“Like rampaging around London in your bloomers?”
“I wasn’t in human form, no one knew it was me. At least, not until the tether to Uncle Rabiffano snapped.”
“So it was you? Oh dear me, the scandal! You’ll have to retire to the countryside until it blows over at the very least. How will we keep this out of the popular press?”
Rue felt like stamping her foot, but didn’t on principal. “Of course it was me. And I will certainly not go to the countryside.”
“I hope you learnt something from this,” said her mother, looking a little hopeless.
“Frankly, all I learnt is that I must give up bloomers. Perhaps a short silk underskirt would work better? It’s the tail, you see, it rips the seams.”
“And what on earth has happen to your stays, young lady?”
“Pshaw, Mother. I gave up wearing corsetry years ago. Far too inconvenient. And so old-fashioned.”
“Oh mercy me, how did I not know this? What kind of child have I raised?”
“I got permission!” Rue whined.
Her mother whirled on Dama. “This is what comes of your overindulgence! My daughter prancing around in split bloomers!”
Dama only smiled, his fangs politely tucked away. “My dear sugarplum, be reasonable. I would never allow my daughter to go without proper foundation. It wasn’t me who gave her said permission.”
Rue’s mother threw her head back and yelled at the top of her lungs, “Conall! Get your furry posterior in here post haste!”
Rue giggled. “Paw’s got great hearing but he’s at the Bureau tonight. Even he can’t hear you all the way across London.”
Her mother’s face was all thunderclouds. “Give up stays, indeed! With your figure? To think, you’ve been dancing without support. Lordy, lordy. The uncontrollable wobble of it all! And now bloomers as well?” She turned to Dama as a new possible ally rather than enemy in the matter of her daughter. “My dear lord, how are we to remedy the catastrophe that is my progeny?”
Rue would have none of it. “Mother, it’s done. Besides, why should I obey the bounds of polite dress?”
“Because, infant, you are a proper gentlewoman. The daughter of two lords and a lady. You have standards to maintain.” Her mother was moved to impassioned gesticulation for emphasis. It was the Italian ancestry that did it.
Rue rolled her eyes.
Her mother turned again to Dama. “What are we to do with her?”
“Ah, good, Alexia my gherkin, I’m delighted you brought that question up. I do believe that what our Puggle requires is an occupation.”
Rue’s mother sputtered.
Dama was ready. “Now, now, my dear, cast your mind back some quarter century or so. I do believe you once got into a great deal of trouble yourself, all because you hadn’t an occupation. Now, you are settled into your duties, I have my potentate responsibilities, your husband has BUR, even Rabiffano has his hat shop. Puggle needs the same, don’t you, darling?”
Rue would hardly have put it like that, but since she was keen on the idea of travelling, she nodded, and watched her mother for an adverse reaction.
Whatever incident Dama alluded to seemed to do the necessary because her mother’s imminent boil-over subsided. She twisted her parasol about in her grasp and actually gave the matter serious thought.
She caught Rue’s eye. “I suppose, were you an ordinary child, you’d be married by now. And since you’ve been vampire-raised, people have mostly stopped trying to kill you. I worry, that’s all. What will become of you?”
Rue was touched. “Aw, you actually love me.”
Alexia Maccon scooped her child in closer to her on the couch with one arm and kissed her temple. “Of course I do, infant.”
Rue hid a smile. Sometimes it was too easy. “So, this ball I was at…” Before you get hold of tomorrow’s gossip rags.
“Very well, tell me all. What’s the situation with the tea? What did you do to poor Uncle Rabiffano? And why were you gallivanting about London in your bloomers?”
Of course, poor old Mother became quite agitated all over again at the idea of her precious daughter travelling to India. Although, as Rue pointed out, it was most certainly the countryside. Dama reminded Lady Maccon of her own misspent youth which, much to Rue’s surprise, appeared to include plagues in Scotland, a mad dash across Europe and one ill-advised trip to Egypt. “At least with Puggle here, we can see her well prepared, properly outfitted, and decently dressed.”
