FOURTEEN

Ladybugs to the Rescue

Mrs Featherstonehaugh walked around and down, the limp that required the cane one of inconvenience rather than pain. Either that or she’d learnt not to show her discomfort. The Vanara treated her courteously, if not with any particular reverence. Nor were they overly familiar. She was a guest and free to move around, but not considered particularly important.

Rue said, with a small curtsey, “Prudence Akeldama at your service. How do you do?”

The woman’s face showed no sign of recognition. Either she was very good at being impassive or her status as Dama’s agent did not confer with it knowledge of his family connections. Or she didn’t know who her master really was.

“How do you do, Miss Akeldama?” Mrs Featherstonehaugh stopped a few feet from her. Omission of title? Was Mrs Featherstonehaugh trying to insult her? Lady Akeldama’s name was so prevalent in the society column that it was odd the spy didn’t recognise it.

“My dear Mrs Featherstonehaugh, we thought you were in grave danger.”

The lady dismissed any concern with a twitch of her cane. Nor was she the type to be taken in by Rue’s sympathetic tone. “Very kind I’m sure, but who is we?”

Forthright indeed! Rue felt it only right to respond in kind. “Oh, you know, your standard concerned party of miscreants.”

The woman looked her up and down. Had she a monocle, she would have peered through it suspiciously. “I see. In which case, you will understand that I cannot trust you.”

Rue thought hard, frowning. Trying to remember the name spoken by that young woman, Anitra, in the Maltese Tower. Oh yes. “Goldenrod sent me.”

Mrs Featherstonehaugh paused. “You are not his normal type.”

Rue might have agreed, had she not met Anitra. “Neither are you.”

Mrs Featherstonehaugh acknowledged the hit with a slight dip of her chin.

Having no other proof to offer than that she knew Dama’s code name, Rue tried an attack. “My dear Mrs Featherstonehaugh, are you trying to start a war?”

“They do not find my presence nearly as unsettling as they do yours. You are the threat.”

“Ah, but I am not a brigadier’s wife.”

“Is he looking for me?”

“With his army. And he blames the werewolves for losing you.”

“Does he now?” Mrs Featherstonehaugh’s face was hard to read. Did this fact upset or relieve her?

Percy said, “If I ask nicely, would you explain what is going on? This place, these creatures… remarkable.” He sounded impossibly academic.

Mrs Featherstonehaugh noticed him for the first time. She reacted–as did most ladies, married or no–with a small verbal flutter. “Oh, how do you do, Mr—?”

Percy tried to rise, but his restraints kept him from standing. All he could do was make a sitting bow from the large square stone upon which he was chained. “Professor Percival Tunstell, at your service.”

Mrs Featherstonehaugh curtseyed. “Professor, pleased to make the acquaintance of a man of learning.”

“And as such I am eager to learn of your success in discovering these noteworthy beasts.” He was also, no doubt, eager to learn if she intended to publish her findings or if he could have first crack.

Percy’s flattery had the desired effect. Mrs Featherstonehaugh was delighted to enlighten him. “As you can see, Vanaras really do exist. Painstaking inquiry among the natives yielded only rumour. I needed to apply to the local religious observers and delve into the tea trade to uncover the truth. That’s why I needed Goldenrod’s plants. Even then, I travelled into this jungle on mere speculation.”

“Remarkably intellectually modern of you, madam,” encouraged Percy.

Mrs Featherstonehaugh blushed. “Why, thank you kindly. You’ll never guess what else?”

“My dear lady, you have the entirety of my attention.” He attempted a winning smile.

A blush resulted.

Rue had thought until that moment that Percy’s charm was largely unintentional–now she was beginning to wonder.

Mrs Featherstonehaugh glowed under his regard. “I have learnt that we British offended them with our actions. It was our fault for appearing to have chosen sides. Or, better, the East India Company’s fault for establishing a treaty with the Rakshasas.”

Percy said, compelled to add detail to any situation, “Under the standards of the Supernatural Acceptance Decree?”

“Exactly so, professor.”

Rue defended her countrymen. “That is policy. To favour and recruit the disenfranchised supernatural element to our cause. It is how we win wars.”

The blonde girl flushed. “I know policy! I am loyal to the crown.”

Rue said, “Current circumstances would seem to indicate otherwise.”

