Waistcoats & Weaponry

by Gail Carriger

  “No apology necessary.” Sophronia rubbed her chin.

  “So you say, but you’re not about to hit their dirigible with a ruddy great train.” Soap donned a slightly maniacal grin.

  Sophronia stuck her head out, took a look, and shared his glee.

  Dimity ran to the other side of the cab to look out, around Monique. “Lord Mersey is clear!”

  “More’s the pity,” muttered Soap.

  “Now, now,” Sophronia reprimanded, “he was unexpectedly connected, as it turned out. His father was on board that airship. Caused some useful confusion.”

  Dimity said, “There they go! Bye-bye, gentlemen.” She waved cheerfully at Felix and his father as they flashed by.

  The dirigible was directly in front of them now and struggling to lift off in time to avoid being hit.

  It wasn’t going to make it; it was too slow. The train had gotten up speed faster than Sophronia thought possible. Clearly, she would have to learn more about trains.

  “Brace yourselves!” yelled Soap. He didn’t bother to brake.

  Sidheag said, voice wobbly, worried about the train, “Soap, you could slow down a little!” Her little pal, Dusty, was happily stoking the boiler up into the red; he didn’t even register what they were up to.

  The train wasn’t going all that fast—a horse at full trot might have kept pace—but it still relentlessly plowed into the dirigible. Sophronia held the doorway behind Soap, leaning out just enough to watch the carnage. She was reminded of the time, what seemed like an age ago, when she had tumbled out of a dumbwaiter and landed in a trifle.

  The dirigible was designed to float easily and with minimal effort, not to withstand a train-sized battering ram. The gondola was only made of thin wood, and splintered around the locomotive much as the custard and strawberries had once done over Mrs. Barnaclegoose’s favorite bonnet.

  They thrust easily through the one-room interior of the dirigible, leaving bits of propeller, small steam engine parts, and wood scraps scattered behind. The train didn’t even try to derail.

  The balloon section, suddenly free of a deal of weight, bobbed upward, swaying wildly from side to side.

  Dimity gasped. “Would you look at that?”

  Like some strange form of fruit from a floating trifle, the heart of the flywaymen’s dirigible spilled forth vast numbers of crystalline valve frequensors. Hundreds of them scattered everywhere. They must have been all set up, below the airship deck, in hundreds of little cradles, all linked to one big aetherographic transmitter. It explained everything, including why the airship could only boast a skeletal crew—the weight alone!

  The frequensors, which were like faceted milky glass, sparkled, rolling everywhere. Some fractured into thousands of pieces, some were smashed under the wheels of the train as it completed its destructive charge and emerged unscathed, leaving carnage in its wake. Again, thought Sophronia, not unlike me and that trifle.

  The dirigible’s balloon, along with the top portion of what remained of the gondola, bobbed higher. Sophronia and Dimity stuck their heads out their respective doors; Dimity, pushing Monique carelessly aside as if she were a curtain, craned to look behind. Monique was still screaming, but that might be due to the indignity of being treated like drapery.

  Dimity yelled, “The duke has left Lord Mersey and is trying to collect prototypes—sorry—frequensors. Oh, dear, it’s as if he’s lost his marbles.”

  Sophronia said, “I wager the pickled duke is none too pleased and is going to demand an explanation from his son.”

  Sidheag looked at her, face somber. “Will Felix rat us out?”

  “I begged him not to.” It was the best answer Sophronia could give, because she didn’t know. Would her Piston beau reveal who they were and where they came from?

  Soap said, monotone, concentrating on the track in front of them, though it was clear now and not worthy of such focus, “Don’t have much faith in your sweetheart, there, do you?”

  Sophronia said, “I’ve no illusions as to my consequence. If forced to choose between me and family, I don’t know if he has the backbone to go up against the duke. I hadn’t the right to ask that of him. Why should he do that for me? We’ve no formal engagement. I tried to encourage change, but in the end a man can’t be blamed for his nature.”

  Soap still did not turn. “Perhaps someday you will apply that same sentiment to me,” he murmured.

