A voice behind them said, “You admire our Ganesha, ladies?”

Rue and Prim turned to find themselves face to face with an officer in uniform and two customs officials. The officer looked youthfully good-natured but the customs men were sweating profusely and seemed unhappy at being forced to move around.

Rue and Prim curtseyed prettily.

Rue said, “My dear sirs, we do apologise for calling you out in such heat. Had we not been in need of a restock we should have waited to land until a more respectable hour.”

“No need to apologise,” replied the officer. “It happens regrettably often. The currents carry at their whims – science wills it so. If you ladies would step over to the shade just there? We can dispense with the paperwork as soon as may be.”

The two native gentlemen merely murmured, “Madam Sahib,” and allowed the officer to lead the social interchange.

A small table and few spindly chairs were arranged under the shelter of some glorious flowering tree. Rue and Prim stepped.

Rue contemplated enacting one of her schemes. Miss Sekhmet had warned of danger. Should she reveal her true name? She looked to Prim for assistance in determining tactics.

Primrose was busy fluttering her eyelashes at the officer. She was equally identifiable. The name Tunstell had quite the reputation due to the baroness’s hats. Everyone knew that the Wimbledon Queen had had two children pre-metamorphosis because it had been quite the scandal at the time. Thus they couldn’t register the ship under Primrose or Percy’s names either. They might use Quesnel, but Rue wasn’t entirely certain that if she registered The Spotted Custard under his name, the Frenchman wouldn’t gleefully abscond with it.

Fortunately or unfortunately, the decision seemed to have been taken entirely out of Rue’s hands.

The officer gestured for the ladies to sit and introduced himself: “How do you do? I’m Lieutenant Broadwattle. On behalf of Brigadier Featherstonehaugh, I am charged with welcoming you to Bombay.” He looked back and forth between them before hazarding a guess. “You are Lady Prudence Akeldama? And you are the Honourable Primrose Tunstell?”

Rue swallowed a smile. “Other way around, but not to worry – it happens all the time.”

Prim simpered at the young man. “Fortunately, we are such dear friends we do not mind being mistaken for one another.”

“On some occasions we even encourage it,” added Rue.

“Ah, well, two such delicate ladies must, perforce, accompany one another.”

Rue was not one to be distracted by flattery, even by a dasher in uniform. “You were alerted to our imminent arrival?”

“You are earlier than expected, but we did have an inkling. The brigadier expressed his particular interest once the pack informed him of your connections. You’re aware that Bombay’s regiment is honoured by a werewolf special forces attachment?”

Rue brightened – shapes to steal. “Oh, how nice. Anyone I know?”

“The Kingair Pack?”

Rue winced. “Ah. I see.”