Rue nodded. “Our attackers are likely after Tasherit. If Percy used her as the only known example and if he reported her presence in our crew as proof.”
“Only to the review committee,” interjected Percy. “As evidence. I didn’t need it in the paper proper for publication.”
“Committees talk.” Rue squeezed one hand with the other as she moved.
“You think they attacked in order to get me to change shape?” Miss Sekhmet put effort into calming herself. Long practice, Rue suspected, from an old supernatural creature.
“I think the presence of a pet lioness fighting smart to defend The Spotted Custard is awfully substantiating.”
“They’re after me?”
“You’d make a pretty nice addition to any unscrupulous natural historian who wanted to collect the world’s only known sample of werecat. Caged on display or pinned like a butterfly to velvet backing, I imagine they care not which.”
Prim scooted closer to Tasherit and put a cautious arm around the werelioness’s shoulders. “Oh, Percy, how could you?”
Tasherit didn’t shrug her off.
Rue paused at the head of the table. “I thought they were after Quesnel’s tank, but Mother tells me that it’s an established invention with patents. It makes more sense that they are after you. The weremonkeys have a treaty and the werecats do not. Which makes them fair game by empire law.”
Percy looked as if he would protest, so Rue held up a forestalling hand.
“British policy doesn’t recognise supernaturals as people, not in the broader sense. We’ve only legislation to cover vampires and werewolves specifically. I made a cock-up, as far as the queen was concerned, with weremonkeys when I granted them legal standing.”
Primrose nibbled her bottom lip. “So Miss Sekhmet is right?”
“Yes. Percy has let the cat out of the bag in a big way.”
Tasherit looked up, her almond eyes wide with fear.
“Oh, mercy.” Prim finally understood the full scope of the implications. There were fates worse than death, especially to immortals.
Percy squinted, confused. “Rue, are you worried people will want werelions for pets?”
Miss Sekhmet curled a lip at him.
“No, you idiot!” Primrose lashed out at her brother, almost physically, shaking in repressed fury. “She is saying they will want them for slaves.”
Rue sat heavily, slumping forward in a manner most indecorous for a young lady. But such a situation as this warranted bad posture. “Recriminations are all very well but what’s done is done and Percy will have to answer for it. I leave the manner of his punishment up to you, Miss Sekhmet. Meanwhile, we have a responsibility to your people. How can we help protect them? The Spotted Custard is at your disposal. We will do whatever we can to fix this.”
Tasherit took a long, shaky breath. “We must get to them first.”
Rue nodded. “We run the risk of being followed and leading the enemy straight to them.”
“Do you, or do you not, have the fastest ship in the British Empire?”
“So they tell me.”
“Then prove it. It’s most important to warn them. At this juncture, the British are coming. We simply must to beat them there.”
“Very well.” Rue assumed her captain voice. “Primrose, please check we’ve restocked sufficiently for a long journey and ascertain the whereabouts of the crew. I know some are on shore leave. We must get them back as quickly as possible. Percy, you’ll have to consult Miss Sekhmet as to our course. I’m sorry, Tasherit, but he’s the best we’ve got. I advise planning it in such a way as to make it look as if we are tourists. The longer we remain innocuous the better. Is that practicable?”
Tasherit nodded.
Everyone was somewhat emboldened with the possibility of action.
Rue turned to mobilise the remaining crew for departure. It would be best if they were ready to move as soon as the last straggler boarded. Then she thought of something else.
“Percy, after you’ve done all you can to get us ready, I want you researching that treaty of ours with the weremonkeys, plus any supporting texts. See if we can’t graduate other species in or use it as legal precedent to get the werecats a similar treaty. You’re the closest we’ve got to a solicitor, and you’ve amends to make.”
Percy sputtered a protestation.
Rue cut him off. “I don’t care if your brain rots reading while airborne. You’ll take that risk or I’ll jettison you in the middle of the nearest desert. Don’t test me.”
She left the buzzing atmosphere of confrontation for the slightly less oppressive heat of the upper deck. Most of the decklings were slumbering in their hammocks. Rue hated to rouse them, but rouse them she did.
“How many are off on leave?” she asked once they’d rallied round.
“One of the deckhands and four of us, including Spoo,” piped up a sleepy voice.
“And the staff?”