Mrs Featherstonehaugh ignored Rue in favour of Percy, appealing to his intellect, for Rue clearly had none. “It was a mistake not to research more before bargaining for Rakshasa alliance. Policy is to involve all of the native supernatural elements. By ignoring the Vanaras, we offended not only them but the local humans as well.”

Rue said, “That is not fair. No one knew there were shape-shifters in India. Who would have thought to look for weremonkeys? Goodness, it’s going to be a chore convincing home of the very idea, let alone the fact that they are many, organised, and easily offended by imperial decrees. Besides which, open hostility between supernatural races is so rare.”

Mrs Featherstonehaugh said, “As I am sure the professor here knows, ancient history would beg to differ.”

Percy nodded his support.

Rue felt a twinge of betrayal.

Rue had more faith in coexistence than anyone, having been raised by both vampires and werewolves. “The wasp does not battle the wolf–they ignore one another.”

Mrs Featherstonehaugh looked frustrated. “This is not wasp and wolf. This is daemon and demigod.”

“My dear lady, there are no such things as daemons.” Rue would not budge on this.

Percy was compelled to interject at this point. “Well, actually, Rue, the technicality of the term is no different. Rakshasa means daemon–it’s the same word. It was we who classified them as a type of vampire on the basis of sanguinary subsistence. They would not have known to identify themselves as such. And the wasp and the wolf comparison is a metaphor, not an actuality. Werewolves are no more like real wolves than vampires are like wasps. It’s only a naturalistic model.”

“Yes, thank you, Percy, for your valuable input,” said Rue. Less betrayal than pedantry, which might be considered worse. “Regardless, why did the Vanaras not make themselves known to us sooner?”

Mrs Featherstonehaugh was annoyed. “Unlike everyone else, I bothered to learn the local language and I read considerably into the Hindu epics. If the legends are to be believed, for thousands of years Rakshasas and Vanaras have been enemies. There is even some suggestion that the Vanaras were created by Brahma specifically to battle the Rakshasas. They kill one another on sight. The moment Bloody John parlayed with the local vampires, England made an enemy of the Vanaras. These courageous, kind, and noble beings took to the forests.” She spoke with trained eloquence, her free hand moving broadly.

Rue had to admit that someone had blundered with the Supernatural Acceptance Decree in India. But what’s done is done. The question is how to repair the damage? This woman is overly enthusiastic in her support. A horrible thought occurred to Rue. “Mrs Featherstonehaugh, have you… gone native?”

Mrs Featherstonehaugh clutched her hand to her breast. She took a restorative gasp and lashed out. “Miss Akeldama! I am not the one dressed only in a scarf!”

Rue had forgotten that fact, warmed by the bonfire, not to mention the vigorousness of their debate. “I’ve had a difficult evening.”

They paused, at an impasse. All the Vanara around them stood watching in twitchy interest–even without knowing the language, the exchange fascinated them. They reminded Rue of her father’s pack witnessing similarly heated exchanges between Rue and her mother. It was as if the Vanara knew that if they uttered the merest peep, the womenfolk might turn on them.

Rue said, “And the tax money?”

Mrs Featherstonehaugh was offhand. “The Vanaras have certain expectations and I wished to parlay. Besides, those nasty Rakshasas don’t deserve the funds!”

“And Dama’s tea? You were given a sacred charge.” It was, after all, the reason Rue had come to India in the first place.

Mrs Featherstonehaugh looked frustrated. “The Vanaras like nothing better than tea–it’s the perfect bribe. He should understand.”

Rue considered her Dama’s feelings on the matter. “I doubt it.” After all, this was some very important tea.

At this juncture, the Vanara Alpha stepped up to Mrs Featherstonehaugh and prattled out a query. The lady answered him, her flow and mastery of the language far superior to Percy’s. Percy looked appropriately impressed.

Rue, who had initially admired Mrs Featherstonehaugh’s boldness, was now finding it abrasive. Mrs Featherstonehaugh reminded Rue of a small blonde version of her mother. Which was only a good thing when they were on the same side. Currently, and through no fault of her own, Rue had been forced into justifying a policy made ten years before she had been born. A policy that she had only recently learnt of and that, until a week ago, had had no bearing on her life whatsoever. If they hadn’t been arguing so aggressively, Rue might actually come around to agreeing with this horrible woman.