  Sophronia was startled by the idea.

  The train let out a puff of smoke and Soap tooted the horn merrily. They picked up more speed on a slight decline.

  Sophronia added, “Then again, he may surprise me.”

  Into the resulting comparative silence Monique said, “Well, that was an interesting maneuver.”

  Sophronia replied, “They were responsible for the mechanicals’ malfunctioning. Each one of those prototypes responded to a crystalline valve installed in a nearby household mechanical. That’s why so many were serviced recently.”

  Monique said, “Took you long enough to figure out.”

  “It’s going to take them a while to re-valve all mechanicals.”

  “But when they do…” Monique added, darkly, “Can’t you see the disaster in front of you? Or are you still blind? Let me down, I can help.”

  “Why the vampire involvement? Why you? Why your hive?” demanded Dimity.

  “You are complete imbeciles, all of you! What do you think has been happening all this time? Since I first tried to repurpose the prototype valve almost eighteen months ago. When you two plebeians stopped me with a cheese pie. You think this has all been a lark? You think the Picklemen are interested in anyone’s welfare besides their own?”

  Sophronia frowned. What has welfare to do with it? She wanted to step in, but it was much smarter to let Monique run her mouth. If allowed to vent poisoned steam, she might reveal everything.

  Sidheag, on the other hand, was red faced and aggravated.

  Sophronia caught her friend’s yellow-eyed gaze and shook her head sharply.

  Sidheag glared at her, expressing ire.

  Sophronia mouthed, “Let her talk.”

  Sidheag sighed.

  Monique continued her diatribe. Dangling from a train doorway apparently stretched the tongue as well as the shoulders. “You think this prototype was designed to speed up floating? Oh, no, that was simply a decoy use. You think it’s for point-to-point communication? Take over from the telegraph? That’s only one application. No, the Picklemen have been intending this all along. Put one of their little toys inside each and every mechanical in England, and you know what the Picklemen have?”

  Sophronia said, without inflection, “A standing army located in every household, able to take direct commands from them at a whim.”

  Monique nodded. “A power currently limited only by the need to service every single mechanical in the realm. And transmission distance. They are moving fast to solve the first problem, and they have scientists trying to improve upon the second. There are some who think if they could only get close to the aetherosphere, they could transmit to most of the country. But all they need is London. London is what matters.”

  Sophronia, being a country girl, took mild offense at that but understood Monique’s point. London was, after all, the seat of power. In addition, almost every good London family, progressive or conservative, employed mechanicals. Only the vampires and the werewolves abstained.

  If she hadn’t seen all those crystalline valves with her own eyes, she would have thought Monique’s talk vampire propaganda. It all seemed so far-fetched. She couldn’t deny the fact that the very idea that Monique had been in the right all along rubbed her the wrong way.

  Sophronia turned away, uncomfortable. Bumbersnoot was sitting smugly by Soap’s feet. He’d emitted the prototype and the hurlie. Sophronia retrieved both, stuffing them into pockets.

  Dimity said to Monique, “And why haven’t the vampires brought this to the attention of the government?”

  “The
potentate knows. And the dewan, of course. But what can the Shadow Council do against such a maneuver? Parliament has a daylight hold on operations, and too many MPs are affiliated with Picklemen. Cultivator-rank peons are everywhere. If we made any overt move against them, they would simply deny everything. Intent to commit a crime is not a crime. Besides which, we don’t know exactly what they propose to do with the power. Any public outcry would be greeted with grave suspicion as vampire hysteria. Those supernaturals see plots everywhere, they always do. Secrecy was our only option, and now you’ve botched that up, too. What a plague you are, Sophronia!”

  Sophronia said, “You started it.”

  Monique rolled her eyes. “You are a child.”

  Sophronia asked, “What’s our school’s position been in all this?”

  “Is that your loyalty? Are you going to fight for a finishing school, Sophronia, for the rest of your career? It’s not a very wealthy patron.”

  “I have other options.” After the Pickleman revelation, Sophronia was looking favorably, once more, on Lord Akeldama. At least she knew he wasn’t a Pickleman!

