Prudence (Page 34)

“No, but I have been eager to meet you since I learnt of your existence.”

Rue winced. Was this stunning female one of those fanatics? The ones crazy to encounter a real live metanatural? How disappointing. Rue tried to change the subject. “Was that your lioness I met recently?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

Rue followed this line of thought, familiar as she was with Footnote and Dama’s Madam Pudgemuffin. “Ah yes, cats – difficult to speak of in terms of ownership as a rule. I’m afraid she rather, um, borrowed something from me.”

“Indeed?” The woman glided forward slightly. She wore a long robe of white silk. “Is this the object in question?” She produced Rue’s parasol from some fold of her attire. It looked, if possible, more ugly by contrast to such impossible loveliness.

The flowing swathes of fabric seemed to be all the strange woman wore. They wrapped up once about her head like the veil of a mourner, around her body, and then draped back over her shoulder in a cascade. Her dark hair was long and loose and aggressively straight, and she wore no jewellery or cosmetics of any kind. Rue suspected this woman of being bare-footed as well – her steps were absolutely silent. Rue sniffed but could detect no prominent smell – perhaps a hint of amber but nothing more. She wished, once again, for wolf form.

The woman handed the parasol to Rue. It seemed none the worse for fangs and a bit of cat slobber.

“Thank you very much, miss…?” Rue trailed off, hoping for an indication of identity.

“You may call me Sekhmet.”

Without doubt that was not the woman’s real name.

“Very well, then. Thank you, Miss Sekhmet.”

Rue turned to leave, oddly frightened to present her back. If they were not hundreds of storeys up in the air, she would have said that this woman was supernatural. But no vampire queen would go unprotected or live in a slum, quite apart from the fact that a vampire tethered to the Maltese Tower would be known throughout the empire. And no werewolf Rue had ever heard of could withstand heights. Wolves could handle travel by sea but not by air.

Rue was almost at the door when that smooth voice lilted at her: “A moment more of your time, if you would be so kind, skin-stalker?” Her English really was good.

This encounter had rapidly taken a turn from extremely odd to entirely surreal. Rue turned back and the woman approached. Rue realised that she had been wrong. She did wear jewellery – a single chain about her neck from which dangled two small charms – one looked like a sword and the other a shield.

“Trust me, Miss Sekhmet, you have my attention.” As I am certain you are accustomed.

A tiny smile tilted the lady’s full lips. “I am one of those who respects what you are and does not fear it. There are few – very few, I am sad to say – like me left to fight for your rights, skin-stalker. None of them is in India. I would not go there, if I were you.”

Rue frowned. “How did you know I was going to India?”

No answer.

“Well, while I appreciate the warning, you must understand that I can’t change my plans on the whim of some stranger in robes.”

“Plans? Then you are being sent to India on purpose? So you know? And your parents – they know too?” A pause. “This is not good.”

No, thought Rue, this isn’t good. Obviously this Sekhmet represents a counter-tea interest, after the new plants. And foolishly I’ve revealed too much. Rue plucked at her parasol, brushing away cat saliva. Yech. She stumbled on, awkwardly, intent upon giving away nothing further. “Nice as you seem, Miss Sekhmet, and grateful as I am for the return of my…”

She trailed off. She was speaking to an empty room. The beautiful woman had vanished. Rue poked about, searching the small space, three rooms all similarly covered in colourful cloth and pillows, and no evidence of the woman, the lioness, or even a regular occupant.

Rue made her way back through the station. The tea-shop was closed and men in black uniforms with a white cross insignia were picking their way through the wreckage. Not wishing to attract unwelcome official attention, Rue decided it was best not to present herself.

Quesnel and Primrose were nowhere to be found. Rue was not particularly concerned. Nor did she feel abandoned. If Quesnel was a gentlemen, which Rue suspected he was – deep down, duck ponds notwithstanding – he would take pains to see Prim back to The Spotted Custard safely before returning with reinforcements to find Rue. A smart man would bring Aggie Phinkerlington – that woman could scare the willies out of anyone. Even a lioness.

Disorientated, Rue set out to walk around the circle, figuring she’d eventually recognise something. The station was no less crowded, but Rue felt less of a spectacle alone and accompanied only by her parasol. Still, she was well aware of the danger of being without a chaperone in a strange station. She cocked an ear. No one was even speaking English! Shockingly, the common language seemed to be some form of Italian.

As a result, Rue was on her guard when a whisper of a presence sidled up next to her.

She was profoundly relieved to find it was only a smallish, thinnish female. She was uncomfortably close, touching Rue and keeping pace. The woman was shrouded in cloth, including her head. Unlike Miss Sekhmet, her robes were colourful. Rue might have thought she was merely pressed close by the crowd except that she said, quite distinctly, “Puggle?”

At first Rue thought she misheard – it was such an out-of-place word to come from that figure in this location. Like seeing a kingfisher with a diploma.

“Are you… Puggle?” The woman’s accent was strong but not so strong that Rue could misinterpret.

The only thing visible, her dark eyes, were intent and serious.

Only Dama called Rue Puggle. She got excited, realising what this meant. “Oh, is this…? Oh my goodness! Are you trying to have a clandestine encounter with me? Espionage and codes and such?” She almost clapped her hands. “Oh, please tell me you have a secret message?”

“Ah, I see you are much as family lore described.”

Rue was taken aback. “Have we met before?”

“Not so much as either of us might remember. My name is Anitra.”

“Oh, ah, I see,” said Rue, not seeing at all. Clearly the name should mean something, but it didn’t. Although it was very pretty.

At Rue’s obvious confusion Anitra added, “My people,” she paused, soft and delicate, “float.”

Rue shook her head.