The group of eight then dashed back through the ship, avoiding the area around the hold.
Mademoiselle Geraldine and Professor Braithwope were waiting for them, thank goodness. Near them was a limp body—the final runner. There were puncture wounds on his neck, and Professor Braithwope looked like a man who had overindulged in the cook’s claret. He sat motionless on the hallway carpet, slumped back against one wall, hand over his belly.
“Is he dead?” Sophronia asked Mademoiselle Geraldine, who was hopping about on one leg, looking annoyed.
The headmistress made a disgusted nose. “No, gone to the cats.”
“Not Professor Braithwope. The runner.”
“Oh, him? Not yet.” Even though it was said in an offhand manner, the headmistress sounded dangerous.
The sooties gave both Mademoiselle Geraldine and the vampire a wide berth.
That’s two more off my list. Sophronia mentally crossed them off her map.
Professor Braithwope let out a belch. He was useless for the moment.
Sophronia gave Handle the gun. He passed it off to a tall muscled boy who looked like he’d grown up in dark places where guns were common. She and Handle armed themselves with exploding pastries. The other sooties were ready to grab whatever tools they could once in the room.
“Ready to reclaim your territory, troops?” Sophronia asked.
They nodded, grim-faced, eager.
The two Picklemen in the main boiler room were taken entirely by surprise by a coordinated attack from above. With one charge, Handle and the four unarmed sooties eliminated the supervisor on the platform overlooking the activity below. He tumbled over the edge with a shout, landing with a sickening crunch and sizzle on top of the biggest boiler.
Meanwhile, Sophronia and the sootie with the gun ran to the edge of the platform, knelt, and took aim. He fired and she threw. The man below was concentrating on his whip, fearing rebellion from within. Either fake food or bullet must have hit, because he folded into a heap. The sooties around him seized the moment, removing both his gun and his whip and administering a few well-earned kicks.
Just like that, the night was theirs and the remaining sooties were free. Sophronia’s tiny invading army climbed down the stairs to greet them.
Sophronia assisted Mademoiselle Geraldine with her uninjured shoulder. By the time they arrived, Handle had all the sooties abreast of the situation and bustling about shutting down the boilers.
Mademoiselle Geraldine looked over the dirty triumphant group in awe. “These boys are quite wonderful, aren’t they?”
“I’ve always thought so.” Sophronia kept the annoyance out of her voice.
Handle explained. “As the boilers cool, she’ll eventually sink to the ground. But it’ll take days. The balloons are filled up tight, and very little helium escapes. You’ll need to outgas to really get her down. I’ll stay with you, miss, show you how.”
Sophronia shook her head. “No, Handle, you’ve done enough. Professor Braithwope and I can take it from here.”
Handle was not convinced. The vampire was still sagged in the hallway above in a drunken stupor. But it took a stronger man than Handle to disobey Sophronia. It took Soap.
“If you say so, miss.” He turned to his fellows. “Let’s find Smokey Bones, boys, and abandon ship.”
A brief flurry of activity ensued while they looked for their cat, who, of course, when desperately wanted, had vanished entirely. Finally, they unearthed it beneath a particulate illuminator and picked the creature up, yowling.
Sophronia hid a smile. “Come on, everyone. Over behind that coal pile in the corner. We should have a rescue waiting at that hatch I’m so fond of.”
Handle popped open said hatch and there, nested up alongside the school in a display of real air ability, was the gondola of a second, smaller airship. Its balloon was crowded in alongside their own dirigible, somehow neither tangled in rigging nor popped by a balcony. Very impressive piloting.
Sophronia stuck her head out the hatch, her last piece of fake food at the ready, just in case. “My, but that’s some pretty floating.”
“Thank you. I’ve been in training these seven months,” said a sharp cool voice in response. “Never thought it’d be for you, but we can’t always pick our battles.”
There, standing before her, looking well dressed and as stunning as ever, was Monique de Pelouse.
OUT OF THE FLYWAYMEN INTO THE FIRE
I got your note.” Monique was almost smiling.
