A rope ladder dangled.
Deciding that a naked Englishwoman in the middle of a jungle in India, no matter how unexpected, wasn’t worth any more of his valuable time, the brigadier returned to the attack. Bolstered by foot reinforcements, he barked out a new set of instructions. Tearing their eyes away from Rue’s rounded – and retreating – buttocks, the infantry obeyed the brigadier’s orders. They regrouped into that concentrated efficiency for which England was famous and marched forwards, pushing the Vanaras further into temple grounds, away from the advantage afforded by trees.
As Rue climbed the rope ladder, she noticed that the air support was almost upon them.
Those dozen weremonkeys were destined for annihilation. Should the infantry not possess enough leaded bullets to keep them down against all supernatural healing abilities, the dirigible floatillah was armed with ammunition strong enough to blast the group from above. It might not kill them completely, but it would certainly incapacitate them long enough to facilitate capture. There also was an ominous pinking in the eastern sky which meant that the sun was soon to rise. If Vanaras were anything like werewolves, such an all out attack could certainly kill all but the very oldest and strongest with the help of sunlight.
Rue landed on deck to find herself instantly surrounded by chattering crew. Prim threw a dressing-gown about her. Quesnel looked her determinedly in the eyes, telling her off for risking her safety in no uncertain terms, at the same time giving her a full report on the state of the engines. Percy was waving a piece of parchment at her and using a number of long legal words. Spoo was trying to explain something about tea pods and grappling hooks.
Rue could not have felt more at home. The moment her bare feet hit deck she relaxed.
She held up a hand for quiet. “No time to visit. Prim, do we have all the tea?”
“Yes, captain.”
“Spoo, could you switch the grappling hooks for a large fishing net – you know the one we use for hauling up cargo? Also, please put this silver one on the drop lines.”
“Yes, Lady Captain.”
“Percy, is the treaty as we guessed? Does the agreement specify Rakshasas?”
“Yes, captain – I mean to say, no, captain. I mean to say, Rue, the Vanaras are legally included under the pertinent clauses because the agreement only utilises the term supernatural. They simply need to sign it.”
Quesnel stopped yelling and reporting at Rue and said seriously, “You have a plan, don’t you, chérie?”
“Yes, I most certainly do. And don’t call me chérie in public.”
“So I may do so in private?” Quesnel brightened.
Rue snorted to cover a smile. “Crew, listen, please.”
Those assembled all straightened expectantly.
“Let’s steal this war away from them, shall we? Spoo, I want you and the decklings to use that silver net and target one particular Vanara – the one who is wearing more jewellery than the others. He is their Alpha. Try to catch him. Once you’ve caught him, keep him dangling – don’t reel him in, too dangerous. Let me know the moment you’ve got him secure.”
Rue pointed to two of the deckhands – larger bulkier men who did a great deal of the heavy labour that the smaller nimbler decklings couldn’t. “You two, man the rope net and try for the brigadier. Unless I’m wrong about personalities, those two will try to fight one another directly, so they should be close together. Understand?”
“If you say so, Lady Captain.”
Rue glared. “We are trying to stop a major international kerfuffle here. This isn’t for larks. I want the two leaders netted before the floating reinforcements get here. Which reminds me – Quesnel, Percy, we need to make aether and outstrip that floatillah if possible. Both of you prep your stations. Percy, I want due notice. You keep an eye to the incoming puffs and let me know with a countdown before we lose our window to outrun them.”
Percy and Quesnel didn’t bother to answer. They both ran off to do as ordered – Quesnel for belowdecks and Percy for the navigator’s station on the poop deck.
Prim and Rue took up position on the main deck, ship’s centre, one on either side, looking down over the railing to watch the action below from two different angles.
“Percy, take us in and down,” yelled Rue.
“A little to starboard,” added Prim.
“And a little more,” said Rue. “Spoo, how’s it coming?”
“Nearly there, Lady Captain.”
