Imprudence (4 page)

“He does have red hair. You know those rumours about the temper.” Rue tried to console him.

“Yes, Lady Captain, I do. But this was more serious than red hair.”

Rue frowned. “What was the paper about?”

“It was a recent publication from the Royal Society. You know, the type that announces the latest discoveries. I didn't see the particulars.”

Rue didn't press the matter. It was Virgil's job to take care of Percy's person, not his mental stability – questionable as that may be.

“Well, if I were Percy and
very
upset, I should head to my library. We should try there first.”

Prim brightened. “Oh yes! What a good idea. Naturally, he would go there.”

Rue was pleased to have come up with a plan. “To
The
Spotted Custard
, then. And, Dama, I shall be careful, I promise.”

Lord Akeldama looked slightly nonplussed.

As they closed the door to the townhouse behind them, Rue said to Primrose, “Out with it. What else is there that you didn't want Dama to overhear?”

Prim looked at her sideways, cheekily. “You guessed?”

Rue only gave her a look. A look that reminded her that they had spent almost twenty years in each other's company.

They climbed into Prim's carriage. Fortunately, it wasn't nearly as ostentatious as Lord Akeldama's. It did belong to another vampire, the Baroness Tunstell, Primrose's mother. But Queen Ivy's outrageous taste ran to fashion more than transport, since she never left the hive. Thus her carriage was pretty and proudly crested – a rampant hedgehog wearing an old-fashioned feathered bonnet – but built for speed and manoeuvrability, not first impressions. Rue suspected Aunt Ivy's Egyptian vampires had a hand in its purchase. They were the type to think along more subtle lines.

The door closed behind Virgil, who'd given the driver instructions to the
Custard
's mooring place.

Prim finally deemed it safe to talk openly. “Virgil says that
strange men
have been round asking after Percy. We're both worried my difficult brother has offended the wrong person at last. Someone with real power and not the usual cadre of academics. Apparently, they asked all sorts of questions and were quite the most suspicious-looking fellows.”

Virgil nodded his agreement. “Most suspicious, Lady Captain. They even asked about the ship and the crew.”

“Ah, I see your concern. Percy is always a bit of a problem, but this could be serious.”

T
he drive continued in companionable silence, until Primrose blurted out, “Oh, Rue, there's something else. I can't wait to tell you any longer. I'm to be engaged!”

“Again? This will be what, number three in the two weeks since we've been home? Aren't you laying it on a little thick?”

“Well, if someone hadn't played tiddlywinks with my reputation while we were in India, I wouldn't need to establish a solid air of respectability.”

“I hardly see how three engagements in so short a time helps.”

“They have all been
very
respectable men.”

“Yes, you appear to be working your way slowly through the upper levels of Her Majesty's Airtight Puffed Doubloon, dirigible regiment extraordinaire.”

Primrose appeared crestfallen at Rue's lack of enthusiasm.

Rue tried to buck up. “Oh very well, why don't you tell me all about him? Distract us from the problem of Percy.”

Primrose did. Prattling on about strong lines and well-turned thighs and a full mane of brown hair in a manner that made her latest beau sound not unlike a very desirable racehorse. Rue would have been supportive if she sensed any real affection from her friend, but Primrose seemed to be in hot pursuit of a fiancé merely because she felt she
ought
to have one.

Rue was a romantic. Her parents were a love match. Had to be, for there was no other possible explanation for them tolerating one another. Thus Rue held the very peculiar opinion that love made for a most agreeable form of companionship.

Primrose, on the other hand, was trying to
arrange
a match for herself – affection be damned.

“Prim, are you sure it is a good idea? Do you love him?”

Prim gave a brittle laugh. “Oh, I'm not certain I'm capable of loving any man. I'm too sensible for that. This is easier. And he does have
very
nice legs.”

