SEVEN

A Very Warm Welcome

The puffing went much more smoothly than Percy had expected. This meant he felt foolish for his concern, and angry with everyone else for doubting him. Even after having doubted himself. He solved this contrary sensation by ignoring all humanity for about twenty-four hours. Only Footnote was deemed acceptable society, and because Tasherit was once more abed, Footnote was off courting Prim. This only served to irritate Percy further. Why his cat so vastly enjoyed the society of his irritating sister was a complete mystery of unfair proportions.

However, Percy attended the next philosophy club meeting as if nothing had happened. Everyone followed his lead in this, because, frankly, nothing had happened. This time the group discussed the first half of The Higher Common Sense. Percy felt that if Fausse-Maigre couldn’t cure Rodrigo Tarabotti of what ailed him – whatever that was – nothing could.

They traded around the book. Fortunately, Percy had two copies, as everyone should. Higher Common Sense was a masterpiece of modern thought, even if he hadn’t written it. The book discussion was animated and persisted over the next few days while they floated in the grey. Even the aetherosphere couldn’t subdue Higher Common Sense.

It was a lazy float, in the end. With nothing better to do, the sooties and decklings played cards, Primrose and Rue did each other’s hair, Anitra quietly flirted with Rodrigo, and Percy read a great deal. Any reports on vampires in the mountains of South America were maddeningly elusive or mainly oral in nature. (It was not, certainly not, that his library was subpar.)

Percy should have known, of course. Such peace never lasts.

The Spotted Custard depuffed off the coast of South America to find, spread out below them, a massive vivid emerald lushness. This was marred only by a spine of brown, which represented the high-peaked mountains, and a ribbon of butter-coloured sandy beach before the rich teal of the ocean. It was so lovely that Primrose considered having a dress designed in that exact colour palette.

It was a bright sunny day, the kind of day one expects from the tropics. Too much for an immortal. Thus, Primrose doubted Tasherit would be joining them for float-down, to lean over the rails and make euphemistic commentary. That Prim missed the werecat was no excuse to go back below to ascertain if said werecat was awake. More than likely, Miss Sekhmet would sleep solid through until nightfall.

Prim did not like how long she took to convince herself of this fact. Really, she thought, self-delusion is extremely hard work.

Percy depuffed them several times, dropping the Custard by stages down through the atmosphere towards the city of Lima, which proved to be a white smudge of civilisation nested near the shore at the base of one of the many mountains.

Once the buildings became moderately distinct, he fired up the propeller to steer them in properly.

Rue, assured that everything was sufficiently under control, came over for a chat.

“What do we know about Lima, Prim dear?”

Primrose shrugged. “You realise that I haven’t any guidebooks for South America?”

“You must know something.”

Prim scrunched up her nose. “It’s Spanish speaking. Adobe houses. Good seafood. It is the source of alpaca, or this part of the world is the source at any rate.”

“Alpaca?”

“A kind of cute, furry, goaty creature with very big eyes, makes wonderful wool. You know that afternoon dress I have with the skirt and sleeves of mignonette green? That’s alpaca.”

“Oh!” Rue remembered. “The one with the white silk bodice and the velvet neckband? That’s alpaca? Soft.”

“Yes, so you always say when I wear it. Then you pet me.”

Rue tilted her head. “I’m irresistibly tempted by soft fabric. Oh, stop looking frowny, you adore me. So, what else do we know about Lima or its highlands? Or hinterlands?”

Prim considered. “Republic of Peru. You’d be better off asking Percy about local politics.”

“But then I’d have to listen to him talk.”

Primrose gave her friend a look.

Rue rolled her tawny eyes. “Percy doesn’t have the same kind of insight as you. And I know you must have been reading up on the place. You like to pretend all you care about is hats and shopping, but I know better. Spill!”

Prim spilled. “Catholic, although I think I heard somewhere that they had trouble converting the highland tribes.”

Rue grinned. “Recommendations?”

“Approach the lowland city for refuelling. Send Percy and anyone else who speaks Spanish out to listen in taverns or pubs or whatever the equivalent is in Lima. You’re truly planning on vampire hunting or rescuing, or hunting to the rescue, as it were?”

“As instructed. Could be fun.”