“Or rather, we got your note.” Dimity appeared from behind the taller girl with a mercurial grin. She was wiggling Sophronia’s doily-wrapped crossbow bolt gaily in one hand.
“As requested, we kept the bolt for you.” Agatha ducked into view from the other side of the baffle.
“What are you all doing here?” Sophronia could hardly believe it.
“Agatha and I utilized Soap,” explained Dimity. “Last night. You know, as a”—she struggled for delicacy under the circumstances—“lupine mount. Werewolves are really quite fast, and he was in enough control of himself not to eat us, as it wasn’t full moon anymore. That said, I shouldn’t recommended it as a long-distance mode of transport, not for three people.”
“Three! Is Vieve with you?”
“Nope.”
“Can’t be Pillover.”
“Never that rusty-gutted whiffin.” Dimity was not about to give her brother any quarter.
“Who, then?”
“Felix Mersey.”
Sophronia couldn’t stop asking questions. This was all so amazing. “Felix?” She shook her head, which was a bad idea as it made her nose hurt.
Monique interrupted what looked to be a long inquisition. “Someone had to man the boiler on this airship, after all.” Of course Soap would have been a better choice, but he could no longer float.
“You’re using a peer of the realm for manual labor?”
“You can think of a better use?” Monique was getting quite vampiric in her old age.
“You trust him not to sabotage your ship?” Sophronia stared at Monique and Dimity. Both should know better, for different reasons, but still!
“Yes, with good reason, but never mind that now.” Monique was impatient.
Dimity craned her head back and squinted up. “Sophronia, you look awful. What have you done to your face? Is that paint? Are you in disguise? And look at your slippers! They’re filthy.”
“Fell. No. No. And sorry about the slippers.” Sophronia was grateful she wasn’t actively bleeding anymore. The last thing they needed was Dimity fainting.
Agatha continued the assessment. “And your arm, did you break your arm?”
“Dislocated shoulder.”
“Could we get on?” snapped Monique. “I can’t hold this thing here forever.”
It was then that Sophronia realized Monique was at the helm of the dirigible. It was one of the little ones with only two decks—one open on top under the balloon and the other below, housing the boilers. Rather startlingly, the airship appeared to actually belong to her.
“How many can you hold?” Sophronia accepted this fact reluctantly and moved on.
“How many do you have?” The blonde was as annoying as ever, even as she made expert adjustments to the balloon’s height and propeller speed, to keep pace with the school.
“Two dozen sooties and one headmistress.”
“Twenty-six.” Monique calculated out loud.
“Twenty-five,” Sophronia corrected. “I’m staying here.”
“What? Why?” objected Dimity.
“I must crash the school.”
“No!” Dimity and Agatha gasped in shock.
“Has to be done—trust me. Monique? Can I start loading?”
“Yes, yes.” Monique was dismissive. “I’ll adjust the air ballasts. We should be fine. Sooties aren’t heavy.”
Agatha ran to the opposite edge of the gondola to help stabilize.
Sophronia realized, without too muc
h surprise, that Dimity and Agatha were acting as Monique’s crew. With Felix Mersey down below. The dirigible must belong to the Westminster Hive.
“Handle, you first,” Sophronia said.
“Right you are, miss.” Handle slithered out the hatch and down the rope ladder. Smokey Bones was a fluff of disgruntlement, riding his shoulder like a small angry figurehead.
“Is that a cat?” wondered Monique. “Oh, really.” But despite this verbal disgust, she looked on her furry passenger with unexpected affection. Sophronia would never have supposed Monique a cat lover, but when Handle marched over to get instructions, she made chirrup noises and scratched Smokey Bones under the chin. The cat narrowed yellow eyes but showed good sense and did not swipe at her.
The other sooties followed. A few collapsed against the gondola baffle. Most automatically headed below. It might be a smaller boiler room, but it was still a boiler room and they could make themselves useful.
