ELEVEN
The Shape of Things to Come
Everyone awoke from their naps refreshed. It was late night and the air had finally cooled. Primrose organised and served a delicious repast.
Unusually, it was Rue whose spirits flagged, for Spoo had not returned.
Rue tried to drown her worries in tea and conversation. Prim and Percy were both inexcusably cheerful. Percy was basking in the glow of his weremonkey discovery. Prim was luxuriating in the thrill of her recent acquisitions and enjoying chastising Rue for ungenteel behaviour. To top it all off, Quesnel had rediscovered his flirtatious good humour. The three eventually ended up engaged in a lively discussion on the subject of weremonkeys.
Quesnel was as scientifically charmed by the idea as Percy. “Imagine the possibilities. I mean to say, if India has weremonkeys, what about other countries? How ignorant are we concerning the evolution of the supernatural? Are there other forms of vampires? The Rakshasas seem a minor physical variation. What if there are other adaptive variations? It is thrilling to speculate.” His eyes turned to Rue encouragingly.
But even speculation could not draw Rue into the conversation. She kept glancing over the rail of the ship towards the land; trying to see in the darkness a small form scuttling back across the now diminished flats. The tide was coming in, The Spotted Custard floated nearer the promenade, and yet Spoo was nowhere to be seen.
Did I give her too much responsibility?
Quesnel’s expression said much of his surprise at her lack of interest in such entertaining ideas as the probable existence of werefoxes somewhere in the Islands of Niphon and whether some variant of vampires might actually suck brains instead of blood.
Rue only shook her head at him and rose. Carrying her tea-cup and saucer with her, she made her way to the decklings, huddled together in one corner of the quarter deck.
One of them said, “Lady Captain, we wouldn’t want to betray one of our own, but we’re a mite worried. We checked the entire ship and Spoo is definitely missing.”
“I know. I sent her away.”
The decklings instantly relaxed. “Oh, that’s all right then.”
“However, I think we should make it easy for her to return. Take us as close as possible into shore and lower that useful little rope of yours so she can climb back up. Or, if that’s not how it works, drop over a rope ladder.”
“Very good, Lady Captain.” They scampered off to do her bidding.
Rue returned to the others.
“Conservation of mass,” Percy was saying, “would seem to dictate only certain animal forms are available for use. Are monkeys too small? We must ask ourselves this. After all, even the supernatural cannot defy physics. Rodentia and the like, we must assume, are right out. As are the more massive elements, like ungulates.”
Quesnel nodded. “Agreed. And I think we must acknowledge that mammalian bone and skin are also the only real option, the synchronicity of forms suggests nothing reptilian or invertebrate. Although that would be amusing, a werejellyfish.”
Percy’s hands were steepled in thought. On the subject of undiscovered shape-shifting creatures, Percy and Quesnel seemed entirely in accordance. “Or aquatic. Gills, you know.”
Quesnel nibbled a muffin. “Although there are legends concerning shape-changing seal creatures in the far north of Scotland and parts of Ireland. I never gave them much credence but—”
Percy nodded sagely. “Indeed, the Silly.”
Quesnel frowned as though he might contradict. “Is that what they’re called?”
Primrose, less interested in speculation as to the nature of supernatural creatures not immediately likely to attend her evening gathering, stood and went to join Rue, looking over the rails at the shore. “Is everything in order, Rue?”
“I don’t know,” replied Rue honestly.
The distant city was lit up with torches, lanterns, and the occasional gas lamp. The decklings gathered near the rope ladder they’d deployed. They were unsettled in the absence of their leader. Spoo had come so recently among them yet made quite a lasting mark. Virgil joined them in their vigil, his small face set. Rue wished she could stand with them, but she didn’t want to betray to the others that anything was seriously amiss. Extended fraternisation with decklings would be too suspicious.
There was a jolt and a scuffle and a few startled cries from the assembled group of young persons. The decklings scattered as a great furry creature landed where they had been standing. A monster of myth, which apparently needed no rope ladder to board an airship. Nor did she require an invitation. The creature had leapt from the ground below to land gracefully on deck in one massive display of supernatural strength.
While Prim, Percy, and Quesnel gaped, Rue smoothed her skirts nervously. Then with–she hoped–captain-like dignity, she made her way to the lioness.
“Welcome back, Spoo. And Miss Sekhmet, I assume?” Of course Rue should have known, but it was like the Vanaras–she never considered that there would be other shape-shifters. British scientists only spoke of werewolves. A quintessentially imperial attitude, of course, to ignore native mythology. But if there were weremonkeys, why not werelionesses?
