Prudence Page 25

  “No, but you are, as your father put it, a national treasure.”

  Rue frowned darkly. Overprotective, interfering Paw!

  The werecat laughed. “Child, you don’t have to explain to me a love of independence.”

  Rue moved them on. “Let us be frank, Miss Sekhmet. These people you keep alluding to – the ones who have Mrs Featherstonehaugh and the taxes – are they indeed some form of weremonkey, or are we merely dealing with nationalist dissidents?”

  Rue was reminded of that old saying: trying to get a straight answer out of a cat is like trying to find the soap in the bathtub.

  Miss Sekhmet swallowed her mouthful of kipper and looked smug.

  Percy said, “The agreement, SAD. Of course! Things could get messy, politically, if Vanaras do exist. The Rakshasas would have to share power.”

  Miss Sekhmet tried hard to hide her surprise. “Your government would acknowledge them legally?”

  Percy sat a little more upright. “My good woman! The British have always dealt fairly with the supernatural. It is tradition.”

  Miss Sekhmet’s lip curled. “But not with the natives.”

  Percy looked surprised. “We bring civilisation and enlightenment to all the empire.”

  “Is that what you call it?” The werecat finished her kipper and leaned back in her chair, sipping tea. “Mrs Featherstonehaugh believes similarly. The Vanaras are not so sure. And then when you refused to talk…”

  “I didn’t refuse!” said Rue. “I didn’t know.”

  “And now we are at an impasse. For I am no longer speaking for them and you have yet to ask me the right question.” Miss Sekhmet put down her cup.

  Rue frowned. “Werelioness, are you aware that I have been made sundowner?” That little bit of information managed to shock the werecat. So she doesn’t know everything.

  “Chérie!” Quesnel’s voice was gruff with warning.

  The werecat inclined her head. “A threat, little bird? I comprehend. Then they do not treasure you as much as they think you are useful. Very interesting.”

  Rue laughed. “That would appear to be the case.”

  “So?”

  “So can you take me to the Vanaras?” They want me to negotiate in my mother’s name and Dama wants me to find the tea. Only Mrs Featherstonehaugh knows where it is. I suppose I am going into the jungle whether I like it or not.

  “Very good, skin-stalker. That is the right question. And yes, yes I can.”

  At which Prim, Percy, and Quesnel all started talking at once.

  Prim and Quesnel thought this a terrible idea. Percy thought he ought to accompany Rue for research purposes. At which statement Quesnel said no, he should come along, for he could help defensively as well as scientifically. Prim said if Rue had to go, they should take The Spotted Custard and crew into the forest en masse.

  Rue held up a hand. “Do you think the government would not have tried to find Mrs Featherstonehaugh by air before now? I suspect this forest to be overly lush. No, the hunt must be conducted on foot. Or more precisely, on paw.”

  Quesnel and Prim protested this vociferously. “It’s too dangerous!”

  Rue considered. “In lioness form, I can carry two easily.” Only Prim had any idea how thrilled she was to say that. Oh please, oh please, oh please.

  Miss Sekhmet looked thoughtful, rather than objecting outright.

  Rue was delighted. She felt compelled to explain. “Not by weight. I could take more. I’m as strong as any normal werecreature. At least I think I would be. I’ve never done cat before, but by size —” She gestured expressively at her short curvaceous figure. “As you might have noticed, I did not benefit from my parents’ proportions. Two is the most that will fit on my back.”

  Quesnel said, “I do not like where you are going with this.”

  Rue said, “It has to be me in shape. If I’m riding, the risk is too great of a skin slip-up. I will be safe as a lioness. It is Miss Sekhmet here who will have to take the risk.”

  The werecat, following her plan, nodded. “I am old enough not to fear a second death. And you are my first skin-stalker. It should make for an interesting experience. I am also old enough to rarely encounter interesting experiences any more.”

  “Curious as a cat, Miss Sekhmet?” suggested Primrose rather daringly.

  Said cat gave her a little smile of approval.

  Primrose blushed.

  Quesnel stood up from his deck-chair and began to pace. “You expect the rest of us to stay behind?”

