“And I’d like to see you write a proper paper on a new species of supernatural examining all the theoretical implications and ramifications of the aetheric imprint on the vital humours. Rather than superficial waffle. Seems we’re both doomed to disappointment.” Percy left off the cat for more aggressive intercourse.
Uh-oh, thought Rue, here we go again. She was exhausted and really had, she felt, put up with a lot. Rue was like her Paw in that her default reaction when unhappy was rage.
She yelled, quite violently, and at the top of her lungs. “Enough!”
It was so loud it paused the workers on the main deck. Spoo’s small face popped up from behind a pile of rope. Rue was a jolly commander, but not exactly awe-inspiring at the best of times. Clearly she had a pair of lungs on her and the fact that, until now, she had rarely used them seemed to make them all that more effective.
With a pointed gesture, Rue made it clear she was yelling at her compatriots and not her crew. The crew went back to work, although Spoo remained watching, wide-eyed. The thought of the young girl – who was really Rue’s charge as much as her employee – acted as the discipline Rue needed.
Percy and Quesnel had both snapped their mouths shut and were staring at her.
Rue opted for a low fierce diatribe. “Enough, both of you. I don’t care who is in the right or who is in the wrong and frankly neither does anyone else. Come to an agreement or stop talking to each other. At this point, either is acceptable. Percy, you are behaving like a petulant child whose favourite toy has gone missing. If you wanted credit for the discovery so badly you ought to have written and sent the paper in for publication while we were still in India. They had a perfectly decent aethographic transmitter.”
Percy was sputtering.
Quesnel was nodding smugly.
Rue rounded on the inventor. “Mr Lefoux, don’t you dare think you’re not culpable. You know Percy well enough to predict how he might react. The fact that you didn’t include him in the authorship is an outright insult. I might even accuse you of intentionally stirring up malcontent.”
Quesnel started to protest.
Rue overrode him. “If it wasn’t intentional, it was certainly small-minded.”
At which Percy started looking smug and Quesnel crestfallen.
So Rue switched again. “Don’t you dare look pleased with yourself, Percival Tunstell. The only reason you aren’t a complete disappointment is because I’ve never expected you to actually rise to any given occasion.”
Percy winced.
That might be taking things a bit too far, but it seemed once her mouth started flapping it was not inclined to stop.
“And, Mr Lefoux, let’s be perfectly clear on that other matter, while we are at it.”
Percy tried not to look interested.
Quesnel tried not to look apprehensive.
“Let us say, for the sake of argument, you didn’t know how your article would affect your colleague aboard my airship. In that case you are not petty but thoughtless. Imagine how that insight into your character affects my opinion of you? What other relationships are you likely to be thoughtless about? Especially considering you didn’t see fit to tell me any of this. Not your publication, not your travel plans, not even the fact that you knew” – she took a breath to steady her voice, which was inexplicably trembling – “you knew something was wrong with my father and you didn’t tell me that either!”
Rue had no idea why she was unleashing upon poor Quesnel. Nor why the bulk of her ire had switched to the inventor when really both he and Percy were blameworthy. She was trembling with agitation. Quesnel was pale and miserable.
It was Percy who risked putting a hand to her arm. “Stop, Rue. Just stop.”
Rue subsided like a hot air balloon deflating.
Quesnel said in a tight, rough voice, “I’ll just go and make certain the boilers are in order. You’ll let me know the course hops once they are charted, Mr Tunstell?”
“Certainly, Mr Lefoux,” replied Percy quietly. And then to Rue, “I’ll go and see what seems the best course.”
“You do that.” Rue sagged into one of the deck chairs, feeling thoroughly ashamed of herself. She had probably destroyed any possible French lessons with Quesnel; even his casual kisses would be gone now. She wished Primrose had been there because she would have smoothed it all over. No, thought Rue, this is my mess.
“Spoo?”
“Yes, Lady Captain?” Spoo bounced up to her with less enthusiasm than usual. She looked almost frightened.
Rue felt even guiltier.
“I’ll be in my quarters. Will you muster me once Navigator Tunstell has the charts in order?”
Spoo looked relieved. “Certainly, Lady Captain.”
Rue resurfaced at Spoo’s knock a few hours later with spirits somewhat rallied. She’d always wanted to see Egypt. It was a matter of some intellectual debate as to how a metanatural would react to the God-Breaker Plague. Now she was going to find out. Of course, she had visited before, but she had been too young to remember. Her mother said she handled the plague fine, but everything had felt different when she was young. Shifting into werewolf form hadn’t hurt, among other things.
On deck, Rue found Primrose had returned and was in conference with her twin under the big parasol that stretched over the navigation area.
“Oh, Rue, good, there you are.”
“Everything go well with the supplies?”
“Yes. And I found a nice young French girl to handle that other matter we discussed.”