Etiquette & Espionage fs-1

by Gail Carriger

  Must be flywaymen, back for the prototype. Sophronia slung the reticule full of coal around her neck and climbed up the rope ladder. On the positive side, none of the teachers would still be in their rooms. On the negative side, she might well encounter any number of them on deck as she tried to make her way back to her own quarters.

  She considered hiding out on Lady Linette’s balcony until the alarm stopped, but if this was the promised attack from the flywaymen, she wanted to see what would happen next. They had threatened to return three weeks after the first aborted attempt, but the school must have eluded them an extra few days. The school’s aimless floating on the winds of the misty moor made it as difficult to track from the air as it was from the ground.

  Sophronia began to climb steadily up the side of the ship. It was tougher going straight up than moving around the side. She had to find handholds and footholds in the woodwork to get through the points where one deck met the hull and another jutted out again. She managed it, mainly by not looking down. Once past the midpoint, she consoled herself with the thought, Even if I do fall, I’ll land on a lower deck, with probably nothing more dramatic than a broken bone or two. It was small consolation.

  She looked up. She could see the squeak deck above her. The soldier mechanicals were once more assembled, their little cannons out and pointed inward. Professor Braithwope no doubt stood in the middle with his crossbow. The attackers, if there were any visible, were around the other side of the hull, out of her view.

  Sophronia climbed until she was on the level directly below the squeak deck. She used the outer railing method to slip around to the opposite side of the ship. As she rounded one last deck, she saw that indeed the flywaymen were back, this time with reinforcements.

  She counted twelve airdinghies and behind them two larger airships. Nothing to the school’s size, but full dirigibles of the kind that were rumored to be in production for overseas transport.

  Sophronia scanned the occupants, searching for the shadow gentleman. He must be there. It was dark and she had to squint so hard she developed a headache, but she managed to make him out in one of the dirigibles. The silhouette of a man not dressed for riding, like the other flywaymen, but in full evening attire, including a stovepipe hat. Sophronia had no doubt that the band about that top hat was green. He was standing to the back—seeming, as before, to be an observer rather than a participant.

  Sophronia wondered if he observed her, in her dressing gown, with an evening bag about her neck, clinging to the side of the ship.

  She supposed the dirigibles must belong to sky pirates. Like flywaymen, she had thought them mere creatures of legend. After all, how does a pirate afford a dirigible? But there was no other explanation. The two dirigibles floating among the crowd of smaller ships, like mallards among the ducklings, looked as though they matched each other. It was as if the trappings of weaponry and flags were merely that, trappings, and the dirigibles were a stylish set intended for something far more grand than threatening a finishing school. Sophronia concluded that, like the galleons of old, these must have been stolen from the government.

  One of the flywaymen put a bullhorn to his mouth. “Give us the prototype!”

  The teachers said nothing.

  One of the dirigibles fired, a flash of a cannon on the deck, and a large object came hurtling in their direction. It whizzed right by where Sophronia clung, only just missing the school.

  Sophronia suppressed a shriek.

  “Fire, Professor Braithwope,” she heard Lady Linette order.

  Professor Braithwope came into Sophronia’s line of sight as he took two vampire-quick leaps to the front of the deck. He pointed his tiny crossbow at the fleet arrayed before them.

  Sophronia doubted a crossbow of such daintiness would be very effective.

  He fired.

  As one, all the mechanicals, whose little cannons had been pointed at the professor the entire time, swiveled, tracking the arc of the crossbow bolt.

  They target the bolt! Sophronia realized. I hope Professor Braithwope is a good shot.

  He was. The bolt hit and stuck into the side of one of the airdinghies, well below the edge of the carrier basket, out of reach of its occupants.

  Lady Linette came into view as she reached over the side railing and pulled at something hidden there.

  The soldier mechanicals all fired at once in a tremendous boom of noise.

  Sophronia winced and wished she could cover her ears, but she needed both her hands to hang on.

