Reticence

by Gail Carriger

  “That is a warrior’s answer, old one. I want more. I want to die beloved.”

  The vampire’s smile was somehow sad. “Says the warrior. That is asking for a great deal more, is it not?”

  Tasherit nodded, both regal and forlorn.

  “She was greatly beloved, once. She gave with such compassion. To those of us so profoundly unworthy of it. We could not have loved her more.” The vampire touched the spot where the ankh now lay, under his clothing, over his heart. Lord Akeldama offered his words as if they were some kind of consolation. “Better to love with your whole soul and lose, than not to love at all.”

  Tasherit winced.

  Ah, they’re discussing the price of immortality. Percy did not envy supernatural creatures the choice they made when becoming undead. To outlast everyone dear to them, again and again.

  It occurred to him to pity his sister. In taking a werecat for a lover, Primrose must confront the fact that they would never grow old together. Tasherit would eventually go forward where Primrose could not follow.

  Or was it the other way around?

  Percy shook off any empathic melancholy. Presumably, they’d both weighed the objections and pleasures of their match and decided the first were worth suffering for the sake of the second.

  Tasherit looked away from the vampire and down at Primrose. Her dark eyes were unhappy and hungry. “Dance with me, please?”

  Primrose nodded. “All right, darling heart. All right.” She whirled on Percy, turning her own mixed emotions and confusion into reassuring ire against her brother. “Percy, go ask the nice doctor to dance.”

  And because he could see how fatigued Prim was, overtaxed with tears near to the surface, Percy turned to seek out their new doctor and ask her to dance, as ordered.

  FOUR

  Floating Familial Relationships

  Arsenic found the wedding, in the end, a thing of dreamlike balletic chaos with Wagnerian overtones. Vampires tussled with werewolves, drones with clavigers, while other guests scurried about attempting to avoid bloodshed yet simultaneously stay close enough to learn all the gossip and eat all the food.

  The fisticuffs seemed mainly in good fun, more for the sake of argument and light exercise. Arsenic’s skills were called upon only to tend scrapes, bruises, and a sprained wrist. This meant she enjoyed herself, in the end. She liked to be useful.

  Then after everything seemed settled, the bride turned dancing into a weapon. Except Arsenic wasn’t certain what the weapon pointed at – the rest of society, perhaps?

  Arsenic gave up attempting to deduce what was going on and simply enjoyed herself. The food was tasty and the conversation varied, and eventually even the recalcitrant Professor Tunstell was persuaded onto the floor.

  Honestly, the man was more nervous to dance with her than he had been to stand up with Lord Akeldama. “I’m not any good,” he confessed as he led her out.

  He was, indeed, a sublimely bad dancer – bungling and unsure with no conversation. Arsenic did her best to make him comfortable and engage in the requisite pleasantries, searching for any topic that might relax the poor lad. Nothing helped and they parted awkwardly. Arsenic remained under the impression that he either was terrified of her, which was patently absurd, or had taken her in great disdain.

  She’d seen him talking with the matrons at the tea table, perhaps they had told him horrible things about her mother. That would do it. She hoped she might have an opportunity to prove herself to her new shipmate as a worthy member of staff, then perhaps he’d not dislike her so. He seemed secretly quite kind, ceding to his sister’s demands, placing glasses of water near Rue whenever she took a breather, and interceding on Virgil’s behalf when the laddie caught Lord Ambrose’s eye.

  In the small hours of the morning, after Vauxhall Bob depuffed and the wedding guests stumbled home, Arsenic returned to her grimy lodging, exhausted. She’d gone in for a job interview and ended up at a party with bare chests and kilts and ancient immortals all on pronounced display.

  I should restock my bandages, she thought, and then, At least I’ll be busy in my new position. That had only been a wedding on home soil. Imagine what The Spotted Custard got up to overseas.

  As she’d not been given explicit instructions, Arsenic awoke, packed what little she owned – the army had taught her to travel light – paid for her room, and made her way to The Spotted Custard by luncheon.