Nevertheless, in case she was wrong, Rue approached Spoo and the lioness with caution. “Glad you were able to escape your captors. Welcome aboard The Spotted Custard. Spoo, you had us worried.”
Spoo, sitting with immense pride astride the cat, slid off and moved away only to be instantly surrounded by decklings, the returning hero. They hustled her off in a nattering group, like a gaggle of excited geese.
The lioness looked up at Rue as if waiting for something.
Rue said, “I’d be delighted to offer you use of my quarters and a dressing robe. It is Miss Sekhmet, is it not?”
The cat tilted her head, whiskers twitching.
“The robe will be short on you, I am afraid. I am assuming, as our first meeting took place in the Maltese Tower, that you are not afflicted, like werewolves, with an inability to float? But I get ahead of myself. We have much to discuss that I am afraid requires you to be in human form.”
The werecat nodded her sleek head. Rue wondered if in this she was the same as werewolves. It was a mark of age and skill to possess all of one’s facilities while in animal shape. Oh, she had so many questions!
Quesnel and Percy, having stood at the arrival of their visitor, abandoned their tea to approach.
“Rue,” said Percy. “Are you talking to a lioness? Is that wise? Aren’t they hazardous to the health?”
Without batting an eye Quesnel said, “Of course–Miss Sekhmet, is it? That’s why you shrouded yourself in fabric under the direct sunlight this morning.”
“No wonder she looked so exhausted,” added Rue, trying to carry everything off with aplomb when inside she was now trembling with excitement: A werecat. I found a werecat! Well, she found me, but still!
“And too weak to fight off her kidnappers,” added Quesnel. “Or should I say, catnappers?”
The lioness looked displeased at that statement. She flattened her ears at Quesnel.
“Spoo, would you show our guest to my chambers?”
“My pleasure, Lady Captain. Right this way, miss.” Spoo trotted off, the lioness trailing behind.
They disappeared.
Percy said, “Is she staying? Footnote is not going to be happy.” And then, after a moment, “Where has my sister gone?”
Primrose, as it turned out, had fainted.
The decklings collected around her in a chattering worried mass.
Rue applied smelling salts and Prim revived relatively quickly. Her big dark eyes were smudged with concern. She sat up.
“I’m feeling better. I do apologise. Terribly silly of me.”
“It’s the heat,” said Rue, giving Prim an out and offering her a hand up.
“Just so I am clear, do we now have a werelioness on board?” Primrose rose slowly.
“Yes,” said Quesnel, helping her solicitously to sit back in a deck-chair.
“And did she take us shopping this morning?”
“Yes, she did,” confirmed Rue.
Percy, following at long last, said, “Werelioness? Of course. It fits perfectly. Do you think that’s what the Vanaras are? Hardly makes sense. That’s not how they are described in the text. Not cat-like at all. Do you think she’ll let me write a report for the Royal Society?”
Quesnel gave him a disgusted look. “Can’t you think about anything but your academic standing? This is a revelation of epic proportions! We now have proof that there are other shape-shifting creatures besides werewolves.”
“Exactly! The scientific community should know. I’m being altruistic. Selfish would be to keep this information secret.”
The two men stood–forgetting Primrose’s delicate state–the better to argue.
Quesnel said, “Our caller has obviously gone to great lengths to keep her condition out of the public arena. You should respect her wishes!”
“Oh, should I indeed? And your concern wouldn’t have anything to do with the fact that she is an incredibly lovely female specimen? Would it?”
Rue decided to ignore them in favour of her friend. “Do you think you could manage a little restorative tea, Prim?”
Primrose said, “I think so. Thank you. I haven’t forgiven you though, Rue. You knew she was coming and did not warn me? And here I am not in a receiving gown.”
“Is that why you fainted?”
Prim ignored this dig to continue her lament. “What will she think of me?”
Rue rolled her eyes. “For your information, I didn’t know she was coming. And even if I had made the connection, I thought she was kidnapped. I’m trying to act debonair. I’m surprised to have fooled you. I didn’t put it all together until she leapt on board.” She let the wide grin she’d been suppressing sweep across her face. “Isn’t this the cat’s whiskers? Werelioness. Did you ever imagine? Do you think she’ll let me steal her soul for a bit? I would so love to be a cat.”
Prim raised a hand. “Rue, stop; too much excitement. It’s worse than you being all suave. Calm down. How did she get here, then?”
