She fed a lump of coal to Bumbersnoot while they waited for the vampire to rise.
This time Sophronia wore her boy’s garb. Mademoiselle Geraldine made no comment at seeing one of her students in rolled-up trousers and a man’s shirt and vest. Sophronia put the leather pinafore back on, liking the protection and all the pockets. She then checked over her devices and weapons. Everything was sharp and in good working order. She went about finding what kit she could for Mademoiselle Geraldine as well, filching stuff from Dimity, Agatha, and Preshea with a silent apology for entering their private chambers. She thought her two friends probably wouldn’t mind. Preshea’s room yielded up a wide variety of potions, poultices, and poisons, all neatly labeled, a selection of which Sophronia intended to put to good use.
She consulted with Mademoiselle Geraldine about the soldier mechanical codes, her best guess on how to activate the wicker chicken, and if there were any guns available. Then they fell silent. Plans already made and espionage in order, they had little in common and no other conversation. It seemed silly to fall back on the weather at a time like this. Sophronia might have asked the headmistress about her past or how she had managed to keep up the charade of ignorance so long, but she thought Mademoiselle Geraldine would resort to absurdities about the theater again. Sophronia couldn’t take theatrical talk on only five hours’ sleep.
The vampire emerged from the wardrobe looking mercurial and refreshed.
“Ladies.” His tone was one of surprise. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company first thing in the morning?”
“Evening, good sir,” corrected Mademoiselle Geraldine.
“Is it? How droll. I have slept the day away?” He looked thoughtful. “I’m starving. Any tea?”
“Don’t you mean blood, Professor?” Sophronia was gentle with him.
“Blood, whot? No. Or. Yes. Ah, vampire. Right. Why did I do that?”
“You wanted to live forever?” It was the only reason Sophronia could conceive.
“Did I? How curious of me. Yes, drop of blood would be nice right about now. You offering, pretty lady? Or, um, is it lad?”
“No.” Sophronia’s tone was flat, and she tilted her head at Mademoiselle Geraldine.
“Oh, me, neither, Professor, but we do have some gentlemen in mind for your breakfast. If you’d like to follow me. There may be a bit of tightrope walking involved, but I’m sure you aren’t averse.”
“Whot? Tightrope, you say? How lovely. Used to be quite the carnival artist in my day, did you know that?”
“Yes indeed, Professor. That’s why you came on board my school, remember? The only vampire to tether the skies. Said you liked heights too much to stick to the ground and you’d take the risk.”
“Did I? Well, there you have it.” He trotted after Mademoiselle Geraldine.
Sophronia left the room with no little reluctance. It had felt like sanctuary for that one day. Even if the safe feeling was false, she had enjoyed it. She could not deny her love of adventure, not after the last few years, but right now she almost understood Pillover’s reluctance. Nevertheless, she had a ship to save and possibly a nation. She shifted the wicker chicken on her back and checked that Bumbersnoot was dangling over her shoulder. He wagged his tail at her.
They were off.
Over halfway to London, thought Sophronia. The small town far below had gas streetlamps. She couldn’t tell exactly where they were—possibly near Salisbury—but they were definitely making good time. They were now floating over increasingly populated areas.
Sophronia imagined reports in the local papers concerning a massive chubby dirigible spotted in the skies. Was the government spying on them? Or was it an invading enemy? The papers could get hysterical about such a thing.
She was surprised that they hadn’t yet come under investigation by local authorities. Surely some of the wealthier districts kept their own investigative dirigibles for use by the constabulary? Or perhaps they had approached and the Picklemen had eliminated them.
Mademoiselle Geraldine and Professor Braithwope had disappeared to see about the pilot’s bubble. After that, they would take out the two gunmen on the squeak decks. Sophronia had suggested Mademoiselle Geraldine get herself a gun first. The headmistress had muttered something mysterious about visiting her chambers and not needing a gun after that. Sophronia let her be mysterious—she had a dining hall to liberate.
