“Aye, Lady Captain.”
Spoo grabbed, of all people, Virgil, who had been herding Footnote belowdecks. They ran to ready the massive gun.
“Don’t go shooting any friendlies. I spent far too long, and too much sugar, acquiring that escort for you to go potting a Drifter. Spoo, take your instructions from Aggie.”
Aggie didn’t respond except to nod at Spoo.
Spoo gave a reluctant, “Aye-aye.” A former sootie, Spoo had transferred up to deckling because she didn’t like Aggie.
Nevertheless, Rue was pretty darn certain that if anyone could forge a working relationship under pressure to kill people, it was those two.
Rue picked up her mother’s parasol, trying to decide which of its armaments would be most useful long range. “Percy,” she said, “set course due south and take us up. Not into the aetherosphere. Find us a good breeze so the balloons can keep pace but be prepared to boil up to full propeller if needed. Hold us towards the back of the pack so the gunners have shooting lines.”
The Spotted Custard let out her usual noise of petulant flatulence but responded with eager nimbleness to Rue’s commands and Percy’s touch. They puffed smoothly upwards, shadowed by an escort of seven balloons. Fortunately they found a favourable southern wind and hooked in, moving quickly.
Rue watched their hunters with her glass. They were obviously confused by the multiple ladybug dirigibles and their multiple Drifter companions.
Anitra appeared at her elbow.
“Floote’s plan seems to be working.” Rue gave her a cheerful smile. “They are dividing to follow, not sure which of us is the real Spotted Custard.”
The young woman smiled back. “Best keep your distance, then. As soon as they have deck view, they’ll spot you as a female captain and know for certain which is which.”
“I take it he didn’t go as far as to have all the decoy captains dress in decoy Worth tea-gowns?”
“Bit pricy.”
“Good point.” Rue kept grinning. “Could disguise myself with one of those Drifter robes. Got any spares?”
Anitra shook her head. “Not with me.”
Rue gestured to a deckling. “Run down and raise Miss Sekhmet. We could use her military prowess. Ask her to bring me one of those silk robes of hers and a scarf or two.”
The deckling scampered off.
Moments later Tasherit arrived. They were floating high but the plague remained strong; while Rue still felt the oppressive numbness, Tasherit seemed nothing more than blithely mortal under its sway.
“Rue?” The werecat wasn’t one for formalities. She handed over a silver robe and some colourful scarves. Rue handed her the parasol and glassicals. Rue pulled the garment on, wrapping one of the scarves about her head, including her hat. She must look rather ridiculous, like a silvery beekeeping nun, but she hoped it would confuse their followers.
“We’ve got ourselves a spot of bother.” Rue filled Tasherit in on the particulars of their new escort, the decoys, and the attackers.
Miss Sekhmet handed her back the parasol with a lip curl. “What is that colour?”
Rue looked at the ghastly thing in surprise. It was some species of brown, although in certain lights it had a red tinge, in others a green, and in still others a yellow. It was trimmed with a great quantity of lace and chiffon of the same not-quite-anything-reliable colour. She supposed it was meant to match any outfit, which of course meant it clashed with everything.
“It is a Parasol-of-Another-Colour,” Rue announced in a formal manner.
Tasherit sniffed and looked through Rue’s glassicals at the enemy, as if in an effort to avoid the parasol. “There are more of them this time.”
“More even than that. See there? The decoys are drawing some away.” Only four airships remained tailing the Custard.
“Strange that collectors would pull together. Isn’t the point to make the catch for yourself, alone?”
“I thought that, too.” Rue nodded.
“So, maybe not collectors?”
“Whoever they are, they’re hostile. You got a gun with any range on it?”
“No.” The werelioness looked over to where Spoo and Aggie were tensely pointing their weapons at the slowly encroaching enemy and bickering mildly with one another. “But I’m better at a Gatling than Spoo there.”
“I wager you are. By all means, go and tell her to do something more useful, then.”
“Oh, great, thanks for that. I was hoping you’d tell her. You know, for truly rapid fire we really need four operators.”
Rue wrinkled her forehead. “I’m hoping it won’t come to that. Just a warning shot.”
The werecat nodded. “Two of us will do, then.”
She went and ejected a dejected Spoo from behind the gun but showed her how to feed in the Bruce instead. Virgil, looking relieved, was free to take on more valet-like duties. He went immediately to see to Percy’s cravat, which had, in the chaos, come undone and was wafting. Cravats should never be allowed to waft.