Rue called down to Quesnel, for the boiler room was always well lit. “Check the quality as it comes down the feed, please? I don’t wish to be gypped. Call up to Percy if at any time we aren’t getting a burnable seam.”

“Are you undertaking the trade yourself?”

“Of course.”

“Couldn’t you have Tasherit do it?”

“No. I have her in lioness form.”

“It’s not safe.”

“Quesnel, now is not the time to question orders. I’ve taken precautions. I have my parasol.”

“A parasol! What good is that?”

“It’s my mother’s.”

“So?”

“Your mother made it for her.”

“Oh.”

“Exactly. Now, please check the coal?”

“Yes, Captain.”

Rue went to her cabin to retrieve the gold. Dama had been generous. She could cover this refuelling and a few more like it. She took only the agreed-upon amount back up; she was aware of what a vast sum it was in this part of the world.

The coins were Spanish. Old. Dama preferred hard currency over promissory notes. She marched forward with the cash, flanked by her two largest deckhands. She tried to look like a silly American schoolgirl who nevertheless had enough shopping experience to know what she was doing. Even if this was coal and not hair muffs.

She handed the tradesman the velvet bag. He took it, glanced inside, removed a coin at random, bit into it, and then nodded.

Suddenly things happened very quickly.

He faded to the back, down the plank, and in one fluid motion his bullyboys charged. Presumably to take Rue hostage.

Rue brandished her parasol, pressing a button in the handle. A poison dart imbedded itself into one of the men. The other two, however, had her pinned. Willard, who lately seemed to be more a bodyguard than deckhand, engaged a fourth ruffian man to man. That attacker had leapt up off the gangplank to come at her from behind, as if lifted by coiled springs.

Rue twisted and kicked, trying to get loose from the two holding her. Then she felt the cold sharp sting of steel at her neck and went still.

A roar from one side heralded Tasherit’s charge. She was beautiful to behold. Even frightened, Rue was impressed by the intense grace of her leap.

At the same time, the small pifftt of a tiny but enthusiastic gun sounded.

One of the men holding Rue jerked. His grip relaxed. The knife at her throat clattered to the deck. Rue spun, kicked, and wrestled herself free of the remaining man. Then Tasherit was there, shaking him by his scruff. Rue would rather not think that the snap sound was his neck. The lioness tossed him overboard. He splashed into the Nile below.

Seconds later, Tasherit had the arm of the man holding the velvet money bag in her mouth. With a gentle but insistent pressure, and only a hint of teeth, she dragged him back up the gangplank. He obeyed her without protest, barely breathing, hypnotised by those teeth closed about his flesh.

“Dreaded one,” he whispered.

Tasherit made him stop on deck, right at the point where he might be pushed overboard if necessary.

He began to babble.

Anitra had taken cover so no one understood what he said.

Rue realised with a sick stomach churn that the second man who had held her had been shot, in a hugely unattractive way, in the face. It was most unpleasant to look upon, even in the dark. So she tried not to.

Floote came over, looking almost sprightly as if violence were a cure-all. He evaluated the dead man with satisfaction. “Of course, Miss Mayberry, I was aiming for his chest. These older guns really aren’t accurate. Sentimental value, you understand? Or perhaps I’m not what I once was. Ugly shot, I do apologise.”

“Say nothing of it. Mistakes will happen.” Since he’d saved her life, Rue was disposed to be magnanimous.

The elderly gentleman gave a little bow, whipped out a large handkerchief from somewhere within his robes, and draped it over the dead man’s ruined face. Then he drifted away and ostentatiously reloaded his tiny parlour pistol. Rue felt, in that one moment, she had more insight into his role as Mother’s butler than ever.

Anitra reappeared. Possibly holding a tiny knife in one hand but it was too dark to make out clearly.

“What’s he babbling on about?” Rue pointed to the man with the large cat attachment.

“He apologises but hopes you understand a businessman must seize opportunities.”

Rue gave a small nod. “As long as he understands the same holds true for me.”

“He suggests that perhaps the deal might continue as originally arranged if the lioness could be persuaded…”

Rue shook her head. “I think not. Tell him to shout down to his compatriots. Bring the coal up as ordered. We have the feeder ready, off to the side there. We will keep him hostage until our transaction is complete. Will that work for you, Miss Sekhmet?”

The werecat nodded her massive head, keeping the man’s arm in her mouth, so he had to give a clumsy salute.

Anitra told him their new arrangement.

Percy called down for engineering to send up sooties.

After that things went smoothly, although Rue put considerably more thought into hiring a militia. She was even more grateful for Miss Sekhmet’s presence than she had been in the past.

The coal shunted down the tube apace. When it began to slow, Rue released two of the sooties to return to their duties in engineering.

Shortly after that, Quesnel came up top in a positive flurry.

“Rue!”