  Rue ignored him and asked Miss Sekhmet: “Have you studied the British policy on supernatural agreements in any depth?”

  The werecat shook her head.

  “Very well, Percy will make up the third of our party.”

  Percy looked part delighted, part terrified to be included.

  Primrose blanched. “Rue, Percy’s not accustomed to adventure. Or forests. Or the outside world, really.”

  Rue said, “I know, but he did some wolf-riding when we were little. At least I know he can stay astride. And he’s pretty deadly with his cravat pin.”

  Quesnel said with a cheeky smile, despite obvious tension, “Mon petit chou, any time you want me to ride you again, I would be happy to learn how to do it properly.”

  Primrose gave a shocked little squeak at that statement.

  Rue was privately thrilled. Perhaps he’s decided he’d like to tutor me in romantic encounters after all.

  Then he added, spoiling matters, “Just stay behind where it’s safer.”

  Rue was moved to reprimand. “I know you are overset, Mr Lefoux, but do try to control yourself.”

  Quesnel persisted, “You don’t know what danger you face, how long it will take, or how you will get back out. You are intending to run into monkey-ridden doom with no more support than a werecat made mortal who we don’t know if we can trust and a ruthlessly incompetent academic.”

  “Ho there, old boy!” objected Percy.

  Miss Sekhmet said, “Ah, family arguments. Makes me miss my old pride.”

  Rue and Quesnel said to her at the same time, “We are not related!”

  Miss Sekhmet shrugged. “Neither were many in my pride.”

  Quesnel was not to be thus distracted. “Chérie, please, don’t go.”

  Rue could feel her face getting hot in frustration. Why is he countermanding my decisions in front of the others? She was mortified. Miss Sekhmet would think her a mere child. “This is the best option we have.”

  “It is an imbecilic option!” Quesnel’s jaw muscles worked as he clenched his teeth in an effort to keep himself from yelling.

  Rue wanted his interest – of course she wanted his interest – but not this overprotective nonsense. She wanted flirtation and desire, not yet another parent. Sekhmet was right – he was acting like family. “What care you? You, yours, and the ship will remain safe.”

  Quesnel stood up and came to lean over her. “Now you are being an imbecile.”

  Rue didn’t know how to relate to a Quesnel who was over-emotional. She thought for one terrifying moment that he intended to kiss her again, right there on the poop deck in front of all the decklings and a visiting werecat. There seemed an equally good possibility that he might strike her.

  He did neither, only saying, “I am concerned about your safety. This is like you tearing after the lioness all over again.”

  Rue was stung. “It isn’t that at all. I’m telling you what I’m doing ahead of time. And I’ll be tearing off as the lioness!”

  Quesnel slapped his forehead with his hand and began striding about, copious arm gestures displaying his French ancestry. “And it will be your first time in that form. You don’t even know if you’re any good at it. You grew up being a wolf! And that is not even the point, the point is––”

  Rue interrupted him, standing up herself. She puffed out her considerable chest and drew herself upright, not as tall as Quesnel but doing her best. “Enough. I am still the captain. You should not
contradict me in front of the children.” She gestured to where, a little way away, the decklings had stopped chattering to Spoo and were watching Quesnel’s spectacular display of temper with wide, frightened eyes.

  Quesnel stopped pacing, vibrating with anger, and then pulled himself together. “Yes, Lady Captain,” he said coldly, and stormed away belowdecks.

  Rue did not stop him.

  There was a long silence while Prim and Percy pretended not to have heard anything, and Miss Sekhmet tried not to look curious.

  Rue took a deep calming breath. “Primrose, you have command while I am away. Technically, I suppose it ought to be Mr Lefoux but since he is proving a tad unstable, I think you had better see to the necessities. I’ll leave you to tell him so later.” Which would also save Rue from having to call down to the boiler room with the transfer of command and get another earful from Aggie Phinkerlington.

  Prim said tentatively, “Might I suggest a gunpowder display sparkle? If you took one with you and trouble arises, you could set it off and summon help? Any local militia would surely respond.”

