Imprudence Read online

Rue gave a screeching hiss of annoyance at her inability to speak.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Spoo twitch. Fortunately, the Gatling was mounted in such a way that it did not swing around and could only shoot outwards. She didn’t think Spoo foolish enough to shoot towards the Custard, but she also didn’t want to find out if that was wishful thinking.

  The Italian eased towards the starboard side.

  Rue placed herself between him and Spoo.

  He kept his gun on Rue.

  He pushed the white robe back from his head, revealing dark hair, thick and black. The moon was now up, and while only a sliver, it was enough to see by. He was extraordinarily handsome. Not uncommon among the Italians, Rue had heard. He was tan with an aquiline nose, like her mother. Both looked better on a man. Come to think on it, there was something of her mother about his eyes as well, large and liquid dark. No one had ever said anything negative about Lady Maccon’s eyes. In fact, they were much admired in certain circles. Rue always wished she had got them instead of the Maccon yellow. Why on earth am I fixated on eye colour at a time like this?

  Rue lashed her tail. She was fixated because he looked familiar. Yet not.

  He kept advancing towards her. Which was fine by Rue. There would come a point when he’d be close enough for her supernatural reflexes to be faster than his trigger finger, or so she hoped.

  He was focused, intent on her, leaving his fellows to guard Miss Sekhmet and the restless deck crew. Maybe he thought Rue was the real werecat and Miss Sekhmet the captain. That might work out for them. Rue could let them capture her instead. Then soon as they were far enough away, snap. Rue licked her whiskers, imagining the surprise when these collectors suddenly had a mortal in their cage. Tasherit would be left with The Spotted Custard, safe and unstuffed.

  It wasn’t a bad plan, she reasoned with herself. It did, unfortunately, put her in the hands of the enemy. Fine, then, it was a reasonable backup plan, if nothing else worked out.

  Rue tried to understand the Italian’s intent. Did he think to shoot her with a silver bullet in a non-fatal spot and then drag her away? Where to? How would they get off the Custard? She didn’t see a net. What was his goal in all this?

  A voice said, “Don’t let him touch you!”

  It was an elderly voice.

  One of the men not armed with a sundowner shot his pistol.

  Floote, at the top of the main stairs, fell with a sickening series of thuds.

  Someone belowdecks screamed.

  “I said no one move!” The Italian still didn’t look away from Rue.

  Rue lunged.

  He lunged at the same time, wrapping her tightly in both arms.

  Rue was shifting, fur becoming hair, paws becoming hands, and tail shrinking upwards. She knew that sensation. Of course she knew it. She’d experienced it on and off most of her life. The touch of a soulless. The sucking nullification feeling of a preternatural. Her mother’s touch.

  “Hello, little cousin.” The Italian held her, vise-like, from behind. Together they faced an audience of startled Spotted Custard crew.

  Oh dear, thought Rue, they were after me all along.

  For why else send a preternatural, unless you had a metanatural to catch?

  EIGHTEEN

  Killing Cousins

  “I am such an idiot.” Rue’s voice was sharp in the ensuing silence. “You’re not hunting werecats. You’re hunting me.”

  The Italian brought his cheek down to hers. She could feel him smile. “Never doubt we’ll kill the monster where she stands. We’ve no interest in taking her alive. We’ve no interest in taking any of them alive. But if you come along quietly, we’ll leave them be. Promise. For you, my pretty little cousin, are unique.”

  Rue gritted her teeth and squirmed, trying to break his grasp. Unfortunately, he was a lot bigger and stronger. He was only mortal strong, but that was plenty good enough. Rue rolled her head away from skin contact and caught sight of the Gatling gun to her left. A gift. From Dama. On my twenty-first birthday.

  “My majority. I gained my majority.” Dama had tried to warn her. Without government protection, or us vampires looking out for you, there are people who may want you dead. So had Mother, in her awkward way, handing over that mysterious secret parasol club. So had Paw, always harping on about safety, always urging her to learn to fight.

