“Your guess is as good as mine,” said Primrose. But she was thinking that it was the most likely structure to hold a hive they’d found so far. It was large and seemed to be in good condition, it had a fully tiled roof and very few windows.
“We’ll have to circle over and see if there are guards. No vampire would ever sleep without guards during daylight.”
Anitra nodded. “And do you see there, above them on the hill?”
Primrose shifted her opera glasses. “Oh yes, those appear to be ruins. Goodness, there are a lot of them. Yes, I think we’ve found it.”
She turned to look for Rue. The captain was leaning over the side of the main deck to observe the sooties and their sipper take on water.
“Captain?”
Rue turned and wandered over, looking up at them on the forecastle deck. “Yes?”
“We think we’ve spotted the hive house.”
“Really? That’s excellent news. Can I see?” Primrose tossed her the opera glasses. Rue plucked them deftly out of the air.
“Over there, see? At the edge of the lake, about halfway up that hill, is a large single-storey structure. We think that’s the hacienda, our vampires are most likely inside. There are Inca ruins above, but like the others they’re mostly remnant walls and fortifications. Unless our pishtacos dug caves, I wager on the hacienda.”
Rue nodded agreement. She tossed the opera glasses back. “I concur. Let me just tell Percy. It’ll be another hour before we’re done with the sipper, so we have time. I wish we had sundowner bullets for our Gatling. Then again, I hope, even if we did, that we wouldn’t have to use them. I’m imagining we can have a civilised conversation with these folk, but they have been living in contested territory since the conquistadors, if not before. So I think we have to assume they’re hostile.”
It seemed the sun had set at last, because Tasherit came wandering up onto deck as they were retracting the sipper tube and preparing to make for the hacienda.
She settled into her customary position leaning on the railing next to Prim.
“You are well, little one?”
“I am.”
“And where are we now?”
“Still in the Andes, south of Cusco, over a lake near some Inca ruins and a Spanish hacienda, and possibly a hive full of pishtacos.”
“So the usual for us, then?”
Primrose laughed. “Yes, the usual. You wanted excitement in your old age, did you not?”
“That too, yes.” The werecat’s eyes took on the intense focus they always did when she was flirting.
For a change, Primrose didn’t let herself flinch away from her own wanting. She stared back, seeing beyond the chocolate warmth to the weariness of centuries, stretched vast as the desert sands. Immortality meant loneliness.
Primrose tore her gaze away and looked over the ship. Decklings and deckhands were scattered about, diligent at their duties. Rue was striding here and there, barking orders. Percy was at the helm, Virgil hovering nearby. My family.
Primrose considered. She had accepted into her life so many people not approved of by society. Her best friend stole bits of souls and made them her own. Rodrigo Tarabotti had no soul at all. She was now friendly with a Drifter who had a woman’s soul trapped in a man’s body. And her own brother was apparently soulless by acerbic personality choice if not birth. Frankly, to be right and proper she should reject them all. I live on a ship full of outcasts, populated by society’s unacceptable. And yet, here I stand, happy. And I love them all.
It is time, Primrose thought, to tender myself the same level of courtesy. Or perhaps it is time that I simply accepted that I too am one of the strange and abandoned. Appearances be damned.
Turning back, she found Tasherit still looking at her, no doubt watching the series of emotions play over Prim’s face.
Primrose Tunstell was a consummate actress, for all she never trod the boards. She was practised in keeping her expression still and polite. But Tasherit would see beyond appearances, she always had. Primrose relaxed and allowed her to do so.
“Something’s changed,” said the werecat. “You’ve changed.” The desert in her eyes was back, stretching into infinity. “You’re going to keep me,” she breathed, long and soft and almost too quiet to hear.
