He jumped off the bed and removed the last of his clothing. He gritted his teeth and blushed, more self-conscious than the werewolves of Rue’s acquaintance. Perhaps this was more an obligation rather than a pleasure?

“You don’t have to.” Rue didn’t want him to feel forced.

“It’s only a little embarrassment. You’ve seen pictures. It’s time for you to do a little of that exploring you’re so fond of.”

“Goodie!” Rue clapped her hands only a tiny bit.

He grinned. “Standing or lying down?”

Rue pursed her lips and wandered over to him, letting her gaze and then her hands drift.

She wasn’t taken with the idea of kneeling at his feet. The book was fond of depicting this dynamic but Rue had decided early on that it didn’t appeal. She informed Quesnel of this.

He seemed oddly pleased. “Not that I don’t think we can try it eventually – you shouldn’t rule anything completely out – but I agree it’s a little servile.”

“Exactly!” replied Rue. “I’m a lady. We don’t kneel.” Since she had one hand on his posterior at the time in a completely unladylike manner, this comment came off as hilarious to the both of them.

“To the bed!” Quesnel lay back, utterly nude and looking only a little uncomfortable under Rue’s interested gaze. He put both hands behind his head, as though they needed to be trapped there.

“Lady Prudence, I am at your disposal.”

“Are we still on the only kissing part of the lesson plan?”

“For this, I think you should be allowed to do your worst. Hopefully matters won’t get too ungovernable.”

“Is that why?” Rue gestured, indicating that, unlike their previous encounters, not all of him was interested in these proceedings.

“Yes. Plus, I’m a little cold.”

“A challenge.” Rue was hesitant at first, using only a few fingers. She experimented with pressure, curious about the different textures of his skin. Unlike the werewolf uncles, Quesnel had very little hair on his chest, only a sprinkling that arrowed in and trailed lower down. Rue followed it, stopping when he sucked in his breath.

“Too rough?”

“Just ticklish.”

All in all, it proved a most enjoyable evening.

Quesnel’s prior preparations notwithstanding, Rue got to see about everything a girl could wish to see – a most instructive experience.

When he left her, it must have been almost noon, and they both were anticipating very little sleep.

It was entirely worth it.

“Tomorrow,” Quesnel said, kissing her into slumber, “it’s your turn.” He let himself quietly out.

Rue didn’t say, “Oh, goodie,” this time. But she certainly thought it.

Rue convinced herself that this was her version of an airship captain’s amusing dalliance – piratical in nature. When she was a retired adventuress, she would look back upon this as the romantic indiscretion of her pillaging youth. She was resolute in her commitment to avoiding deep sentiment, knowing that Quesnel was an irreverent butterfly apt to flit off to a new colourful flower at any shift in the breeze. For example, she was painfully cognisant of the fact that he left her after each encounter. When Rue finally slept, it was always alone.

While Rue and Quesnel occupied their time with each other, Primrose spent the grey in philanthropic pursuits, teaching the sooties and decklings to read. Spoo and Virgil took up gambling. Primrose put a stopper on that right quick, but not before Virgil owed Spoo most of his worldly goods. Lady Maccon discovered Percy’s library and Footnote and took to both like a werewolf to venison. Percy mooched about the deck, displaced by Lady Maccon, or intent on avoiding literary temptation, or both. The destitute Virgil divided his time between assisting Primrose in her educational endeavours, running errands for Lady Maccon, and chasing after Percy with misplaced accessories.

They were near to leaving the aetherosphere when the idyllic journey became much less idyllic.

It was Rue’s own fault. She went to engineering to consult Quesnel without ascertaining that he’d be there. When it turned out he wasn’t, she was faced with Aggie. Rue couldn’t very well turn around and leave without talking to anyone.

“Miss Phinkerlington?”

Aggie finished assisting one of the sooties with a boiler fill before brushing her hands down her shirtfront ostentatiously and approaching Rue.

“Captain?” The tone implied some level of incompetence on Rue’s part.

“How are the coal bunkers? When we puff down, I’ve plans to refuel immediately, but I’d like to know we could get in and out on what we have if necessary.”

“Expecting a less than enthusiastic reception, are we?”

“No. The troubles of the eighties are long settled. I simply wish to know if we’re desperate.”

Aggie chewed a fingernail, which – considering the state of her hands – revolted Rue. “We’ll be fine to get down and back up, but we’d need a way station right quick after. Wouldn’t be able to get to grey again without strain.”

Rue nodded. “I appreciate your assessment.”

“Hardly see as how you need come all the way down to ask. Could’ve used the tube.”

Rue was ruffled. “It’s only polite to come in person. I find the blow horn unfriendly, don’t you?”

“No.”

“Oh.”