Prudence

by Gail Carriger

  “Ah, yesh,” said Rue. “That would be me assh well.”

  Percy’s expression said he found this utterly unsurprising. “Our hosts thought it a sign from the gods.”

  Rue nodded. “I sheem to be reshponshible for a number of those thish evening.”

  Percy evaluated her newly fuzzy form. “Interesting outfit you’re wearing for an evening call.”

  “Yesh, well, Primrosh did insisht I bring the scarf. It would be churlish of me not to wear it.”

  “That wasn’t what I meant to imply. Are you covered in hair?”

  “Pershy, you’re as blind as a billiard ball. I’m a weremonkey.” She cocked her hip out and flicked her tail. “The tail ish remarkably useful. Even better than the cat one. You know, I should like a tail as a rule. Difficult in skirts, I sushpose.”

  “Oh?”

  Rue decided they’d engaged in sufficient banter for the moment. “Enough of thish, Pershy. What’s been happing? How did you get here? Why ish she still a lionessssh? And mosh importantly, what are they saying?”

  Percy made as if to push his non-existent specs up his nose. Finding them gone, he lowered his hand awkwardly. “That’s a number of questions to answer all at once. Where should I start?”

  “Begin at the beginning. Ish very becoming, not to mention organished.”

  Thus, while the Vanaras argued with one another, apparently questioning the veracity of everything their mortal compatriot was telling them about Rue, Percy explained.

  Rue had, indeed, managed to race away fast enough so that when Miss Sekhmet hit the bottom of the gorge, she was a supernatural and unhurt. She’d climbed out and found Percy waiting at the top. She’d changed into lioness form so that Percy could ride. They had been about to go looking for Rue when they were assaulted from above. The Vanaras had dropped down out of the trees in a coordinated attack, and thrown a silver net over Percy and Miss Sekhmet.

  “But I thought she was allied with them?”

  “Not close enough to be forgiven for bringing me along, I guess. And there was something about a missing necklace. She could hardly explain. She’s been stuck as a cat ever since. They trussed us up as if we were a loin of pork. Then wrapped us in a thick blanket over the net, presumably to protect themselves from the silver. One of them carried both of us through the forest, Miss Sekhmet struggling the whole while. They must be very strong. Once here, they put Miss Sekhmet into that cage and manacled me. Silver” – he pointed to his feet – “or silver-plated, so I think they may believe I’m a werewolf or something. I tried to explain I wasn’t, otherwise why would I ride when I could run? But they ignored me.”

  Occasionally, one of the Vanaras would walk over and circle Rue, staying well out of tail reach, but clearly curious.

  “How do you do?” Rue would say politely, examining each in return before returning her attention to Percy.

  There were no females among those assembled so they must have the same issue as other supernaturals with metamorphosing women. Or perhaps female Vanaras assembled separately, like after supper in England? Still, given the Vanara interest, either Rue herself as a female was an oddity, or the story that the mortal Vanara was telling about Rue was sparking intrigue.

  Rue endured it while directing Percy to continue.

  “Whash been happening sinsh you were captured?”

  “They realised I could speak their language – although theirs is an exotic dialect, I’m thinking perhaps quite ancient, very exciting––”

  “Pershy, pleash don’t get dishacted with minutia.”

  “They had me sit, gave me this odd tea to drink. They are very fond of tea. Value it above all things. Collect it as tribute, I understand. Where was I? Oh yes, they won’t let me talk unless it’s to answer one of their questions. So I haven’t been able to discern much. Besides which, I don’t quite know what I’m permitted to reveal to them. Officially, or, erm, militarily, as it were. There have been a number of awkward silences. Reminds me of an opera.”

  “Oh, really, Pershy.”

  “Well, what can I do?”

  Rue tapped her foot. Then was forced to engage in a rapid exchange of small bows with one of the Vanaras. “Have you learnt anything of ushe?”

  Percy frowned. “Culturally? Vanaras are accustomed to being considered beneficial sacred beings – even gods. They expect reverence, gold, and tea. They openly and understandably resent the very idea that we British purport to bring enlightenment to the locals. They think of this as their role. They blame us for the fact that they must hide here in the forest. They like Tungareshwar well enough, but this is their offering temple and retreat, not their home. Before the British arrived, they spent the majority of their time closer to cities. They have been hiding here for nearly forty years.”

  Rue was frustrated. “Why? We are a progreshive empire. We have alwaysh made contact with the local supernaturals and recruited them to our cause. We have alwaysh tried to passh on the ideal of incorporating supernaturals into society.” In her frustration, Rue was learning to control the shape of her new jaw. Her speech became clearer. “If they already were an accepted part of Indian society, why didn’t they meet us openly at the start? We might have treated the entire country differently, if we had known of their existence. The fact that they were already progressed would have been taken by Queen Victoria as a sign of enlightened thought. Wars might have have avoided.”

