Imprudence (The Custard Protocol #2)(70)

“Taking it out on him, are you?”

“Oh for goodness’ sake. Taking what out?”

“Your lovers’ spat.”

“We aren’t having a lovers’ spat. This has nothing to do with me or him or us.”

“Oh no? And the fact that he was in here this morning looking like a depressed baked potato has nothing to do with an evening spent in your bed and not his own?”

Rue blushed, hot and humiliated. “You keep a careful watch on his comings and goings, don’t you? Or is it me who interests you so strangely?”

Aggie sputtered in a rage so overpowering it rendered her speechless.

Rue followed up her advantage by calming her voice into condescension. “Your obsessive interest in my private affairs notwithstanding, you cannot go around besmirching my reputation.”

Aggie snorted. “You have no reputation. All your vaunted aristocratic connections and you’re little more than an unmarried strumpet with parents in trade.”

As that was a concise if not particularly flattering assessment of her current situation, Rue could hardly protest. “You know a great deal more than you ought, don’t you?”

“The old boffin is my friend. And he’s my kind. You think you’re too good for him with your snobbish ways and your fast connections.”

Rue frowned. “I’m confused. You’re angry because I won’t make an honest man of Mr Lefoux? You’re protecting his interests against predatory little me?” Rue gestured to herself dismissively. “Because I’m known to swallow men whole like oysters in season? Look, if you must know, neither of us took advantage. It was a mutually agreed upon arrangement that is likely now over and was never any of your concern! Now, as a matter of official business, if you won’t tell me where my chief engineer has gone, you had better get a message to him instructing him to return immediately. Is that clear?”

Aggie grunted.

Rue, in a temper, took that as a yes. She marched away muttering, “Is nothing secret aboard an airship?”

To which one of the sooties answered with feeling, “Not much, Lady Captain. Worse than a small town. If there ain’t something interesting to talk about, we make it up, including each other’s doings.”

Rue looked at the soot-covered scrap of humanity, feeling a sudden kinship. “Got you, too, did she?”

The boy rolled his eyes expressively. “You’ve no idea.”

Rue nodded and continued on her way. Everyone’s got problems, I suppose. Silly me to think mine so much more profound. She wondered what Aggie’s problems were, for certainly they were made manifest whenever Rue was in the room.





Fortunately they did not have to leave Quesnel behind. Although his manner of return was unusual: he bobbed abreast in a hot air balloon – a balloon that wasn’t his. And he wasn’t alone.

At first, when the balloon approached, Rue thought it was coming to share their obelisk. However, it was not a style of craft welcome in Shepheard’s part of town. It was one of the roughed-up patchwork jobbies piloted by local tribesmen. It was small and nimble, retrofitted with a manual propeller to give it some manoeuvrability. It was more primitive than even Dama’s old dirigible, Dandelion Fluff Upon a Spoon. However, it had been lovingly maintained, for all it showed its age in the smoothness of its gondola’s wicker edge, rubbed by hundreds of hands pressed to lean over.

Quesnel hailed The Spotted Custard as soon as they were in range, although the deckling in the crow’s nest had already shouted down details of who was on intercept.

Quesnel cast a line over and the deckhands winched him in until the two airships bobbed as close as they may without balloons clashing. At this juncture, Quesnel and his friends cast out a thick net between the two ships. Rue’s crew scuttled to anchor their side taut, so that it became a hammock meets walkway.

Quesnel trotted across. He was uncommonly graceful, bouncing only slightly. Two other figures climbed up to the net behind him and followed.

Rue met him at the rail. “You’re late.”

“Now, chérie, you said we might have the afternoon. It’s not yet teatime. Not that I wasn’t perishing for lack of your scintillating company.”

“Yes, yes, you’re horribly charming. Sadly, circumstances have changed.”

“I’m no longer charming?”

“Cairo is no longer charming.”

Quesnel sobered. “What circumstances?”

“Percy is an outstanding rotter, not to mention a terrific chump.”

“Well, I know that! You know that. That’s nothing new.”

“The problem is that now everyone knows.” Rue glanced away from his twinkling violet eyes. The two strangers moved more slowly over the mesh than Quesnel, although they were clearly accustomed to the technique of net strolling. Both wore the flowing robes favoured by natives. The man was swathed in white, bent and frail, assisted by a younger female in black.

Rue explained. “Percy has exposed Miss Sekhmet’s existence in an effort to get back at you. Now we are all on the hook to make it right with her and the werecats.”

Quesnel took this in stride. “I take it you’ll relay details later?”

Rue nodded. “Over dinner.”

He flinched.

At which she realised he might be implying later later, over pillows instead of port. Not knowing how to react, she kept the conversation on business. “Do we have passengers or visitors?”