Primrose found herself suddenly crowded back against the railing, a long-limbed immortal pressing her close - smelling of sun-warmed sands and feeling like silk. Tasherit pressed her face against Prim’s neck. Primrose felt a wetness but it wasn’t the expected licks or nibbles. A surge of pride and responsibility met the realisation that she, plain old Primrose Tunstell, could make such a powerful being cry in relief. Or joy. Or both.
Tasherit drew away, framed Prim’s face with both hands, brushed the tops of her cheeks with rough thumbs, as if Prim were the one crying. “Now?”
Primrose laughed, feeling light as aether and yet anchored firm and sure by that one caress. “We have pishtacos and a hacienda, remember?”
Tasherit nodded. “I can wait a little longer.”
Primrose wondered if she herself could wait. Now that she had decided to let go, she wanted.
“Tash! You’re with me!” Rue’s yell came from below.
Tasherit drew away reluctantly. Primrose watched her retreating back, before she turned to look over the railing and find they were floating low over a hillside, apparently above the backyard of the hacienda.
The decklings had tied down to a large tree in the yard, and gathered below them, looking up, were a half dozen creatures straight out of nightmares, who could only be immortals.
And me without my parasol.
Percy was pleased to find that, given all accounts and data, the pishtacos were exactly as he would have hypothesised, had anyone bothered to ask. There were six of them below, and assorted mortals who were either drones or slaves or mercenaries. The mortals looked like the other locals, dark and stocky, only a great deal slimmer. Interesting, thought Percy.
The pishtacos themselves were thin to the point of emaciation - practically skeletal. Their flesh was so white it was almost transparent, hugging bone and tendon. They were mainly quite tall as well, with white hair, red eyes, and long silvery fingernails. Instead of pointed fangs they boasted a kind of columnar tooth. Percy suspected it was hollow to better assist with sucking at higher viscosity levels.
Rue pulled her team together quickly. She chose Tasherit, Rodrigo, and Anitra to go down with her.
Formerly Floote appeared next to Percy and glanced down at the pishtacos with that remote fascination the already-dead have for the still-mostly-living. “Those are the local vampires?”
“Pishtacos, yes. Creepy-looking chaps, aren’t they?”
The ghost inclined his head.
“Ever met their like?” Percy asked. Formerly Floote had once travelled widely as valet to Alessandro Tarabotti. Much as Virgil travels the globe with me.
“No,” replied the ghost.
Formerly Floote accompanied Percy back to navigation. They both watched from there as Rue issued instructions to her team. Rodrigo stood very close to Anitra.
“She likes him,” Percy observed, interested in the opinion of a ghostly grandfather.
“Unfortunately.”
“Why unfortunately?”
“She wishes to save him.”
“Is that wise?” A question Percy found himself asking pretty regularly concerning the actions of others.
“Wisdom is not in play.”
“Is it possible?”
“Perhaps.”
“You warned her of the risks?” Formerly Floote knew more than most about what it meant to live with a preternatural.
“Of course.”
Percy shrugged and turned back to the pishtacos. He was already making mental notes for his report to the Royal Society. He continued talking to the ghost. “What more can you do than that? You’re dead.”
“Exactly so.”
“What are you doing up here?” Percy wasn’t going to have him interfere with navigation again.
“There’s nothing to do in engineering, we’re anchored.”
“Yes, but you know she doesn’t like you up top.”
“Why do you think I’m skulking over here with you charmers?”
Percy ignored the insult. “What if we have to retreat and puff up quickly?”
“Aggie can handle a rapid boil without me.”
Percy glared at the Frenchman. “Rue needs you safe!” How could Lefoux not understand, he was supposed to be in love with the chit. Percy explained, as if to a child, “She can’t concentrate when you aren’t safe.”
Quesnel flashed him a very annoyed look. “And I need to watch over her too! It’s not fair she keeps me confined to engineering every time there’s the possibility of battle.”
“You did nearly die in a fight recently.”
“But I didn’t actually die.”
