SIXTEEN

In Which Tea Solves Everything

Negotiations, Rue soon came to understand, required a great deal longer than fifteen minutes and were better suited to a personality not hers. Not to mention someone who had mastery of monkey voice and face–she would keep slurring her words. The Vanara Alpha and the brigadier refused to see reason. They didn’t seem likely to come to an agreement before dawn, let alone before her beloved ship was attacked by her own country.

Percy had them almost to the ground and tucked away, partly hidden by overhanging trees. But as soon as the floatillah was close enough they would be easy to spot. The great red, dotted balloon of the Custard poked up too high, slightly out of the trees in such a way as to look like a massive embarrassed mushroom.

Around them in the clearing below, the monkeys and wolves cavorted together.

Lady Kingair had changed shape after Spoo helpfully tossed down one of Rue’s spare dressing-gowns. Occasionally, that good lady would shout something autocratic up at them. She wanted to know exactly what in all atmospheres was going on! Prim would lean over the railing and yell down as much of an explanation as she could.

Rue kept up with negotiations. Uncle Lyall sat in the background, amused by the entire situation.

The pack and the Vanaras settled into a game, something along the lines of chase my tail, chase your tail, flip over, and wrestle. Between these two species, at least, accord had been found. They remained determinedly oblivious to the fact that the floatillah was coming and that the werewolves may be cashiered and the Vanaras imprisoned. Rue supposed for the werewolves it was a little like finding a lost pack, knowing they were not alone in the world, that there were other types of shape-shifters. The Vanaras seemed happy to be out in the open at last, to reveal themselves to their wolf cousins.

Where is Miss Sekhmet? Rue wondered. The werelioness would be most useful in these negotiations.

Rue said to the Vanara for what she felt was the millionth time, “Jussssh sign the Supernatural Acceptance Decree and I’m certain our queen will see reason. The brigadier here would be bound by the termsss, yesh?”

Brigadier Featherstonehaugh huffed into his tiny excuse of a beard. “Well, I don’t see that it’s obvious these creatures are the same as werewolves, in which case…”

“Except that I can pershonally assure you they are immortal supernatural shape-shifters.” Rue waved her monkey tail at him in annoyance. “Ish no difference.”

Percy translated for the Vanara prince, who said, “We are not interested in your queen and her agreements.”

Rue tried to frown. It was challenging with a monkey face. “What if I offered you a treaty with a separate branch of the British government?”

The brigadier looked as if he would like to object but as Percy translated what Rue had said, the Vanara Alpha perked up.

“Nothing to do with Rakshasas or their alliance?”

Rue thought fast, calculating what she knew of the Shadow Council. How would her mother react? Dama, she suspected, would want peace. As potentate he tended to favour the most civilised non-violent road if possible. But he’d want his tea back. The werewolves and the Vanaras were getting along well enough that the Kingair Pack would return a favourable report to the dewan. So she could probably count on his vote. Her mother? Well, her mother could be persuaded eventually. So Rue felt safe in offering an alliance with the Shadow Council, as if it were an independent entity. The Vanaras need not be told of their intimacy with Queen Victoria. She wondered if the brigadier even knew of the existence of the Shadow Council. She would have to speak with circumspection around him. Nevertheless, it seemed the most promising course of action.

“My father,” she said, “has some business interests here in your land.” She purposefully did not mention which father. Better if the brigadier thought she spoke of Lord Maccon, otherwise he might let slip the fact that her adopted father was a vampire. The Vanaras wouldn’t like that at all.

Everyone looked perfectly blank at this seemingly unrelated statement.

“He, like you”–Rue acknowledged the Vanara Alpha with a nod–“ish a great fan of tea. Thish new breed”–she gestured at the spheres all around them–“will grow well in this climate, in the fields next to Tungareshwar Forest. If we were to offer the Vanaras a trade agreement, perhaps governorship and control of these new tea plantations? As part of an alliance?” Dama is not going to like this.

The brigadier looked upset. Rue turned to him and said under her breath, “Bloody John has its alliance with the Rakshasas. It’s time to balance the books.”

