Lady Kingair was dressed in a way that suggested all sense of style had been sacrificed on the altar of practicality. Her gown was made of sensible muslin in deference to the heat, with copious pockets and a wide leather belt from which dangled various useful objects including a magnification lens, a medical kit, and a bar of soap.
Lady Kingair stopped in front of the two girls. She was not confused by their similar appearance. She focused on Rue, narrowing a pair of awfully familiar eyes. Those eyes were the same as the ones Rue saw in the looking glass each morning before breakfast. Eyes that were such a pale brown as to be almost yellow. Rue’s father’s eyes. Rue’s eyes.
“Good evening, auntie. We meet at last,” said Sidheag Maccon, Lady Kingair.
Rue played along. “Niece!” she said, tempted to throw her arms around the woman. She held back because hugs were not acceptable conduct at garden parties, even among family members. Maybe in the Americas, but not here, not even at the fringe of the empire.
Rue continued, eyes twinkling. “What a pleasure to meet you at last, niece.”
Lady Kingair seemed taken aback by Rue’s enthusiasm. “My, but you are different from your parents.”
“What a lovely thing to say!” crowed Rue, even more delighted to meet this long-lost relation. Because it seemed to unsettle her relation, Rue acted even more bubbly. She bounced a bit on the balls of her feet and coloured her gestures with awkward, barely supressed energy – like Spoo.
Lady Kingair shook herself slightly. “And how is old Gramps?”
“Paw was fine when we left London – topping form, really.”
“Oh indeed? Isn’t he getting a little… old?”
Rue blinked at her. What is she implying? All werewolves were old, except the newly made ones, of course. “You’d never guess it to look at him.”
“Of course not. But I didn’t intend to ask after his appearance, more the state of his soul.”
Rue didn’t understand the question and so misdirected it. “He was in good spirits when I left London.”
Lady Kingair tilted her head, as much as to say she respected Rue for avoiding all direct questions.
Rue accepted the unspoken accolade and said, “But I am remiss. Please allow me to introduce my travelling companions. This is the Honourable Primrose Tunstell and Mr Lefoux, and that is Professor Tunstell.”
“Indeed? Fine company you keep, auntie.”
“Primrose, Quesnel, this is my great-great-great-great-niece, Sidheag Maccon, Lady Kingair. I think that’s the right number of greats.”
Prim and Quesnel made polite murmurs. They did not find the relationship confusing, having grown up among vampires. Very strange things happened to family trees once immortals got involved. The Tunstell twins experienced similarly baffling relationships regularly. Their mother had been bitten to immortality when she was only a few years older than they were now. Primrose and Aunt Ivy looked, in effect, like sisters. Eventually, as Prim got older, her mother would look younger than she, like a daughter, and then a granddaughter. Vampires and werewolves had all sorts of rules in place to stop such things, but Ivy Tunstell had been made vampire by accident. And Rue’s entire existence was a massive mistake. Lady Kingair had been made werewolf under even more unusual circumstances.
We are all of us, thought Rue, not exactly meant to exist. It made her feel a kinship beyond blood with this acerbic Scotswoman.
“Let us be candid, auntie. Are you here to order us back to London?” demanded Sidheag.
That was when Rue realised that there was something more behind her parents’ refusal to host the Kingair Pack or visit Scotland. Something had gone wrong between them, something sinister, before Rue’s birth.
However, it didn’t stop her from ribbing her relation. “Order you to town, Lady Alpha? Why on earth would I do that? Everyone seems so eager to keep you out of London.” Rue could imagine the carnage should this pack and her father’s pack try to occupy the same city while at odds. London was big, but it wasn’t that big.
“But you are here at your father’s behest?”
“Which father?” Rue could play this game happily until the sun came up.
The Alpha werewolf lost a little of her aggressive posture. “I have always wondered which one would have the most influence. Well, if you aren’t here for us, why are you in Bombay, Prudence Maccon?”
“It’s Prudence Akeldama. And this is just a pleasure jaunt, esteemed niece. Dama gifted me with this lovely little airship and I thought I might see a bit of the world. I heard India was pleasant this time of year.”
