Supernaturally fast, the weremonkey dodged but not far enough. Rue’s fingertip touched his wrist. He lost his advantage. And Rue shuddered in pain as her muscles shifted, her bones lengthened, and her hair turned to fur all over her body.
Prudence Alessandra Maccon Akeldama was once more a weremonkey.
She didn’t know what she expected. Perhaps for the Alpha Vanara to set his other warriors to attack her. Instead, he gave her latest victim a disgusted look and made an aggressively dismissive gesture, his monkey face disappointed.
The now fully human Vanara, ashamed, made a subservient half-bow and turned to run into the temple, presumably to get away from Rue as far and as fast as he could in order to snap her tether.
Which meant Rue didn’t have much time in her stolen form.
She leapt over to Percy, grabbed up the fallen axe and, before anyone could stop her, began hacking through his shackles.
The chain broke.
Rue scooped Percy up with her tail, despite his protestations, and carried him bodily back to her ship. She climbed the temple and most of the way up the rope ladder with amazingly graceful ease, before using her tail to toss Percy up and over the railing onto the main deck of The Spotted Custard.
Percy landed with a thud but was already yelling, “My satchel! Rue, you fiend! They still have my books! I can’t leave without them!”
Rue said, surprising everyone on board the Custard with the fact that she could talk in wereform, not to mention the low slurring of the voice coming out of her massive monkey chest, “I’ll try. You find a copy of the Act. Now, Pershy.”
She looked to his twin. “Primrosh, given a chansh, steal back the tea bubbles.”
Prim blinked. “What?”
“You hearsh mesh.” Rue hadn’t the time to explain further.
She didn’t wait to see if either followed her instructions, nor did she join her crew on deck as they expected. Instead, she leaned out on her long monkey arms, swung the rope ladder twice, and with an elegant flip dropped back down to balance on the wall.
“No,” cried Quesnel. “Don’t!”
Rue ignored him. There was still Miss Sekhmet to rescue. Her loyalties were unknown, but Rue was tolerably certain the werecat wanted to prevent conflict. In this they were allies. And frankly, Rue liked her.
She leapt over to the cage and gave the bars a test tug. Yes, the silver burned Vanara flesh just like werewolf. The palms of her hands, free of fur, were tender and exposed. Before she could further pit her supernatural strength against the silver and the pain, a new agony suffused her body. Her monkey muscles were shrinking. The world shifted, her senses altering. She was a mortal human once more. Her Vanara victim had reached the edge of the metanatural tether.
Rue shook off the disorientation and crouched down, meeting Miss Sekhmet’s brown eyes through the bars. She wrapped a hand about one bar, the metal no longer burning her skin. She could see upclose that the Vanaras had wrapped a silver net around the lioness. It fastened at her neck and draped over her body in loops and coils. That would make it impossible for her to change shape. Even if she were strong enough to shift despite the weakening effect of silver mesh, she would then be left pressing sensitive naked flesh against it instead. That explained why she was still a cat – she needed the protection of fur.
Rue grinned. That she could help with. The cage had large threaded knobs holding on a door that dropped down. Rue grabbed at these, loosening them as much as possible. Then she reached in and buried her hands in Miss Sekhmet’s smooth sandy-coloured fur.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
WEREMONKEYS IN DRESSING-GOWNS
O
uch. After two stints as a weremonkey, Rue had almost forgotten how much more painful full animal shift was. Her bones broke and re-formed. Her senses altered entirely – her nose became primary, her ears secondary, her sight limited by the reds fading away. Given that everything was taking place under a silvered moon and in flickering firelight, colour was not so great a loss. It was a bit like suddenly forgetting how good cheese tasted: convenient in that it kept one from craving cheese; inconvenient in that one no longer got to eat cheese.
Rue’s whiskers twitched. The Vanara odour was all warm fur, dried moss, and some exotic fruit. They had neither the predator meat odour of werewolves, nor the carrion rot of vampires. A slight breeze wafted through the temple, bringing with it the overwhelming scent of tea plants. It caused her to sneeze sharply, once, before she named it in her head and forced it into the background.
Rue didn’t wait to see if Miss Sekhmet would determine how to get out of her birdcage. If she was smart, she’d stay there – safer until after hostilities. If hostilities happened. She was now fully mortal, after all. And hostilities could be damaging to mortals.
So far, however, the standoff hadn’t changed and didn’t look to. And now, Rue couldn’t argue with anyone, although she dearly wished to. Back to the cheese situation. Her tail lashed in annoyance.
