“Remarkably intellectually modern of you, madam,” encouraged Percy.
Mrs Featherstonehaugh blushed. “Why, thank you kindly. You’ll never guess what else?”
“My dear lady, you have the entirety of my attention.” He attempted a winning smile.
A blush resulted.
Rue had thought until that moment that Percy’s charm was largely unintentional – now she was beginning to wonder.
Mrs Featherstonehaugh glowed under his regard. “I have learnt that we British offended them with our actions. It was our fault for appearing to have chosen sides. Or, better, the East India Company’s fault for establishing a treaty with the Rakshasas.”
Percy said, compelled to add detail to any situation, “Under the standards of the Supernatural Acceptance Decree?”
“Exactly so, professor.”
Rue defended her countrymen. “That is policy. To favour and recruit the disenfranchised supernatural element to our cause. It is how we win wars.”
The blonde girl flushed. “I know policy! I am loyal to the crown.”
Rue said, “Current circumstances would seem to indicate otherwise.”
Mrs Featherstonehaugh ignored Rue in favour of Percy, appealing to his intellect, for Rue clearly had none. “It was a mistake not to research more before bargaining for Rakshasa alliance. Policy is to involve all of the native supernatural elements. By ignoring the Vanaras, we offended not only them but the local humans as well.”
Rue said, “That is not fair. No one knew there were shape-shifters in India. Who would have thought to look for weremonkeys? Goodness, it’s going to be a chore convincing home of the very idea, let alone the fact that they are many, organised, and easily offended by imperial decrees. Besides which, open hostility between supernatural races is so rare.”
Mrs Featherstonehaugh said, “As I am sure the professor here knows, ancient history would beg to differ.”
Percy nodded his support.
Rue felt a twinge of betrayal.
Rue had more faith in coexistence than anyone, having been raised by both vampires and werewolves. “The wasp does not battle the wolf – they ignore one another.”
Mrs Featherstonehaugh looked frustrated. “This is not wasp and wolf. This is daemon and demigod.”
“My dear lady, there are no such things as daemons.” Rue would not budge on this.
Percy was compelled to interject at this point. “Well, actually, Rue, the technicality of the term is no different. Rakshasa means daemon – it’s the same word. It was we who classified them as a type of vampire on the basis of sanguinary subsistence. They would not have known to identify themselves as such. And the wasp and the wolf comparison is a metaphor, not an actuality. Werewolves are no more like real wolves than vampires are like wasps. It’s only a naturalistic model.”
“Yes, thank you, Percy, for your valuable input,” said Rue. Less betrayal than pedantry, which might be considered worse. “Regardless, why did the Vanaras not make themselves known to us sooner?”
Mrs Featherstonehaugh was annoyed. “Unlike everyone else, I bothered to learn the local language and I read considerably into the Hindu epics. If the legends are to be believed, for thousands of years Rakshasas and Vanaras have been enemies. There is even some suggestion that the Vanaras were created by Brahma specifically to battle the Rakshasas. They kill one another on sight. The moment Bloody John parlayed with the local vampires, England made an enemy of the Vanaras. These courageous, kind, and noble beings took to the forests.” She spoke with trained eloquence, her free hand moving broadly.
Rue had to admit that someone had blundered with the Supernatural Acceptance Decree in India. But what’s done is done. The question is how to repair the damage? This woman is overly enthusiastic in her support. A horrible thought occurred to Rue. “Mrs Featherstonehaugh, have you… gone native?”
Mrs Featherstonehaugh clutched her hand to her breast. She took a restorative gasp and lashed out. “Miss Akeldama! I am not the one dressed only in a scarf!”
Rue had forgotten that fact, warmed by the bonfire, not to mention the vigorousness of their debate. “I’ve had a difficult evening.”
They paused, at an impasse. All the Vanara around them stood watching in twitchy interest – even without knowing the language, the exchange fascinated them. They reminded Rue of her father’s pack witnessing similarly heated exchanges between Rue and her mother. It was as if the Vanara knew that if they uttered the merest peep, the womenfolk might turn on them.