Rue tried to think about it without the spur of conflict, from the Vanara perspective. What if this was the war against Napoleon and she had come in and allied herself with the French because she had a policy that said she favoured all French emperors under a certain height? Absurd. Britain’s current supernatural policy might seem equally absurd to the Vanaras. If Vanaras and Rakshasas never thought of themselves as kin–despite being both immortal, both supernatural, both undead–then they would, perforce, think of themselves as different species. Scientific truth or not, some definitions are a matter of cultural tradition. It all comes down to categorisation in the end.

Rue said, “Percy, do you remember anything about the SAD treaty with India, the original document as written between Bloody John and the Rakshasas?”

Percy said, “Of course I do. I remember most of it.”

“You didn’t happen to bring a copy in that satchel of yours, did you?”

“The Vanaras took it away from me.” He was petulant, a schoolboy deprived of his sweeties.

“Well, cast your mind back, would you? Are the Rakshasas named as allies by title, or does it use the word vampires, or does it simply say local supernatural representatives?”

Percy thought about this for a long time.

Rue said, knowing she was up against his pride as an academic, “This is important, professor. Please don’t say it either way if you can’t remember exactly. You know how solicitors get.”

Percy’s face was glum in the flickering bonfire. “I can’t recall the precise wording, Rue. But I think I follow your reasoning. They would have used the standard SAD paperwork which hasn’t changed since Good Queen Bess. That one employs the vague descriptive ‘native supernatural element’ specifically so that vampires can’t be named before werewolves, or vice versa. In which case…” He intentionally trailed off.

Rue turned back to Mrs Featherstonehaugh. She had stopped her conversation with the Vanara Alpha and was watching Percy intently. “Mrs Featherstonehaugh, did you study the original agreement with India under the Supernatural Acceptance Decree? The one that has been causing all this fuss?”

“No.”

“Has your friend there?”

Mrs Featherstonehaugh asked the Vanara Alpha. “No.”

“Then there is a possibility that the solution has existed all along. The standard treaty calls for an alliance with local supernaturals. Whether the Vanaras considered themselves of a similar type to the Rakshasas or not, Her Majesty did and does. They have been allied with us all along. Of course, we would have to make the case that whoever signed it for the Rakshasas also signed for the Vanaras.”

Mrs Featherstonehaugh said, “How do you know they want to be our allies?”

Rue almost stamped her foot. “But it is a solution! They could come out of hiding, join forces with a progressive nation, collect back taxes, trade for all the technology they want. The queen would treat them fairly, I know she would.”

Mrs Featherstonehaugh cocked her head, translating and then listening to the Vanara Alpha’s thoughts on the matter. “He says they did very well before the British arrived. They do not want our help, our technology, or our entanglement. He says India is theirs.”

“Oh dear,” said Rue. “They really are dissidents.”

Percy shook his head. “It’s too late now. Industry is in place–sky trains and rails criss-cross this land. If he knows history first-hand, he knows that there is no progress backwards. There is only the engine of empire, advancing. We are civilisation and order. They would do well to ally with us now if at all possible.” It seemed a ridiculous statement coming from an effete academic strapped to a rock.

Mrs Featherstonehaugh was upset by such broad imperialist sentiments. As the wife of a brigadier, she really shouldn’t be surprised–it was her husband’s business to enforce expansion. Still she said, “But, professor, they are so lovely and unsullied here in their forest. Can we not leave them in peace? Allow them to continue their battle with the Rakshasas. Pretend we never met them at all.”

Rue said, “You were the one who wanted contact. You were the one who insisted they had been wronged. That the treaty should be righted.”

Mrs Featherstonehaugh’s face fell. “I did not consider the repercussions.”

Rue said, “Progressive is not only what England is. It is what we do unto others.”

“But is that right?” the lady wondered as if for the first time. Her arrogance was somewhat lost in moral quandry.

Rue considered her own existence. At any other time or place than England in the reign of Queen Victoria, she would not be alive. Even now, in this enlightened age, most of Europe hunted and killed supernatural creatures whenever possible, with increasing efficiency. Scientists were always making more and better anti-supernatural weapons. England had managed a balance which included acceptance of once-feared monsters. Perhaps the Great British Empire forced that acceptance upon others, but it was a policy that at its heart Rue could not help but endorse. It made up her world and, more importantly, her family.

So she took a stand on behalf of her government. “I exist because of Her Majesty’s progressive politics. That Vanaras fight Rakshasas is their choice. We are sorry to have stumbled unwittingly into their war. But there is only one solution–the Vanaras must be included in the treaty. Our policy has always been to befriend both vampire and werewolf. It matters not to the queen if those vampires are daemons or those werewolves are weremonkeys.”

