Rue turned to the gentleman. He was very old, perhaps in his nineties. It was hard to tell with a face so wrinkled and leathery from sun and wind. His features were undistinguished, as if they were trying hard to be forgotten. His eyes may have been blue. His expression was mild, almost self-effacing, as if he were accustomed to being overlooked.
Rue inclined her head. “Panettone is not a Drifter name.”
“Indeed it is not. It’s Italian.” His voice was clipped and perfect. He spoke English as if born to it. “And Anitra is not my real granddaughter. In the desert skies, grandfather is a term of respect.” Was he British or Italian or something else? It was difficult to tell under all those wrinkles – robes and skin.
Rue sat back, sipping her tea. “I’m afraid my ship must depart soon. What can I do for two friends of Mr Lefoux’s? And, perhaps, my father’s?”
Anitra dimpled again. “Goldenrod has not called upon my services recently. Although my family will always respect him.”
Her grandfather added, “And Mr Lefoux was merely a means of introduction. I once travelled with his mother.”
“So, why do you visit The Spotted Custard?”
The old man tilted his head, as if lost in thought or in imminent danger of falling asleep.
The young ladies waited.
Finally, Anitra put a hand to his arm. “Grandfather?”
“You are not as much like your mother as I thought you might be.”
“I shall take that as a compliment. You knew my mother?”
“Quite well.”
“Then you’ll be pleased to know she has taken up permanent residence here in Cairo. Perhaps it is her you wish to call upon, not me?” Rue did not want to be rude, but she had a ship to see to.
“I think not.” Mr Panettone’s voice held no emotion.
Rue struggled to fill the awkward silence. “I will miss her, despite our differences. More than I realise, I suspect.” She was babbling. Something about these two made her nervous.
“She is easy to miss.” The old man’s voice still held nothing but calm, almost servile, support. Was this some old family retainer? Living among the Drifters of Egypt? Preposterous.
Rue put down her teacup. “Easier to miss than to live with, I find. So, what is it you require of me?”
“Now you sound like your mother.” The old man settled back, stiff in posture but tired, gesturing for his granddaughter to take over the conversation.
She did so. “It is not so much that we wish something from you, Lady Prudence. Instead it is that we believe we may offer our services as interpreters. Plus, we understand you are being followed.”
Rue sat up. “How do you know that?”
Anitra inclined her head. “Goldenrod may not require me these days, but that does not mean I have lost my training. Grandfather likes to know what is going on, particularly where the supernatural is concerned.”
“So they are after Tasherit?”
“Who?” The old man’s tone could almost be qualified as interested.
So these two, who seemed to know much, did not know about Miss Sekhmet.
Anitra continued. “Or they are after you, skin-stalker. Or they are after something or someone else. They have been asking questions. They have been watching, preparing. Yet when they made their move, you were able to repel them. It is… impressive.”
“They were clumsy. So you do not know what they are after, but you do know who they are?”
Anitra cocked her head. “We have theories.”
Rue did not like obfuscation. “How do I know I can trust you?”
The old man reached into a fold of his sash belt and produced a folded bit of paper, yellowed with age. He handed it to her.
It looked like one of those privateer letters of marque and reprisal from centuries ago. Only this one was dated 1855. It turned out to be a writ of legal safeguard granted by the British government, to the bearer, over one Alexia Tarabotti.
“You really did know my mother well.”
He inclined his head.
“She never mentioned you.”
Something died in his eyes.
Yet, even as she said it, Rue remembered something from years ago. It was vague. They’d been talking about death for some reason. What had Mother said? “I’ve an old friend, in Egypt now so you’ll never meet him. Well, more like an estranged family member. He killed the wrong person. Oh, don’t look so shocked. I’ve killed a few people in my day. Your father’s killed hundreds, I shouldn’t wonder. Both your fathers. And then there was that time London caught fire. Occasionally, my dearest girl, one has to kill. Take my advice: choose wisely and be tidy about it.” At the time, Rue had been too shocked by all Lady Maccon’s talk of killing to think much on the random mention of an estranged friend in Egypt.
