Imprudence (The Custard Protocol #2)(110)
Both men had darts sticking out of their backs. Lefoux-made numbing darts, Rue was pretty darn certain. But who had fired them? Even if Quesnel made it out of bed, he couldn’t make it up the stair from engineering.
Rue twisted to look behind her to the poop deck, and there – all forgotten – stood the twins. Percy was wearing Quesnel’s wrist emitter, looking frightened but also fierce and set. Primrose was holding the Parasol-of-Another-Colour steady in the firing position. She had it aimed now at one of the other invaders. There was a look of both possession and anger on her pretty face. Rue swallowed a smile. The man she’d shot had been threatening Tasherit.
“Told you that parasol would go with some outfit of yours eventually.” Rue grinned at her.
Prim didn’t take her eyes off her next target. “I concede the point. Sometimes it is better to be practical than pretty.”
“Very nice shooting, both of you.” Rue believed in giving praise when due.
“We Tunstells can be practical as well as pretty.” Now Primrose was grinning.
Percy joined in the game. “I hope you’ll excuse us interfering in your little family spat?”
“By all means, carry on, my dears.” Rue nodded to her two oldest friends.
Percy gave Rue a most un-Percy like wink and returned to steadying the airship, which was still holding position over the floating island. He seemed to think, and Rue concurred, that if they needed to abandon ship, or crash-land, a bouncy papyrus bubble was a better option than Lake Victoria.
Rue returned her attention to the standoff around her. The odds were now in their favour. Certainly the four remaining men were armed, but not with sundowner guns. And they knew it. They were looking nervous and kept waving their pistols about, trying to decide on targets.
Rue said, without malice, to her crew, “Didn’t I hear Miss Sekhmet ask you all to clear the trash off the deck? Well, I fully concur, my dears, and frankly I’m rather peckish. If we could conclude our business with these gentlemen?” The decklings relaxed at her ridiculousness. This was the Lady Captain they were accustomed to. They were even accustomed to her being naked.
A pause.
“And… fire!” Rue relished the order.
The decklings and Primrose fired on the four remaining invaders. Spoo and Willard also took the order as an excuse to let loose a Gatling barrage at the enemy dirigibles. Rue hoped they weren’t wasting bullets but didn’t turn to find out.
Two of the invaders fell, one bloodied and screaming. The other incapacitated by Prim’s numbing dart. That was one powerful parasol, and Primrose was an inordinately good shot.
Bork charged one of the two invaders left standing, biffing him on the nose with excellent boxer’s form. Tasherit, in a whirl of silk and angled legs, lashed out, turning the last one into unrecognisable pulp with a combination of kicks and punches. She looked like some exotic urn of fine wine, but she fought like an old tankard full off beer, rough and mean and likely to curdle one’s innards.
“Tie them up! As tight as you can.” Rue thought quickly. “Get them downstairs and locked in the stateroom. Leave a guard with a crossbow and barricade the door. Do we know how long those numbing darts last?”
She looked to the twins.
“I just shoot them.” Prim took the opportunity to dial down the parasol and holster it at her side.
“And beautifully, too. Thank you for my part,” Tasherit, helping to truss up the miscreants, practically purred at her.
Primrose blushed.
Percy was focused on his navigation. “Ask Quesnel. They’re Lefoux make. He should know the expected incapacitation duration for each susceptible species.”
Someone tossed Rue a robe. They kept them stashed around the deck these days. Everyone was learning that with both Rue and Tasherit on board, it was better for everyone’s peace of mind if robes were handy. And meat snacks. Although in the heat, meat snacks went to pong easily.
Now that the immediate danger was eliminated, everyone ran to other defences. They were low on crossbow bolts and the Gatling was out of bullets, but the enemy didn’t know that. The remaining attack dirigibles had drifted away, presumably to recoup.
“Oh dear Floote!” Rue tied her robe and remembered. “Tasherit, are you good up here for a moment?”
“Better than. They’re out of range and they’ve no way to board. Ay looks to be moving into position over them. Might be able to drop a couple hot braziers onto those oiled balloons of theirs. Could use Anitra to ask… Oh, I suppose she’s with her grandfather?”
“I’m going to see.” Rue made her way down the main stairs, dreading the inevitable sight of Floote’s old crumpled body. She hadn’t known him long but he’d seemed a decent sort. Knowledgeable. Useful. Agreeable. Loyal even.
There was no crumpled body. There was a smear of blood on the bottom step.
Rue glanced around, confused, and then took two steps to the open hatch that led to the boiler room. She stuck her head in, looking down the spiral staircase.
The muzzle of something deadly stuffed itself into her face.
“Only me.” Rue pushed it aside.
The weapon lowered to show the very white face of a sickly Quesnel, who was propped up against his chaise on the observation platform in such a way as to have a clear shot out the hatch.
“What are you doing out of bed?” Rue was instantly worried. He was practically grey and shaking slightly.