THIRTEEN

Monkey Hijinks

The transformation was sudden and a great deal less painful than when turning werecat. Rue supposed not as many bones needed to break and shift about when going from human to monkey. Instead, it seemed mostly muscle being redistributed. Her hair turned short and extended to most of her body. It was a mottled dark brown colour, much like her fur in wolf form, only fuzzier. Her arms, previously so sore and tired, recovered and gained additional strength and length. Most peculiar of all was her tail. As a werewolf, Rue’s tail rather took matters into its own hands, as it were, reflecting her moods and waving about indiscriminately. As a werecat, it had seemed only mildly under her command. But as a weremonkey, she had total control over this appendage, like an extra arm with only one finger. It was rather fun.

Rue had no time to dwell. The Ganesha head was still creeping relentlessly towards the end of the cable, and the embers she had brushed out of the firebox were beginning to find fallen bits of fibre and other combustibles, flaming to life on the floor of the cabin.

Acting on instinct, Rue did as the Vanara had attempted mere moments before. She grabbed her metanatural victim with her amazing tail and ran to the doorway, carrying him behind her.

The man cried out in fear.

Rue stumbled slightly. Her legs did not work quite the same way as in human form. Her large dextrous hands found purchase on the doorframe. She was incredibly strong as a Vanara. It was delightful–like a particularly well-brewed tea.

The pole top was now in front of her. The Ganesha was definitely going to overshoot it. No time to think, Rue leapt onto it, using her extra-long arms to grab down and stabilise her landing. The man clutched in her tail acted as a counterweight. It was unexpected, that weight, and Rue rocked back and forth, nearly falling. She modified her stance a split-second before they both tumbled over the edge, then held herself down and relaxed into the sensation of a man in her tail. The Vanara stilled in her grasp, sensing the danger in this newly made weremonkey’s shaky understanding of her own agility.

With a climbing speed unequalled by any other form she’d stolen, Rue made her way down the scaffolding to the ground. There she placed the man carefully on his own two feet and stood before him, feeling guilty. She had tried to warn him. She wondered if she could formulate words with her monkey face and explain herself. Nothing to do but try.

Her voice came out, slurred and much lower than before, but functioning.

“Ruehh,” she said, gesturing to herself.

The man babbled at her in Hindustani.

Rue shook her head. “Englisssh,” she said slowly, trying to enunciate.

The man had gone from fear to anger now that he was safe on land. He began yelling and pacing, and pointing at her and then him as if trying to instruct her to give him his shape back.

Rue shook her head. It doesn’t work like that. I can’t control it. And now I intend to keep it. It’s much warmer and my arms don’t hurt any more. I’m very sorry. I didn’t mean to steal from you. She said, “I thhried to warn you not to toucsssh me.”

The man continued yelling. Then in one furious move, he reached forward and yanked the monkey charm from around Rue’s neck.

Above them, the head of Ganesha reached the end of the line. At the same time, the fire inside made its way to the oil reserves that lubricated the engine’s gears. It roared into an inferno. A massive elephant head fireball slipped off the cable and fell down into the forest with a tremendous crash.

The man in front of Rue jumped and whirled. Realising what must have happened, he turned back, yelled at her some more–apparently this was also her fault.

Rue shrugged at him.

He finally realised that there was nothing she could do about having stolen his shape. Or he determined she wasn’t giving it back. At least she had not run away. He made a rude gesture and turned, striding into the thick foliage, holding his loincloth up with one hand when it threatened to slide off his now lean hips.

Rue checked to ensure that her modesty scarf was secured. Her monkey chest was a good deal wider than her lady chest, but her endowments were smaller, so that section had stayed in place. During the course of her climbing adventures the bottom part had loosened, but that meant it fit her now wider, muscled hips. Her legs and arms were covered in the brown fur. Rue wasn’t certain how she felt about that but she supposed it might count as a modesty covering. The society madams would have had something snide to say but Rue strongly suspected that, should she encounter one roaming the Indian jungle, arm hair would not be high up on the list of complaints.