Rue said, “And the tax money?”
Mrs Featherstonehaugh was offhand. “The Vanaras have certain expectations and I wished to parlay. Besides, those nasty Rakshasas don’t deserve the funds!”
“And Dama’s tea? You were given a sacred charge.” It was, after all, the reason Rue had come to India in the first place.
Mrs Featherstonehaugh looked frustrated. “The Vanaras like nothing better than tea – it’s the perfect bribe. He should understand.”
Rue considered her Dama’s feelings on the matter. “I doubt it.” After all, this was some very important tea.
At this juncture, the Vanara Alpha stepped up to Mrs Featherstonehaugh and prattled out a query. The lady answered him, her flow and mastery of the language far superior to Percy’s. Percy looked appropriately impressed.
Rue, who had initially admired Mrs Featherstonehaugh’s boldness, was now finding it abrasive. Mrs Featherstonehaugh reminded Rue of a small blonde version of her mother. Which was only a good thing when they were on the same side. Currently, and through no fault of her own, Rue had been forced into justifying a policy made ten years before she had been born. A policy that she had only recently learnt of and that, until a week ago, had had no bearing on her life whatsoever. If they hadn’t been arguing so aggressively, Rue might actually come around to agreeing with this horrible woman.
Rue tried to think about it without the spur of conflict, from the Vanara perspective. What if this was the war against Napoleon and she had come in and allied herself with the French because she had a policy that said she favoured all French emperors under a certain height? Absurd. Britain’s current supernatural policy might seem equally absurd to the Vanaras. If Vanaras and Rakshasas never thought of themselves as kin – despite being both immortal, both supernatural, both undead – then they would, perforce, think of themselves as different species. Scientific truth or not, some definitions are a matter of cultural tradition. It all comes down to categorisation in the end.
Rue said, “Percy, do you remember anything about the SAD treaty with India, the original document as written between Bloody John and the Rakshasas?”
Percy said, “Of course I do. I remember most of it.”
“You didn’t happen to bring a copy in that satchel of yours, did you?”
“The Vanaras took it away from me.” He was petulant, a schoolboy deprived of his sweeties.
“Well, cast your mind back, would you? Are the Rakshasas named as allies by title, or does it use the word vampires, or does it simply say local supernatural representatives?”
Percy thought about this for a long time.
Rue said, knowing she was up against his pride as an academic, “This is important, professor. Please don’t say it either way if you can’t remember exactly. You know how solicitors get.”
Percy’s face was glum in the flickering bonfire. “I can’t recall the precise wording, Rue. But I think I follow your reasoning. They would have used the standard SAD paperwork which hasn’t changed since Good Queen Bess. That one employs the vague descriptive ‘native supernatural element’ specifically so that vampires can’t be named before werewolves, or vice versa. In which case…” He intentionally trailed off.
Rue turned back to Mrs Featherstonehaugh. She had stopped her conversation with the Vanara Alpha and was watching Percy intently. “Mrs Featherstonehaugh, did you study the original agreement with India under the Supernatural Acceptance Decree? The one that has been causing all t
his fuss?”
“No.”
“Has your friend there?”
Mrs Featherstonehaugh asked the Vanara Alpha. “No.”
“Then there is a possibility that the solution has existed all along. The standard treaty calls for an alliance with local supernaturals. Whether the Vanaras considered themselves of a similar type to the Rakshasas or not, Her Majesty did and does. They have been allied with us all along. Of course, we would have to make the case that whoever signed it for the Rakshasas also signed for the Vanaras.”
Mrs Featherstonehaugh said, “How do you know they want to be our allies?”
Rue almost stamped her foot. “But it is a solution! They could come out of hiding, join forces with a progressive nation, collect back taxes, trade for all the technology they want. The queen would treat them fairly, I know she would.”