She approached it with caution, heading for one of the side entrances. As hoped, the Picklemen inside were nervously running about, wondering why their men were missing. Accusations were being hurled back and forth in loud voices.
Sophronia let the door open wide enough for her observe as much as possible. This allowed her to learn something of the Pickleman plot. They did intend to use the pilot’s bubble to control all the mechanicals in London. There was something about the way Mademoiselle Geraldine’s pilot mechanical was designed that allowed it to transmit to multiple mechanicals at once. Or more precisely, transmit to all those fitted with the new valve. That makes sense, thought Sophronia. After all, the school boasts a huge number of mechanized staff that always work in consort without crashing. There was some feeling that if the ship were high enough, near the aether, the Picklemen might even be able to extend the reach to the whole of Southern England. The Chutney found this idea very exciting.
When the flow of men became concentrated around the high table, bent over some kind of chart, the flywaymen nearby craning their necks to see, Sophronia took a breath and entered the room. She clutched the wicker chicken to her chest, one hand on the trigger.
No one noticed her for what felt like a long time, although it could only have been a minute or two. Then again, she did look like a boy, so she didn’t stand out as much as she might have ordinarily. She’d used some of Bumbersnoot’s coal reserves to smudge up her face. They might think, at first, she was an escaped sootie.
Madame Spetuna was the first to notice Sophronia. In that first flash of recognition Sophronia realized she had maligned the woman in thinking she would betray the school. Madame Spetuna looked horrified to see her and made a frantic hand motion for Sophronia to get out.
Sophronia pointed at the chicken and mouthed explodes, making a bursting gesture with her free hand.
Madame Spetuna’s eyebrows rose up, and she made a quick toss motion and pointed to herself. She clearly wanted to be in charge of the chicken.
Sophronia was frozen by indecision. It was awfully tempting to give up the responsibility to an experienced intelligencer. Then again, the chicken was her burden. But Madame Spetuna would know better how it should be deployed.
While she tried to decide what to do, Madame Spetuna turned and said something that drew everyone’s attention. It was a bold move, designed to protect Sophronia and keep her unnoticed that much longer.
Sophronia was charmed, but wished she hadn’t bothered. Because in that moment she saw suspicion suffuse the Chutney’s face.
“I always thought it silly to have a female on board with us. After all, any woman could be working for the enemy.”
“Now, now,” said the head flywayman, “I vouched for her.”
“And your cooperation was predicated on us allowing her aboard. And yet my men have been going missing. The prisoners have not been recovered. We have a traitor in our midst.”
Oh, no, thought Sophronia. They are blaming her for my actions.
Madame Spetuna spat in disgust. “And you pick me because I am a woman? I’ve hardly left this room. How would I accomplish this miraculous interference?”
“But you have left the room a few times, to use the facilities, you claim. I find it interesting that Spice Administrator Bawkin disappeared after we sent him to the record room. As if someone on board had something to hide that school records might reveal. The only possible person… is you.”
Madame Spetuna turned to her lover for aid, but even the head flywayman was looking at her distrustfully now.
“It would be e
xactly like this place to put their best agent in our midst. And you would have to be one of their best.”
Madame Spetuna made no further protestations.
Sophronia realized that she was trying to take the blame, so that she, Sophronia, would remain safe. She wished they’d had time to consult, but decided she would honor the woman’s wishes. In the end, Madame Spetuna knew more of what was going on than she did. Clearly, this inside intelligencer thought it more important for Sophronia to remain an unknown element and to destroy the center of the Pickleman operation herself. Sophronia put the wicker chicken down, tucked it against the wall with her foot, and slipped back out the door before anyone could see her. Then, fast as she could, she climbed outside to one of the upper portholes so she could see what transpired next.
The Chutney was saying something curt, issuing an order. Then he signaled his two bully boys and a runner to follow and strode from the room. This left Madame Spetuna with the gangly Pickleman, one runner, and five flywaymen. Several of the flywaymen closed in on her.
Madame Spetuna leapt away, managing to evade capture long enough to scoop up the wicker chicken.