Unfortunately, that meant Felix Mersey came up. He looked the same, perhaps more smudged than normal. Something was missing. Oh, yes, his waistcoat was plain with no gears sewn on. He lacked a brass ribbon about his top hat. In fact, he—shockingly—wore no hat at all. Fortunately for the state of the universe, he still wore a bit of kohl around his eyes.
“Ria, you’re hurt.” He looked up at her.
“Yes, but it’s not important. Dimity, is that everyone?”
“Only me left.” Mademoiselle Geraldine clasped Sophronia’s good hand as a man might shake his fellow’s after a night of carousing. “You are convinced that this is the only way?”
Sophronia was resolved. “I am.”
The headmistress handed over her ring of keys, gripping one small gold one. “This is the key you want. Open the box and toggle the switch.” She swung herself around and began laboriously to hop, one rung at a time, down the swaying ladder. She stopped with her head still in the hold. “Miss Temminnick?”
“Yes?”
“Congratulations. I pronounce you properly finished. Try to survive the next few hours.”
“Yes, Headmistress. Thank you, Headmistress.”
Felix and Dimity helped Mademoiselle Geraldine down the rest of the way.
“Now you, Ria.” Felix’s beautiful face was turned up to her. She had a tiny pang over what might have been. Such a pity about that whole betrayal thing. Too pretty. Too late.
Before Sophronia could disabuse him, Dimity climbed up the ladder.
Sophronia let her get all the way to the top.
“If you’re staying, I’m staying,” insisted the best of all possible friends.
“No.” Sophronia smiled despite the fact that it hurt.
“I’m trained, too, remember? You don’t need to protect me.”
“I know that. Look at you! Allied with Monique, come to my rescue. Of course you don’t require protection. That’s not it. I have something important, and I can only entrust it to you.”
Sophronia unbuttoned her man’s shirt, ignoring the gasps, and dug about in her cleavage, eventually producing her roll of torn notes from the Pickleman’s book. “Here. These are in code, but I’m convinced someone we know can crack it. I believe they are very important. They probably expose the whole of the Pickleman plot, or at least the worst bits.”
Dimity still hesitated.
“Take them.” Sophronia pressed them on her friend. “Make copies. Deliver them to anyone you think might listen. Take them to the popular press if need be. Try that new head of the Bureau of Unnatural Registry, Sidheag’s relation. I know she hates him, but he seems pretty upstanding—for a werewolf. I take it the dewan didn’t believe you when you asked for aid and Lord Akeldama wouldn’t interfere. So you went to the hive, and that’s why it’s Monique to the rescue?”
Dimity took the notes. “Couldn’t Agatha…?”
“No. Agatha works for Lord Akeldama, and Lord Akeldama likes to collect information, not share it. Monique works for the hive. The sooties don’t have any useful contacts. You’re the only one I trust. You have to stay safe. If I fail, you’re the only hope to get the truth out. Now, quickly, please tell me what happened with the mechanicals.”
“You know they were activated?”
“Bumbersnoot told me.”
“Domestics everywhere went crazy. Started tearing apart their houses. Not the walls and furniture, but anything steam powered or automated. Often each other. It was bizarre. People were terrified. Oh! And all the major mechanicals failed. Trains aren’t running. Ports are shut down. No one but us is floating. It’s chaos down there. Rumor is someone was killed. By a mechanical.”
Sophronia nibbled her bottom lip. “I figured it was something like. They’ve got a hold full of large angry mechanimals up here to finish the job.”
Dimity’s face went still. “Objective?”
“Probably toppling the government. It’s too much effort for anything less. How many steps removed do you think Felix’s father is from the throne of England?”
Dimity blanched. “He’s a duke… not enough.” She tucked the notes down her own cleavage, then rearranged her lace tuck to disguise the bulge. “I understand fully.”
And Sophronia knew, without having to explain further, that Dimity did, indeed, understand fully.
Face drawn and pale, her friend climbed back down.
“Will you come on?” yelled Monique.
“Dimity!” Sophronia shouted after her. “How’s Soap?”
