So Rue ordered her out of it. “Primrose, go to Percy and lock yourself in with him. Don’t unlock it for anyone. We’ll use the code word once this refuse has been rusticated.”
Prim didn’t answer. She was already dashing below, intent on protecting her twin from whatever it was that he had brought on himself.
Rue, for lack of anything better, grabbed up a sluicing mop and issued one of the bruisers shooting at Tasherit a full biff to the side of the head. He went down, dropping his gun. A deckling tumbled in, retrieving the gun in a somersault… Spoo.
Another deckling shot a bolt into a second gunman. Shoulder wound but effective, for the man cried out and clutched at his arm, falling to his knees. Two more decklings swooped in, screaming like banshees, swinging from the rigging – feet first at the still-standing man.
Rue closed in on her prey, flipping the mop about and pressing the wooden handle to the man’s throat in case he had ideas on moving.
Meanwhile her two deckhands, Willard and Bork, pried off the grapples in case any more of the enemy tried to board.
Tasherit was handling her two invaders with bloody aplomb. To be fair, she was going easy on them. They were only mortal, and she could have killed them with one blow; instead she was batting at them like a house cat with field mice. One of them took his chances jumping back over the rails rather than continue to suffer those claws. The other huddled in a ball, his back a shredded mess. Occasionally, he would uncoil and skitter sideways. She’d yowl, charge, and swipe to stop him. He’d ball up again for a time and then skitter the other way. She’d let him think he could escape for a while, then pounce in a jolly manner.
Rue let her have her fun.
Out of the corner of her eye, Rue admired the decklings in action; like a small herd of lemurs, they swarmed their man and clung to every part of his body. Despite being a substantial fellow, he was slowly folding under their collective weight.
Rue turned her full attention back to the blighter lying below her. He was clearly not best pleased to have been felled by a gentlewoman with a mop.
He was a big man, almost as big as Paw, who was one of the biggest Rue knew. He grabbed the mop handle and yanked. Rue, who was no fool, let go rather than pit her strength against his. He rolled to his feet and swung. Rue darted back, out of reach, wary.
Spoo, having determined the small mess of decklings had the other gunman under control, came running over to Rue.
“This might work a bit more the treat, Lady Captain.” Spoo was grinning in a decidedly evil manner as she handed over the man’s revolver.
The man squinted at her in focused interest.
Rue wasn’t overly fond of guns but they were awfully useful when facing a man twice her size with no respect in his eyes. Guns engendered respect and Rue did know how to shoot one – Dama had made certain of it. This one was a mite bigger than the muff pistols she’d learned on but seemed to function about the same in theory. It took both her thumbs to cock it, and she hoped not to have to actually shoot; it’d have a terrific kick.
Upon seeing her facing him with a revolver and not a mop, the man became wary.
“What do you want with this ship?” Rue demanded.
“It’s not us. It’s ’em as hired us.”
Rue was annoyed enough to wiggle the pistol. “That is not an answer.”
The man smiled. “That’s all you’re getting.” He ran for the railing.
Rue was surprised enough not to shoot. They were about rooftop height above the ground. It wasn’t a fall most daylight folk could survive. Except as he jumped, he shed his massive overcoat and had some kind of boxy device strapped to his back. She leaned over the railing to watch. It deployed into an articulated gliding apparatus which lifted off his shoulders with the pull of a strap.
Rue had never seen the like. He seemed to catch the breeze and sail about, directing himself with a tilt this way and a tilt that way, like a bat. It looked pretty darn fun and Rue instantly wanted a whole bunch of them for her crew. Parachutes were one thing, but this was much more mobile.
“Nifty,” said Spoo. “Can we get us some of those, Lady Captain?”
“I was pondering along similar lines. I’ve not seen such a contraption before. Have you, Spoo?”
“No, I ain’t.”
“Well, then, new gadget, pretty advanced at that.” Which made Rue think of Quesnel’s mysterious fern tank down in the boiler room. Perhaps these men were after that? Exo-splorers, apparat-collectors, and cog-burglars weren’t so uncommon these days, and if they heard of something new outside patent control, they might risk boarding her airship to steal it. Although, they didn’t seem prepared to transport something as big.
As everything seemed to be controlled on deck, Rue ran below to find that Aggie had pulled an enormous metal carapace over the tank, which bolted to the floor through one of the securing rings meant for a boiler. Definitely Lefoux design. Rue had seen Quesnel in a steam roly-poly transport made with exactly the same kind of carapace.
If anyone was after that tech, they certainly weren’t getting it. Rue was oddly reassured over its safety, especially given no one had asked her opinion on its presence.
Back on deck, Tasherit had her mouse supine and panting under one large paw. The decklings had their lemur tree felled and were sitting on every available part of him. They looked mighty pleased with themselves. Rue decided she would put on a very nice tea for them tomorrow as a thank-you. I shall get some hot cross buns from Lottapiggle’s.
