“Now, Dimity, you know I’m not the kind to seek revenge.”
“Not entirely.”
“What are you girls up to?” demanded Pillover. “I wouldn’t say I like old Shrimps, but he’s not the worst of our teachers, that’s the truth.”
Sophronia puffed out her cheeks. “It isn’t personal. He knows too much, and I have an arrangement that requires I remove him from his current position.”
Pillover put it together. “Vieve! She wants to attend Bunson’s but he knows she’s a she.”
Dimity was shocked. “Oh, Sophronia, no. She can’t be allowed. What if she’s found out? The humiliation! Her aunt can’t possibly entertain such a madcap scheme.”
“If Vieve manages to arrange it so that no one knows, then Professor Lefoux has given her permission. I think her aunt is annoyed they don’t allow ladies to be official evil geniuses. You should know how aggravating that is, with your mother.”
Dimity looked like she didn’t want to believe it. “But I thought Professor Lefoux was so proper.”
“She is French,” said Pillover, as if that could be used to explain all possible impropriety.
“How’d Vieve get you involved?” Dimity demanded.
Sophronia smiled slyly. “I get her gadgets when she leaves.”
Dimity sighed. “I should tell Lord Felix Mersey that the way to your heart is paved with infiltration apparatus.”
Sophronia pretended horror. “Don’t you dare! I like watching him struggle. He’s so handsome when he’s flustered.”
Pillover was disgusted. “Girls!”
A WELL-EXECUTED CHARACTER ASSASSINATION
Sophronia felt it would take only one more delicate push to topple Shrimpdittle. Sister Mattie had instructed them in the fine art of skin dying for subterfuge only a month earlier. Sophronia concocted a plan based on this information. It would involve breaking into a gentleman’s sleeping chamber but, if the professor was a solid sleeper, it shouldn’t be difficult.
Of course, Sophronia had no way of knowing how Professor Shrimpdittle slept. Ordinary character assassinations required considerable research on the victim prior to enactment. Sophronia hadn’t the time. She could only hope that given his fondness for wine, the man would slumber deeply.
Once she had possession of the obstructor, it was a simple matter to make her way to the teacher’s section. Vieve yielded up the device easily, knowing Sophronia was using it for The Cause. Sophronia paused at one juncture, after blasting a maid mechanical, reflecting that she had become quite relaxed about running about after hours. She ought to remember to stay on her guard, for it was when an illegal activity became easy that one was most at risk of exposure.
Professor Shrimpdittle’s guest rooms were in the forbidden red-tassel section. Sophronia thought she had chosen an hour late enough for everyone to be asleep. Except Professor Braithwope, of course. She rounded the corner to be confronted by a soldier mechanical, which she shot into stillness. Then, as she went to creep around it, she found the hallway occupied!
Someone in a long dressing gown and bed cap of matching emerald brocade walked down the hall and entered Professor Braithwope’s room. Without knocking, mind you! Impossible to tell whether the wearer was female or male, but it was most certainly not the vampire—too tall. A pox upon nondescript clothing, cursed Sophronia—in knickerbockers, corset, and men’s shirt. Is Monique still feeding him? It could be her, I suppose.
Sophronia was preparing to proceed when, of all people, Sister Mattie emerged from Mademoiselle Geraldine’s quarters and hurried down the hallway. Sophronia had to blast the soldier mechanical again, as she caught the telltale whirr of the machine ramping back into action.
She was thinking of aborting, the chances of discovery too great, but the gaslight from under the various doors went out, except Professor Braithwope’s. The quiet murmur of voices from his room indicated he and his guest were settled into conversation. So, with silent footsteps, grateful for the plush hallway carpet, Sophronia crept to the very last room.
Sophronia opened Professor Shrimpdittle’s door with her lock pick, automatically checking the jamb for cords, bells, sticky substances, or traps. Nothing. He really is an innocent. Closing it behind her, Sophronia’s eyes adjusted to the weak light of a white-misted moon. Professor Shrimpdittle snored loudly, in a gratifyingly deep sleep.
Sophronia crept over and removed a little perfume bottle from her cl**vage. Inside was a mixture of concentrated walnut dye and beet juice. It didn’t last long, but it would hold to the skin for a day or so even under strenuous washing, especially if it were left to sit several hours—while a man was asleep, for example.
Carefully, she touched the small end of the stopper to the teacher’s neck, light as could be. Twice. She examined her handiwork. It looked exactly as if it might be the mark left by vampire fangs. She fervently hoped that the man wouldn’t move and smear it while it dried. She hurried to the door and let herself out, mission accomplished.
“Well, well, what are you doing?”
Sophronia only just managed not to let out a shriek that would have awakened the entire front section of the airship. She whirled to find Madame Spetuna standing in the hallway, arms crossed. She’d lost several of her scarves and much of her accent. She looks younger, too.
At a loss, Sophronia curtsied. “Madame Spetuna, how do you do?”
