“Thank you kindly, young man. I believe this will do nicely.”

They made their farewells to Virgil and Footnote, both young males pleased to have been of assistance but eager to get on with their regular tasks – in Virgil’s case, as boot-black, and in Footnote’s, interfering with the boot-black.

“What is that about?” Rue pointed to The Complete Indian Housekeeper and Cook clutched in Prim’s hands as they exited.

“Best to give Virgil something more to report to my brother than us returning a book. If we took something from his collection, Percy will focus on that and forget the one we added.”

“Very nice tactic.” Rue respected Prim’s manipulative talents.

“Besides, this looks like an interesting read.”

At which statement Rue, who preferred adventure novels, was properly horrified.

Three days later, they left off their slow spinning, to the great relief of all. It had become disorientating, even in the grey nothingness of the aetherosphere. Prim had stopped taking tea on deck, claiming the stateroom was more restorative. Rue made a vow to eschew the waltz at future balls – it may be old-fashioned of her, but she had a newfound respect for the quadrille.

Percy de-puffed them expertly into a more relaxed and standard current, the Central Hyderabad Waft, which would take them on to India and down towards Bombay. From the maps, Rue knew that they must be above the Baghdad Environs at the moment, but the aetherosphere provided no evidence to this fact. Much as she loved to float, Rue was finding that she preferred the slower method inside the actual air, where one could see the landscape below.

It would take another three days to reach Bombay but Rue insisted they continue without pause. This might tax their stores and leave them low on fuel, but there was no convenient tower near the Hyderabad Waft. They’d have to go to ground for a restock and dipping down would severely waste hours.

Everyone was prosaic about this decision except Primrose, who panicked over the prospect of running low on milk. She instructed Cook to take all non-dairy essentials, including Rue’s favourite custards, off the menu until further notice – all milk being required for tea – and even considered extracting the Swiss condensed reserves out of storage.

“I don’t think we need go that far,” was Rue’s response to the idea.

“Extreme measures,” hinted Prim darkly.

Despite her friend’s doom talk, they made it to Bombay with little fuss and no shortage of milk. They de-puffed out of the aetherosphere to find India spread below them like a great red and brown apple fritter nestled in a pool of blue sauce. There were sprinkles of green jungle, which, if one continued the comparison, meant the fritter was mouldy.