Quesnel looked crestfallen. “Not your dress and my hat? I hope that book was worth it.”

Rue patted at her head. Miraculously, her own hat had made it all the way through. Small blessing. Feeling buoyed by its survival, Rue scooped up her trailing robe and glided queen-like towards her quarters, leaving muddy footprints on the nice clean deck.

“I’m exhausted,” said Rue. “I believe I shall retire for a nap. Rouse me if anything interesting happens.”

“Rue,” said Primrose. “Do take a bath first, won’t you?”

Rue hadn’t been completely lying. It felt as if she hadn’t slept a wink since they landed in Bombay. She was dozing off when a knock came at her cabin door.

Groggy, she went to open it and found Percy, head down, absorbed in the book they’d so recently liberated.

“Yes, Percy?”

“Oh, good afternoon, Rue.”

“Night, I think it still is?” corrected Rue.

“Yes, well, what did you want?” Percy was staring at the book.

“You knocked on my door.”

“I did? Oh yes. I know who might have kidnapped that bridge’s wife, Mrs Flibbertyblue.”

“Brigadier’s wife, Mrs Featherstonehaugh. She wasn’t kidnapped – at least, we don’t think so any more. And, Percy, I don’t think it proper for you and I to be alone together in my boudoir.”

Percy looked at her, genuinely bewildered. “Worried you might be overcome and take advantage of me?”

“No, Percy, not exactly. Strangely enough, I seem to be one of the few women in existence able to resist your copious charms.”

“I know,” said Percy morosely. “Terrible tragedy.”

“Oh, Percy, do stop it. I get enough of that from Quesnel.”

“Another tragedy.”

Rue sighed. “Fine, be like that. What was it you had to tell me? Do be quick before someone catches you here.” She turned and marched back to her bed, flopping on top of the counterpane. Percy followed, sitting gingerly next to her on the very edge.

“What have you learnt?” Rue asked, and regretted it the moment she said it. Too open-ended a question for Percy.

Percy took a deep breath and prattled. “Under Her Majesty’s Supernatural Acceptance Decree – referred to by the unfortunate colloquial moniker of SAD – all agreements between the East India Company and undead of conflicting nationalities are standardised. Bombay Presidency doesn’t deviate. It is based on the traditional legal language maintained unbroken over thousands of years. Very correct and vampiric, as one might expect. Hives have these things well in hand, and most local vampires are eager to treat with the British Empire because England has such a progressive stance on open acknowledgment and incorporation of the supernatural.”

Rue blinked at him. What had this to do with anything? Oh yes, she had asked him to look into the Rakshasas before they stole the book on mythology. “Percy, did you find something out particular to the Rakshasas?”

“No, not that.”