Prudence

by Gail Carriger

  “Don’t be mean,” defended Primrose staunchly. “I think you did very well, Rue, dear.”

  “I had to lie by omission, but I believe the Shadow Council will agree to my terms once I have explained the cultural and historical reasons for an aberration.”

  Quesnel frowned, still not understanding, “You negotiated a peace treaty between the Shadow Council and the Vanaras? Without asking?”

  “I didn’t name them, of course, but I think it’ll work. Aside from the dewan – whose likely to be the most on my side anyway – I do have the ability to persuade the other two members.”

  “One being your mother; the other your adopted father?”

  “Exactly.”

  “And what about Queen Victoria?” said the Frenchman, looking more shocked than proud.

  Rue, who had expected praise, was put out. “What about her?”

  “You aren’t related to her, are you? How will she take being ousted from the agreement? Circumventing the power of the crown to negotiate a deal between supernatural creatures and their foreign counterparts? What kind of precedent does that set?” Quesnel’s tone was almost harsh. So far Rue had seen him angry and now coldly calculating. She wanted her old irreverent flirtatious Quesnel back. These other versions of him weren’t nearly as nice.

  However, it made sense that beneath all his frivolity Quesnel would think like that. He’d been raised in a hive but his mother had other allegiances. He would be taught always to question the supernatural agenda.

  Rue felt a sudden sagging in her stomach. She hadn’t thought about the perspective of daylight folk. She’d only thought about keeping the Vanaras safe. She’d neglected the human component entirely and with Queen Victoria that was likely to get a girl in real trouble. “Well, rats. I guess I won’t get to keep my sundowner status.”

  “Probably not.” Quesnel brightened.

  “And I never even got to use it, not really.”

  “Buck up, chérie, you may still have a chance. I tripped over two werewolves sleeping in the hallway. We could take them up to the aether.”

  “Why, Mr Lefoux,” said Prim. “I had no idea you were so bloodthirsty.”

  The Frenchman smiled winningly at both ladies, and went to fish hopelessly about in the muffin crumbs.

  As the sun fully crested the horizon, Rue lost her monkey shape. She was relieved to be human. Changing shape so many times in one night gave a girl a bit of a crisis of identity. It couldn’t possibly be good for her character.

  Primrose unpinned her straw hat, only then noticing it was speared though with a Vanara arrow.

  “Ruined, I’m afraid,” said Quesnel, placing a gentle hand on Prim’s shoulder.

  Rue’s lip curled at the fact that he could be so sympathetic to Prim’s plight but not her own political blundering.

  “I rather like it that way,” said Percy.

  Rue agreed. “You should sport it proudly when we get back to London and start a new trend.”

  Percy said, as if he had been actually thinking about Quesnel’s point, “You know who else is not going to be happy about this treaty? The Rakshasas.”

  “There you are, chérie, now aren’t you glad you’re still a sundowner?” Quesnel used it to try and get back in Rue’s good graces.

  Rue turned her full attention on Percy. “You’re right. They aren’t. We might want to ask the brigadier to lend us the Kingair Pack for the remainder of our stay in Bombay. They’d be the best deterrent if the Rakshasas want to take revenge.”

  “Rue, are you actually considering asking someone else for help?”

  Rue gave Quesnel a superior look. “I can be taught, thank you very much.”

  A polite cough interrupted any further bickering. Miss Sekhmet walked out onto the deck, under direct sunlight. Admittedly, she wore Prim’s largest and most highly decorated hat in addition to Prim’s favourite full coverage purple robe – with fringe and a train. She looked not unlike a very fancy lamp-shade.

  Rue had assumed the werecat was holed up somewhere sleeping off the night’s activities. Instead, she’d been pillaging Prim’s wardrobe. Primrose looked more embarrassed at her dressing-gown being worn on deck with a walking hat, than inclined to object.

  “Miss Sekhmet. Thank you very much for retrieving Mrs Featherstonehaugh.”

  “I thought, given her attitude, she might be useful.”

  “Useful for what exactly?”

  “Brokering peace, of course.”

  “Was that always your mission?”

