The brigadier gaped at her as if he were a fish.

“Prim,” called out Rue. “A little help?”

Prim came bustling over. “My dear brigadier, sir. Welcome aboard. Would you care for some light refreshment?”

The brigadier blinked in utter amazement at the audacity of such a request, but social niceties were never to be ignored, even under the most trying circumstances. Brigadier Feather-stonehaugh was a good British officer to the last. “How do you do, Miss––?”

“Miss Tunstell, the Honourable Primrose Tunstell. How do you do?”

“Not little Ivy’s daughter?”

Everyone was startled at that. Prim replied quickly, eager for any way to distract the military man from arguing with Rue, “Why, yes indeed, sir. You know my dear mother?”

“Why, yes, yes, I most certainly do.” A soft expression suffused the big man’s fierce face like a walrus having discovered a much beloved oyster. “We were engaged once, a long time ago. Such a sweet young lady. Ruined by association with that harridan.”

“Engaged?” Prim pressed her gloved hand delicately to her lips. It was always distressing to discover one’s parent had an amorous past. Recovering her poise, Prim linked her arm gracefully with the brigadier’s and gently led him to the poop deck, the tea trolley, and folding chairs which had miraculously survived all chases and battles. “How romantic. Do come and tell me all about it.”

The brigadier thus distracted, Rue could return her full attention to Spoo’s netted Vanara. They were high enough up so that, as a mortal, he would die if he jumped, but as a supernatural he would survive if he wrestled himself free. Which meant Rue had no other option than to make him mortal.

She dashed over. Spoo and her crowd of decklings who stood, muscling the three ropes that held the Vanara Alpha suspended below the gondola.

Rue rolled back the sleeves of her quilted dressing-gown. “Pull him up to this railing, slowly. Nice and steady.”

The decklings began to haul.