Imprudence (The Custard Protocol #2)(83)

One of the ornithopters pulled away from the pack and began closing in on them.

“Bring him out of the sky, please, ladies.” Rue didn’t want him seeing their personnel and reporting back that this was the real Spotted Custard.

The Gatling gun rat-tat-tatted.

Aggie’s crossbow twanged.

The bullets took the ornithopter in the engine block. Aggie’s bolt tore out one of the wings at its midway joint. The craft spiralled down to the desert. After that, their followers, now numbering only three, kept a respectful distance.

They remained some leagues off for several hours until the other Drifter groups were mere dots on the far horizon. By which time Rue had formulated a plan.

“Quesnel, could we simulate a mechanical malfunction? Gouts of black smoke out of the stacks or something? I’m thinking to try a lame-duck gambit.”

At the other end of the speaking tube, the Frenchman didn’t sound surprised by this request. “Most assuredly. When would you like it?”

“Five minutes enough time?”

“Certainly.”

Rue hung up the tube and turned to her navigator. “Percy, prepare to de-puff and cycle down the propeller.”

“Aren’t we in the middle of a chase?”

“We are, but we can’t keep this up into nightfall. I’m thinking, I have some good gunners – we might was well turn this into an attack.”

Percy grumbled, “I don’t know why I expected anything different from the daughter of a werewolf. Didn’t that vampire father of yours teach you any subtlety?”

“That’s rich coming from the son of Aunt Ivy.”

“Touché.”

“You’ve a better idea, Mr Tunstell?”

“Well, no…”

Rue went to talk to her gunners.

“I’m luring them in. I want you to take them out as soon as they are in range.”

“You got a lot of faith in our abilities.” Aggie registered displeasure out of orneriness, not lack of confidence.

Rue arched her brows. “I never doubted you for one second, Miss Phinkerlington. Remember, it was always the other way around.”

Tasherit nodded at Spoo to prepare the Bruce. Spoo checked the cartridges with an intent face.

“Anitra?” Rue called to the young Drifter woman, who was busy pacing the decks with no concrete roll to play aboard ship. She clearly wished to pitch in, being born to the skies, but knew that on a well-run airship she was likely to be a hindrance until she got their rhythm.

Rue paused, seeing her crew through another’s eyes. Competent and sure, with a ballet-like grace to their movements. Not too shabby, if I do say so myself. Is that because of, or despite, my leadership?

“Looking bang-up, everyone!” Rue wanted to ensure they knew she appreciated them. A few of her decklings waved at her without pausing in their duties.

Anitra came over. “Yes, Lady Akeldama?”

“Can we get a message to your family and Ay? I’m assuming you have way of communicating while afloat?”

“But of course.” Anitra pulled out two small bright red scarves from her sleeves, as if she were about to do some exotic dance. She waved them high above her head, signalling for attention from their escort.

“What should I say?”

“Ask them to please prepare their nets.”

“We’re going to stop?”

“No, we’re going to set a trap.”





The Spotted Custard pretended weakness, puffing out gouts of smelly black smoke and sinking down and away from any protection afforded by the balloons.

The hunters closed in, ignoring the Drifters.

Tasherit and Aggie engaged in a solid exchange of fire. Aggie managed to take down a second ornithopter while Tasherit and Spoo annihilated the balloon of the smaller dirigible. Neither one was permanently damaged, but they were limp and grounded for the time being. The largest and best manned of the ships got in a few good shots of its own. One bullet splintered the aft section of the Custard’s gondola, while a second put a sizable hole through her balloon. It was enough to make their fake fall not quite so fake. Decklings scuttled to climb the lines and patch the tear. Rue let them, despite the danger both from falling and further gunshot. They couldn’t afford to actually be weak.

Meanwhile, the Drifters dropped back and were coming around the enemy from above. They only boasted a couple of pistols among them, nothing like a Gatling, but they weren’t intending to join the fight. Instead, they hovered over the remaining hostile like a small swarm of chubby honeybees. When the time felt about right, they dropped one of their massive heavy nets. It slid over the aft point of the dirigible’s almond-shaped balloon and fell with a thud to drape over the gondola below. Nothing happened for a moment, and then the net, swaying, got tangled up in the propeller beneath.

The propeller cracked and splintered, one paddle falling completely off.

The crew of The Spotted Custard cheered.

“Rev her back up,” said Rue to both Quesnel via the speaking tube and Percy at the helm. “No puffs yet – let the sooties fix our balloon first.”

Percy nodded.

“Fix? What happened to the balloon?” Quesnel’s tone was accusatory.

“She got a bit of a hole. Should be patched shortly.”