  Absolutely no one was awake except the day-watch. The sentry was composed of two sooties, two decklings, and a deckhand, all of whom were drinking barley water and playing tiddlywinks.

  Arsenic hollered up and one of the decklings recognized her and lowered the gangplank. The Spotted Custard puffed out steam and generally bobbed about in the breeze. Arsenic was ridiculously proud of herself for not falling off before she attained the deck.

  “You’re awake before the rest of them toff-lofties,” said one of the sooties, approvingly.

  Arsenic considered. “I suppose with Miss Sekhmet, they tend to keep nighttime hours?”

  “Most of them bob-up just prior to sunset,” agreed Bork, companionably.

  Arsenic nodded. “Good to know. I’ll go settle into my quarters, shall I?”

  “Carry on then.” They went back to their tiddlywinks.

  Arsenic made her way belowdecks. She hadn’t really had a chance to examine her swoon room yet, so she started there.

  It was well designed, with plenty of shelves and small banks of drawers made of waxed card for lighter medicinals. There were some more sturdy facilities for liquid medicines and the like, as well as hatstands and other useful contraptions for hanging bandages and tools.

  She approved, making a few notes and stowing what she’d brought with her in sensible spots. She wondered what her materials stipend was and thought she’d better consult with Miss Primrose before she spent ship’s coffers on ointments.

  There was a partially stocked medicine cabinet already in residence. It saw a great deal of use, if the empty compartments and half-used vials were anything to go by. She noted each carefully, both for restocking, and to understand what was generally in rotation aboard the Custard. Considering the captain’s delicate condition, Arsenic decided to brush up on birthing procedures as well. She thought she’d best look into the captain’s state of metanatural existence, too. She wasn’t familiar with the term, but if it was similar to preternatural, it meant Lady Akeldama was mortal only with quirks. Which meant birth was a risk.

  There was also the werecat to consider. Arsenic wanted to talk with both of them as well as read any papers connected to the physical ramifications of their unnatural states. This was her crew to look after now. Arsenic intended to be prepared.

  She made another note to ask for a ship’s manifest and to enquire if there were any other supernatural, unnatural, or undead aboard. Or actors. Actors were always injuring themselves.

  Once they hit a long float inside the aetherosphere, she’d have every single one of the crew come through her swoon room for a consult and a check-up. They’d grumble, but that was what doctors did – inconvenienced people with the necessities of good health.

  There was only one cot for patients. She hoped she wouldn’t need more, but she thought she’d better install hooks for a hammock, in case a second bed was needed.

  Arsenic was so distracted by her lists and thoughts, she barely noticed when the noises around her shifted, indicating the crew awakening. She paused only when the light became diffuse and she realized the sun had set.

  The clearing of a throat at the doorway startled her.

  “You must be our new doctor. I regret that we didn’t meet properly yesterday.”

  Arsenic put down her stylus and looked up. Twinkle-eyed, charming, and blond, the groom from the night before was considerably less well dressed this evening. He sported casual attire, no jacket, only a vest that had seen better days and was blessed with an overabundance of pockets.

  “Mr Lefoux, how are you this evening?” H
e looked to be in good health, if a mite peely-wally, probably from working indoors or from overindulgence the night before.

  “Topping, Dr Ruthven. Quite topping. And you? Getting started already, I see? Are those lists? Prim will be pleased.”

  Arsenic relaxed. Delightful man. “Aye. I’ve three going – one requesting personal information, one for requisitioning supplies, and one on the research papers I’ll need to source before we leave.”

  “Go to old Percy for those. He won’t be kind about it, but he might have what you require already. What do you need to research so soon, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  “Weel, after the captain decides on our destination, I’ll check local diseases and other concerns, but before that I’d like to see what’s to be had on werecats, metanaturals, and childbirth.”

  He looked pleased by her diligence. “You’re in luck on the werecats. The only paper in existence was written by our Percy, to his shame. I suspect he has several copies. Knowing him, the library won’t have anything on childbirth. And no one has anything about metanaturals except the government, and they won’t let you see it.”