  The werecat inclined her hat-covered head. Hard to tell if that was agreement or approval.

  Rue’s own head teemed with questions. Are all werecats able to be out in daylight? Are they all able to withstand great heights close to the aether? Were did Miss Sekhmet come from? What is her real name? Who does she work for? Why did she not reveal herself as a werecreature from the start?

  “A remarkable young lady, Mrs Featherstonehaugh. Perhaps a little hard-headed,” said the werelioness when Rue remained quiet.

  “Next time, hopefully, she won’t go tearing off on her own pretending to be kidnapped. I suspect Dama will be none too pleased,” said Rue.

  “As the potentate, he got a nice little treaty out of it,” protested Primrose.

  Which proved how little she knew of Rue’s vampire father’s objectives. Unless Rue was very much mistaken, Dama would be upset over the shift in power. He liked balance above all things. Plus, “He lost his precious tea in the end.”

  “Why, chérie, are you in trouble there too?” Quesnel was trying to sound sympathetic but Rue sensed he was secretly pleased.

  Why did I ever want him? Rue wondered.

  Miss Sekhmet interrupted. “Mrs Featherstonehaugh is deeply excited about a public revelation of Vanara existence. She is planning on writing a slim travel volume on the Tungareshwar Forest.”

  “Inspired by Honeysuckle Isinglass, is she?” Rue raised her eyebrows.

  “The hell she is!” sputtered Percy, going red in the face. “Not if I get there first. Rue, we must return to England this instant! The integrity of the scientific community is dependent on it.”

  Everyone ignored this outburst. Rue remembered that she hadn’t managed to get Percy’s satchel for him. They’d have to float back to the temple to retrieve it. He would insist and he’d earned it.

  She said, “Are you all right out in the sunlight, Miss Sekhmet? We could retire to the stateroom.”

  The werecat looked at her strangely, guessing the prying interest behind the solicitous care. “I’m fine for a short while. It’s not as bad as it once was.” A tiny bit of information, doled out gently. She was good.

  Rue gestured to a vacant deck-chair. They were all sitting at this juncture, in an exhausted circle about the vanquished tea trolley. Even Rue, who generally had more energy than any other human on the planet, looked wan.

  Miss Sekhmet sat gratefully. “Interesting night.”

  “My dear lady,” said Prim, about to pour the last of the tea. “You have a gift for understatement.” She checked herself and instead poured the remains of the milk jug into a tea-cup and handed that over.

  “You are a thoughtful thing, aren’t you, little one?” The werecat took the milk and sipped it gravely.

  Rue thought it odd that Prim blushed so much at the compliment.

  “Miss Sekhmet, who do you work for exactly? I thought you were with the Vanaras but they put you in a birdcage. But you can’t be with the Rakshasas – they put you in a flower cart. You aren’t one of Dama’s, so who?” Rue decided on the direct approach. She tried to emulate Primrose’s welcoming charm, but was too tired for acting.

  The beautiful woman gave a self-satisfied smile. “My dear girl, I am cat. I don’t work for anyone.”

  “Then why did you involve yourself?”

  “For exactly the same reasons.”

  Quesnel snorted. “Cats.”

  Miss Sekhmet waved a hand. “Exactly.”

  Rue thought
back to their first meeting. “You were curious, you wanted to meet the world’s only metanatural. Perhaps have your form stolen and be mortal again?”

  “My, now who values herself highly?” said the werelioness.

  But Rue was beginning to finally get the werecat’s measure. If one thought of Miss Sekhmet and her behaviour as entirely cat-like, even when human, it actually made odd sense. “You’re exactly like Footnote.”

  Percy, who was still mulling over the dangers of preemptive publication, rejoined the conversation at that. “I say, what?”

  Rue laughed. Miss Sekhmet’s tactics were becoming clear to her. There was the gentle way with which the werelioness coaxed and complimented Primrose. The verbal equivalent of winding in and out of her legs, with a purr. Primrose, of course, was necessary to befriend for she controlled the ship’s larder. Sekhmet also teased Percy with exactly too little information. She had witty exchanges with Quesnel, not to mention ignoring him when he flirted. And then there was her, Rue. How was the cat wooing her? Blasé attitude, slight reverence for Rue’s metanatural abilities – the thing of which Rue was most proud. And of course she kept herself a mystery, knowing that all of them – Quesnel, Percy, Primrose, and Rue – were taken in by a mystery.

