Jim rested his head on his coat and satchel, watching the campfire sparks drift into the night air. The morning rain had stopped hours ago, but the heady aroma of wet, sunbaked ground still lingered in the air. A handful of infantry and servants sat outside the barrack office, eating sweet rice pudding. Jim and his friends listened to the soldiers' tales about the werewolves.
"First time I encountered them was about ten years ago at Shamki village in Purabad," said Corporal Wilson. "It's a princely state, not under British rule. We try not to get involved in their affairs, but the villagers called for military aid. It was a massacre over there."
"Were there any survivors?" asked McKusky.
"Apart from Anju, very few. But they rebuilt the village. It's a prosperous place now, just a shame they give away most of their wealth at the shrine."
"Shrine?"
"When the maharaja of Purabad heard about the Shamki attack, he took the village under his protection. He's a superstitious king and instructed them to build a shrine to the werewolves. According to him, only offerings of riches would appease the demons and keep them at bay. To this day, the villagers still use the shrine. Nobody questions where the offerings disappear to."
"Straight into the maharaja's purse, I suspect," said Westman.
Corporal Wilson smirked. "Like I said, we don't get involved in their affairs. But now we know the true identity of the werewolves, the rules have changed."
A pot of water boiled on the fire, ready for tea. McKusky spooned dried tea leaves into the bubbling pan. Pikoo climbed over Jim's face, sniffing his neck. Jim mumbled a muffled protest and moved the animal off his nose. Bunny's pet was familiar with the cantonment, and Captain Spencer had suggested letting him loose. Pikoo had plenty of territory to explore, but chose to stay close to Jim. Probably because he kept a paper bag of dried sprat in his satchel.
"Are you still clowning around with that mongoose?" asked McKusky, chuckling.
"What can I say? He's grown attached to me."
Pikoo chattered and bit the fabric of Jim's trouser braces.
Blinks placed a collection of tin mugs beside the fire. "Aye. Nothing to do with the fact you keep feeding him."
"Now you mention it, it's possible I'm being used." Jim stroked Pikoo's fur.
Blinks grinned, then joined Westman for a card game.
A document crunched under Jim's head, and he reached inside the pocket of his coat. He tugged out the crumpled envelope and held it up in the firelight. Miss Spencer's valentine. Pikoo sniffed the corner of the envelope, then slunk away to investigate an empty pudding bowl. Bracing a boot heel in the dust, Jim sighed and shifted to get comfortable. Valentine's Day was weeks ago, and the card seemed worthless now. Or at the very least, inappropriate. There was little point in keeping it. He glanced at the crackling flames that danced beside him.
"Penderry," called Westman. "Join us for a game."
"Maybe later."
Westman peered at the playing cards he'd been dealt, his brow cinching. "I wouldn't normally say this, but damnation, man, you're no fun anymore."
Jim raised an eyebrow, amused. "Lord, if you think I'm a bore things must be dire."
But Westman was right. He hadn't been himself since learning of Bunny's kidnapping. Her smile and radiant eyes had haunted him all the way to India. Every day, he was consumed with one simple calling to find Bunny Spencer. Heaven help him.
He turned the valentine between his fingers. "Can I ask you something, Freddie?"
"Go on."
He shifted from his spot near Mckusky and the soldiers and joined Westman. Keeping his voice low, he asked, "How do you know you love my sister?"
A playing card sprang from Westman's fingers, and he struggled to retrieve it from the ground. "Love?"
Blinks looked from his flustered master to Jim, a smile tugging his lips.
"Yes," replied Jim. "I mean, in your opinion, how does one recognise love?"
Westman laid a card and waited for Blinks to take his turn. "You know all that sentimental flimflam is beyond my comprehension. Why do you ask? Is this about Miss Spencer?"
Jim exhaled. "Maybe. Never mind. Blinks, what do you think?"
Blinks raised his eyebrows. "You want my opinion, sir?"
Jim gave an encouraging nod.
"Well, all right." Blinks looked thoughtful. "I reckon if you love a lass, you'd do anything to make her happy, like spend your last penny to buy her a pretty hat, or go across the world for her. The only thing that matters is seeing a smile on her lovely face."
"That's it?"
"No one understands it, Jim," said Westman.