  “In India, as I understand it. Fair game at last. We started tracking you at once. Took us a while to catch up and by that time you’d returned to London. It’s never easy to get into London these days. And, of course, you’ve many friends there, don’t you, cousin? Not to mention family. But not all the vampires in England, not any more.”

  Rue could grow to hate this man. “And Queen Victoria cut me loose, too. Withdrew the Crown’s protection.”

  “You’ve no sundowner weapon, have you, cousin?” He pressed his own sundowner against her side, a cold hard reminder.

  Rue had known that Lord Akeldama was her guardian as well as her adopted father, and she’d known it was some sort of deal her parents struck to keep the vampires from killing her. She hadn’t realised that it incurred an obligation of protection from all vampires. Now that she was legally an adult, that protection was gone. And then she’d cocked up her legal standing with the Crown as well.

  What had Dama said? “Just a little token, Puggle, because, you’re all grown up and a fully-fledged independent now, and knowing your family propensities, you’re going to need a ruddy big gun.” She’d dismissed her parents’ concern, thought they were just being overprotective and worried.

  Family propensities come wrapped in Italian silk. “Cousin, hmm? I take it Grandfather Alessandro enjoyed dropping his breeches overmuch?”

  “Bit of a cad, to be honest with you. Your mother never knew she had an older half-brother, did she? Poor old Dad. Took me in for Templar training, just like him, just like all us daemons get in Italy.” His mouth curled against her skin. “It’s an honour to be Templar trained. We do God’s work. We are weapons of His justice. Doomed to burn in hell because we’ve no soul to get into heaven. But we work for God while we’re here. And that’s what counts.”

  “You trying to convince me or yourself?” Rue kept him talking while her mind whirled. There had to be a way to turn the tables on this man.

  “Oh, the little soul-stealer has teeth.”

  “Who, me?”

  “An original, you are. I imagine they want to study you. Maybe cut you up a bit. See how you tick.”

  “Charming.”

  “Don’t worry, cousin. I won’t let them hurt you. Much.”

  He was focused on her and she was naked. She wondered if he carried any of their shared grandfather’s propensities. She wriggled a bit, testing – not a get free wiggle, but an introducing my bottom wiggle. Wouldn’t you know? It appears he likes curvy young ladies.

  “Stop that.”

  There came a solid hiss and a wet thunk. The Italian jerked against Rue and then slid to the deck, arms loosening about her, although he stayed mostly coiled about her body until he lay slack at her feet. It was an unpleasant experience.

  Rue stepped free.

  At the same time, she saw the other man with the sundowner gun collapse.

  Both men had darts sticking out of their backs. Lefoux-made numbing darts, Rue was pretty darn certain. But who had fired them? Even if Quesnel made it out of bed, he couldn’t make it up the stair from engineering.

  Rue twisted to look behind her to the poop deck, and there – all forgotten – stood the twins. Percy was wearing Quesnel’s wrist emitter, looking frightened but also fierce and set. Primrose was holding the Parasol-of-Another-Colour steady in the firing position. She had it aimed now at one of the other invaders. There was a look of both possession and anger on her pretty face. Rue swallowed a smile. The man she’d shot had been threatening Tasherit.

  “Told you that parasol would go with some outfit of yours eventually.” Rue grinned at her.

  P
rim didn’t take her eyes off her next target. “I concede the point. Sometimes it is better to be practical than pretty.”

  “Very nice shooting, both of you.” Rue believed in giving praise when due.

  “We Tunstells can be practical as well as pretty.” Now Primrose was grinning.

  Percy joined in the game. “I hope you’ll excuse us interfering in your little family spat?”

  “By all means, carry on, my dears.” Rue nodded to her two oldest friends.

  Percy gave Rue a most un-Percy like wink and returned to steadying the airship, which was still holding position over the floating island. He seemed to think, and Rue concurred, that if they needed to abandon ship, or crash-land, a bouncy papyrus bubble was a better option than Lake Victoria.

  Rue returned her attention to the standoff around her. The odds were now in their favour. Certainly the four remaining men were armed, but not with sundowner guns. And they knew it. They were looking nervous and kept waving their pistols about, trying to decide on targets.