  Rue leaned forward. “Percy has a cat, named Footnote. Or as Virgil put it, Footnote has a human, named Percy. I have this sinking suspicion that we – all of us here on The Spotted Custard – are about to have a cat too. I have a suspicion because, right now, I feel as though we are being had by a cat.”

  “Prudence Alessandra Maccon Akeldama. Manners!” reprimanded Primrose.

  Miss Sekhmet only laughed. “So where are my quarters? You’ll need something you can secure. Full-moon night is full-moon night, even for a werecat.”

  Rue grinned back. Excellent. Now I can winkle out all her secrets. “That’s assuming a bit much, isn’t it, Miss Sekhmet?”

  “Call me Tasherit,” said the werelioness. “It’ll be nice to have a pride again.”

  Because she obviously wanted to be asked if that was her real name, Rue didn’t ask. This was going to be so much fun.

  Oddly enough, it was Primrose who raised the only objection. Percy and Quesnel seemed delighted by a new addition to their crew: Quesnel liked beautiful women and Percy liked cats. Plus, if the werelioness was with them, she was proof of Percy’s new discovery of non-werewolf shape-shifters.

  “Rue.” Prim’s voice trembled. “Are you sure about this?” It was a mark of her agitation that she said it there at the table, in front of Tasherit.

  “Don’t worry, Prim. She’ll settle in fine. Besides, you already know how she takes her tea – that’s half the battle when integrating a new acquaintance. And now, we too should sleep.”

  The decks were mostly deserted. Everyone was exhausted. Except Spoo and Virgil who, with the unflagging energy of youth, were engrossed in a game of tiddlywinks on the poop deck, crouched between two of the massive tea spheres. Unfortunately, someone adult had to stay above deck and raise the alarm if the infantry came calling. Or the floatillah decided to return. Or the Rakshasas sent drones to attack.

  “Anyone awake enough to sit watch?” Rue asked hopefully.

  None of them said anything.

  Rue nodded. She supposed the joy of being captain brought with it all kinds of unpleasant responsibilities. “Very well, I’ll take first watch. Prim, you and Percy can have second. Quesnel, you raise Greaser Phinkerlington and the two of you will take third. Tasherit, I’m assuming you can’t sit a whole watch in full daylight, unless you tell me otherwise.”

  The werelioness said nothing.

  It was a marker of how fatigued they all were that the others stood without objection, even Quesnel.

  The Tunstell twins made their way below with sleepy alacrity. They leaned against one another in a manner that almost indicated sibling affection.

  Quesnel, despite Tasherit’s gaze, stood to lean over Rue, trapping her in her deck-chair with his body.

  “I’m glad you’re unharmed, mon petit chou.”

  Rue blinked at him. “Oh, well, thank you.”

  He did not kiss her, not with the werecat sitting there watching with interest. He certainly looked as though he wanted to though.

  “That other position you offered?”

  “Yes?” Rue squeaked. Her heart went all the way up into her throat and started beating there, clogging and unclogging her breath.

  “I accept.”

  Rue was suddenly both elated and terrified on top of being tired.

  Quesnel straightened and said to the werecat. “Coming below? I’m sure I can find you a spot somewhere.”

  The stunning beauty said mildly, “I think I might stay awhile, keep little Prudence here company. Unless she objects?”

  “Delighted,” said Rue. But she wasn’t really thinking about the werelioness any more. What had her big mouth got her into this time? Quesnel’s pansy-coloured eyes, though tired, were very very twinkly.

  Quesnel said mildly, “Behave, both of you. We’ve had enough excitement for one evening.” Then he made his way across the deck, lean and sure, blond hair a dandelion fluff about his head in the morning breeze.