Lady Kingair rolled her eyes. “Double-talk, nothing but double-talk. It’s like being back in finishing school.”
“If I may be of service, Alpha?” said a smooth voice. And out of the pack of large, kilted Scotsmen slid a slight Englishman as calm, quiet, and nondescript as any civil servant wandering the House of Commons. His urbane nature made him as incongruous and as appealing as cheese in a pickle shop.
Lady Kingair relaxed and glanced at the man almost affectionately. “Yes, you’re far better at arranging these kinds of things, aren’t you, Beta?”
Prim dismissed the man instantly as uninteresting and stepped forward to engage one of the largest and best-looking of the kilts in conversation, clearly having decided that Rue had this encounter well in hand. Quesnel stayed fixed at Rue’s elbow, although blessedly disinclined to open his mouth.
The unassuming Englishman gave Rue a little bow. He had sandy hair and pleasing if unmemorable features arranged under a small set of spectacles. His evening attire was perfectly appropriate to the place and venue but nothing more, with no hint of modishness. Everything about him was simple, unadulterated, and proper. Rue was not surprised that she hadn’t noticed him when the pack first entered the room. He hadn’t wanted her to.
“How do you do, Lady Akeldama?” said the man. “Professor Randolph Lyall, at your service.”
Rue had heard somewhat of Professor Lyall. She knew he had been her father’s Beta but left when she was too young to remember. He’d gone off to take up the mantle of Kingair Pack Beta, and Uncle Rabiffano, newly made werewolf at the time, had taken his place at Rue’s father’s side. Professor Lyall wasn’t spoken of often by the London Pack, but when they did it was with a respectful wistfulness. Even Uncle Channing, who didn’t really like anyone but himself, hadn’t a bad word to say about Professor Lyall.
Rue smiled at him. As with Lady Kingair she resisted the urge to give him a hug. For entirely different reasons. A hug would have unsettled her niece; Professor Lyall simply looked like he needed one. “Uncle Lyall, how nice to meet you at last. Please call me Rue.”
Professor Lyall blinked at this instant acceptance, mildly bemused.
Lady Kingair, on the other hand, seemed to take it amiss. “She is here for us. It must be time, Lyall.”
The Beta shook head. “Don’t be hasty, Alpha. I would have been warned.”
“Oh, are you still so well connected to London you can sense their mood from India?”
Professor Lyall gave his Alpha a level stare. “I know how to write letters and so do they.”
He turned his back on his Alpha, something only a very strong Beta could do and stay alive.
Lady Kingair, surprisingly, took the snub and shifted away, giving them a modicum of privacy.
Professor Lyall offered Rue his arm. “Would you care for a stroll about the garden, Miss Rue?”
“Oh dear, I’m afraid Prim’s reputation couldn’t stand any more garden strolling tonight.”
“Pardon?”
“Could I take Primrose along as escort? Miss Tunstell, I mean.”
“You trust her?”
“Of course.”
“She is not so silly as her mother?”
“Not at all.”
The sandy-haired werewolf nodded his approbation. “Remarkable.”
“Mr Lefoux, would you fetch Prim for me? She seems to have been kilted.”
Qu
esnel gave Rue a disgruntled look but made his way into the group of Scottish werewolves, who were getting a little rowdy, honing in on Primrose with consummate skill. He extracted her deftly and returned.
Rue said, “Professor Lyall would like the pleasure of my company for a stroll about the gardens. Would you kindly act as chaperone?”
“Oh, now you think about my reputation.”
Quesnel trailed along as well, although Rue would have preferred he didn’t.
Rue made quick introductions. “Primrose, this is Professor Lyall. Uncle, this is the Honourable Primrose Tunstell.”
Primrose said, “How do you do, professor? My mother speaks highly of you.”
The Beta’s eyebrows rose. “Does she, indeed? How kind. The respect of a vampire queen is no small thing.”
