Prudence Read online

  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 ladybird. 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.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  WEREMONKEYS IN DRESSING-GOWNS

  O

  uch. After two stints as a weremonkey, Rue had almost forgotten how much more painful full animal shift was. Her bones broke and re-formed. Her senses altered entirely – her nose became primary, her ears secondary, her sight limited by the reds fading away. Given that everything was taking place under a silvered moon and in flickering firelight, colour was not so great a loss. It was a bit like suddenly forgetting how good cheese tasted: convenient in that it kept one from craving cheese; inconvenient in that one no longer got to eat cheese.