“My sputter-skates,” corrected Vieve.
“What?”
“Sputter-skates, not shoes.”
Sophronia, delicately testing the waters, said, “They look like the kind of thing boys might appreciate.”
Vieve twinkled up at her. “Exactly.” She sat up, carefully balanced on her backside so the sputter-skates didn’t touch the deck. Then she reached down and pulled a small lever. The skates, true to their name, sputtered and died. The wheels stopped moving at last.
“I think,” said Vieve to no one in particular, “I ought to install a safety shutoff.”
“Do you indeed?” Dimity was droll.
Sophronia offered Vieve a hand up.
Vieve balanced precariously on her now quiet sputter-skates.
“Sister Mattie, could Sophronia help me over to those stairs, please?”
Sister Mattie, eager to be rid of the child and get back to lessons, waved her off. “By all means. Miss Temminnick, attend Miss Lefoux, if you would be so kind.”
Sophronia grabbed her friend’s bony shoulders and wheeled her across the deck.
When they were outside of listening distance, Vieve shoved the ball she’d been using to steer into Sophronia’s hand. “Look at that.”
It was leather and metal with a catch on one side. Sophronia opened it to find the mini-prototype—more properly, the crystalline guidance valve—nested inside.
“It transmits protocols via aetheric particles!” crowed Vieve. “Or at least I think so. The original prototype was designed for long-distance point-to-point communication like a wireless telegraph. But this little beauty can be used for point-to-machine commands. The theory is, it uses ambient aether in normal atmosphere, but it would probably work better, faster, and over larger distances within the aetherosphere.”
Sophronia was awed. “You think that’s how Giffard is negotiating the aether?” She paused. “He would have to have very quick response times from all over his ship to float those crazy currents.”
Vieve nodded, eyes shining. “These guidance valves are designed work better up there. That’s why he had to wait. We needed to develop and distribute this technology to him. Airships have been ready for ages. It’s the navigation they couldn’t master.”
“Professor Lefoux was testing it with the oddgob machine, and when I removed it she couldn’t get the machine to shut down properly.”
“Exactly. And I think she had it configured wrong. She was trying to send the signal to it. I’m using it the other way around. Plus this school floats high enough up that aether particles are prevalent. Don’t you see? The applications are endless. You could have multiple valves in a controller hub going to machines all over the ship. In theory you could even use it to remotely control mechanicals. I’m so stupid—last fall I thought it was going to be used for human-to-human communication. I was wrong. These things are meant to transmit protocols!” She looked down at her skates. “Of course it’s only on and off. And in my case, the off didn’t work. But the very idea!”
“Fifty percent effective?” Sophronia wondered who was controlling this technology. Mademoiselle Geraldine’s had an unknown patron; was he or she in on this? What about the British government? Bunson’s had Picklemen ties—they had wanted the original prototype. And then there was the pillow shipment, not to mention Professor Braithwope and Monique’s talk of vampires.
They had reached the staircase and could not delay matters to discuss further, as Sister Mattie was watching. Hastily, Sophronia handed Vieve back the guidance valve and said, “Thank you for last night, by the way. It was most helpful. Come by my quarters during luncheon? I feel a terrible headache coming on that may require me to rest this afternoon.”
“I’ll filch some sandwiches,” said Vieve.
“Excellent.”
The 10th test
FINDING FORTUNE
How will you infiltrate Bunson’s without being found out as you get older?” Sophronia asked Vieve, gesticulating elegantly at the front part of her own corset.
“I come from a long line of bony women, so I shouldn’t think that will be a problem. And I managed to fool even you, until you were told.”
“True, but I was more thinking about the fact that some of them must already know you as you at Bunson’s.”
“Only Shrimpdittle and if you can deal with him, I should be in form. So long as my aunt keeps mum, I don’t see as there should be any real difficulty.”
“If you say so.”
“I know so. And I have a wonderful fake mustache I shall begin sporting in a few years time. That will fool most anyone. Mustaches are like that.”
“You’d make a terrible intelligencer,” said Sophronia at that outrageous statement.
