They made the Maltese Tower in just under three days. Percy bragged that this was almost – although not quite – a record. “Next time we could do it in two and a half if we kicked in the propeller more frequently.”

“I’m not pushing my sooties and tapping the fuel reserves so you can have a record on the slates with the Royal Society,” replied Quesnel.

They were enjoying a nice supper in the mess hall. Or at least it could have been nice. Cook had managed macaroni soup, roast pork ribs, cabbage, and Napier pudding. Unfortunately, Percy and Quesnel’s constant squabbling could upset even Rue’s iron stomach.

Rue put down her knife and fork to glare at them. “Don’t you two ever stop?”

“Everyone needs some form of entertainment, mon petit chou,” replied Quesnel with a charming smile.

Percy returned to his book, a treatise on the health benefits of sea-bathing versus aetheric emersion. They had unsuccessfully tried to stop him from reading at table. In the end, Rue had insisted he wear a pinafore if he continued to try to eat and read, but if he had already finished his meal, she no longer objected. He seemed perfectly able to participate in the conversation, even when he was to all appearances entirely absorbed by the written word.

When Quesnel would have said something more to aggravate the navigator, Rue shook her head at him. “Leave the poor thing be. For goodness’ sake, what exactly did he steal from you to make you so annoyed with him all the time?” she wondered, knowing the question was both intrusive and daring.

Primrose put a hand to her mouth in shock. “Rue, should we discuss such things at the table?”

“We should if it continues to impinge upon everyone’s enjoyment of social discourse.”

“Fair enough.” Quesnel hit her with twinkling violet eyes. “So discuss.”

Rue tried to arrange herself to look sympathetic. “Was it a woman?”

Quesnel inhaled his cabbage and began to cough.

Rue slapped him on the back, hard, and Prim passed him wine.

When he had swallowed two full glasses and wiped his eyes, Rue said, “Well, was it?”

“Not to put too fine a point on it, yes.” Quesnel actually blushed, something he did rather well given his fair skin.

Rue, who had her mother’s swarthy complexion, had always considered it rather a blessing that she didn’t blush easily. It made her, she fancied, seem cool and untouchable. But if she could do it as prettily as Quesnel, she might try in the future.

Primrose jumped to her brother’s defence. “To be fair, Percy is like that.”

Quesnel looked at her. “Like what? A poacher?”

Percy pretended to remain above the whole conversation, although he was obviously listening closely.

“No. He’s deadly attractive to the ladies. Always has been, since Rue and I were little.”

At that, Percy rolled his eyes and Quesnel looked offended.