Rue shrugged. “I sent for the werewolves but I suppose they’ve gone hunting. She must have found Spoo, or Spoo her. And stop worrying. She will think very well of you–everyone does. You look lovely. You always do.”
Rue helped Prim to butter a muffin. Prim’s hands were still shaking, and Rue knew exactly how she liked her muffin buttered. She then foisted another cup of tea on Primrose. Though a touch cold, Prim drank it gratefully as she nibbled her well-buttered muffin.
Once revived, Prim gave Rue a suspicious look. “You’re being awfully nice. What are you plotting?”
“Nothing as yet.”
Prim was not convinced. “You’re wearing a tea-gown and no gloves.” She stated the obvious. “And you sent for werewolves. Haven’t you had enough soul-stealing for one evening?”
Spoo returned, Miss Sekhmet following. The werelioness wore a robe of quilted velvet, opulent and flattering, if a little small. With her hair loose and flowing, free of all accessories, she was more beautiful than ever.
Rue decided, magnanimously, to forgive her for it. However, it did appear to rather drive all her companions, even Primrose, into a tongue-tied state.
“Please excuse the casual dress, ladies, gentlemen. I was going to follow the werewolves on their hunt and then I ran into your messenger and she had this.” Miss Sekhmet tossed Rue the monkey charm. “They have made contact with you directly in my absence?”
Rue took the necklace and, because she thought it might be the safest thing to do, put it on, grateful that she had rejected the massive hat that fashion dictated be pinned atop her head at all times. She gestured for the werecat to sit. Which she did, quite gracefully.
While Primrose poured more tea, Rue avoided the question by asking one of her own. “Is it really true that Mrs Featherstonehaugh went with them willingly?”
Miss Sekhmet nodded. “She is acting as surety for British cooperation. She has a childish faith in their being good and noble.”
Rue frowned. “And you are working for them as what?”
“Nothing any more. I said I would speak for them and I did. We expected your mother, not you. Her, I wanted to meet. An original, and I’m fond of originals. Not that you are not unique, skin-stalker.”
Quesnel pressed the question. “Then who do you work for?”
Miss Sekhmet looked insulted by his impertinence. If she’d had her whiskers, she would have twitched them.
“Milk?” asked Prim, raising the jug questioningly over the tea-cup.
“The more the better, lovely child. The more the better,” responded the werecat with a look of avarice.
Prim blushed and poured. She handed over the cup.
They half expected Miss Sekhmet to begin lapping. But she was perfectly respectable about it, sipping with pleasure at the over-milked cold tea.
“They asked me to speak their case. So I spoke it. You did nothing. Now they wonder who is on whose side. They question my motives. They question yours. You have handled this badly, skin-stalker.”
Rue took offence at that. “I thought it was all about the tea.”
Miss Sekhmet smiled a very cat-with-cream smile. “They hold, how you British might say, all the cards.”
Rue was annoyed. “But what do they want? I must say, you haven’t done well in making their position clear.”
Miss Sekhmet paused so long the silence became awkward.
“Something fresher?” offered Prim nervously, signalling to one of the stewards with the intention of sending him to the meat locker.
The werecat shook her head. “No. Thank you for the thought. This will do well enough. Wait. Are those kippers? Marvellous. It’s been years since I had a kipper.”
Prim served their guest a generous helping of kippers in brown butter sauce and fried egg. All quite cold by now, but the werecat didn’t seem to mind congealed food.
“How did you know they were sending anyone?” Rue asked.
“Your father wrote a letter to the pack here. Asking them to keep an eye on his biggest treasure. Of course, I thought he meant his wife. We all did. She’s travelled without him before. Didn’t realise you were all grown up and floating about without them.”
Rue said, “Time moves differently for immortals.”
“Just so.” Miss Sekhmet nodded. “Nor did we think England would let you out of the country.”
“I am not a prisoner because I am metanatural!”
“No, but you are, as your father put it, a national treasure.”
Rue frowned darkly. Overprotective, interfering Paw!
The werecat laughed. “Child, you don’t have to explain to me a love of independence.”
Rue moved them on. “Let us be frank, Miss Sekhmet. These people you keep alluding to–the ones who have Mrs Featherstonehaugh and the taxes–are they indeed some form of weremonkey, or are we merely dealing with nationalist dissidents?”
Rue was reminded of that old saying: trying to get a straight answer out of a cat is like trying to find the soap in the bathtub.
