“Why aren’t you firing, Professor Braithwope?” A French-accented and imperious question came from Sophronia’s right. Professor Lefoux appeared out of a nearby hatch, all angles and disapproval.
“No just cause,” explained Lady Linette.
“But those are criminals out there. Flywaymen. We need no other cause.”
“Patience, Beatrice. We must understand what they want of us.”
“We know what they want! They want the prototype!”
“Did you get the location out of Monique?”
“No, she’s closed-lipped, that one. Some of her lessons she learned well.”
“So?”
“So I punted her down to debut status. We shall see if the boredom of relearning everything with the new girls loosens her tongue.” Sophronia did not like the sound of that. It meant Monique would be in all her classes!
One of the flywaymen hoisted something to the edge of his dinghy.
Professor Braithwope tensed and pointed the crossbow toward the airdinghies.
“Not yet,” said Lady Linette.
The flywaymen’s object made a loud sput and fired. A white mass hurtled toward them and landed with a splat against the side of the deck near Professor Braithwope.
The professor began to cough and fan the front of his face frantically while backing away at the same time. He was wheezing, and his eyes were tearing up.
The ladies, however, did not seem to feel any ill effects. Professor Lefoux approached and bent over to examine the white substance.
“Garlic mash,” she said, without emotion.
“That’s simply petty!” said Lady Linette. “Are you handling the exposure well enough, Professor?”
He sneezed at her.
Professor Lefoux occupied herself with kicking the mashed garlic into a pile and then covering it over with a handkerchief.
Through his wheezing, Professor Braithwope said, “Now can I target them?” His tiny crossbow was up. All the while, the mechanicals’ little cannons remained trained on him. The mechanicals, at least, considered him the greatest threat. Must be the mustache, thought Sophronia.
“No, no. That was only a warning shot, meant to discombobulate.”
“Whot? Warning, you say? Achoo! Well, it worked.” Professor Braithwope rubbed at his eyes with his free hand.
Sophronia watched in fascination as one of the airdinghies hoisted a white flag on the end of a mop and approached even closer. The small airship wafted one direction and then the next, as if confused.
“They want to parley?” Professor Lefoux was incredulous.
“Let them. We shall see what they have to say.”
When the dinghy was only a few lengths away, the flywaymen inside mounted a catapult onto the carrier basket edge and hurled something else at the squeak deck.
It landed with a clatter and rolled across the planks, coming to rest against the base of one of the mechanicals. The object unfurled, revealing that it was also a mechanical, only much smaller than the ones standing guard. It was not human-looking at all, nor any attempt at human-looking. It had four legs—four very short legs—and a small, spiky tail. Steam emanated slightly from its underbelly, and smoke came out from under its leather earflaps. It looked a little like one of those sausage dogs the Germans were so fond of.
“Mechanimal!” yelled Lady Linette. “Everybody hide!”
Sophronia took refuge behind one of the defensive mechanicals, as did the two female teachers. Professor Braithwope did not obey the command. He stood firm. His sneezing subsided and his crossbow remained trained on the airdinghy.
The sausage dog didn’t seem to understand the fear it caused. It trotted hopefully up to Professor Braithwope, mechanical tail wagging back and forth in perfect clockwork rhythm—tick-tock, tick-tock.
Upon reaching the professor, the mechanimal stopped, and then—Sophronia blushed—it squatted down and emitted a tube of glass out its backside.
Professor Braithwope stared and then bent down, retrieved the tube, and stood, all without relaxing his arm. He was clearly unwilling to let go of the crossbow, so he pulled the cork stopper out of the tube with his teeth. The stopper caught and stuck on one of them, but he didn’t notice. Inside the tube was a tiny roll of paper with a printed message.
Deciding there was no apparent danger from the mechanimal, the two lady teachers reemerged.
“Well,” demanded Lady Linette, “what does it say?”
Professor Braithwope began to read, but his words were garbled by the cork. “Ith sayth thath—”
“Professor, you have something stuck on your fang,” hissed Lady Linette, clearly embarrassed for the man.