Rue could think of no better reason, at the moment, for marrying. Quesnel, she mused, also had nice legs. And then she reminded herself she was annoyed with him. Her erstwhile beau had disappeared. He'd received an aetherogram while they were still in India and promptly floated off to Egypt. He was supposed to be educating her in the ways of the carnal flesh, or so she thought they'd agreed. But before anything got carnal or fleshy, he'd abandoned her for a
rented
dirigible berth with nothing more than a peck on the cheek and a cheery farewell. Rue felt rather rejected as a result. He ought to be teaching her French techniques and instead he and his nice legs were gallivanting about deserts and whatnot.

“I should be wary of a man with nice legs, if I were you.” Rue considered stretched buckskin meditatively. “They use them rather too readily.”

The
Spotted Custard
, Rue's pride and joy, was moored off Worple Road in Wimbledon, not far from Baroness Tunstell's hive house. Rue was paying a handsome sum to the All England Croquet, Lawn Tennis, and Airborne Polo Club for hovering rights and use of the green for outfitting and repairs. They'd lost their old mooring in Regent's Park to float squatters, and Rue wanted something with more security than Hyde Park afforded. The court was well lit, well guarded, and quite respectable, proving to be an ideal arrangement all around, so she tried not to resent the expense.

Although Rue adored her airship, she did have a tendency to push the chubby craft to its limits. This – plus a certain near aetheric attraction for sharp objects hurled by, for example, weremonkeys – had left
The
Spotted Custard
more in need of repairs than outfitting upon their return to London. Thus, while the officers of
The
Spotted Custard
– mostly comprised of Rue and her friends – kept supernatural hours, the rest of the crew switched to daylight for ease of visibility in order to conduct said repairs.

Outfitting had included restocking and refuelling and the addition of a sparkling new Gatling gun for the port side, much to Spoo's delight. Spoo, head deckling, was quite as bloodthirsty as any boy of her age was wont to be. Amusing when compared to her best friend, Virgil, who was as prissy as any girl of his age.

The gun was a gift from Dama, who, despite his tea-drenched grudge, refused to let Rue's twenty-first birthday slip by without acknowledgement. Rue had been in India on the actual date of the occurrence, likely acting the part of naked native goddess. Frankly, attaining her official majority had entirely slipped her mind. But no one could refute that she had indeed turned twenty-one, papers were filed, she was legally an adult, a free woman, and a ward of no one – vampire or otherwise. At her return home, Dama had presented Rue with a large shiny rapid-fire gun because, as he said, she was all grown up and a fully fledged independent now, and
knowing her family propensities, she'd need a ruddy big gun
.

It being well after dark, Rue, Prim, and Virgil were hailed from the
Custard
's main deck by a solitary night guard and not by a teeming mass of decklings. Only one guard stood duty as only one was needed, as that guard was Tasherit Sekhmet.

Miss Sekhmet didn't seem like very effective protection. True she was tall and imposing, but also very female, wearing some sort of filmy tea-gown with her hair loose, and not a weapon in sight.

Rue climbed out of the carriage and waved. “Only us!”

“Ah, good evening, Captain. I wasn't expecting you tonight. And Miss Primrose? How are you this fine night?” Tasherit turned her hunter's gaze onto Prim the moment she appeared.

Rue didn't have to look to know that Primrose was blushing. Primrose was always blushing around Miss Sekhmet. She was in awe of their resident werelioness, and despite Tasherit's easygoing affection, Primrose refused to warm to her.

Tasherit, in classic cat fashion, thus found Primrose the most fascinating thing on board.

“And young Virgil? A good evening to you.”

Virgil nodded happily. All of the
Custard
's youngsters were fond of Miss Sekhmet. Partly because when she was in lioness form, she let them ride her like a shipboard pony and partly because she was one of the few adults on the dirigible who held no immediate connection to, or official title within, the aristocracy. True she was a foreigner, but she was also a commoner, and she was nice about both. As a result, Tasherit had turned most of Rue's crew into her minions.

