Prim sighed. “It was much easier not to argue with Queen Mums on the subject. Besides, the more I packed, the less I’d have to go back for. Speaking of which, do you think I could stay aboard tonight before we leave? Best not to give her the opportunity to change her mind.”

“I’m surprised she let you come at all.”

Prim nodded. “You and me both. I think it helps that she doesn’t know Percy’s joined up. Both her precious eggs in one floating basket —? There will be histrionics the entire time we are away. London is going to be in for it when she finds out.”

“Aunt Ivy doesn’t know I’ve got both of you?” Rue looked uncomfortable. Prim might see her mother as mainly an annoying busybody, but Aunt Ivy was still a vampire hive queen with all the power and authority that that incurred. She could make life very difficult when she was unhappy, which London had reason to know – personally.

“He hasn’t told her. You know Percy. Could be intentional or it might have legitimately slipped his addlepated mind.”

“Oh, yes, speaking of your horrible brother, Dama’s carriage is arriving. I sent it ’round to retrieve him.”

“Really?”

“To be fair, I sent it to retrieve his books. Percy was bound to follow.”

“Safe assumption.”

The carriage in question – a gilt horse-drawn affair, like something from a nursery rhyme, complete with trailing blue ribbons and enamel panels depicting beautiful romantic tableaux of goose girls and Greek heroes – pulled up next to them. Percy, an incongruous occupant for even the most ordinary of carriages, unfolded from within, rumpled and harried. He still wore his favourite smoking jacket, although he had substituted cream linen trousers for the tweed with the result that he looked rather like a cricket player cross-bred with a librarian. He’d forgotten a hat and his red hair was sticking up wildly in all directions in a fair imitation of a werewolf after full moon night.

His little valet followed. Virgil’s eyes were wide and mouth slightly open as he caught sight of the dirigible and the chaos of luggage surrounding it.

The Spotted Custard now boasted a completely finished exterior. Her balloon had indeed been painted bright red with black spots and coated in the necessary lacquers and oils to make her weather-resistant. She shone in the late afternoon light like some large, fat, round seedpod. The trim of the gondola section was picked out in shiny black, a stark contrast to the pale blond wood. Railings and other details shone darkly beautiful in the late afternoon sun. Dama had insisted that black was the perfect choice, being a colour that matched anything. “Now, when you lean picturesquely against the railings, my Puggle, your dress will never clash.”

“Very well reasoned, Dama,” had been Rue’s straight-faced response.

Percy looked about with utter indifference.