“You tell us she is a skin-stalker, but there has been no proof.” Queen Henuttawy raised one hand. Her attention had never shifted off Rue.
Watching these immortals circle each other verbally was not unlike watching ally cats fight.
“You want me to touch one of you?” Rue asked.
Queen Henuttawy moved forward, barely bouncing. She must have very relaxed knees, thought Rue.
One might have expected Miw-Sher to protest the danger to her queen, but apparently this was not that kind of monarchy. Rue supposed that one simply did not question the decision of a cat.
Rue put out her hand, and after a moment’s hesitation, Queen Henuttawy touched fingertips.
Rue’s bones began their painful fracturing and re-forming, her muscles shifted, her skin stretched and slid about, and her hair crawled over her body to form fur.
She stood on four legs, panting among her clothes, pleased in her choice of attire for once. She had not destroyed her robe. Primrose would be proud.
“There, you see,” said Tasherit proudly.
The queen wore a look of profound discomfort. “Mortality feels odd, after so long.”
“You wear it well enough,” said Miw-Sher.
Queen Henuttawy shrugged, an awkward jerky movement as if she would rather lash a tail. She took a slow measured walk around Rue.
Rue sat under her regard, whiskers twitching. This cat form felt no different than when she stole it from Tasherit. This was no surprise, for that was how it worked with werewolves. Rue stole their immorality, but the animal shape was her own.
“So it is true, a skin-stalker is among us. Is this the end of nights?” Miw-Sher spoke into the silence.
Tasherit rolled her eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. No one believes that old nonsense.”
The queen’s eyes narrowed. “Still so dismissive. You have not changed.”
Tasherit inclined her head. “I have not.” She angled her body away from the queen and towards Primrose, a sway of intent like of a compass needle towards true north.
“Ah,” said Miw-Sher. The queen flinched.
Tasherit continued. “I have done as I see fit. Heed my warning or not. We will leave you to it.”
Queen Henuttawy shifted towards her, fingers reaching to touch Tasherit’s infinitely beautiful face. “You could come back to us. Back to me.”
Tasherit angled her head in as if scenting the other woman’s flesh. “Too late. I’ve changed too much.”
“You look the same.”
“And you look mortal. Let us put some distance between you and the skin-stalker, for your own safety.”
The queen turned to Miw-Sher, dismissing all the others.
“Well, I’m glad I came,” said Primrose, who hadn’t said a word until that moment.
“You were necessary nevertheless,” assured Tasherit.
“I was?”
“She needed to know I wasn’t hers to command any more.”
“And how would I help with that?”
“Because now she knows I am yours to command.”
Primrose ducked her head, hugely embarrassed. “Preposterous! Whoever heard of commanding a cat to do anything?”
Tasherit laughed. “It is a euphemism. Now, come along.” She was smart not to press her advantage. “We should get back aboard.”
Rue looked at the swaying ladder in confusion. How on earth was a lioness supposed to climb a rope? But the decklings had already thought of that. They lowered the blasted basket carrier. Rue sighed and leapt into it. They hoisted her up.
Rue stayed a cat once aboard. They were not far enough away yet; her tether to the queen remained.
Primrose, polite to the end, turned back once she had climbed on deck to wave goodbye. The two werecats were already gone.
“They spoke English,” said Primrose on a sudden realisation.
“Did you know that housecats, like Footnote, developed a whole set of meows simply to communicate with humans?” Tasherit hoisted up the rope ladder, coiling it back into its proper place.
“What does that have to do with anything?”
The werecat laughed. “We felines have a reputation for always going sideways to get to the point. Put plainly? Cats are good at languages. One of your early explorers, looking for the Source of the Nile, found the Daughters of Sekhmet as well and never left the lake. How do you think I learned the language before I met you?”
“How long have you been gone?” Primrose prodded.
“Long enough to no longer wish to return. But then I was always a wanderer. Rue, should I give the order to lift?”
Rue nodded.
“Take us up, please, Mr Tunstell,” said Tasherit.
Rue thought that if Tasherit had decided they were her new pride, perhaps she should make it official and take the werelioness on as first mate. It’d be a good idea to establish a chain of command. Tasherit was clearly up to the job.
Above them, one of the Drifter balloons lit up a lantern and waved it back and forth. Then another. A bell sounded, ringing faintly into the night.
From the crow’s nest came a cry. “Enemy coming in fast, Captain. Three, no, four dirigibles. Possible ornithopters strapped to deploy.”
Tasherit instantly began yelling orders. “Ready the Gatling gun. Primrose, run and fetch the captain’s special parasol and a robe, please. She’ll need both once she’s human again. Percy, tell engineering we’re under attack. Decklings, to your stations, crossbows at the ready. Spoo, Willard, Gatling aimed?”