Prudence
Page 81
Rue could feel Miss Sekhmet nodding.
Percy was like a small child, always eager to share knowledge recently acquired as if it were some artistic creation of his own devising. “Vanaras are supposedly allied with local religions and superstitions. In the epics they are friendly with gods, if not gods themselves.”
Rue did not wait for him to continue. Percy, she knew, could keep parroting on for ever. She headed north, up the peninsula, fast enough for his words to be lost in the wind as she ran. Or, more precisely, fast enough for her to pretend that this was the case.
Bombay at night was quite different from Bombay during the day. There was little activity – odd, since it was so much cooler. Perhaps it has to do with fear of the Rakshasas? It made Rue nervous like nothing else had in India. It was very foreign, the stillness. London came alive at night with vampires, werewolves, ghosts, drones, clavigers, and associated sycophants roaming the streets. Military pubs and bars served werewolves and their fellow soldiers all night long. Theatres featured operas, dances, and comedy plays open to all. For the vampires and their companions there were private clubs, symphonies, arts houses, and late-night museums. Whole streets of shops stayed open all night long, catering to the shadow society and their fashionable inclinations. BUR agents swept the streets with warm conscientiousness and the unsavoury elements saw to other needs.
Bombay had none of this. After dark it was as quiet as it had been during the high heat of day. A few stray dogs and rats milled about. Packs of mangy monkeys roamed the marketplaces scavenging the remnants of the day’s gatherings. The city was theirs.
To Rue’s cat nose Bombay was all exotic stale smells. Odours ranged from rotting vegetation, mouldy meats, and excrement, to the more pleasing scent of cut rushes, roast lamb, fragrant spices, and perfume oils. Burning kerosene and gas permeated everything, as did the undercurrent of machinery and steam technology – coal dust and motor fluids.
Rue moved quickly through the empty streets. Faster than a horse at full gallop, not as fast as a train, or a dirigible in aetherosphere, but good enough to get her through Bombay and out to the far reaches in a quarter of an hour. The weight atop her back was no inconvenience except when it impinged upon her agility.
She ran on through the northern reaches of Bombay, where slums gave way to the factories of industry. There she stopped, her whiskers twitching, which they seemed to do without her input. Here the air was harsh with the smell of fishing, tanning, and illness. She was glad not to be werewolf or the odour would have been near overwhelming. Here were the sanitoriums, orphanages, burial grounds, and associated livelihoods that all citys pushed to the outskirts. Even humans could smell the foulness of misery. Rue paused, tail lashing. She could see the shimmering of white above a nearby cemetery: local ghosts hoping for conversation, or poltergeists in the throes of second death. She had no time to stop and investigate which.
“The locals call ghosts Bhoot,” said Percy, as if hearing her thoughts.
“Just ahead there,” said Miss Sekhmet.
Rue’s cat eyes were near solid black as she stared into the darkness. The salt smell of the sea was sharp and biting. Rue could make out a narrowing of the peninsula, a crossing only wide enough for a road and train tracks. The sky car cable stretched above, empty for the moment. This narrows was one of the Great Works, a land bridge built by the East India Company. When they selected Bombay as their port, they turned seven islands into one peninsula.
Rue ran through the narrows, big paws silent, leaving behind Bombay and heading into the untamed countryside. The roads were rough and dirty, smelling of iron-rich clay, rust, and old blood. The vegetation to either side was untamed, the likes of which she had never scented in England. There were no neat hedgerows of holly, no oak or apple trees, no fields of heather. Monkeys and other alien creatures scampered away, leaving scent trails of fur and meat.
At each fork in the road, Miss Sekhmet instructed her, guiding them further north, angled slightly inland. Rue could tell this from the fading ocean smells. She began to scent what must be jungle. The odour of thick green mosses, layers of leaves, and damp roots hit her well before she crested a small hill and saw a massive forest. Under the silvered moonlight, the world ahead of them seemed nothing more than a rolling nest of shadow trees.
Percy said softly, so as not to disturb the moment, “This isn’t Tungareshwar. Believe it or not, this is a smaller forest, only a few leagues wide, unnamed on my map. Tungareshwar is on the other side.”
Rue followed the pathway forwards and into the dark of overhanging branches. She knew that a jungle was no ordinary wooded glen of the respectable English countryside. It boasted not only huge trees, ferns, and copious undergrowth but vines that grew up and through and over everything. It lacked discipline, too much wildness, like a woman full grown who did not turn up her hair. It was unsettling, even to Rue. And Rue was one of those young ladies most disparaged by society for being wild. She put on a burst of speed, stretching her supernatural strength to the maximum, rushing through the undergrowth so fast anything that might jump out at her would only manage a mouthful of tail tip.
She felt Miss Sekhmet and Percy tighten their legs about her waist and hunker down. Miss Sekhmet lay forward across her neck, as Prim was wont to do, her hot breath near one of Rue’s ears. It twitched in reaction.
“Gently, kitten,” she murmured, loud enough for Rue to hear but not Percy. “There is nothing in these woods that can harm you as you now are.”
Rue could not explain that her fear was for those who sat astride her. Her responsibility was to their mortal forms, which now seemed very fragile. Why did I bring Percy? Prim will kill me if anything happens to him. He’s not made for this. She thought of turning around and taking him back to the Custard, but it was too late, and he’d probably make a fuss if she did.
