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.