  Monique scoffed. “You are going to have to choose sides. We all do, in the end.”

  Sophronia cocked her head. “Are you trying to recruit me?”

  “Cut me down and I’ll consider putting in a good word with Countess Nadasdy.”

  “Thank you for the thought, but I have a better vampire offer.” Sophronia was, however, in a quandary. What was she going to do now? Even if she told Lord Akeldama, would he put a stop to the Picklemen? The other vampires were doing a piss-poor job of it. Lord Akeldama didn’t seem the type to involve himself directly, which left… well… her.

  Monique, having spoken her piece, corked up.

  Sidheag and Dimity joined Sophronia in a huddle close to Soap, so they could discuss without being overheard.

  “Options?” said Sophronia.

  Sidheag said, “You know my wishes.”

  “You can’t flog Monique, it’s not done at your age,” said Dimity, presuming as to Sidheag’s feelings.

  Sidheag said, “No. Well, yes. A switch tickle would do her some good. But what I meant is that I want to continue on to Scotland. My pack needs me; that is the reason we started this whole thing.”

  Sophronia nodded. “Soap, do you think you can make it all the way there on the back tracks without danger?”

  “Birmingham and Leeds areas might give us stick. But if necessary we can stash the train and continue on in a more traditional manner.”

  “Oh, yes, simply hide a whole train somewhere.” Even Sophronia was doubtful.

  Soap smiled cheekily.

  Dimity said, “Monique said it’s going to take the Picklemen a while to get all mechanicals installed with the crystalline valves. They must be ramping up valve production.”

  Sophronia nodded. “After we get her to Scotland, if we sourced the factory site, we might be able to cause a delay in manufacturing.”

  Dimity said, “We do need to get back to school eventually.”

  “Can’t do anything substantial from there,” objected Sophronia.

  “Do we have to do something substantial? Is this really our problem? What does it matter if Picklemen control mechanicals?” Dimity had already been kidnapped by vampires in the interest of subverting Pickleman interests. She was tetchy on the subject and preferred to remain out of it.

  Sophronia said, “Just think, Dimity, what if they controlled the soldier mechanicals in our school? Mechanicals aren’t only servants, they can also be weapons. This is not something we can simply float away from and go back to studying poisoned tea. This is important.”

  Dimity sighed. “But we do have time?”

  Sophronia walked back to Monique. “What’s your best estimate on how long until the Picklemen control a usable majority of the nation’s mechanicals, given valve production and distribution times?”

  Monique glared at her.

  “Tell me and I’ll let you down.”

  Monique narrowed her eyes. “Six months, a year at the outside. Mine was supposed to be a covert operation tracking their activities, designed to discover just such useful information. You messed it up.”

  “Covert? In a train?”

  “They didn’t realize, until you came on board.”

  “That’s debatable,” Sophronia said, but cut Monique down with her bladed fan.

  The blonde girl lowered her arms slowly, wincing from the pain.

  Sophronia left Monique’s wrists bound together. Dimity took up a position, watchfully close. They couldn’t let Monique get into anything. However, the girl seemed more concerned with getting her shoulders back in order and making snide remarks about Dimity’s dreadful attire.

  For the rest of the afternoon, Sophronia, Soap, and Sidheag concentrated on stoking the boilers and making certain the train kept up a steady pace. There were no switches for a while, so they clipped along smoothly and in relative peace. Soon the full moon rose over the horizon and night descended.

  Sophronia distracted herself from thoughts of Felix by wondering if crashing a train into the Picklemen’s operation had managed to stall their dastardly plans all that much, or was it merely a minor inconvenience? Would more mechanicals be singing “Rule, Britannia!” soon or would it be months from now?