"Blinks does."
An abashed look crept onto Blinks' face and he shrugged. "I'm just guessing, sir."
A soldier shouted from the office doorway. "The captain wants everyone to assemble in the briefing room. Mr Penderry, that includes you and your party."
Jim stood and shoved the valentine into his satchel, exchanging a glance with his friends. They followed the soldiers into the lantern lit office where Captain Spencer and three of his men stood around a table.
Spencer looked up from a map. "Gather round, everyone. After receiving Mr Penderry's news yesterday, I sent a scouting party to the north border near Chandni Mahal. Less than an hour ago, they reported back. The palace is preparing for a wedding. Servants were seen this morning at the local bazaar, placing orders for flowers, garlands, musicians, and food."
"Anju is the bride?" asked Jim.
"We're making that assumption, yes."
"For werewolves, the royal family aren't shy and retiring," said Sergeant Dobbins. "Word is spreading across Purabad of the forthcoming celebration."
"They've concealed their true nature for decades," replied Spencer. "I have no doubt they will carry on as they always have, hiding behind their royal façade."
"When is the wedding?" asked Jim.
"We don't know. But our scouts confirmed that the prince is back in Purabad. At least, he was. He was seen earlier today leaving Chandni Mahal on horseback, followed by a lone servant." He pointed a thin cane at the map and tapped a spot marked with buildings. "This is us. The Chagra cantonment. Chandni Mahal is located twenty miles north. Halfway between the two we have the village where Anju was born, Shamki. The prince took the main road to Delhi, here. We can assume he travels there on business, or marriage related matters."
"Well, if he's gone to Delhi, that means he's out of the way," said Jim. "When do we strike the palace and rescue the girls?"
Spencer shook his head. "Nothing would give me more pleasure, but we don't have enough men for an assault like that. To attack the palace would be extremely unwise. I suggest a more discreet approach. We'll send a party to take up position on the main road. The plan will be to locate and apprehend the prince."
"Apprehend him?"
"We'll extract the information we need from him as to the whereabouts and wellbeing of my daughter and Anju."
"What if he won't talk?"
"Then he'll make a nice bargaining chip for their safe release. We'll send four men to guard the road tonight. Mr McKusky, your help would be appreciated. Lord knows we're short on manpower and knowledge about these devils."
"Happy to be of assistance," said McKusky.
"Assuming the prince is still in Delhi by morning, I need another party to head to the city at first light."
"Then Westman and I will join the Delhi party at dawn," said Jim.
"Agreed." Spencer trailed the cane down the map. "It's a four-hour ride to Delhi on horseback. Mr McKusky, go with Corporal Wilson and prepare to man the road tonight."
McKusky nodded and followed Wilson. Jim and the others took their leave.
"Mr Penderry, would you stay for a moment?" asked Spencer. "I have something I'd like to discuss."
"Of course." Curious, Jim hung back.
Spencer waited until they were alone before he sat behind the desk and invited Jim to take a seat. "Looks like the rains are blowing in early this year. The wet season isn't due for another few weeks."
"I didn't mean to bring the English weather with me, I promise."
Spencer chuckled. "Our miserable English drizzle is nothing compared to the monsoons here. They have a magic all their own, I dare say." He leaned back and laced his fingers. "Yes, indeed. You haven't seen rain until you've seen Indian rain."
Jim thought of telling him about the red rain he'd seen on the Isle of Wight, but the man continued before he could open his mouth.
"How well are you acquainted with my daughter, Penderry?"
"Um, I've known her a short while, sir."
It felt like longer.
Spencer sniffed and regarded him. "Not long, then? Something puzzles me. You've already told me how you intervened on the night she was attacked, which was a brave act in itself. But now you've rallied your friends to travel halfway across the world to tell a stranger his daughter has been abducted. And it appears you're willing to risk your life apprehending her kidnapper. There aren't many who'd be so selfless. Is this sort of thing a regular occupation of yours?"
"I call it field work, sir."
"What was it you said you do? Write tales for a penny dreadful?"
"Oh, no. Those writers sit in their rented rooms, drinking coffee and concocting horror stories. Paranormal reporting is quite different, sir."
"You are... an unconventional young man, I'll give you that."
"Thank you, sir."
