Competence Read online

  Fireworks.

  Rue was fond of fireworks. Quesnel was positively obsessed with them. The Spotted Custard had employed them in the past, for battle or in cases of dire emergency.

  The night air lit up again and the bang of the little explosions surrounded them. Prim bent quickly over the edge to take advantage of the illumination, and there, almost directly below them, was the Spotted Custard, her balloon slightly deflated but still cheerfully portly and well spotted.

  That was when Primrose recalled something Tasherit had casually said shortly after she came aboard - several months ago now. The officers were chatting over dinner, something to do with military training and battle tactics. Not Prim’s area of interest, as a rule, so she hadn’t paid very close attention. The other officers were busy listing assets and abilities, should it come to combat or a race through a foreign jungle… again.

  Miss Sekhmet had mentioned that, in her cat form, she wasn’t as good with colours as she was in human form, although she could see odd things like scent trails and heat remnants, but she had added that her night vision was substantially superior as a lioness. Rue, who had on several occasions borrowed Tasherit’s lioness form herself, corroborated this. Prim, who found herself all too often hungry for information pertaining to their resident werecat (she had no idea why, but she did) had perked up at this odd ability. Which is to say that she now realised Miss Sekhmet had likely seen the Spotted Custard below them on the dark deserted beach from the moment she shifted form. Because she had superior visual acuity as a cat in the dark.

  Which means my plan was better than I thought initially. Putting Tasherit in charge of guiding us once she became the merlion. How accidentally smart of me! Prim blushed to realise that Miss Sekhmet might have thought Primrose intentional in this regard from her initial explanation of the plan. And why should I delight in her believing me intelligent? I do not wish for her regard.

  This also meant that they didn’t really require Quesnel’s fireworks. Still, it was nice of Rue and the others to light the way so Prim could see that her trust in the werecat was not misplaced. And also, Quesnel was probably enjoying himself immensely. Let him have his fun. They were most awfully pretty.

  Some of the other passengers, who may not have ever seen such a thing as airborne sparklers, were now in an increased panic. Random Merlion, loose dropsy, and now fireworks? What is the world coming to! Primrose grinned. It was a slightly maniacal and faintly vicious grin. Across the basket, Tasherit twitched her whiskers at her in the cat version of a laugh.

  Perhaps this is why Rue is so absurd all the time. Causing a ruckus is rather fun.

  Primrose hoped no one jumped out of the basket, because the weight balance was so precisely measured there was a good chance they might stop sinking, or at least slow their already glacial descent.

  The guide seemed to sense this crisis herself. She began to bark at people in various different languages, finally getting around to English with a “Stay inside the basket!”

  Someone next to Prim lurched to the edge.

  Primrose grabbed the man’s shoulder and pretended to collapse against him. He was a large attractive gentleman with arm muscles the size of coconuts and a beard that looked to be the colour and texture of said coconut’s husk. Russian, perhaps?

  Primrose directed his attention towards an extremely pretty young lady with long black hair and a colourful silken robe who was being pressed in a thoughtless manner against the edge, and looking rather faint. “Oh, sir, do help the poor thing.” She pointed for good measure.

  Whether he understood English or not was unimportant. He took her meaning and, with a bellow, stopped thinking on his own skin and went to the distressed damsel’s rescue. Primrose felt rather like an emergency matchmaker.

  Suddenly there was a clunk, followed by a holler from the guide.

  Someone had shot a grappling hook at them from the Custard and they were being slowly and inexorably dragged towards the downed dirigible.

  Once they were within hailing distance, the passengers and the guide all began yelling. Primrose could see Rue, Quesnel, Percy, Anitra, and assorted well-armed decklings and deckhands waiting in tense silence on the Custard‘s decks.

  A general modest chaos persisted and then several things happened in quick succession.

  Miss Sekhmet let forth a particularly loud roar and, despite her fishtail, coiled her magnificent muscles (what Prim could see of them) and leapt over the basket edge and down to land on the deck of the Custard. Her back legs were still inside the fishtail, but she managed to land with something resembling grace.