Below, Rue saw the Kingair Pack materialise from the trees. Lady Kingair was at the front, Professor Lyall, the sandy fox-like one, close to his Alpha. The rest of the pack followed in formation.
The sound of the battle below was almost deafening but, nevertheless, Rue leaned over the edge and yelled down to her kinsfolk. “Yoo-hoo, niece of mine?”
Lady Kingair looked up, yellow eyes flashed once.
“I’m trying to steal this war. Give me some time?”
Lady Kingair nodded and, with great elegance, she sat, right there at the edge of the jungle. As one, all the pack sat with her – refusing to participate in the fight.
Fortunately, the brigadier had not yet seen them. So far the werewolves could only be accused of desertion, but if he saw them and ordered them to participate, they could be accused of wilful disobedience or even mutiny. Pack attachments could act with a certain amount of autonomy, but not that much.
Just then a shout came from one of Rue’s deckhands. They’d managed to net the brigadier right off the back of his surprised horse.
Rue saw him dangling, struggling in his net, trying to cut his way free with a hopelessly tangled sabre. His hat had fallen off and he looked much less imposing without it. She changed her orders. “Pull him in and bring him on board. He might get out otherwise.
“Yes, Lady Captain.”
“Spoo, how are you doing with your Vanara trap?”
“He’s a fast one, Lady Captain. A little help wouldn’t go amiss.”
Rue went over to see if she could assist, but just as she came up, Spoo gave a cry of victory.
“We netted ourselves a weremonkey!” she crowed.
Rue blessed the element of surprise. Whatever else they had been expecting, the Vanaras were not prepared for an attack from above. Not that she wanted to think of herself as attacking. She leaned over the railing and there he was – all monkey anger, gleaming gold and rich silks, struggling in a silver net. It burned his exposed skin, palms and feet not protected by fur. He tried to rip his way out but the silver not only burned, it sapped supernatural strength. His own net defeated him.
At that moment, the deckhands reeled in the brigadier and dumped him unceremoniously on the deck, as if he were a load of fish. He flopped about trying to unwind himself – no one bothered to assist him. Rue didn’t have any militia on board to keep him controlled. Now that he was her prisoner, there was nothing else for it but to rise high and fast so he couldn’t jump overboard safely, even if he wanted to.
Of course, she had no idea what would happen to a Vanara in the aetherosphere. To the best of everyone’s knowledge, supernatural creatures and aether did not mix. Werewolves got violently ill. Vampires went mad or worse. No one wanted to talk about that one test, back at the beginning of aether travel, when a rove had fallen from the skies like Icarus. But Rue had read the reports. Then again, Miss Sekhmet had been perfectly fine in the Maltese Tower.
There was only one way to find out. “Percy, take us up.”
“Yes, captain.”
Even as she gave the order, Rue had a sinking suspicion that Vanaras were like werewolves, linked to pack. She didn’t want to damage their inadvertent guest permanently. She only wanted to give everyone time to calm down. Perhaps serve tea. Tea was very soothing.
So, even as Percy began to puff up the Custard, Rue said, “Hold position for one moment.”
Behind her on the forecastle, the brigadier shuffled off the net and cast around, looking for someone to blame. He spotted Rue and made for
her, murder in his eyes.
Spoo was shouting something about not being able to hold on to the Vanara Alpha much longer.
Rue leaned over the railing and yelled to the wolves, still sitting patiently on the sidelines.
“You ever consider hunting monkey, auntie?” Lady Kingair put her muzzle up in the air and barked. “I don’t mean you to hurt them – simply bring them along, track us on the ground.”
Lady Kingair cocked her head as if considering the situation.
Percy said, “This is your warning, Rue – incoming floaters are nearly on us.”
Rue had inherited many things from her parents, but she hadn’t any of their pride. She was not above begging. “Please, niece. Please, I need your help.”
Lady Kingair barked again.
At which the werewolves waded into the fray.