“You killed the wrong person.”
“So she did mention me.” His eyes flickered back to life.
Rue handed the man back his marque of guardianship. “Gave it up, did you? I imagine she’d be a hassle to keep safe.”
He gave a funny little smile. “She’s still alive, is she not?”
“Ah. Very well, welcome aboard.” Trust might be too much to require so soon, but with both the man and his granddaughter being friends of Quesnel’s – the one having tolerated her mother and the other her Dama – she would allow them to stay. It’d also give her the opportunity to satisfy her now wild curiosity.
Anitra brought them back to the present. “We do come bearing gifts. Or should I say reinforcements?” She gestured expansively with both hands.
Rue looked.
The sun was setting and up on the breezes of the cooling skies, balloons were rising all over the city. Patchwork balloons, small and nimble, old and well loved, brightly coloured and drifting together. Rue had never seen anything like it. They rose like champagne bubbles in a crystal glass, bobbing together.
“What?”
Anitra smiled broadly, easy and open. “We Drifters were thinking if you need to leave Cairo, it is better done under cover of airship than any other way. You, after all, have one of the brightest painted crafts I have ever seen. She will fit right in.”
Rue grinned back at her. “That she will.”
Anitra and her grandfather stayed aboard. Their balloon, which Anitra explained was more properly her family’s balloon, piloted by her older brother, Baddu, would join the others in escort service. The young man with Anitra’s eyes waved cheerfully after retrieving the net.
Spoo was the last to return from leave. “Apologies, Lady Captain. I’d no idea we were biffing off. No pyramids?”
“Sorry, Spoo, next time we’re in town.”
“That’s what they all say.”
“Spoo, my parents live here now. We will be back.”
Spoo brightened and ran to stash her market goodies and assume her post.
The Spotted Custard cast off her mooring rope and rose to join the Drifter balloons dotting the sky. It was difficult to count but Rue would have said near to a hundred or so were participating in the protective cover. Among the classic onion shapes she noticed a few almonds as well. One or two proper dirigibles had joined their party. None were as sleek as her pride and joy, but certainly they were more up to snuff than the standard Drifter fare.
“You’ve some corkers in the mix.”
Anitra nodded. “Grandfather’s. He likes to dabble in modern technology.”
The old man appeared to be slumbering in a deck chair, but Rue got the impression he was still paying attention to everything going on around him.
“Sound investments.” The airships were backlit by the setting sun, so Rue could make out little else but their silhouettes.
Together the flock of airships drifted up the Nile, southwards, high enough to spot the great pyramids far to the right – Spoo waved as if they were old friends – and then moved on into the nomad’s land of river, sand, and stone.
Rue left her new passengers – one napping, the other making
fast friends with the loquacious Spoo. Spoo was delighted to explain the workings of the Custard to an interested Anitra. Rue was suspicious of such interest, but Anitra did carry Dama’s seal of approval. And it wasn’t as though they weren’t surrounded by hundreds of her people. In for the boil, might as well steam. Plus they did need an interpreter.
With Mother gone, Rue declined to change for supper. Primrose might be upset since they had guests – Oh dear, I had better tell her we have guests – but Rue couldn’t be bothered. She sent a message to Prim warning her of their new passengers and wandered off to the dining room in hopes of finding the beginnings of food.
Instead, she found the beginnings of an academic. Or the endings of one.
Percy was still in a bit of a state, whether it was guilt or arrogance it was hard to tell, as he’d hidden all but a nervous eye twitch under his customary persona of first water prig.
“Percy, how’s the research going?”
“Not great.”
“Tasherit will not be pleased to hear that.” Primrose joined the conversation, entering the room carrying a tray of barley water.