  Rue took one look at her and burst into ill-timed hysterics, head back, laughter expansive.

  The lack of the lioness’s weight caused the dropsy to pause its descent, but the grapple was in place and so they didn’t slow too much.

  Since it was no longer necessary to man the propeller, Primrose pushed her way to a better observation point, leaning over the edge to watch the doings of her friends below as the dropsy drew closer and closer.

  Anitra put a bullhorn to her mouth and began yelling in several languages. When none of these provoked intelligent discourse, she passed the horn to Percy, who commenced his own series of formal greetings.

  The guide of the mushroom pulled out a rather large shotgun and pointed it at the collected officers on the Custard‘s main deck, now plainly visible as their trajectory had shifted and the grapple was bringing them in around and under the massive spotted balloon.

  Quesnel grabbed Rue out of the firing line with his good arm.

  Primrose began moving closer to the dropsy guide. She tried to remain unobserved and innocent looking.

  Spoo and Virgil, manning the Gatling gun with the serious expressions of young people given grave responsibility, swung it up and back as far as it would go and then gave a quick burst of fire. It was well below the mushroom, but it effectively terrified the occupants into more screaming and greater chaos.

  Primrose reached the guide’s side, and lacking any better options, swung her carpet bag at the woman’s burly shoulder as hard as she could. The guide dropped her gun over the edge, and it fired, putting a very large hole into something, as there came a splitting sound. At least it hadn’t put a hole into someone.

  In the resulting panicked madness, Primrose looked over the edge to see the ghostly form of Formerly Floote shimmer up from below decks. By pure chance, he rose up directly next to where Tasherit still sat, in her shimmering teal tail, looking annoyed with the world.

  The dropsy and its occupants fell into an awed silence.

  Primrose wasn’t aware of Singapore’s official policy on ghostly apparitions. Ghosts were pretty rare, and they never lasted more than a month or so, unless the climate for preservation was particularly extraordinary. It was unheard-of for an airship to carry a ghost, as bodies were customarily burned or buried, not carted about in tanks. Also, it was rare to see a male ghost.

  Primrose didn’t think it was any of these things that caused the passengers around her to fall silent.

  It was the combination of ghost and merlion. Together.

  The locals inside the dropsy, at least, seemed to see this as a prophetic revelation, or perhaps such an extraordinary set of visions that they hardly knew what to do with themselves. Everyone went quiet, a few (including the guide) bowed their heads in reverence, three fell to their knees.

  Percy put the bullhorn back to his lips, and because he had absolutely no sense of reverence, began repeating his greetings in various languages. Including Latin.

  Frankly, Primrose had no idea why he bothered with Latin. Simply showing off. Ugh, why is my brother so annoying?

  Percy always tried Latin, yet barely anyone spoke it. Except the Italian in their brig.

  By this time, the dropsy had been dragged down and fastened tightly to the squeak deck.

  Primrose pushed to the very front of the awed occupants, and with great embarr
assment, since there was no other way to do it, hoisted herself up to sit on the basket’s edge. She then swung herself, and her carpet bag, over to slide down the side and land on the squeak deck of her beloved airship. This was accomplished with very little dignity and necessitated showing both petticoats and ankles to the wide world.

  It was humiliating, but she’d experienced worse while aboard the Custard so she managed to carry it off with aplomb. Or at least no loss of limbs.

  “Primrose darling!” Rue reappeared on the main deck below and looked up at her with a wide grin. “You brought me a mushroom.”

  “Yes, dear. Haven’t you always wanted one?” What is she wearing? Is that a cocked sugarloaf? Oh, for goodness’ sake. Next it will be a sash and a pirate’s hat with an ostrich plume out the back. As if I haven’t had to deal with my mother’s eccentric hat choices for most of my life, now Rue whips out a sugarloaf.

  “Not as such.” Rue didn’t stop smiling.

  “As such, pah! You love it. Very natty turnout, you’ll see. This mushroom is full of helium. Now say thank you like a good girl.”

