Virgil gave him a look that said clearer than words that even an ornithopter battle full of flying bullets and crossbow bolts was no excuse for a lost cravat.
“That boy,” Percy grumbled, sitting down in his customary position, “gets bossier and bossier.”
“He didn’t say anything,” Tasherit defended the lad.
“Didn’t need to.” Percy was more melancholy than usual. “Rue, could I have a private word? You don’t mind, do you, Miss Sekhmet?”
“Not at all. She’s all ears.” The werecat was perfectly civil to Percy but there was an edge to her voice that suggested she still hadn’t quite forgiven him for publishing her existence to the world.
“Exactly why I want to talk to her now. How often does one get to bend Rue’s ear without threat of interruption?”
“Rourow!” objected Rue.
Tasherit gave them both an evil smile and drifted back to the crowd around Quesnel to see if anything more was needed. Their balloon escort returned, surrounding them in a friendly flock of chubby shadows. They all hooked into the same southerly breeze and floated along at a nice pace, putting comforting distance between themselves and Khartoom.
Anitra left off her medical ministrations to give a long handkerchief-wave report to the Drifters, under the light of a single lamp. It had a beautiful dancelike quality. The waving handkerchiefs were awfully temping; Rue wanted to bat at them.
Percy snapped his fingers near her whiskers. “Rue! Do pay attention. I’m trying to have a revelatory moment. This is a serious epiphany and you’re busy staring at handkerchiefs.”
Rue turned tawny eyes on him and blinked slowly. The cat version of, I trust you. Trust me.
“Look…” Now that Percy had her attention, he couldn’t seem to find the right words. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”
Was Percy being contrite?
“I overreacted about the weremonkey publication. I shouldn’t have written about Miss Sekhmet without her approval. I treated her like a scientific subject, not a person. It was wrong of me.”
Rue gave a rrupp noise of agreement, hoping to articulate that perhaps he ought to be apologising to Tasherit, not Rue, but Percy soldiered on. Clearly her rrupps were not nuanced enough.
“And now Mr Lefoux is gravely injured and it’s all my fault. If I hadn’t let it be known we had a werelioness aboard, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”
Oh, so now he decides to have a guilty conscience? Rue lashed her tail and grumbled at him.
“It’s only that he’s so friendly and everyone likes him and he’s a great inventor and well regarded and I’m just” – Percy gestured to his rumpled self – “this.”
Jealousy? Rue hadn’t thought to pry into Percy’s motives. She’d believed his actions spawned from an arrogant belief in his own intellectual superiority. She hadn’t realised he felt threatened by Quesnel. Percy never had understood his own value in society or as a friend. He saw other people as either worthy academic opponents, fellow awkward intellectuals, or irrelevant. He applied the same judgement to himself. It was why he found the constant attention of interested young ladies at parties so mystifying. He didn’t understand that he was an attractive man, not to mention well connected and reasonably solvent. If only he put himself forward and tried to be polite, he might be just as charming as Quesnel, in his own way. But he never bothered to try.
Rue, of course, couldn’t tell Percy any of this. So she lashed her tail and hissed at him.
Percy took this as criticism. “I will try to do better. I never wanted him to die. And now he’s injured and we’re all in danger and it’s my fault.”
The last thing Rue needed was to lose another crew member, this time to despair.
“I’ve ruined everything.” Percy was displaying the Tunstell family’s flair for the dramatic. “You’re one of my best friends and you love him. What if he dies and it’s all my doing?”
Percy was slumped over the helm, weighted by guilt. Luckily, they were floating fully in the breeze and needed no course correction, but he’d be pretty darn useless if they were attacked again.
Rue leaned forward and put her damp cat nose against his so he was forced to stare into her eyes. Then she licked his face in one massive swipe of her very rough tongue.
“Rue!” he sputtered, flicking one hand to get her away.
However, it did seem to bring him out of his maudlin humour.
Rue really wanted to talk to him but she needed to break her tether to Tasherit first. It took a whole city block back home, further during dry seasons. They could get the nets out between the balloons and she could run out to the furthest one – that might work. But could they cast nets during fast float? She could get the decklings to lower her in an improvised cat basket. But did they have rope long enough? They could dip up into the aetherosphere, but uncharted currents might yank them leagues away from their escort and course. They could head back to the Nile. Rue could dunk – full water immersion would do the trick.
But all these options would delay their journey. Right now they were making good time and had hunters after them. Aside from waiting until sunrise, Rue could see only one shipboard option for returning to human form. She gave a hiss of annoyance and, tail lashing, made her way down to engineering.
The boiler room was quiet as she climbed down the spiral stairs.
Everything but the absolute necessities had been cycled down, casting the big room in red tones and slowly shifting shadows. They must conserve as much fuel as possible if they were to make it to the source. Most of the sooties were off sleeping or on deck with the drama. Only two still tended the main boiler. Responsible for all the ship’s internal functions as well as engine and propeller power, the Big Kettle was never totally cool.