Primrose felt, as always, that Rue’s idea of fun was warped at best. Still, it was her duty to be the prepared one in their relationship, always had been. “Any local supernatural element will be entirely in hiding. The conquistadors would have seen to that hundreds of years ago, and the church would have instituted an ongoing Inquisition ever since. So don’t you or Miss Sekhmet dare change forms unless you absolutely must. They behead in this country. Keep a tight guard on Mr Tarabotti too. He could disappear easily here, and I doubt preternaturals are known or understood.”

Rue looked pensive. Danger always made her at least a little bit thoughtful. “We have to go in, we need to restock.”

Primrose took a breath and delivered the bad news. “This is not a land that drinks tea.”

“What?!”

“They drink a beverage brewed from a leaflike stimulant. I can’t remember what it’s called.”

Rue perked up. “So, a kind of tea?”

“Not exactly. Not even slightly.” Prim dismissed the very idea that any other leaf beyond the sacred black could be of any interest whatsoever. “One Irish explorer wrote, and I quote, that it tasted like fish scales mixed with rabbit droppings.”

Rue nodded. “So, worth trying then?”

“Oh Rue, you’re so very droll.” Primrose patted her friend’s shoulder and wandered away. Rue’s adventurous spirit translated to an exploratory palate that Prim neither envied nor admired.

It seemed, however, that fish-scale-flavoured beverages were not in Rue’s future. Because when they were about a mile up off the coast of Lima, Lima started shooting at them.

Percy was not at all happy when the gunfire commenced. But then again, who is? Except maybe Rue. Percy had come to suspect, at a very young age, that Prudence Akeldama enjoyed being shot at overmuch. Perhaps that’s why she became captain of a dirigible.

“Nothing in anything I’ve read on this part of the world led me to expect an attack!” objected Percy, to no one in particular.

Rue was already swinging into motion. “Willard, man the Gatling gun. Spoo, into the crow’s nest, I need to know where that volley is coming from. I don’t see anything. Doesn’t anyone see anything?”

Rue began dashing about the main deck, going from one side to the other, looking for the source of the gunfire.

They had all heard it clearly but they didn’t seem to have been hit and they couldn’t see a thing.

Percy, who had a decent vantage from navigation, as he should, also couldn’t see the enemy. On a hunch, he puffed them up. He theorised that higher was better, and if all else failed they could pop back into the grey and seek refuge there.

“Percy?” Rue leapt up to the poop deck to glare at him.

“Taking us up, Captain.”

“Why? We need to refuel.”

“It is the customary approach, when someone is shooting at you, to attempt to get away.”

“Well, fiddlesticks!”

“Captain. Do you have a better idea?”

Rue whirled away. Then she paused and picked up the speaking tube.

“Quesnel?”

Percy could just make out a grumpy feminine voice from the other end.

“Miss Phinkerlington, put Mr Lefoux on the tube right away … please. Yes, I know. Yes … No … No! Yes … Miss Phinkerlington, this is rather urgent. Well, if you have concerns of that nature, you should bring them up at the next crew meeting like everyone else. Yes, I know you never attend those meetings … Mmm-hmm.”

Rue took the tube off her ear and stared up at the heavens. Or more precisely, she stared up at the underside of the big red-spotted balloon above them.

“Remind me, Percy, why I haven’t thrown that woman overboard?”

“She’s good at her job.”

“Yes, but is that enough?”

“You keep me around.”

“Excellent point.”

Another spate of gunfire reverberated through the air. Fortunately, it seemed farther away now. Unfortunately, it was still clearly audible and easy to distinguish as gunfire.

Aggie Phinkerlington’s tone turned more annoyed and she became even louder. Still not loud enough for Percy to distinguish her words, but he got the gist.

“Yes!” Rue’s tolerant tone was rapidly becoming pure impatience. “I know that sounds like gunfire! Well, because it is gunfire. Why do you think I wish to talk to Quesnel?” She covered the mouthpiece and looked at Percy. “And now she summons him.”

Percy only shrugged.

The slippery tones of a French boffin could be heard after that. Now Percy really couldn’t understand anything that was said. Quesnel was soft-voiced and melodic at the best of times; under stress he became more so. Frankly, Percy was pretty darn certain that he didn’t want to understand, for Rue was blushing.

“No, darling.” Unfortunately, he was still exposed to one end of the flirtation. “I simply wished to warn you, we are in a spot of bother up here. Well, not to put too fine a point on it, but we appear to be under fire … No, I don’t know who … No, you shouldn’t come up. You know what happened last time. Well, yes, but more importantly, you got shot!… Yes, that is the point. Stay below, there’s a good fellow … I’m not being condescending. I simply want you safe. You still aren’t healed up properly. Of course I’m being safe. I’m always safe … Now, now, that’s plain old rude.” She paused and looked around. “Yes, Primrose is abovedecks. No, I don’t know if she has a gun. And I resent that you think she is more capable than me in a fight … Well, yes, I know the twins rather saved my life last time, but … Oh, very well, I’ll ask him.”

