Rue liked the flavour well enough but, in truth, it was spicy. “Goodness,” she said, politely, to Mrs Godwit, “that’s quite lovely. It is a bit hot. Might I have a spot of that milk and soda water to wash it down, please?”

Mrs Godwit, grateful for Rue’s complacent response, gestured at one of the staff to pour.

Primrose followed Rue’s lead, trying a bit of the curry herself. She coughed a little, but carried it off beautifully, “Delicious.”

Neither young lady fainted, came over with some exotic rash, or appeared to experience any magnetic misalignment.

Percy harrumphed. “It must not be all that spicy.” He broke a bit off the bread and, pinky up in the air, dipped the tip tentatively into the curry sauce. Then he tried a tiny nibble.

Pure chaos ensued.

“Argh – water – I’m dying!” yelled Percy.

The impressionable young ladies closed in, offering him drinks, cooling cloths, and scented handkerchiefs.

Percy screwed his eyes shut and grabbed his throat, wheezing and coughing.

“Give the man some air,” suggested Quesnel, barely disguising a guffaw. “Can’t you see he’s suffering?”

Percy cracked one watering eye to glare at him. “It burns!”

Rue, sensing the mood, shouldered into the solicitous group and grabbed Percy, just as a caring older sister might. “Come along, Percy dear, I think it’s time we got you home.”

The impressionable young ladies all twittered objections and sighed in distress. As indeed did Primrose, who, even with the Kingair Pack departed, would have been happy to redirect her flirting back at the hapless Lieutenant Broadwattle for the rest of the evening.

Rue, on the other hand, wanted to read her coded message. Or at least try to. And there seemed no indication that Miss Sekhmet’s contact was going to approach either her or Primrose. So she assisted the sputtering Percy in making their farewells.

They walked back to the ship, Percy hacking dramatically the entire way.

“Prim, did anyone try to negotiate anything with you? As if you were me? Anything to do with tea perhaps?” Rue asked.

Prim said, “One of the officers tried to invite me to tea tomorrow without a chaperone. I turned him down, of course. I have more of a care for your reputation than you do mine.”

“I am sorry about that. But it was necessary.”

“Mmm, that’s always your excuse.”

“I talked with Dama’s contact, finally, but I wonder what happened to Miss Sekhmet’s tea negotiator. He seems never to have shown up, which means we wore purple for nothing.”

“He probably went where all good tea negotiators go. Bottom of a cup.”

“Prim, that is not helpful.”