  Arsenic sighed. “I was wondering why I’d na heard of the state.”

  “Rue is what happens when preternaturals and supernaturals breed. There’s Rodrigo as well, Mr Tarabotti. He’s preternatural.”

  “You’re an eclectic bunch.”

  “So far as I know, basic biological functionality for both preternaturals and metanaturals is exactly like normal humans’.”

  “But someone said that the captain’s bairn, your bairn, was an unknown x-predictive?”

  “Yes, that’s a little concerning.” He dimpled at her. “We didn’t really think it would happen at all, you see?”

  “Hence the hasty wedding and grumpy bride?”

  He shrugged. “She likes it. She simply doesn’t want to admit to liking it. That’d be too much like giving in.”

  “Aye, of course. But you’re happy?”

  “Very. You’re remarkably easy to talk to, Doctor, did you know that?”

  “Been said before.”

  “I’ll leave you to your lists. Breakfast in half an hour in the stateroom if you’d like to join us?”

  “Breakfast?”

  “First meal after sleeping, we call breakfast. Rue prefers breakfast foods over all others, except pastry, and so insists that when we wake up, even if it’s sunset, we eat breakfast. You’ll find it’s easier not to argue with her.”

  “I find it difficult to take a stance against breakfast, as a rule.”

  “Good show. Bring your lists? Prim will look them over.”

  “At breakfast?”

  “We often discuss ship’s business while eating.”

  Arsenic gave a nod and the gentleman disappeared. He was likeable. She could see what the captain saw in him. Perhaps a touch too charming.

  She winced and sighed. That reminded her she’d a confession to make. Given her encounter with the tea-table matrons, and the certain knowledge of intimacy between those ladies and members of the Custard crew, Arsenic had better fess up about her mother. Before someone else did it for her.

  She hoped she could work it delicately into conversation, but it was a dramatic statement to make, “Please pass the toast, and did you know my mother killed people for a living?”

  The dining room was full of officers when Percy arrived. The mess opposite was full of staff and crew. The doors to each were thrown wide, allowing personnel to drift between and consult with respective colleagues.

  Percy breathed a sigh of relief. At least he wasn’t so late he’d missed the food. He’d been reading an interesting travel journal on Japan with particular focus on pearl divers, also referred to as mermaids. Percy was, as yet, unable to determine if these were actual mermaids or if it was a euphemism. Percy hated euphemisms.

  I wonder what the Latin is for mermaid?

  He slipped in behind an aggravated-looking Aggie, who made a beeline for Quesnel.

  Greasers, firemen, and sooties all reported to Quesnel as head engineer. He had a most companionable relationship with his people, even Aggie. He was disgustingly easygoing. Staff went to Primrose, who was in charge of the shipboard household and supply logistics. She took her duties seriously and as a result the footmen were in awe of her. Percy suspected that he’d be in awe of his sister too, except that she was his sister. Decklings and deckhands consulted with Rue. No one was in awe of Rue, but everyone adored her. She ruled with the marshmallow fist of justice – fluffy, delightful, and probably slightly too sweet and sticky, but fair.

  Percy, thank heavens, had charge of no one. Theoretically Virgil was under his purview, but in reality he was under Virgil’s.

  He nodded to those few at the table who were not busy with crew concerns – Rodrigo, Anitra, and the new doctor. ’Course he couldn’t look the new doctor full on or he’d start blushing. As if he had an allergic reaction.

  Unfortunately, there was only one vacant chair, which meant Percy had no option but to sit right next to Dr Ruthven. Of course.

  He inhaled, coughed slightly, tried to politely acknowledge her without actually looking at her, and sit at the same time.

  It was excruciating.

  “Percy? There you are! What took you so long? You’ve been awake for hours.” Could his sister be any more annoying?

  “How’d you know I was up?” He reached for a roll and served himself sausage and stewed tomato. It was nice to be back in England where breakfast made sense.

  “Your cat is here lurking, has been for ages.”

  “Footnote gave me away? Little traitor.”