Miss Sekhmet swallowed her mouthful of kipper and looked smug.
Percy said, “The agreement, SAD. Of course! Things could get messy, politically, if Vanaras do exist. The Rakshasas would have to share power.”
Miss Sekhmet tried hard to hide her surprise. “Your government would acknowledge them legally?”
Percy sat a little more upright. “My good woman! The British have always dealt fairly with the supernatural. It is tradition.”
Miss Sekhmet’s lip curled. “But not with the natives.”
Percy looked surprised. “We bring civilisation and enlightenment to all the empire.”
“Is that what you call it?” The werecat finished her kipper and leaned back in her chair, sipping tea. “Mrs Featherstonehaugh believes similarly. The Vanaras are not so sure. And then when you refused to talk…”
“I didn’t refuse!” said Rue. “I didn’t know.”
“And now we are at an impasse. For I am no longer speaking for them and you have yet to ask me the right question.” Miss Sekhmet put down her cup.
Rue frowned. “Werelioness, are you aware that I have been made sundowner?” That little bit of information managed to shock the werecat. So she doesn’t know everything.
“Chérie!” Quesnel’s voice was gruff with warning.
The werecat inclined her head. “A threat, little bird? I comprehend. Then they do not treasure you as much as they think you are useful. Very interesting.”
Rue laughed. “That would appear to be the case.”
“So?”
“So can you take me to the Vanaras?” They want me to negotiate in my mother’s name and Dama wants me to find the tea. Only Mrs Featherstonehaugh knows where it is. I suppose I am going into the jungle whether I like it or not.
“Very good, skin-stalker. That is the right question. And yes, yes I can.”
At which Prim, Percy, and Quesnel all started talking at once.
Prim and Quesnel thought this a terrible idea. Percy thought he ought to accompany Rue for research purposes. At which statement Quesnel said no, he should come along, for he could help defensively as well as scientifically. Prim said if Rue had to go, they should take The Spotted Custard and crew into the forest en masse.
Rue held up a hand. “Do you think the government would not have tried to find Mrs Featherstonehaugh by air before now? I suspect this forest to be overly lush. No, the hunt must be conducted on foot. Or more precisely, on paw.”
Quesnel and Prim protested this vociferously. “It’s too dangerous!”
Rue considered. “In lioness form, I can carry two easily.” Only Prim had any idea how thrilled she was to say that. Oh please, oh please, oh please.
Miss Sekhmet looked thoughtful, rather than objecting outright.
Rue was delighted. She felt compelled to explain. “Not by weight. I could take more. I’m as strong as any normal werecreature. At least I think I would be. I’ve never done cat before, but by size—” She gestured expressively at her short curvaceous figure. “As you might have noticed, I did not benefit from my parents’ proportions. Two is the most that will fit on my back.”
Quesnel said, “I do not like where you are going with this.”
Rue said, “It has to be me in shape. If I’m riding, the risk is too great of a skin slip-up. I will be safe as a lioness. It is Miss Sekhmet here who will have to take the risk.”
The werecat, following her plan, nodded. “I am old enough not to fear a second death. And you are my first skin-stalker. It should make for an interesting experience. I am also old enough to rarely encounter interesting experiences any more.”
“Curious as a cat, Miss Sekhmet?” suggested Primrose rather daringly.
Said cat gave her a little smile of approval.
Primrose blushed.
Quesnel stood up from his deck-chair and began to pace. “You expect the rest of us to stay behind?”
Rue ignored him and asked Miss Sekhmet: “Have you studied the British policy on supernatural agreements in any depth?”
The werecat shook her head.
“Very well, Percy will make up the third of our party.”
Percy looked part delighted, part terrified to be included.
Primrose blanched. “Rue, Percy’s not accustomed to adventure. Or forests. Or the outside world, really.”
Rue said, “I know, but he did some wolf-riding when we were little. At least I know he can stay astride. And he’s pretty deadly with his cravat pin.”
Quesnel said with a cheeky smile, despite obvious tension, “Mon petit chou, any time you want me to ride you again, I would be happy to learn how to do it properly.”
Primrose gave a shocked little squeak at that statement.
Rue was privately thrilled. Perhaps he’s decided he’d like to tutor me in romantic encounters after all.
Then he added, spoiling matters, “Just stay behind where it’s safer.”
Rue was moved to reprimand. “I know you are upset, Mr Lefoux, but do try to control yourself.”