Rue looked over at Percy, her cheeks flaming. Percy didn’t realise she could blush like that. He’d assumed that was mostly his job, being the redhead of the group.

“Percy?”

“Yes, Lady Captain?” He did like teasing her with that ridiculous moniker.

“Do you have a gun on you?”

“No. It’s not something I regularly carry about my person.” He patted his waistcoat pockets to make certain. Virgil sometimes snuck the odd useful item in there – a pocket watch, a pork rind, a bit of string. A gun might be considered a smidgen above a pork rind in the usefulness category. No such luck this time.

Rue continued. “Quesnel would like to suggest that you begin doing so, forthwith, considering what happened only a few months ago, and you having returned his dart emitter to him, and all.”

Percy gave the matter some thought. “I shall go shopping when we return to London and look for something with an ivory handle. Not too big.”

Rue nodded, eyes wide.

“I shall need some sort of holster. Otherwise it’ll dirty my waistcoat with gun oil and burn marks. Virgil would never forgive me. And without a holster, I’ll leave it behind places, like I do my hat.”

“Agreed.” Rue looked as if she were trying not to laugh. Really, what had he said that was so funny?

“I want it to be pretty.”

“Pretty?” Rue sputtered.

“Yes,” said Percy firmly, “Pretty. I don’t like how angry and utilitarian most guns look.”

“Very well.” Rue sounded faint, or possibly she was repressing an inclination to laugh, which made no sense. “Pretty.” She returned her attention to the tube. “Quesnel? He said he’d get one … No, he doesn’t have one with him now … Yes, fine, send Aggie up with her crossbow if it will make you feel better. Just you stay in engineering.”

Rue hung up the tube and puffed out her cheeks, then she left navigation without further instruction.

Percy held them steady, floating higher than anyone liked and battling the breezes with a fast-whirring propeller and too much fuel use.

“Spoo!” yelled Rue. “Report!”

Spoo dropped down from the rigging and came running over. “Can’t see anything anywhere, Lady Captain. No idea where those shots came from. We’re all confused and everything’s gone pie shaped.”

“Unhelpful, Spoo.”

“I know, Lady Captain, I’m mad too!”

“Aggie’s coming up top.”

“Must she?”

“Extra firepower.”

“She is handy with her bow.” Spoo’s compliment was given in tones of great disgust.

Rue glared at her head deckling. “Only if we have something to aim her at. Gatling gun too. We need a target, Spoo. Who the hell is trying to kill us?”

Spoo shrugged. “On the bright side, Lady Captain, nothing seems to have actually hit so far. And the last volley was further away. So taking us up was the right choice.”

Percy grinned at his own genius.

Spoo continued. “What if we dropped back down, set a watch all around at all possible angles, and waited to see what happened?”

Rue frowned. “Try to lure them out of hiding by moving within range? It’s a grave risk.”

Percy finally decided to stick his oar in. “Well, we can’t stay up here. No charted current from this spot except what we rode in on, and this is the end point for that flow. We can’t simply do nothing either. We’ll run out of fuel floating about like this forever.”

Rue nodded.

Primrose came over. “You’re contemplating dropping back down to lure them out, aren’t you, Captain?”

Prim was good like that: under official actions Percy’s sister always remembered to call her old friend by her shipboard title.

Rue was not so cultured. “How did you know that, Prim, my dove?”

“Because that’s who you are, Captain. Reckless.”

“Oh, now, Prim, you wound me.”

Primrose shook her head and pressed on. “Should we wait until nightfall?”

“So we have Tasherit?”

“She is better at battle tactics than all the rest of us combined. Decades of experience.” Primrose did have a very good point.

It never hurt to have an immortal werelioness on one’s side. If only because Rue could use Tasherit’s immortality to heal herself, if necessary.

“Yes, but sunset is eons away.” Rue almost pouted.

“Would it kill you to be patient once in a while?” Primrose had her hands on her hips.

Uh-oh. Percy knew that look all too well.

Virgil appeared at that juncture.

Percy ignored Rue and his sister’s bickering, and looked at his valet, aggrieved. “Virgil, there’s been gunfire.”