She shuffled after the indignant man, realising that her legs were bowed like a sailor’s when not climbing. Rue hoped that he would lead her to someone who could interpret English or this was going to be a very long night indeed. She considered ways she might pantomime the meaning of metanatural as a monkey. It seemed nigh on impossible.

Tungareshwar from within was a great deal different than Tungareshwar from above. The undergrowth was mostly made up of thick plants with large wide leaves and a few bushes which looked like sage. Trees of all sizes stretched upwards–Rue recognised palm and banana–and vines grew over everything. It was delightfully tropical. She was no horticulturalist but she spotted a few orchids–her night vision seemed quite decent in weremonkey from. Occasionally they crossed a small stream, its embankment covered in a thick carpet of maidenhair fern. Rue would have enjoyed a stroll through Tungareshwar during the daylight. It must be stunning, everything verdant and lush, green broken only by the black of tree trunks and bright splashes of exotic flowers.

Then her ears started roaring. She thought it might be a weremonkey thing and tried surreptitiously shaking her head.

Eventually, she realised they were heading up the side of one stream into a valley and the sound was coming from a large waterfall. They rounded a bend in the river and there it was ahead of them, extraordinarily picturesque. The moon hung in three-quarter glory directly over the white falls, trees dipping in all around. To each side of the falls built out of–but also part of–the cliff was a massive sandstone temple. Rue assumed the stones ranged in colour, although at night she could only see shifting shades. It was clearly very old–the dominating motif was one of steep arches rather than spires or onion shapes. It was naturalistic, modelled on leaf shapes, its doorways like open flowers and its columns like tree trunks.

Rue gasped appreciatively. “It’ssh beautiful!”

Her unwitting guide did not turn when she spoke, merely continued marching up the right side of the waterfall. This side of the temple was lit by a large bonfire in the enclosed front courtyard. Around this was a group of shadowy figures. Some crouched, others perched, a few sat in proper formal fashion on top of strangely modern large spheres. The figures jerked and twitched in a frenzied manner, unable to keep still. They all wore a quantity of gold plate which gleamed in the firelight. They were all quite furry.

The newly made mortal man marched through the wide entranceway towards the group, trailing Rue behind him.

The assembly was engaged in some manner of civilised discourse, sipping earthenware cups of spiced tea. It comprised a dozen or so Vanaras, Miss Sekhmet, and Professor Percival Tunstell.

Behind the group and up a level was a beautifully ornate silver birdcage–many times larger than a normal birdcage–in which Miss Sekhmet’s lioness form sat, looking disgruntled but unhurt. Rue wondered if the silver cage kept her from turning back to human shape or if there were some other reason she remained a cat. Piled next to her and around her was more gold. The Vanaras were obviously fond of the stuff.

Percy sat in the centre with silver manacles around his wrists chained to a matching set around his ankles and from there to a ring in the stone floor.

Rue and her escort took up position near Percy in front of the weremonkeys, who all stopped talking and stared at them.

The spheres they sat upon proved to be transport containers, brass-made and slitted open on the sides in wedges like a sporadically eaten orange. Each one held a quantity of dirt and a selection of healthy-looking seedlings, suspended above which was a series of tubes and bulbous bladders that could only be an automated watering system.

Dama’s missing tea!

Upon registering that one of their number was apparently involuntarily human, the Vanaras all stood up and began talking at once, in Hindustani of course. Rue’s mortal victim threw the monkey charm at the feet of his fellows in evident disgust.

At the same time Percy, who could not stand, leaned forward, squinting in the firelight and said, “Rue, is that you?”

“Of coursh ish me. Pershy, what ish going on?”

Percy blinked at her myopically, having lost his spectacles at some point. “Aside from the fact that we just watched the head of Ganesha emit a fire sparkler, catch fire, explode, and fall into the forest?”

“Ah, yesh,” said Rue. “That would be me assh well.”

Percy’s expression said he found this utterly unsurprising. “Our hosts thought it a sign from the gods.”

Rue nodded. “I sheem to be reshponshible for a number of those thish evening.”

Percy evaluated her newly fuzzy form. “Interesting outfit you’re wearing for an evening call.”

“Yesh, well, Primrosh did insisht I bring the scarf. It would be churlish of me not to wear it.”

