Prudence

by Gail Carriger

  “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.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  THE SHAPE OF THINGS TO COME

  E

  veryone awoke from their naps refreshed. It was late night and the air had finally cooled. Primrose organised and served a delicious repast.

  Unusually, it was Rue whose spirits flagged, for Spoo had not returned.

  Rue tried to drown her worries in tea and conversation. Prim and Percy were both inexcusably cheerful. Percy was basking in the glow of his weremonkey discovery. Prim was luxuriating in the thrill of her recent acquisitions and enjoying chastising Rue for ungenteel behaviour. To top it all off, Quesnel had rediscovered his flirtatious good humour. The three eventually ended up engaged in a lively discussion on the subject of weremonkeys.

  Quesnel was as scientifically charmed by the idea as Percy. “Imagine the possibilities. I mean to say, if India has weremonkeys, what about other countries? How ignorant are we concerning the evolution of the supernatural? Are there other forms of vampires? The Rakshasas seem a minor physical variation. What if there are other adaptive variations? It is thrilling to speculate.” His eyes turned to Rue encouragingly.

  But even speculation could not draw Rue into the conversation. She kept glancing over the rail of the ship towards the land; trying to see in the darkness a small form scuttling back across the now diminished flats. The tide was coming in, The Spotted Custard floated nearer the promenade and yet Spoo was nowhere to be seen.

  Did I give her too much responsibility?

  Quesnel’s expression said much of his surprise at her lack of interest in such entertaining ideas as the probable existence of werefoxes somewhere in the Islands of Niphon and whether some variant of vampires might actually suck brains instead of blood.

  Rue only shook her head at him and rose. Carrying her tea-cup and saucer with her, she made her way to the decklings, huddled together in one corner of the quarter deck.

  One of them said, “Lady Captain, we wouldn’t want to betray one of our own, but we’re a mite worried. We checked the entire ship and Spoo is definitely missing.”

  “I know. I sent her away.”

  The decklings instantly relaxed. “Oh, that’s all right then.”

  “However, I think we should make it easy for her to return. Take us as close as possible into shore and lower that useful little rope of yours so she can climb back up. Or, if that’s not how it works, drop over a rope ladder.”

  “Very good, Lady Captain.” They scampered off to do her bidding.

  Rue returned to the others.

  “Conservation of mass,” Percy was saying, “would seem to dictate only certain animal forms are available for use. Are monkeys too small? We must ask ourselves this. After all, even the supernatural cannot defy physics. Rodentia and the like, we must assume, are right out. As are the more massive elements, like ungulates.”

  Quesnel nodded. “Agreed. And I think we must acknowledge that mammalian bone and skin are also the only real option, the synchronicity of forms suggests nothing reptilian or invertebrate. Although that would be amusing, a werejellyfish.”

  Percy’s hands were steepled in thought. On the subject of undiscovered shape-shifting creatures, Percy and Quesnel seemed entirely in accordance. “Or aquatic. Gills, you know.”

  Quesnel nibbled a muffin. “Although there are legends concerning shape-changing seal creatures in the far north of Scotland and parts of Ireland. I never gave them much credence but––”

  Percy nodded sagely. “Indeed, the Silly.”

  Quesnel frowned as though he might contradict. “Is that what they’re called?”

  Primrose, less interested in speculation as to the nature of supernatural creatures not immediately likely to attend her evening gathering, stood and went to join Rue, looking over the rails at the shore. “Is everything in order, Rue?”

  “I don’t know,” replied Rue honestly.

  The distant city was lit up with torches, lanterns, and the occasional gas lamp. The decklings gathered near the rope ladder they’d deployed. They were unsettled in the absence of their leader. Spoo had come so recently among them yet made quite a lasting mark. Virgil joined them in their vigil, his small face set. Rue wished she could stand with them, but she didn’t want to betray to the others that anything was seriously amiss. Extended fraternisation with decklings would be too suspicious.

  There was a jolt and a scuffle and a few startled cries from the assembled group of young persons. The decklings scattered as a great furry creature landed where they had been standing.
A monster of myth, which apparently needed no rope ladder to board an airship. Nor did she require an invitation. The creature had leapt from the ground below to land gracefully on deck in one massive display of supernatural strength.

  While Prim, Percy, and Quesnel gaped, Rue smoothed her skirts nervously. Then with – she hoped – captain-like dignity, she made her way to the lioness.

