Lady Kingair nodded and, with great elegance, she sat, right there at the edge of the jungle. As one, all the pack sat with her – refusing to participate in the fight.

Fortunately, the brigadier had not yet seen them. So far the werewolves could only be accused of desertion, but if he saw them and ordered them to participate, they could be accused of wilful disobedience or even mutiny. Pack attachments could act with a certain amount of autonomy, but not that much.

Just then a shout came from one of Rue’s deckhands. They’d managed to net the brigadier right off the back of his surprised horse.

Rue saw him dangling, struggling in his net, trying to cut his way free with a hopelessly tangled sabre. His hat had fallen off and he looked much less imposing without it. She changed her orders. “Pull him in and bring him on board. He might get out otherwise.

“Yes, Lady Captain.”

“Spoo, how are you doing with your Vanara trap?”

“He’s a fast one, Lady Captain. A little help wouldn’t go amiss.”

Rue went over to see if she could assist, but just as she came up, Spoo gave a cry of victory.

“We netted ourselves a weremonkey!” she crowed.

Rue blessed the element of surprise. Whatever else they had been expecting, the Vanaras were not prepared for an attack from above. Not that she wanted to think of herself as attacking. She leaned over the railing and there he was – all monkey anger, gleaming gold and rich silks, struggling in a silver net. It burned his exposed skin, palms and feet not protected by fur. He tried to rip his way out but the silver not only burned, it sapped supernatural strength. His own net defeated him.

At that moment, the deckhands reeled in the brigadier and dumped him unceremoniously on the deck, as if he were a load of fish. He flopped about trying to unwind himself – no one bothered to assist him. Rue didn’t have any militia on board to keep him controlled. Now that he was her prisoner, there was nothing else for it but to rise high and fast so he couldn’t jump overboard safely, even if he wanted to.

Of course, she had no idea what would happen to a Vanara in the aetherosphere. To the best of everyone’s knowledge, supernatural creatures and aether did not mix. Werewolves got violently ill. Vampires went mad or worse. No one wanted to talk about that one test, back at the beginning of aether travel, when a rove had fallen from the skies like Icarus. But Rue had read the reports. Then again, Miss Sekhmet had been perfectly fine in the Maltese Tower.

There was only one way to find out. “Percy, take us up.”

“Yes, captain.”