Percy tried a different tactic. “You are the Spotted Custard‘s chief engineer, therefore meant to be in engineering. Look at me, ship’s navigator. Where am I located? Why, I’m here in the navigation pit, because that is the place where I can do the most good.”
Quesnel glared. “Yes, but you don’t actually want to leave your station, ever. Except to go to your library. You hate adventure.”
“True, but beside the point.” Percy reached out to grab at Quesnel’s arm. Rue was leading the others over the edge of the main deck and down the rope ladder. Quesnel clearly intended to follow.
“Let go!” hissed the Frenchman.
“She has Tasherit with her.”
“It should be me!” Rue disappeared from sight.
“Oh yes, because that’s logical. She can borrow Tasherit’s immortality and heal herself in a heartbeat, not to mention become a lioness. What can you do for her?”
“I hate you sometimes, Percy.”
Oh ho, that warranted my given name, did it? “And yet you came to me because you knew I’d hold you back from doing something stupid.”
Quesnel lost his impassioned panic in a flash of amusement. “Well, Professor Tunstell, you are the smartest man on this ship. Besides me, of course.”
Primrose climbed up to the poop deck and came marching over. “What are you two malcontents up to? Virgil, would you be a dear and fetch me my battle parasol? It’s the really ugly one leaning right next to the door in my room.”
Virgil crossed his arms. “Well, all right, but don’t say anything exciting, and don’t let them do anything interesting groundside until I get back. Please?” He gestured behind him to Anitra’s disappearing head. The Drifter was the last one to climb down off the airship.
He scampered off, fast as he could.
Primrose had her parasol in hand mere moments later. Percy was impressed, his valet never moved that fast for him. Nevertheless, by the time Virgil returned, all three of them and Formerly Floote were back leaning over the railing, watching the encounter below.
Percy thought, for the sake of mathematics, Rue ought to have taken two more with her. Preferably heavily armed. But perhaps she didn’t want to appear threatening. After all, Tasherit was still in human form.
Rue stood at the front with Anitra to one side and Tasherit the other. Anitra for interpretation and Tasherit for immortality and protection, no doubt. Rodrigo was on the other side of Anitra. Farthest away from their immortal, and in a position to defend his lady love. Percy approved, it was all very strategic. It was a chance for Rodrigo to prove himself to them.
Even though they were floating above, the night was quiet enough for conversation to travel up to them. Percy’s Spanish wasn’t great, but he loosely translated for his sister, and Quesnel helped with some of the vocabulary when it was similar enough to French. Formerly Floote helped the rest of the time.
Primrose had her parasol out and at the ready. It was pointed down with darts dialled in. Percy didn’t know if numbing darts would work on the pishtaco type of vampire, but that wouldn’t matter to Primrose. The two greatest loves of her life were down there confronting the local boogeyman. His sister was tense and needed to do something.
“They are exchanging formal greetings and introducing themselves. Rue has taken charge,” Percy interpreted.
Quesnel glared. “I don’t like the way they are all looking at her, do you? It’s awfully covetous.”
“Hungry,” said Prim, who was good at reading people. “They look hungry.”
Percy shrugged. “Well, Rue is chubby, I wager she seems the tastiest.”
“Percy! You can’t say things like that!” His sister, without taking her eyes off the group below, boxed his ear.
“Ow! Stop it, Tiddles, I’m not ten.”
“Then stop acting like it.”
Percy’s attention was drawn back to her deadly parasol. “You should prepare to cover any retreat with your lapis solaris.”
“What? Why? Aren’t we trying to be friends with them?”
“Did we not just establish that they look more hungry than friendly? Look here, sister, I’m not convinced the numbing darts will work.” He exchanged a look with Quesnel, who inclined his head. The darts were Lefoux manufacture, so he should know.
The Frenchman said, “They’re made with humans in mind and only work in a limited manner on immortals. And, of course, we’ve never tested them on pishtacos.”
Primrose narrowed her eyes. “Well, it’s the best I’ve got for now. Won’t the same standards apply to all the parasol’s armament?”