Percy blanched. “Don’t tell her, please? I’ve recently escaped. She’s pacing my library. Traumatising poor old Footnote.”
Since Footnote was currently sprawled in one of the dining chairs licking his white chest fur in a most untraumatised manner, Rue raised both eyebrows.
Percy continued defensively. “I’ve only just started. That treaty, the one you made with the weremonkeys, it assigned them legal status, as people.”
“There was precedent; the local Rakshasa had already been granted rights.” Rue took a seat.
Primrose distributed the barley water. “Drink up; it’s good for you in this heat. I’m beginning to understand why Queen Victoria was so angry with you, Rue. You made it so they couldn’t be exploited. Bold move.”
Rue sipped the cloudy drink and made a face. “I wish I were that noble and full of foresight. I didn’t do it intentionally, although I would do it all over again. The empire is a yearning maw of exploitation, Prim. You didn’t know?”
“Miss Sekhmet is clearly a person!”
Rue drained her cup, to get it over with. “By whose definition? She lives for ever. She changes shape. She looks like a goddess, not a human.”
“That’s horrible! How can you even think such a thing?”
Percy sipped his barley water with evident enjoyment. Either the boy had no taste or he was delighted to see his sister’s ire turned on Rue for a change.
Rue covered the top of her empty glass to forestall refills. “It’s not what I think, Prim. It’s the way the law acts.”
“But that’s awful.”
“My dearest friend, how do you think I’m classified?”
Primrose put a hand to her mouth, eyes wide. “I never thought. Are you… ? I don’t even know how to ask the question.”
Percy was intrigued despite himself.
Rue gave a little laugh. “Last I checked I was a national asset with permitted autonomy, not necessarily a British citizen with all the privileges thereof. There’s some question, Dama said, of me even being considered human. And now my mother is no longer muhjah, and I just upset Her Royal Majesty with weremonkeys. Even with Dama on my side, who knows how the Crown might try to control me. Powerful creatures are dangerous. The government doesn’t like dangerous.”
A tap came on the stateroom door. Quesnel stuck his blond head in, hat off, face freshly washed. “You asked to see me?”
Primrose rose to leave. “Come along, Percy.”
“Stay, please.” Rue’s voice was harsher than she intended.
Prim reluctantly sank back down, looking like she would rather be anywhere else.
Percy looked smug. Well, smugger than usual.
“Come in, Quesnel, sit.”
Quesnel came in, but he did not sit; he leaned back against one wall, attempting to look unperturbed.
“I understand you have a ghost holder in my… hold.”
“She told you, did she?”
“I would have rather it came from you.”
“Family matters.”
“I hope your family will understand that, as captain of this ship, I wish to know if that device is patented and registered.”
Quesnel blinked at her. This was taking a turn he hadn’t expected. “Of course.”
Rue sighed. “I wish you had, at the very least, said that much. These attacks, I thought they were after that bally tank of yours.”
Quesnel shook his head. “Goodness no. I imagine they’ll be up for sale on Bond Street soon, with Woolsey Hive’s backing. Last I heard, Mother was entertaining the possibility of mass production. I see no reason for technological espionage. I shall be a rich man, in the end. Will you still love me then, my cold beauty?”
Rue glared at him. “That settles the matter. They must be after Miss Sekhmet.”
“Who?” Quesnel looked confused.
“Yes, that is still the real question. Who?” Rue sighed. “Are we ready for speed?”
“Of course.” Quesnel straightened in offence at any question of his people’s efficiency. “You going to tell me where we’re going?”
“Miss Sekhmet is taking us to the Source of the Nile. We are at her disposal in order to fix his mistake.” Rue gestured at Percy.
Quesnel blanched. “The source is in contested lands. Is that wise?”
“Probably not,” Percy muttered.
Rue glared at him.
Quesnel remained focused on Rue. “Why there? What’s happened? What has he done?”