The purported fortune-teller looked at the door Sophronia had shut. “Professor Shrimpdittle’s quarters, is it? What could you possibly have to do there?”
Sophronia didn’t answer.
“And you had me sew that button in his ear earlier as well. What are you up to, little covert recruit?”
She knows that, does she? “I might just as well ask what you are up to, Madame Spetuna.”
“Touché.”
They stood in the dark hallway, at an impasse.
“I have learned you are in possession of a mechanimal,” the fortune-teller said at last.
“How?” Knowing she was a covert recruit was one thing, but Sophronia had hoped the teachers knew nothing of Bumbersnoot.
The diminutive lady cocked her head to one side and raised an eyebrow.
Of course, if she was trained here, and she’s as good as I think she is, she would have sources of information beyond the teachers. “What’s it to you?”
“Let us make a bargain. You give me the mechanimal, and I will not reveal your infiltration of the tassel section.” Madame Spetuna gestured with one hand at the dark hallway.
“Why do you need him?”
“Let us say, I could use the status conferred upon owners of mechanimals.”
Sophronia speculated, “It would be a help if one wanted to gain the confidence of, say, flywaymen and Picklemen. They do have a penchant for mechanimals, don’t they?”
Another silence met that.
“You cannot have my mechanimal.”
The fortune-teller’s eyes narrowed. She cocked her head threateningly, like an angry rooster. A red fringed scarf about her neck contributed to the effect, looking like a wattle.
Sophronia added, “But you may borrow him for a time. Arrange to return him to me in, say, one week, and we have a deal.”
Madame Spetuna pursed her lips. “One month.”
“Two weeks.”
“Three.”
“Done.”
“And I want to know why you came on board to report in. What was so important you had to leave your post and abandon all those embroidered pillows?”
“My, my, you are a devious little thing, aren’t you?” Madame Spetuna made a decision. “I came to report that the flywaymen are assembling a float gather. This has not occurred in some fifty years. Also, they are allying formally with the Picklemen.”
“Which is why you need Bumbersnoot. This is an opportunity for you to trade up to a more significant position in sky ranking.”
“Bumbersnoot?”
“My mechanimal.”
Madame Spetuna inclined her head.
“Why are they gathering?”
“Giffard’s dirigible. If he can travel the aetherosphere, so could they.”
Sophronia wrinkled her nose. “They aren’t trying to kidnap my friend Dimity, are they?”
Madame Spetuna looked genuinely confused.
Sophronia nodded to herself. Either Madame Spetuna wasn’t high enough up to know, or the Picklemen weren’t revealing this plan to their flywaymen allies, or it wasn’t the Picklemen. Vampires, then?
“When can I get the mechanimal?” demanded Madame Spetuna.
“Tomorrow evening, in the boiler room,” said Sophronia.
“Done.”
“How do I know you won’t steal him forever?”
“You don’t.”
They parted, and Sophronia was left feeling both forlorn and triumphant, although her prevailing emotion was one of relief. She was wrung out, like wilted spinach. I’m losing my touch, she thought. I got caught! Her stomach sloshed. Confidence shaken, it took a long time to make her way back to her quarters.
By the next morning, however, Sophronia was more controlled. She went, during their brief free time before breakfast, hunting for Vieve.
The thing about Vieve was the scamp turned up when she pleased, and no one was entirely certain where she spent the bulk of her time. So when one was looking for Vieve, it could prove difficult to actually find her. Sophronia pestered the hall steward, one of the human staff members, into getting the word out that Vieve was wanted. And after searching for a bit, she gave up.
The younger girl appeared, dimpling excitedly, to escort her to breakfast an hour later. They hung back, despite Monique’s teasing, for a quick exchange. Sophronia shook her head quite firmly at Felix when the boy looked as if he would come over and take her arm. She indicated that she already had an escort, and even Lord Mersey was well mannered enough not to interfere. He did, however, look offended.
“Quickly,” said Sophronia. “Your Bunson’s plan is getting me into heaps of trouble. I’ve had to promise the loan of Bumbersnoot to a fortune-teller.”
Vieve gave her best effort at a guilty look.
Sophronia was not fooled—Vieve rarely felt guilty about anything. “Can you kit him out to emit a timed explosive? Set the timer for three weeks in the future, give her incentive to get him back to me quickly?”
“I won’t ask for the details.”
“Nor should you. Well, can you?”
Vieve scrunched up her nose. “Explosives aren’t my strongest suit. It’s ridiculously difficult to acquire them when one is only ten. Then again, I could link something under pressure to his own functionality, get the viscosity of the oil down enough to begin a gradual buildup.” Her forehead wrinkled. “You’d have to shut him down and clean him out if you got him back early.”
“Show me how?”
“Of course.”
“The boiler room, this evening?”
Vieve nodded and then skittered off.
At breakfast Professor Shrimpdittle was red-eyed and panicky, with a very high cravat tied about his neck.