Percy glared at her. “No, the acid is based on the principles of distilled sunlight.”
Quesnel tried to be nicer. “He means to say that lapis solaris is meant specifically for vampires, which we are assuming these pishtacos are, and so - wait, what’s that?”
He leaned forward to see what was going on.
The vampire who’d taken primary negotiator position was edging towards Rue.
Rodrigo stepped forward and twirled some kind of wooden stake casually in one hand.
The pishtaco laughed.
“Bet he wishes he had a sword right now,” said Percy. “Beheadings always work.”
Primrose scoffed. “Like any of us would give Mr Tarabotti a sword.”
“We might want to rethink that particular policy in future.” Percy was thinking that Rodrigo Tarabotti’s stance was as near to fighter’s perfection as he had ever seen down at White’s.
Percy himself was no Corinthian, but he understood the basic principles of hand-to-hand combat, had read a great deal on the subject.
Their former prisoner stood perfectly balanced, sure and easy on his feet, and he held the stake like it was an extension of his arm. Percy would eat his velvet fez if that man couldn’t handle a sword with consummate aplomb.
“I wish I had a sword.”
“Percy, you wouldn’t know which end of a sword to draw.”
“True, but I could throw it down to him.”
Below them Anitra moved, hands placating, clearly trying to soothe matters. She kept urging Rue to back away.
But Rue was too stubborn and she knew vampires. She refused to give quarter or appear in anyway like prey.
Suddenly the lead pishtaco lunged for her.
Quesnel shouted. Primrose shot one of her numbing darts, narrowly missing the vampire.
Rue turned into a pishtaco.
“That went well,” said Percy, to no one in particular.
They’d all lived with Rue’s metanatural abilities their whole lives. But it was strangely easy to forget exactly how they worked. Partly because when Percy and Primrose were children, Rue always chose to be a wolf, and now aboard the Custard her only choice was lioness.
They tended to forget she could also be a vampire. Or in this case, a pishtaco.
Rue utterly changed in appea
rance at the contact. She grew taller and very thin, her hair bled out to white, and her eyes went fully red. Her gown hung loose and short on her newly emaciated frame. But her face still looked like Rue’s face in shape and expression. That expression was one of annoyance. Even Percy could follow what Rue was feeling.
The pishtacos froze, totally and utterly surprised by Rue’s transformation.
The former pishtaco leader was now a short, chubby, dark-skinned gentleman wearing a shocked expression and overly tight clothing.
Capitalising on their shock, Rue and her team flew into action.
Rue, now vampire strong and swift, turned and made for the ship, running to stretch the tether so it would snap and return the pishtaco to his immortal state, and her to her mortal one.
Tasherit shifted into lioness, screaming out a cat’s challenge.
This also startled the pishtacos. Either there were no animal shifters in the Andes, or there hadn’t been in generations.
The werecat charged, and the pishtacos recovered from their shock and scattered. All except for the one who was now mortal. He sort of folded up where he stood, collapsing into a heap. One of the drones dove for him and began tugging him to safety.
Rodrigo swung in front of Anitra and flicked out his wooden stake with a twist of a wrist. It hit a pishtaco in the throat, but the creature merely snarled and pulled it out. No blood dripped out, not even the slow black blood one expected from a vampire.
In the blink of an eye, a new weapon appeared in Rodrigo’s hand. This one looked to be a bread knife, long and serrated. That, at least, gave the pishtacos pause.
Rodrigo and the werecat exchanged a look.
“Anitra,” came Rue’s yell, “back to the ship.”
Rue was still a pishtaco, as evidenced by the spiderlike efficiency with which she was climbing up the Custard‘s rope ladder.
Anitra turned and sprinted towards the Custard.
One of the pishtacos went after her.
Rodrigo snarled, leapt, and slashed out with the bread knife.
“See,” said Percy, “I was right. He needs a sword.”
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