Rue smiled. “Now if you will excuse me, I must find someone to take a message to Uncle Lyall. Spoo, I think. I like Spoo, very plucky.”
“Who?”
“Spoo.”
“Oh, the little lad who is always tormenting my valet?”
“Sort of.”
Percy nodded. “Yes, by all means send him off on an errand. Maybe Virgil will get some real work done for a change.”
“Now, Percy, don’t be mean. Virgil’s very diligent in your care. Why, I haven’t seen you once without a well-tied cravat or neat waistcoat this entire trip.”
“Oh, not that sort of work. There are manuscripts to dust and catalogue.”
“Percy, he is your valet. You hired him to tend to your appearance, not your books’ appearance.”
“I did?”
“Yes, you did. If you want an archivist, go and get yourself a clerk.”
Percy seemed much taken by this idea. “Do such useful persons exist for hire?”
“Of course they do. Now scoot.”
Percy scooted and Rue went to find herself a tea-gown so she was presentable enough to climb up top. Fortunately, Dama’s drones, accustomed to her predisposition for getting naked and stealing wolf shape, had supplied her with a full range of tea-gowns. They were technically the provenance of older married ladies, but allowances had to be made when balancing Rue’s relaxed attitude against her reputation. Tea-gowns were easy to get into and out of, and elegant despite their simplicity. Rue selected her favourite, one of light blue gauze that wrapped crosswise over her chest held fast by a wide belt. Over the gauze went an open overdress of dark blue velvet with white embroidery. It looked very modern and was comfortable, although perhaps not as cool as an evening in Bombay demanded. Nevertheless, she did not wish to offend the decklings’ sensibilities any more than she already had that night. She climbed up on deck.
“Spoo, walk with me?”
Spoo swung out of her hammock and joined Rue in drifting to the other end of the ship, away from the curious ears of other decklings.
“Do you need my advice about something, Lady Captain?” asked Spoo with all the serious maturity of a ten-year-old.
“Of a kind, Spoo.”
“That Mr Lefoux ain’t good husband material,” offered Spoo immediately, sounding a great deal like some disapproving aged aunt.
“Not that sort of advice, Spoo. Although as it happens, I wholeheartedly agree with you.”
“What then?”
“I have a very grave and possibly dangerous mission for you.”
Spoo straightened her spine, thrilled by the prospect. “I’m your man, Lady Captain.”
Rue raised her eyebrows. “Well, if you put it like that. There is a werewolf in residence at the local barracks. He’s with the regiment. Beta by pack standing, goes by the name of Lyall. Have you heard of him?”
Spoo shook her head, eyes wide. “Werewolf like you was earlier, Lady Captain?”
“Very like. Now, I need you to get a message to him and they may not be very welcoming to strangers right now. See that long brick building beyond the steeple of that church? You’ll need to argue your way in and find the underground residencies. Say to anyone you encounter that you have a very important message for Kingair from Lady Akeldama about a recent upset. This is werewolf not military business. The werewolves might have left by now, but don’t give the message to anyone but Professor Lyall, not even Lady Kingair.”
Spoo nodded, small face very serious. “I understand, Lady Captain. What’s the message?”
Rue gave Spoo the stone monkey on the cord. She trusted her instincts, and hoped that Professor Lyall would know enough about local custom to connect this to the Vanaras. Was he scientist enough to figure it out or would he be trapped in the belief that there was only one kind of shape – wolf? Rue didn’t entirely believe Percy’s theory herself. Hidden weremonkeys? The very idea! But then again, it might just be outrageous enough to be true.
Spoo looked at the funny little necklace doubtfully. “That’s all?”
“And ask if I can have my dress and shoes back, would you? And Mr Lefoux’s hat, perhaps?”
Spoo looked scandalised. “I don’t think I want to know.”
“Good, because I’m not going to explain further.”
Spoo popped the monkey charm about her own neck. “Aye aye, Lady Captain.”
Rue was about to rouse the others to extend the gangplank, when Spoo waved an airy hand. “Gangplanks are for you proper types.” Without further ado she ran, grabbed a dangling rope on the landward side of the ship and leapt over the railing.
Rue’s hands went to her mouth, stifling a scream. Then she realised this must be a common deckling activity, for the rope was rigged to respond to Spoo’s slight weight. It belayed down rapidly but not too rapidly. Spoo continued swinging back and forth until it had lowered her almost to the ground, at which juncture she let go and dropped the remaining distance. The rope rebounded, winding back up to the ship, leaving Spoo alone on the mudflats. She stuffed her hands into her jodhpurs, lowered her cap, and scurried towards the military fortress in a purposeful manner.
“I wonder if I can get her to teach me that trick,” said Rue.
“Absolutely not,” said Primrose, coming up behind her. “Now come and have some tea. You look like death warmed over without exorcism.”