“What is that about?” Rue pointed to The Complete Indian Housekeeper and Cook clutched in Prim’s hands as they exited.
“Best to give Virgil something more to report to my brother than us returning a book. If we took something from his collection, Percy will focus on that and forget the one we added.”
“Very nice tactic.” Rue respected Prim’s manipulative talents.
“Besides, this looks like an interesting read.”
At which statement Rue, who preferred adventure novels, was properly horrified.
Three days later, they left off their slow spinning, to the great relief of all. It had become disorientating, even in the grey nothingness of the aetherosphere. Prim had stopped taking tea on deck, claiming the stateroom was more restorative. Rue made a vow to eschew the waltz at future balls – it may be old-fashioned of her, but she had a newfound respect for the quadrille.
Percy de-puffed them expertly into a more relaxed and standard current, the Central Hyderabad Waft, which would take them on to India and down towards Bombay. From the maps, Rue knew that they must be above the Baghdad Environs at the moment, but the aetherosphere provided no evidence to this fact. Much as she loved to float, Rue was finding that she preferred the slower method inside the actual air, where one could see the landscape below.
It would take another three days to reach Bombay but Rue insisted they continue without pause. This might tax their stores and leave them low on fuel, but there was no convenient tower near the Hyderabad Waft. They’d have to go to ground for a restock and dipping down would severely waste hours.
Everyone was prosaic about this decision except Primrose, who panicked over the prospect of running low on milk. She instructed Cook to take all non-dairy essentials, including Rue’s favourite custards, off the menu until further notice – all milk being required for tea – and even considered extracting the Swiss condensed reserves out of storage.
“I don’t think we need go that far,” was Rue’s response to the idea.
“Extreme measures,” hinted Prim darkly.
Despite her friend’s doom talk, they made it to Bombay with little fuss and no shortage of milk. They de-puffed out of the aetherosphere to find India spread below them like a great red and brown apple fritter nestled in a pool of blue sauce. There were sprinkles of green jungle, which, if one continued the comparison, meant the fritter was mouldy.
Rue had no idea if Bombay was typical of the colonies, but it was not typical of any city she’d ever visited before. Which she guessed meant the onus was on her to change what she considered city-like. It was lyrically beautiful, a place of colour and spice. Aunt Ivy would have waxed most verbose at the sight. Possibly even written another slim travel memoir.
Rue, while impressed, was frightened of flowery language even when faced with such an amazing sight as Bombay.
“Oh, my,” was the sum total of her commentary, as Percy guided them slowly through the atmosphere, ever downward towards the mass of buildings, dirigibles, roads, rails, and humanity that made up the First Great Port of the Great British Empire.
Later, Rue added to her eloquence with, “Gracious me.”
Bombay was, ostensibly, a peninsula, but it looked from above more like an island, surrounded on almost all sides by water. Percy was directing them towards the southern-most tip where a parade ground gave way to an old cemetery and the Colaba Battery. A muddy beach along the western edge had been misappropriated for airship use and was dotted with dirigibles, ornithopters, and balloons, plus associated loading docks and mooring points. The airships were tied down using long lines fixed to bollards set into the ramparts of the parade ground. In cases of very high tide, the airships were given lee to rise up above the water. It was impossible to board at such times, but given the crowded city, this made for a sensible use of an otherwise unreliable beach.
Fortunately, it was low tide as The Spotted Custard floated in to ground.
The ship caused no little fuss upon arrival. Bombay and her resident regiments were accustomed to airships in many shapes and sizes but The Spotted Custard was a cut above the rest, and rather shiny. Officers liked flash, particularly red flash, and they were suitably impressed by a large ladybird bobbing into port. A few of the off-duty foot even wandered over to see who might disembark from such an impressive ship.
Also, as Rue was to shortly discover, the native population appreciated transport disguised as animals.
“Let’s give them a show as we disembark, shall we?” suggested Rue to Prim’s evident delight.
Primrose was fond of the military – rather too much for Aunt Ivy’s comfort; Rue a little less so, as she grew up with werewolves who were always attached to some regiment or another.
“Shall we change?” suggested Rue.
Prim was grinning.
Rue turned to her crew, busy battening down the Custard for docking. The mainsail was in, the mooring ropes out, and the propeller wound down.
“You all right from here on without me, Navigator Tunstell?”
Percy nodded without bothering to reply.
Rue wondered if she should ask him if he wanted to come along but, knowing Percy, calculated that this was a waste of breath.
The two ladies linked arms and headed across the poop deck to the ladder down to their quarters.
Since the idea was to impress, they chose two of their best walking dresses – after consultation to ensure the outfits would display well together. Primrose selected a lemon-yellow organza with black velvet trim in petal-like layers over the skirt and black flower appliqué on the bodice. It had a wide black velvet belt to emphasise the slenderness of her waist. The sleeves were the latest in leg-of-mutton cut with wide black ribbon cuffs. And, of course, it boasted a matching black hat decorated with yellow bows and a huge ostrich plume out the back.
Rue went with a burnt umber Indian silk Worth. Dama was dear friends with Jean-Philippe and had a standing order in for Rue – new gowns every season. Dama referred to the older Worth’s demise earlier that year as the Great Tragedy, and had consoled Jean-Philippe with copious flowers, bolts of silk, and letters of condolence. Jean-Philippe had responded with, among other things, this very dress. It was simpler than Prim’s gown, with a slashed bodice and overskirt. Out from the skirt peeked crêpe of a slightly darker umber, and from the bodice a Madras muslin of cream with brown flowers. The edges of the gown were bordered in more of the crêpe, with collar and cuffs of brown velvet. A patten of cream appliqué over the bodice echoed that of the black on Prim’s lemon gown. Rue’s sleeves were narrow and cut high with a lace trim. Her hat was a great deal more modest – of flat Italian straw with one brown velvet bow and three umber silk roses. Together they looked rather like excited mobile tiger lilies.