Mrs Featherstonehaugh turned to relay this to the Vanara Alpha. He crossed his arms, angry, and spat something back to her.

She turned back to Rue. “They will not ally with those who are allied with the Rakshasas. No exceptions.”

Percy said, clearly frustrated, “Don’t be a fool. It is only a trade treaty. If they sign as well, they are on an equal footing. We could bring them back into the world. I know scientists would pay good money simply to talk to any one of them.” Then he made as if he would say this exact thing to the Vanara.

Rue had great faith in diplomacy but she didn’t know what to try next. Should I lean on Vanara pride, insist that they can’t allow the Rakshasas to have all the perks of an alliance? Or would an offer of special technology work better? And do I even have the authority to make bargains? She was frustrated with her parents for putting her in such a position. Officially, I can kill any of them with impunity, but I do not know what is right. That, in and of itself, is a mark against the empire’s foreign policy.

Then, from the top of a nearby tree, came a chittering of alarm. The weremonkeys all began to behave in a very odd manner. They started scrambling, reaching for their weapons: curved wooden blades, sharp and deadly, particularly to vampires. They looked up into the sky, monkey faces grave.

Rue inched closer to Percy. “What’s going on? What are they saying?”

“They are under attack.”

Mrs Featherstonehaugh joined them. “What have you done, idiot girl?”

Rue glared at her. “I say! No call for insults.”

“Oh, I think there is. I had a good negotiation underway. They were beginning to talk to me, if not trust me. Then you come stumbling in here after a werecat and a professor and mess everything up.”

“Speaking of Miss Sekhmet, why is she trapped in a birdcage in lioness form? I thought they liked her.”

“I told them to put her there. I don’t trust her. Her agenda is unclear. She is new to this territory and not of their kind. She said she would negotiate with the crown’s representative but we have heard nothing from her in days. Then she shows up with a professor who clearly doesn’t represent the crown.”

“No,” said Rue. “That would be me, I suppose.”

Mrs Featherstonehaugh looked at her indecent attire doubtfully. “You don’t know for certain?”

“You were expecting someone else?”

“I thought once I notified Goldenrod as to my suspicions surrounding the Vanaras that he would send one of his agents.”

Rue sighed. “That message must have been intercepted. All we knew was that you had been kidnapped by dissidents. I was supposed to be following the tea. Nothing more. Then after you went missing I was supposed to find you and determine what you did with the tea.”

“Bugger the tea!” Mrs Featherstonehaugh showed her soldier roots. She cast her eyes up to the heavens for support. Not uncommon in those debating with Prudence. “Oh my goodness me! What is that?” She had finally, along with almost everyone else, looked up at the sky.

Rue followed her gaze. “Well, blast it!”

The Spotted Custard was headed in their direction, making speed–well, speed for a dirigible out of aether, which wasn’t very speedy at all, more a sedate breeze-born meander. She bobbed under the silver moon–a large spotted ladybug, running a search pattern over the forest, following the line of the sky rail, tacking back and forth in a zigzag pattern.

“I guess they got your signal,” said Percy to Rue drolly.

“Did I leave instructions for them to be the ones to rescue me? Did I instruct them to follow? They must have been tracking us all along or they couldn’t have got here so quickly. Quesnel. I’ll murder that Frenchman, I will.”

“Um,” said Percy. “You might not get the chance.”

The Vanaras, deducing that this new threat somehow had something to do with Rue and Percy, had turned their attention and their weapons upon them.

“Oh, this is wonderful,” said Mrs Featherstonehaugh. “Just wonderful.” She began desperately to explain the situation in Hindustani.

The Vanaras were having none of it.

“They think we encouraged the ship to follow to flush out their location,” explained an eavesdropping Percy unhelpfully.

“Yes, Percy, so would I under similar circumstances.”

Rue tilted her head back. Knowing the ship was well out of earshot, she nevertheless yelled up to it. “You muttonheads! Go away.” She turned to Percy as if this was all his fault. “What in the aether do they think they are doing? We don’t have any militia on board. Who do they intend to have rescue us? And what weaponry will they use?”

“Those biscuits Cook served yesterday were almost hard enough for ammunition,” said Percy in all sincerity and truthfulness.