  Rue said, without malice, to her crew, “Didn’t I hear Miss Sekhmet ask you all to clear the trash off the deck? Well, I fully concur, my dears, and frankly I’m rather peckish. If we could conclude our business with these gentlemen?” The decklings relaxed at her ridiculousness. This was the Lady Captain they were accustomed to. They were even accustomed to her being naked.

  A pause.

  “And… fire!” Rue relished the order.

  The decklings and Primrose fired on the four remaining invaders. Spoo and Willard also took the order as an excuse to let loose a Gatling barrage at the enemy dirigibles. Rue hoped they weren’t wasting bullets but didn’t turn to find out.

  Two of the invaders fell, one bloodied and screaming. The other incapacitated by Prim’s numbing dart. That was one powerful parasol, and Primrose was an inordinately good shot.

  Bork charged one of the two invaders left standing, biffing him on the nose with excellent boxer’s form. Tasherit, in a whirl of silk and angled legs, lashed out, turning the last one into unrecognisable pulp with a combination of kicks and punches. She looked like some exotic urn of fine wine, but she fought like an old tankard full off beer, rough and mean and likely to curdle one’s innards.

  “Tie them up! As tight as you can.” Rue thought quickly. “Get them downstairs and locked in the stateroom. Leave a guard with a crossbow and barricade the door. Do we know how long those numbing darts last?”

  She looked to the twins.

  “I just shoot them.” Prim took the opportunity to dial down the parasol and holster it at her side.

  “And beautifully, too. Thank you for my part,” Tasherit, helping to truss up the miscreants, practically purred at her.

  Primrose blushed.

  Percy was focused on his navigation. “Ask Quesnel. They’re Lefoux make. He should know the expected incapacitation duration for each susceptible species.”

  Someone tossed Rue a robe. They kept them stashed around the deck these days. Everyone was learning that with both Rue and Tasherit on board, it was better for everyone’s peace of mind if robes were handy. And meat snacks. Although in the heat, meat snacks went to pong easily.

  Now that the immediate danger was eliminated, everyone ran to other defences. They were low on crossbow bolts and the Gatling was out of bullets, but the enemy didn’t know that. The remaining attack dirigibles had drifted away, presumably to recoup.

  “Oh dear Floote!” Rue tied her robe and remembered. “Tasherit, are you good up here for a moment?”

  “Better than. They’re out of range and they’ve no way to board. Ay looks to be moving into position over them. Might be able to drop a couple hot braziers onto those oiled balloons of theirs. Could use Anitra to ask… Oh, I suppose she’s with her grandfather?”

  “I’m going to see.” Rue made her way down the main stairs, dreading the inevitable sight of Floote’s old crumpled body. She hadn’t known him long but he’d seemed a decent sort. Knowledgeable. Useful. Agreeable. Loyal even.

  There was no crumpled body. There was a smear of blood on the bottom step.

  Rue glanced around, confused, and then took two steps to the open hatch that led to the boiler room. She stuck her head in, looking down the spiral staircase.

  The muzzle of something deadly stuffed itself into her face.

  “Only me.” Rue pushed it aside.

  The weapon lowered to show the very white face of a sickly Quesnel, who was propped up against his chaise on the observation platform in such a way as to have a clear shot out the hatch.

  “What are you doing out of bed?” Rue was instantly worried. He was practically grey and shaking slightly.

  “Rue, you’re alive! What’s going on up there?”

  “We were boarded by my cousin and some cronies and it looks like they’ve been after me all along, not Tasherit. The twins came to the rescue with those darts of yours. Thank you for that.”

  “What?”

  “Quesnel, darling, love of my life, I am in a bit of a hurry. Things are happening. I’ll explain all the details later. Mruuffph!”

  Quesnel grabbed her with shaky arms and kissed her fiercely. She wouldn’t have thought he had the strength. And frankly, he didn’t really. He was leaning against her for support. It was absolutely glorious.

  “I want details on the love of my life part, too.” He pulled back, still greyish but grinning like a fool.

  “If you insist. But later, please? Now, where was I?”

  He kissed her again.

  “True I was there, but… oh, yes. Any idea how long they hold? Those darts of yours?”