“I know. Hence the reason I want to infiltrate Bunson’s, which is far more amenable to my personality.”
“And contact between the schools? How will you handle that?”
“It is more amicable now than it has been before. But…” she trailed off, her small face thoughtful.
“You don’t think good relations will last?”
“You serve different masters.”
Sophronia sat up. “Do you know who is the patron of Mademoiselle Geraldine’s?”
Vieve shook her head. “No, but I know it isn’t the Picklemen, and they’re the backbone of Bunson’s. Those who aren’t Picklemen don’t get along with them, so…” She shrugged her conclusion.
Sophronia didn’t think much of the Picklemen herself. “In that case, are you certain you want to go there? There must be other evil genius schools.”
“None as good as Bunson’s. It’s a feeder to École des Arts et Métiers, the best university. Besides, I don’t mind a Pickleman or two. They have the funds and an interest in technology. Do you think it’s them Professor Braithwope was referencing the other night in the shed as wanting the technology?”
“Must be. Sister Mattie said the intermediary had gone to infiltrate flywaymen, we know the Picklemen are mixed up with them, and… wait a moment, what will I do about Bumbersnoot with you gone? Who will look after him?”
Vieve shrugged. “It’s time you learned mechanimal maintenance, if you will insist on carrying him everywhere like he’s a toy.”
Sophronia grinned at her pet, who was lounging on the end of the couch wearing lace and ruffles. “Oh, he doesn’t mind, do you, Bumbersnoot?”
Tick-tock, tick-tock went Bumbersnoot’s tail in apparent agreement.
“Come here, you charmer,” said Vieve, scooping up the mechanimal and removing his reticule attire. “I’ll show you how to clean and oil him and leave a few tools. You should try it before I relocate, in case you have questions.”
Sophronia prepared to be instructed. If Vieve was set on leaving, she had better learn to fend for herself in the matter of technology. Funny, she thought, I used to love to take things apart.
“Oh, ho ho, looks who’s all chummy.” Monique came into the room and cast herself in an unladylike manner into an arm chair.
“I thought you had a terrible headache, Sophronia. You don’t look like you’re ill,” accused Preshea, following Monique.
Sidheag, Agatha, and Dimity trailed into the parlor after them.
“Oh, Preshea, what do you care? You had Lord Mersey all to yourself at luncheon,” said Dimity.
Vieve looked at the fashionable young ladies surrounding her. She issued an ironic little bow, packed up her things, and made good her escape.
“I don’t know why you associate with that brat,” said Monique. “Older girls shouldn’t patronize younger ones.”
No one replied, but there was a collective arching of eyebrows. After all, Monique was forced to spend most of her time associating with them, and even Sophronia—the eldest of the bunch—was three years her junior.
Monique wrinkled her nose, as if smelling the absurdity in her own words. She quickly moved the subject on. “Preshea, darling, is it only I who have noticed, or has this whole trip to Lond
on become excessively dull?”
“Don’t fret, dear Monique. You still have your party to plan.” Preshea was all optimism.
Monique brightened. “Oh, yes, the party. How droll of me to forget. Should we consider refreshments?”
Preshea and Monique then spent a quarter of an hour discussing the delights of the upcoming ball. They listed all the diversions and delicacies in a manner that emphasized the fact that no one else in the room would get to sample any.
Agatha played her role painfully well, pretending interest. Really, thought Sophronia, she is a better intelligencer than the school gives her credit.
Sophronia and her friends remained unaffected by the barbs. She and Sidheag played tiddlywinks while Dimity knitted. Dimity was fond of knitting and was currently attempting to craft small yellow booties for Bumbersnoot. She claimed this was practice for her future as a charitable lady of means. Sophronia secretly worried that the mechanimal would slide all over the floor—not to mention, why did a metal dog need warm feet?—but the act was kindly meant.
Then, in a twist of topic, Preshea and Monique began to discuss boys. “Lord Mersey, of course, is the cream on the cake. Getting him to attend can only be to the betterment of all concerned.”