“Don’t be flippant. No one on board knows how to shoot!”

Percy gave her a look that said he rejected all responsibility and that there was no way this could be other than entirely her fault.

The Spotted Custard spotted them, probably by the light of the bonfire. The ship headed determinedly in their direction, sinking down until she almost brushed the treetops.

Rue could see the faces of a few decklings looking over the railing, the ones who weren’t scampering about manning sails, venting gas, and hauling up ballast. They were grinning and waving madly. Everything was a lark to a deckling, even a major political incident.

Rue made frantic backup motions at them.

They were pushed aside to be replaced by Quesnel. The chief engineer was looking harried but smiled in relief the moment he saw her. He did not wave and he ignored her gesticulations.

Soon enough the Custard was close enough for them to yell back and forth. Which was also close enough for the Vanara to start hurling projectiles. The weremonkeys were armed with longbows, lances, and darts. Most of these bounced off the hull–the balloon section was shielded by the gondola–though a few gouged the pretty wood.

“My beautiful ship!” yelled Rue at the Vanara. “Stop it!”

Quesnel said, “Chérie, you’re all right!”

“Of course I’m all right,” replied Rue crossly.

“Where are your clothes?”

“That’s the first question you can think to ask? Quesnel, please don’t take this the wrong way, but go away. You’re messing everything up. I almost had things sorted.”

This was clearly not the reception the young man had anticipated. “We came to rescue you.”

Prim’s head appeared next to Quesnel’s, her poof of hair topped with a flowered straw hat decorated with an entire rose garden. She waved her handkerchief. “Toodle-pip, Rue.”

Another smaller head popped up. “What ho, Lady Captain?”

“Good evening, Prim. Spoo.”

“We came to rescue you!” crowed Spoo.

“Yes, so Mr Lefoux said.” Rue knew better than to lose her manners with a subordinate over good intentions. “Thank you kindly for the thought, but I don’t actually require rescuing just this moment.”

Prim said to Quesnel, “I did tell you that would be the case.”

Spoo said, “Jolly good,” and disappeared again.

Prim was interested in other, more pressing matters. “Is that bubbles of tea I see everywhere? Spheres of the plants in growth? Amazing. I’ve never thought to see so much in one place.” She ducked and a half-heartedly hurled wooden spear got one of the silk roses sticking up from the top of her hat.

“I say there.” Prim was not pleased.

Rue said, “Prim, you are witnessing the discovery of long-lost shape-changing immortals, monkeys of legend, and you’re excited by tea bushes?”

“Do you realise how many cups of tea all that would make?” said Prim. “Besides, the tea doesn’t seem to cherish a vendetta against my hat.” She ducked again. “And Miss Sekhmet is more impressive as alternate animals go, don’t you feel? Where is she by the way? Oh, there she is. Good evening, Miss Sekhmet. Why the cage?”

Quesnel was not to be denied gratitude. “But we saw your sparkler. You signalled for help.”

Rue said, “Oh, that. Yes, you see someone else rescued me first. Well, to be perfectly fair, he tried to rescue me but then I ended up stealing his form and rescuing both of us. It’s all been a bit of a trial since then. But I was getting things all straightened out with the Vanaras–oh, really, monkeys, do stop throwing things at my ship!–when you came floating in and botched it. Now they’ll never trust me.”

“Uh-oh,” said Prim.

“What do you mean, ‘uh-oh’?” Rue did not like the guilty tone in her best friend’s voice.

“Well, I’m afraid we aren’t the only ones coming to rescue you.”

Rue was instantly on her guard. “Prim, what did you do?”

“Nothing. It’s only that I believe you were watched when you left with Miss Sekhmet and Percy. Oh, hello, Percy? How are you? Still revolting? Good. Anyway, where was I? Oh, yes, I think you were watched when you left, possibly followed–as much as one is able to follow a werecat.”

“By whom?”

“Werewolves, I am given to understand. Your Uncle Lyall isn’t wholly to be trusted. And I know that we were watched and followed as we floated over Bombay. For a little while at least.”

“Oh, indeed, and who was that by?”

Prim and Quesnel exchanged glances.

“The Rakshasas,” said Quesnel finally.

Rue said, “That’s just wonderful. Wonderful.”

“Well,” said Prim, “we determined it wasn’t too great a problem. After all, vampires are restricted in territory and they can’t leave the city. If it was only their drones who could follow us, what harm could they possibly do?”

