“Already? There are a few books over there and I’ve barely recovered from the––” Then he heard the clattering. Military never could move quietly.

He jumped onto Rue’s back and seated himself, although not quite as well without Uncle Lyall’s guidance. Rue wanted to tell him to hold on tight but she hadn’t the vocal cords so she simply growled again.

The door behind them burst open. “Who’s there?” barked a voice.

Several soldiers came crashing into the room.

Rue leapt out of the window, landed, and took off, Quesnel jostling atop her.

“Was that a werewolf and a ruffian?” she heard one soldier ask another.

“Sure looks like. Curses, I knew Kingair couldn’t be trusted.”

The soldiers attained the window. Rue knew this without looking because they started firing rifles at them.

She charged towards the side entrance, hoping Uncle Lyall would keep the pack from getting involved. Soldiers couldn’t catch her, but if the pack gave chase she hadn’t a chance.

Shots fired again. Rue dodged and twisted mid-leap.

Quesnel made a keening warble of distress.

For one horrible moment she thought he had been hit.

But then the wolds resolved themselves into: “My hat. My favourite hat!”

The rifles fired again. Quesnel flattened himself against her, modesty and hat forgotten. He wrapped strong arms around her neck. Rue was glad for her supernatural form or she might have been strangled. She dampened down worry by telling herself that surely his hold would slacken and she would smell blood if he were hit. Still, her best option was to get him out of range quickly. She put on a burst of speed – rifles continued to fire. She wasn’t going to make it to the doorway.

She veered right, and with a tremendous heave, went up and over the outer wall, just clearing the ramparts with her back paws. She landed, stumbling only slightly and zipped away, impressed with herself, only to skid badly on the looser dirt of the promenade. She scrabbled and managed to stay on four feet, wondering how much longer she would have them. It was very dry in India so her tether to Uncle Lyall was most likely longer than the equivalent in London. But she was about to test those limits.

It turned out to stretch pretty far. She almost made the ship before the tether snapped.

Then poor Quesnel found himself sitting on top of a very naked, very human Rue in the middle of mudflats.

Rue said, the instant she recovered her voice, “You aren’t shot?”

Quesnel seemed to be less concerned by bullets than by decency. He proved himself uninjured by leaping off her as if she had stung him. He took a few steps, resolutely facing away. Then remembered manners and returned to help her stand. Then clapped one hand over his eyes.