“And you here, sir, without your hat.”

“Yes, well, apologies for that. Do you think you might go below, just, you know, until we’ve dealt with whatever it is that’s shooting at us?”

“No, sir, I could be more useful up here.”

Percy tried again. “You could get me a hat?”

“I brought you one, sir.”

Virgil produced a blue velvet Turkish lounging cap with silver embroidery and a long rather ostentatious tassel. An unfortunate gift from my mother, Percy remembered. I thought I left that abomination in London. In fact, I’m positive I did.

“Virgil, that’s hardly the thing to wear right now. A fez is for after dinner and preferably behind closed doors. That particular fez should have been drowned at birth.”

“It’s the last hat you have, sir. You’ve lost all your others.” There was a distinctly vindictive glint in his valet’s eye.

Percy turned away, askance. Hats like that were meant for nefarious purposes and fraternising with ladies of ill breeding and poor eyesight.

“Absolutely not.” I will not be moved.

“Sir!” His valet could get very ominous for such a small cherub-faced lad. “You will put it on this instant.”

“Why? In case I die in battle?”

“Exactly, sir. At least you’ll have your head covered like a proper gentleman.”

“I shall make for a most amusing corpse. That is a particularly ridiculous tassel.”

Virgil looked at the hat quizzically. “I think it’s very fine, sir.”

Another spate of gunfire stopped all conversation and caused most of the crew to start running around again.

“If I put it on, will you go below?”

“I’ll think about it, sir.”

Percy put on the fez with a wince.

Primrose was never very comfortable in battle. It simply wasn’t in her particular sphere of expertise. Perhaps if I had been trained as a soldier? She had been trained in household management and personal defence – but not to scale. Which, fortunately, translated to shipboard stewardship and purser’s duties admirably, but did not benefit her when an invisible enemy was hurling bullets in their general direction.

To be fair, Rue also hadn’t been trained for battle. Or perhaps she had. Lord Akeldama had peculiar ideas about rearing a girl child. When one was a centuries-old vampire, one got eccentric about advanced education. Primrose supposed that Rue’s life was always going to be in danger. After all, there had been kidnapping and death threats when she was still in nappies. Primrose did not want to acknowledge that perhaps her dearest friend was skilled in a manner not entirely respectable, but when under fire it was difficult to believe otherwise.

Bullets whizzed and Rue came over calm as the proverbial cucumber. Her pretty face took on a deadly serious guise. Her yellow eyes narrowed and her mind became a thing of rapid-fire crisp beauty. She issued orders fast as a Gatling gun. She was like a tugboat, capable of pulling many times her own weight in responsibility.

In a very short space of time the decklings were spread about the ship, each eyeing some part of the apparently empty skies. Willard manned the Gatling gun with a sootie to assist, sent up from engineering to help.

Aggie Phinkerlington was sitting aft near Percy in the poop deck, crossbow at the ready. Primrose herself was at the front of the forecastle, armed with a pistol rather larger than she liked, but deadly enough, and pulled from goodness knows where.

Primrose had never tried to be a good shot, she’d never want to be thought sporty. Despite her mother’s token protestations, one of the Wimbledon Hive, a vampire by the name of Gahiji, had taken Prim and Percy aside at a very young age. They were just old enough to grip a pistol properly when he gave them their first lesson. “The human children of a vampire queen are a great vulnerability to the hive as a whole. I go against my mistress’s wishes in this matter, but as her praetoriani, I must insist you learn to shoot.”

So they had learned and both become proficient. At the time, it was as an act of defiance against their mother. Gahiji had known full well what he did when he encouraged the twins to defy royal notice. Percy might think guns crass, and Primrose might consider them quite rude, but if their mother didn’t want them shooting anything, by golly they would learn to shoot everything.

And now I’m lodged in the prow of an airship with a pistol. Funny old thing, life. Primrose adjusted her hat and reached for her special armed parasol. Once she ran out of bullets she’d switch to the darts secreted in its shaft.

“Is everyone ready?” called out Rue. “Eyes to the sky, report in!”

One by one, each of the decklings called out their place on the ship and their viewing area.

Rue corrected two of them. “Nips, you’re looking port and down, much as possible, not up. We’ve got up covered already.”

“Aye, aye, Lady Captain.”

Prim checked her gun and made certain that her reticule full of bullets was securely attached to her pretty filigree belt.

