Imprudence
Page 105
The enemy was approaching them front and port. The Gatling was closer to the rear of the ship, so Spoo was still unable to fire without risk to the Custard.
Tasherit strode across the main deck and leapt to the forecastle. She was now higher up and visible to most of the crew. This also put her away from the helium leak, the better to issue orders. She would stay in human form as long as necessary, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t fight. She was still an immortal either way, stronger, quicker, and self-healing. One of the deckhands passed her a wicked-looking curved knife, likely purchased at one of the Egyptian bazaars.
Rue joined Tasherit on the forecastle, deciding not to go to engineering. It was more important to have her fighting strong as an immortal than any courtesy to the tribe below.
The ornithopters closed in on The Spotted Custard.
Crossbow bolts flew.
“Spoo, Willard, fire a volley,” Tasherit ordered.
“Yes, sir!” The voices, in unison, sounded normal. The leak was fixed, but the Custard had lost a considerable amount of helium. And helium was a great deal more challenging to replace than water or coal.
The Gatling gun put a neat line of holes in the lower part of the balloon of an enemy dirigible. That must be their helium chamber as well, for they instantly began to sink, much faster than The Spotted Custard. They hit Lake Victoria, not too far from the fallen Drifter balloon.
“One down!”
Rue’s supernatural eyesight could make out Percy tugging madly at the puffer, but The Spotted Custard was barely maintaining what little height she had. Rue figured they couldn’t outgas enough air at this juncture to rise and still keep the balloon from collapsing. They hadn’t enough helium left to get them up into the aetherosphere. They were trapped, unless they shed a lot of weight.
The decklings, meanwhile, managed to eliminate one of the ornithopters with bolts. However, the three others made it through their defences, gliding in to land – or more properly crash – one after another on the main deck.
“Gatling, fire at those dirigibles as you like! Decklings, crossbows inwards, watch for flames, and clean that codswattle off our decks!” yelled Tasherit. “Mind your aim. We can’t take another hit to the helium. And I’d like to keep my skinny hide intact.” With which the werecat gave an animal roar and jumped off the forecastle into the fray.
All was chaos. The three invading ornithopters took up most of the main deck. They’d splintered a good deal of wood, both Rue’s beloved ship and their own. The ornithopters were light beasties, practically paperweight, but carried enough speed to do superficial damage. The decklings dashed in and about, clearing the deck, putting out fires, and tossing excess weight over the side.
The six men who’d been inside the ornithopters were now on Rue’s ship. They’d jumped clear and were, mostly, ignoring the decklings. Two of the men carried weapons Rue knew all too well, a particular kind of gun that her father had once carried. A particular kind of gun that was pointed at Rue and at Tasherit, to the exclusion of all others.
Sundowner pistols.
“Nobody move,” said one of the men.
Everyone stopped and turned.
The six were dressed in the white robes of Egyptian natives but there was no mistaking the leader’s origin. He spoke English well enough, but he had an accent and it certainly wasn’t Arabic.
It was Italian.
“We’ve your cat and your captain in our sights. These are silver cage bullets and we don’t miss.”
Everyone froze.
Rue gave a screeching hiss of annoyance at her inability to speak.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Spoo twitch. Fortunately, the Gatling was mounted in such a way that it did not swing around and could only shoot outwards. She didn’t think Spoo foolish enough to shoot towards the Custard, but she also didn’t want to find out if that was wishful thinking.
The Italian eased towards the starboard side.
Rue placed herself between him and Spoo.
He kept his gun on Rue.
He pushed the white robe back from his head, revealing dark hair, thick and black. The moon was now up, and while only a sliver, it was enough to see by. He was extraordinarily handsome. Not uncommon among the Italians, Rue had heard. He was tan with an aquiline nose, like her mother. Both looked better on a man. Come to think on it, there was something of her mother about his eyes as well, large and liquid dark. No one had ever said anything negative about Lady Maccon’s eyes. In fact, they were much admired in certain circles. Rue always wished she had got them instead of the Maccon yellow. Why on earth am I fixated on eye colour at a time like this?
Rue lashed her tail. She was fixated because he looked familiar. Yet not.
He kept advancing towards her. Which was fine by Rue. There would come a point when he’d be close enough for her supernatural reflexes to be faster than his trigger finger, or so she hoped.
He was focused, intent on her, leaving his fellows to guard Miss Sekhmet and the restless deck crew. Maybe he thought Rue was the real werecat and Miss Sekhmet the captain. That might work out for them. Rue could let them capture her instead. Then soon as they were far enough away, snap. Rue licked her whiskers, imagining the surprise when these collectors suddenly had a mortal in their cage. Tasherit would be left with The Spotted Custard, safe and unstuffed.
It wasn’t a bad plan, she reasoned with herself. It did, unfortunately, put her in the hands of the enemy. Fine, then, it was a reasonable backup plan, if nothing else worked out.
Rue tried to understand the Italian’s intent. Did he think to shoot her with a silver bullet in a non-fatal spot and then drag her away? Where to? How would they get off the Custard? She didn’t see a net. What was his goal in all this?