Quesnel persisted, “You don’t know what danger you face, how long it will take, or how you will get back out. You are intending to run into monkey-ridden doom with no more support than a werecat made mortal who we don’t know if we can trust and a ruthlessly incompetent academic.”
“Ho there, old boy!” objected Percy.
Miss Sekhmet said, “Ah, family arguments. Makes me miss my old pride.”
Rue and Quesnel said to her at the same time, “We are not related!”
Miss Sekhmet shrugged. “Neither were many in my pride.”
Quesnel was not to be thus distracted. “Chérie, please, don’t go.”
Rue could feel her face getting hot in frustration. Why is he countermanding my decisions in front of the others? She was mortified. Miss Sekhmet would think her a mere child. “This is the best option we have.”
“It is an imbecilic option!” Quesnel’s jaw muscles worked as he clenched his teeth in an effort to keep himself from yelling.
Rue wanted his interest–of course she wanted his interest–but not this overprotective nonsense. She wanted flirtation and desire, not yet another parent. Sekhmet was right–he was acting like family. “What care you? You, yours, and the ship will remain safe.”
Quesnel stood up and came to lean over her. “Now you are being an imbecile.”
Rue didn’t know how to relate to a Quesnel who was over-emotional. She thought for one terrifying moment that he intended to kiss her again, right there on the poop deck in front of all the decklings and a visiting werecat. There seemed an equally good possibility that he might strike her.
He did neither, only saying, “I am concerned about your safety. This is like you tearing after the lioness all over again.”
Rue was stung. “It isn’t that at all. I’m telling you what I’m doing ahead of time. And I’ll be tearing off as the lioness!”
Quesnel slapped his forehead with his hand and began striding about, copious arm gestures displaying his French ancestry. “And it will be your first time in that form. You don’t even know if you’re any good at it. You grew up being a wolf! And that is not even the point, the point is—”
Rue interrupted him, standing up herself. She puffed out her considerable chest and drew herself upright, not as tall as Quesnel but doing her best. “Enough. I am still the captain. You should not contradict me in front of the children.” She gestured to where, a little way away, the decklings had stopped chattering to Spoo and were watching Quesnel’s spectacular display of temper with wide, frightened eyes.
Quesnel stopped pacing, vibrating with anger, and then pulled himself together. “Yes, Lady Captain,” he said coldly, and stormed away belowdecks.
Rue did not stop him.
There was a long silence while Prim and Percy pretended not to have heard anything, and Miss Sekhmet tried not to look curious.
Rue took a deep calming breath. “Primrose, you have command while I am away. Technically, I suppose it ought to be Mr Lefoux but since he is proving a tad unstable, I think you had better see to the necessities. I’ll leave you to tell him so later.” Which would also save Rue from having to call down to the boiler room with the transfer of command and get another earful from Aggie Phinkerlington.
Prim said tentatively, “Might I suggest a gunpowder display sparkle? If you took one with you and trouble arises, you could set it off and summon help? Any local militia would surely respond.”
Rue was not above sensible suggestions. “Excellent notion.”
Prim crinkled her forehead. “I’ll find you one of the smaller ones and tie it about your neck in a reticule. Also, I think you should take one of those long scarves I bought this morning in case you have to change shape in the middle of a forest. Or in case something happens to Miss Sekhmet.”
The werecat looked a little nonplussed. “I don’t know exactly where they are in the forest. We have always discussed things through an intermediary. Territory is territory, after all.”
“Then we have to follow Mrs Featherstonehaugh’s trail.”
The lioness asked, “Do your skin-stalker abilities extend beyond the mere stealing of form? Do you possess enhanced tracking skills as well?”
“Naturally,” lied Rue. This may be her only chance to be a lioness. There was no way she was going to suit up in thick clothing and ride Sekhmet into the forest. It had to be the other way around.
The werecat said, “Very well, then, no time like the present. We are only losing darkness.”
Prim scuttled off to the stores and reappeared with a flint and tinder, one of the sparklers, a reticule that looked like a water lily, and a large orange scarf.
Percy made a sputtering noise about not being ready for a trip, until Virgil appeared at his elbow with a warm jacket, a belt from which dangled various tools in pouches, and a satchel full of books and scrolls. Percy said, “Is the ancient Hindustani language derivation text there?” Virgil nodded. “And the Epic of Ramayana?” Another nod. “And my maps?” More nodding. “Well,” said Percy, in surprise, “perhaps you are good for something.”
Virgil said, “Don’t stay out too late–Footnote will worry.”