There was a quiet stirring of air and no other warning, and then a warm presence settled next to her.

Prim started.

Tasherit flashed her a quick, breathtaking smile.

Cats. Always so silent on their feet.

“What are you doing awake?” Prim’s tone was harsh with irritation, because she felt a spike of giddy joy so profound it hurt.

“Gunfire.” The werecat gave her a chocolate-eyed appraisal as if searching for injury.

“Don’t be ridiculous, you’ve slept through louder. It is the middle of the day. It’s not healthy for you to be out here.”

“Little one, you care.” Tasherit was shrouded in long silky robes. A big wide straw hat of a potlike nature squatted atop her head. She was so amazingly beautiful, the hat was an insult to the world at large and Prim in particular.

Prim glared at both Tasherit and her hat. “You’re in real danger. You won’t heal properly! Go back inside. Do.”

“We’re about to go to battle, it seems. I’m the first mate aboard this ship. I’m needed here. And you are mortal, the danger is greater for you.”

“Disastrous hat,” said Prim, for lack of any other insult.

“It keeps the sun off.” Tasherit looked tired, she always did during daylight. It wasn’t healthy for any supernatural creature to be up with the sun, let alone awake and floating high in the air close to the aether. The werecat’s eyes were shadow-dark and red-spiked.

Rue appeared at that juncture on the forecastle near them. “Prim, report! Are you ready? Oh, Tasherit, what are you doing up?”

“Situation, Captain?”

“Gunfire from a mysterious and possibly invisible source. We’re trying to lure them out of hiding, see what we’re up against.”

Tasherit nodded. “Orders, Captain?”

“You’re good where you are, for now. Nice rifle.”

Only then did Prim notice that Tasherit was leaning heavily on a long, rather elegant-looking Swedish Mauser. She used it as if it were a cane.

“Where’d that come from?” Primrose asked, glaring at the blond rifle like a jealous lover. Her only excuse being she was still tetchy and it was a very pretty firearm.

“Oh, I just picked it up.”

“Found it arbitrarily lying about somewhere, did you?”

Tash stroked the barrel in a highly suggestive manner. “Not really my style, of course. But we seem to get ourselves into messes on this ship, and if I have to shoot, I wanted something bigger than average and threateningly loud.”

There was absolutely nothing Prim could say to that, so she didn’t.

Rue said, “Sounds like my Paw, only in gun form.” She, of course, either didn’t notice or didn’t care about the innuendo.

Rue left the forecastle then, yelling out once more, “All right, crew, tell me now if you aren’t ready.”

Nothing but tense silence met that.

“Percy,” Rue barked as she moved to take up her position in the exact middle of the main deck. “Depuff on my mark. Three, two, one, puff!”

They sank downwards.

The rat-tat-tat of gunfire sang out a few minutes later.

And then … There! Primrose spotted their enemy, dead ahead and down slightly to the left. It was a warship of some ilk, unlike anything Primrose had ever seen before. It bore absolutely no resemblance to the standard Gifford-model dirigible that had started the mad craze to float some fifty years ago.

At the same time, the deckling above her, hanging out over the bowsprit so she could see as much downwards as possible, shouted out, “Spotted!”

“Rue, over here!” called Prim.

Tasherit swung her rifle about and rested the barrel on the railing, standing up to sight down it. Prim tried not to worry that a woman with supernatural strength needed help holding up her weapon.

The Spotted Custard was relatively small for a dirigible, sleek and fashion-forward but at root a pleasure craft, made for tourism, not war or commerce. Prim had seen members of Her Majesty’s Airborne Floatillah. They were truly massive airships, impressive and mean looking, but still essentially an almond-shaped balloon – or two, or three stacked atop one another – with a boatlike gondola suspended beneath. They usually had an aetheric sail fore or aft and a propeller or two down below. Postal craft were similar.

The thing in front of them right now had no more in common with a standard dirigible than a muffin did with a kipper. An odd analogy, Prim knew, especially as her favourite food was the muffin and Tasherit’s was the kipper.

This thing had three tall teardrop-shaped balloons, two higher than the third. Prim assumed the higher ones held helium and the middle lower one was air ballast. They gave the distinct impression of bubbles in a glass of champagne. Except they were painted grey. The whole ship was painted grey.

