The main hatch was big and heavy but not difficult to open. It operated on a hydraulic pump, with a foot lever on both sides, so someone carrying, for example, a large wicker tea hamper could make it down without need of hands. Fortunately, the concept of a foot-activated door seemed incomprehensible to the enemy. Two were scrabbling about looking for a hand lever and the third was trying to muscle the thing open with his fingertips. Since the hatch fitted seamlessly into the deck, there was no way to get a grip and the man was merely bloodying his nails.
There were two other ways to get below. One was the ladder which Rue had just used from the captain’s quarters to the quarterdeck aft. It was a non-standard modification, so even had the enemy stolen schematics of The Spotted Custard they wouldn’t know it was there. The other was the staff ladder near the forecastle, which no gentleman, not even one bent on criminal activities, would deign to use.
“He’s staining my deck with his blood!” objected Rue.
“Don’t you worry, Lady Captain, that’s what swabbing is for,” comforted Spoo as she nipped by to join the fray.
The invaders rather gave up at that juncture. No doubt they had not anticipated the ship to be so well defended and so populated, everyone being on shift in preparation for the imminent float off.
The leader, one of the three trying to go below, looked up and made eye contact with Rue. He was a darkly handsome man, or would have been had his visage not been marred by a fierce scowl that only deepened upon seeing Rue. Of course, when they attacked, she’d been out of sight. Aha! thought Rue, pleased. Scared of me, are you? Quite right.
Then Willard hit him broadside with one meaty fist. The man twisted away and yelled some fancy foreign word. With which all the invaders took off down the gangplank.
Two deckhands made to chase but Rue called, “No time. We’ve a current to catch.”
Decklings took pot shots with their crossbows at the retreating men, but only in a desultory fashion.
Just like that, it was over.
“I want to know what they were after.” Rue let frustration colour her voice. “Please report in with clues and theories. Nothing is too minor. Everyone understand?”
Her crew nodded.
“Now, is anyone injured?” No one seemed to be, except the tea hamper and one potted sunflower, which had taken the brunt of the battle. There were a few bumps and bruises, but nothing her crew might not garner during the ordinary course of work.
“Please see Miss Primrose for plaster and medicinals.”
They hadn’t a medic on board, but Primrose was capable in a pinch. She emerged from where she had taken refuge, behind the overturned cartload of kippers. She’d lost her hat and a smoked fish now draped over her lovely hair in a jaunty manner. Rue forbore to say, although she really wanted to, how this would only make Prim more intriguing to Tasherit. The werelioness was awfully fond of kippers.
Rue continued issuing instructions. “Cook will be authorised to distribute alcohol to soothe the nerves as needed.” The decklings cheered, which made Rue rethink a little. “During off-duty shifts, obviously.” There was a murmur of disappointment. “But you have all earned hazard pay for this action. It’s not your job to fight for the honour of The Spotted Custard.” Another cheer. “I want you all to know how much I appreciate the effort.”
The decklings started up a raucous song at that.
“We are The Spotted Custard!
From the crow’s nest to the tomb!
Spotted Custard is your saviour,
or Spotted Custard is your doom!”
Aren’t they precious? We have a chant. Rue was utterly delighted. She wanted to march about in a drummer boy fashion, but that might be a smidgen undignified in a captain, so she only nodded to the beat with a pleased expression.
Rue raised a hand when everyone would have dispersed. “I know we are still an hour from float off, but let’s get this basket up, shall we? London clearly isn’t interested in doing us any favours. Decklings prepare the balloon, deckhands the propeller. I want those kippers cleaned up and loaded into storage. All non–crew members should be groundside in ten minutes and the gangplank tucked in. Navigation, prepare the helm for… Percy? Where the devil is Percy? Damnation, did they steal our navigator?”
Percy had not been kidnapped but had simply disappeared below via the captain’s ladder to, as he explained when Rue found him, “Check on something.”
Rue became even more suspicious that their attackers were after a Percy-related whatnot. Percy could hold the secrets of the universe against all comers, however, for he utterly refused to elaborate further.
“I understand we are floating early?”
“Yes, I thought we might take in the view, drift above London for a bit.”
It being winter, London was a grey, gloomy thing. Percy was not impressed with this plan. “I did want to get in another chapter.”
“Human life, I’m afraid, must take priority. I won’t give our enemy time to regroup again. Whoever they are.”
So The Spotted Custard let loose her moorings and drifted up. At a safe height, she bobbed, taking the opportunity to tune her motions. It had been a few weeks since she’d tackled serious floating, and while their plotted currents were not challenging, one could never be certain with the aetherosphere. Rue wanted her crew prepared for anything, especially now.