“Best not to risk it, my love. Ropes can snap and then we’d suddenly be beyond the limits of my tether. I am an old vampire, little Puggle, and I did not get so old by being reckless.”
Rue nodded and in lieu of Dama, grabbed Winkle’s arm. They made their way up the creaking gangplank and onto the main deck of the ship. The open squeak decks, below the massive balloons, seemed protected enough from the helium above to not cause undue voice modification. Although Rue suspected that, in the case of a leak, the poop deck, which was raised the highest, might be a danger zone – that would make for a funny sort of command.
The navigation centre on the poop deck was made to look like an old-fashioned ship’s helm, but it was the design aesthetic rather than any indication of dated engineering. The balloon could be inflated and deflated by means of either helium or hot air, or both, depending on local resources. A paddle propeller below aft did most of the steering and propulsion with a single mainsail off the stern for use in high-floating in the aether currents. When down, the mast looked like the tail of an inquisitive cat.
Rue was only disgruntled by one thing.
“Pigeons!” She dropped a surprised Winkle’s arm and charged across the deck, waving at the roosting birds like a mad woman with her parasol. Rue had an abhorrence of pigeons. Some childhood encounter involving a stolen sausage roll was to blame. The birds squawked and flapped off. Rue in turn flapped at a nearby deckhand. “Keep them away, would you, please? Repulsive creatures.”
“Yes, miss,” said the deckhand, eyes wide at this erratic behaviour.
“I don’t like pigeons,” Rue felt compelled to explain. “And I think you’re probably supposed to call me captain.”
“Who does like pigeons, captain?” wondered the deckhand philosophically.
Belowdecks in the forecastle were crew quarters, and in the stern, officer quarters. Rue wholeheartedly approved of the lavish captain’s chambers, featuring a wardrobe with sufficient room for most of her shoes. There was a nice-looking mess and a galley which included the latest in refrigeration boxes and every possible pot and pan, even crumpet rings. Rue supported this excess – she was awfully fond of crumpets. A beautifully decorated stateroom sat across from a smoking room, down from a sickbay-meets-laboratory and a few guest berths.
The lowest deck was made up of a hold at the fore, with ample room for supplies and other necessities, and a massive chamber aft. This proved to be engineering, containing coal bunkers, boilers, and the very latest in steam engines charmingly designed to look like a bank of cheerful chubby teakettles.
Rue was not a particularly handy person. Her nature had never led her into much interest in how things worked. She felt the important thing with machines was that they did work and when they did, she appreciated it. When something broke, she identified the closest possible expert and asked them – nicely of course and with remuneration – to fix it. Thus much of what passed for mechanics, gadgets, instruments, and devices on the ship was beyond her ken. But she liked the teakettles.
“I’ll need to hire a chief engineer and navigator first,” she said, concerned with the care of the technology around her.
Winkle nodded, mouth slightly open. “I can see that you would.”
The ship already boasted a skeleton crew: a smattering of deckhands and decklings scampered above while firemen, greasers, and sooties manned the one active boiler kettle. This motley collective stood to attention at the appearance of a lady among them. Caps were doffed, awkward murmurs were made, and Rue felt guilty at having imposed herself upon them.
“Pleased to meet you all,” she said after the senior greaser had performed some bumbling introductions. “I am Lady Prudence Akeldama and I will be your captain.”
The revelation that their skipper was a female aristocrat seemed not to bother any of the young men one whit. Either someone had already warned them or they had been selected for their forward-thinking. Rue scrutinised her nascent crew more closely. Only then did she realise that the senior greaser and at least half the firemen and sooties were in fact female. She wondered where Dama had found such workers but was secretly delighted. Rue was not, to the best of her knowledge, a lover of women, but she did have a number of lady friends and enjoyed having females around. This might be because she’d been raised, mainly, by two tribes of men, one scruffy and werewolf, the other tidy and dandified. It’d be nice to go traipsing around the globe with a fair representation of the fairer sex. She could institute a proper teatime without grumbles.
She grinned at them all, dressing herself with a bit of her Paw’s leadership style mixed with a touch of Dama’s technique for making announcements to the drones. “Ladies and gentlemen, it will be, I am sure, an honour to serve as your leader, and to become better acquainted with you all. We are going to have some grand adventures, you and I. Probably not dignified, knowing me, but grand.”
The assembled company perked up. Their fears over the evident youth and inexperience of their captain, Rue hoped, were now mollified by the indication of her egalitarian nature and good-humoured approach to life. A few of the sooties smiled back, their smudged faces brightening in anticipation.
After a moment’s thought, Rue added, “Very good. Carry on.”
As one, the little crew dispersed and went back about their business, steps lighter for having met the Young Lady Captain.
Rue turned to the senior greaser, knowing the importance of getting this woman to trust her. The greaser was a strapping female in her early thirties, her frame long and lean and well-muscled. She had reddish-brown hair cut short and a voice almost low enough for a man. Rue trusted Dama to have found her the very best, but this woman also looked unkempt, gruff, and gloomy. Not to her vampire father’s ordinary taste at all.
“How do you do?” Rue said, sticking out her hand in the American fashion.
“Miss,” answered the woman, not shaking it.
Rue was tolerably certain the greaser should have said captain. Still, it was better to be nice, even in the face of insubordination. She retracted her hand. “Might I know your name, senior greaser?”
“Phinkerlington, miss. Aggie Phinkerlington.” She spat it out as if it should mean something significant.
“Very pleased to meet you, Greaser Phinkerlington.” Rue moved her assessment from gloomy to outright sullen and bad-tempered.
“Miss?”
“I trust you will keep her up until I can fix the officers in place?”
“Am I not doin’ so already, miss?”
“Of course you are. Thank you for you proficiency.” Rue was a little taken aback by the bluntness; it bordered on incivility.
The woman jerked her head. Was that a nod?
With an internal sigh, Rue said, “Dismissed.”
Aggie Phinkerlington sauntered off, leaving Rue perturbed. Not that she hadn’t met a number of people who hated her on sight. Her metanatural state had made her the target of prejudiced antipathy on more than one occasion. Still, it was outside of enough to be disliked for no apparent reason whatsoever. She’d simply have to win Miss Phinkerlington over. She wondered if pretending to be more like Primrose would help.
Winkle, all forgotten standing next to her, said, “She might be a bit of a problem, that one.”
“We shall see,” replied Rue. “I’m beginning to suspect problems are about to become my business. Now, where shall we––?”
She was cut off as one of the teakettle boilers nearby shrieked loudly and then exploded in a great flash of heat and steam.