  The squeak deck disappeared in a cloud of gunpowder smoke. The sweet, tinny smell floated down to Sophronia. When it cleared, she could see that one of the small airdinghies was listing to one side, two of its balloons collapsing. It started to spiral down and out of the sky. The ones to either side of it had also taken hits.

  One of the dirigibles returned fire. This time it aimed higher. The cannonball tore a massive hole in the school’s middle balloon. Sophronia tilted her head back, trying to look into the cavity and assess the damage. But the balloon was one deck over, and it was too dark for her to see anything. One side of the balloon looked to be caving slightly, and the whole ship listed in that direction.

  “Get the sooties up there!” she heard Professor Lefoux yell, pointing at the damaged balloon.

  Professor Braithwope did his fast scuttle out across the plank to the pilot’s nest, presumably to call down to the boiler room.

  Lady Linette stepped forward to the very front railing of the squeak deck. She needed no bullhorn, for she was very good at projecting her voice. There is no doubt about it; she must have had considerable experience on the stage.

  “Stop firing. We will give you the prototype! Send over your ambassador.”

  They are giving up very easily, thought Sophronia. Seems orchestrated, perhaps to pass along the fake prototype? Use it as a means to buy more time?

  The flywayman with the bullhorn shouted back over the intervening distance, “Agreed.”

  LESSON 10: THE CORRECT WAY TO GET CAUGHT

  What happened next?” Dimity was positively riveted by Sophronia’s tale.

  “Professor Lefoux gave the flywaymen a fake prototype. It looked like a shiny metal dodecahedron.” It was the following morning, and they ought to be getting ready for breakfast, but instead they were lying in their beds chatting.

  “I started to worry when you weren’t back after the bells stopped sounding.” Dimity’s pretty face was somber with reprimand. “You could have said something to me about where you were going.”

  “I didn’t want to get you into any kind of trouble. Bumbersnoot is my concern. Also, I hoped to return before anyone noticed. In the end, I had to wait while the teachers cleaned up after the battle. Did you know they brought sooties up top and had them climb inside the balloon to make repairs?” Sophronia was pretty darn certain, from a gangly silhouette, that one of those sooties had been Soap. She did not say this to Dimity. For some reason she felt very private about and possessive of Soap. Also a little embarrassed. She suspected Dimity might scoff. Petunia had always been very mocking whenever Sophronia befriended the stable lads. Then she hadn’t minded so much. Now, after weeks of finishing school, she was beginning to concern herself with appearances.

  “Regardless, I had to wait while everyone fussed over the balloon. I overheard the teachers talking.”

  Dimity’s eyes widened appreciatively.

  “Professor Lefoux said that the flywaymen would be back, because the prototype they passed over was a fake. She said it would fool them for a while, but that it was no guarantee of safety.” Sophronia rolled over and pulled her black velvet reticule out from under the bed. She extracted a few lumps of coal. Bumbersnoot was asleep at the foot of her bed, barely warm. He was conserving all of his energy, his tiny internal steam engine almost completely shut down. She put him on the floor.

  Sophronia tapped him on the head with a chunk of coal and then placed it in front of his face. He made a low whirring noise,
heated up slightly, and then began to eat. Shortly thereafter, steam emanated from his underbelly, and he got to his four tiny feet with a few squeaks and clunks.

  Sophronia continued her story. “Professor Braithwope said something about taking refuge in the mist—going gray, he called it—to buy us extra time.”

  Dimity looked thoughtful. “No mail drops for a while, then. Monique will be disappointed.”

  “As indeed am I. I was going to write to Mumsy for more clothes. And we were going to drop your brother that glove.”

  Dimity urged her on. “What happened next?”

  “Sister Mattie asked about Bunson’s. Professor Lefoux said something about them doing their best.”

  “I suppose that means Bunson’s is trying to build a replacement prototype,” Dimity suggested.

  “Or a better-looking fake.”

  “I suspect we’re heading in that direction, anyway,” said Dimity.

  “Goodness, how can you tell? The moor always looks the same to me.”

  “Well, the school will need proper repairs. I believe those are always conducted at Bunson’s.”

  “Oh?” Sophronia was excited by this idea. She felt like they had been floating about aimlessly for an aeon.