“That wasn’t what I meant to imply. Are you covered in hair?”

“Pershy, you’re as blind as a billiard ball. I’m a weremonkey.” She cocked her hip out and flicked her tail. “The tail ish remarkably useful. Even better than the cat one. You know, I should like a tail as a rule. Difficult in skirts, I sushpose.”

“Oh?”

Rue decided they’d engaged in sufficient banter for the moment. “Enough of thish, Pershy. What’s been happing? How did you get here? Why ish she still a lionessssh? And mosh importantly, what are they saying?”

Percy made as if to push his non-existent specs up his nose. Finding them gone, he lowered his hand awkwardly. “That’s a number of questions to answer all at once. Where should I start?”

“Begin at the beginning. Ish very becoming, not to mention organished.”

Thus, while the Vanaras argued with one another, apparently questioning the veracity of everything their mortal compatriot was telling them about Rue, Percy explained.

Rue had, indeed, managed to race away fast enough so that when Miss Sekhmet hit the bottom of the gorge, she was a supernatural and unhurt. She’d climbed out and found Percy waiting at the top. She’d changed into lioness form so that Percy could ride. They had been about to go looking for Rue when they were assaulted from above. The Vanaras had dropped down out of the trees in a coordinated attack, and thrown a silver net over Percy and Miss Sekhmet.

“But I thought she was allied with them?”

“Not close enough to be forgiven for bringing me along, I guess. And there was something about a missing necklace. She could hardly explain. She’s been stuck as a cat ever since. They trussed us up as if we were a loin of pork. Then wrapped us in a thick blanket over the net, presumably to protect themselves from the silver. One of them carried both of us through the forest, Miss Sekhmet struggling the whole while. They must be very strong. Once here, they put Miss Sekhmet into that cage and manacled me. Silver”–he pointed to his feet–“or silver-plated, so I think they may believe I’m a werewolf or something. I tried to explain I wasn’t, otherwise why would I ride when I could run? But they ignored me.”

Occasionally, one of the Vanaras would walk over and circle Rue, staying well out of tail reach, but clearly curious.

“How do you do?” Rue would say politely, examining each in return before returning her attention to Percy.

There were no females among those assembled so they must have the same issue as other supernaturals with metamorphosing women. Or perhaps female Vanaras assembled separately, like after supper in England? Still, given the Vanara interest, either Rue herself as a female was an oddity, or the story that the mortal Vanara was telling about Rue was sparking intrigue.

Rue endured it while directing Percy to continue.

“Whash been happening sinsh you were captured?”

“They realised I could speak their language–although theirs is an exotic dialect, I’m thinking perhaps quite ancient, very exciting—”

“Pershy, pleash don’t get dishacted with minutia.”

“They had me sit, gave me this odd tea to drink. They are very fond of tea. Value it above all things. Collect it as tribute, I understand. Where was I? Oh yes, they won’t let me talk unless it’s to answer one of their questions. So I haven’t been able to discern much. Besides which, I don’t quite know what I’m permitted to reveal to them. Officially, or, erm, militarily, as it were. There have been a number of awkward silences. Reminds me of an opera.”

“Oh, really, Pershy.”

“Well, what can I do?”

Rue tapped her foot. Then was forced to engage in a rapid exchange of small bows with one of the Vanaras. “Have you learnt anything of ushe?”

Percy frowned. “Culturally? Vanaras are accustomed to being considered beneficial sacred beings–even gods. They expect reverence, gold, and tea. They openly and understandably resent the very idea that we British purport to bring enlightenment to the locals. They think of this as their role. They blame us for the fact that they must hide here in the forest. They like Tungareshwar well enough, but this is their offering temple and retreat, not their home. Before the British arrived, they spent the majority of their time closer to cities. They have been hiding here for nearly forty years.”

Rue was frustrated. “Why? We are a progreshive empire. We have alwaysh made contact with the local supernaturals and recruited them to our cause. We have alwaysh tried to passh on the ideal of incorporating supernaturals into society.” In her frustration, Rue was learning to control the shape of her new jaw. Her speech became clearer. “If they already were an accepted part of Indian society, why didn’t they meet us openly at the start? We might have treated the entire country differently, if we had known of their existence. The fact that they were already progressed would have been taken by Queen Victoria as a sign of enlightened thought. Wars might have have avoided.”