  Rue put a hand to her ample bosom, “Oh, darling heart, how thoughtful. You shouldn’t have.”

  “Shouldn’t I? Well, if you like it that much, you can reward me by taking off that disastrous hat.”

  The crew disregarded their silliness. Two of the decklings were already porting down a sipper tube to the top of the dropsy. No doubt they would figure out how to drain the mushroom of its helium in no time.

  Rue continued the banter by touching her cocked sugarloaf lovingly. “I wouldn’t go that far. Still, the helium is most welcome, thank you, Primrose dear. And the, erm, tail on our lioness?”

  Prim slung her carpet bag down to the main deck and began climbing down the ladder between it and the squeaker. Willard, one of the deckhands and a decent sort of chap, came over to help her down. She didn’t require assistance, but it was gentlemanly. Tasherit let out a sort of low growling hiss.

  Percy and Anitra, between them, seemed to have deduced a way of communicating with the stunned guide. The woman was speaking in low reverent tones and casting constant glances down at Formerly Floote and Miss Sekhmet, who remained motionless and idol-like (aside from the aforementioned growl - from the werecat, mind you, not the dead butler, of course). Clearly they were aware of the powerful impression they were making, and unwilling to break the spell.

  Safely on the main deck at last, Primrose let out a sigh of relief. Home.

  Rue gave her a quick hug. She was a tactile little thing, not very British of her - presumably her father’s werewolf pack were to blame.

  “So, why’s Tash in a tail?” Rue asked, pulling back and smiling happily.

  “Long story,” said Prim. “I’ll tell you over tea, later.”

  “And this mushroom thing?”

  “You know, I think you’re better off trying to buy the whole contraption off the guide. Might solve all our problems by throwing money at her.”

  “Primrose! What a very crass suggestion. How unexpected from you. Brava.”

  “Thank you, dear. Now, I’m going for my tea. I trust you can take care of things up here?”

  “You’re leaving me with a dozen angry locals, a stolen mushroom, a lioness dressed as a mermaid, and your brother armed with a bullhorn?”

  “That last is entirely your fault.”

  “True.”

  “You also gave a Frenchman fireworks.”

  “Darling boy, he does love them so.”

  “And Spoo still has the gun.” Primrose arched an eyebrow.

  “Oh dear, excellent point.” Rue turned away from Prim, already back into her bustling captain mode. “Spoo, I don’t believe we’ll need that anymore this evening. Please go and ensure that the sipping is under control. Virgil, see to your master, do. He doesn’t need to keep using the bullhorn, they’re plenty close enough now. Nor does he need to keep using Latin. Yes, I know he likes to pepper everything with Latin, but a little Latin goes a very long way.”

  Primrose left her friend to it. Rue would get everything settled and under control while Prim fortified herself with some much-needed nibbles. Once she’d done that, she would return up top and start organising the inevitable fallout that would result from Percy and his bullhorn.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The Premier Floating Philosophy Club

  Primrose consumed her well-deserved tea with no little gusto, and by the time she reappeared above decks, people were prepared for her to organise. There was very little Primrose loved more in life than organising things. This was probably a grave character flaw, but not in her family. And certainly not aboard the Spotted Custard, where she basically got to organise everything.

  As it transpired, the dropsy guide had been remarkably amenable to selling them the mushroom and, more important, its helium. For a small additional fee, she’d then led the grumbling passengers off along the beach back to town.

  Miss Sekhmet had retreated below decks to lick her wounds, figuratively of course, as they were all dignity related.

  Primrose didn’t ask where the werecat was, but with her usual lack of tact, Rue insisted on telling her.

  “She muttered something about bathing. Every time something out of the ordinary happens she seems to want a sponge bath.” Rue contemplated the decklings’ activities around the helium dispensation without really seeing them. “I suppose it has something to do with cats and washing. Instinctual response to unexpected outside stimuli.”

  “Good thing for us she doesn’t do that in the midst of battle,” replied Prim, acerbically.

