Vrain looked affronted. “Capitaine, this is an officers’ meeting.”

Isabelle absorbed this rebuke with habitual patience. “Marie is my bodyguard, and the child is someone I need to talk to.”

Vrain’s gloomy mask reasserted itself. He was a man of very rigid rules, and Isabelle was far too lax on protocol for his taste.

Jean-Claude and Marie came in, guiding a girl dressed in the breeches, blouse, and vest of a ship’s boy, minus the official insignia.

Marie stepped into the circle of officers, forcing the men to retreat in lieu of being collided with. She gestured to the girl. “This is Demoiselle Rebecca. She wishes to put forward her application to be your cabin girl.”

Rebecca’s eyes were as round as moons. She gawped at Isabelle’s spark-arm, as everyone did on first seeing it, but her gaze fixed quickly on Isabelle’s face.

Isabelle gave Rebecca her full attention. “Is this true, demoiselle? Do you want to be my cabin girl? I ask because I know Jean-Claude put you up to this, and he can be very convincing. Sometimes he even fools himself.” She shot Jean-Claude a look that made him squirm. How hard had he pushed this idea on Rebecca? “But this must be your choice, freely made. A skyship is dangerous in the best of times and can be downright lethal in the worst. Furthermore, cabin girl is an official station on the ship, which means you must swear an official binding oath that will subject you to aeronautical law and oblige you to duties that you may not refuse.”

Was Rebecca halfway mature enough to understand what was being asked of her? Cabin boys were recruited young, but just because it was tradition didn’t make it decent. Even necessity couldn’t make a wrong act right or excuse it from consequences.

All the blood had drained from Rebecca’s face. Good. She ought to be scared, but she wasn’t panicking. After a moment, she asked, “What duties?”

Isabelle said, “Broadly, to defend l’Empire from any that would do it harm. In practical terms it means doing what I tell you. In return you get an aeronaut’s pay, my protection and sponsorship, a share of any spoils the ship takes, and all the education you can handle.”

Rebecca scuffed her foot on the deck, weighing what personal priorities Isabelle could not guess. What had been her own great needs at that age? Avoiding her family, mostly, and caring for Marie when she’d been made a bloodhollow.

“What are your other options?” Isabelle asked, to help Rebecca work the problem rationally.

Rebecca winced as if that question had stung. “It’s this or the street.”