Rue watched their hunters with her glass. They were obviously confused by the multiple ladybug dirigibles and their multiple Drifter companions.
Anitra appeared at her elbow.
“Floote’s plan seems to be working.” Rue gave her a cheerful smile. “They are dividing to follow, not sure which of us is the real Spotted Custard.”
The young woman smiled back. “Best keep your distance, then. As soon as they have deck view, they’ll spot you as a female captain and know for certain which is which.”
“I take it he didn’t go as far as to have all the decoy captains dress in decoy Worth tea-gowns?”
“Bit pricy.”
“Good point.” Rue kept grinning. “Could disguise myself with one of those Drifter robes. Got any spares?”
Anitra shook her head. “Not with me.”
Rue gestured to a deckling. “Run down and raise Miss Sekhmet. We could use her military prowess. Ask her to bring me one of those silk robes of hers and a scarf or two.”
The deckling scampered off.
Moments later Tasherit arrived. They were floating high but the plague remained strong; while Rue still felt the oppressive numbness, Tasherit seemed nothing more than blithely mortal under its sway.
“Rue?” The werecat wasn’t one for formalities. She handed over a silver robe and some colourful scarves. Rue handed her the parasol and glassicals. Rue pulled the garment on, wrapping one of the scarves about her head, including her hat. She must look rather ridiculous, like a silvery beekeeping nun, but she hoped it would confuse their followers.
“We’ve got ourselves a spot of bother.” Rue filled Tasherit in on the particulars of their new escort, the decoys, and the attackers.
Miss Sekhmet handed her back the parasol with a lip curl. “What is that colour?”
Rue looked at the ghastly thing in surprise. It was some species of brown, although in certain lights it had a red tinge, in others a green, and in still others a yellow. It was trimmed with a great quantity of lace and chiffon of the same not-quite-anything-reliable colour. She supposed it was meant to match any outfit, which of course meant it clashed with everything.
“It is a Parasol-of-Another-Colour,” Rue announced in a formal manner.
Tasherit sniffed and looked through Rue’s glassicals at the enemy, as if in an effort to avoid the parasol. “There are more of them this time.”
“More even than that. See there? The decoys are drawing some away.” Only four airships remained tailing the Custard.
“Strange that collectors would pull together. Isn’t the point to make the catch for yourself, alone?”
“I thought that, too.” Rue nodded.
“So, maybe not collectors?”
“Whoever they are, they’re hostile. You got a gun with any range on it?”
“No.” The werelioness looked over to where Spoo and Aggie were tensely pointing their weapons at the slowly encroaching enemy and bickering mildly with one another. “But I’m better at a Gatling than Spoo there.”
“I wager you are. By all means, go and tell her to do something more useful, then.”
“Oh, great, thanks for that. I was hoping you’d tell her. You know, for truly rapid fire we really need four operators.”
Rue wrinkled her forehead. “I’m hoping it won’t come to that. Just a warning shot.”
The werecat nodded. “Two of us will do, then.”
She went and ejected a dejected Spoo from behind the gun but showed her how to feed in the Bruce instead. Virgil, looking relieved, was free to take on more valet-like duties. He went immediately to see to Percy’s cravat, which had, in the chaos, come undone and was wafting. Cravats should never be allowed to waft.
One of the ornithopters pulled away from the pack and began closing in on them.
“Bring him out of the sky, please, ladies.” Rue didn’t want him seeing their personnel and reporting back that this was the real Spotted Custard.
The Gatling gun rat-tat-tatted.
Aggie’s crossbow twanged.
The bullets took the ornithopter in the engine block. Aggie’s bolt tore out one of the wings at its midway joint. The craft spiralled down to the desert. After that, their followers, now numbering only three, kept a respectful distance.
They remained some leagues off for several hours until the other Drifter groups were mere dots on the far horizon. By which time Rue had formulated a plan.
“Quesnel, could we simulate a mechanical malfunction? Gouts of black smoke out of the stacks or something? I’m thinking to try a lame-duck gambit.”
At the other end of the speaking tube, the Frenchman didn’t sound surprised by this request. “Most assuredly. When would you like it?”
“Five minutes enough time?”
“Certainly.”
Rue hung up the tube and turned to her navigator. “Percy, prepare to de-puff and cycle down the propeller.”
“Aren’t we in the middle of a chase?”
“We are, but we can’t keep this up into nightfall. I’m thinking, I have some good gunners – we might was well turn this into an attack.”
Percy grumbled, “I don’t know why I expected anything different from the daughter of a werewolf. Didn’t that vampire father of yours teach you any subtlety?”
“That’s rich coming from the son of Aunt Ivy.”
“Touché.”
“You’ve a better idea, Mr Tunstell?”