  Percy cocked his head and, strangely, defended his captors. “My dearest Rue, have you forgotten who first made contact here in India?”

  “Oh dear, of course. Bloody John.” The East India Company was a vampire concern. Rue’s monkey face crinkled up. Her tail switched back and forth in irritation, like a cat. Her forms were getting confused. “Are you telling me that we inadvertently allied with one side of an ongoing supernatural civil war?”

  “That might indeed be the case.”

  Turning to Percy, one of the Vanaras gesticulated at his own furry throat. Then he said something his native tongue.

  Percy replied in stuttering Hindustani before explaining to Rue. “They want me to interpret.”

  “Please do.”

  This particular Vanara was the most important – if one were to judge by the quantity of gold draped upon him.

  Rue was taken aback by the sheer number of gold bangles he wore. Among London’s fashionable set such an amount of jewellery was the height of vulgarity. However, barring any other indication of authority, she curtseyed to the speaker deferentially. It was awkward to curtsey in bowed monkey legs with no skirt. She thought it quite the achievement – not falling over.

  Percy spoke for the Vanara. “Foreign Devil Woman, why have you stolen our companion’s monkey self?”

  “Foreign Devil Woman? Really?” said Rue.

  Percy replied, “It’s the best direct translation I can think of, unless you prefer Alien Daughter of Evil?”

  Rue ignored this and said to the Vanara, “Apologies. I tried to warn your friend not to touch me. This is not something I can control.”

  “Lies, White Devil Female.”

  “Percy, must you repeat that particular part?” hissed Rue, and then: “I do not lie.” She decided to risk her own safety for the sake of negotiation. “Your fellow can get his monkey shape back by moving away from me.”

  Percy paused before translating. “Rue, you risk yourself unnecessarily.”

  “If all else fails, I’ll dive in and touch another one.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Repeat what I said, pleash, Pershy.” Rue once more found her jaw disobeying her. She wondered if English was ill-suited to monkeys.

  Percy did as she asked.

  The Vanara responded with a gesture at Rue’s victim. Without comment, the handsome man turned and trudged away.

  “He’ll need to go further than that.”

  He kept up his steady pacing until he was lost around a bend of the stream, back into the depths of the forest.

  Eventuall
y, Rue felt a tell-tale initial tremor and then her bones and muscles were re-forming. The pain made her wince but she managed to keep from moaning. Her tail vanished and she mourned its absence. The fur retreated back up her body, becoming her own tangled brown hair once more – that, at least, was gratifying. Rue was vain about her hair. She fluffed it forwards to cover as much of her torso as possible. She felt unmistakable physical loss as her monkey strength dissipated. This was so annoying that she was forced to consider seriously doing more physical exertion in the future. If I am to continue this new life as an adventuress I may have to train for it. The very idea! Her orange modesty scarf loosened about her waist and she quickly grabbed it and re-tied the side.

  The Vanaras all about her gasped in awe. A few spoke out of turn, but the bejewelled monkey in front of Rue made a silencing gesture with his wrinkled hairy hand. They fell quiet, if not still. Vanaras, Rue was beginning to realise, were never still.

  Her victim reappeared, walking back down the stream, once more in Vanara form, and pleased about it. Or as pleased as a man with a monkey face could look, which was more a stretching of the lips into a grimace.

  The highly decorated Vanara, who Rue decided must be Alpha, began talking once more. Percy resumed translating.

  “Remarkable, Foreign Devil––” Percy forcibly stopped himself. “But what kind of creature are you, who is no Vanara in truth but a thief of our shape?”

  Rue was glad to have her own voice back – it was much less troublesome. “I know not the word in your language. We would say metanatural, the child of a soulless. Flayer, say the werewolves. Soul-stealer, say the vampires. Miss Sekhmet there calls me a skin-stalker.”

  Percy did his best to translate, using Hindustani where he could, English words where he couldn’t.

  The Vanara Alpha did not respond for a long time. He turned and went to speak quietly with one of the other weremonkeys, a smaller, delicate-looking creature with almost white fur. Eventually he returned his attention to Rue.

  “We have legends of Vanaras in the past who could take many forms in service to the gods. Are you one of these? A lost kinswoman?”

  Rue said, “I’ll take it. Kinswoman is better than Foreign Devil Woman any evening. If it helps, I too am fond of tea. Perhaps it runs in the family?” But despite her enthusiasm, the Vanara did not relax in his aggressive stance, even though it was he who had extended the offer of kinship.

  He continued, “This seems a reasonable explanation. Tea love is always good, but sadly we cannot hold you as family in truth. Our foreign brothers whose form is one with Bhairava’s mount have lost their way and fight for the Rakshasas and their pact with your queen.”

  Percy interjected at this point: “‘Bhairava’s mount’ is their term for werewolves. Although, according to legend, I believe the mount was a dog of some variety.”