“They’d have a devil of a time tracking us from the ground once we hit the forest, anyway,” asserted Quesnel.

Rue was not so relaxed about this new bit of information. Knowing what she did about the ongoing enmity between the two supernatural creatures, she could predict what the Rakshasas would do. Moreover, she knew exactly what any hive vampire in England would do. Rue would bet good money it was Rakshasas who intercepted Mrs Featherstonehaugh’s message about the Vanaras to Dama, and Rakshasa drones who kidnapped Miss Sekhmet. They had a vested interest in keeping the Vanaras secret and estranged from England. She realised she must try to warn the Vanaras–somehow convince them that danger was coming, and not from her beloved ship.

Before she could do so, she was interrupted.

Behind them all, in her lonely cage, Miss Sekhmet yowled. The sound cut through the flurry of weremonkeys gibbering and shrieking.

A werewolf howl is unlike any other. It touches primal instincts embedded in skin and spine, causing hairs to raise up and uncomfortable tingling sensations. It is the sound of something large and furry that is about to come charging out of the night, intent on indiscriminately tearing out throats. It is not a nice noise.

The yowl the werelioness made was worse.

The Vanaras stopped throwing things at The Spotted Custard. This was good as they’d started dipping oil-tipped arrows into the bonfire, preparing to set the Custard ablaze. The werecat’s wail caused them to pause in their torture of the floating ladybug. The whites of their eyes showed as they glanced frantically around, the fur on their arms and about their faces fluffed out.

Rue was upset by the very idea of flaming arrows. After all, apart from yelling at her, The Spotted Custard had not made any attempt to return fire. In fact, her crew had behaved admirably under adverse conditions.

“Drat it!” she said to Mrs Featherstonehaugh. “There’s no call for flames. The ship only came to rescue me. They don’t intend the Vanaras any harm. They won’t counterattack without my order. Can’t you tell them that?”

Percy said, “I already tried.”

Mrs Featherstonehaugh bustled over to the Alpha. He rudely pushed her aside, all discussion ended.

Rue said, “Don’t they understand that the danger isn’t from us? It’s from—”

Miss Sekhmet yowled again–long and loud, enhancing the general nervousness. Everyone turned to stare at her. Whatever she was trying to articulate went well over their heads. Only Rue felt like she had a pretty good guess.

“Percy, Mrs Featherstonehaugh, we must get to the ship,” she said. Then turning once more to look up, “Quesnel, Prim, it’s going to get messy soon. Prepare for defensive action.”

Prim said, “And monkeys with projectiles aren’t messy?” She had a right to be perturbed–one of the Vanara arrows appeared to have bisected her hat.

“Why?” Mrs Featherstonehaugh left off trying to convince the Alpha weremonkey and came over. “What’s going on?”

“The Rakshasas know we are here, which means they know that we’ve made contact with the Vanaras. If they’re smart, they’ll realise that British policy is to try to integrate newly found wereanimals. Your husband still thinks you’ve been kidnapped. I know what I’d do if I were a Rakshasa queen and I hated Vanaras.”

Mrs Featherstonehaugh paled. “No!”

“The army has been told where we are.”

The frontline attack of any British night campaign is always werewolves. They form the perfect vanguard–supernaturally strong, amazingly quick, fierce, tireless, and immortal. Werewolf packs had won England her territories, and vampire hives had determined how to keep them. It gave Queen Victoria an empire upon which the sun never rose. As the famous saying went, “It is always night somewhere, so somewhere werewolves are fighting.” Tonight that somewhere was Tungareshwar Forest.

The Kingair Pack charged into the fire-lit grounds of the Vanaras’ sacred temple. There were not many but they made a good show–bristling and fierce, battle-hardened, and fighting-fit. The Vanaras turned their weapons away from The Spotted Custard and onto this new threat, but they did not strike the first blow. Instead the weremonkeys stood, furry arms drawn back, spears and arrows at the ready, awaiting their Alpha’s command.

So too did the werewolves. Kingair was an old pack, once not very stable, but in Lady Kingair they had a strong Alpha. She could hold them in check by sheer force of personality, even with all their instincts urging them to attack.

With the attention of both parties diverted, Rue looked up and caught Prim’s eye. She gave a sharp nod. Prim gestured with her handkerchief.

Spoo dropped a rope ladder which unfolded swiftly, thunking softly to the top of one of the temple walls.