Rue gestured for Miss Sekhmet to accompany her belowdecks to her private quarters, Prim alongside, for the sake of appearances. The aforementioned Footnote encountered them in the hallway, got one whiff of the werelioness and puffed his tail hugely, sidestepped on his toes, and took off back to the library. Miss Sekhmet gave a funny hiss-like laugh.
In her room, Rue slipped behind the changing screen and switched her gown for a loose robe and nothing else. She emerged and turned to the werecat.
Miss Sekhmet looked impassive, but Rue suspected the werecat was nervous.
“Very well, then.” Rue looked at Prim. “Ready?”
“Miss Sekhmet?”
The werecat nodded. And before she could think to change her mind, Rue stepped in and touched her bare hand.
It was as painful as ever. In that matter, werelioness was no different from werewolf. Rue felt herself morphing, falling, and shifting all at once.
Her bones re-formed into those of a fleet four-footed creature. Her hair became fur all over her body. Her spine stretched out into a long tail. Her fingernails became claws. Her nose expanded and moistened. Her teeth elongated. Her sense of the world shifted. Colours faded and became less important.
All that was similar to a werewolf, but other things were different. Sounds were clearer and more minute. The balance of her muscles was altered. This form was made to climb and to leap. Her long tail could balance back, her claws could flex and extend.
Rue sniffed. The sense of smell was good–perhaps not quite so good as wolf but still infinitely superior to human. There was Prim, all flowery powders and soaps, and a faint sheen of sweat she would be mortified that Rue knew about. Miss Sekhmet, still standing close, smelled of exotic spices and dry grasslands. There was the hint of kipper still on her breath, mixed with remnants of milky tea.
Miss Sekhmet said, “Amazing. Truly amazing. You lift cat away from me so easily. And I have carried her with me for so very long.”
Prim said sympathetically, “Do you feel abandoned?”
“By my own immortality? No more than when a preternatural touches me. And before you ask–yes, I have met a soulless. But it is remarkable not to have to remain touching. How long is the tether?”
Prim was always circumspect with other people’s secrets, especially when they were right there listening. She said only, “That is a conversation for you and Rue to have when she can speak again.”
“Indeed, indeed. Forgive my curiosity–a curse I was born to. Believe it or not.”
Prim said, “I fully understand. Now, I assume you have ridden a lioness before?”
Miss Sekhmet nodded. Her face, more expressive in mortal form, looked sad. “A long time ago. But, yes.”
Well done, Primrose, now we know there are more of them. Or once were.
Miss Sekhmet settled herself astride Rue. “Can she communicate?”
Prim nodded.
“Fully?”
“She can understand you. She has possession of all her capacities, unlike a newly changed werewolf. But she no more possesses the ability to articulate with the tongue than you would as a lioness.”
Rue gave a little mew of inquiry and felt Miss Sekhmet twine her hands into the thick fur of her neck, a sign that she was ready. Rue tried to purr her approval, but nothing but a stuttering sputter emerged. Rue gave up and ran through her quarters out into the hall and leapt up the staircase out onto the quarterdeck.
She almost overshot it. Lioness shape was powerful in distinct ways from werewolf.
Percy was waiting for them, looking impatient. Virgil was fussing about his master, ensuring Percy was all buttoned up for the evening ride, that his boots were dusted, and his hat in place.
Rue stopped next to him, tail thrashing.
Percy looked her over doubtfully. It had been a while since he had ridden her as a wolf, and this form was vastly different. Plus, while he had grown bigger, Rue had mostly not.
Rue yowled at him, dictatorially.
Percy legged over and sat, tucking his knees up, presumably wrapping his arms about Miss Sekhmet’s waist.
“I do beg your pardon, miss, having only just met you and all.”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake, you British and your manners. Just grab on to me, man!”
“Yes, miss,” said Percy meekly.
Rue merped a question at them both.
“All set,” said Percy, his voice a little strangled.
“Ready,” added Miss Sekhmet.
With which Rue dashed over to the shoreside railing of the ship and, in one great leap, cast herself and her passengers over the edge.
It was a spectacular manoeuvre. The decklings behind gave a gratifying communal gasp. It was further down than Rue had thought. Fortunately, it was not too far for her supernatural body to absorb the impact. She landed and stumbled only slightly, righting herself so quickly even Percy didn’t fall off. She suppressed a small surge of disappointment that Quesnel had not bothered even to look out of the engineering port hole to see her away. Shaking off thoughts of the difficult Frenchman, Rue set off through the city.