The sun set and they rose higher, waiting for Percy to call the mark for wind-up and puff.
Tasherit appeared on deck. She reached her long graceful arms above her head for a stretch, taking in the busy crew with interest.
“What’s going on? Pleasure jaunt?”
Primrose stared at the werecat, eyes popping.
Rue explained. “Had to lift earlier than planned. We had visitors. Your troops, by the way, did marvellously. I’m impressed.”
Tasherit lowered her arms. “They’re charmingly enthusiastic. Early, you say? Are we off somewhere particular, then?”
“Oh goodness. I forgot you’ve been asleep. We’re headed to Egypt. I do apologise. It must feel as if we catnapped you.”
The werelioness only grinned. “Don’t be silly, I’m thrilled. It’s one of the reasons I joined up with you, Lady Prudence. Never a dull moment. It’s been ages since I visited Egypt. Could get a little awkward for me, given the plague and all. Plus, in some circles, I’m not at all welcome. But we’ll worry about that when we get there, shall we?”
She moved to join the twins in the navigation area. Her nose twitched and she narrowed her big brown eyes at Primrose. “Little flower, you smell positively delicious.”
Prim blushed scarlet. “There was a kipper incident.”
“Don’t stop,” begged the werecat.
Primrose rolled her eyes. “Would you like some?”
The lioness was not to be diverted. “Of you or the kipper?”
Primrose glared.
Tasherit would have twitched whiskers, had she sported them at the moment. “If we intend to break aether soon, then yes please. I should eat before I’m forced back to bed. Kippers would be lovely.”
The aetherosphere reputedly made vampires insane and werewolves ill. The werecat was affected as well, although not so badly. The moment they entered the grey, Tasherit fell into the deepest, most immovable sleep. Like a vampire during the daylight, she appeared dead, curled in a tight ball. Rue had asked her why she was different, able to travel in the aetherosphere where other supernaturals could not.
In classic fashion, Tasherit had answered with no answer. “I’m a lioness, darling. Heights are what cats do. We’re good at being solitary, hence my lack of hive or pack… well, pride in my case. And we’re good at being high up. And we’re good at sleeping. I can’t wake until we are out of aether, though. I doubt you can steal my form either, little skin-stalker.” At Rue’s expression, she added, “It might be dangerous to try. I am accustomed to the catnap-solid-state-flop. You are not.”
Kippers arrived and Tasherit ate them with alacrity, accompanied by a large mug of heavy cream. She had horrible table manners, so the others left her to it, bustling about putting everything in order. Primrose retreated to wash her hair, given that while the kippers themselves had been removed, the stench had not.
Primrose still hadn’t told the werecat about her engagement. Her gloves stayed very firmly on. Little coward.
Tasherit completed her meal and returned below to prepare for the journey.
Rue was looking one final time over the rail at the dim lights of her home city when she heard Percy having an annoyed one-sided conversation. He was on the blow horn to engineering.
Rue marched over and put out her hand.
Relieved, the navigator passed her the speaking tube.
The voice on the other end was mid-diatribe. “What the hell is going on up there? I thought we had another twenty minutes. What are we doing floating unnecessarily? You’re wasting fuel, Mr Tunstell. I can’t promise we’ll make the beacon without risk. Stop larking about.”
“It’s me, Mr Lefoux.”
“Rue, what the hell?”
Quesnel was calling her by her real name. He must be annoyed.
“We were attacked. I thought it prudent to float off before it could happen a third time.”
Quesnel’s tone altered. “Are you injured? Is anyone hurt? How’s the ship? I’m coming up.”
“No, you most certainly are not! We have only a few minutes before first puff and I want you in the boiler room. Everyone is perfectly fine. Tasherit’s been training them, remember? There may be a sunflower that needs to be put out of its misery, though.”
“She hasn’t been training you.”
“I’m fine, too. How’s my father? Did he wake after sunset?”
“No. Nor should he, if my calculations are correct. The tank should hold him in an optimal non-degenerative sleep state for the entire trip. And keep him from aether illness once we enter the grey.”
“Should?”
“It’s not designed for werewolves, chérie.”
“Oh? What is it designed for? Vampires?”
“It’s designed for apologies and reparations. Or so my mother tells me.”
“Lovely. Some day do you think you might reveal the particulars?”
“Some day. You sure you’re unhurt?”
“I’m sure. I had an ignominious encounter with a tea hamper, which I roundly defeated, I’ll have you know.”