“Really, Mother, I had no idea you were so reckless. You seem so very staid.”
“I’ll have you know, infant, I was a madcap adventurer of epic proportions. Not that you should take that as permission, mind you.”
“So you agree I should go to India?”
“What did I just say?”
Rue crossed her arms and glowered, looking rather too much like her Paw for anyone’s comfort level. “I can take care of myself. Did you forget the little fact that I can steal supernatural abilities?” Nothing irritated Rue more than overprotectiveness. Except possibly flat champagne.
“Infant, there are times when there are no vampires or werewolves around. Not to mention daylight hours rendering you powerless. Also, I am not the only preternatural in existence and able to thwart you.”
“I have other skills,” Rue grumbled.
Her mother looked her up and down as if she were a military captain evaluating Rue for a mission. Then she turned back to Dama. Some silent signal passed between her parents. Dama had trained Rue in mysterious ways and Lady Maccon knew of Rue’s theatrical abilities, even if she rarely witnessed them first-hand, and preferred not to think about the ramifications.
“Oh, very well,” Mother capitulated, “but take this. You’ll need it. Very hot in India, I understand.” She handed over her parasol, an ugly if well-meaning gesture.
It was a good thing to have Mother’s approbation, for even Dama hadn’t the persuasive powers to convince the Alpha of the London Pack that his daughter traipsing around the empire was a good idea. Lord Maccon might be firmly wrapped around Rue’s little finger, but when her safety was at stake he could be militant. It would take Mother’s cajoling to bring him on board. Rue had never inquired too closely into her mother’s skills in this arena. Suffice to say that, on those occasions when Lord and Lady Maccon argued most virulently, a pattern inevitably emerged. They disappeared to their private quarters in disagreement and re-appeared in accord, generally to Mother’s way of thinking. Rue’s mother was fond of saying, “I am always right. Sometimes, it simply takes him a little time, flat on his back, to realise this.”
“India, infant, is going to take me most of our daytime repose,” was her mother’s assessment before they took to their beds before dawn.
“Oh, Mother!” It was nice to know her parents still enjoyed physical expressions of affection even at their advanced age, but also very much not nice to know.
The matter was thus settled, as far as Rue was concerned. She retired before her Paw returned home with the certain knowledge that plans would continue the next evening.
Rue came down after sunset in a dove-grey visiting dress trimmed with black velvet and white beadwork to find Dama and his drones preparing for a trip. The vampire, unlike his hive-bound fellows, often went out on the town, taking in the latest play or opera, occasionally calling upon his mortal acquaintances. Every such jaunt was an event, for everyone and everything in conjunction with the expedition must be aesthetically coordinated. Tonight, Rue’s appearance in the grey dress occasioned a line-up, two drones on either side, as they were to make up a party of six in the landau.
Winkle was instructed to go upstairs and change immediately as his yellow waistcoat did not go with Rue’s muted colour pallet. The drone returned in a sage vest, carrying Rue’s hat. Queen Ivy’s millinery influence dictated this accessory be a massive affair richly decorated in what looked like the flattened corpses of three seagulls. Rue thought it rather detracted from the beauty o
f her dress but Uncle Rabiffano insisted it was the very latest thing, and Uncle Rabiffano was never wrong about hats.
“Was Mother successful, do you think?” Rue asked Dama as he helped her into the coach. The horses sported grey tassels at their bits and the coachman a grey silk top hat.
“You are in some doubt? My Puggle of little faith.”
Rue smiled. “Of course. Silly me. It’s Mother. She always gets her way.”
“Mmm,” said Dama. “Except, of course, when you do.” He made room for his four drones to join them.
They made a very fetching picture, and Rue was delighted with the entire outing. She savoured the envious looks of the other ladies parading through Hyde Park. Rue was accompanied by five of the best-looking men in all of London, and was still young enough to enjoy the envy and not mind that it had little justifiable cause. For young women of burgeoning romantic hopes, these men could provide only decoration and conversation rather than amorous solace or entanglement. They were, as far as any lady was concerned, like the fake fruit on Baroness Tunstell’s favourite hat – entertaining, pretty, and apparently delicious but not actually useful in the event of starvation or even an attack of the nibbles. Rue, secure in this knowledge, was free to enjoy their company without expectations. Which she did, to the mutual entertainment of all.