Mrs Featherstonehaugh cocked her head, translating and then listening to the Vanara Alpha’s thoughts on the matter. “He says they did very well before the British arrived. They do not want our help, our technology, or our entanglement. He says India is theirs.”
“Oh dear,” said Rue. “They really are dissidents.”
Percy shook his head. “It’s too late now. Industry is in place – sky trains and rails criss-cross this land. If he knows history first-hand, he knows that there is no progress backwards. There is only the engine of empire, advancing. We are civilisation and order. They would do well to ally with us now if at all possible.” It seemed a ridiculous statement coming from an effete academic strapped to a rock.
Mrs Featherstonehaugh was upset by such broad imperialist sentiments. As the wife of a brigadier, she really shouldn’t be surprised – it was her husband’s business to enforce expansion. Still she said, “But, professor, they are so lovely and unsullied here in their forest, can we not leave them in peace? Allow them to continue their battle with the Rakshasas. Pretend we never met them at all.”
Rue said, “You were the one who wanted contact. You were the one who insisted they had been wronged. That the treaty should be righted.”
Mrs Featherstonehaugh’s face fell. “I did not consider the repercussions.”
Rue said, “Progressive is not only what England is. It is what we do unto others.”
“But is that right?” the lady wondered as if for the first time. Her arrogance was somewhat lost in moral quandry.
Rue considered her own existence. At any other time or place than England in the reign of Queen Victoria, she would not be alive. Even now, in this enlightened age, most of Europe hunted and killed supernatural creatures whenever possible, with increasing efficiency. Scientists were always making more and better anti-supernatural weapons. England had managed a balance which included acceptance of once-feared monsters. Perhaps the Great British Empire forced that acceptance upon others, but it was a policy that at its heart Rue could not help but endorse. It made up her world and, more importantly, her family.
So she took a stand on behalf of her government. “I exist because of Her Majesty’s progressive politics. That Vanaras fight Rakshasas is their choice. We are sorry to have stumbled unwittingly into their war. But there is only one solution – the Vanaras must be included in the treaty. Our policy has always been to befriend both vampire and werewolf. It matters not to the queen if those vampires are daemons or those werewolves are weremonkeys.”
Mrs Featherstonehaugh turned to relay this to the Vanara Alpha. He crossed his arms, angry, and spat something back to her.
She turned back to Rue. “They will not ally with those who are allied with the Rakshasas. No exceptions.”
Percy said, clearly frustrated, “Don’t be a fool. It is only a trade treaty. If they sign as well, they are on an equal footing. We could bring them back into the world. I know scientists would pay good money simply to talk to any one of them.” Then he made as if he would say this exact thing to the Vanara.
Rue had great faith in diplomacy but she didn’t know what to try next. Should I lean on Vanara pride, insist that they can’t allow the Rakshasas to have all the perks of an alliance? Or would an offer of special technology work better? And do I even have the authority to make bargains? She was frustrated with her parents for putting her in such a position. Officially, I can kill any of them with impunity, but I do not know what is right. That, in and of itself, is mark against the empire’s foreign policy.
Then, from the top of a nearby tree, came a chittering of alarm. The weremonkeys all began to behave in a very odd manner. They started scrambling, reaching for their weapons: curved wooden blades, sharp and deadly, particularly to vampires. They looked up into the sky, monkey faces grave.
Rue inched closer to Percy. “What’s going on? What are they saying?”
“They are under attack.”
Mrs Featherstonehaugh joined them. “What have you done, idiot girl?”
Rue glared at her. “I say! No call for insults.”
“Oh, I think there is. I had a good negotiation underway. They were beginning to talk to me, if not trust me. Then you come stumbling in here after a werecat and a professor and mess everything up.”
“Speaking of Miss Sekhmet, why is she trapped in a birdcage in lioness form? I thought they liked her.”
“I told them to put her there. I don’t trust her. Her agenda is unclear. She is new to this territory and not of their kind. She said she would negotiate with the crown’s representative but we have heard nothing from her in days. Then she shows up with a professor who clearly doesn’t represent the crown.”