Percy cocked his head and, strangely, defended his captors. “My dearest Rue, have you forgotten who first made contact here in India?”

“Oh dear, of course. Bloody John.” The East India Company was a vampire concern. Rue’s monkey face crinkled up. Her tail switched back and forth in irritation, like a cat. Her forms were getting confused. “Are you telling me that we inadvertently allied with one side of an ongoing supernatural civil war?”

“That might indeed be the case.”

Turning to Percy, one of the Vanaras gesticulated at his own furry throat. Then he said something in his native tongue.

Percy replied in stuttering Hindustani before explaining to Rue. “They want me to interpret.”

“Please do.”

This particular Vanara was the most important–if one were to judge by the quantity of gold draped upon him.

Rue was taken aback by the sheer number of gold bangles he wore. Among London’s fashionable set such an amount of jewellery was the height of vulgarity. However, barring any other indication of authority, she curtseyed to the speaker deferentially. It was awkward to curtsey in bowed monkey legs with no skirt. She thought it quite the achievement–not falling over.

Percy spoke for the Vanara. “Foreign Devil Woman, why have you stolen our companion’s monkey self?”

“Foreign Devil Woman? Really?” said Rue.

Percy replied, “It’s the best direct translation I can think of, unless you prefer Alien Daughter of Evil?”

Rue ignored this and said to the Vanara, “Apologies. I tried to warn your friend not to touch me. This is not something I can control.”

“Lies, White Devil Female.”

“Percy, must you repeat that particular part?” hissed Rue, and then: “I do not lie.” She decided to risk her own safety for the sake of negotiation. “Your fellow can get his monkey shape back by moving away from me.”

Percy paused before translating. “Rue, you risk yourself unnecessarily.”

“If all else fails, I’ll dive in and touch another one.”

“You’re sure?”

“Repeat what I said, pleash, Pershy.” Rue once more found her jaw disobeying her. She wondered if English was ill-suited to monkeys.

Percy did as she asked.

The Vanara responded with a gesture at Rue’s victim. Without comment, the handsome man turned and trudged away.

“He’ll need to go further than that.”

He kept up his steady pacing until he was lost around a bend of the stream, back into the depths of the forest.

Eventually, Rue felt a tell-tale initial tremor and then her bones and muscles were re-forming. The pain made her wince but she managed to keep from moaning. Her tail vanished and she mourned its absence. The fur retreated back up her body, becoming her own tangled brown hair once more–that, at least, was gratifying. Rue was vain about her hair. She fluffed it forwards to cover as much of her torso as possible. She felt unmistakable physical loss as her monkey strength dissipated. This was so annoying that she was forced to consider seriously doing more physical exertion in the future. If I am to continue this new life as an adventuress I may have to train for it. The very idea! Her orange modesty scarf loosened about her waist and she quickly grabbed it and re-tied the side.

The Vanaras all about her gasped in awe. A few spoke out of turn, but the bejewelled monkey in front of Rue made a silencing gesture with his wrinkled, hairy hand. They fell quiet, if not still. Vanaras, Rue was beginning to realise, were never still.

Her victim reappeared, walking back down the stream, once more in Vanara form, and pleased about it. Or as pleased as a man with a monkey face could look, which was more a stretching of the lips into a grimace.

The highly decorated Vanara, who Rue decided must be Alpha, began talking once more. Percy resumed translating.

“Remarkable, Foreign Devil—” Percy forcibly stopped himself. “But what kind of creature are you, who is no Vanara in truth but a thief of our shape?”

Rue was glad to have her own voice back–it was much less troublesome. “I know not the word in your language. We would say metanatural, the child of a soulless. Flayer, say the werewolves. Soul-stealer, say the vampires. Miss Sekhmet there calls me a skin-stalker.”

Percy did his best to translate, using Hindustani where he could, English words where he couldn’t.