They meandered further into the garden, leaving pond and society behind. The grounds were full of exotic plants of strange shapes. There was steam-powered mechanical statuary as well, built to resemble animals or many-limbed gods, but capable only of dancing a pattern over and over, like the ballerina in a musical box. Here and there monkeys chattered abuse and hurled projectiles at them.
“They don’t think much of werewolves,” explained Professor Lyall.
Prim and Rue raised their parasols in defence. Nuts and small hard fruit made harmonious drumming noises as they bounced harmlessly off the taut cloth.
Rue said, “Well, Uncle?”
“I only wanted to say, Miss Rue, that the pack and I are at your disposal. Sidheag can be grumpy but she knows her duty to queen and country or we wouldn’t be stationed here. If you are acting under the auspices of any of your parents in their formal governmental roles, we will aid you by any means necessary.”
Rue was startled by such an offer. “Why, thank you very much.”
Professor Lyall bowed. “And I am, most particularly, your servant.”
“You trust me more than she does – why is that?”
“I’ve received several letters over the years extolling your virtues.”
There was a mild despondency to his tone. Again, Rue sensed deeper troubles with his connection to the London Pack.
“Why does my niece think I am here to force Kingair back to London?”
“A bargain was struck, debts need to be paid. She has been waiting for the summons for years now. It has been longer than any of us expected.”
“Oh, indeed?”
“Your mother’s presence, I think. Amazing woman, your mother. She changes everything she touches, doesn’t she?”
“Oh, yes? What kind of everything do you mean exactly?”
“Fate, one might say. And you, little one, are you the same? I have so many questions. Have you mastered your metanatural state? I have greatly missed the opportunity to learn the scientific details as you grow. How does the shift feel for you? What is it like to be a vampire one moment and werewolf the next? If you touch both simultaneously can you be both at once?” Academic curiosity must be how he had earned the moniker professor. He was also obviously trying to divert her attention.
“Please, professor, why is Lady Kingair needed in London?”
“Ah, no. It’s me they need.”
Rue rocked back slightly. “What?”
The reserved man shook his head in refusal and apology. “If your parents did not tell you, it’s not my place.”
A horrible thought occurred to Rue. “Are you, by chance, the negotiator? Is that why you need to speak to me alone? Are you representing Miss Sekhmet and her interests?” She hoped it wasn’t the case, for that would mean the werewolves were acting against her father the vampire. Two supernatural interests at odds was never a good thing. Whole empires had crumbled because of it.
Professor Lyall arched an eyebrow. “Sekhmet? The Egyptian goddess?”
Rue was relieved by his confusion. Right then, so far, purple dresses notwithstanding, they had yet to meet Miss Sekhmet’s contact for the other side of the tea situation. “Never mind,” said Rue.
Professor Lyall was calm in the face of mystery. He said only, “Little one, the purpose of this conversation is merely to say that I am here if you need to call upon a werewolf.” He gestured, without rancour, to his bare forearm. “In any capacity you require, metanatural. Any capacity at all. You understand?”
Rue inhaled in shock. It was the first time a werewolf had ever offered to share his form without question or restriction. Usually, she had to steal supernatural shape from a reluctant donor and apologise for it later. She found his offer touching.
“Thank you very much, Uncle Lyall. I am honoured, but I hope that won’t be necessary.”
The Beta smiled. “As do I, Miss Rue, as do I.” With another small bow he glided off, leaving Rue, Primrose, and Quesnel slightly dumbfounded.
They watched his slight form disappear through the trees, dodging monkey projectiles with supernatural swiftness.
“Did he just offer what I think he offered?” asked Primrose.
Rue nodded, eyes wide.
“What an odd little man,” said Prim. “Nice, but odd.”
“He seems very capable,” replied Rue. “I like him.”
Quesnel, being French, picked up on emotions. “He seemed rather sad.” It was an oddly serious thing for him to say and he shrugged it off with, “Beautifully tied cravat for a werewolf.”
They followed said werewolf’s retreating form, conscious that they had been neglecting their collective social duties and had left Percy, of all people, to take on the lion’s share of the obligation.