He'd been called worse.
Spencer gave a wry smile. "You call it field work, but I call it going above and beyond duty. I can see why she'd like you."
"Pardon me, sir?"
"You two are friends, are you not? Or is this old coot misreading the situation?"
Jim's mouth opened soundlessly. This felt somewhat like an interrogation. He was unprepared.
"Well, we had lunch – in a public place," he added swiftly. "A very open, public place. Actually, a spot of trouble broke out and Miss Spencer diffused the situation."
"Did she now?"
"She's rather handy with an eel."
"An eel?" Spencer looked confused.
Jim dismissed the topic with his hand and smiled. "She does you credit, sir. You raised a strong and capable young lady."
"Yes, she's strong," he nodded and looked away. "Strong willed. I brought her up with a lot of freedoms, let her explore and learn to protect herself. But not against something like this. I can hardly bear to imagine what she must be going through at this moment. If they've harmed her, I-" He held back and flexed his fingers before straightening a pile of papers. "You saw my brother in London. Tell me, how did he cope with the attack?"
"He was badly shaken. I think he placed a lot of the blame on himself. But there was nothing he could have done to prevent what happened." Jim thought back to his stroll through the snow with Bunny. "Before the abduction, Miss Spencer told me she was concerned about him. She said he wasn't the kind and happy man she remembered."
"Of course," he murmured. "He would seem changed. Perhaps I should have warned her."
"Changed, sir?" He raised his eyebrows, hoping for an explanation.
Spencer sighed and leaned back in his chair. "Rejection can be a devastating thing, lad."
"Miss Spencer said a family by the name of Carte were to blame."
"I suppose that's a fair statement. Lord Carte runs the London Dog Fancy Club, and his wife is on the panel of judges. Several years back, my brother had a passion for the dog fancy hobby. Breeding show dogs, entering canine talent contests, that sort of thing."
That explained Appleby's dogs.
"I see."
"Of course, he wasn't successful at it. Always a runner up. I think his greatest achievement was a trophy for third place. But it was never about the prize money or the accolades for Appleby. He just loves dogs and the spirit of the show world. Unfortunately, he made a mistake that cost him dearly. He took a pair of new puppies to the park, untrained things, always yipping and leaping around like jack-in-the-boxes. Lady Carte was at the park that day, and he decided to impress her. I suppose he hoped to gain acceptance into the upper circles. It backfired horribly."
"Dare I ask how, sir?"
"He lost control of the dogs. Let's just say, two Yorkshire Terriers, a squirrel, and a ladies cream cake picnic are not a sensible combination. Lady Carte was humiliated and demanded her husband bar Appleby from the club. Whatever vicious rumours she spread about him after that ensured he was shunned by the dog fancy community. The loss of his reputation and passion destroyed him."
"I'm sorry to hear it."
They were quiet for a moment before Spencer sat straight and spoke. "Well, it's getting late so I won't keep you from your rest. Early start for the mission." He stood and extended his hand. "Good luck, Penderry."
Jim rose and shook the proffered hand.
Luck? He had a feeling he would need it.
***
When the first rays of morning light appeared over the horizon, Jim, Westman and Blinks mounted their horses, and waited for Sergeant Dobbins to lead them out of the cantonment. The ride to the city was hot and dirty, but by mid-morning the shimmering walls and domes of Delhi appeared. The sounds of the bazaar welcomed them through the city gateway. Merchants and customers bartered under dusty awnings, while the smells of spice, frying food, and livestock filled air. Jim and his party dismounted and led the horses to the shade of a tree.
Sergeant Dobbins beckoned them to gather close. "I suggest we enquire with the locals. If the prince is here as we suspect, someone will know. Wait here with the horses while I ask around."
Dobbins went inside the nearest shop.
Blinks held the reins in his fist and stroked his horse on the neck. "They need water, sir."
"I'm sure Sergeant Dobbins will make those arrangements when he returns," said Westman.
Jim leaned against the tree and watched the market. Traders edged the street, sitting on tatty rugs, their stalls piled with coconuts, cookware, and sacks of rice and lentils. A farmer drove Bullocks and goats through the crowd, and beneath a striped sunshade a merchant held out red turbans and glittering veils. Deeper within the city, domes and minarets rose above the dwellings. Jim's gaze landed on a man leaving a shop. At first, he thought he was imagining things, then realisation slammed him in the stomach.
