“Did I say I would need to fight? Dear boy, no, that’s not my style at all.”

Rue growled at Quesnel again.

With a sigh he slung a leg over and squatted on top of her gingerly.

Rue rose up precipitously.

Quesnel made a pathetic noise of discomfort.

Professor Lyall gave him brief instructions on wolf riding – how to lean forwards and tuck his feet up and back. Quesnel leaned, stiff and uncomfortable. It was a good thing he was relatively slight or Rue’s supernatural strength would have struggled to make up for the awkwardness of disproportionate mass.

“You have your father’s markings, little one,” said Uncle Lyall. “But, like me, you’re not so very big. Speedy, I suspect?”

Rue lolled her tongue in agreement.

“He’s as settled as he’s going to be. In future, you might consider training your crew in wolf riding.” Professor Lyall stepped away, not a hair out of place. Well, to be fair, it was very good pomade. He did not seem at all perturbed to be mortal. In fact, he seemed to be enjoying himself. Hard to tell – he was a master of the impassive. Rue envied him that.

Quesnel was as affixed as he was likely to get, so Rue took off. She got up a good speed, showing off for her Uncle Lyall, and leapt. The brigadier’s window was large and wide open. Being inside a military fortress and up a storey, the man clearly felt little need to take precautions. Well, there was a werewolf regiment nearby, and his wife was already missing.

Rue sailed through, landing softly in the sitting room.

Quesnel tumbled off, shaken. “Not quite like riding a horse, is it?”

Rue growled at him. Never liken a lady to a horse.

“Pardon, how crass of me. I do apologise. Now, what are we looking for?”

Rue nosed towards the bookshelves.

Quesnel perused the titles. “Mostly military history, how exhausting. This must be the husband’s collection.”

Rue left him to it and trotted off to look for other clues. She sniffed her way to the bedroom, following the scent of shaving soap and sweaty sheets. It was clear whose side of the bed was whose. One smelled like horse and leather; the other like violets and shaved metal. Also, one side had a monocle and a tin of snuff – In bed? Disgusting – and the other a pot of cold cream and a lace bedcap. There was a book under the cap, all about the mythology of India.

Rue barked softly and Quesnel came running.

Her nose was pressed on the book.

Quesnel looked at it doubtfully. “You sure?”

Rue growled.

Quesnel pocketed the small volume.

Rue heard clattering outside in the hallway. She charged back towards the sitting room.

Quesnel followed. “What? What is it?”

She crouched.