Percy passed it over so she could read it, at the same time offering up his own interpretation. “Essentially, he’s changing our mission. He found out about his agent being kidnapped while we were in transit.”
Rue examined it and then continued with her interpretation of the message. “It appears he wants me to go after Mrs Featherstonehaugh. He thinks she may have betrayed him in the matter of the tea and that’s why she was taken. The tea is in danger.”
Percy crossed his arms and glared at Rue. “Tell them the rest of it.”
Rue stuck her tongue out at him. She didn’t want the others to know the remainder of their new instructions. Quesnel would make a joke of it and Primrose would worry.
Percy said, because it looked like she wouldn’t, “Rue has been given sundowner dispensation.”
“Oh, just lovely.” Instead of teasing her, Quesnel lost all merriment and looked annoyed.
“That’s me, licensed to kill supernaturals,” said Rue blithely, feeling the strain at the back of her eyes, but making light of the matter for the sake of Prim, who looked like she might cry. “Ain’t it topping?”
“I think Lord Akeldama is worried about the Rakshasas. Doesn’t trust them. Thinks they may have stolen the taxes themselves,” Percy added.
Rue shook her head. “I think it’s most likely Paw overreacting. I bet he heard about the kidnapping, fears the worst, and pressured the Shadow Council into granting me permission to exterminate supernaturals. Or Mother thinks I’m going to accidentally kill a immortal and wants to reduce her paperwork.”
“How did we go from tea to death so quickly?” wondered Quesnel.
“Sometimes,” said Prim darkly, “there is a very fine line between the two.”
“There’s no we!” insisted Rue. “This is my responsibility. I’ve been given the role. Dama obviously doesn’t trust any other agents here in India.”
“Don’t be an idiot,” said Prim firmly. “Of course there’s a we. Now, shall we do some collective cogitation? What did everyone learn at the party about this kidnapping?”
It was a great deal later on in the evening before they retired.
Rue was surprised to find, when she went to open the door to her captain’s quarters, that Quesnel had followed her from the stateroom. She hoped the other two hadn’t seen.
“You aren’t going to take this sundowner burden to heart, are you, chérie?”
Rue looked into his violet eyes, her own yellow ones twinkling. “It is a sacred duty.”
“Are you this flippant about everything?”
“That’s rich coming from you.” Rue only then realised he was being serious, or trying to be. Quesnel didn’t wear serious very well. It looked ill-fitting on him – his mercurial face was pinched and his eyes sombre.
He said, “Dealing out death changes a person. I should not wish to see you so very altered and…” He trailed off.
Rue wondered what he might have said. “How would you know what death does?” she asked, not unkindly.
“I’ve been around it all my life. You know I was partly raised by my great-aunt when I was younger?”
“Yes?” Rue encouraged. She knew very little about Quesnel’s childhood. When they’d first met, he was already at university.
“A ghost.”
“Oh. So you watched her fade to poltergeist?”
“I did.”
“But you have not killed anyone yourself?”
A quick flash of his old charming grin. “Not as far as I know. Perhaps in matters of the heart.”
Rue made the only promise she could. “I will do my best not to use this power, but if we are going after this kidnapped woman and the Rakshasas do have her…”
“You would do it?”
Rue tried to be serious. She wasn’t all that good at it either. It probably looked worse on her than it did on Quesnel. “I believe I could kill one of them, if I had to. He was very rude.”
“Yet they are vampires, and you were raised by a vampire. You would have more trouble than most, I think.” Still so serious.
Rue wanted to tell him to stop. This conversation was making her uncomfortable. “Perhaps that’s why the Shadow Council decided to grant me sundowner status. They knew I would struggle with death dealing – morally as well as physically.”
“I cannot believe your mother would allow such a burden.”
Rue stiffened. She may not always get along with her mother but she would not have her maligned. “My mother knows her responsibility to queen and country. She would not have permitted the conference of sundowner status if she didn’t think I could handle the repercussions.” Perhaps that was part of Rue’s own ready acceptance: Mother is actually treating me like an adult.