He nudged Westman and pointed at the figure. "That looks like the fellow from the science fair. Singh's assistant, Gupta."
Westman followed his finger and squinted. "Damnation. It is him."
"We have to follow him. Come on. He could be here with the prince."
"What about Sergeant Dobbins?" asked Blinks.
"Wait for him and tell him to catch us up," said Jim.
He grabbed his satchel and rifle from the saddle and set off after Gupta. The prince's henchman looked round and met his eyes. Recognition dawned instantly, and Gupta's gaze widened with surprise before he rushed into the crowd.
"Quickly, after him!" Jim sprang forward, weaving between pedestrians and farm animals.
Gupta threw a glance over his shoulder and quickened his pace. In his haste, he collided with a pot vendor, knocking the man into his wares with a crash. He recovered his balance and broke into a run.
With Westman close behind, Jim sprinted after him, his feet pounding on the sun-hardened street. Gupta snarled and stopped to kick a sack in their direction. A cloud of flour erupted in the air, but Jim charged through it, shielding his face. On the other side, Gupta stumbled to a standstill. A cart and a herd of goats blocked his path.
"Don't move!" Jim raised his rifle.
To his horror, Gupta tipped his head back and released a guttural bellow. His facial muscles rippled and his bones cracked and strained. The tunic he wore split at the sleeves and fur burst through the ripped fabric. Jim stared in morbid fascination.
"For God's sake, Jim, you have a clear shot," said Westman, skidding to a stop beside him.
His friend took aim with his pistol. But before either of them could react, Gupta hunched down and bolted, knocking terrified pedestrians aside like skittles. Screams rang through the bazaar as the werewolf bounded left and right, scattering goods and people in his wake.
"Don't shoot," Jim warned Westman. "There's too many people. Come on."
He slung the rifle over his shoulder and they followed, leaping over strewn bangles and fruit. The pursuit took them down an alley. Two small children in rags screamed in a doorway, and a skinny cat yowled and scrambled over a wall. Gupta burst out of the backstreet and raced across a road. He flew through an ornate gateway and up a lawn towards a magnificent building dotted with arches. By the time Jim reached the gate, Gupta had vanished.
"Where did he go?" panted Westman.
Jim wiped his damp brow on his shirtsleeve. "He headed for that building. Look."
He pointed to a sign on the grass. Delhi College.
"A college?" Westman frowned, still catching his breath. "Do you think the prince is in there?"
"Let's find out." Jim jogged across the grass. "Be vigilant. Gupta could be lurking anywhere."
They reached the shelter of the porch. The high passage stretched both left and right, encircling the whole building. Shafts of daylight reached through the scalloped archways, and a tall wooden door marked the entrance. Jim reached for the handle, but Westman raised his hand in warning.
"Wait." Eyes bright and alert, Westman peered down the passage and whispered, "I saw a shadow."
With quiet movements, Jim fetched his rifle from his shoulder.
Westman raised his pistol and nodded towards the end of the passage. "Down there, in the archway."
Keeping their backs to the wall, they waited in the gloom for a moment, then moved close to the first opening. Sunlight touched the inner curve of the arch and spilled a golden puddle across the ground.
Heart pounding, Jim sprang into the patch of light, but found only emptiness. He shook his head at Westman.
"Let's try the next one," said Westman, taking quiet steps through the sunlight.
Guns primed, they moved through shadow, then light, then shadow again, drawing closer to the end of the passage. But there was no sign of Gupta.
Gaze flitting over the last empty arch, Jim exhaled loudly and lowered his weapon. "I don't think he's out here."
At that moment, a thud and a muted groan sounded behind him. He whirled around to find Westman sprawled on the floor.
"Freddie-"
He managed to rush forward one step before a cloth clamped over his nose and mouth. Alarm spiked, and he fought back, jamming the butt of his rifle into his attacker's ribs.
"Oof."
Breath grazed his cheek, but the strong arms held firm, and the chemical-soaked cloth worked fast. The more he struggled, the deeper he breathed. Sickly sweet chloroform fumes took hold, and darkness seeped into the edges of his vision, consuming him.