Monique was confident. “I’m assured he will come. As will Lord Dingleproops. Of course, we can’t have young Vullrink, not after last night’s supper. Imagine using a knife for fish? And Mr. Plumleigh-Teignmott is right out.”
Preshea nodded sagely. “Too young?”
“Too ill connected.” Monique looked pointedly at Dimity.
Dimity glanced up from her needles. “He’ll only thank you for it. Pillover hates parties.”
“Oh, wonderful. It’s always so nice to know the unwelcome are also uncaring of their social standing,” sneered Monique. She probably would have gone on with her commentary until their next lesson, but the perimeter alarm trumpeted.
Dimity put down her knitting.
The girls stayed in their parlor, as they had been instructed. Even Sophronia, who was inclined to take to the hull to investigate, remained seated. With all the manufactured fog it would be impossible to see who approached, a fact that was worrying in and of itself. If someone had managed to spot and attack the school despite their cloud disguise, that someone had superior technology.
They waited with bated breath for the ship to shake with cannon fire, for the fateful lean and sway of a balloon collapsing. Nothing happened. They listened for the sound of timber splitting. Still nothing. In short order, the trumpeting stopped with no apparent reaction from ship, mechanicals, or staff.
“Must have been a false alarm,” said Dimity into the ensuing silence.
The girls, with nothing better to do, prepared for their next lesson. Even Monique was sobered by the strange experience.
They had foreign languages and lipreading with Lady Linette next. None of the boys were present. Apparently, gentlemen didn’t require foreign tongues. They moved from there on to tea and subterfuge with Mademoiselle Geraldine. Since the headmistress had no idea of the true nature of her own school, the exact kind of subterfuge was always assigned by one of the other teachers. Today, however, Lady Linette informed them that this time they should know what to do when they arrived.
Excited by the mystery, the girls hurried through the hallways to be met in the tassel section by Professor Shrimpdittle, trailing a sullen-looking Lord Dingleproops, Lord Mersey, and Pillover Plumleigh-Teignmott. The ten of them entered Mademoiselle Geraldine’s quarters together.
As ever, the walls were lined with shelves of fake pastries, and the headmistress rose to welcome them from behind a large table set with a full tea service. She had known to expect a larger than normal gathering, for there were twelve place settings. Her décolletage heaved with appreciation. Mademoiselle Geraldine loved company.
Sitting next to her, in the place of honor, was an elderly female. She wore eccentric dress for a woman in the later part of life. Her wild gray hair was loose and her forehead bound over with a colorful scarf, like a sky pirate. Her jewelry was bronze and gold and more prevalent than Dimity’s at her most sparkly. The stranger’s complexion was tan in a manner that young ladies of quality were cautioned against. Her eyes were lined thickly with kohl. Her attire seem to be composed utterly of brightly colored scarves tied in layers.
Dimity gasped in appreciation. “A fortune-teller!”
“How very esoteric, Madam G.!” crowed Lord Dingleproops, striding up to the headmistress to clap her on the shoulder, rather as a man would approach a fellow at his club. Mademoiselle Geraldine looked at him as though he were a collapsed soufflé, and he backed away hastily.
The girls tittered in elation. Even Pillover looked pleased, and he was rarely pleased by anything.
We didn’t go down low to retrieve her, thought Sophronia. How did she get on board?
“Very good, Miss Plumleigh-Teignmott. We have indeed been graced with the presence of a fortune-teller.”
Sophronia wondered, “Did you set off the alarm?”
The fortune-teller’s eyes sharpened on her.
Sophronia realized she had revealed more of her personality with that one question than was healthy. She was, after all, the only one who’d jumped straight to logistics rather than the exciting possibility of having her palm read.
“Ladies and gentlemen, please be seated. Madame Spetuna has been retained for the evening to tell your fortunes.” Mademoiselle Geraldine was wearing a lightweight muslin gown of chartreuse with cream stripes. It was a dress that better suited one of her students. Each stripe was patterned with pink roses. There was fringe all up the length of the sleeves and about the low square neckline that displayed the headmistress’s assets to great effect. Said assets heaved as she inhaled, and Professor Shrimpdittle looked as though he might faint.