  Before they lost daylight, Sophronia spent time tinkering with Bumbersnoot. Vieve had taught her how to pop open his casing to clean and oil him properly. She hadn’t noticed any changes after retrieving him from Madame Spetuna. But there was always the possibility that when he visited her and the flywaymen, they got hold of him and installed a tiny crystalline valve. Had he a voice box, Bumbersnoot could become their “Rule, Britannia!” canary in the coal mine. Madame Spetuna had, after all, been infiltrating the Picklemen. But there was no evidence of tampering. Sophronia resolved to leave Bumbersnoot with Vieve for a proper checkup. In fact, she had a real need to consult with Vieve on much of what they had learned, and stolen, and crashed into.

  “Getting on toward supper,” said Soap, catching her attention. He looked tired, his face drawn, his eyes only mildly twinkly.

  Sophronia closed Bumbersnoot, set him to nibble at a bit of coal, and stood up.

  “Food is all in the back.” Only then did she realize how hungry she was.

  “We should stop for the night,” said Dimity, sounding unusually decided on the matter.

  Sidheag wanted to press on, but Sophronia agreed with Dimity.

  “It would be best to stop. It’s full moon night, and the tracks could be crowded with private celebration trains now that the sun is down. It’s not safe. Plus, we all need rest. It should be safe; timetables list this line as vacant all night long.”

  “Picklemen might catch up to us,” objected Sidheag.

  “I think they have other things to worry about. If Felix holds his tongue, they might continue to disregard us as a group of vagrant boys. Might even prefer us to the drones we stole the train from.”

  “Except that we killed one of their dirigibles,” Sidheag answered.

  And we’re relying on Lord Mersey’s discretion. Behind Soap’s back Sophronia gestured, making a sad face. Sidheag sighed but agreed. She, too, cared about Soap, and he couldn’t keep going indefinitely. They had to rest for his sake.

  They rolled into a tiny station in a town so small they couldn’t even determine its name. It was nothing more than a platform next to a switch. There was no porter. There wasn’t even a ticket box.

  Nevertheless, someone was paying attention, for a young lad with a cart pulled up next to the station shortly after they arrived. He hailed Soap from the roadway.

  “Aye-up, circus in town?”

  Soap looked startled, the gold Dimity dress streamers having slipped his mind.

  Sophronia stuck her head around him and said cheerfully, a grin plastered to her face, “Indeed it is!”

  The carter looked at her suspiciously. “You don’t seem like a circus.”

>   “More a tumbling troupe, if you know the type.”

  “Oh, indeed?”

  Sophronia jumped down to the track and did a little somersault forward, bouncing out of it onto one knee with a flourish.

  The lad did not look impressed.

  Dimity came to her rescue, jumping down and then doing the same kind of tumble maneuver. She then climbed up onto Sophronia’s shoulders. It was a move they’d practiced in class, for reaching items stashed in high places, but weren’t very good at. Sophronia stumbled to hold her footing. Dimity waggled her hands around madly.

  “It’s been a long day,” said Sophronia apologetically.

  The carter’s eyebrows were still suspicious, but he was clearly pleased by their friendly manner. He offered up some useful information: “Hamlet probably not sized to do you any favors. Try up a few stops. There’s a market, end of this week, be a good spot for a carnival.”

  “Thank you kindly!” chirruped Sophronia. “We may just do that.”

  The lad doffed his hat and clicked his donkey into a lumbering walk.

  Their inadvertent addition, Dusty the stoker, cleared his throat as the grumbling from the locomotive died down and the steam engine came to rest.

  Sophronia looked at him, surprised into remembering that he was with them, not merely an extra feature of the stolen train.

  Sidheag hadn’t forgotten him. “Is something wrong, Dusty?”

  “Mr. Sid, sir, it’s only that we’re running low on coal. If you lads want to keep going, you’ll need to get fuel from somewheres, and this station’s not big enough to have reserves.”

  “I’d better check the tender.” Soap disappeared behind the boiler. He came back a few minutes later, only to nod his agreement with Dusty’s assessment. Soap might be a novice train driver, but he had an excellent working knowledge of boilers and their coal consumption. He was also dragging a very dirty Bumbersnoot in his wake.

  “Guess who’s eaten too much?”

  Bumbersnoot was leaking steam out his carapace and steam out his ears and had a definite bloated appearance.