“Yes. Now that I’m an old engaged woman, I thought I might cultivate sophistication.”

“Don’t strain anything.”

Lady Maccon, never one to talk fashion when food was on offer, sat without comment and began loading up her plate. They ate informally aboard ship and rarely stood on ceremony. Rue had thought her mother would find this upsetting, but Lady Maccon embraced it readily when she realised it meant she never had to flag a footman down for a refill.

“Is everywhere we go likely to be more sunny than old Blighty?” Rue chose a safe subject as she took her seat.

“Very likely.” Primrose forced a cheerful tone and poured the tea with a liberal hand for all comers. Even Lady Maccon was doled out a cup without comment. Fortunately she was not at all offended by the assumption that she would prefer tea to wine or water.

Percy left the navigation in Virgil’s capable hands and gangled over to thump down across from her ladyship. “I say, it is rather too warm, isn’t it?”

“Buck up, Percy.” Quesnel took a chair next to Rue, looking damp and fresh. He’d splashed his face with water before coming to table.

Percy regarded the company glumly. “I detest nice weather. Everyone feels compelled to do things out of doors.”

Quesnel’s violet eyes twinkled. “Egypt is celebrated for her prevalence of outside activities.”

“Frenchmen.” Percy snorted.

They consumed a light meal of boiled whiting in parsley sauce and roast widgeon in orange gravy, with turnip and cauliflower for the corners, and baked codling pudding for afters. Rue’s sensation of dread over the encroaching desert abated along with the gravy. Rue would drink gravy out of a teacup if it were proper.

They sat back, talking idly over the pudding. Quesnel was disposed to be at his most amicable, which helped lighten everyone’s mood. Except Percy. Even Lady Maccon laughed at one of his off-colour puns and then got annoyed with herself for doing so.

“You’re as bad as your mother,” she told him.

“I shall take that as a compliment.” He mock bowed at her.

“You jolly well should.”

It was easy to linger in the oppressive heat, sipping tea while the crew rotated through their midday meal. They didn’t move until a deckling on lookout gave a cry from the crow’s nest.

Percy – uninterested if it didn’t immediately contain threat of death, literary revelations, or academic standing – resumed his post at the helm.

Rue, Quesnel, Prim, and Lady Maccon took to the forecastle to squint into the haze and see what was causing the ruckus. The trees below them fell away in favour of a massive city, indistinct at this height from the colour of the desert but clearly a city by its angularity. The Nile was also fully exposed for the first time, where she ran along one side.

Cairo.

What had caught the deckling’s attention wasn’t Cairo, but beyond, to the starboard side where the famous pyramids rose up. Three brown angled shadows stood against the brightness of the desert sands – large and wide, tall and narrow, and a little one further away. How big they must be to stand out so when buildings and trees remained indistinct blurs!

“A true feat of engineering.” Quesnel’s voice was reverent.

The Spotted Custard did not drift any closer, for Percy was de-puffing them into Cairo and no nearer to the pyramids. Eventually they tore their eyes away to look at the city.

The vegetation around the river gave way reluctantly to a vast network of buildings both ancient and modern, mostly sandstone with some marble. Trees permeated throughout, particularly near the river and in prescribed city parks. There were several colossal yellow buildings with thick walls and forbidding auras – fortresses. Dotted about were graceful onion-shaped spires of mosques. The city was criss-crossed by tracks, black spidery lines over sand, dirt, and brick. Tracks in the sky, too, sliding up to unbelievably tall obelisks for dirigible shipping and receiving. Airships of various kinds were sunk over the Nile, taking on water, mixing with a river already crowded by boats and rafts. The closer they got, the more they could see of industry. A smattering of soot lay over everything and a haze lurked above the city – the dirty consequence of technological achievement.

The mooring obelisks were carved of exotic stone, black basalt, white marble, red rhyolite, and something green Rue couldn’t identify. They were ringed and notched at the top with posts, serving dirigibles, hot air balloons, ornithopters, and other, weirder sky boats. Some were used by only one airship, while others were surrounded by clusters of patchwork and striped balloons, like enormous bouquets of fat painted hyacinth bulbs.

Lady Maccon pointed at a cluster. “Nomadic desert tribes. Twenty years ago they were called Drifters. They may still use the name. Cousins to the Bedouin, they took to the skies long ago.”

“They’re beautiful. For the first time, my darling Custard actually fits right in.” Rue was delighted. The Spotted Custard’s cheerful red balloon with its big black spots was in good company in Cairo. In London, airships tended to be more sombre in appearance.

Percy, at the helm on the opposite end of the ship, had to yell to get Rue’s attention. “How do we know where to tether?”

At which juncture, he came under attack from a native bird.

“Pigeon!” Rue ran from the forecastle, dashed across the main deck, hoisted her skirts, and leapt up to the quarterdeck, parasol swinging. “Get it!” Rue had a horror of pigeons.