“No,” said Rue. “That would be me, I suppose.”
Mrs Featherstonehaugh looked at her indecent attire doubtfully. “You don’t know for certain?”
“You were expecting someone else?”
“I thought once I notified Goldenrod as to my suspicions surrounding the Vanaras that he would send one of his agents.”
Rue sighed. “That message must have been intercepted. All we knew was that you had been kidnapped by dissidents. I was supposed to be following the tea. Nothing more. Then after you went missing I was supposed to find you and determine what you did with the tea.”
“Bugger the tea!” Mrs Featherstonehaugh showed her soldier roots. She cast her eyes up to the heavens for support. Not uncommon in those debating with Prudence. “Oh my goodness me! What is that?” She had finally, along with almost everyone else, looked up at the sky.
Rue followed her gaze. “Well, blast it!”
The Spotted Custard was headed in their direction, making speed – well, speed for a dirigible out of aether, which wasn’t very speedy at all, more a sedate breeze-born meander. She bobbed under the silver moon – a large spotted ladybird, running a search pattern over the forest, following the line of the sky rail, tacking back and forth in a zigzag pattern.
“I guess they got your signal,” said Percy to Rue drolly.
“Did I leave instructions for them to be the ones to rescue me? Did I instruct them to follow? They must have been tracking us all along or they couldn’t have got here so quickly. Quesnel. I’ll murder that Frenchman, I will.”
“Um,” said Percy. “You might not get the chance.”
The Vanaras, deducing that this new threat somehow had something to do with Rue and Percy, had turned their attention and their weapons upon them.
“Oh, this is wonderful,” said Mrs Featherstonehaugh. “Just wonderful.” She began desperately to explain the situation in Hindustani.
The Vanaras were having none of it.
“They think we encouraged the ship to follow to flush out their location,” explained an eavesdropping Percy unhelpfully.
“Yes, Percy, so would I under similar circumstances.”
Rue tilted her head back. Knowing the ship was well out of earshot, she nevertheless yelled up to it. “You muttonheads! Go away.” She turned to Percy as if this was all his fault. “What in the aether do they think they are doing? We don’t have any militia on board. Who do they intend to have rescue us?
And what weaponry will they use?”
“Those biscuits Cook served yesterday were almost hard enough for ammunition,” said Percy in all sincerity and truthfulness.
“Don’t be flippant. No one on board knows how to shoot!”
Percy gave her a look that said he rejected all responsibility and that there was no way this could be other than entirely her fault.
The Spotted Custard spotted them, probably by the light of the bonfire. The ship headed determinedly in their direction, sinking down until she almost brushed the treetops.
Rue could see the faces of a few decklings looking over the railing, the ones who weren’t scampering about manning sails, venting gas, and hauling up ballast. They were grinning and waving madly. Everything was a lark to a deckling, even a major political incident.
Rue made frantic backup motions at them.
They were pushed aside to be replaced by Quesnel. The chief engineer was looking harried but smiled in relief the moment he saw her. He did not wave and he ignored her gesticulations.
Soon enough the Custard was close enough for them to yell back and forth. Which was also close enough for the Vanara to start hurling projectiles. The weremonkeys were armed with longbows, lances, and darts. Most of these bounced off the hull – the balloon section was shielded by the gondola – though a few gouged the pretty wood.
“My beautiful ship!” yelled Rue at the Vanara. “Stop it!”
Quesnel said, “Chérie, you’re all right!”
“Of course I’m all right,” replied Rue crossly.
“Where are your clothes?”
“That’s the first question you can think to ask? Quesnel, please don’t take this the wrong way, but go away. You’re messing everything up. I almost had things sorted.”
This was clearly not the reception the young man had anticipated. “We came to rescue you.”
Prim’s head appeared next to Quesnel’s, her poof of hair topped with a flowered straw hat decorated with an entire rose garden. She waved her handkerchief. “Toodle-pip, Rue.”
Prudence Page 29
