Unfortunately, her reports were unsatisfactory. “The ball is all she talks of,” she kept saying, and, “When can I stop?”
Then a few evenings later, when Dimity and Sophronia were getting ready for sleep, a demure knock sounded at their door. Dimity, in her nightgown, squeaked and dove for her bed. Sophronia, still dressed, went to answer.
It was Agatha. “Sorry to disturb you so late, but… Monique’s gone.”
“What?”
“I did like you suggested and went to her room just now, pretending I wanted that necklace back. Preshea tried to hide the fact, but Monique’s not there. She’s definitely snuck off. I think it has something to do with a message she got earlier. One of the mechanicals delivered it and she went all red.”
“Oh, goodness. Thank you, Agatha!”
Agatha shuffled away. Sophronia closed the door and headed for her wardrobe.
“You’re going after her?” asked Dimity.
“Here I was, proud all this time that I was out regularly, climbing the hull, visiting sooties, and spying on teachers, not even thinking Monique might be doing the same! She had permission to be out the other night, but I never thought she was a sneak like me….”
“Be fair, she can hardly be visiting sooties.”
“Good point. Oh, none of this will work!” Sophronia slammed her wardrobe door. “I’m going to visit Sidheag. It’s time to follow Vieve’s example.”
“What…?”
Before Dimity could finish her question, Sophronia was away.
She knocked on Agatha and Sidheag’s door, hoping to be let in before Preshea noticed. When Sidheag opened it, Sophronia pushed past and closed the door quickly behind her.
“Sidheag, I need to borrow clothes.”
Sidheag blinked. “Now? It’s one in the morning.”
“So?”
“Nothing I have could possibly fit you. You’re shorter and curvier.”
“Not dresses, silly. I need boys’ clothes. I thought you might have some.”
“What?”
Agatha looked up from the vanity, where she was brushing her hair. “You’re going after her, aren’t you?”
“Yes. And if she’s climbing, I have to climb faster. It’s time to get rid of skirts. Now, Sidheag? Please hurry.”
Sidheag grinned. “How sensible of you.” She dove for her wardrobe, which was in an unholy state. The act of opening the door caused a straw bonnet, a parasol, and a patchwork goose to fall out on her head. The taller girl barely noticed, batting away hats, gloves, and a single red stocking like so many gnats. She ruffled through the contents, hurling items behind her in a deliciously enthusiastic way.
Agatha gave a whimper of distress. Her side of the room was neat as a new penny.
“Aha!” Sidheag resurfaced, triumphant, with a pair of tweed jodhpurs, of the type country squires use for hunting, and a wrinkled man’s shirt.
Agatha helped Sophronia out of her day gown and petticoats. Sophronia pulled on the trousers, buttoning the front and tucking her chemise in at the top. They were scandalously tight about the derriere. She put on the shirt, pushing up the sleeves. For the first time in her life, she was finding it easy to dress herself. Vieve might have something in this garb. But then, she supposed, that was because she was wearing a rather pedestrian outfit. True gentlemen need a valet to help with the cravat.
Sidheag gave her a funny look. “You’re leaving on your stays?”
“Of course! I haven’t lost all sense of propriety!”
Sidheag snorted. “Corsets constrict movement. I always take mine off when I wear that outfit.”
Sophronia gasped. “Bare?”
“We’ve been over this before—raised by werewolves, remember? What do you think they do before they change shape?”
Agatha gasped, then whispered softly, “You’ve seen men with no clothing?”
Sophronia tried to stop herself from blushing, remembering her illicit observation of swimming sooties.
Sidheag did not look ashamed. “Of course, silly.”
Agatha took a deep breath and then blurted, “What’s it like… when they… you know…?”
“The shape-shift? Gruesome. All the bones break and then re-form into wolf shape. Most of them howl in pain. There’s a reason it’s called a curse.”
Sidheag was going to make Agatha say it out loud. The redhead whispered, “No, what’s a man like down there?”
“Oh.” Sidheag wrinkled her nose. “Unimpressive. They have,” she gestured toward her own nether regions with one hand, “a sort of dangly sausage—lacks tailoring.”
Sophronia blinked in surprise. That sounded worse than Sidheag’s description of a werewolf shift. She hadn’t seen any of the sooties that close up. “Really?”
“Yes, like it wasn’t fitted into its casing properly. And hairy.” Sidheag was enjoying shocking them.
Agatha thought Sidheag was pulling her leg. “I don’t believe you.”
Sophronia interrupted this fascinating subject. “Ladies, thank you very much for your help. But I really must be off.” She managed a creditable bow, scuttling away before Sidheag could say anything more licentious.
WIELDING A BALLISTIC EXPLODING STEAM MISSILE FIRE PRONG
It was much easier to climb about the airship in masculine garb; Sophronia regretted not trying it sooner. True, petticoats had saved her life once, but this! This was liberty. She resolved, once they reached London, to acquire gentleman’s dress, upper- and lower-class. Plus a fake mustache. Where does one purchase a mustache in London? Fleet Street? Not that she would ever wear such things in public, but for midnight jaunts to visit sooties, why be modest?
