“Do we? I should think that was the last thing The Spotted Custard needed – yet another eccentric.” The boy squinted up at Arsenic. “Are you an eccentric, Doctor?”
“Only when the situation warrants.”
“You aren’t wearing a hat.”
“Hats get in the way, except for sunshade, and I work indoors.” Arsenic had strong feelings on the service application of hats. Once she stopped hiding the fact that she was female and started growing her hair, she tended towards a simple plait. This kept all her thick strands contained, but did not easily support hatpins. Besides, small hats served no useful function and large ones interfered with visual acumen. She’d given them up soon as may be.
“Oh dear,” said Virgil.
“They’re na practical under most circumstances.” She dug in.
“Stop, before you get into real trouble,” advised Spoo, grinning hugely.
“This will all end in tears,” predicted Virgil, guiding her over to a ladder that led down belowdecks.
“Only for you, Virgil-love,” shot Spoo at his departing back, and then added, “You playing tiddlywinks with us after dinner?”
Virgil waved a lugubrious hand at her.
Arsenic, hiding a smile and feeling far more relaxed than previously, set her mono-wheel down against the railing with a sharp look at Spoo and a small prayer that it wouldn’t be tampered with, and followed Virgil into the belly of the dirigible.
“I like your ship,” she said, hoping to mollify the young man.
“It’s ridiculous,” he replied, unmollified. “So spotty.”
“I’ve always been a fan of ladybugs,” replied Arsenic. It was true. Her father was an avid gardener who’d passed that love on to Arsenic. She’d never met a gardener who didn’t love a ladybug or two. She was charmed by the fact that The Spotted Custard’s balloon was painted to resemble one. It was jolly, all over red and black. Besides, it matched her outfit.
Professor Percival Tunstell (sometimes erroneously referred to as the Honourable) was annoyed with life and bored out of his gourd.
“This is the last one, correct? Please say yes.” He didn’t bother to hide his annoyance. He’d no idea why he was needed for this, of all things! He’d theories to research (very important theories), charts to draw up (vital and interesting charts). Instead he was stuck sitting in his best suit wasting good daylight hours on an endless stream of insufferably pompous physicians.
“If he works, he’s the last one. But given what’s happened so far…” Primrose puffed out her cheeks. “We’ll likely have to do this all over again. Run another advertisement.” She was clearly vexed, but being his sister, relished threatening him with future horror.
He glared at her as if this were all her fault. Then, in case she couldn’t interpret his expression after two dozen years of being his twin, he said, “This is all your fault.” He suspected he sounded atrocious and too much like their mother.
“It absolutely is not! I happened to be one of the few people on this airship not injured over the last year.”
She had a fair point.
Percy hated it when his sister had a fair point.
Rue interceded. “Stop it, both of you. It’s got to be done. Perhaps I should have worded the advertisement more strongly?”
Prim sighed loudly. “You said, must tolerate explosions and cats. I’d think that’s sufficiently strong.”
“Yes, but I didn’t say we’d actually be testing them with an explosion and a cat.”
Primrose pursed her lips. “I’m sure Quesnel didn’t mean for the sugar pot to blow up.”
“He never does.” Rue wore a fond smile. “You have to admit it’s rather startling.”
Prim rolled her eyes. “Yes, all six times. Will it be happening with the next tea tray as well?”
“Of course.”
Percy added, “And Footnote didn’t mean to sniff every single one of them. But to be fair, this is his airship. More importantly, this is the stateroom where there’s usually food. He’s always around if we’re in here. I can’t kick him out, that’d be rude. Right, Footy old chap?”
Footnote, who was currently leaning against Percy’s left ankle with one paw on the toe of his shoe, looked up at him and gave an imperious mew.
Rue agreed, “It certainly would be rude.”
“Perhaps it’s not the advert but the profession itself that is unable to satisfy our needs?” suggested Primrose forlornly.
Percy didn’t want to agree with her but she was probably correct. He had his doubts about physicians. Leeches and charlatans, the lot of them, with no foundation in good proper scientific research and…
A tap came at the door. Footnote trotted over to supervise whatever happened next.
“Come in,” said Rue. Not rising.
Percy stood, though. He was prepared to make a slightly too shallow bow to properly greet whatever pedantic twaddle swaggered through the door. He may have strong feelings on the profession, but he was a gentleman.
Virgil led in the candidate.
Percy goggled.
There was no kinder way of putting it. Positively goggled like a stunned chipmunk.
Primrose let out a soft, “Oh my.”
Rue rubbed her hands together. “Excellent!”
Virgil intoned, “Your five o’clock appointment, Dr Ruthven, to see you, Lady Captain.”
Percy considered that he might have to wean Virgil off his current diet of gothic literature. His valet was becoming positively moribund. He didn’t fret over Virgil’s reading habits for long, though, because some irresistible force dragged his attention back to the new doctor.
Percy came over all queasy and flushed. Oh dear.
The female physician, for that was what she must be, was on the smallish side, thin compared to Rue and Prim, and a mite taller. Certainly not as beautiful as Tasherit. Yet he was riveted by her. As if she were some new unexplainable natural phenomenon, like the aetheric bubbles he’d recently written about in a widely discussed and well-received new pamphlet. Or those bright green sand fleas he’d collected in Lima. Being female, she probably wouldn’t like the comparison to bubbles or fleas, but both had been absolutely fascinating.
She was serious faced and dark haired and she wore no hat. Her attire seemed odd but serviceable. Percy had no eye for fashion. He disliked that he was noticing hers.
She turned big dark blue eyes on him.
Percy froze. He was supposed to bow or something. “I’ll just sit,” he said, voice a little weak. And did. He’d seen a whale once the colour of those eyes. Big whale, very smooth and in the ocean and lashing its tail about and…
Percival Tunstell had lost his train of scientific thought.
Percival Tunstell never lost a train of scientific thought. This was not good.
Virgil made introductions. “This is the captain, Lady Akeldama. That is the Honourable Miss Tunstell, ship’s purser, and this rude boffin is my horrible master, Professor Tunstell, ship’s navigator. Ignore him. I usually do.” He glared about. “Spoo approves this candidate, in case you care.” He threw this last statement at Rue almost like a barb.
Rue made a note. “Of course I care.”