It was not an outright admission that she was going against the East India Company, but it was implied. If the brigadier was anything like most military men, he opposed the Company’s military influence. Rue listened to Paw’s pack gossip and more often than not they objected to the might of Bloody John. It was politically challenging because of vampire involvement in the Company, but Rue had guessed right, for the brigadier’s militant expression relaxed.

He huffed, more thoughtful than combative. “Are you saying this agreement would circumvent the East India Company?”

“Yes, exactly. And the Rakshasas.” She nodded at the Vanara prince.

Both men looked interested. Rue was pretty certain she’d get an earful from Dama about bargaining away his private tea investment for an alliance with local weremonkeys, but he was a reasonable man and if all else failed, she could use her daughterly wiles.

Percy said for the Alpha Vanara, “Tell me more?”

Then Percy said for Percy, “Oh, I say!”

The floatillah was upon them.

Cannons deployed out of the base of the airships, trained on The Spotted Custard.

Rue’s entire crew held its breath and stared at the brigadier. No doubt all of his subordinates in the floatillah had binoculars trained on him. The only reason they had not been instantly attacked was the fact that the brigadier was sitting unharmed in the company of a British lady, taking tea. It wasn’t exactly a hostile situation–Vanaras or not.

Beads of sweat appeared on the brigadier’s brow. If he signalled his ships to fire, indicating that he was a hostage, then he risked his own demise, as well as the end of any possible treaty.

Primrose reached one trembling white hand forward. “Please, good sir, call off the floatillah. For my sake?”

He looked to the pretty young aristocrat and said nothing.

“For all our sakes?” Prim pressed her luck, batting eyelashes.

Rue wondered if Prim would risk mentioning Aunt Ivy given that there seemed to be history between them. That proved unnecessary, for mere moments later, a lioness leapt aboard the ship, carrying Mrs Featherstonehaugh atop her back.

Mrs Featherstonehaugh was less excited to ride a leaping lioness than Spoo had been. She dismounted looking as fragile as fine china. She’d lost her cane and had to limp to her husband and the tea table, one of which–the husband–rose at her arrival.

“My dear!” He rushed to her. “The major let you go? I’ll cashier the blighter.”

Mrs Featherstonehaugh looked at the werecat. “The major had no choice, Jammykins. The lioness was most insistent.”

The cat in question disappeared belowdecks, no doubt to borrow another robe. If Miss Sekhmet would keep shifting form on board, Rue supposed they should stock a selection of those colourful drapes she preferred and assign her a wardrobe.

The brigadier looked at Rue. “Is that your cat?”

Rue considered, then used the escape she had given Sekhmet at the beginning of their acquaintance. “You know cats. They don’t really belong to anyone.”

Primrose said, still sitting demurely at the table, “Mrs Featherstonehaugh? Do join us for tea.”

Such a smart girl, Prim, for in that simple request, she had ensured everyone’s wellbeing. Mrs Featherstonehaugh couldn’t refuse tea and still be thought anything like a respectable lady. And the brigadier wasn’t going to let his floatillah attack a ship with his wife on board. He may risk his own life, but he wasn’t going to risk hers. Not again.

He waved away the looming ships, all casual, but there was a complex hand signal involved. They moved a little way off. The three ladies–Rue still a monkey–entertained the three gentleman with politics. And the three ladies, as is often the case when women of sense serve tea to men of passion, prevailed.

For the Vanara Alpha, Rue spun a yarn about this new breed of tea and how it might provide economic independence. She bragged of her personal political connections, implying that she could draw up an agreement based on the tenets of SAD that would name the Vanaras as allied not with the queen but with others, one of them a werewolf. Percy faithfully translated it all and did not laugh once.

“In fact, I’m sure Percy here could write you up a nice mock treaty while you rest for the day. Would that be acceptable? Of course, I would have to take it back to England for the official seal of approval but I think I can guarantee it will be passed through committee. In the interim, if you, brigadier, would abstain from any further action?”

“Yes, dear,” pressed his wife. “Do abstain, do. It’s very manly to think seriously about a course of action and not go rashly dashing into war.”

“Is it indeed, Snugglebutter?” huffed the husband.

“Why yes, don’t you find, ladies?”

Grave nods all around.

Rue suggested, in a mild tone, “This new treaty, we might consider naming it the Featherstonehaugh Accord.”

