Tasherit completed her meal and returned below to prepare for the journey.
Rue was looking one final time over the rail at the dim lights of her home city when she heard Percy having an annoyed one-sided conversation. He was on the blow horn to engineering.
Rue marched over and put out her hand.
Relieved, the navigator passed her the speaking tube.
The voice on the other end was mid-diatribe. “What the hell is going on up there? I thought we had another twenty minutes. What are we doing floating unnecessarily? You’re wasting fuel, Mr Tunstell. I can’t promise we’ll make the beacon without risk. Stop larking about.”
“It’s me, Mr Lefoux.”
“Rue, what the hell?”
Quesnel was calling her by her real name. He must be annoyed.
“We were attacked. I thought it prudent to float off before it could happen a third time.”
Quesnel’s tone altered. “Are you injured? Is anyone hurt? How’s the ship? I’m coming up.”
“No, you most certainly are not! We have only a few minutes before first puff and I want you in the boiler room. Everyone is perfectly fine. Tasherit’s been training them, remember? There may be a sunflower that needs to be put out of its misery, though.”
“She hasn’t been training you.”
“I’m fine, too. How’s my father? Did he wake after sunset?”
“No. Nor should he, if my calculations are correct. The tank should hold him in an optimal non-degenerative sleep state for the entire trip. And keep him from aether illness once we enter the grey.”
“Should?”
“It’s not designed for werewolves, chérie.”
“Oh? What is it designed for? Vampires?”
“It’s designed for apologies and reparations. Or so my mother tells me.”
“Lovely. Some day do you think you might reveal the particulars?”
“Some day. You sure you’re unhurt?”
“I’m sure. I had an ignominious encounter with a tea hamper, which I roundly defeated, I’ll have you know.”
Quesnel laughed. “Of course you did. Very brave.”
The tension was still there. Rue had apologised to Percy but not to Quesnel. The same truth held. He had deserved the reprimand, but she should have been less cruel about his shortcomings.
She only said, “Everything on track for float on your end?”
“Naturellement.”
“Then we will see you at supper once we’ve made our current.”
“Yes, Captain.” Quesnel sounded as tired as Rue felt.
“Carry on.”
The puffing went smoothly and they achieved flotsam status with no trouble at all from any Charybdis currents. For all their bickering and dislike of one another, Percy and Quesnel made for a synergistic team. Primrose reappeared smelling of violets and kept Rue company while Percy manned the tiller and the puffer buttons with an aplomb one would not have thought possible a month ago. He was such a bookish boffin that to witness him acting like a sailor out of some piratical yarn was surprisingly charming. Percy could never look tough, not with his winsome face, but he could look dashing. Rue saw a glimpse, briefly, of what made him so deadly when allowed to roam free among impressionable young ladies.
They settled into the Gibraltar Loop with ease. The route to Egypt wasn’t tricky to navigate – one of the reasons travel between London and Alexandria had grown so popular. A smooth current and a lower-level puffing made all the difference in the age of dirigibles. With the sail up, rudder down, and propeller off, they drifted through the grey nothingness of the aetherosphere. At first it had bothered Rue, the motionless gloomy quiet pressing against her, but now she enjoyed the peace. It felt like a physical blanket inside her skin.
Her mother still wasn’t up. Rue decided to be happy about that. Should she check on Paw? No. Rue trusted Quesnel to tell her if anything was wrong and she felt that the sight of Paw’s still body surrounded by that bubbling orange liquid might be too dismal.
After brief consultation, it was deemed safe enough for the officers to retire. Primrose had ordered in an interim feeding so they could hold off until later for supper with Lady Maccon. They tried to do it justice, but it was a silent group. Percy wasn’t permitting himself a book, but that didn’t mean he became loquacious. Quesnel’s quick elegant movements were tempered by fatigue, although he was as neat with his manners and address as ever. He kept sending tiny glances in Rue’s direction but she pretended not to notice. Primrose did her best to carry the conversation, but she was tired enough to allow it to lapse occasionally.
Finally, Percy was moved to exasperation. “For goodness’ sake, Tiddles, you don’t have to talk simply because it is mealtime. We are all friends here. Could we not eat in silence?”
Quesnel leapt to Prim’s defence. “Now, Mr Tunstell, that’s not fair. Societal conventions dictate—”
“Blow societal conventions. A little less chatter once in a while would be to everyone’s benefit.”
Primrose looked as if she might weep: a mark of exhaustion, for normally her twin’s snide remarks rolled off her.
Rue could not tolerate having to mediate between Percy and Quesnel again. While the rabbit stew was delicious, she opted to leave the rest and escape. She stood abruptly.
Both men scrambled to stand as well.
“I’m for bed. Sleep well, everyone. I’ll no doubt see you at supper. It’s likely my mother will be joining us. Perhaps we could all try to follow Prim’s example and behave in a polished manner for a change?”