Prim didn’t answer. She was already dashing below, intent on protecting her twin from whatever it was that he had brought on himself.
Rue, for lack of anything better, grabbed up a sluicing mop and issued one of the bruisers shooting at Tasherit a full biff to the side of the head. He went down, dropping his gun. A deckling tumbled in, retrieving the gun in a somersault… Spoo.
Another deckling shot a bolt into a second gunman. Shoulder wound but effective, for the man cried out and clutched at his arm, falling to his knees. Two more decklings swooped in, screaming like banshees, swinging from the rigging – feet first at the still-standing man.
Rue closed in on her prey, flipping the mop about and pressing the wooden handle to the man’s throat in case he had ideas on moving.
Meanwhile her two deckhands, Willard and Bork, pried off the grapples in case any more of the enemy tried to board.
Tasherit was handling her two invaders with bloody aplomb. To be fair, she was going easy on them. They were only mortal, and she could have killed them with one blow; instead she was batting at them like a house cat with field mice. One of them took his chances jumping back over the rails rather than continue to suffer those claws. The other huddled in a ball, his back a shredded mess. Occasionally, he would uncoil and skitter sideways. She’d yowl, charge, and swipe to stop him. He’d ball up again for a time and then skitter the other way. She’d let him think he could escape for a while, then pounce in a jolly manner.
Rue let her have her fun.
Out of the corner of her eye, Rue admired the decklings in action; like a small herd of lemurs, they swarmed their man and clung to every part of his body. Despite being a substantial fellow, he was slowly folding under their collective weight.
Rue turned her full attention back to the blighter lying below her. He was clearly not best pleased to have been felled by a gentlewoman with a mop.
He was a big man, almost as big as Paw, who was one of the biggest Rue knew. He grabbed the mop handle and yanked. Rue, who was no fool, let go rather than pit her strength against his. He rolled to his feet and swung. Rue darted back, out of reach, wary.
Spoo, having determined the small mess of decklings had the other gunman under control, came running over to Rue.
“This might work a bit more the treat, Lady Captain.” Spoo was grinning in a decidedly evil manner as she handed over the man’s revolver.
The man squinted at her in focused interest.
Rue wasn’t overly fond of guns but they were awfully useful when facing a man twice her size with no respect in his eyes. Guns engendered respect and Rue did know how to shoot one – Dama had made certain of it. This one was a mite bigger than the muff pistols she’d learned on but seemed to function about the same in theory. It took both her thumbs to cock it, and she hoped not to have to actually shoot; it’d have a terrific kick.
Upon seeing her facing him with a revolver and not a mop, the man became wary.
“What do you want with this ship?” Rue demanded.
“It’s not us. It’s ’em as hired us.”
Rue was annoyed enough to wiggle the pistol. “That is not an answer.”
The man smiled. “That’s all you’re getting.” He ran for the railing.
Rue was surprised enough not to shoot. They were about rooftop height above the ground. It wasn’t a fall most daylight folk could survive. Except as he jumped, he shed his massive overcoat and had some kind of boxy device strapped to his back. She leaned over the railing to watch. It deployed into an articulated gliding apparatus which lifted off his shoulders with the pull of a strap.
Rue had never seen the like. He seemed to catch the breeze and sail about, directing himself with a tilt this way and a tilt that way, like a bat. It looked pretty darn fun and Rue instantly wanted a whole bunch of them for her crew. Parachutes were one thing, but this was much more mobile.
“Nifty,” said Spoo. “Can we get us some of those, Lady Captain?”
“I was pondering along similar lines. I’ve not seen such a contraption before. Have you, Spoo?”
“No, I ain’t.”
“Well, then, new gadget, pretty advanced at that.” Which made Rue think of Quesnel’s mysterious fern tank down in the boiler room. Perhaps these men were after that? Exo-splorers, apparat-collectors, and cog-burglars weren’t so uncommon these days, and if they heard of something new outside patent control, they might risk boarding her airship to steal it. Although, they didn’t seem prepared to transport something as big.
As everything seemed to be controlled on deck, Rue ran below to find that Aggie had pulled an enormous metal carapace over the tank, which bolted to the floor through one of the securing rings meant for a boiler. Definitely Lefoux design. Rue had seen Quesnel in a steam roly-poly transport made with exactly the same kind of carapace.
If anyone was after that tech, they certainly weren’t getting it. Rue was oddly reassured over its safety, especially given no one had asked her opinion on its presence.
Back on deck, Tasherit had her mouse supine and panting under one large paw. The decklings had their lemur tree felled and were sitting on every available part of him. They looked mighty pleased with themselves. Rue decided she would put on a very nice tea for them tomorrow as a thank-you. I shall get some hot cross buns from Lottapiggle’s.
