Rue considered running to engineering for a dip in the tank. She ought to give Queen Henuttawy back her form, for her protection.
But then their attackers deployed ornithopters.
Four short-range airships flapped down and out from their respective mooring. These were similar to the ones they’d encountered in Khartoom, two-man craft designed for nimbleness.
“They’re trying to board us!” squeak-yelled Tasherit. “They want to take the ship!”
Rue risked a glance up where two decklings worked furiously to patch the leak. Not fast enough, they continued to sink. And squeak.
Primrose reappeared on deck, carrying the Parasol-of-Another-Colour. She took in the crisis at a glance and instead of hiding as per normal, ran up the quarterdeck to take position on the poop deck near her brother. Rue couldn’t order her to safety, but it wasn’t a bad decision. Percy could use the support of his level-minded sister. And Primrose did, in theory, know how to use the parasol.
The enemy was approaching them front and port. The Gatling was closer to the rear of the ship, so Spoo was still unable to fire without risk to the Custard.
Tasherit strode across the main deck and leapt to the forecastle. She was now higher up and visible to most of the crew. This also put her away from the helium leak, the better to issue orders. She would stay in human form as long as necessary, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t fight. She was still an immortal either way, stronger, quicker, and self-healing. One of the deckhands passed her a wicked-looking curved knife, likely purchased at one of the Egyptian bazaars.
Rue joined Tasherit on the forecastle, deciding not to go to engineering. It was more important to have her fighting strong as an immortal than any courtesy to the tribe below.
The ornithopters closed in on The Spotted Custard.
Crossbow bolts flew.
“Spoo, Willard, fire a volley,” Tasherit ordered.
“Yes, sir!” The voices, in unison, sounded normal. The leak was fixed, but the Custard had lost a considerable amount of helium. And helium was a great deal more challenging to replace than water or coal.
The Gatling gun put a neat line of holes in the lower part of the balloon of an enemy dirigible. That must be their helium chamber as well, for they instantly began to sink, much faster than The Spotted Custard. They hit Lake Victoria, not too far from the fallen Drifter balloon.
“One down!”
Rue’s supernatural eyesight could make out Percy tugging madly at the puffer, but The Spotted Custard was barely maintaining what little height she had. Rue figured they couldn’t outgas enough air at this juncture to rise and still keep the balloon from collapsing. They hadn’t enough helium left to get them up into the aetherosphere. They were trapped, unless they shed a lot of weight.
The decklings, meanwhile, managed to eliminate one of the ornithopters with bolts. However, the three others made it through their defences, gliding in to land – or more properly crash – one after another on the main deck.
“Gatling, fire at those dirigibles as you like! Decklings, crossbows inwards, watch for flames, and clean that codswattle off our decks!” yelled Tasherit. “Mind your aim. We can’t take another hit to the helium. And I’d like to keep my skinny hide intact.” With which the werecat gave an animal roar and jumped off the forecastle into the fray.
All was chaos. The three invading ornithopters took up most of the main deck. They’d splintered a good deal of wood, both Rue’s beloved ship and their own. The ornithopters were light beasties, practically paperweight, but carried enough speed to do superficial damage. The decklings dashed in and about, clearing the deck, putting out fires, and tossing excess weight over the side.
The six men who’d been inside the ornithopters were now on Rue’s ship. They’d jumped clear and were, mostly, ignoring the decklings. Two of the men carried weapons Rue knew all too well, a particular kind of gun that her father had once carried. A particular kind of gun that was pointed at Rue and at Tasherit, to the exclusion of all others.
Sundowner pistols.
“Nobody move,” said one of the men.
Everyone stopped and turned.
The six were dressed in the white robes of Egyptian natives but there was no mistaking the leader’s origin. He spoke English well enough, but he had an accent and it certainly wasn’t Arabic.
It was Italian.
“We’ve your cat and your captain in our sights. These are silver cage bullets and we don’t miss.”
Everyone froze.
Rue gave a screeching hiss of annoyance at her inability to speak.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Spoo twitch. Fortunately, the Gatling was mounted in such a way that it did not swing around and could only shoot outwards. She didn’t think Spoo foolish enough to shoot towards the Custard, but she also didn’t want to find out if that was wishful thinking.
The Italian eased towards the starboard side.
Rue placed herself between him and Spoo.