Imprudence (40 page)

Lake Victoria was quite the sight from high up, the horizon an arc instead of a line. It sprawled southwards as far as they could see. It was dotted with islands, the vegetation around the edge varied and lush; here and there floated large bright green blobs of more papyrus.

Even Percy left the helm to stare out over the dark water with its verdant banks.

“As big as Ireland, they say.” He looked pensive. Since his guilt-ridden confession to Rue, he'd sunk ever more into himself. It must have taken quite an effort to become even more glum. He had found a pamphlet on the proper treatment of bullet wounds, which helped insofar as it supported their initial medical decisions, but otherwise Percy never again spoke of Quesnel's injury. He had visited the sickroom and each time emerged looking thoughtful. Rue wasn't certain if that was a good or a bad thing.

If Percy is too much for me to have puzzled out in the space of twenty years, that's not going to change anytime soon.

“Take her down, please, Mr Tunstell. We could use some water. Plus everyone would like a bath I'm sure. Take us far out from shore so we have a clear view of possible attackers. Anitra, please let our friends know.”

Anitra waved her handkerchiefs while Percy de-puffed them to hover over the lapping waves, nearly cutting the surface with their propeller.

They spent a few hours sucking water into the boilers through their large hydrological tube, while anyone who wished took a dip. Percy wore his smalls, given that his striped bathing costume had been sacrificed for a flag.

Rue ensured a strict rotation so not everyone frolicked at once. She set watch at the stern, focusing on the place where the Nile fed out of the lake. She kept the portside Gatling manned by two at all times. Just in case the enemy caught up to them.

Nothing approached.

By nightfall, Rue was wondering if they had lost the hunters.

They drifted back up, eyes searching below for signs of civilisation. Sekhmet's lost pride was not making itself easy to find. A few villages dotted the shoreline, but they were abandoned summer stations for pastoral nomads.

The sunset over the lake was a sight so beautiful that Rue considered having Quesnel carried up to see. They'd managed to get him abovedecks a few times so he might take a bit of air. But Rue decided that tonight they were pushing things, having lurked around the lake for most of the day. Besides, last she heard, Quesnel was in engineering. Able to sit up for longer periods of time, they'd improvised a couch for him on the viewing platform at the top of the spiral staircase. He wasn't allowed to be there too long, smoke and soot and all that. But he did love being back in his own element and his favourite place, singing out orders through a bullhorn.

Miss Sekhmet appeared next to Rue as soon as the last rays sunk below the horizon.

“So, here we are.”

“No sign of your people. We've been circling a while. It's making me nervous.”

“You have to know where to look. Ah. There.” The werecat pointed to one of the papyrus islands, floating some distance offshore relatively near the mouth of the Nile.

Rue put her glassicals on and stared hard. “It's empty.”

“Just go at it.”

So they did, taking a slow downward approach. It became gradually clear that the papyrus was not, as with the other islands, floating directly atop the water. Instead it had grown to form an arched roof, beneath which were structures, woven into the reeds. It was a massive barge.

“A fake floating island. That's amazing.”

Tasherit looked smug. “It's all engineered. You think a people who built the pyramids could not handle such a task?”

“I don't know what to think.”

They de-puffed. Percy took his time to better narrow in on the target.
The
Spotted Custard
was considered extremely manoeuvrable for an airship, but she was having a rough time of it. Rue would never admit it to him, but they were lucky to have Percy at the helm.

The Drifter balloons stayed clustered above, like a curious bouquet of bubbles. They lowered a little, then netted together but showed no interest in landing. Rue liked them there above her on the lookout. It felt safe.

The closer the
Custard
got, the less it looked like an island. It was several storeys up out of the water, much higher than Rue realised at first. Strands of papyrus and other vegetation trailed out from the sides, tent-like, which made it look both bigger and more connected to the water. The rounded nature of the reed roof seemed more rounded, as if made of inflated canvas in a massive bubble.

Rue began to wonder how long they would be allowed an uncontested approach. Did the residents intend to entirely ignore a landing dirigible? Or was the place abandoned? Quite apart from all that, what could they moor to? The island seemed to have no protrusions whatsoever.

