Imprudence (28 page)

“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?”