With a manic look in her eye, she waited, clutching it to her chest, while the men closed in on her. Sophronia, horrified, realized that the intelligencer intended to sacrifice herself!
The chicken exploded.
Sophronia saw blood splatter everywhere. Top hats and flywayman scarves went flying. Madame Spetuna flew into the air, like a child tossed by an enthusiastic uncle.
And the window through which Sophronia was looking shattered outward into her face.
Sophronia jerked back, so shocked by the blast she let go of her perch and fell off the side of the dirigible.
Instinct had her shooting her hurlie at the side of the ship, grabbing on to the rope. Good thing, too, as she couldn’t see anything. There was something in her eyes—she could only hope it was mostly her own blood and not glass. Thankfully, the hooks of the hurlie found purchase on some protrusion stable enough to support her weight. Then her arms were jerked almost out of their sockets and she crashed into the side of the ship, face-first.
The dark red of pain shredded through her brain, and then, blessedly, a bleak vacant black.
FALLING DOWN ON THE JOB
Sophronia had no idea how long she dangled, but it must have been a very long time.
When she awoke, the arm from which she hung—upon which she wore the hurlie—was entirely numb. Her face hurt like nothing she’d ever experienced before. A tender touch with her working hand suggested her nose was likely broken and much of her skin sliced by glass. She tried not to think about the consequences of scarring. Any future as an agent provocateur would definitely be impossible. She was thirsty and hungry, yet stomach-sick from the scene before she fell: Madame Spetuna exploding. All that blood. It was almost as painful as her shoulder out of its socket.
Mademoiselle Geraldine must have taken out the two guns on the squeak decks, or surely they would have seen her. At least Sophronia hadn’t become a target while she dangled.
Every part of her hurt—belly, head, face, back, arms—but what could she do? No one was going to rescue her. She had to ignore the pain and get herself to Sister Mattie’s classroom to rendezvous with the headmistress and the vampire. And she had to do it by climbing, for she’d given Mademoiselle Geraldine her obstructor. Sophronia and climbing, under normal circumstances, were old chums. But now? The very idea made her want to scream.
When asked afterward, Sophronia never could articulate how she made that nightmare of a climb. Somehow she traversed two-thirds of the ship with eyes partly closed from the hit to her face—thank goodness the glass hadn’t blinded her—and only one working arm. It made her rethink all previous hardships in her life. I’ll never complain of cold tea again.
Eventually, she made it to Sister Mattie’s balcony, collapsing in a heap among the potted plants. She was grateful for the leaves canopied over her, an odd kind of protection. The sky was turning gray beyond them, the sun soon to rise. Never in her life had it taken so long to climb anywhere. She hoped fervently that there was a vampire in residence to carry her to safety, because as she crawled with one arm toward the balcony door, she was convinced she would never walk again.
The door was locked and bolted. She knocked, but no one answered. She fumbled in her pocket for lockpicks, but the world seemed to be turning fuzzy as well as gray. Now her good hand wasn’t working, either. And then she found, to her surprise and embarrassment, that she was lying flat on her stomach, shaking. She wondered, around an odd buzzing in her brain, if she was the first to arrive. Shouldn’t the others have completed their tasks hours ago? Was it possible that they were in worse trouble than she?
And then she wasn’t wondering anything at all. She was sliding down a long soft peaceful tunnel into a numb sleep.
A loud shriek, like an upset teakettle, woke Sophronia. Disorientated, she jerked, only then registering the pain shooting through her body.
Ouch. Wait, is that me shrieking?
No, it was coming from her stomach.
All right, not her stomach but the hard warm body tucked up against her ribs.
Bumbersnoot!
Sophronia extracted the screaming mechanimal with her working arm, flopping like a fish because she was lying on his strap. Every movement was agony. She tried to concentrate on which parts hurt most, where the serious damage might be. Her face seemed particularly bad.