Dama directed the driver through Hyde Park and out onto the Edgware Road towards Regent’s Park. Far less popular and less populated by the supernatural set, Regent’s Park was quiet at night. They drove along one side before turning in towards a dense plot of trees near Boating Lake. There, in the centre of a petite forest, sat an abandoned cricket pitch now occupied by a small but cheerful family of squirrels and Dama’s latest acquisition.
“Oh, Dama! She’s so beautiful.” Rue was embarrassed to find herself actually clutching both hands to her breast like the heroine of a romantic novel, for there in the middle of the pitch was moored the most amazing airship she had ever seen.
Rue was particularly fond of floating. She’d spent many a summer’s day up in Dama’s personal aircraft, Dandelion Fluff Upon a Spoon. He himself never used it of course, but kept it on the roof because it was the kind of possession that a man of means kept on his roof. Dama always made the appearance of doing what was proper and modern. He would never want to be thought old-fashioned – that was for other vampires. When Rue turned sixteen, the drones taught her to fly old Fluff. Since then, Rue had never missed the opportunity to bundle Prim up in hair muffs and goggles, pack a suitable picnic and take to the skies. Prim grew to enjoy it more than she would admit and had invested in a wardrobe to complement.
“I don’t want to be thought an outdoorsy sort of female,” she initially objected.
“Don’t be silly, Prim – everyone is taking to the skies these days. It’s not only the country set. It’s not like we’re riding horseback or something passé like that.”
“But, Rue, I’m all too often seen on wolfback. If I take to floating as well, people will say I’m – oh, I don’t know – athletic.”
“They will say no such thing. The height of your heels alone belies any suggestion of brawniness.”
That hadn’t helped – the mere mention of “brawn” nearly gave Prim hysterics. Through dint of cajoling and application of a very handsome drone to assist with lessons, Primrose eventually allowed herself aboard.
But this dirigible was utterly unlike such a poky little craft as old Fluff.
“Dama, she’s perfectly topping.”
“She is rather, isn’t she? I commissioned her several years ago, before some of the technology was even ready. Now she has all the very latest of everything, from navigation to habitation to mechanics to munitions. She’s lighter, better, faster and more deadly than anything, even Her Majesty’s floatforce. And, my darlingest of puggles, she is yours to command.”
Rue was moved to italics by the gesture. “Mine?”
“Indeed. I think you two will get along swimmingly. Or should I say floatingly?”
The coach pulled up next to the beautiful ship and the drones jumped out.
Winkle helped Rue to step down and she approached the dirigible reverently.
It wasn’t as big as one of Her Majesty’s mail ships but it was large. Rue suspected the gondola alone of being about the size of Dama’s town house, if the house were tipped on its side and made into the shape of a streamlined boat.
Dama said, “We took our cues from the basket homes of the balloon nomads of the Sahara and sourced an extremely light bendable wood from China for the hull.” The wood in question was a lovely golden colour. Rue stood on tiptoe to run her hand along one beam reverently.
The ship bobbed, straining against its mooring ropes, eager to take to the skies.
“May I go inside?” Rue pleaded, her golden eyes big and shining – almost a match to the exotic wood.
“Of course you may, my petal. Although you will permit one of my drones to accompany you and excuse me the pleasure?”
“Oh but Dama, she’s moored very low, can’t you…?”
“Best not to risk it, my love. Ropes can snap and then we’d suddenly be beyond the limits of my tether. I am an old vampire, little Puggle, and I did not get so old by being reckless.”
Rue nodded and in lieu of Dama, grabbed Winkle’s arm. They made their way up the creaking gangplank and onto the main deck of the ship. The open squeak decks, below the massive balloons, seemed protected enough from the helium above to not cause undue voice modification. Although Rue suspected that, in the case of a leak, the poop deck, which was raised the highest, might be a danger zone – that would make for a funny sort of command.