  Rue was not above sensible suggestions. “Excellent notion.”

  Prim crinkled her forehead. “I’ll find you one of the smaller ones and tie it about your neck in a reticule. Also, I think you should take one of those long scarves I bought this morning in case you have to change shape in the middle of a forest. Or in case something happens to Miss Sekhmet.”

  The werecat looked a little nonplussed. “I don’t know exactly where they are in the forest. We have always discussed things through an intermediary. Territory is territory, after all.”

  “Then we have to follow Mrs Featherstonehaugh’s trail.”

  The lioness asked, “Do your skin-stalker abilities extend beyond the mere stealing of form? Do you possess enhanced tracking skills as well?”

  “Naturally,” lied Rue. This may be her only chance to be a lioness. There was no way she was going to suit up in thick clothing and ride Sekhmet into the forest. It had to be the other way around.

  The werecat said, “Very well, then, no time like the present. We are only losing darkness.”

  Prim scuttled off to the stores and reappeared with a flint and tinder, one of the sparklers, a reticule that looked like a water lily, and a large orange scarf.

  Percy made a sputtering noise about not being ready for a trip, until Virgil appeared at his elbow with a warm jacket, a belt from which dangled various tools in pouches, and a satchel full of books and scrolls. Percy said, “Is the ancient Hindustani language derivation text there?” Virgil nodded. “And the Epic of Ramayana?” Another nod. “And my maps?” More nodding. “Well,” said Percy, in surprise, “perhaps you are good for something.”

  Virgil said, “Don’t stay out too late – Footnote will worry.”

  Rue gestured for Miss Sekhmet to accompany her belowdecks to her private quarters, Prim alongside, for the sake of appearances. The aforementioned Footnote encountered them in the hallway, got one whiff of the werelioness and puffed his tail hugely, sidestepped on his toes, and took off back to the library. Miss Sekhmet gave a funny hiss-like laugh.

  In her room, Rue slipped behind the changing screen and switched her gown for a loose robe and nothing else. She emerged and turned to the werecat.

  Miss Sekhmet looked impassive, but Rue suspected the werecat was nervous.

  “Very well, then.” Rue looked at Prim. “Ready?”

  Prim nodded.

  “Miss Sekhmet?”

  The werecat nodded. And before she could think to change her mind, Rue stepped in and touched her bare hand.

  It was as painful as ever. In that matter, werelioness was no different from werewolf. Rue felt herself morphing, falling, and shifting all at once.

  Her bones re-formed into those of a fleet four-footed creature. Her hair became fur all over her body. Her spine stretched out into a long tail. Her fingernails became claws. Her nose expanded and moistened. Her teeth elongated. Her sense of the world shifted. Colours faded and became less important.

  All that was similar to a werewolf, but other things were different. Sounds were clearer and more minute. The balance of her muscles was altered. This form was made to climb and to leap. Her long tail could balance back, her claws could flex and extend.

  Rue sniffed. The sense of smell was good – perhaps not quite so good as wolf but still infinitely superior to human. There was Prim, all flowery powders and soaps, and a faint sheen of sweat she would be mortified that Rue knew about. Miss Sekhmet, still standing close, smelled of exotic spices and dry grasslands. There was the hint of kipper still on her breath, mixed with remnants of milky tea.

  Miss Sekhmet said, “Amazing. Truly amazing. You lift cat away from me so easily. And I have carried her with me for so very long.”

  Prim said sympathetically, “Do you feel abandoned?”

  “By my own immortality? No more than when a preternatural touches me. And before you ask – yes, I have met a soulless. But it is remarkable not to have to remain touching. How long is the tether?”

  Prim was always circumspect with other people’s secrets, especially when they were right there listening. She said only, “That is a conversation for you and Rue to have when she can speak again.”

  “Indeed, indeed. Forgive my curiosity – a curse I was born to. Believe it or not.”

  Prim said, “I fully understand. Now, I assume you have ridden a lioness before?”

  Miss Sekhmet nodded. Her face, more expressive in mortal form, looked sad. “A long time ago. But, yes.”