  “Fine young man there – good bones, nice posture, just enough brains,” commented the werecat, as if contemplating a meal. “Would they mind, your parents?”

  Rue was not too tired to play the game, and still in shock at this new prospect to furthering her education. “Quesnel is a bit of a rake.” And I’ve got him for a lover. Or something very like. I think.

  “Best ones usually are.”

  “Are you trying to be helpful, Tasherit?”

  “Is it working, Prudence?”

  “Rue, please. Call me Rue. And I assure you, I have plenty of relationship wisdom at my beck and call.”

  “Then I shall endeavour to offer you other wisdom.”

  It was on the tip of Rue’s tongue to shock her by asking what Tasherit thought of Rue just going to bed with Quesnel. For the experience, of course. She suspected the cat would be in favour of anything that stemmed from curiosity. But it was too soon and too early for such confidences.

  “How do you feel about pigeons, Tasherit?”

  Without blinking the werecat replied, “Can’t stand the nasty things.”

  “In that case, I should like to welcome you – officially – on board The Spotted Custard. Now, here’s your first order. Go to bed.”

  Oddly, for a cat, she obeyed.

  Rue was left alone with her ship and the sunrise and a sense of profound peace that lasted exactly as long as it took Spoo to get into an enormous argument with Virgil about tiddlywink protocols.

  Acknowledgements

  Grateful thanks to Calin and Pantea for their expertise in 1800s India. And to all those who followed my blog, sympathised with my plight, and were willing to wait for Prudence – I am so very grateful for your understanding.

  IMPRUDENCE

  Look out for The Custard Protocol: Book Two by Gail Carriger

  London is in chaos.

  Rue and the crew of The Spotted Custard returned from India with revelations that shook the foundations of the scientific community. There is mass political upheaval, the vampires are tetchy, and something is seriously wrong with the local werewolf pack. To top it all off, Rue’s best friend Primrose keeps getting engaged to the most inappropriate military types.

  Rue has got personal problems as well. Her vampire father is angry, her werewolf father is crazy, and her obstreperous mother is both. Worst of all, Rue’s beginning to suspect what they all really are… is frightened.

  When the Custard is ordered to Egypt, transporting some highly unusual passengers, Rue’s problems go from personal to impossible. Can she get Percy to stop sulking? Will she find the true cause of Primrose’s lovesickness? And what is Quesnel hiding in the boiler room?

  extras

  about the author

  Ms Carriger began writing to cope with being raised i
n obscurity by an expatriate Brit and an incurable curmudgeon. She escaped small town life and inadvertently acquired several degrees in Higher Learning. Ms Carriger then travelled the historic cities of Europe, subsisting entirely on biscuits secreted in her handbag. She now resides in the Colonies, where she insists on tea imported directly from London and cats that pee into toilets. She is fond of teeny tiny hats and tropical fruit. Find out more about the author at gailcarriger.com.

  Find out more about Gail Carriger and other Orbit authors by registering for the free monthly newsletter at www.orbitbooks.net.

  GOD SAVE THE QUEEN

  if you enjoyed

  PRUDENCE

  look out for

  GOD SAVE THE QUEEN

  Book 1 of the Immortal Empire

  by

  Kate Locke

  Chapter 1

  POMEGRANATES FULL AND FINE

  London, 175 years into the reign of Her Ensanguined Majesty Queen Victoria

  I hate goblins.

  And when I say hate, I mean they bloody terrify me. I’d rather French-kiss a human with a mouth full of silver fillings than pick my way through the debris and rubble that used to be Down Street station, searching for the entrance to the plague den.

  It was eerily quiet underground. The bustle of cobbleside was little more than a distant clatter down here.The roll of carriages, the clack of horse hooves from the Mayfair traffic was faint, occasionally completely drowned out by the roar of ancient locomotives raging through the subterranean tunnels carrying a barrage of smells in their bone-jangling wake.

  Dirt. Decay. Stone. Blood.

  I picked my way around a discarded shopping trolley, and tried to avoid looking at a large paw print in the dust. One of them had been here recently – the drops of blood surrounding the print were still fresh enough for me to smell the coppery tang. Human.