Rue didn’t wait to see which side they were on. “Percy, take us up, fast as you can. But don’t go into the aether, we need to be seen from the ground. And take us out, away from the floatillah. Hopefully, they’re too confused down there to realise we netted us a brigadier. With any luck, the floatillah will go down to liaise with the troops before they realise they should be chasing us instead.”
“Aye aye, captain.” The Custard’s propeller ramped up to speed with its customary flatulent sound. Rue was grateful for the noise of battle which hid it. She stayed glued to the railing watching the fight.
The Kingair Pack moved in with remarkable stealth. Werewolves trained in many manoeuvres and, while covert tactics were unusual, Kingair specialised in being secretive. They slithered through the battling infantry, who had the leaderless Vanaras surrounded. The monkey warriors, somewhat lost without their Alpha, still stood strong, defending themselves against the mass of attacking mortals with lightning-fast twists of spear and sword. They still seemed to be trying not to kill.
The wolves broke through the ranks. The Vanaras paid them little mind. They did not expect their lupine kinsfolk to attack them.
Lady Kingair went first. Instead of charging and going for monkey throats, she oiled in and dived under one of the Vanaras. The hapless weremonkey suddenly found himself riding a wolf. At a loss for anything else to do, the Vanara wound his legs and tail about the Alpha’s furry waist and his hands into the ruff at her neck.
The others of the pack imitated Lady Kingair until each wolf had a monkey riding him.
The Vanaras, after the initial shock, decided to cast themselves in with their wolf compatriots. They knew they could not win against overwhelming odds, particularly not when holding themselves back from dealing mortal blows. They could also sense that the sun was soon to rise. Without an Alpha to order them otherwise, the remaining Vanaras threw themselves pillion behind their fellows so that each wolf carried two weremonkeys. As a group, the supernatural creatures turned and dashed through the infantry ranks, heading at speed into the trees.
The army was left behind with nothing to fight and no means of following.
Dirigibles can never be said to race anywhere. They were designed originally as pleasure crafts and all the technology of the modern age had yet to make them fast. Even with the propeller cranked up high, and having found a brisk favourable wind, The Spotted Custard could only be said to drift with purpose. Within the aetherosphere was a different thing entirely, but right now, Rue needed distance without height. They had to stay high enough so that one of their guests didn’t take it into his head to jump, and low enough so the other didn’t suffer from tether snap separated from his pack. It was a delicate balance that took a great deal of Rue’s attention, even as Brigadier Featherstonehaugh came stomping over and started yelling at her. He looked like he might punch her, and had she been anything but British and female he would certainly have done so.
“Woman! Do you know what you have done? You have betrayed your country. You have countermanded a military action. I will see you court-martialed, you fatuous bint.”
Rue looked down her nose at him, which was hard as he was twice her size in most directions. “Now now, brigadier, language. This is my ship you’re on. I wouldn’t be so hasty if I were you. Besides I’m not in the army, so you can’t try me in a military court.”
“Oh no?”
Rue ignored him at that juncture, squinting down into the jungle, hoping the werewolves and Vanaras were managing to keep pace. It was too thick to tell.
“I’ll be with you in a moment, brigadier. Spoo, how’s our other guest?”
“Still secure, but I’m not sure for how long. That silver net isn’t quite meant for lifting, I don’t think, Lady Captain.”
Rue nibbled her lip. “Percy, please make for a clearing. There must be somewhere big enough to set to ground, perhaps with enough overhang so we could tuck out of view. That possible?”
“I’ll do my best.” Percy said this without looking over at her.
The brigadier said, “Young lady, take this ship down immediately! Or turn us around to rendezvous with my floatillah.”
“Absolutely not. Now hush up, I’m thinking.”
The brigadier gaped at her as if he were a fish.
“Prim,” called out Rue. “A little help?”
Prim came bustling over. “My dear brigadier, sir. Welcome aboard. Would you care for some light refreshment?”
The brigadier blinked in utter amazement at the audacity of such a request, but social niceties were never to be ignored, even under the most trying circumstances. Brigadier Feather-stonehaugh was a good British officer to the last. “How do you do, Miss––?”