They found the redhead holding his own in a spectacular manner. Surrounded by eligible young ladies, and a few who were not at all eligible, Percy was waxing loquacious on the breeding habits of chilli peppers. He was explaining, with the comestibles on offer as his sample specimens, why ingesting spicy food caused overheating of the body, heart palpitations, and occasional irregularities in the magnetic energies of the human brain – particularly in impressionable young ladies.
Said impressionable young ladies were duly impressed by this lecture.
The hostess was looking acutely embarrassed at the very idea that she had included truly spicy native cuisine in her offerings.
Percy caught sight of them coming up. “Here, let me demonstrate – try this.” He held out a small bit of flatbread, dipped into a reddish curry.
Rue, who was always game for a new experience, took it and ate it with alacrity.
All the impressionable young ladies, who had no doubt eaten the same on more than one occasion before Percy had come into their midst and begun soliloquising upon its dangers, gasped. They watched her with round eyes, anticipating tragic gastronomic reactions.
Rue liked the flavour well enough but, in truth, it was spicy. “Goodness,” she said, politely, to Mrs Godwit, “that’s quite lovely. It is a bit hot. Might I have a spot of that milk and soda water to wash it down, please?”
Mrs Godwit, grateful for Rue’s complacent response, gestured at one of the staff to pour.
Primrose followed Rue’s lead, trying a bit of the curry herself. She coughed a little, but carried it off beautifully, “Delicious.”
Neither young lady fainted, came over with some exotic rash, or appeared to experience any magnetic misalignment.
Percy harrumphed. “It must not be all that spicy.” He broke a bit off the bread and, pinky up in the air, dipped the tip tentatively into the curry sauce. Then he tried a tiny nibble.
Pure chaos ensued.
“Argh – water – I’m dying!” yelled Percy.
The impressionable young ladies closed in, offering him drinks, cooling cloths, and scented handkerchiefs.
Percy screwed his eyes shut and grabbed his throat, wheezing and coughing.
“Give the man some air,” suggested Quesnel, barely disguising a guffaw. “Can’t you see he’s suffering?”
Percy cracked one watering eye to glare at him. “It burns!”
Rue, sensing the mood, shouldered into the
solicitous group and grabbed Percy, just as a caring older sister might. “Come along, Percy dear, I think it’s time we got you home.”
The impressionable young ladies all twittered objections and sighed in distress. As indeed did Primrose, who, even with the Kingair Pack departed, would have been happy to redirect her flirting back at the hapless Lieutenant Broadwattle for the rest of the evening.
Rue, on the other hand, wanted to read her coded message. Or at least try to. And there seemed no indication that Miss Sekhmet’s contact was going to approach either her or Primrose. So she assisted the sputtering Percy in making their farewells.
They walked back to the ship, Percy hacking dramatically the entire way.
“Prim, did anyone try to negotiate anything with you? As if you were me? Anything to do with tea perhaps?” Rue asked.
Prim said, “One of the officers tried to invite me to tea tomorrow without a chaperone. I turned him down, of course. I have more of a care for your reputation than you do mine.”
“I am sorry about that. But it was necessary.”
“Mmm, that’s always your excuse.”
“I talked with Dama’s contact, finally, but I wonder what happened to Miss Sekhmet’s tea negotiator. He seems never to have shown up, which means we wore purple for nothing.”
“He probably went where all good tea negotiators go. Bottom of a cup.”
“Prim, that is not helpful.”
At that juncture, Percy’s coughing reached such a crescendo that they could no longer carry on a civil conversation. Many of those acquainted with the Tunstell twins believed only Prim had inherited their parents’ flare for drama. But Rue knew full well that Percy could produce more than his fair share of theatricality when called upon.
Chilli pepper consumption appeared to call for it.
Quesnel, for his part, was taking every opportunity to whack Percy on the back, as hard as possible without causing permanent damage.
“Your brother is a ridiculous man,” said Rue to Prim. “It wasn’t that spicy.”
Primrose said, “In his defence, it did burn all the way down. Not unlike cognac.”
Prudence Page 18