“Why don’t you try living for a while without all the necessary information? See how pleasant it feels, chérie.” Rue was not above revenge.
Quesnel gave her a little bow. “Yes, Lady Captain.” With which he twirled and marched from the room.
“Oh, Rue! His face. Did you have to be so mean?”
Rue glared at Primrose. “He should have given Percy that darn byline! We’d never be in this mess.”
“Thank you, Rue,” said Percy.
“Don’t start,” Rue shot back. “And he should have told me about the ghost holder from the beginning. Who, exactly, does he think is going to die?”
“But he’s awfully fond of you,” defended Prim.
“He’s awfully fond of withholding information. And he’s awfully fond of my enthusiasm under the duvet.”
“Rue!” Primrose was appalled.
Percy stood abruptly and marched from the room.
Primrose took control of her shock. “I think you malign Quesnel’s character.”
“Which of us has been kissing him lately?”
“Exactly why you’re in no condition to properly assess his intentions.”
Rue was past caring. “I’m small, round, outrageous, and – as I just explained – possibly not legally a human being. What makes you think that man takes anything seriously, least of all me?”
Prim took a breath. “Wouldn’t you like to be taken seriously?”
“Oh, Prim. You’re such a romantic.”
Prim frowned. “I believe you’re rendering a disservice both to your worth and his attentions.”
Poor old Prim – she always wants to see the world in the best possible way.
“Primrose, I just drank barley water for you. For the moment could you leave off my entanglement, such as it is?”
Primrose nodded. “I’ll say no more on the subject.”
“But?”
“I’m worried about you, Rue. You’re isolated.”
“I’m on a ship full of people, you chump.”
Prim shook her head, annoyed with her own inability to articulate. “You’ve lost your family. Well, left them all behind.”
“To be fair, some of them left me.”
“Exactly my point. I don’t like you feeling so… abandoned.”
Rue couldn’t deny that. Even Dama had left her to her own devices. And I was so glib with him about gaining my
majority, so glad to be free. I did not realise what else the world would take away as well as his guardianship – my pack, my parents. “It’s not so bad, Prim. They’re all still alive, further away but alive, and less mine than they once were. Isn’t that growing up?”
“Well, if it is, it’s pretty darn awful for you. Excuse my language.” Her dearest friend pushed on, embarrassed but determined. “I only mean to say, we’re still here for you, Percy and I.”
Rue tilted her head, suspicious.
“Fine, me more than Percy. But we’re twins enough for me to speak for both of us. It’s just… We are also your family. You do realise that?”
Rue came over a little teary and said what Primrose couldn’t quite muster. “I love you, too.”
The presence of Anitra and her grandfather at supper mitigated any possible emotional outbursts into tense small talk. Rue never thought she’d have reason to be grateful for polite niceties, but at that meal she certainly was.
Quesnel was at his flirtatious best; perhaps his eyes twinkled less than normal but his words were even more than commonly facetious. Anitra enjoyed his attentions. And why shouldn’t she?
Both visitors were curious to meet Miss Sekhmet, who sat in glorious dignity nibbling a kipper. Anitra was almost reverential when speaking to the werecat. Tasherit took this as her due. Primrose took this as offensive. Mr Panettone was more an observer than participant. Something about sitting at the supper table unnerved him. Rue treated him as gently as she could but was happy for his sake when he excused himself early for bed.
“Please forgive Grandfather. He isn’t well.”
“Oh, I am sorry!” Rue had noticed real affection between the two, even if they were not actually blood related. Being adopted herself, she understood entirely.
“It’s mostly age, I think.”
Everyone was grateful when the pudding course was served and the party could disperse. In the old days, Rue and her friends would have taken to the upper deck for drinks and cigars, but in this instance they all took to their rooms.
Rue was entirely unsurprised when Quesnel did not come to her chamber that evening. She forced herself to drink more barley water and cried into the glass. Tears, as it turned out, didn’t improve the taste in the slightest.
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