  “Welcome back, Spoo. And Miss Sekhmet, I assume?” Of course Rue should have known, but it was like the Vanaras – she never considered that there would be other shape-shifters. British scientists only spoke of werewolves. A quintessentially imperial attitude, of course, to ignore native mythology. But if there were weremonkeys, why not werelionesses?

  Nevertheless, in case she was wrong, Rue approached Spoo and the lioness with caution. “Glad you were able to escape your captors. Welcome aboard The Spotted Custard. Spoo, you had us worried.”

  Spoo, sitting with immense pride astride the cat, slid off and moved away only to be instantly surrounded by decklings, the returning hero. They hustled her off in a nattering group, like a gaggle of excited geese.

  The lioness looked up at Rue as if waiting for something.

  Rue said, “I’d be delighted to offer you use of my quarters and a dressing robe. It is Miss Sekhmet, is it not?”

  The cat tilted her head, whiskers twitching.

  “The robe will be short on you, I am afraid. I am assuming, as our first meeting took place in the Maltese Tower, that you are not afflicted, like werewolves, with an inability to float? But I get ahead of myself. We have much to discuss that I am afraid requires you to be in human form.”

  The werecat nodded her sleek head. Rue wondered if in this she was the same as werewolves. It was a mark of age and skill to possess all of one’s facilities while in animal shape. Oh, she had so many questions!

  Quesnel and Percy, having stood at the arrival of their visitor, abandoned their tea to approach.

  “Rue,” said Percy. “Are you talking to a lioness? Is that wise? Aren’t they hazardous to the health?”

  Without batting an eye Quesnel said, “Of course – Miss Sekhmet, is it? That’s why you shrouded yourself in fabric under the direct sunlight this morning.”

  “No wonder she looked so exhausted,” added Rue, trying to carry everything off with aplomb when inside she was now trembling with excitement: A werecat. I found a werecat! Well, she found me, but still!

  “And too weak to fight off her kidnappers,” added Quesnel. “Or should I say, catnappers?”

  The lioness looked displeased at that statement. She flattened her ears at Quesnel.

  “Spoo, would you show our guest to my chambers?”

  “My pleasure, Lady Captain. Right this way, miss.” Spoo trotted off, the lioness trailing behind.

  They disappeared.

  Percy said, “Is she staying? Footnote is not going to be happy.” And then, after a moment, “Where has my sister gone?”

  Primrose, as it turned out, had fainted.

  The decklings collected around her in a chattering worried mass.

  Rue applied smelling salts and Prim revived relatively quickly. Her big dark eyes were smudged with concern. She sat up.

  “I’m feeling better. I do apologise. Terribly silly of me.”

  “It’s the heat,” said Rue, giving Prim an out and offering her a hand up.

  “Just so I am clear, do we now have a werelioness on board?” Primrose rose slowly.

  “Yes,” said Quesnel, helping her solicitously to sit back in a deck-chair.

  “And did she take us shopping this morning?”

  “Yes, she did,” confirmed Rue.

  Percy, following at long last, said, “Werelioness? Of course. It fits perfectly. Do you think that’s what the Vanaras are? Hardly makes sense. That’s not how they are described in the text. Not cat-like at all. Do you think she’ll let me write a report for the Royal Society?”

  Quesnel gave him a disgusted look. “Can’t you think about anything but your academic standing? This is a revelation of epic proportions! We now have proof that there are other shape-shifting creatures besides werewolves.”

  “Exactly! The scientific community should know. I’m being altruistic. Selfish would be to keep this information secret.”

  The two men stood – forgetting Primrose’s delicate state – the better to argue.

  Quesnel said, “Our caller has obviously gone to great lengths to keep her condition out of the public arena. You should respect her wishes!”

  “Oh, should I indeed? And your concern wouldn’t have anything to do with the fact that she is an incredibly lovely female specimen? Would it?”

  Rue decided to ignore them in favour of her friend. “Do you think you could manage a little restorative tea, Prim?”

  Primrose said, “I think so. Thank you. I haven’t forgiven you though, Rue. You knew she was coming and did not warn me? And here I am not in a receiving gown.”

  “Is that why you fainted?”

  Prim ignored this dig to continue her lament. “What will she think of me?”