“Miss Tunstell, the Honourable Primrose Tunstell. How do you do?”
“Not little Ivy’s daughter?”
Everyone was startled at that. Prim replied quickly, eager for any way to distract the military man from arguing with Rue, “Why, yes indeed, sir. You know my dear mother?”
“Why, yes, yes, I most certainly do.” A soft expression suffused the big man’s fierce face like a walrus having discovered a much beloved oyster. “We were engaged once, a long time ago. Such a sweet young lady. Ruined by association with that harridan.”
“Engaged?” Prim pressed her gloved hand delicately to her lips. It was always distressing to discover one’s parent had an amorous past. Recovering her poise, Prim linked her arm gracefully with the brigadier’s and gently led him to the poop deck, the tea trolley, and folding chairs which had miraculously survived all chases and battles. “How romantic. Do come and tell me all about it.”
The brigadier thus distracted, Rue could return her full attention to Spoo’s netted Vanara. They were high enough up so that, as a mortal, he would die if he jumped, but as a supernatural he would survive if he wrestled himself free. Which meant Rue had no other option than to make him mortal.
She dashed over. Spoo and her crowd of decklings who stood, muscling the three ropes that held the Vanara Alpha suspended below the gondola.
Rue rolled back the sleeves of her quilted dressing-gown. “Pull him up to this railing, slowly. Nice and steady.”
The decklings began to haul.
By careful degrees the Vanara came closer. When he was within arm’s reach Rue folded herself over the railing and flailed down, fingers stretching. She caught the whites of his terrified eyes – this man does not want to be mortal – precisely before her hand brushed his cheek. He craned his neck to bite her finger but it was too late. He was now suspended there – a mortal Indian prince netted out of legend, all dark eyes and liquid beauty. Rue was now a weremonkey once more, wearing a very proper English dressing-gown of ice-blue silk with pastel embroidered flowers up the front. Her tail made the back of the robe tilt up in a ridiculous manner. But at least she was covered. She thought that a nice tassel wrapped about her tail tip to match the tassels down the front of the gown would complete the look to the height of absurdity. Or possibly a fez. However, she had no time to attend to tassels.
She now understood why werewolves hated to fly. Her stomach turned into a hive of wasps that had
been recently poked with a sick. All her muscles, many of them new and extra big, ached as if fevered. This had nothing to do with shifting shape. She felt queasy and dizzy. She contemplated succumbing to the vital humours in a faint, or having a bout of hysteria. On top of all that discomfort, it was as if she could sense the aetherosphere high above her. This was difficult to articulate, even in her own head, but she felt it in her blood like a thorny stinging blanket draped inside her, between skin and flesh. She had a certain instinctual knowledge that flying up any further and entering that grey nothingness would drive her mad with pain and loss.
She swallowed down all of it – her monkey face must look quite green – and put a supporting hand on the railing to steady herself.
“Right, decklingsss, pull him all the way in,” said Rue in her low slurring voice, surprised it wasn’t shaking with strain.
The decklings, with admirable lack of upset at their captain suddenly having a monkey’s face, obeyed her order.
Despite feeling ill, Rue stayed to act as muscle. She had supernatural strength and speed, so she was needed to keep their newest guest under control should he decide to fight. Primrose would not be as effective with this warrior, potent weapon of etiquette though she may be.
The mortal Vanara Alpha was docile under the ministrations of the decklings as they stripped him of his silver mesh. He stood tall and calm until he was entirely free. Once liberated, he made no move to try to fight or escape.
Rue nodded at him and made a gesture towards the poop deck indicating he should follow her. Percy couldn’t leave his post to translate so the Vanara must be taken to Percy. His bearing proud, the Alpha followed Rue with an air of one who was granting a favour.
They arrived at the tea trolley, where the brigadier and Prim were nibbling cucumber sandwiches. Percy was guiding the ship almost casually, biscuit in one hand, helm in the other.
Rue said, voice tired, “Pershy, how low can we shafely go?”
Prudence Page 32