  “Well, the propeller is winding strong this morning.” The girls looked up to see Sidheag, arms crossed over her bony chest, wearing a long pink flannel nightgown and slouching against the doorjamb. Pink!

  “Is that what that vibration means?” Sophronia asked without missing a beat. She ought to have known someone would overhear their conversation. At least it was Sidheag, and not Monique. Speaking of Monique, she’s going to try to send that letter as soon as we arrive at Bunson’s.

  “Indeed.”

  “How long have you been standing there?” Dimity wanted to know, drawing the covers up over her own red brocade nightgown.

  “Long enough,” replied Lady Kingair, coming inside their room. She bent to pat Bumbersnoot, who was working busily on his second lump of coal.

  “So you managed to scarper back here without being discovered?” she asked Sophronia.

  “Yes.”

  “Convinced of that, are ya?”

  Sophronia felt a cold chill go up her spine.

  “Yes, why?”

  “Because Lady Linette is waiting for you in our sitting room, and she does not look pleased. She told me to tell you specifically, Sophronia, to dress and get yourself in there right sharp.”

  “Oh, bother,” said Sophronia. “Dimity, will you keep an eye on Bumbersnoot for me?”

  “Of course.”

  “Bumbersnoot, stay here with Auntie Dimity, please.”

  The mechanimal sat back on his haunches and sent a puff of smoke at her, tail wagging back and forth hopefully. Sophronia tossed Dimity another lump of coal, hoping to keep the dog’s attention in their room, and climbed out of bed. In the interest of appearing as innocent as possible, she donned her simplest dress—a blue muslin with white flowers—and Sidheag helped her do up the buttons. Over this Sophronia pulled a white pinafore. She elected simply to plait her hair, as it was fastest. With Lady Linette such things were always a bit dodgy—take time to be particularly presentable, or dress quickly? She popped a lace cap on her head and went reluctantly into their drawing room to see how much trouble she’d gotten herself into.

  “Miss Temminnick, good morning.”

  “Good morning, my lady.” Sophronia bobbed a curtsy. She’d been working very hard with Dimity on the art of the curtsy—how to bend the knees without sticking out the bottom, a smooth dip and rise. Dimity had even shown her how to lower her eyes and glance up through her lashes.

  Lady Linette, who looked rather irked, nevertheless noticed the improvement. “Much better, young lady. Not so much tilt to the head, not with a lady or a vampire. With another woman, it comes off as coy. With a vampire, it comes off as invitation. Otherwise a very commendable effort.”

  Sophronia rose from her curtsy. “Thank you, my lady.”

  “However, it does not make up for some very disturbing news I’ve recently had.”

  “Yes, my lady?” Sophronia’s stomach fluttered ominously.

  “I have been informed that you were seen out last night. You were spotted through one of the portholes climbing the exterior hull.”

  Sophronia narrowed her eyes. Someone’s ratted on me! That’s certainly not in the spirit of this school. “One of the teachers, my lady?”

  “Oh, very nice. No defensive tone, merely a query for further information. You are trying to take advantage of my annoyance in the hope that I will be indiscreet about the informant. You are learning well, Miss Temminnick, very well indeed.”

  Sophronia widened her eyes hopefully, trying to look both nonthreatening and inquiring.

  “Simply in honor of such a creditable effort, I will tell you that it was a student. And this is a concern. On the one hand, no one else saw you. On the other, you have made an enemy of one of your fellows in such a way as to cost you a covert operation. You should pay very close attention in your blackmail lessons in order to forestall such behavior in the future. Then again, so should the student in question. She might have used this information to manipulate you, rather than coming directly to us. A questionable choice of application, but perhaps she thought the matter was time sensitive.”

  “My lady?” Sophronia’s heart was in her throat. Please don’t turn me out.

  “Yes, of course. So, for being seen, you are hereby ordered to report to Cook. She will have you cleaning the pots and pans after supper in the mess for the next two weeks.”

  Sophronia started to let out a breath of relief, but then Lady Linette continued. “For being told upon…” She paused, considering.