The brigadier and his wife looked positivity delighted. The brigadier said, “Well, I am needed in Waziristan. If we could finish up here relatively quickly, I might just forget to file a report on this matter until I return from campaign.”

Sensing a favourable shift, Prim called for celebratory muffins and jam.

Muffins and jam seemed to sooth everyone’s temper, particularly the Alpha Vanara’s whose delight in the jam was that of a child discovering blancmange for the first time. Rue could sympathise. She often felt that way about really good jam, not to mention blancmange. And this was, after all, gooseberry.

The sun was soon to rise, at which point the werewolves would lose their wolf forms and the Vanaras–including Rue–their monkey shape. All but the very strongest supernatural creatures would be driven into shade and sleep, and any chance at further discourse would have to wait until the following night. Rue was prepared to land her ship and invite all on board, offering up sleeping quarters if she had to.

Muffins consumed, jam admired, and bellies full, Primrose said in her most motherly tone, “Well, dears, bedtime?”

Rue rose. “Perhaps, gentlemen, if we all slept on it? Percy, I believe it is time to take us to ground. Then, Spoo, I think it is safe to lower the gangplank. We have guests to accommodate.”

The brigadier and the Vanara Alpha were looking almost relaxed. The brigadier could even be called jolly.

Rue thought of Lady Kingair and her Scottish pack. “Do we have any shortbread?” she hissed under her breath.

“Good notion,” said Primrose, crooking her finger at a harried-looking steward. “All the shortbread stores, please.”

The Spotted Custard went down as low as possible to hover above the moss of the clearing. The floatillah sailed off about other business. The brigadier’s signal must have included a set of instructions. The decklings lowered the gangplank and Professor Lyall and Lady Kingair trotted up it. Then, when Rue issued a formal invitation, all the werewolves and all the Vanaras followed. Virgil ran off to find robes. Prim hustled the wolves belowdecks to change shape in seclusion. The Vanaras were enthralled by the ship, and Rue wondered if they had ever been on board a dirigible before. It moved her to a certain affection regardless. After all, a lady likes to have her ship admired.

She had thought that Miss Sekhmet would reappear at that juncture. But perhaps she didn’t want to remind either party of her presence and felt that Rue was well able to settle the treaty situation. Rue was honoured by such trust. Always assuming, of course, that peace had been the werecat’s objective all along. Hard to tell objectives and reasons with a cat.

A short time later found the ship’s stores of shortbread greatly strained, and the cook in near hysterics at having to feed not only a pack of werewolves but also a troop of weremonkeys. A generally gregarious quarter of an hour ensued–except for the cook–while everyone sorted themselves out, slurped tea, and nibbled.

The werewolves, now back to human shape, borrowed whatever dressing-gowns were available, including a few of Prim’s more frilly styles. They carried these off with the aplomb of very large Scotsmen, who, on a regular basis wore skirts anyway. It must be said, however, that large hairy men ill-suited pink ruffles. It was like seeing a mastiff in an ostrich feather boa.

Nothing was left of the muffins but crumbs, and the gooseberry jam jar had actually been licked clean by a Vanara warrior, for which Primrose rapped his knuckles in rebuke. However, it did look as if hostilities had abated.

Rue offered their best spare room to the brigadier and his wife, who accepted with alacrity and made for it with indecent haste.

“We have, after all, been separated for several days,” whispered Mrs Featherstonehaugh so only Rue could hear.

If she had eyebrows, Rue would have raised them high. Given the age and aesthetic differences between the two, not to mention Mrs Featherstonehaugh’s clandestine activities, Rue had thought there was little real affection between the couple–apparently not.

Mrs Featherstonehaugh giggled–actually giggled–as her big bear of a husband helped her down the staircase, following Prim to guest quarters.

After some further jocular exchanges, oddly pantomimed between Vanaras and werewolves–Percy dragged to and fro to interpret–it was agreed that the following night the wolves would be taken on a tour of Tungareshwar by the monkeys. The Vanaras thought that wolf-riding might indeed be their new favourite thing ever. The werewolves requested they remove some of their gold armour for the event, as it tended to dig. Both parties agreed that dozing on board the Custard, with an infantry still unsure of their orders tramping about the forest, was probably the safest option. All twenty or so strapping immortals, which felt like a great deal more, wandered belowdecks to sleep wherever they might find a spot.