A flare of light and the sound of air compression came from the island. Followed by a loud, damp
thunk
.

The
Custard
rocked at impact.

“They've fired something at us,” said Rue. “Something, uh, squishy? Any damage?”

“Looks like they hurled a big clump of mud at us. Warning shot? No damage.” Willard leaned over the main deck railing. “Pain to clean off, though.”

They were about three storeys above the island now. Miss Sekhmet, with one of her feral smiles, shifted herself to lioness shape and leapt over the railings, leaving a pile of silken robes behind.

Primrose, who'd been taking tea near the helm on the poop deck, gave a squeak of alarm and rushed over to look down. Rue flipped her glassicals down from her hat and followed the leap with interest.

The lioness landed, undamaged, and bounced, rather higher and with more enthusiasm than squishy papyrus ought to allow. She came to an ungainly stop, closer to the edge of the island than she likely intended.

“What on earth?” said Rue.

“Not earth, I don't think,” Primrose said from the poop deck.

“Agreed.”

“Bouncy.” Spoo joined them.

“No, Spoo, you can't go after.” Rue didn't even need to look at her.

“Spoilsport.” Spoo made a face.

Rue laughed. “Back to your station, and watch the horizon, Spoo, not the island. I'll tell you if we need to fire on
them
. But right now, we're assuming they aren't hostile. I don't think bullets would be healthy for that island. It's clearly inflated.”

Miss Sekhmet disappeared over the edge of said island, under the tent-like vegetation, presumably heading to where the occupants actually lived.

Primrose jumped down to cross the quarterdeck. “It occurs to me that such a pontoon – or whatever that thing happens to be called – is a very odd place for a load of immortal cats to live. You know, in the middle of a lake.”

“Truer words,” agreed Rue. “Hold position, Percy.”

Primrose hopped off the quarterdeck. “Do you think they'll all look like her?”

“Goodness, I hope not. Can you imagine?” Rue bumped shoulders with her friend as she leaned next to her.

“Rather well, actually.” Prim flushed.

“The world is not ready for that kind of excess.”

“No wonder the ancients thought they were goddesses.”

“I suspect,” said Rue, “that the part where they could change into massive lionesses probably did the trick.”

“Beauty always helps.”

“You should know.”

“Flatterer,” said Prim.

Miss Sekhmet reappeared in human form. She hoisted herself up and walked back across the papyrus. She was draped in a white robe and followed by two other women. While similarly dressed, neither, thank goodness for Prim's peace of mind, was as beautiful as Tasherit.

“Come on down,” the werecat yelled up.

Rue signalled for Willard to bung over the rope ladder. “Right, I'm going. Who else?”

She considered. Circumstances being different, she would have taken Quesnel with her. She looked over her crew. Percy must stay at the helm, in case of attack. Spoo and Willard were needed to marshal troops. Virgil had to keep Percy calm. Aggie must stay in engineering; besides, she'd cock up any diplomatic mission. Floote was standing to one side, looking interested but inconspicuous. Frail as he was, he likely couldn't handle the climb. Anitra was on Quesnel duty down in engineering. Rue didn't mind. She and Quesnel had talked little over the past week; serious matters remained unresolved. But Rue had decided to trust that his intentions towards her were mostly honourable, and his attentions towards Anitra were mostly platonic. Still, that really left only one person.

“Primrose, would you like to accompany me?” It seemed to be a good idea to take a female into this situation. And Prim had many skills, one of which was diplomacy.

Primrose didn't look excited by the rope ladder, but she kilted up her skirts and gave it her best effort. Rue was as graceless as ever but didn't fall off. At the bottom, she pressed her feet down cautiously. The surface appeared to be layers of vegetation mounded up to disguise stretched canvas. They bounced as they walked. Rue suppressed the urge to giggle.

Miss Sekhmet's two companions were of a similar complexion to her with strong features, heavy brows, and unconscionably long eyelashes. They stood tall and graceful with her lean edgy build and catlike grace. But they were not the same family. Their faces were too different. One was fierce and long with sharp cheekbones, and the other was round with a pointed chin and a mulish mouth.
She looks like she gets her own way.