“Indeed? And has she ever been a sundowner?”
“No, only a licensed exorcist. But Paw’s held the title since he became head of BUR.”
“And how has your father handled the repercussions?” Quesnel wondered.
Rue considered this question. Really considered it for the first time in her life. She had always known that her adored Paw was one of the few men in Britain authorised to hunt and kill vampires and werewolves as needed. But she’d never thought much about how he felt about that, nor indeed how the rest of the supernatural community might regard him as a result. It must be lonely. That Rue could understand. Her three parents had tried hard to bring her up without spoiling her overmuch, but Rue knew she was unique in the world. There weren’t even historical records of metanaturals, only rumour and hearsay. It was an odd kind of loneliness, like being the last of a dying race. Would she be further ostracised if she killed as well?
“Paw is Paw – things mostly roll off him. How else could he survive marriage to my mother?” she answered at last.
Quesnel cradled her face in his hands. “Don’t accept sundowner status, chérie. You can say no.”
Rue shook her head against his touch. “All three of my parents serve the crown with grace and integrity. If the Shadow Council trusts me with this, I will accept the responsibility. It is an odd birthright, but it’s mine. Besides, why do you care?”
Quesnel lowered his hands. “You are amazingly frustrating. Has anyone ever told you that?”
“Frequently. It’s part of my charm.”
Quesnel turned all French on her in an instant. His eyes back to twinkling. “Very well, mon petit chou, I think I should kiss you now, before you are corrupted by circumstances beyond our control.”
“Very melodramatic of you. And yet here I find it is you who is bent on my corruption.” Rue tilted her head, as if considering an offer of new gloves. Inside she was properly thrilled. They shouldn’t, of course, but Rue had never had a real kiss from someone she actually liked. And she suspected Quesnel might be pretty good at it.
She closed her eyes. “Very well then, do your damnedest.”
Quesnel, as it transpired, was a good kisser. All those fancy ladies, Rue supposed. Not that she had much fodder with which to build comparisons. But she certainly enjoyed it. His lips were warm and firm, but not too firm. Halfway through she could feel him smile in the creasing of his cheek against hers. Only Quesnel, she thought, would have the temerity to smile during an embrace.
His arms were gentle around her, strong enough to know she was supported, but not so tight as to feel confining. His hands curled about her waist, warm and strong. He took his time, exploring her lips with his, and eventually her body with those hands. He’s rather wicked, thought Rue happily.
Rue was a believer in experts. She felt it was always best to identify the expert and trust their abilities in the matters of shoe leather or embroidery work or opera singing. Quesnel had the reputation as an expert in the matter of seduction, so Rue committed herself utterly to his expertise. She supposed that made him a rake, but a good one.
She tried tentatively to imitate some of his actions. She was worried about being thought inferior in the matter of intimate relations. Or worse, prudish. Rue took serio
usly a statement Primrose once made in admiration when they were ten that Rue was “always game for a lark”.
Rue found she was battling Quesnel’s lips for dominance and was not sure about that. But she did enjoy running her own hands over his warm back, exploring the indented line of his spine and even – greatly daring – trailing her fingertips down to his posterior.
At which juncture Quesnel stopped kissing her.
Rue was disappointed.
“That’s more than enough of that,” he said. His voice was a little raspy and his accent stronger than normal.
“Oh, is it? Just when I thought I might be grasping the way of things. Did I bungle it? I haven’t had much practice.”
“Oh, chérie, I assure you you did very well indeed.”
“I did?”
“Hidden talents.” His violet eyes positively sparkled.
Rue was chuffed. “Marvellous. I always wanted to be good at something.”
“Well, don’t go practising with just anyone now, please?” Quesnel looked faintly serious again but only in a flirty way, which was reassuring. They were back on familiar ground. Or as familiar as just having kissed could get.
Rue paused, pretending to consider the suggestion. As if there were anyone else around suitable to further experimentation. “Oh, very well, if you insist.”