Rue requested that they try to stay out from underfoot as she did still need to run her ship. The storeroom, she suggested, was an excellent option. Although she feared greatly for the supplies.

Prim returned and they found themselves in possession of the upper decks, with the exception of all the spheres of tea. Rue, Percy, Prim, and the decklings watched the sun rise over the trees, listening to a great cacophony of birds singing it up and wondering what had happened to the army.

“I suppose the floatillah might be off to track them down and let them know,” said Rue.

“Let them know what exactly?” said Quesnel, coming up to join them. “What did I miss, mon petit chou?”

“We brokered a peace deal, I think.” Rue tried not to be so very pleased to see him. Not to mention pleased with herself.

“You–peace?”

“I know, incomprehensible, isn’t it?” She grinned.

Quesnel’s huge violet eyes were huger than normal, the wide-eyed look of having been up for twenty-four hours. One cheek was terribly smudged with coal dust. Rue repressed the urge to clean it with her thumb. She also suppressed the urge to push the floppy bit of blond hair back from his forehead.

“Don’t be mean,” defended Primrose staunchly. “I think you did very well, Rue dear.”

“I had to lie by omission, but I believe the Shadow Council will agree to my terms once I have explained the cultural and historical reasons for an aberration.”

Quesnel frowned, still not understanding, “You negotiated a peace treaty between the Shadow Council and the Vanaras? Without asking?”

“I didn’t name them, of course, but I think it’ll work. Aside from the dewan–who’s likely to be the most on my side anyway–I do have the ability to persuade the other two members.”

“One being your mother; the other your adopted father?”

“Exactly.”

“And what about Queen Victoria?” said the Frenchman, looking more shocked than proud.

Rue, who had expected praise, was put out. “What about her?”

“You aren’t related to her, are you? How will she take being ousted from the agreement? Circumventing the power of the crown to negotiate a deal between supernatural creatures and their foreign counterparts? What kind of precedent does that set?” Quesnel’s tone was almost harsh. So far Rue had seen him angry and now coldly calculating. She wanted her old irreverent, flirtatious Quesnel back. These other versions of him weren’t nearly as nice.

However, it made sense that beneath all his frivolity Quesnel would think like that. He’d been raised in a hive but his mother had other allegiances. He would be taught always to question the supernatural agenda.

Rue felt a sudden sagging in her stomach. She hadn’t thought about the perspective of daylight folk. She’d only thought about keeping the Vanaras safe. She’d neglected the human component entirely and with Queen Victoria that was likely to get a girl in real trouble. “Well, rats. I guess I won’t get to keep my sundowner status.”

“Probably not.” Quesnel brightened.

“And I never even got to use it, not really.”

“Buck up, chérie, you may still have a chance. I tripped over two werewolves sleeping in the hallway. We could take them up to the aether.”

“Why, Mr Lefoux,” said Prim. “I had no idea you were so bloodthirsty.”

The Frenchman smiled winningly at both ladies, and went to fish hopelessly about in the muffin crumbs.

As the sun fully crested the horizon, Rue lost her monkey shape. She was relieved to be human. Changing shape so many times in one night gave a girl a bit of a crisis of identity. It couldn’t possibly be good for her character.

Primrose unpinned her straw hat, only then noticing it was speared though with a Vanara arrow.

“Ruined, I’m afraid,” said Quesnel, placing a gentle hand on Prim’s shoulder.

Rue’s lip curled at the fact that he could be so sympathetic to Prim’s plight but not her own political blundering.

“I rather like it that way,” said Percy.

Rue agreed. “You should sport it proudly when we get back to London and start a new trend.”

Percy said, as if he had been actually thinking about Quesnel’s point, “You know who else is not going to be happy about this treaty? The Rakshasas.”

“There you are, chérie, now aren’t you glad you’re still a sundowner?” Quesnel used it to try and get back in Rue’s good graces.

Rue turned her full attention on Percy. “You’re right. They aren’t. We might want to ask the brigadier to lend us the Kingair Pack for the remainder of our stay in Bombay. They’d be the best deterrent if the Rakshasas want to take revenge.”

