“That French boy of yours! Have you any idea what he’s gone and done?”

“Quesnel? Isn’t he still overseas?”

“He can go to the devil for all I care! What has that to do with anything? Traitorous beast. I don’t know why I’m surprised given his ancestry and inclinations. French engineer indeed!”

Rue and Primrose exchanged looks. All Percy seemed to be accusing Quesnel of was, frankly, being himself. True, Quesnel was theoretically French, but he’d been mostly educated in England. And there was nothing wrong with being an engineer. It’s not like Percy would get his lily-white hands greasy; someone had to keep them floating while he navigated.

Rue shifted her stance. “Yes, yes, but what did he do, Percy?”

Percy went all broody. “If you don’t know, I’m not going to tell you. I shall enjoy watching you find out exactly as I did. The shock of it. In the meantime, I’ll have my revenge. Just you see if I don’t.”

He sounded like the villain in a gothic novel. Rue hid a grin. “Percy, darling, I realise, unlike some, that what I don’t know could fill the Library of Alexandria. Hence the reason I keep you around, charming though you may be.”

Percy puffed a bit at what he took as a compliment.

“Oh really, Percy!” Primrose did not find her brother funny. “Do try not to be so ridiculous. Have a nice cup of hot tea and you’ll be more the tick in two shakes.”

“I was thinking the same thing.” Rue was slightly concerned about what Percy might do to get back at Quesnel for this perceived slight, but that was Quesnel’s problem. If past experience was anything to go on, Quesnel could handle Percy. He could also rile Percy up like no one else. Since it was clearly some gentlemen thing, Rue refused to dignify it with her concern.

She pierced Percy with a glare. “So, why are these men looking for you?”

Percy stopped at that. “Men? What men?”

“Exactly what we wish to know.”

Percy lost some of his pique in confusion. “I’ve no idea what you’re on about, Prudence. Now, I will kindly ask you ladies to leave me in peace. I have some vital research to conduct and I need chatter-free quiet in which to conduct it. Is that my valet skulking in the background?”

Virgil moved further into the library. “Sir?”

“Oh good, I seem to have lost my hat. Find another one? There’s a good lad.”

Virgil said, “Yes, sir,” in a tone that suggested he was humouring his master. He disappeared into the stacks towards a corner of the room that presumably housed Percy’s wardrobe.

Rue and Primrose, summarily dismissed and knowing they would get nothing more out of the redhead, made their way out.

Spoo ran them down in the hallway, rubbing her eyes, short hair sticking up every which way. Spoo was rather a prize as far as capability was concerned. She was, as per usual, dressed as a boy and slightly smudged.

“Oye up, Lady Captain. I’ve been waiting for you to dock in.”

“Good evening, Spoo. Everything shipshape and Bristol fashion while I was away?”

“Mostly.” Spoo’s tone indicated that she had gossip to impart. “Something is being installed in engineering. Old Aggie won’t let me see, on account of her bitterness over me leaving off sootie for deckling. I think you might want to find out what it is.”

Primrose wasn’t interested in this conversation. She undertook the supervision of the ship’s staff, ensuring that tea was served on time and other similar necessities vital to everyone’s comfort were provided. She couldn’t care less about the mechanics of The Spotted Custard’s crew.

“Rue dear, I think I might go and do something else.” Strangely, Prim drifted back up on deck when there was nothing to occupy her attention, and the only one awake was Tasherit in lioness form.

Rue wished her a pleasant night. “Thank you, Spoo. I shall investigate at once.” I wonder if this is at Quesnel’s behest? Is this what has Percy’s dander up?

Leaving Spoo to return to her bed, Rue climbed down the spiral staircase to the lowest level of her ship, where the two massive boilers were housed in all their teakettle glory.

Everything was quiet. The Spotted Custard was on low burn; only the main kettle was simmering. The other wasn’t needed unless they were in full propeller mode.

A single sleepy-eyed sootie tended to the main. He gave Rue a nod as she passed.

Everything else was still and silent, except in a back corner, behind a coal pile where Aggie Phinkerlington was humming to herself and tinkering with a remarkable-looking gadget.

It was a large tank, not unlike one of those Wardian cases that the mad fern collectors used to display their obsession. This one was empty of ferns and in the process of construction and installation.

Rue cleared her throat delicately.

Aggie didn’t jump, not really – she was too stoic for that – but she did reach to flip a horse blanket over the tank and turned around brandishing a wrench and a displeased expression.

Aggie was head greaser, second in command of the boiler room after Quesnel, which made her chief engineer while he was away. For some reason Rue did not understand, Aggie had never warmed to her. Which was a shame, because Rue thought that under more auspicious circumstances she would like the young battleaxe. Aggie reminded her a bit of Lady Kingair.

Aggie was a redhead with a vast sprinkling of freckles over porcelain skin under which blue veins were clearly visible. That skin spoke more to a life spent in engineering than ancestry. She was sublimely fit. Her arm muscles had arm muscles. Rue, who had grown up around werewolves, thought Aggie most impressive even by their standards. She was one of the few women Rue had ever met who actually looked like she might survive metamorphosis. Whether she was creative enough to have excess soul, Rue would never know. Aggie rarely let anyone see any part of her but the tetchy efficient bit.