Prudence (The Custard Protocol 1)

Rue gestured to a vacant deck-chair. They were all sitting at this juncture, in an exhausted circle about the vanquished tea trolley. Even Rue, who generally had more energy than any other human on the planet, looked wan.

Miss Sekhmet sat gratefully. “Interesting night.”

“My dear lady,” said Prim, about to pour the last of the tea. “You have a gift for understatement.” She checked herself and instead poured the remains of the milk jug into a tea-cup and handed that over.

“You are a thoughtful thing, aren’t you, little one?” The werecat took the milk and sipped it gravely.

Rue thought it odd that Prim blushed so much at the compliment.

“Miss Sekhmet, who do you work for exactly? I thought you were with the Vanaras but they put you in a birdcage. But you can’t be with the Rakshasas – they put you in a flower cart. You aren’t one of Dama’s, so who?” Rue decided on the direct approach. She tried to emulate Primrose’s welcoming charm, but was too tired for acting.

The beautiful woman gave a self-satisfied smile. “My dear girl, I am cat. I don’t work for anyone.”

“Then why did you involve yourself?”

“For exactly the same reasons.”

Quesnel snorted. “Cats.”

Miss Sekhmet waved a hand. “Exactly.”

Rue thought back to their first meeting. “You were curious, you wanted to meet the world’s only metanatural. Perhaps have your form stolen and be mortal again?”

“My, now who values herself highly?” said the werelioness.

But Rue was beginning to finally get the werecat’s measure. If one thought of Miss Sekhmet and her behaviour as entirely cat-like, even when human, it actually made odd sense. “You’re exactly like Footnote.”

Percy, who was still mulling over the dangers of preemptive publication, rejoined the conversation at that. “I say, what?”

Rue laughed. Miss Sekhmet’s tactics were becoming clear to her. There was the gentle way with which the werelioness coaxed and complimented Primrose. The verbal equivalent of winding in and out of her legs, with a purr. Primrose, of course, was necessary to befriend for she controlled the ship’s larder. Sekhmet also teased Percy with exactly too little information. She had witty exchanges with Quesnel, not to mention ignoring him when he flirted. And then there was her, Rue. How was the cat wooing her? Blasé attitude, slight reverence for Rue’s metanatural abilities – the thing of which Rue was most proud. And of course she kept herself a mystery, knowing that all of them – Quesnel, Percy, Primrose, and Rue – were taken in by a mystery.

Rue leaned forward. “Percy has a cat, named Footnote. Or as Virgil put it, Footnote has a human, named Percy. I have this sinking suspicion that we – all of us here on The Spotted Custard – are about to have a cat too. I have a suspicion because, right now, I feel as though we are being had by a cat.”

“Prudence Alessandra Maccon Akeldama. Manners!” reprimanded Primrose.

Miss Sekhmet only laughed. “So where are my quarters? You’ll need something you can secure. Full-moon night is full-moon night, even for a werecat.”

Rue grinned back. Excellent. Now I can winkle out all her secrets. “That’s assuming a bit much, isn’t it, Miss Sekhmet?”

“Call me Tasherit,” said the werelioness. “It’ll be nice to have a pride again.”

Because she obviously wanted to be asked if that was her real name, Rue didn’t ask. This was going to be so much fun.

Oddly enough, it was Primrose who raised the only objection. Percy and Quesnel seemed delighted by a new addition to their crew: Quesnel liked beautiful women and Percy liked cats. Plus, if the werelioness was with them, she was proof of Percy’s new discovery of non-werewolf shape-shifters.

“Rue.” Prim’s voice trembled. “Are you sure about this?” It was a mark of her agitation that she said it there at the table, in front of Tasherit.

“Don’t worry, Prim. She’ll settle in fine. Besides, you already know how she takes her tea – that’s half the battle when integrating a new acquaintance. And now, we too should sleep.”

The decks were mostly deserted. Everyone was exhausted. Except Spoo and Virgil who, with the unflagging energy of youth, were engrossed in a game of tiddlywinks on the poop deck, crouched between two of the massive tea spheres. Unfortunately, someone adult had to stay above deck and raise the alarm if the infantry came calling. Or the floatillah decided to return. Or the Rakshasas sent drones to attack.

“Anyone awake enough to sit watch?” Rue asked hopefully.

None of them said anything.

Rue nodded. She supposed the joy of being captain brought with it all kinds of unpleasant responsibilities. “Very well, I’ll take first watch. Prim, you and Percy can have second. Quesnel, you raise Greaser Phinkerlington and the two of you will take third. Tasherit, I’m assuming you can’t sit a whole watch in full daylight, unless you tell me otherwise.”

The werelioness said nothing.

It was a marker of how fatigued they all were that the others stood without objection, even Quesnel.

The Tunstell twins made their way below with sleepy alacrity. They leaned against one another in a manner that almost indicated sibling affection.

Quesnel, despite Tasherit’s gaze, stood to lean over Rue, trapping her in her deck-chair with his body.

“I’m glad you’re unharmed, mon petit chou.”

Rue blinked at him. “Oh, well, thank you.”

He did not kiss her, not with the werecat sitting there watching with interest. He certainly looked as though he wanted to though.

“That other position you offered?”

“Yes?” Rue squeaked. Her heart went all the way up into her throat and started beating there, clogging and unclogging her breath.

“I accept.”

Rue was suddenly both elated and terrified on top of being tired.

Quesnel straightened and said to the werecat. “Coming below? I’m sure I can find you a spot somewhere.”

The stunning beauty said mildly, “I think I might stay awhile, keep little Prudence here company. Unless she objects?”

“Delighted,” said Rue. But she wasn’t really thinking about the werelioness any more. What had her big mouth got her into this time? Quesnel’s pansy-coloured eyes, though tired, were very very twinkly.

Quesnel said mildly, “Behave, both of you. We’ve had enough excitement for one evening.” Then he made his way across the deck, lean and sure, blond hair a dandelion fluff about his head in the morning breeze.