The Vanaras may be more numerous than a werewolf pack but even at a dozen strong and fierce, they were not made to take on a whole regiment of fighters. They retreated to the bonfire and regrouped. The Alpha yelled out commands and instructions in ancient Hindustani combined with monkey clicks.

There was another brief pause. Fallen cavalry, those that could, pulled themselves upright to stand with the infantry.

The brigadier joined his reinforcements, a fierce look of triumph in his eyes.

At that point, Rue realised that the Vanaras had carefully tried not to actually kill anyone. A few of the cavalry stayed down but their bodies were not wounded, and it appeared that they had merely been knocked unconscious.

Something odd was going on in those fuzzy monkey heads. Something that kept them from wanting all-out war with the British Empire. Rue wished fervently she could yell at the brigadier to notice this restraint. To realise that his enemy was holding itself back. For him to stop and consider. For him to comprehend that they may not be an enemy at all.

Then Rue felt her bones breaking, felt a scream of unexpected pain pass her lips. Well, that was embarrassing. She was left panting, clinging precariously to a tree branch in human form. The branch was a lot higher up to human Rue than it had been to lioness Rue. Nevertheless, she swung around to hang from her arms and let go, before she could really think about it. She landed badly, ankle twisting. With no time to worry she limped towards the fray.

So it was that as the infantry came to their cavalry’s defence, they were just in time to see a pale British lady of aristocratic bearing and generous proportions wearing nothing at all limp into the firelight. Rue’s orange scarf, after much torture and two bouts on a weremonkey, had given up the ghost as a rum deal and stayed hanging in the tree. She ought to have realised that. But she didn’t until it was too late.

The Great British army had seen many things as it conquered the empire. Yet, they had never seen anything like Rue. Not an actual British female, entirely unclothed. The very idea.

Not a lot could stop an infantry in full march, but Rue supposed she was now one of the few to claim that dubious honour. If only some of the now conquered lands had known – naked aristocrats is all it takes. Rue stood up and dressed herself in nothing but sublime dignity. She tried to think about it as one of life’s new and exciting experiences.

The brigadier said again, even more surprised, “God’s bones, who are you?”

Rue ignored him and, with as much hauteur as possible, bent and retrieved Mis Sekhmet’s discarded silver mesh. It would provide no real covering but she had a feeling she might need it later.