The navigation centre on the poop deck was made to look like an old-fashioned ship’s helm, but it was the design aesthetic rather than any indication of dated engineering. The balloon could be inflated and deflated by means of either helium or hot air, or both, depending on local resources. A paddle propeller below aft did most of the steering and propulsion with a single mainsail off the stern for use in high-floating in the aether currents. When down, the mast looked like the tail of an inquisitive cat.
Rue was only disgruntled by one thing.
“Pigeons!” She dropped a surprised Winkle’s arm and charged across the deck, waving at the roosting birds like a mad woman with her parasol. Rue had an abhorrence of pigeons. Some childhood encounter involving a stolen sausage roll was to blame. The birds squawked and flapped off. Rue in turn flapped at a nearby deckhand. “Keep them away, would you, please? Repulsive creatures.”
“Yes, miss,” said the deckhand, eyes wide at this erratic behaviour.
“I don’t like pigeons,” Rue felt compelled to explain. “And I think you’re probably supposed to call me captain.”
“Who does like pigeons, captain?” wondered the deckhand philosophically.
Belowdecks in the forecastle were crew quarters, and in the stern, officer quarters. Rue wholeheartedly approved of the lavish captain’s chambers, featuring a wardrobe with sufficient room for most of her shoes. There was a nice-looking mess and a galley which included the latest in refrigeration boxes and every possible pot and pan, even crumpet rings. Rue supported this excess – she was awfully fond of crumpets. A beautifully decorated stateroom sat across from a smoking room, down from a sickbay-meets-laboratory and a few guest berths.
The lowest deck was made up of a hold at the fore, with ample room for supplies and other necessities, and a massive chamber aft. This proved to be engineering, containing coal bunkers, boilers, and the very latest in steam engines charmingly designed to look like a bank of cheerful chubby teakettles.
Rue was not a particularly handy person. Her nature had never led her into much interest in how things worked. She felt the important thing with machines was that they did work and when they did, she appreciated it. When something broke, she identified the closest possible expert and asked them – nicely of course and with remuneration – to fix it. Thus much of what passed for mech
anics, gadgets, instruments, and devices on the ship was beyond her ken. But she liked the teakettles.
“I’ll need to hire a chief engineer and navigator first,” she said, concerned with the care of the technology around her.
Winkle nodded, mouth slightly open. “I can see that you would.”
The ship already boasted a skeleton crew: a smattering of deckhands and decklings scampered above while firemen, greasers, and sooties manned the one active boiler kettle. This motley collective stood to attention at the appearance of a lady among them. Caps were doffed, awkward murmurs were made, and Rue felt guilty at having imposed herself upon them.
“Pleased to meet you all,” she said after the senior greaser had performed some bumbling introductions. “I am Lady Prudence Akeldama and I will be your captain.”
The revelation that their skipper was a female aristocrat seemed not to bother any of the young men one whit. Either someone had already warned them or they had been selected for their forward-thinking. Rue scrutinised her nascent crew more closely. Only then did she realise that the senior greaser and at least half the firemen and sooties were in fact female. She wondered where Dama had found such workers but was secretly delighted. Rue was not, to the best of her knowledge, a lover of women, but she did have a number of lady friends and enjoyed having females around. This might be because she’d been raised, mainly, by two tribes of men, one scruffy and werewolf, the other tidy and dandified. It’d be nice to go traipsing around the globe with a fair representation of the fairer sex. She could institute a proper tea-time without grumbles.
She grinned at them all, dressing herself with a bit of her Paw’s leadership style mixed with a touch of Dama’s technique for making announcements to the drones. “Ladies and gentlemen, it will be, I am sure, an honour to serve as your leader, and to become better acquainted with you all. We are going to have some grand adventures, you and I. Probably not dignified, knowing me, but grand.”
The assembled company perked up. Their fears over the evident youth and inexperience of their captain, Rue hoped, were now mollified by the indication of her egalitarian nature and good-humoured approach to life. A few of the sooties smiled back, their smudged faces brightening in anticipation.
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