Percy was compelled to interject at this point. “Well, actually, Rue, the technicality of the term is no different. Rakshasa means daemon – it’s the same word. It was we who classified them as a type of vampire on the basis of sanguinary subsistence. They would not have known to identify themselves as such. And the wasp and the wolf comparison is a metaphor, not an actuality. Werewolves are no more like real wolves than vampires are like wasps. It’s only a naturalistic model.”

“Yes, thank you, Percy, for your valuable input,” said Rue. Less betrayal than pedantry, which might be considered worse. “Regardless, why did the Vanaras not make themselves known to us sooner?”

Mrs Featherstonehaugh was annoyed. “Unlike everyone else, I bothered to learn the local language and I read considerably into the Hindu epics. If the legends are to be believed, for thousands of years Rakshasas and Vanaras have been enemies. There is even some suggestion that the Vanaras were created by Brahma specifically to battle the Rakshasas. They kill one another on sight. The moment Bloody John parlayed with the local vampires, England made an enemy of the Vanaras. These courageous, kind, and noble beings took to the forests.” She spoke with trained eloquence, her free hand moving broadly.

Rue had to admit that someone had blundered with the Supernatural Acceptance Decree in India. But what’s done is done. The question is how to repair the damage? This woman is overly enthusiastic in her support. A horrible thought occurred to Rue. “Mrs Featherstonehaugh, have you… gone native?”

Mrs Featherstonehaugh clutched her hand to her breast. She took a restorative gasp and lashed out. “Miss Akeldama! I am not the one dressed only in a scarf!”

Rue had forgotten that fact, warmed by the bonfire, not to mention the vigorousness of their debate. “I’ve had a difficult evening.”

They paused, at an impasse. All the Vanara around them stood watching in twitchy interest – even without knowing the language, the exchange fascinated them. They reminded Rue of her father’s pack witnessing similarly heated exchanges between Rue and her mother. It was as if the Vanara knew that if they uttered the merest peep, the womenfolk might turn on them.

Rue said, “And the tax money?”

Mrs Featherstonehaugh was offhand. “The Vanaras have certain expectations and I wished to parlay. Besides, those nasty Rakshasas don’t deserve the funds!”

“And Dama’s tea? You were given a sacred charge.” It was, after all, the reason Rue had come to India in the first place.

Mrs Featherstonehaugh looked frustrated. “The Vanaras like nothing better than tea – it’s the perfect bribe. He should understand.”

Rue considered her Dama’s feelings on the matter. “I doubt it.” After all, this was some very important tea.