  Footnote, hearing his name, gave a haughty yap and ambled over to crouch between Percy’s and Arsenic’s chairs. And now I’m thinking of her by her given name.

  “I was lost in a book.”

  “Should navigators get lost?” wondered Anitra.

  Now even Anitra is teasing me.

  Percy glowered at the Drifter and she smiled back. He watched out of the corner of his eye as Arsenic cut off a corner of her bacon and passed it down to his cat.

  “He’ll never leave you alone,” warned Percy.

  Arsenic gave him one of her allergy-inducing smiles. “Good.”

  Percy’s breath actually stopped, until she turned her dark blue eyes back to Footnote.

  “Who’s the best moggie ever?” Arsenic asked, as Footnote licked his whiskers and bestowed upon her a look of abject starvation. She immediately fed him another piece. Dr Ruthven clearly knew her way into the heart of a cat.

  Who has eyes that colour? Mermaids, probably. Percy tried to figure out the name of the shade. Darker than cornflower. Not quite indigo, more purple than that. Then he realized what he was doing. Eye colour, for goodness’ sake!

  “What do you and Mr Tarabotti do aboard The Spotted Custard, Mrs Tarabotti?” Arsenic asked Anitra.

  Percy realized he was also curious. Rodrigo and Anitra had been aboard for ages, and he’d never once considered asking them what they actually did on his airship.

  “I signed on as a translator. I speak several languages, and Rodrigo does as well. But we both help wherever we can.”

  “Oh aye?” The doctor arched one perfect black brow.

  “Of course it never hurts to have a preternatural aboard.” Anitra looked affectionately at her husband.

  “Unless you are another preternatural, sì?” Rodrigo touched Anitra’s cheek with the back of two fingers. Percy liked to pretend that it was his books that gave Rodrigo a soul, but realistically it was Anitra’s heart that had done the heavy lifting.

  Still, results! Results were good.

  “Why’s that?” Arsenic pried. She’d some of Aunt Softy in her – that enforced curiosity, a need to understand in order to better control outcome.

  Percy would prefer not to understand people. Humans were irrational and unpredictable. Books were better.

  Anitra explained, almost proudly, “Two preternaturals cannot shar
e the same air, without distance. There is repulsion.”

  Arsenic turned to look down the table to where Rue sat at the head. “’Tis na the same for metanaturals?”

  Of course, she’s a doctor, she’s interested in how biology ties to function. Percy was staring and not eating. He glanced hastily around to see if anyone noticed. His sister, Rue, and Quesnel were all occupied with ship’s business. Thank goodness. He began hastily shovelling food into his mouth.

  “Her skills are different from mine. As are her weaknesses.” Rodrigo did not elaborate further.

  Arsenic pressed. “Is there anything medically significant about being preternatural, Mr Tarabotti?”

  “I bleed red, Dottore, like everyone. Even the cat.”

  “Aye, but do you heal differently? That’s the important part.”

  Rodrigo chuckled. “I am human.”

  “And the captain?”

  “Little cousin bleeds red too.”

  Anitra was the one who explained. “She can heal by becoming immortal, especially now we have Tasherit aboard. But it only works at night and out of aether, since both sunlight and the grey incapacitate werecat abilities.”

  Arsenic nodded. “As with other supernatural creatures. Good to know. Now, Miss Anitra. You’re recently married. Should you wish to discuss the precautionary arts with me at any time, you’re more than welcome. Unless, of course, you intend to start a family.”

  Anitra, poor thing, hung her head and let her veil fall forward to hide her expression.

  Percy tried not to choke on a sausage.

  Arsenic said, “I do apologize. I get carried away with my medical responsibilities and forget that na everyone is scientific in their approach to procreation.”

  Rodrigo chuckled but didn’t explain why.

  Percy kept his mouth shut for a change. He’d learned the hard way not to publicly report on his crewmates, after the disastrous publication of his paper on Tasherit nearly forfeited any possible friendship between them.

  The general chaos had subsided and the crew retreated to their mess to get tucked in. Which meant that everyone at the table had heard Arsenic’s comment.