Imprudence (The Custard Protocol #2)(87)

Primrose wanted to leave The Spotted Custard in search of a marketplace.

“Absolutely not.” Rue twirled her hideous parasol in frustration.

“But, Rue, we’ll run out of food eventually.”

“How soon is eventually?”

“Well, three weeks. But we’ve no milk at all.”

“Too hot for tea anyway.”

“You aren’t being reasonable. I’ll be safe.”

“No, Prim, I can’t spare the manpower to guard you if we don’t need stores that badly.”

“Tell that to Cook.”

“You tell it to Cook. Needs must.”

“I hate it when you say that. You sound like your mother.”

“Don’t be cruel. Now go below, please. And take your brother with you.”

Primrose sulked but did as Rue asked. “Come along, Percy. I’m sure there is something you need to research and we should keep an eye on Footnote.”

Percy was remarkably docile. “Indubitably. I was wondering about desert fauna and the relative frequency of sand fleas only yesterday.”

Rue was suspicious. She had long since realised Percy only got publicly pedantic about his studies when he was trying to cover something up. His emotions. Or his real interest. Or his activities. Or some less savoury research.





Perhaps it was because they were so very prepared.

Or perhaps their mysterious enemies hadn’t any contacts in Wady Halfeh.

Or perhaps the town was simply too wrapped up in its own business.

But no attack came.

The Custard was able to set back out only a few hours later in relative harmony.

Everyone stayed tense, though. A gaggle of off-duty decklings remained glued to the aft railing, scanning the northern skies beyond their Drifter escort for hunters to reappear.

Perhaps the enemy’s repairs took longer than estimated. Or perhaps the Custard’s refuelling in record time gave them a consistent lead, but no one else broke the skies. They had the whole world to themselves as they left Wady Halfeh far behind and headed into the desert. The Nile disappeared. The moon rose into the sky, and below them was nothing but rolling sands and the jagged shadows of craggy rocks.

For the first time, Rue moved beyond the long arm of the British Empire. It felt terrifying and freeing all at once. A little like attaining her majority. They glided into skies even the East India Company feared to float. It was dangerously peaceful.

That evening they dined under the stars. Their Drifter escort made silent shadows about them touched by the occasional glimmer of lantern light.

After dinner, Rue, feeling antisocial, leaned over the rail near the quarterdeck, watching Primrose, Percy, Tasherit, Anitra, and Quesnel talk on the forecastle. The gentlemen and Anitra puffed small cigars. A marker of how casual shipboard life became was that they did so without smoking jackets. Quesnel’s blond head bent solicitously as he listened to something Anitra said. The group laughed. Their humour tinkled out over the silent night and died in the sands below.

Floote caught her staring. “He turned out a better man than I expected.”

“Quesnel or Percy?” Rue paused and then added, “Or Tasherit?”

The former valet gave a chuckle. “Quesnel. He was quite the rascal.”

“And now he is quite the rake. You might warn your granddaughter.”

“Might I?”

“I would.”

“For your good or for hers?”

“Ouch. Were you this blunt with my mother?”

“I said very little.”

“Because she didn’t need help?”

“I’m too old to sit idly by and watch young people be foolish with their hearts.”

That made Rue smile. “I thought that was what old people did – allowed us to repeat their mistakes.”

“Perhaps.”

“You think he is really interested in Anitra?”

“I think we seldom regret the risks we take as much as the times we did not try at all.”

Wonderful, now he talks in riddles. Rue looked at their balloon shadows, grateful that they weren’t alone above an unkind world.

Floote followed her gaze, leaning his old bones against the railing. His breath was shallow and quick, although he had not exerted himself.

“I am still amazed they agreed to come.” Rue thought it might be intrusive to ask about his health.

“They are curious about you. And about Lady Sekhmet.” He gave the werecat a title, as if she were nobility. “One of the reasons to keep her from meeting them initially.”

“Ah, I see now.”

“Ironic, really. That they rush to keep her kind from becoming slaves, when shape-shifters once enslaved all Egypt.”

“I know Ancient Egypt was once werewolf ruled. The God-Breaker Plague was born to cast the wolves out. Are you saying it wasn’t wolves or that it wasn’t wolves alone?”

Floote’s lined face was thoughtful. “Your grandfather once uncovered a tomb containing the mummy of a jackal-headed creature. There is good reason to call it Anubis form. Mr Tarabotti kept it secret. He was a man who preferred secrets. Ironic that it is you, half a century later, who broke that seal and exposed the world to the fact that there are more than just werewolves changing shape around us.”