She skirted the outside of the residential areas, then the classrooms, and soon she was outside the tassel section. It was a bit challenging to climb surrounded by a cloud of dense white damp. Twice her foot slipped, and she thought fondly of gentleman’s riding boots and then wondered if that might be taking things too far. Footwear, after all, was a serious commitment.
She moved as quickly as she could; with all the white she wouldn’t know she’d found Monique until she was right on top of her. Then, as Sophronia was jumping from one balcony to another, she caught a flicker of skirts above her doing the same.
The blonde was heading toward the upper front starboard section of teacher residences. Sophronia knew the area well, even which balconies belonged to which teachers. She usually avoided them assiduously.
She took out her grappling rope and swung it up onto a balcony above. It caught and hooked. She shimmied up—so much easier in trousers!—and retracted the hurlie, taking a moment to run her hand along the railing. There were little scrapes and nicks—some fresh, some ancient—indicating other grappling hooks had been used. Why should I be surprised? This is a school of espionage, after all. She swung, hurlied, and climbed up another level so that she was above Monique and could follow her from there.
Monique was not the most graceful climber. She was wearing an evening dress and was hindered by the length and fullness of her skirts. Even at her most prudish, Sophronia wore her shortest dress with only one or two petticoats when climbing. Nevertheless, Monique moved as if she did it regularly and was following a pattern. She did not look around to see if she was being pursued. Eventually, she stopped at a balcony, climbed over the railing, and knocked on the door. All the other quarters nearby had attractive French doors with stained glass. Professor Lefoux’s glass was all gears in grays and blues, Lady Linette’s was roses in reds and pinks, and Sister Mattie’s was vines and flowers in greens and yellows.
This door had no glass, and the porthole window to the room was blacked over—Professor Braithwope’s rooms. Vampires did not like sunlight, and floating high above cloud cover, the sun beat down on Mademoiselle Geraldine’s more than anywhere else in England.
The door swung open, and Monique entered the vampire’s nest.
Sophronia made her way over. It was a risk, but the only way to listen was via the cracks in that door. She’d have to be particularly quiet, given Professor Braithwope’s supernatural hearing. Hopefully, Monique would be talking loudly about herself, as usual.
Sophronia hooked her grapple over the railing, then unstrapped and lowered the wristband end of the hurlie, careful to let the excess come to rest without slapping. Then she swung herself over and by slow degrees climbed down.
Her weekly visits to the sooties and other extracurricular excursions had given her arm muscles no young lady of quality ought to have. She’d had to let out the seams on most of her sleeves. Thus far, no one had noticed. She was certain to get a lecture on her diet if Sister Mattie did. Mademoiselle Geraldine’s young ladies were not supposed to become portly.
Sophronia attained the balcony and padded to the door. Taking out her ear trumpet, she pressed it against the crack between the hinges.
“… there must be something you can do!” Monique’s tone was wheedling.
“I’m afraid not. She is not my queen, even were I hive bound, whot. The words of a rove hold little weight. It’s too bad you gave Lady Linette a reason to send you down. You pushed her too far with that prototype business, and then poor testing marks. They have a legitimate excuse that can be justified to the trustees, and your parents.”
“But I’ve given you years of my blood!”
Monique is Professor Braithwope’s drone, Sophronia realized. Somehow she wasn’t surprised. He would be a perfect advocate. It was a little creepy that he fed on a student. But then again, the very idea of him sticking those fangs into anyone’s neck was creepy.
“Nothing I can do about it, whot. You should have stayed in everyone’s good graces until this Giffard nonsense passed, as I instructed. I will have a better standing with all hives after. Now, you must leave the ship as soon as you come out. Our contract together ends the moment we land in London.”
I wonder if Professor Braithwope is the reason we’re called to town, Sophronia thought. It would make perfect sense. He is the only teacher who can’t travel there on his own. The whole school has to go with him. He is, after all, tethered to the airship.
Professor Braithwope’s tone became almost kindly. “You are more connected to her than I at this point, whot. After all, I did not authorize the redistribution of the prototype; you undertook that at her private request.”
“You thwarted me and them in that matter,” said Monique. “They aren’t happy with either of us.”
Sophronia rubbed at her forehead, trying to make her brain’s inner cogs tumble smoothly. Last autumn, when Monique tried to steal the prototype, Sophronia had thought she was working for the government. This conversation indicated that Monique was working for a vampire hive instead. If they wanted the prototype valve then, did they still want it? Goodness, I wish Vieve would tell me what that newer one from the oddgob was for. Is it still all about communication across distances? Or do the mini ones do something more sinister?
“Hence the reason I do this test with Giffard,” said Professor Braithwope.