“Rue, are you actually considering asking someone else for help?”

Rue gave Quesnel a superior look. “I can be taught, thank you very much.”

A polite cough interrupted any further bickering. Miss Sekhmet walked out onto the deck, under direct sunlight. Admittedly, she wore Prim’s largest and most highly decorated hat in addition to Prim’s favourite full coverage purple robe–with fringe and a train. She looked not unlike a very fancy lamp-shade.

Rue had assumed the werecat was holed up somewhere, sleeping off the night’s activities. Instead, she’d been pillaging Prim’s wardrobe. Primrose looked more embarrassed at her dressing-gown being worn on deck with a walking hat, than inclined to object.

“Miss Sekhmet. Thank you very much for retrieving Mrs Featherstonehaugh.”

“I thought, given her attitude, she might be useful.”

“Useful for what exactly?”

“Brokering peace, of course.”

“Was that always your mission?”

The werecat inclined her hat-covered head. Hard to tell if that was agreement or approval.

Rue’s own head teemed with questions. Are all werecats able to be out in daylight? Are they all able to withstand great heights close to the aether? Were did Miss Sekhmet come from? What is her real name? Who does she work for? Why did she not reveal herself as a werecreature from the start?

“A remarkable young lady, Mrs Featherstonehaugh. Perhaps a little hard-headed,” said the werelioness when Rue remained quiet.

“Next time, hopefully, she won’t go tearing off on her own pretending to be kidnapped. I suspect Dama will be none too pleased,” said Rue.

“As the potentate, he got a nice little treaty out of it,” protested Primrose.

Which proved how little she knew of Rue’s vampire father’s objectives. Unless Rue was very much mistaken, Dama would be upset over the shift in power. He liked balance above all things. Plus, “He lost his precious tea in the end.”

“Why, chérie, are you in trouble there too?” Quesnel was trying to sound sympathetic but Rue sensed he was secretly pleased.

Why did I ever want him? Rue wondered.

Miss Sekhmet interrupted. “Mrs Featherstonehaugh is deeply excited about a public revelation of Vanara existence. She is planning on writing a slim travel volume on the Tungareshwar Forest.”

“Inspired by Honeysuckle Isinglass, is she?” Rue raised her eyebrows.

“The hell she is!” sputtered Percy, going red in the face. “Not if I get there first. Rue, we must return to England this instant! The integrity of the scientific community is dependent on it.”

Everyone ignored this outburst. Rue remembered that she hadn’t managed to get Percy’s satchel for him. They’d have to float back to the temple to retrieve it. He would insist and he’d earned it.

She said, “Are you all right out in the sunlight, Miss Sekhmet? We could retire to the stateroom.”

The werecat looked at her strangely, guessing the prying interest behind the solicitous care. “I’m fine for a short while. It’s not as bad as it once was.” A tiny bit of information, doled out gently. She was good.

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.

“Fine young man there–good bones, nice posture, just enough brains,” commented the werecat, as if contemplating a meal. “Would they mind, your parents?”

Rue was not too tired to play the game, and still in shock at this new prospect to furthering her education. “Quesnel is a bit of a rake.” And I’ve got him for a lover. Or something very like. I think.

“Best ones usually are.”

“Are you trying to be helpful, Tasherit?”

“Is it working, Prudence?”

“Rue, please. Call me Rue. And I assure you, I have plenty of relationship wisdom at my beck and call.”

“Then I shall endeavour to offer you other wisdom.”

It was on the tip of Rue’s tongue to shock her by asking what Tasherit thought of Rue just going to bed with Quesnel. For the experience, of course. She suspected the cat would be in favour of anything that stemmed from curiosity. But it was too soon and too early for such confidences.

“How do you feel about pigeons, Tasherit?”

Without blinking the werecat replied, “Can’t stand the nasty things.”

“In that case, I should like to welcome you–officially–on board The Spotted Custard. Now, here’s your first order. Go to bed.”

Oddly, for a cat, she obeyed.

Rue was left alone with her ship and the sunrise and a sense of profound peace that lasted exactly as long as it took Spoo to get into an enormous argument with Virgil about tiddlywink protocols.