Quesnel grinned, showing dimples. “I do.”
Very daringly, Rue said, “I could take you on in a trial position, as a kind of tutor? You are, after all, years older than me and very experienced.”
Quesnel looked a little shocked.
Look at me go, thought Rue. More daring than the rake himself!
“Can I think about it?” he quavered.
Rue stuck her nose in the air, hurt that he hadn’t leapt at the chance. “Well, if you feel you can’t be discreet with my reputation…”
Quesnel’s eyebrows arched. “I think it is more that you had better be clear with me on the perimeters of the position on offer.”
Rue frowned. “Well, you know, courting and romance and stuff. I’d like to learn, personally, in a low-risk, scientifically experimental situation.”
Quesnel made a funny eep noise. “Low risk? Should I be insulted?”
Rue laughed at him. “Don’t be silly. You and I both know you have a reputation to maintain.”
“Oh, do I?”
Rue continued blithely on. “The reputation of not playing for real stakes and keeping your wagers small and, mostly, circumspect.”
“Ouch, mon petit chou. You wound me.”
“The truth, she hurts sometimes. So I think we could play this as a private game, don’t you?” Rue thought she should pucker up her lips seductively to get him to kiss her again. Then she thought she’d look fish-like. Or would she? This was why she needed his help!
Coincidentally, Quesnel looked not unlike one who had swallowed said fish. Apparently, his suave manners in the arena of romance paled before Rue’s bluntness. “I think it would be best if I headed to bed at this juncture. Alone. Good night, chérie.”
“Good night, Quesnel.” Rue was amazed to think she had actually scared him off.
She noticed that he walked a little funnily as he wended his way down the hallway to his own room.
Of course, later on, Rue could not help running back over the experience in her head, staring into the darkness despite her exhaustion and the lateness of the hour. Perhaps she shouldn’t go around attempting to arrange a liaison with her chief engineer. Then again, how else was she supposed to learn anything useful about romance? Quesnel had always flirted but never for one moment had she supposed him serious in his interest. He couldn’t fear for his bachelorhood, could he? She shuddered at the very idea she would set out to trap anyone in to matrimony. However, the only other explanation for his reluctance was worse. Surely he couldn’t be so very not serious that he wasn’t attracted to her at all? Had he be faking everything? Perhaps she was too respectable? Rue was tolerably certain she did not want to be accused of being another one in a long succession of Quesnel’s fancy ladies. On the other hand, she also didn’t want to be Mrs Lefoux anytime soon. She’d thought that she’d come up with a good solution. Why had he reacted so badly? Had she not made her feelings clear?
For the first time in her life, Prudence Alessandra Maccon Akeldama actually wished for the advice of her mother. Unfortunately, said mother was thousands of leagues away, and probably wouldn’t be much help. She’d simply suggest hitting Quesnel over the head with a parasol. Her on-board confidents would be equally useless. Primrose was too respectable and Percy too disinterested.
I’m on my own with this one.
Early next morning Spoo roused them with the information that Lieutenant Broadwattle’s promised guide was waiting onshore. The guide turned out to be female. She looked terribly familiar, an inordinately tall and beautiful woman swathed in white robes.
Rue was beginning to understand the difference between masculine and feminine garb, and these were the drapes worn by men. Did Miss Sekhmet wish to be mistaken for a man? She supposed the woman was tall and thin enough to carry it off, with her face covered. While her movements were smooth and sensual, they were not precisely feminine.
Rue could see that such apparel might be cooler than her own red-check walking dress with the cream pleated shirtwaist, high neck, and puffed sleeves. She wondered what might be said if she wore a loose tunic and trousers. Since she’d started down the path towards doom by canoodling with a mechanically minded Frenchman only last night, the possibilities seemed endless. Why stop there? Dress reform!
All unaware of Rue’s revolutionary thoughts, Quesnel and Primrose joined her, and they all made their way down the gangplank.