The gondola looked like nothing so much as a massive soup ladle, with a propeller off the front of the bowl, another propeller sticking directly down off the bottom, and a third about halfway down the long handle, which Prim supposed was an extraordinarily long and misshapen bowsprit. It was the oddest bowsprit she’d ever seen – twice as long as the ship itself, sticking far out in a hazardous and precarious manner. The bowsprit supported part of a sail, which was open and up, even though they were in atmosphere not aether. There was a gun at the very tip. The ship was ugly, and incongruous, and made no aeronautic sense whatsoever.

And it had – Prim would swear to it – simply popped into existence in front of them out of thin air.

“Where the hell did that come from?” Tasherit asked, finger on the trigger of her rifle.

“I don’t know. It simply appeared there.”

“The laws of physics and nature would make that impossible, little one.”

Prim agreed. “It’s like it emerged from the grey, only we aren’t close enough to the aetherosphere for that to be possible.”

“Add to that the fact that they are below us and the aetherosphere is above us.”

“I can’t explain it any more than you can.” Prim tried not to sound annoyed.

“Well, little one, let us hope we survive long enough to find out what the hell is going on.”

God, she looks so tired and fragile. Primrose suppressed the urge to reach out and stroke Tasherit’s perfect face.

“It wouldn’t hurt anyone,” said the werecat.

“What wouldn’t?”

“You kissing me.”

“I … I …” Prim scrabbled for something, anything, to say.

“You?” Chocolate eyes could be so warm.

“Percy!” Rue’s shout cut through the moment. “Take us down to their level. Get us up close and intimate. I want to know what’s going on.”

Prim felt relief and disappointment in equal measure.

“You were saying?” Tasherit pressed.

“Nothing. I was saying nothing. It is of no consequence.”

Tasherit shook her head. “What hundreds of years haven’t wrought, you will manage in the space of mere months.”

“I beg your pardon?” Prim glared at the werecat, convinced she was being insulted – being irritated was so much easier than any other feeling.

“You will be the death of me. But such a lovely way to go.”

“I quite dislike you sometimes,” said Prim, a touch unguarded.

“I know,” said the werecat, cheerfully. Then she bumped her shoulder. “Gives me hope.”

Prim enjoyed the nudge more than she ought.

Percy depuffed them so that they were practically prow-to-prow with the enemy ship. A chubby ladybug dirigible facing up against a sublimely odd-looking midair soup ladle.

Rue rejoined them on the forecastle deck. “That is the ugliest floating utensil I’ve ever seen.”

A blast of gunfire. They were still not quite in range. Which is why Rue hadn’t swung them broadside to return fire with the Gatling gun yet.

“They keep wasting bullets. If we know that we are out of range, they must know that too. Do you think they really have evil intent, or are they simply trying to scare us off?” Tasherit asked this, but did not leave off sighting down her rifle.

Rue frowned. “Or they don’t know their own equipment.”

“Stolen ship?” suggested Prim, thinking hard. It was odd behaviour.

“Or they have better guns than we do and are terrible shots.” Rue shrugged, dismissing the discussion. In typical Rue fashion she was more concerned with the immediate crisis than the reasons behind it.

“Any idea where they came from?” asked Tash.

“None whatsoever.” Rue wandered back towards navigation and leapt down to the main deck to yell up at Prim’s brother. “Percy, ramp up the propeller and ease us towards them. Slowly now, bring us around at the same time, show them the starboard side. Willard, man your gun and prepare to fire, we’re almost in range!”

Prim was briefly distracted by a press of sweet dry lips against her own. Yes, they were exactly as soft as she remembered from their encounter in the hallway. Only a brief kiss this time, though. Tasherit had nothing to prove.

“What?” Prim blinked, surprised.

“You weren’t paying attention to me. I don’t like it when you aren’t paying attention.” The werecat looked smug.

Prim opened her mouth, could think of nothing snappy to say, sputtered slightly, and suspected she looked rather more like a fish than a cultivated young lady of superior understanding. So she shut her mouth and glared.

“Ready to fire on my mark!” sang out Rue, her voice rather too full of delight for Prim’s comfort. My dearest friend is a bloodthirsty little creature. Or maybe she simply enjoys the power. Prim considered, Which would be worse?

“Three, two, one, God’s teeth! What the hell?”

Prim blinked.

Everything around them vanished.

They were surrounded by grey – closing in, muting, shrouding. The aetherosphere. But how?

The enemy ladle ship, which had, mere moments before, been right there in front of them, had completely vanished.

Prim turned to see Tasherit’s reaction.

Only to find that the werecat was crumpled and insensate on the deck next to her.