  I’m being sent home when we get to Bunson’s. I know it. Sophronia clenched her hands.

  “For being told upon, you are being denied attendance at the upcoming stopover at Swiffle-on-Exe. There is an acting troupe in town. You will have to miss the show. And for being out during lockdown, you will not be allowed off the ship at all.”

  Sophronia let out a breath and relaxed her hands. “Thank you, my lady.”

  “Goodness, girl, what are you thanking me for?”

  “You aren’t going to expel me.”

  “Of course not! Don’t be silly. None of the professors actually saw you, and you avoided the mechanicals during a high-order alarm. That’s very good work indeed. And you’ve displayed untapped skills in climbing and night stealth. I’m considering extra lessons as a result. We were told you had gumption. Our mistake was in underestimating how much. Why were you out and about?”

  “Curiosity.” Sophronia lied without hesitation.

  Lady Linette pursed her lips. “That’s as good a reason as any. And now, girl, let us discuss hairstyles. I’m detecting young Lady Kingair’s effect on your coiffure. It won’t do, won’t do at all. She is a lost cause, but she has the rank and title to be eccentric. You may actually need to look like a lady upon occasion. From here on out, you are to put your hair up in curling rags every night. Get Miss Pelouse to show you how. I do not wish to see you with a plait ever again. Is that clear?”

  Sophronia considered this her real punishment—the very worst of the lot. Curling rag training from Monique, indeed! Still, she bobbed another curtsy of acknowledgment. “Very good, my lady.”

  “Good morning, Miss Temminnick.”

  “Good morning, my lady.”

  “Oh, and Miss Temminnick? You do realize you did not have to admit to your little excursion? It was your word against that of your accuser. Keep that in mind, in the future. Denial is always an option.” With which Lady Linette swept from the room, her morning dress one of a particularly fluffy lavender, so wide it barely fit through the door.

  “It has to be Monique!” said Dimity. She was pacing around their room, her hands and arms flying in annoyance, as though she were fending off a bee. The ruffles on the sleeves of her peach dress had an almost sea creature–l
ike way of drifting about after her. “I wonder if Lady Linette is her friend on staff?”

  Sophronia was charmed by how offended Dimity was on her behalf. “Of course it’s Monique. And I suppose it could be Lady Linette; she’s an actress, after all.” Sophronia collapsed onto her bed with a groan. “Oh, but curling rags!”

  “They can’t be that bad.”

  “Easy for you to say—you’ll never need them. Why did I have to be cursed with straight hair? And you know, I never cared much before now. What is this place doing to me? I’m coming over all frivolous.”

  Dimity had no solution to that particular problem. “I’m sorry you’re going to miss the theatricals.”

  “In Swiffle-on-Exe? It could be worse.”

  “It is worse: all the boys will be attending.”

  Sophronia flopped onto her back. She wasn’t certain whether to be upset or pleased by this. “That’s all right, really it is. I don’t think I’m quite ready for boys yet. My eyelash fluttering is subpar.”

  “Oh, but that’s what Bunson’s is for! Practice. I overheard Monique telling Preshea all about it. Some of the girls even keep score. They use what we learn to make as many boys as possible fall in love with them. They aren’t allowed to encourage actual declarations, of course. If one of Mademoiselle Geraldine’s girls takes a real beau, he’d better be a baronet at the very least.”

  “Isn’t Bunson’s training evil geniuses?”

  “Yes, mostly.”

  “Well, is that wise? Having a mess of seedling evil geniuses falling in love with you willy-nilly? What if they feel spurned?”

  “Ah, but in the interim, think of the lovely gifts they can make you. Monique bragged that one of her boys made her silver and wood hair sticks as anti-supernatural weapons. With amethyst inlay. And another made her an exploding wicker chicken.”

  “Goodness, what’s that for?”

  Dimity pursed her lips. “Who doesn’t want an exploding wicker chicken?”

  Sidheag opened the door and stuck her head in. “Are you two going to wallow in here all day? It’s time to eat, and rumor is there’s going to be a big announcement over the scones.”