Anitra nodded.
Percy said, “I don’t see what’s so funny. It’s a perfectly acceptable way to display a highly decorated object of high rank. Mother would be proud.”
Prim snorted. “No, she would not, and don’t you dare tell her. Better the hats sacrificed themselves for our continued survival than ended up cultural curiosities collected by floating nomads.”
The sound of a horn broke through their merriment.
“What’s that mean?” Rue asked.
Anitra winced. “That’s lookout scouts on the far edge balloons. Incoming hostiles. Grandfather, why don’t you go below? You’re looking tired.”
Floote gave his adopted granddaughter a funny sigh but did as she suggested. He did look tired, bent over and shaky as he approached the stairs.
Rue frowned. Floote’s eyes were always so alert that sometimes she forgot how old he was. And he’d just spent the better part of an hour sitting on the floor. “Poor thing, someone should help him. Those stairs aren’t easy for anyone save decklings. Primrose, would you?”
“By all means.”
“And if there’s going to be trouble, you might stay below yourself.”
Primrose nodded and trotted after Floote, offering him a supporting arm.
“Not you this time, Percy.” Rue forestalled the redhead when he would have followed. “Don’t look so worried. We aren’t going to stay and fight. I need you at the helm. It’s time to test the Custard’s mettle and make a break for it. Come on.”
“Oh good. I prefer running away.” Difficult to tell if Percy was being sarcastic.
Rue accompanied him to the navigation pit and picked up the speaking tube.
“What?” Aggie barked at the other end.
Rue hadn’t time for animosity. “Grab that nasty-looking crossbow of yours, Miss Phinkerlington, and get up here on the double. No arguing. And put Mr Lefoux on the line.”
Surprisingly, Aggie did as ordered.
“Chérie?”
“We’ve got unwelcome visitors. Heat up the engines. We’re testing her mettle.”
“Do we have an escort?”
“That we do.”
“Nicely done.”
“It’s all Footnote’s fault.”
“I won’t ask.”
“Probably better that way. You ready?”
“Always.”
“Bring them to the boil, then, immediately, please.”
“Consider it done.” Quesnel set down his end of the tube with a soft click.
With remarkable efficiency, all around them, the nets were reeled in. The decoy dirigibles began puffing, while the Drifters divided into clusters around each one.
The warning horns sounded again. Taking that as the signal to depart, they began heading in different directions. One group of Drifters even floated due north, down the Nile, towards the attackers.
Rue put the spyglass to her eye and gasped, for charging them at speed were a dozen airships. Not just dirigibles either, but ornithopters and other flying machines. There were nimble and manoeuvrable and not dependent on wind. Not able to float the aetherosphere but good for close-range combat.
Rue never thought there might be so many working together. It conflicted with her imagined solo collector out for reputation and glory.
FOURTEEN
Drifters Like Cats
Aggie Phinkerlington appeared at Rue’s elbow. “You summoned?”
Rue handed her a set of glassicals and pointed north. “We’ve got company.”
Aggie looked through, her eyes wonky with magnification. “You always did attract the nicest types.”
“And here I thought you liked Mr Lefoux.”
Aggie handed her back the lenses. Was she trying not to smile?
“I take it you know how to shoot that thing?” Rue gave a chin nod to the crossbow.
Aggie didn’t bother to answer, simply made her way to the best vantage point on the forecastle, propped her massive crossbow up on the railing, and winched the string back to load a bolt. Old-fashioned, thought Rue, but serviceable.
“Spoo,” she called, “leave off prep work, grab a friend, and man the Gatling gun. I take it you’ve figured out how to use it?” Rue had confidence in Spoo’s general interest in violence. She was eleven, after all. All eleven-year-olds were, by nature, bloodthirsty.
“Aye, Lady Captain.”
Spoo grabbed, of all people, Virgil, who had been herding Footnote belowdecks. They ran to ready the massive gun.
“Don’t go shooting any friendlies. I spent far too long, and too much sugar, acquiring that escort for you to go potting a Drifter. Spoo, take your instructions from Aggie.”
Aggie didn’t respond except to nod at Spoo.
Spoo gave a reluctant, “Aye-aye.” A former sootie, Spoo had transferred up to deckling because she didn’t like Aggie.
Nevertheless, Rue was pretty darn certain that if anyone could forge a working relationship under pressure to kill people, it was those two.
Rue picked up her mother’s parasol, trying to decide which of its armaments would be most useful long range. “Percy,” she said, “set course due south and take us up. Not into the aetherosphere. Find us a good breeze so the balloons can keep pace but be prepared to boil up to full propeller if needed. Hold us towards the back of the pack so the gunners have shooting lines.”
The Spotted Custard let out her usual noise of petulant flatulence but responded with eager nimbleness to Rue’s commands and Percy’s touch. They puffed smoothly upwards, shadowed by an escort of seven balloons. Fortunately they found a favourable southern wind and hooked in, moving quickly.