Rue signalled to Mrs Featherstonehaugh. “Best to get out at this point. Everyone’s finished conversing.”

“I can’t accept that. Can’t we convince them that this is a set-up? Somehow?”

“Look at them. This is no longer our battle.”

Mrs Featherstonehaugh did not budge.

Rue couldn’t give her any more time. My first priority must be to save Percy. He is my responsibility and if the fighting gets deadly or moves towards the fire, he’s trapped at the heart of it. Rue couldn’t decide how to break his chains. She wished for good old-fashioned vampire abilities. Or possibly some training in how to pick a lock.

She inched close enough to touch Percy.

The Vanaras and the werewolves remained at a stalemate. Clearly, the Kingair Pack was under orders to keep the enemy in place and not engage. The Vanaras were under no such orders, but their weapons were designed to fight vampires. Nothing was tipped in silver. They could hurt with wood, but cause no serious injury.

Rue examined Percy’s shackles as surreptitiously as possible. They looked to be silver-coated iron. She needed a tool.

Everyone had gone rumbly. The werewolves, hackles up, emitted low growls and the occasional snarl as one drew back his lips to expose sharp canine teeth. The Vanaras were equally vocal, their rumbles higher pitched and gibbering, their weapons as sharp as those teeth.

Rue could think of no other approach so she sidled away, slowly, softly. A few heads turned to track her but no one chased. She stopped under her ship.

“Toss us down an axe or something similar, would you, Spoo? There must be firemen tools on board.”

Spoo’s head appeared, proving that she had been eavesdropping on the proceedings. Then vanished at the order.

Prim and Quesnel turned to glare after the former sootie.

Mrs Featherstonehaugh watched with interest.

Quesnel said, “Rue, what are you about?” A marker of his annoyance that he used her actual name.

Spoo reappeared with the requested axe.

Rue stepped out of the way hastily. Spoo dropped the tool overboard. It clattered on the sandstone and Rue gathered it up.

At this, one of the Vanaras veered away from his standoff with the werewolves and leapt over, spear at the ready. Rue brandished the axe and whirled to face him.

Quesnel shouted from above and took aim with his dart emitter. Before either of them could do anything, one of the werewolves leapt in a spectacular display of muscle over the bonfire and interposed himself between Rue and the attacking Vanara.

Herself.

This must be Lady Kingair, because none of the other wolves broke position. Also, this wolf had Rue’s eyes. The wolf’s fur was tinged grey like Lady Kingair’s hair.

The Alpha of the Kingair Pack growled low and herded the Vanara warrior away from Rue and back into his group.

The weremonkeys chittered at each other. Something was keeping them from casting the first blow. Though the one facing Lady Kingair looked like he desperately wanted to hurl his spear into her side, he kept looking to his Alpha for a signal. The Vanara leader did not give him one.

Neither Vanara nor werewolf wanted to be responsible for starting an incident. Rue wondered if this was based on a sense of kinship between the two shape-shifting immortals, or the result of old age. Rash battle, as a rule, was the provenance of the young and ignorant.

Unimpeded, Rue made her way to Percy.

She crashed the axe down hard on his chain.

Nothing happened. Except everyone jumped at the noise.

“Sorry,” said Rue into the quiet that followed.

Percy looked embarrassed to be causing a fuss.

None of the Vanaras tried to stop her. They merely looked amused at her puny mortal efforts.

How am I supposed to get Percy to safety if I can’t even break him free? Clearly I have no other choice–I have to steal Vanara form.

Rue left the axe with Percy, so as not to appear threatening, and advanced towards the nearest Vanara. She strolled casually, hands behind her back, swaying slightly–all innocence. If she hadn’t felt it too theatrical, she might even have whistled. Never taking his gaze off the werewolf pack, he slid out of reach.

Lady Kingair returned to her previous position, back to the forest, flanked by her pack, facing the bonfire. The Vanaras were arrayed on the other side, backs to the temple, and there were a good deal more of them. Either they hadn’t the same procreation problems as werewolves or they formed bigger groups. Rue supposed monkeys naturally preferred large collectives so perhaps the Vanara followed primate tradition.

Rue arrowed in on the next nearest Vanara.

He too shifted away.

Rue snorted and tried for a third victim.

It was turning into a slow-moving quadrille–Rue with multiple weremonkey dance partners. Without appearing to watch her, each one deftly moved away the moment she was within arm’s reach.