  Rue rolled her eyes. “For your information, I didn’t know she was coming. And even if I had made the connection, I thought she was kidnapped. I’m trying to act debonair. I’m surprised to have fooled you. I didn’t put it all together until she leapt on board.” She let the wide grin she’d been suppressing sweep across her face. “Isn’t this the cat’s whiskers? Werelioness. Did you ever imagine? Do you think she’ll let me steal her soul for a bit? I would so love to be a cat.”

  Prim raised a hand. “Rue, stop, too much excitement. It’s worse than you being all suave. Calm down. How did she get here, then?”

  Rue shrugged. “I sent for the werewolves but I suppose they’ve gone hunting. She must have found Spoo, or Spoo her. And stop worrying. She will think very well of you – everyone does. You look lovely. You always do.”

  Rue helped Prim to butter a muffin. Prim’s hands were still shaking, and Rue knew exactly how she liked her muffin buttered. She then foisted another cup of tea on Primrose. Though a touch cold, Prim drank it gratefully as she nibbled her well-buttered muffin.

  Once revived, Prim gave Rue a suspicious look. “You’re being awfully nice. What are you plotting?”

  “Nothing as yet.”

  Prim was not convinced. “You’re wearing a tea-gown and no gloves” She stated the obvious. “And you sent for werewolves. Haven’t you had enough soul-stealing for one evening?”

  Spoo returned, Miss Sekhmet following. The werelioness wore a robe of quilted velvet, opulent and flattering, if a little small. With her hair loose and flowing, free of all accessories, she was more beautiful than ever.

  Rue decided, magnanimously, to forgive her for it. However, it did appear to rather drive all her companions, even Primrose, into a tongue-tied state.

  “Please excuse the casual dress, ladies, gentlemen. I was going to follow the werewolves on their hunt and then I ran into your messenger and she had this.” Miss Sekhmet tossed Rue the monkey charm. “They have made contact with you directly in my absence?”

  Rue took the necklace and, because she thought it might be the safest thing to do, put it on, grateful that she had rejected the massive hat that fashion dictated be pinned atop her head at all times. She gestured for the werecat to sit. Which she did, quite gracefully.

  While Primrose poured more tea, Rue avoided the question by asking one of her own. “Is it really true that Mrs Featherstonehaugh went with them willingly?”

  Miss Sekhmet nodded. “She is acting as surety for British cooperation. She has a childish faith in their being good and noble.”

  Rue frowned. “And you are working for them as what?”

  “Nothing any more. I said I would speak for them and I did. We expected your mother, not you. Her, I wanted to meet. An original, and I’m fond of originals. Not that you are not unique, skin-stalker.”

  Quesnel pressed the question. “Then who do you work for?”

&
nbsp; Miss Sekhmet looked insulted by his impertinence. If she’d had her whiskers, she would have twitched them.

  “Milk?” asked Prim, raising the jug questioningly over the tea cup.

  “The more the better, lovely child. The more the better,” responded the werecat with a look of avarice.

  Prim blushed and poured. She handed over the cup.

  They half expected Miss Sekhmet to begin lapping. But she was perfectly respectable about it, sipping with pleasure at the over-milked cold tea.

  “They asked me to speak their case. So I spoke it. You did nothing. Now they wonder who is on whose side. They question my motives. They question yours. You have handled this badly, skin-stalker.”

  Rue took offence at that. “I thought it was all about the tea.”

  Miss Sekhmet smiled a very cat-with-cream smile. “They hold, how you British might say, all the cards.”

  Rue was annoyed. “But what do they want? I must say, you haven’t done well in making their position clear.”

  Miss Sekhmet paused so long the silence became awkward.

  “Something fresher?” offered Prim nervously, signalling to one of the stewards with the intention of sending him to the meat locker.

  The werecat shook her head. “No. Thank you for the thought. This will do well enough. Wait. Are those kippers? Marvellous. It’s been years since I had a kipper.”

  Prim served their guest a generous helping of kippers in brown butter sauce and fried egg. All quite cold by now, but the werecat didn’t seem to mind congealed food.

  “How did you know they were sending anyone?” Rue asked.

  “Your father wrote a letter to the pack here. Asking them to keep an eye on his biggest treasure. Of course, I thought he meant his wife. We all did. She’s travelled without him before. Didn’t realise you were all grown up and floating about without them.”

  Rue said, “Time moves differently for immortals.”

  “Just so.” Miss Sekhmet nodded. “Nor did we think England would let you out of the country.”

  “I am not a prisoner because I am metanatural!”