The Vanara Alpha did not respond for a long time. He turned and went to speak quietly with one of the other weremonkeys, a smaller, delicate-looking creature with almost-white fur. Eventually he returned his attention to Rue.

“We have legends of Vanaras in the past who could take many forms in service to the gods. Are you one of these? A lost kinswoman?”

Rue said, “I’ll take it. Kinswoman is better than Foreign Devil Woman any evening. If it helps, I too am fond of tea. Perhaps it runs in the family?” But despite her enthusiasm, the Vanara did not relax in his aggressive stance, even though it was he who had extended the offer of kinship.

He continued, “This seems a reasonable explanation. Tea love is always good, but sadly we cannot hold you as family in truth. Our foreign brothers whose form is one with Bhairava’s mount have lost their way and fight for the Rakshasas and their pact with your queen.”

Percy interjected at this point: “ ‘Bhairava’s mount’ is their term for werewolves. Although, according to legend, I believe the mount was a dog of some variety.”

“Yes, thank you, Percy.”

Behind the twitching Vanaras, in her silver birdcage, Miss Sekhmet suddenly spat and hissed in agony or frustration.

The Vanara Alpha ignored her and continued talking to Rue. “So you too, kinswoman, might be an agent of evil. Turned by the Rakshasas against us in the service of conquerors.”

It was an insulting way to put it but Rue had to admit, from his perspective, it was a fair assessment. How on earth was she to explain British politics, the position of the East India Company, or the very idea of social progression, to a bunch of monkeys?

She gave it her best shot. “The Rakshasas are unpleasant. On this matter we entirely agree. But our vampires at home are not the same. And you must understand, Her Majesty did not know of your existence.”

“This is irrelevant to the fact that you allied with them. You gave daemons money, trade, technology, tea.”

Rue struggled with a way to defend what seemed to be a grievous political error the British Empire hadn’t even known it was committing. “We are a civilised nation. It is our policy to ally with the supernatural wherever we are in the world. Our politicians draw little distinction between werewolf and vampire, between Rakshasa and Vanara. Forgive me if this seems an insult. In the queen’s eyes all are special. All are worthy.”

Around her, as Percy repeated her words, the Vanaras chittered in annoyance. Rue wasn’t certain if they were angry with her, with what had happened with first contact, or with the implication of her words.

When a little of the noise died out, Rue took a chance at asking her own question. “Is this why you have stolen the taxes, an Englishwoman, and my father’s tea? Is it an opening to negotiations? Do you wish to change the terms of India’s supernatural treaty with England? You needn’t have kidnapped a lady to make a point. I am sure Queen Victoria would have opened negotiations the moment we confirmed your existence. You need not have hidden.”

Once more the Vanara around her erupted into yelled conversation. Percy did his best to repeat some of what he heard. “With the Rakshasas on your side? All attempts would be corrupted. They foul everything they touch. The British gave them control over money and technology and communication and thought those daemons would not use it to drive us away? To see us extinct? Is she mad? How could anyone ally with the Rakshasas and not know their true nature? They’re evil, always been so.”

Oh dear, thought Rue. I might not be doing any good whatsoever.

She said loudly. “Where is Mrs Featherstonehaugh? May I see her? Is she unharmed?”

Percy actually tried to shout her words, looking mortified at having to raise his voice.

The Alpha Vanara heard him. “Now is the time to stop talking, kinswoman. You have given us much to think on and discuss. Dawn is soon to come.”

But someone else had heard Rue’s query and, high above, out from behind a series of arches, stepped a lady. She was perhaps a year or so younger than Rue, dressed sensibly in a travelling suit–four seasons old–of grey canvas with a black velvet-trimmed collar. Under the jacket was a ruffled shirtwaist and a gentleman’s-style waistcoat. Perched atop flaxen hair scraped into a bun was a straw boater with black velvet ribbon. She held a wooden cane with an ivory handle in one hand. She had a face too long to be pretty but her attitude was becomingly frank. Her stance was firm and Rue noticed that she had not been manacled. Perhaps the Vanaras did not like to restrain women. After all, Rue herself had not been shackled. Yet.

Rue looked her over as she approached. “Mrs Featherstonehaugh, I presume?”