Prudence (Page 87)

The wolves broke through the ranks. The Vanaras paid them little mind. They did not expect their lupine kinsfolk to attack them.

Lady Kingair went first. Instead of charging and going for monkey throats, she oiled in and dived under one of the Vanaras. The hapless weremonkey suddenly found himself riding a wolf. At a loss for anything else to do, the Vanara wound his legs and tail about the Alpha’s furry waist and his hands into the ruff at her neck.

The others of the pack imitated Lady Kingair until each wolf had a monkey riding him.

The Vanaras, after the initial shock, decided to cast themselves in with their wolf compatriots. They knew they could not win against overwhelming odds, particularly not when holding themselves back from dealing mortal blows. They could also sense that the sun was soon to rise. Without an Alpha to order them otherwise, the remaining Vanaras threw themselves pillion behind their fellows so that each wolf carried two weremonkeys. As a group, the supernatural creatures turned and dashed through the infantry ranks, heading at speed into the trees.

The army was left behind with nothing to fight and no means of following.

Dirigibles can never be said to race anywhere. They were designed originally as pleasure crafts and all the technology of the modern age had yet to make them fast. Even with the propeller cranked up high, and having found a brisk favourable wind, The Spotted Custard could only be said to drift with purpose. Within the aetherosphere was a different thing entirely, but right now, Rue needed distance without height. They had to stay high enough so that one of their guests didn’t take it into his head to jump, and low enough so the other didn’t suffer from tether snap separated from his pack. It was a delicate balance that took a great deal of Rue’s attention, even as Brigadier Featherstonehaugh came stomping over and started yelling at her. He looked like he might punch her, and had she been anything but British and female he would certainly have done so.

“Woman! Do you know what you have done? You have betrayed your country. You have countermanded a military action. I will see you court-martialed, you fatuous bint.”

Rue looked down her nose at him, which was hard as he was twice her size in most directions. “Now now, brigadier, language. This is my ship you’re on. I wouldn’t be so hasty if I were you. Besides I’m not in the army, so you can’t try me in a military court.”

“Oh no?”

Rue ignored him at that juncture, squinting down into the jungle, hoping the werewolves and Vanaras were managing to keep pace. It was too thick to tell.

“I’ll be with you in a moment, brigadier. Spoo, how’s our other guest?”

“Still secure, but I’m not sure for how long. That silver net isn’t quite meant for lifting, I don’t think, Lady Captain.”

Rue nibbled her lip. “Percy, please make for a clearing. There must be somewhere big enough to set to ground, perhaps with enough overhang so we could tuck out of view. That possible?”

“I’ll do my best.” Percy said this without looking over at her.

The brigadier said, “Young lady, take this ship down immediately! Or turn us around to rendezvous with my floatillah.”

“Absolutely not. Now hush up, I’m thinking.”

The brigadier gaped at her as if he were a fish.

“Prim,” called out Rue. “A little help?”

Prim came bustling over. “My dear brigadier, sir. Welcome aboard. Would you care for some light refreshment?”

The brigadier blinked in utter amazement at the audacity of such a request, but social niceties were never to be ignored, even under the most trying circumstances. Brigadier Feather-stonehaugh was a good British officer to the last. “How do you do, Miss––?”

“Miss Tunstell, the Honourable Primrose Tunstell. How do you do?”

“Not little Ivy’s daughter?”

Everyone was startled at that. Prim replied quickly, eager for any way to distract the military man from arguing with Rue, “Why, yes indeed, sir. You know my dear mother?”

“Why, yes, yes, I most certainly do.” A soft expression suffused the big man’s fierce face like a walrus having discovered a much beloved oyster. “We were engaged once, a long time ago. Such a sweet young lady. Ruined by association with that harridan.”

“Engaged?” Prim pressed her gloved hand delicately to her lips. It was always distressing to discover one’s parent had an amorous past. Recovering her poise, Prim linked her arm gracefully with the brigadier’s and gently led him to the poop deck, the tea trolley, and folding chairs which had miraculously survived all chases and battles. “How romantic. Do come and tell me all about it.”

The brigadier thus distracted, Rue could return her full attention to Spoo’s netted Vanara. They were high enough up so that, as a mortal, he would die if he jumped, but as a supernatural he would survive if he wrestled himself free. Which meant Rue had no other option than to make him mortal.

She dashed over. Spoo and her crowd of decklings who stood, muscling the three ropes that held the Vanara Alpha suspended below the gondola.

Rue rolled back the sleeves of her quilted dressing-gown. “Pull him up to this railing, slowly. Nice and steady.”

The decklings began to haul.

By careful degrees the Vanara came closer. When he was within arm’s reach Rue folded herself over the railing and flailed down, fingers stretching. She caught the whites of his terrified eyes – this man does not want to be mortal – precisely before her hand brushed his cheek. He craned his neck to bite her finger but it was too late. He was now suspended there – a mortal Indian prince netted out of legend, all dark eyes and liquid beauty. Rue was now a weremonkey once more, wearing a very proper English dressing-gown of ice-blue silk with pastel embroidered flowers up the front. Her tail made the back of the robe tilt up in a ridiculous manner. But at least she was covered. She thought that a nice tassel wrapped about her tail tip to match the tassels down the front of the gown would complete the look to the height of absurdity. Or possibly a fez. However, she had no time to attend to tassels.

She now understood why werewolves hated to fly. Her stomach turned into a hive of wasps that had been recently poked with a sick. All her muscles, many of them new and extra big, ached as if fevered. This had nothing to do with shifting shape. She felt queasy and dizzy. She contemplated succumbing to the vital humours in a faint, or having a bout of hysteria. On top of all that discomfort, it was as if she could sense the aetherosphere high above her. This was difficult to articulate, even in her own head, but she felt it in her blood like a thorny stinging blanket draped inside her, between skin and flesh. She had a certain instinctual knowledge that flying up any further and entering that grey nothingness would drive her mad with pain and loss.