  Prim straightened her sleeves self-consciously and tried not to blush. Hopeless, of course, to keep her own reckless imagination at bay. Thank heavens it was nighttime and Rue couldn’t see her rosy cheeks.

  Rue turned too-perceptive yellow eyes on Primrose. “I recommend boxes.”

  Prim was confused. “Pardon?”

  “Something large and crate sized. I’m sure she’d like it.”

  Prim privately agreed. Tasherit - Miss Sekhmet to you, my girl - probably would like a nice big box. Footnote was always inside a hatbox anytime Prim let him into her quarters. Not that lionesses and domestic cats could be directly compared, not within either’s hearing.

  “Does she have a birthday coming up?”

  “That’s not why I think you should give her a box,” said Rue.

  Prim was not going to give her friend the satisfaction of asking why. Rue would say something silly about courting gifts. Rue had odd ideas about relationships. She’d been raised by a male vampire who preferred the company of men. And her lover had been raised by a mother who was practically married to her female companion. Not that anyone said anything about it in public, but in the matter of all things high society, everyone knew. Primrose didn’t want to be known, not like that. Her mother was already infamous, Prim so very much wished to be normal.

  She wondered, idly of course, how big a hatbox one might acquire. And then she resolved to write to her French milliner as soon as possible (the situation with her more regular supplier in London was in flux). There were hats to order as well, naturally, she couldn’t only enquire about massive hat boxes. She’d have to find a way to bring it up off the cuff, so to speak.

  Primrose schooled herself and glanced over at the navigation pit. Percy wasn’t there, no doubt taking the opportunity to research something obscure and irrelevant and useless.

  The decklings dropped down to the squeak deck looking pleased with themselves. Primrose climbed up to examine the deflated dropsy, which now took up most of the squeak deck. Rue followed her up.

  “I think we should get rid of the basket,” Primrose said to Rue.

  “Oh yes?”

  “Well, it’s bulky and adds weight. If we dump it, we can still use the dropsy itself as an emergency floatation device, rig up some sort of hammock to hold passengers. I’m assuming that’s why you want to keep i
t aboard.”

  Prim examined the means by which the sipper tube was attached with a spigot valve to the collapsed dropsy. If necessary, the process could be reversed and the smaller aircraft filled with helium sucked from the larger, allowing them to escape the Custard in cases of dire emergency. Well, allowing some of them to escape. There were over twice as many people aboard the Spotted Custard as could safely occupy the dropsy.

  Rue grinned at Prim in a slightly pained yet savage manner. No doubt she herself would never employ such an escape measure. Rue was one of those who believed a captain ought to crash with her dirigible. Not the most sensible of individuals, my Rue. No, at the moment she was thinking of making certain the decklings and sooties were safe and could use the dropsy as a life craft.

  “Of course that’s why I want to keep it. Maybe we can catch us a second one as well. I agree about the basket. We can set the decklings to devising a sling next time we’re trapped in the grey for any length of time. They’re good like that, and it’s a good project to keep them occupied and out of mischief.”

  Prim nodded. She and Rue began to push the basket over towards the edge of the squeak deck.

  “So.” Primrose panted slightly and decided to wait to ask her next question. This much physical activity in the space of the last twenty-four hours was really rather aggravating.

  Basket tipped over the edge and disposed of to the beach below, Prim caught her breath and turned to her friend. “So, was it enough helium? Enough to at least get us back up so we can refill at the wheystation?”

  “Yes, dear, you did very well. Now tell me about the tail.”

  “I’d be delighted.”

  “Poor Tash was rather upset. But it seemed to do the trick.”

  Primrose grinned. “I know, wasn’t it delightful?”

  “You shouldn’t tease her so.”

  “I shouldn’t? Why not? And I wasn’t teasing, not how you’re implying.”

  “Weren’t you?” Rue looked arch. Primrose hated it when she got that way. She’d been doing it more and more since she and Quesnel were, for want of a better way of putting it, sharing quarters. Primrose hated to admit that her friend now knew a great deal more about bedroom activities than she did, and it was rather unkind of Rue to keep lording it over her. Rue always had to do everything first.