Quesnel seemed actually tongue-tied in the face of Miss Sekhmet’s beauty. A state no doubt entirely unfamiliar to him.
She seemed to have little or no interest in the engineer.
She showed, however, good grace when meeting Primrose.
“You’re our guide?” Prim whispered, her vaunted composure shaken.
Rue, who liked stirring the pot, said, “Miss Sekhmet here represents the counter-interests I was telling you about. Speaking of which, what happened to your negotiator last night? I wore purple and everything.”
Sekhmet’s lip curled. “Hence the reason I am here now and not your scheduled guide.” She looked awfully tired. “Rakshasas got him. Glad you weathered the encounter last night.”
“Not very nice, are they?’
“I did warn you. You knew we were not the only players in India.”
“Of course, but I didn’t think the others would be so very supernatural.”
Sekhmet gave her a funny look at that statement.
“How come you yourself are unable to conduct negotiations?” Rue asked.
Sekhmet gave her another funny look. “Do I seem like the type? Among other things, I’m a woman. I can’t speak for them.”
“Local custom? If you say so. You seem capable enough to me.”
“And now it’s daytime. So we must wait again.”
“What’s your interest then?” Rue wanted to know.
“Me? Balance, I suppose.” Miss Sekhmet got all philosophical. “And keeping you safe. You are our miracle.”
Rue was instantly suspicious. “Did Paw send you?”
“I know not of the Paw. But, Lady Akeldama, you are the only one of your kind.”
“You say that as if she were some rare exotic species and you a collector,” Primrose interjected softly. Prim was prone to getting protective of Rue when people saw only her friend’s metanatural state, and forgot she was also a person.
Miss Sekhmet made that funny little bow. “I apologise. No insult was intended. I understand your wish for freedom, I more than anyone.” It sounded like a vow. “But I also value your uniqueness. In this instance, however, my function is only to act as a liaison and, at the moment, a guide. Come, allow me to show you this amazing city.”
Ru
e didn’t know why but she trusted the austere beauty.
Primrose was more cautious. Under cover of getting Rue to help secure her sun hat, she said very quietly, “She’s too beautiful for words, but she’s more than that.”
Rue giggled. “Very astute observation.” Her friend seemed to have been thrown for a loop by their new acquaintance, which never happened to Primrose.
“Oh, stop it!” said Prim, blushing. “Give me time to assess her character further. I’ll be more articulate then.”
Rue stopped grinning with an effort. “Come on – looks like we must rescue Quesnel. He’s trying to flirt and she is having none of it.”
Rue warmed to Sekhmet even more. Not only had she discombobulated Prim, but Quesnel was red-faced and stuttering. None of his charm had any effect on the goddess-like female. Miss Sekhmet was merely glaring at him as if he were some unpleasant bug, and rewrapping her head with the white cloth to hide her face.
“It’s best if I’m not recognised and easiest if the locals think me a man,” she explained when Primrose gave her an inquisitive look.
“Oh,” ventured Prim, surprised by her tone. “Then you aren’t a local yourself?”
“Somewhat further west,” was their guide’s reply. Odd thing to say, since west of Bombay was nothing but water.
Prim would have pressed but Miss Sekhmet began striding off at quite a masculine speed, expecting them to follow. Quesnel offered the ladies his arms and they scuttled after. They caught up about halfway down the promenade, only to be hailed by one additional member to their party.
Percy came panting up behind them.
Introductions completed, Primrose regarded her twin, twirling her yellow parasol suspiciously. “You realise, brother dear, we are walking into a city full of people, not books?”
Percy stuck his nose in the air. “Yet there must be some reading material available to purchase or it wouldn’t be a proper city. And how am I to learn the breeding habits of chilli peppers if I remain behind?”
“Very broadminded of you,” commended Rue. “We certainly cannot be trusted to obtain the correct book without you.” With which she raised her parasol and trotted after their guide, who seemed eager to get to the busy hubbub that was Bombay.
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