Tasherit strode across the main deck and leapt to the forecastle. She was now higher up and visible to most of the crew. This also put her away from the helium leak, the better to issue orders. She would stay in human form as long as necessary, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t fight. She was still an immortal either way, stronger, quicker, and self-healing. One of the deckhands passed her a wicked-looking curved knife, likely purchased at one of the Egyptian bazaars.
Rue joined Tasherit on the forecastle, deciding not to go to engineering. It was more important to have her fighting strong as an immortal than any courtesy to the tribe below.
The ornithopters closed in on The Spotted Custard.
Crossbow bolts flew.
“Spoo, Willard, fire a volley,” Tasherit ordered.
“Yes, sir!” The voices, in unison, sounded normal. The leak was fixed, but the Custard had lost a considerable amount of helium. And helium was a great deal more challenging to replace than water or coal.
The Gatling gun put a neat line of holes in the lower part of the balloon of an enemy dirigible. That must be their helium chamber as well, for they instantly began to sink, much faster than The Spotted Custard. They hit Lake Victoria, not too far from the fallen Drifter balloon.
“One down!”
Rue’s supernatural eyesight could make out Percy tugging madly at the puffer, but The Spotted Custard was barely maintaining what little height she had. Rue figured they couldn’t outgas enough air at this juncture to rise and still keep the balloon from collapsing. They hadn’t enough helium left to get them up into the aetherosphere. They were trapped, unless they shed a lot of weight.
The decklings, meanwhile, managed to eliminate one of the ornithopters with bolts. However, the three others made it through their defences, gliding in to land – or more properly crash – one after another on the main deck.
“Gatling, fire at those dirigibles as you like! Decklings, crossbows inwards, watch for flames, and clean that codswattle off our decks!” yelled Tasherit. “Mind your aim. We can’t take another hit to the helium. And I’d like to keep my skinny hide intact.” With which the werecat gave an animal roar and jumped off the forecastle into the fray.
All was chaos. The three invading ornithopters took up most of the main deck. They’d splintered a good deal of wood, both Rue’s beloved ship and their own. The ornithopters were light beasties, practically paperweight, but carried enough speed to do superficial damage. The decklings dashed in and about, clearing the deck, putting out fires, and tossing excess weight over the side.
The six men who’d been inside the ornithopters were now on Rue’s ship. They’d jumped clear and were, mostly, ignoring the decklings. Two of the men carried weapons Rue knew all too well, a particular kind of gun that her father had once carried. A particular kind of gun that was pointed at Rue and at Tasherit, to the exclusion of all others.
Sundowner pistols.
“Nobody move,” said one of the men.
Everyone stopped and turned.
The six were dressed in the white robes of Egyptian natives but there was no mistaking the leader’s origin. He spoke English well enough, but he had an accent and it certainly wasn’t Arabic.
It was Italian.
“We’ve your cat and your captain in our sights. These are silver cage bullets and we don’t miss.”
Everyone froze.
Rue gave a screeching hiss of annoyance at her inability to speak.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Spoo twitch. Fortunately, the Gatling was mounted in such a way that it did not swing around and could only shoot outwards. She didn’t think Spoo foolish enough to shoot towards the Custard, but she also didn’t want to find out if that was wishful thinking.
The Italian eased towards the starboard side.
Rue placed herself between him and Spoo.
He kept his gun on Rue.
He pushed the white robe back from his head, revealing dark hair, thick and black. The moon was now up, and while only a sliver, it was enough to see by. He was extraordinarily handsome. Not uncommon among the Italians, Rue had heard. He was tan with an aquiline nose, like her mother. Both looked better on a man. Come to think on it, there was something of her mother about his eyes as well, large and liquid dark. No one had ever said anything negative about Lady Maccon’s eyes. In fact, they were much admired in certain circles. Rue always wished she had got them instead of the Maccon yellow. Why on earth am I fixated on eye colour at a time like this?
Rue lashed her tail. She was fixated because he looked familiar. Yet not.
He kept advancing towards her. Which was fine by Rue. There would come a point when he’d be close enough for her supernatural reflexes to be faster than his trigger finger, or so she hoped.
He was focused, intent on her, leaving his fellows to guard Miss Sekhmet and the restless deck crew. Maybe he thought Rue was the real werecat and Miss Sekhmet the captain. That might work out for them. Rue could let them capture her instead. Then soon as they were far enough away, snap. Rue licked her whiskers, imagining the surprise when these collectors suddenly had a mortal in their cage. Tasherit would be left with The Spotted Custard, safe and unstuffed.
It wasn’t a bad plan, she reasoned with herself. It did, unfortunately, put her in the hands of the enemy. Fine, then, it was a reasonable backup plan, if nothing else worked out.
Rue tried to understand the Italian’s intent. Did he think to shoot her with a silver bullet in a non-fatal spot and then drag her away? Where to? How would they get off the Custard? She didn’t see a net. What was his goal in all this?