Rue grumbled under her breath, “We could do this the easy way–you could simply unlock him.”

One of the werewolves at the back of the pack, a smaller, almost fox-like creature, looked as if he were trying not to laugh at that. Not that he could laugh in wolf form, but Rue knew wolf amusement when she saw it.

Rue was nowhere near as fast as any supernatural creature, so she couldn’t dart in and grab a Vanara. But she might be a tad more cunning. If nothing else, the Vanaras had shown themselves to be curious by nature.

So Rue pretended a sudden scarf malfunction. Humiliating in the extreme, but she could think of no other ruse. She gave a squeak of alarm and bent over to adjust the knot at her waist, casually letting the fabric slide, exposing the top bit of her fundament for all the world to see. She went red at the thought of Quesnel, who might, very possibly, faint at the sight.

She heard Prim, behind her and above, give a squall of horror.

Percy said, “Oh, my word.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Rue saw one of the Vanaras bend in to see what all the fuss was about. Just a little bit closer and… there.

Rue threw herself forwards, trusting in her metanatural abilities to steal monkey form before she actually hit the ground, saving her from any major injury.

Gravity was unpleasantly quick.

Supernaturally fast, the weremonkey dodged but not far enough. Rue’s fingertip touched his wrist. He lost his advantage. And Rue shuddered in pain as her muscles shifted, her bones lengthened, and her hair turned to fur all over her body.

Prudence Alessandra Maccon Akeldama was once more a weremonkey.

She didn’t know what she expected. Perhaps for the Alpha Vanara to set his other warriors to attack her. Instead, he gave her latest victim a disgusted look and made an aggressively dismissive gesture, his monkey face disappointed.

The now fully human Vanara, ashamed, made a subservient half-bow and turned to run into the temple, presumably to get away from Rue as far and as fast as he could in order to snap her tether.

Which meant Rue didn’t have much time in her stolen form.

She leapt over to Percy, grabbed up the fallen axe and, before anyone could stop her, began hacking through his shackles.

The chain broke.

Rue scooped Percy up with her tail, despite his protestations, and carried him bodily back to her ship. She climbed the temple and most of the way up the rope ladder with amazingly graceful ease, before using her tail to toss Percy up and over the railing onto the main deck of The Spotted Custard.

Percy landed with a thud but was already yelling, “My satchel! Rue, you fiend! They still have my books! I can’t leave without them!”

Rue said, surprising everyone on board the Custard with the fact that she could talk in wereform, not to mention the low slurring of the voice coming out of her massive monkey chest, “I’ll try. You find a copy of the Act. Now, Pershy.”

She looked to his twin. “Primrosh, given a chansh, steal back the tea bubbles.”

Prim blinked. “What?”

“You hearsh mesh.” Rue hadn’t the time to explain further.

She didn’t wait to see if either followed her instructions, nor did she join her crew on deck as they expected. Instead, she leaned out on her long monkey arms, swung the rope ladder twice, and with an elegant flip dropped back down to balance on the wall.

“No,” cried Quesnel. “Don’t!”

Rue ignored him. There was still Miss Sekhmet to rescue. Her loyalties were unknown, but Rue was tolerably certain the werecat wanted to prevent conflict. In this they were allies. And frankly, Rue liked her.

She leapt over to the cage and gave the bars a test tug. Yes, the silver burned Vanara flesh just like werewolf. The palms of her hands, free of fur, were tender and exposed. Before she could further pit her supernatural strength against the silver and the pain, a new agony suffused her body. Her monkey muscles were shrinking. The world shifted, her senses altering. She was a mortal human once more. Her Vanara victim had reached the edge of the metanatural tether.

Rue shook off the disorientation and crouched down, meeting Miss Sekhmet’s brown eyes through the bars. She wrapped a hand about one bar, the metal no longer burning her skin. She could see upclose that the Vanaras had wrapped a silver net around the lioness. It fastened at her neck and draped over her body in loops and coils. That would make it impossible for her to change shape. Even if she were strong enough to shift despite the weakening effect of silver mesh, she would then be left pressing sensitive naked flesh against it instead. That explained why she was still a cat–she needed the protection of fur.

Rue grinned. That she could help with. The cage had large threaded knobs holding on a door that dropped down. Rue grabbed at these, loosening them as much as possible. Then she reached in and buried her hands in Miss Sekhmet’s smooth sandy-coloured fur.