She continued, “Given that there are ten of you, we must keep the readings brief. So tuck in quickly to the nibbly bits while we do so, and don’t stand on ceremony. If Miss Pelouse would pour the tea? Miss Buss, why don’t you sit first?”
Preshea took the seat closest to the fortune-teller with alacrity.
Madame Spetuna looked her over. “Ze cards, I think, for you, dark child.”
Preshea was made to pick five cards from a deck and lay them out carefully on the damask tablecloth. Madame Spetuna rearranged them a few times before settling on a pattern she liked.
This must be today’s subterfuge challenge. We are to ensure the fortune-teller doesn’t reveal anything to Mademoiselle Geraldine about our real training. Sophronia, nibbling a biscuit, sat back to watch. She wondered about the fortune-teller. Does she know what we do here? Or does she, like Mademoiselle Geraldine, think it is a normal, albeit floating, finishing school?
“Ah,” breathed Madame Spetuna, “this is most interesting. Most interesting indeed. You, my child, will marry well. More than once. A charmed life, so long as you weave a tight net, little spider.” The lady retrieved the cards and shuffled them back together into one stack in an attitude of dismissal.
Taking this as a sign her fortune was complete, Preshea stood. Looking particularly pleased with life, she passed over a few coins and gave Madame Spetuna a nice curtsy.
Mademoiselle Geraldine was fanning herself. “Oh, dear, oh, dear, Miss Buss. Let us hope it is widowhood and not”—she whispered the next word—“divorce that leads to your multiple marriages.”
Preshea sat and sipped from a china cup. “I shouldn’t worry, Headmistress. I am tolerably certain it will be widowhood.”
Mademoiselle Geraldine was reassured by this. Preshea’s future husbands probably wouldn’t have been. Even Lord Dingleproops, ordinarily unconcerned by those around him, looked apprehensively at the beautiful dark-haired girl. She gave him a wicked smile and a coy lowering of the lashes.
Reel it in, Preshea. Sophronia glanced nervously at the headmistress. But Mademoiselle Geraldine was waving the next victim forward.
Dimity took t
he danger seat. “I admire your fashion sense,” she told the fortune-teller with absolute sincerity.
Madame Spetuna tucked a lock of hair behind her ear—in which there were three earrings!
Dimity’s eyes sparkled.
“For you, the palm,” said Madame Spetuna.
Wide-eyed, Dimity presented the fortune-teller with both hands. Madame Spetuna bent over them, the many rings on her fingers flashing as she traced the lines.
Sophronia heard Monique whisper to Preshea, “I wouldn’t allow such a dirty, common creature to touch me!”
Madame Spetuna gave no indication of having heard. “You wish for a simple life, magpie. You will not get it. You will choose, many times, between loyalty and peace. A terrible choice.” She looked up at Dimity, her dark eyes sad. “I am sorry.”
Dimity nodded, her round face somber. “That’s all right, Madame Spetuna. I always suspected it might be so.”
Since she had forgotten her reticule, Dimity slid off one of her own many bracelets and gave it to the fortune-teller. They exchanged the smiles of kindred spirits.
Mademoiselle Geraldine called Monique. The older girl hid her excitement with a haughty expression. She sat and took up the cards without Madame Spetuna suggesting she do so.
“You are attracted to the cards, moonbeam? Good. It is always better when one is summoned.”
Once the icy blonde had selected five cards, the fortune-teller bent over them for a time. “You will never be as important as you think you are. That is all.”
“What do you know, old woman?” Monique stood with a sneer and left without offering a gratuity.
When she went to sit, Mademoiselle Geraldine wrapped the girl’s knuckles hard with a fan. “Manners!”
Monique, without further comment, curtsied to the fortune-teller and returned to her tea and Preshea’s questionable council.
Then it was Agatha’s turn. The redhead asked, in a hesitant voice, if her fortune might be told privately. Sophronia thought to warn her that this might not be permitted by Lady Linette under the subterfuge clause, but there wasn’t time. Madame Spetuna agreed.
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