Dimity smiled. “Bony boy. Tough transport, but he’s fine.”
“Catch.” Laboriously, Sophronia unhooked Bumbersnoot from where he dangled over her bad arm and tossed him down. She felt instantly lonely. It was as if he’d been hanging there most of her life—although it had only been three days.
Dimity caught him.
“I had to disassemble him a bit. Vieve can fix him. If I don’t make it, give him to Soap.”
Dimity’s big hazel eyes went wide at the very idea, but she nodded mutely. She looked like she wanted to cry but didn’t.
Monique and Agatha were engaged in a protracted conversation over the helm.
Next, Felix Mersey tried to climb up the ladder to Sophronia. She felt like an odd kind of Juliet, cursed with an overabundance of Romeos.
“I’m coming with you.” His tone was dramatically romantic.
“No, you most certainly are not.” Sophronia brandished her last piece of exploding fake food at him threateningly.
“But you’re badly hurt. You need help.”
“Not your help. You cannot be trusted.”
Obstinately, he continued to climb.
“Dimity, a little assistance, if you would be so kind?” Sophronia summoned reinforcements.
Dimity reached up and grabbed Felix by the foot with both hands, twisting it sharply.
“Ow!” the boy objected. “What’d you do that for?”
“Get down here this minute, young man.” Dimity sounded remarkably like Sophronia’s mother in a temper. A glimpse into Dimity’s future, should she find that nice innocuous parliamentarian and settle down.
Felix looked like he might try to continue up, although Dimity’s grip had to hurt.
Sophronia decide the food didn’t appear threatening enough. She put it away and whipped out her bladed fan. She’d lost the leather guard at some point. It looked quite deadly.
Felix climbed back down. “You’re a hardhearted female.”
“What are you even doing here?” Sophronia did not hide her exasperation.
He gave a little involuntary glance at Monique. There seemed to be some kind of arrangement between them. An odd and horrible thought occurred to Sophronia. Could he, all along, have been Westminster Hive’s inside agent at Bunson’s and within the Picklemen? Was his loyalty to his father faked? Rich, titled, beautiful—if he survived, he’d make for a good vampire. He had everything he wanted in life except immortality. And if he’d kept this hidden from her all along, he was also a very good actor.
Moniqu
e passed the helm over to Agatha, picked up and strapped to her back a large carpetbag, and then started to climb the ladder.
Sophronia was getting tired of arguing. And, of all people, she’d be happiest with Monique. Never would she admit it out loud, but at least she knew Monique’s motives and in what ways she couldn’t be trusted. And, quite frankly, if they went down with the ship, she wouldn’t feel guilty on Monique’s behalf.
“Very well,” Sophronia said.
The beautiful blonde hoisted herself nimbly in through the hatch, tugging up the rope ladder behind her.
“You think Agatha can handle your precious ship without you?”
“No, but she’ll get the thing down in one piece, and that’s all that matters. You look awful, Miss Temminnick.”
“Thank you, Miss Pelouse.” Ah, familiar ground.
“Two black eyes? You always were an overachiever.”
Sophronia grinned and then stopped. It hurt too much. “It’s a gift.”
“So, what’s the plan?”
Sophronia grunted. “Activate the soldier mechanicals and fire on the ship.”
“Not a very complicated plan. How about we turn on all the gas in the hallways as we go up? More explosive that way.”
“I like the way you think,” said Sophronia before she realized what she’d said.
“I always hated this school.” Monique wrinkled her perfect little nose. “Spent a lot of time imagining ways to destroy it.”
“Now I see why you wanted to come aboard.”
“Pure joy of it,” finished the blonde with a sneer. “Let’s get to it, then.”
“What’s in the carpetbag?”
“Options.” Monique was annoyingly mysterious.
Sophronia didn’t know what to think about that. Was Monique to be trusted? Probably not. But some things must be taken on faith. She probably did want to destroy the airship. Monique was simply a hard guardian angel to swallow.
Manners & Mutiny Page 23