Rue might have minded, except that it was good for them to have an adult to talk to in an informal manner. She herself couldn't take on the role of mentor; as captain, she needed to inspire discipline and awe. Being a round, cheerful young lady, Rue was working on awe and discipline from a deficit. Also Tasherit had taken on the duty of militia training. Back in India, and now here, the werecat regularly put the deck crew through their paces, to go up against not only daylight threats but supernatural creatures as well. At her behest, Rue had seen them outfitted with crossbows and everyone was feeling more relaxed as a result. The decklings being, by and large, vicious little scrappers had taken to the idea of being armed with disturbing enthusiasm.

Tasherit, being an immortal, was strong enough to operate the gangplank without assistance. She cranked it down manually and with enviable ease. The three came trotting up.

Even living together for weeks on end, Tasherit up close always took Rue's breath away. She was so beautiful it hurt, like breathing deep on an icy evening. She was all exotically strong features, tea-with-milk complexion, and long, thick dark hair. It was most upsetting, or would have been, if she hadn't been so nice about it. One couldn't really resent Tasherit for her beauty; that would be like resenting a sunset.

“Has Percy come aboard recently?”

“He has.” Tasherit spoke English well, with only a touch of lilting vowels. Weeks spent talking regularly to Rue and Prim had coloured her vocabulary with the upper crust. “Off to his library in a funk.”

Prim and Rue exchanged relieved looks.

“Well, thank goodness he's here.” Prim's eyes were less worried.

“Has anyone been around asking after him?” Rue perused the decks by habit; everything seemed in order.

Tasherit was surprised. “No. Should there be? Does our dear professor have
friends
?”

“No, quite the opposite.”

“Ah, no. But I'll bring up the gangplank and keep a careful watch, if you wish.”

“Yes, I think that wise. And if you wouldn't mind, perhaps a lioness might be a bigger dissuader than a stunning diaphanous woman.”

“Mmm. Quite right. I'll just go and change, then, shall I?” Tasherit winked at them both and disappeared below, only to return a moment later as a large silken-furred lioness. She blinked her slanted brown eyes at them and went to pace the railing.

Primrose let out a long breath.

Rue wasn't certain if it was relief at having Percy so well protected or relief at being no longer under the scrutiny of the werecat.

They found Percy sulking in his library.

“Percy, there you are.” Primrose bustled in.

Percy looked up. His expression suggested that his sister was akin to some kind of shoe fungus. “Would you care to make any more banal comments?”

“Percy! I was worried about you. So was Virgil.”

“The answer is clearly yes, banal comments will continue.” Percy was extra grumpy this evening.

Aren't we lucky?
“What ho, Percy. I wasn't worried.” Rue grinned at him.

“What happened to make you storm off so?” Primrose was nothing if not persistent.

Percy was rather fond of Rue, so it was startling to everyone when he rounded on her at this juncture. Rue had never seen such anger on his face and she'd known him since they were in nappies. She took a tiny step back.

“That French boy of yours! Have you
any
idea what he's gone and done?”

“Quesnel? Isn't he still overseas?”

“He can go to the devil for all I care! What has that to do with anything? Traitorous beast. I don't know why I'm surprised given his ancestry and inclinations. French
engineer
indeed!”

Rue and Primrose exchanged looks. All Percy seemed to be accusing Quesnel of was, frankly, being himself. True, Quesnel was theoretically French, but he'd been mostly educated in England. And there was nothing wrong with being an engineer. It's not like Percy would get his lily-white hands greasy; someone had to keep them floating while he navigated.

Rue shifted her stance. “Yes, yes, but what did he
do
, Percy?”

Percy went all broody. “If you don't know, I'm not going to tell you. I shall enjoy watching you find out exactly as I did. The shock of it. In the meantime, I'll have my revenge. Just you see if I don't.”

He sounded like the villain in a gothic novel. Rue hid a grin. “Percy, darling, I realise, unlike some, that what I don't know could fill the Library of Alexandria. Hence the reason I keep you around, charming though you may be.”