

  “Look here, I liked you before you saved me. This simply makes it better.”

  “Because you owe me a favour?”

  “That would be silly, you’re a doctor. I’d always end up owing you. How’d you know how to do that?”