Prudence (Page 77)

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.