  “Yes, thank you, Percy.”

  Behind the twitching Vanaras, in her silver birdcage, Miss Sekhmet suddenly spat and hissed in agony or frustration.

  The Vanara Alpha ignored her and continued talking to Rue. “So you too, kinswoman, might be an agent of evil. Turned by the Rakshasas against us in the service of conquerors.”

  It was an insulting way to put it but Rue had to admit, from his perspective, it was a fair assessment. How on earth was she to explain British politics, the position of the East India Company, or the very idea of social progression, to a bunch of monkeys?

  She gave it her best shot. “The Rakshasas are unpleasant. On this matter we entirely agree. But our vampires at home are not the same. And you must understand, Her Majesty did not know of your existence.”

  “This is irrelevant to the fact that you allied with them. You gave daemons money, trade, technology, tea.”

  Rue struggled with a way to defend what seemed to be a grievous political error the British Empire hadn’t even known it was committing. “We are a civilised nation. It is our policy to ally with the supernatural wherever we are in the world. Our politicians draw little distinction between werewolf and vampire, between Rakshasa and Vanara. Forgive me if this seems an insult. In the queen’s eyes all are special. All are worthy.”

  Around her, as Percy repeated her words, the Vanaras chittered in annoyance. Rue wasn’t certain if they were angry with her, with what had happened with first contact, or with the implication of her words.

  When a little of the noise died out, Rue took a chance at asking her own question. “Is this why you have stolen the taxes, an Englishwoman, and my father’s tea? Is it an opening to negotiations? Do you wish to change the terms of India’s supernatural treaty with England? You needn’t have kidnapped a lady to make a point. I am sure Queen Victoria would have opened negotiations the moment we confirmed your existence. You need not have hidden.”

  Once more the Vanara around her erupted into yelled conversation. Percy did his best to repeat some of what he heard. “With the Rakshasas on your side? All attempts would be corrupted. They foul everything they touch. The British gave them control over money and technology and communication and thought those daemons would not use it to drive us away? To see us extinct? Is she mad? How could anyone ally with the Rakshasas and not know their true nature? They’re evil, always been so.”

  Oh dear, thought Rue. I might not be doing any good whatsoever.

  She said loudly. “Where is Mrs Featherstonehaugh? May I see her? Is she unharmed?”

  Percy actually tried to shout her words, looking mortified at having to raise his voice.

  The Alpha Vanara heard him. “Now is the time to stop talking, kinswoman. You have given us much to think on and discuss. Dawn is soon to come.”

  But someone else had heard Rue’s query and, high above, out from behind a series of arches, stepped a lady. She was perhaps a year or so younger than Rue, dressed sensibly in a travelling suit – four seasons old – of grey canvas with a black velvet-trimmed collar. Under the jacket was a ruffled shirtwaist and a gentleman’s-style waistcoat. Perched atop flaxen hair scraped into a bun was a straw boater with black velvet ribbon. She held a wooden cane with an ivory handle in one hand. She had a face too long to be pretty but her attitude was becomingly frank. Her stance was firm and Rue noticed that she had not been manacled. Perhaps the Vanaras did not like to restrain women. After all, Rue herself had not been shackled. Yet.

  Rue looked her over as she approached. “Mrs Featherstonehaugh, I presume?”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  LADYBIRDS TO THE RESCUE

  M

  rs Featherstonehaugh walked around and down, the limp that required the cane one of inconvenience rather than pain. Either that or she’d learnt not to show her discomfort. The Vanara treated her courteously¸ if not with any particular reverence. Nor were they overly familiar. She was a guest and free to move around, but not considered particularly important.

  Rue said, with a small curtsey, “Prudence Akeldama at your service. How do you do?”

  The woman’s face showed no sign of recognition. Either she was very good at being impassive or her status as Dama’s agent did not confer with it knowledge of his family connections. Or she didn’t know who her master really was.

  “How do you do, Miss Akeldama?” Mrs Featherstonehaugh stopped a few feet from her. Omission of title? Was Mrs Featherstonehaugh trying to insult her? Lady Akeldama’s name was so prevalent in the society column that it was odd the spy didn’t recognise it.

  “My dear Mrs Featherstonehaugh, we thought you were in grave danger.”

  The lady dismissed any concern with a twitch of her cane. Nor was she the type to be taken in by Rue’s sympathetic tone. “Very kind I’m sure, but who is we?”

  Forthright indeed! Rue felt it only right to respond in kind. “Oh, you know, your standard concerned party of miscreants.”

  The woman looked her up and down. Had she a monocle, she would have peered through it suspiciously. “I see. In which case, you will understand that I cannot trust you.”

  Rue thought hard, fro
wning. Trying to remember the name spoken by that young woman, Anitra, in the Maltese Tower. Oh yes. “Goldenrod sent me.”

  Mrs Featherstonehaugh paused. “You are not his normal type.”

  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.”