The moment they hit the aetherosphere, Rue fell instantly and entirely in love with her new ship. They crossed into the blurry nothingness of aether, losing sight of both the world below and the sky above. It was a great scientific mystery that the aetherosphere was invisible, except when one was inside it. And inside was a treacherous space to be. However, Rue’s ship took to the currents with such grace it was almost as though they were still floating in normal air.
Percy was equally charmed. “This is what she was made for. Goodness, feel her go.” His self-importance gave way before a misspent youth tagging after Rue and Prim as the girls took Dandelion Fluff Upon a Spoon out for yet another illegal jaunt. Percy might be a bluestocking but he did love to float. It was one of the reasons he took Rue’s job offer.
The Custard slid smoothly through the aether where any other ship would have shuddered and jolted. Percy examined the Mandenall Pudding Probe’s dial. It was set for the Gibraltar Loop but the first hop into a current was always the hardest. The moment they entered the aetherosphere they began drifting with the local idles southward.
“Take us up, please,” said Rue.
Percy pressed down hard on the puffer button to put a little more rise into the balloon, and they glided up and began drifting east.
“And again, please,” ordered his captain. Rue was enjoying command. Especially over Percy. “This time, bring her nose around to the south.”
Percy puffed the Custard up once more and engaged the propeller to maximum. It farted loudly and they started a slow spin. At that moment, the Mandenall emitted a squirt of viscous milky liquid, not unlike rice pudding. This was how it had earned it its name. This was also the only sign they would get that they were directly below the correct current.
“There she is – the Gibraltar Loop,” crowed Rue. “Hop it, Professor Tunstell, on my mark. And… mark.”
Percy engaged the puffer once more and the ship rose up, hooked into the current, and began drifting.
Rue grinned in pleasure. “That’s our lift – let’s button it down.”
Percy went into a flurry of dialling things to the correct places and cutting all steam power to the propeller.
Rue called out to the deckhands to raise the mainsail and the Custard came about beautifully, hauling fully to sit entirely within the Gibraltar Loop.
They all held their breath, hoping that they had settled into the correct side of the Loop – the one that went towards Gibraltar rather than away from it. The probe could tell them the right current but not whether it was heading in the right direction.
Percy checked his compass.
“Steady on course, captain – floating the Gibraltar southbound,” he crowed.
“Next hop?” Rue wasn’t about to let him glory in his accomplishments for too long.
Percy instantly sobered. As dangerous as the first hop could be, it was hopping between charted currents that took real skill. He took out his pocket watch and snapped it open. “Four hours, twenty-six minutes.”
Rue smiled. “Excellent. More than enough time for tea. Carry on, navigator.”
“Captain,” said Percy slightly sarcastically, but it was good enough for Rue.
The boiler room was a busy hum of activity: sooties scampered to and fro guiding the coal feeders, firemen manned the kettles, and greasers oversaw the smooth coordination of it all. It wasn’t a big crew but they managed to look substantial by being everywhere at once. Quesnel stood to one side, watching in confident superiority. Aggie Phinkerlington slouched next to him, occasionally barking out an order. The two had worked out a system that involved Quesnel calmly and softly pointing out some flaw and Aggie yelling at someone about it.
“How’s she floating, chief engineer?” Rue asked.
Quesnel acted as if he hadn’t noticed her until she spoke. Although there was no doubt he had been aware of her presence the moment she entered the room. “Perfectly, captain. As if I should design anything less than sublimely efficient.”
Rue decided to play along and not prod him in the ribs with a tong. “Compliments from ship’s navigator – the Custard hopped the aether beautifully. We are right on course.”
“Compliments from old Percy? Stoats might float.”
“Mr Lefoux.” Rue pretended shock. “Language.”
Aggie said, “Our captain’s a real lady, boffin. Respect her as such.” The look on her face suggested this was meant to be an insult.
Rue only bobbed a regal curtsey, acting like Primrose at her most haughty. “Thank you kindly for the support, Greaser Phinkerlington.” She continued to Quesnel, “However, I was wondering about the noise.”
“What noise?” Quesnel was all innocence.
“You know, the noise the propeller makes when she cranks up, out of the smoke-stack.”
“No, I don’t know. Can you make it for me?”
“No, I most certainly cannot! It was slightly, well…” Rue lowered her voice. “Flatulent. Percy suggested it was the result of a design flaw.”
“Oh, he did, did he?” Rue couldn’t tell if Quesnel was pretending to be offended or genuinely upset.
“Is it going to make that sound every time we crank up?”
Aggie snorted out a laugh. “Troubles your delicate sensibilities, does it, Lady Captain?”
Rue openly acknowledged this fact – she didn’t think it a character flaw. “Well, yes, it does rather. Not to mention Miss Tunstell, whose sensibilities are far more delicate than mine. And there are appearances to consider.”
“Pox to appearances,” said Aggie rather aptly.
“Now, now, Greaser Phinkerlington,” remonstrated Rue. “Some of us have to think of every possible angle. What if we need to be stealthy or sneak away from a situation?”
“In a ship painted like a ladybird?”
Rue was beginning to suspect Aggie of disliking her decorative choices.
“Paint,” said Rue quite primly, “can be covered over. Farts cannot.”
Aggie bristled. “Don’t you argue semantics with me, you prissy––”
Quesnel, trying hard not to laugh, interrupted what looked to be quite the argument. “Very well, captain, I’ll look into correcting the noise, or at least stoppering it over when we’re in grave need.”
Rue nodded. “That’s all I ask. Now if you’ll excuse me.” She glared at Aggie. Prissy. I’ll give you prissy. She pretended to be Mother at her most autocratic – stuck her nose in the air, put her shoulders back, and narrowed her eyes at the horrible female. This seemed to give Aggie some kind of minor apoplectic fit.
“So soon, mon petit chou?” said Quesnel, swooping in to grab Rue’s hand, bending over it gallantly.
“Gladly,” said Aggie at the same time.
Rue returned above deck feeling she had mainly lost that particular conversational battle. But disposed to be pleased that she had at least got what she wanted out of Quesnel.