Tasherit made introductions. “My fur sisters, Queen Henuttawy and Miw-Sher, Lost Pride of the Desert Wind, meet my sisters-who-float, Primrose, and the skin-stalker, Prudence, Pride of
The
Spotted Custard
.”

The queen – the one with the pert chin – spoke first. This was correct, given her rank. “A skin-stalker, rare indeed. What bloodline?”

“Roman,” said Miss Sekhmet.

They must be asking about my preternatural ancestry.
Preternaturals always bred true, so Rue's mother's family, the Tarabottis, stretched very far back.

“We say Italian now, not Roman, yes?” That was the other werelioness, Miw-Sher. At least Rue assumed they were both werecats; hard to know without touching one of them.

Miss Sekhmet nodded, surprised. “You keep congress with the outside world?”

“You are not the only one to have left us and returned, sister,” answered Miw-Sher.

“Although, they were sent away willingly and welcomed back with open arms. You are not.” Queen Henuttawy's tone was cool.

Rue had always suspected bad blood between Tasherit and her pride; apparently it was very bad indeed.

“Is this skin-stalker your excuse? While interesting, of course, she is not enough to allow you to return.” The queen evaluated Rue from down her nose, as if Rue were some kind of questionable pork sausage at a market stand.

Tasherit's face twisted. “I am not interested in returning to you or your pride. I merely visit as a courtesy. I have become known to the outside world and there is no way to stopper up that knowledge. The Daughters of Sekhmet will not be able to remain lost any longer. The British are coming.”

“So you led them to us?” Miw-Sher pounced.

“They would have found you regardless. Just as they found the Source of the Nile. Just as they will find the secret you guard. It is a most desirable resource. The British prefer other people's resources.”

“Traitor,” hissed Miw-Sher.

“Don't be ridiculous, sister. You have been prepared for this a hundred years or more. It was only the Sudd that kept the first explorers at bay. Now there are ships in the aether. Barriers of water are no longer barriers in truth. I'm surprise you have not already been discovered.”

The queen looked more annoyed than angry. “Who is to say we have not? And dealt with the threat as we shall deal with this one.”

“Well, so. I have delivered my warning and I have brought you a proof.”

“You tell us she is a skin-stalker, but there has been no proof.” Queen Henuttawy raised one hand. Her attention had never shifted off Rue.

Watching these immortals circle each other verbally was not unlike watching ally cats fight.

“You want me to touch one of you?” Rue asked.

Queen Henuttawy moved forward, barely bouncing.
She must have very relaxed knees
, thought Rue.

One might have expected Miw-Sher to protest the danger to her queen, but apparently this was not that kind of monarchy. Rue supposed that one simply did not question the decision of a cat.

Rue put out her hand, and after a moment's hesitation, Queen Henuttawy touched fingertips.

Rue's bones began their painful fracturing and re-forming, her muscles shifted, her skin stretched and slid about, and her hair crawled over her body to form fur.

She stood on four legs, panting among her clothes, pleased in her choice of attire for once. She had not destroyed her robe. Primrose would be proud.

“There, you see,” said Tasherit proudly.

The queen wore a look of profound discomfort. “Mortality feels odd, after so long.”

“You wear it well enough,” said Miw-Sher.

Queen Henuttawy shrugged, an awkward jerky movement as if she would rather lash a tail. She took a slow measured walk around Rue.

Rue sat under her regard, whiskers twitching. This cat form felt no different than when she stole it from Tasherit. This was no surprise, for that was how it worked with werewolves. Rue stole their immorality, but the animal shape was her own.

“So it is true, a skin-stalker is among us. Is this the end of nights?” Miw-Sher spoke into the silence.

Tasherit rolled her eyes. “Don't be ridiculous. No one believes that old nonsense.”

The queen's eyes narrowed. “Still so dismissive. You have not changed.”

Tasherit inclined her head. “I have not.” She angled her body away from the queen and towards Primrose, a sway of intent like of a compass needle towards true north.