  Quesnel looked like he very much wanted to kiss her again, and while Rue thought that was a splendid idea, she couldn’t afford to get further derailed.

  “On normal humans, about an hour.”

  Rue helped her lover back into his makeshift bed. “And on a soulless?”

  Quesnel blinked.

  “The aforementioned cousin of mine is a Tarabotti.” Rue fluffed Quesnel’s pillows, fussing about him because what she wanted to do was pounce on top of him and kiss him senseless. Given his weakened state, if she did pounce, he would likely indeed lose consciousness.

  “Oh. Oh! Um, should be the same. Preternaturals have normal mortal human chemistry, you know, apart from the lack of soul.”

  “Excellent. And now Floote. Is he okay? Did… ?”

  Quesnel’s face fell. “Anitra brought him down. It wasn’t a direct shot but it’s pretty bad. He’s too old for that kind of thing. Even older than you might think. The shock likely did it. Heart attack or something. I’m afraid he’s dead.”

  Rue bit her lip in sympathy. “Oh, poor Anitra. Did he… was there… a remnant?” Rue had never witnessed an unbirth. As with normal births, they were not something an unmarried lady ought to observe.

  “Yes.”

  Rue pressed a glass of barley water on him. “Does he wish for the ghost holder or should I provide transitive services?”

  Quesnel sipped, making a face, but his colour improved. “What do you mean… ? Oh, I forgot. Metanaturals can perform exorcisms.”

  “I’ve never done it, but I understand that’s the theory.”

  “Go down. Talk to them. See what they say. It should be his choice. He has given your family many years of service, in one form or another. Perhaps he wants to rest now.”

  Rue made certain Quesnel had his bullhorn within reach, so if he wanted to yell instructions at Aggie he could, and climbed down the spiral stairs.

  The boiler room was a hive of activity as sooties, greasers, and firemen worked to keep the ship steady despite the loss of helium and the low altitude. Aggie was busy barking orders and ignoring Rue, which suited them both. They were still in the air and that was saying something. Rue felt no need to interfere.

  In the far corner, near Quesnel’s tank, Anitra was on her knees next to her dead grandfather. Or adopted grandfather. Not that the particulars mattered. Rue always felt as if
Dama were her blood relation, adopted or no, and she knew how awful she would feel if he died.

  Floote’s wrinkled face was as impassive in death as it had been in life. Up from his body, in a silver wispy thread, came a long faint shimmering mist. It was struggling to coalesce into a proper ghostly form. It was amorphous. Floote needed to remember what he looked like in life.

  Then, as if being dead were a momentary lapse, like forgetting how to spell a word, Formerly Floote popped into non-existence. He looked, Rue figured, as he might have appeared when he was valet to her grandfather, younger, old-fashioned clothing. Obviously, his clearest memory of himself was from that point in his life.

  The ghost looked around. He took in Anitra’s crumpled form and then glanced thoughtfully at Rue. She kept herself well away, not wanting to risk contact with his body lest she sever his tether and with it his last connection to the mortal plane.

  “Odd sensation.” His voice had a new breathy component, which was weird considering there was no breath at all behind it.

  He seemed more animated as a ghost, but still nondescript, wearing the ghostly representation of valet clothing from sixty years ago. Rue wondered if he had been less reserved back then and sobered over the years, or if he simply conceived himself as more lively than he actually was.

  “Formerly Floote.” Rue gave him the honour of his new title. “You are not bound to stay if you do not wish it. I can see you released.”

  Formerly Floote sighed. Wisps of himself shifted with an imagined breath. “There is much still unfinished. I believe I should like to stay a little longer. But not to poltergeist. That is too undignified an end.”

  Rue was relieved. “We have the tank for you. You could keep preserved quite a long time in that, if you like. Otherwise, the moment we hit aether, you would, uh, cease.”

  Formerly Floote rotated slowly in the air, to look at the tank behind him. “Ah. Was this Madame Lefoux’s idea, or Lady Maccon’s, or your young man’s?”

  “Lord Akeldama’s.”

  “I should have known. It was meant for me all along?”

  “He thinks I need you.”