Then out of the forest materialised the cavalry component of the British Army. Rue craned her head back – several large airborne dots were also heading in their direction. The brigadier had mobilised the float reserves. Most of the regiment was in pursuit of his beloved wife. Or the taxes. Or both. Rue could maybe support such action over tea, but taxes and wives? It seemed excessive.
The brigadier, distinguished by a particularly large and dictatorial hat, raised a large hand. Behind him the cavalry stilled, flanking the werewolves. Now the British outnumbered the Vanaras, and surely the infantry would follow soon.
Rue slunk through the line of tense Vanaras and the group of werewolves to leap into a tree near the brigadier. She attempted to hold her tail up in as non-threatening and perky a manner as possible. The tip was a bit difficult to control – it dangled and twitched like a small, furry, excited flag. Nevertheless, there was a gratifying gasp of fear and the sound of several rifles cocking, which suggested the cavalry thought her a real and dangerous lioness. She wondered how they reconciled the artfully draped orange scarf.
Brigadier Featherstonehaugh didn’t seem to notice her even when dangling above him on a tree branch. He was a large man on a large horse. He smelled of said horse mixed with expensive cigars, curry dinner, and coconut pastry. Clearly the loss of one’s beloved wife was not allowed to interfere with one’s enjoyment of supper. Beneath his impressive hat there was very little hair. He had pronounced eyebrows and a substantial moustache paired with an oddly diminutive beard.
He was accompanied by a young native gentleman in turban and British uniform, who was obviously his translator. This man was struggling to harmonise his position as herald in the face of a group of his own gods. He was bowing over and over to the Vanaras from his saddle.
The brigadier glared at him and said, “Stand to, soldier!” Then he turned to face the Vanaras.
“Monkey people,” he said. “Give me back my wife and the queen’s money, and we will be lenient with you.”
Mrs Featherstonehaugh limped forward into the light of the fire. She raised her cane in salute. “Jammykins!”
“Snugglebutter!” said the brigadier. He was easily twice the age and size of his wife, but there was evidently at least some affection between them if the tenor of their endearments was to be believed.
“They have been very kind to me. The Vanaras are good-natured civilised creatures, much like werewolves. And the empire has accidentally mistreated them.”
“Now now, Snugglebutter, you know the empire is never wrong. I’ve read of this phenomenon. It happens sometimes with impressionable young ladies, taken in by the enemy – they become sympathetic to local causes.”
Mrs Featherstonehaugh stamped her foot. “Jammykins, I have not gone native.”
“No, dear heart, no, worse. Now you hush up and let your Jammykins handle this. It’s the queen’s business. Don’t you trouble your little head about it.”
Mrs Featherstonehaugh gave Rue’s tree a desperate look. Rue was actually enjoying the spectacle. Prim and Quesnel had out The Spotted Custard?’s grappling hooks and were stealthily drifting about, throwing down and pulling up as many spheres of tea as possible. Since this was going on behind the Vanaras’ backs and they were concentrated on the army before them, none of them had noticed. A few of the cavalry were giving the Custard odd looks, but they were soldiers and knew better than to interrupt a brigadier with questions about custards. The werewolves couldn’t say anything even if they wanted to.
Mrs Featherstonehaugh could not argue further without sounding like a hysterical female unless she revealed herself as an agent of Goldenrod. She needed someone with official authority to stand up to her husband. Rue, even had she been able, was pretty certain she couldn’t reveal her position openly either. Besides, as a young, unmarried and mostly naked lady, she would have been summarily dismissed.
Brigadier Featherstonehaugh said to the Vanaras, “Who among you will speak in your defence?”
His assistant translated his words.
None of the Vanaras moved. They all remained quiet, weapons at the ready, watching their Alpha out of the corners of their eyes.
“Very well, you leave me no choice. I will take back my wife and Her Majesty’s money by force!” The brigadier raised up his sabre. “Company. Prepare to charge.”
The weremonkeys stiffened.
There werewolves all looked to their Alpha.
Rue tensed her muscles ready to leap. Although she wasn’t certain who or what she was going to leap at.
Then, into the silence, a voice said, “Wait!”
Miss Sekhmet walked into the firelight. She’d found a length of Vanara cloth from somewhere, which she’d wrapped regally about her body. Her brown shoulders were bare but for her long thick hair and the silver net, draped like a mantel. In mortal form she was only a little more tan-coloured than as an immortal, and still so painfully beautiful it was almost unreal. Somehow the wrapped cloth, the hair, and the silver net combined to make her look like a goddess of legend, more so than the Vanaras. Rue leapt down and ran to her, coming to stand at her left side. Lady Kingair was a heartbeat behind. The werewolf stood on her right.
The Vanaras, the werewolves, and the cavalry all stared in awe at the vision before them.