Percy was like a small child, always eager to share knowledge recently acquired as if it were some artistic creation of his own devising. “Vanaras are supposedly allied with local religions and superstitions. In the epics they are friendly with gods, if not gods themselves.”
Rue did not wait for him to continue. Percy, she knew, could keep parroting on for ever. She headed north, up the peninsula, fast enough for his words to be lost in the wind as she ran. Or, more precisely, fast enough for her to pretend that this was the case.
Bombay at night was quite different from Bombay during the day. There was little activity – odd, since it was so much cooler. Perhaps it has to do with fear of the Rakshasas? It made Rue nervous like nothing else had in India. It was very foreign, the stillness. London came alive at night with vampires, werewolves, ghosts, drones, clavigers, and associated sycophants roaming the streets. Military pubs and bars served werewolves and their fellow soldiers all night long. Theatres featured operas, dances, and comedy plays open to all. For the vampires and their companions there were private clubs, symphonies, arts houses, and late-night museums. Whole streets of shops stayed open all night long, catering to the shadow society and their fashionable inclinations. BUR agents swept the streets with warm conscientiousness and the unsavoury elements saw to other needs.
Bombay had none of this. After dark it was as quiet as it had been during the high heat of day. A few stray dogs and rats milled about. Packs of mangy monkeys roamed the marketplaces scavenging the remnants of the day’s gatherings. The city was theirs.
To Rue’s cat nose Bombay was all exotic stale smells. Odours ranged from rotting vegetation, mouldy meats, and excrement, to the more pleasing scent of cut rushes, roast lamb, fragrant spices, and perfume oils. Burning kerosene and gas permeated everything, as did the undercurrent of machinery and steam technology – coal dust and motor fluids.
Rue moved quickly through the empty streets. Faster than a horse at full gallop, not as fast as a train, or a dirigible in aetherosphere, but good enough to get her through Bombay and out to the far reaches in a quarter of an hour. The weight atop her back was no inconvenience except when it impinged upon her agility.
She ran on through the northern reaches of Bombay, where slums gave way to the factories of industry. There she stopped, her whiskers twitching, which they seemed to do without her input. Here the air was harsh with the smell of fishing, tanning, and illness. She was glad not to be werewolf or the odour would have been near overwhelming. Here were the sanitoriums, orphanages, burial grounds, and associated livelihoods that all citys pushed to the outskirts. Even humans could smell the foulness of misery. Rue paused, tail lashing. She could see the shimmering of white above a nearby cemetery: local ghosts hoping for conversation, or poltergeists in the throes of second death. She had no time to stop and investigate which.
“The locals call ghosts Bhoot,” said Percy, as if hearing her thoughts.
“Just ahead there,” said Miss Sekhmet.
Rue’s cat eyes were near solid black as she stared into the darkness. The salt smell of the sea was sharp and biting. Rue could make out a narrowing of the peninsula, a crossing only wide enough for a road and train tracks. The sky car cable stretched above, empty for the moment. This narrows was one of the Great Works, a land bridge built by the East India Company. When they selected Bombay as their port, they turned seven islands into one peninsula.
Rue ran through the narrows, big paws silent, leaving behind Bombay and heading into the untamed countryside. The roads were rough and dirty, smelling of iron-rich clay, rust, and old blood. The vegetation to either side was untamed, the likes of which she had never scented in England. There were no neat hedgerows of holly, no oak or apple trees, no fields of heather. Monkeys and other alien creatures scampered away, leaving scent trails of fur and meat.
At each fork in the road, Miss Sekhmet instructed her, guiding them further north, angled slightly inland. Rue could tell this from the fading ocean smells. She began to scent what must be jungle. The odour of thick green mosses, layers of leaves, and damp roots hit her well before she crested a small hill and saw a massive forest. Under the silvered moonlight, the world ahead of them seemed nothing more than a rolling nest of shadow trees.
Percy said softly, so as not to disturb the moment, “This isn’t Tungareshwar. Believe it or not, this is a smaller forest, only a few leagues wide, unnamed on my map. Tungareshwar is on the other side.”
Rue followed the pathway forwards and into the dark of overhanging branches. She knew that a jungle was no ordinary wooded glen of the respectable English countryside. It boasted not only huge trees, ferns, and copious undergrowth but vines that grew up and through and over everything. It lacked discipline, too much wildness, like a woman full grown who did not turn up her hair. It was unsettling, even to Rue. And Rue was one of those young ladies most disparaged by society for being wild. She put on a burst of speed, stretching her supernatural strength to the maximum, rushing through the undergrowth so fast anything that might jump out at her would only manage a mouthful of tail tip.
She felt Miss Sekhmet and Percy tighten their legs about her waist and hunker down. Miss Sekhmet lay forward across her neck, as Prim was wont to do, her hot breath near one of Rue’s ears. It twitched in reaction.
“Gently, kitten,” she murmured, loud enough for Rue to hear but not Percy. “There is nothing in these woods that can harm you as you now are.”
Rue could not explain that her fear was for those who sat astride her. Her responsibility was to their mortal forms, which now seemed very fragile. Why did I bring Percy? Prim will kill me if anything happens to him. He’s not made for this. She thought of turning around and taking him back to the Custard, but it was too late, and he’d probably make a fuss if she did.
