Prudence (The Custard Protocol 1)
Page 10“Oh, Dama! She’s so beautiful.” Rue was embarrassed to find herself actually clutching both hands to her breast like the heroine of a romantic novel, for there in the middle of the pitch was moored the most amazing airship she had ever seen.
Rue was particularly fond of floating. She’d spent many a summer’s day up in Dama’s personal aircraft, Dandelion Fluff Upon a Spoon. He himself never used it of course, but kept it on the roof because it was the kind of possession that a man of means kept on his roof. Dama always made the appearance of doing what was proper and modern. He would never want to be thought old-fashioned – that was for other vampires. When Rue turned sixteen, the drones taught her to fly old Fluff. Since then, Rue had never missed the opportunity to bundle Prim up in hair muffs and goggles, pack a suitable picnic and take to the skies. Prim grew to enjoy it more than she would admit and had invested in a wardrobe to complement.
“I don’t want to be thought an outdoorsy sort of female,” she initially objected.
“Don’t be silly, Prim – everyone is taking to the skies these days. It’s not only the country set. It’s not like we’re riding horseback or something passé like that.”
“But, Rue, I’m all too often seen on wolfback. If I take to floating as well, people will say I’m – oh, I don’t know – athletic.”
“They will say no such thing. The height of your heels alone belies any suggestion of brawniness.”
That hadn’t helped – the mere mention of “brawn” nearly gave Prim hysterics. Through dint of cajoling and application of a very handsome drone to assist with lessons, Primrose eventually allowed herself aboard.
But this dirigible was utterly unlike such a poky little craft as old Fluff.
“She is rather, isn’t she? I commissioned her several years ago, before some of the technology was even ready. Now she has all the very latest of everything, from navigation to habitation to mechanics to munitions. She’s lighter, better, faster and more deadly than anything, even Her Majesty’s floatforce. And, my darlingest of puggles, she is yours to command.”
Rue was moved to italics by the gesture. “Mine?”
“Indeed. I think you two will get along swimmingly. Or should I say floatingly?”
The coach pulled up next to the beautiful ship and the drones jumped out.
Winkle helped Rue to step down and she approached the dirigible reverently.
It wasn’t as big as one of Her Majesty’s mail ships but it was large. Rue suspected the gondola alone of being about the size of Dama’s town house, if the house were tipped on its side and made into the shape of a streamlined boat.
Dama said, “We took our cues from the basket homes of the balloon nomads of the Sahara and sourced an extremely light bendable wood from China for the hull.” The wood in question was a lovely golden colour. Rue stood on tiptoe to run her hand along one beam reverently.
“May I go inside?” Rue pleaded, her golden eyes big and shining – almost a match to the exotic wood.
“Of course you may, my petal. Although you will permit one of my drones to accompany you and excuse me the pleasure?”
“Oh but Dama, she’s moored very low, can’t you…?”
“Best not to risk it, my love. Ropes can snap and then we’d suddenly be beyond the limits of my tether. I am an old vampire, little Puggle, and I did not get so old by being reckless.”
Rue nodded and in lieu of Dama, grabbed Winkle’s arm. They made their way up the creaking gangplank and onto the main deck of the ship. The open squeak decks, below the massive balloons, seemed protected enough from the helium above to not cause undue voice modification. Although Rue suspected that, in the case of a leak, the poop deck, which was raised the highest, might be a danger zone – that would make for a funny sort of command.
The navigation centre on the poop deck was made to look like an old-fashioned ship’s helm, but it was the design aesthetic rather than any indication of dated engineering. The balloon could be inflated and deflated by means of either helium or hot air, or both, depending on local resources. A paddle propeller below aft did most of the steering and propulsion with a single mainsail off the stern for use in high-floating in the aether currents. When down, the mast looked like the tail of an inquisitive cat.
Rue was only disgruntled by one thing.
“Yes, miss,” said the deckhand, eyes wide at this erratic behaviour.
“I don’t like pigeons,” Rue felt compelled to explain. “And I think you’re probably supposed to call me captain.”
“Who does like pigeons, captain?” wondered the deckhand philosophically.
Belowdecks in the forecastle were crew quarters, and in the stern, officer quarters. Rue wholeheartedly approved of the lavish captain’s chambers, featuring a wardrobe with sufficient room for most of her shoes. There was a nice-looking mess and a galley which included the latest in refrigeration boxes and every possible pot and pan, even crumpet rings. Rue supported this excess – she was awfully fond of crumpets. A beautifully decorated stateroom sat across from a smoking room, down from a sickbay-meets-laboratory and a few guest berths.
The lowest deck was made up of a hold at the fore, with ample room for supplies and other necessities, and a massive chamber aft. This proved to be engineering, containing coal bunkers, boilers, and the very latest in steam engines charmingly designed to look like a bank of cheerful chubby teakettles.
Rue was not a particularly handy person. Her nature had never led her into much interest in how things worked. She felt the important thing with machines was that they did work and when they did, she appreciated it. When something broke, she identified the closest possible expert and asked them – nicely of course and with remuneration – to fix it. Thus much of what passed for mechanics, gadgets, instruments, and devices on the ship was beyond her ken. But she liked the teakettles.
“I’ll need to hire a chief engineer and navigator first,” she said, concerned with the care of the technology around her.