“Yes, sir!”

“Percy, puff us up.”

Rue, still a cat, took her station on the forecastle at the very front near the bowsprit, first line of defence. The enemy dirigibles were moving swiftly in over the lake, coming from the north over the Nile. They weren’t firing. Whatever else their intent, they apparently didn’t want to destroy The Spotted Custard outright. Rue supposed that was a kind of mercy. She, however, didn’t feel as magnanimous. Soon as the hunters were in range, she wanted Spoo to shoot.

Percy brought the ship around using the flapper, presenting a smaller target but angled enough so the Gatling could still fire off port side.

They did have a duty to protect the Daughters of Sekhmet and their island. It was time to make a stand.

We don’t have a petticoat’s chance in hell, thought Rue.

The four coming in towards them were well armed and expertly crewed, no doubt by mercenary types accustomed to battle.

Let’s hope they really don’t want to shoot us out of the sky.

Tasherit seemed to feel the same. “Spoo, aim for their balloons. If we can tip their ballast enough, either way, we send them up to aether or down to water. They’re likely intent on landing on the island. Let’s make certain they can’t.”

The Drifters were doing their best to help. They’d moved to engage, or at least to try to block the path of the oncoming floatillah. But they were nothing more than augmented hot air balloons with little manoeuvrability.

The attackers clearly did not feel compelled to take precautions with Drifter safety. They shot at the Drifters. One balloon ripped asunder, the gondola falling down in a spinning flutter to splash into the lake. It bobbed. Rue hoped fervently that the Drifters could float on water as well as they did on air.

“Floote, can you speak with the scarves, like your granddaughter?”

Floote shuffled forward, nodding.

“Please tell our friends to stay out of it. We bargained for escort, not defence. They’re no good in this fight.”

Floote nodded, producing two red handkerchiefs that were more like actual handkerchiefs than Anitra’s scarves. He could not raise his hands as high, nor were his movements as graceful, but communication occurred.

He put his arms down. “It’s no good. Anitra’s family agreed to leave, but Ay insists his people stay. He says that the sacred war cats of the ancestors must be protected.”

Tasherit rolled her eyes. “And what have the Daughters ever done for Drifters?”

Floote looked at her, startled. “Did you forget? It was your people who gave the Drifters their freedom. They sing a legend of Sekhmet-on-Earth who returned after the others had fled, to free their ancestors from bondage. She led them out into the sands, where her hot breath inflated the first balloon. Hyperbolic, I grant you, but it is their origin story.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. It was the French who brought balloons to Egypt. We were long gone by then.”

Rue yowled at the both of them. Now was not the time for a history argument.

“Quite right,” said Tasherit. “Apologies, Mr Floote. If they insist on staying, I can’t stop them. Just ask them to keep out of our line of fire.”

Floote nodded, looking exhausted, but began waving his handkerchiefs.

Tasherit resumed battle preparations. “Spoo, are they in range?”

“No, sir.”

“Hold your fire until they are. We haven’t the ammunition for anything more than a few passes. Concentrate on the balloons of the closest ship. Take down one at a time. Keep in mind that bullets go through things – someone we like may be on the other side. Got it?”

“Yes, sir.” Spoo’s eyes were narrowed and intent. Next to her, Willard manned the crank. No doubt he would be ready to change positions the moment Spoo realised it was too much gun for her small frame. But he wasn’t dumb enough to argue with her ahead of time. Spoo’s pride took careful handling. It was best to let her figure these things out for herself.

The first dirigible came within range.

Something tore through their own spotted balloon. A carefully aimed shot, not rapid fire but a single very loud bang from an elephant gun. Helium began to outgas.

“Patcher to the balloon!” Willard’s voice had already gone to squeak. The leak was directly overhead.

“We’ve lost puff!” squeaked Percy.

Rue could feel it, too. Her tether, stretching as they rose away from the island, was now back in full as they sank down.

“Meower!” Rue’s cat voice was also high. She sounded like an excited kitten.

Rue considered running to engineering for a dip in the tank. She ought to give Queen Henuttawy back her form, for her protection.

But then their attackers deployed ornithopters.

Four short-range airships flapped down and out from their respective mooring. These were similar to the ones they’d encountered in Khartoom, two-man craft designed for nimbleness.

“They’re trying to board us!” squeak-yelled Tasherit. “They want to take the ship!”

Rue risked a glance up where two decklings worked furiously to patch the leak. Not fast enough, they continued to sink. And squeak.

Primrose reappeared on deck, carrying the Parasol-of-Another-Colour. She took in the crisis at a glance and instead of hiding as per normal, ran up the quarterdeck to take position on the poop deck near her brother. Rue couldn’t order her to safety, but it wasn’t a bad decision. Percy could use the support of his level-minded sister. And Primrose did, in theory, know how to use the parasol.