Imprudence (The Custard Protocol #2)(91)

Rue drew herself up. “Pardon me!”

“No need to fluff up, child. If you do not wish your feelings known, hide them better. On this ship, the only one unaware of your interest in that mechanic is that mechanic. And possibly Mr Tunstell. But Mr Tunstell would remain unaware of a sand tick up his nose.” The werecat grinned at her own wit and returned to the point. “Anitra is merely informing you that she is not after your man. A female Drifter without dowry on display is not available.”

Rue was forced to accept that she had not been subtle. She would have to sort this mess out before others were drawn into it as well. It was most complicated, being the captain of a ship.





Of course Rue avoided both Quesnel and the mess for the next two days. Instead she dogged Floote, asking him about the past, when he let her. She soon realised that she was telling him more than he was telling her. She found herself reliving her peculiar upbringing with three parents and two households. She reminisced about the things those parents had taught her, which until he asked she’d forgotten. She told the more recent stories of the pack’s rejection and about Queen Victoria’s anger and Dama’s concern over her majority. Rue began to suspect that Floote said so little because others found him easy to talk to.

At which point, they reached Khartoom. The city sat at the junction of the White Nile and the Blue Nile. This was rummy-looking from above; for leagues they could see the two rivers meet but stay parallel, not intermingling, the brown of the Blue Nile alongside the green of the White Nile. The city took her mechanical power from these waters. All along the banks, dozens of great watermills, or what looked like watermills, spun and whirled, casting droplets to the sky. Khartoom was a beautiful city, all lush green with spires of white. It was also decidedly unfriendly to both Drifter balloons and ladybug airships.

“Odd names for rivers neither white nor blue.” Rue chewed a bit of candied orange peel and stared down at the water.

Anitra smiled. “We don’t question the ancients.”

“No? Why not?”

Several red handkerchiefs were waved at them from Ay’s balloon. Anitra waved back, and as a group, the Drifters caught a breeze eastwards away from the city.

“They’re abandoning us?” Rue tried not to sound forlorn.

“They’ll meet us on the other side. We’re less of a threat without their shadow. They’ll keep a long-distance eye on us.”

“Khartoom looks calm enough.” Rue watched their escort drift away.

“It’s been under siege at one time or another for as long as I can remember.” Anitra seemed to think that was explanation enough.

Rue swallowed her last bit of peel, looking with sudden suspicion at all the lush graceful peacefulness. “Who holds it now?”

“You didn’t check with the council in Cairo before you set course?”

“Didn’t know we were coming here, exactly.” Rue was put off by the accusation in her tone. And her own guilt. She should have thought to make enquiries. Then again, enquiries would have left a record.

“The Mahdists hold it, but they’re stretched with forces out at Adwa. They took some of Khartoom’s major defences with them to roust the Italians. It leaves Khartoom vulnerable, and nervous about it. I wouldn’t go to ground if I were you.”

Rue slouched in dejection. “We may not have a choice.”

She put in a call to engineering, not sure if she was more reluctant to talk to Quesnel or Aggie. No choice—Aggie answered.

“Miss Phinkerlington, how are coal reserves?”

“Pants, Captain.”

“No need for vulgarity.”

A snort met that rebuke.

“How many days?”

“No days. Hours.”

Rue hung up the speaking tube, cursing herself for not putting a system in place that warned of low reserves. I suppose if I were on speaking terms with my chief engineer and not bent on avoiding him for days at a time…

She returned to Anitra at the railing, glum. “No choice. We’re dry. Will they even sell coal to us?”

“Can you be another nationality? Raise a flag and don a foreign tongue?”

Rue didn’t think they had any other flags aboard. She was not devious enough to have thought of that ahead of time. To be British was, well, British. Why be anything else? That was the general British attitude. Although Rue was beginning to learn, the hard way, the ever expansion of their empire was not exactly welcomed by its recipients.

“What would be less threatening?”

Anitra ticked off on one hand. “French and Italian are all out. Canadians are allied with British, so they’re no good either.”

Rue mentally ran through her and Primrose’s collective wardrobes.

“American? We would only have to try an accent.”

Anitra considered. “Might work. Americans do like to play tourist and this ship is garish enough.”

Rue nodded. “I’ll call a meeting.”

She sounded the duck horn, a resonating quack that was, quite frankly, ridiculous but shook the boards of The Spotted Custard in such a way as to permeate the airship as far down as the boiler room. Three blasts everyone knew meant the officers were to meet. In very short order, Rue had Primrose, Quesnel, and Percy in the navigation pit. Anitra joined them. Rue decided it wasn’t necessary to awaken Tasherit. They’d tell her later, if they survived until nightfall.