“If you insist. But later, please? Now, where was I?”

He kissed her again.

“True I was there, but… oh, yes. Any idea how long they hold? Those darts of yours?”

Quesnel looked like he very much wanted to kiss her again, and while Rue thought that was a splendid idea, she couldn’t afford to get further derailed.

“On normal humans, about an hour.”

Rue helped her lover back into his makeshift bed. “And on a soulless?”

Quesnel blinked.

“The aforementioned cousin of mine is a Tarabotti.” Rue fluffed Quesnel’s pillows, fussing about him because what she wanted to do was pounce on top of him and kiss him senseless. Given his weakened state, if she did pounce, he would likely indeed lose consciousness.

“Oh. Oh! Um, should be the same. Preternaturals have normal mortal human chemistry, you know, apart from the lack of soul.”

“Excellent. And now Floote. Is he okay? Did… ?”

Quesnel’s face fell. “Anitra brought him down. It wasn’t a direct shot but it’s pretty bad. He’s too old for that kind of thing. Even older than you might think. The shock likely did it. Heart attack or something. I’m afraid he’s dead.”

Rue bit her lip in sympathy. “Oh, poor Anitra. Did he… was there… a remnant?” Rue had never witnessed an unbirth. As with normal births, they were not something an unmarried lady ought to observe.

“Yes.”

Rue pressed a glass of barley water on him. “Does he wish for the ghost holder or should I provide transitive services?”

Quesnel sipped, making a face, but his colour improved. “What do you mean… ? Oh, I forgot. Metanaturals can perform exorcisms.”

“I’ve never done it, but I understand that’s the theory.”

“Go down. Talk to them. See what they say. It should be his choice. He has given your family many years of service, in one form or another. Perhaps he wants to rest now.”

Rue made certain Quesnel had his bullhorn within reach, so if he wanted to yell instructions at Aggie he could, and climbed down the spiral stairs.

The boiler room was a hive of activity as sooties, greasers, and firemen worked to keep the ship steady despite the loss of helium and the low altitude. Aggie was busy barking orders and ignoring Rue, which suited them both. They were still in the air and that was saying something. Rue felt no need to interfere.

In the far corner, near Quesnel’s tank, Anitra was on her knees next to her dead grandfather. Or adopted grandfather. Not that the particulars mattered. Rue always felt as if Dama were her blood relation, adopted or no, and she knew how awful she would feel if he died.

Floote’s wrinkled face was as impassive in death as it had been in life. Up from his body, in a silver wispy thread, came a long faint shimmering mist. It was struggling to coalesce into a proper ghostly form. It was amorphous. Floote needed to remember what he looked like in life.

Then, as if being dead were a momentary lapse, like forgetting how to spell a word, Formerly Floote popped into non-existence. He looked, Rue figured, as he might have appeared when he was valet to her grandfather, younger, old-fashioned clothing. Obviously, his clearest memory of himself was from that point in his life.

The ghost looked around. He took in Anitra’s crumpled form and then glanced thoughtfully at Rue. She kept herself well away, not wanting to risk contact with his body lest she sever his tether and with it his last connection to the mortal plane.

“Odd sensation.” His voice had a new breathy component, which was weird considering there was no breath at all behind it.

He seemed more animated as a ghost, but still nondescript, wearing the ghostly representation of valet clothing from sixty years ago. Rue wondered if he had been less reserved back then and sobered over the years, or if he simply conceived himself as more lively than he actually was.

“Formerly Floote.” Rue gave him the honour of his new title. “You are not bound to stay if you do not wish it. I can see you released.”

Formerly Floote sighed. Wisps of himself shifted with an imagined breath. “There is much still unfinished. I believe I should like to stay a little longer. But not to poltergeist. That is too undignified an end.”

Rue was relieved. “We have the tank for you. You could keep preserved quite a long time in that, if you like. Otherwise, the moment we hit aether, you would, uh, cease.”

Formerly Floote rotated slowly in the air, to look at the tank behind him. “Ah. Was this Madame Lefoux’s idea, or Lady Maccon’s, or your young man’s?”

“Lord Akeldama’s.”

“I should have known. It was meant for me all along?”

“He thinks I need you.”

He drifted a bit from side to side. “And do you?”

He had known, back on the deck, of her cousin’s soullessness. He had known, with the Drifters, how to negotiate for help. He had told her some of her mother’s history. He had more to tell about her grandfather’s. And, quite frankly, Rue liked him. He was calming. Not a lot of people in her life were. He seemed like the kind of man who needed to be needed, even if he was dead.

“Yes.” Rue raised her chin. “I rather suspect I do need you.”

“Then I’ll stay.” There was no hesitation in Formerly Floote’s voice. His posture was perfectly straight. He was already focused on stopping a propensity to waft.

With Rue unable to touch the body, they had to get Aggie to help load it into the tank. She wasn’t as awful as she could have been, for Anitra’s sake. Even Aggie had sympathies for the bereaved.