I’m sunburned was her first thought. That’s why my face is throbbing. The sun was beating down, although the potted plants were doing their best to protect her. They must be floating high enough to be above the clouds. Oh, no, I’ll get freckles and Lady Linette will be so disappointed.
Automatically, she fumbled with Bumbersnoot, trying to stop his noise.
Only one working arm? Did I misplace my shoulder? How careless.
Vieve had never shown her how to shut Bumbersnoot’s alarm off. Finally, Sophronia resorted to popping open the casing to his miniature boilers and dumping all the steaming water unceremoniously out onto the deck. With a smoky sigh, the mechanimal went silent. His tail tick-tocked ever more slowly until he was perfectly still.
Sophronia collapsed next to him. I know how you feel.
One small part of her brain realized that if any enemy was outside within hearing distance, they would come looking for the source of that noise. But she no longer cared. There wasn’t any part of her that didn’t hurt, including, now, her ears, which were ringing with the aftereffects of Bumbersnoot’s alarm.
The Picklemen have activated the valves. Apparently the espionage side of her brain refused to stop functioning. Perhaps it was like Bumbersnoot’s tail, the last to stop. We must be up as high as they need.
The door to the balcony banged open. Sophronia hadn’t enough energy to lift her head. Depression hit her. What matter if they find me now?
“Oh, it’s only you,” said a jocular boy’s voice. A shadow fell over her and his tone became high-pitched with concern. “Miss, what on earth happened to you?”
Sophronia groaned, finally remembering the events of the previous night. Fortunately, her jaw seemed to be working. “Exploded wicker chicken. Fell.”
Handle’s worried face appeared in her blurry field of view. “Was that you, making that squawk?”
“Not exactly. Help me inside, please?” She might have wondered what he was doing there, but her brain was only able to cope with one thing at a time. Right now it was busy remembering.
The sootie tutted and began to drag her inside—by her shoulders.
Sophronia suppressed a scream. It came out as a hoarse moaning cough. For the first time in her life, fainting genuinely appealed.
Handle let go of her.
Sophronia rolled onto her side and began to retch against the cool dirty wood of the deck. She hadn’t eaten in a long time, so nothing came out. Saved from one humiliation.
“Oh, miss. Himself will nev
er forgive me for this.”
“What could you do?” Sophronia was weighed down with her own guilt. “You were under the whip. I’m sorry I couldn’t come for you first. Had to be stealthy. Best possible plan.”
“’Course you couldn’t, miss. Don’t talk waffle—sooties have been through worse. Now, how to get you in?”
“It’s not at all dignified, but you’d best drag me by my feet.”
Handle did so, and thus managed to get her inside Sister Mattie’s chamber.
Sophronia pulled the partly disassembled Bumbersnoot carcass in her wake. She half expected to find other sooties waiting for her, sitting around in the student chairs wearing bonnets and acting the farce of lessons. I must be delirious.
There was only Handle.
“What’s happening?” she whispered around the pain.
Handle attempted to prop her up against a pouf. She was still on the floor, mind you, but he was aiming for a more refined position. Sophronia managed it. Once modestly upright, she noticed a prone body on an improvised couch made of two chairs and a hassock wedged together.
“Who’s that?”
“The headmistress was also hurt pretty bad. Took a bullet to the calf. I brought her in. The vampire’s been sleeping in the potting shed, over there.” Handle gestured to Sister Mattie’s large wardrobe, which had been converted to a potting shed long before Sophronia’s time.
“Oh, dear,” said Sophronia. “I suppose you will have to pop my shoulder back in, then.”
“What’s that, miss?”
“It’s out of the socket. We learned about it in a lesson on basic field medicinals and mock injuries. You have to put it back in for me. My nose, too, if possible. I’m pretty enough, but a crooked nose won’t ever be fashionable. That’s assuming none of my face cuts need stitches. If I’m scarring, we won’t bother. Might as well have a crooked nose.”
Handle looked sick as she explained, but he’d have to get over it, if the headmistress wasn’t available.
Manners & Mutiny Page 21