While they had been trained to repel invaders, it wasn’t until that moment that Rue realised they were not at all equipped to take prisoners.
“Decklings, you’re good with rope. Could you determine a way to tie these men up for questioning?”
“Yes, Lady Captain!”
They did their best, but the ropes they had were big, being intended for balloon work, so both men were rather wrapped about as if they were mooring posts. Still, they didn’t look likely to escape and, being injured, were docile enough.
Tasherit, with a meaningful glance at Rue, disappeared below, emerging some time later in human form with two greasers in tow – big burly men with large fish knives at the ready.
“Ah, good, Miss Sekhmet, there you are.”
They established early on that their werelioness did not want to be known as a werelioness. Her people had gone into hiding centuries ago and she wished to respect their secrecy. Whether this was preference or some sacred vow, Rue had never been so bold as to ask. It was clearly a private supernatural matter and the entire crew honoured the werecat’s wishes. Just like a cat, to mould her environment to suit her whim. Thus, while Rue had told the Shadow Council – she had had to tell them – of her encounter with the weremonkeys, she’d left werecats out of her report.
Tasherit was invaluable muscle, being the first supernatural anyone had ever met who could travel through the aether. Although, truth be told, she slept like the dead the entire time. This, too, was intrinsically catlike.
Thus, in the face of their prisoners, everyone treated Tasherit as if she were different from the lioness. No reason for these thugs to know anything. Besides, it would only add to The Spotted Custard’s reputation as having a trained attack cat.
“Miss Sekhmet? If you could please assume control of the prisoners and begin questioning? See if you can find out who hired them and what they’re after.”
“It’s not my area of expertise but I will do my best.” Tasherit’s beautiful face was impassive.
“If you can’t get anything out of them, I’ll pass them on to Dama. I’ll wager he can.”
The werecat nodded. “Agreed.” Miss Sekhmet had yet to meet Rue’s vampire father but she knew of him. At least, Rue assumed they’d never met – hard to tell with immortals.
“Still, I’d prefer to source this mess ourselves before we involve any of my parents. Things always get dramatic with them.”
“And you’re young enough to still hunger for your independence.” Tasherit’s tone didn’t indicate whether she found this charming or annoying.
Rue had no idea how old the werecat was, but she would guess she was older than most werewolves if not as old as a vampire. Which meant three hundred at least. Under such circumstances, a little condescension was expected.
“You have the deck. I should go and tell the twins that everything is safe now.”
Tasherit nodded. “Good idea. You sent the little flower down to her brother?”
“Yes. I find it best to keep Prim out of the way when things get rough. She’s a delicate flower.”
Tasherit laughed. “Or she likes to be thought a delicate flower.”
Rue narrowed her eyes. “What are you doing to her anyway?”
The werecat’s brown eyes went wide with assumed innocence. “Me? Nothing. Nothing at all.”
“Mmm.” Rue could almost see her licking her whiskers. “Try not to break her, please? She’s my best friend and not your toy on a string.”
Tasherit only looked smugger. “I assure you, I have no intention of harming one hair on that lovely head. And I am most assuredly not playing.”
Rue issued her a measuring stare. “Cats.”
Rue knocked on the library door.
“Yes?” said a tremulous voice from within. “Who is it?”
“Honeysuckle Isinglass.” It was their agreed-upon code for all extenuating circumstances.
The door swung open to show the twins, wide-eyed and sobered after listening to the kerfuffle abovedecks.
Percival and Primrose Tunstell did not look like one another. Prim took after their dark-haired frippery of a mother and Percy their flamboyant father. Neither had inherited their respective parent’s personality, thank heavens, aside from a certain flair for the dramatic.
“Has anyone died?” Primrose demonstrated her flair immediately.
“Possibly.” Rue was thinking of the one man who had jumped overboard while not in possession of articulated bat wings.
At Prim’s harried expression she added, “But no one we know or care about.”
Primrose let out a whoosh. “And Tash – Miss Sekhmet?”
“She’s perfectly topping. Been down, changed forms, and back up to take control of the interrogation. We have two prisoners.”
“Rue, you never?”
At that juncture, Footnote made his appearance. Footnote was Percy’s cat, as much as any cat belonged to any person. He mostly lived in the library, although he, ostensibly, had the run of the ship. Since Tasherit had boarded, he ceded most of the territory to her. They coexisted in a barely civil arrangement, with Footnote hissing up a storm whenever he happened to run across her and Tasherit threatening to eat him on a regular basis. In fact, she seemed the only thing able to ruffle the black and white tom’s superior calm. At this moment, for example, he appeared to have slept through the battle. His impressive white whiskers arrowed forward as though sensing the oncoming yawn before it happened, pink mouth wide. He then stretched and wandered over to sit on Rue’s foot.