  Well done, Primrose, now we know there are more of them. Or once were.

  Miss Sekhmet settled herself astride Rue. “Can she communicate?”

  Prim nodded.

  “Fully?”

  “She can understand you. She has possession of all her capacities, unlike a newly changed werewolf. But she no more possesses the ability to articulate with the tongue than you would as a lioness.”

  Rue gave a little mew of inquiry and felt Miss Sekhmet twine her hands into the thick fur of her neck, a sign that she was ready. Rue tried to purr her approval, but nothing but a stuttering sputter emerged. Rue gave up and ran through her quarters out into the hall and leapt up the staircase out onto the quarterdeck.

  She almost overshot it. Lioness shape was powerful in distinct ways from werewolf.

  Percy was waiting for them, looking impatient. Virgil was fussing about his master, ensuring Percy was all buttoned up for the evening ride, that his boots were dusted, and his hat in place.

  Rue stopped next to him, tail thrashing.

  Percy looked her over doubtfully. It had been a while since he had ridden her as a wolf, and this form was vastly different. Plus, while he had grown bigger, Rue had mostly not.

  Rue yowled at him, dictatorially.

  Percy legged over and sat, tucking his knees up, presumably wrapping his arms about Miss Sekhmet’s waist.

  “I do beg your pardon, miss, having only just met you and all.”

  “Oh, for goodness’ sake, you British and your manners. Just grab on to me, man!”

  “Yes, miss,” said Percy meekly.

  Rue merped a question at them both.

  “All set,” said Percy, his voice a little strangled.

  “Ready,” added Miss Sekhmet.

  With which Rue dashed over to the shoreside railing of the ship and, in one great leap, cast herself and her passengers over the edge.

  It was a spectacular manoeuvre. The decklings behind gave a gratifying communal gasp. It was further down than Rue had thought. Fortunately, it was not too far for her supernatural body to absorb the impact. She landed and stumbled only slightly, righting herself so quickly even Percy didn’t fall off. She suppressed a small surge of disappointment that Quesnel had not bothered even to look out of the engineering port hole to see her away. Shaking off thoughts of the difficult Frenchman, Rue set off through the city.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  HIJACKING A
N ELEPHANT HEAD

  P

  ercy said, “My research suggests the Tungareshwar Forest as the likely location for Vanaras.”

  “You are good, professor,” said Miss Sekhmet.

  “Rue here doesn’t keep me on board for my good looks, I assure you.”

  “Are you certain?”

  Percy ignored whatever supposition the werecat was making about his – or possibly Rue’s – character and went pedantically on. “It’s the largest vegetation close to Bombay. And there appears to be a sacred temple at its heart.”

  Rue could feel Miss Sekhmet nodding.

  Percy was like a small child, always eager to share knowledge recently acquired as if it were some artistic creation of his own devising. “Vanaras are supposedly allied with local religions and superstitions. In the epics they are friendly with gods, if not gods themselves.”

  Rue did not wait for him to continue. Percy, she knew, could keep parroting on for ever. She headed north, up the peninsula, fast enough for his words to be lost in the wind as she ran. Or, more precisely, fast enough for her to pretend that this was the case.

  Bombay at night was quite different from Bombay during the day. There was little activity – odd, since it was so much cooler. Perhaps it has to do with fear of the Rakshasas? It made Rue nervous like nothing else had in India. It was very foreign, the stillness. London came alive at night with vampires, werewolves, ghosts, drones, clavigers, and associated sycophants roaming the streets. Military pubs and bars served werewolves and their fellow soldiers all night long. Theatres featured operas, dances, and comedy plays open to all. For the vampires and their companions there were private clubs, symphonies, arts houses, and late-night museums. Whole streets of shops stayed open all night long, catering to the shadow society and their fashionable inclinations. BUR agents swept the streets with warm conscientiousness and the unsavoury elements saw to other needs.

  Bombay had none of this. After dark it was as quiet as it had been during the high heat of day. A few stray dogs and rats milled about. Packs of mangy monkeys roamed the marketplaces scavenging the remnants of the day’s gatherings. The city was theirs.