“Whoth? Whoth?”
Professor Lefoux reached forward and tugged off the offending cork.
Professor Braithwope read out, “It says that they want the prototype. They are giving us three weeks to produce it, after which they will return with reinforcements.”
“Absurd! What kind of reinforcements could flywaymen possibly have?” Professor Lefoux blustered.
Lady Linette was not so dismissive. “If they were being paid enough…”
“You think the Picklemen are behind this, whot?” Professor Braithwope swirled the little note between his long white fingers.
“Who else?” said Professor Lefoux, and then she added, “On the positive end of things, if they are threatening us, it means they haven’t got it. No one’s got it. Wherever Monique hid it, she hid it from everyone.”
“Trained her too well, whot?” Professor Braithwope let out a self-deprecating chuckle.
“Little pitchers have big ears,” said Lady Linette, nodding to where Sophronia still skulked behind a mechanical.
Sophronia came out, wondering what was required of her. Nothing, apparently, as the adults went back to ignoring her. She remained wildly curious about the prototype, but unfortunately, nothing else about it was mentioned.
Professor Braithwope waved the message at the flywaymen in the airdinghy nearest them and then doffed his hat with a free thumb.
Taking this as a dismissal, the whole parade of tiny airships turned and drifted lazily away.
“Three weeks,” muttered Lady Linette. “Suggested course of action?”
“Leave the real one be for now; the girl’s clearly hidden it well enough, whot?”
“We might provide them with a temporary surrogate,” suggested Professor Lefoux.
“That is a good idea. Do you think you could?” Lady Linette turned to her compatriot.
“I don’t see why not. I have old blueprints of a previous model.”
“Capital. Put some of the older girls on to it, too, do them good, whot? Then we can get Bunson’s to put the beastie together.” Professor Braithwope nodded, smiling a tight-lipped smile. He handed Lady Linette the tube and message and disarmed the dart from his little crossbow. The defensive mechanicals all around them instantly lowered their cannons and closed the hatches in their chests.
Professor Braithwope returned to the brass box, opened it, and switched the lever inside. With a whir of gears, the mechanicals all trundled away. He then returned to Professor Lefoux’s side and offered her his arm. “What initial material approach do you think best?”
“Well, I suspect magnetized steel might be the most emulatory. Copper could also work. We should get the furnace heated immediately.”
“Steel, whot? Capital idea. Capital.”
The two moved toward the exit hatch, Professor Lefoux looming over her diminutive male escort. Sophronia watched them go in bemusement.
“Well, that was rather a plump. I do apologize, Miss Temminnick. I assure you things aren’t generally this much—well, much. If you’d like to follow me, I’ll see you settled.” Lady Linette dismissed the whole occurrence with a little toss of her head.
Sophronia hesitated, and then—because everyone seemed to have forgotten him and he looked so forlorn—she scooped up the sausage dog mechanimal and hid him in her large pinafore pocket. Then she trailed after her new teacher.
Music teacher, she thought, looking at the full skirts of Lady Linette’s lavender dress. And I’m Queen of the Vampires.
Of course, the next day, when it finally came time for lessons, Sophronia was to find Lady Linette sitting at a pianoforte, playing scales.
THE REAL MEANING OF FINISHING
Miss Temminnick, you share this parlor with the other debuts. Now, ladies,” Lady Linette said, looking at the four girls before her, “this is Miss Temminnick. I’m certain you will make her welcome. She is now ready to learn more about our educational institution.” With that, Lady Linette whirled away to devote her time to more pressing matters.
Sophronia stood awkwardly in the center of the room. Most of the girls before her were younger than she, and all of them were better dressed. For the first time, she actually felt a twinge of concern about the modishness of her attire. Critical sisters were one thing, but these young ladies were elegant, with opinions more important than those of mere sisters. She reached inside her pinafore pocket and produced the little sausage dog.
“Is that all you brought with you? A mechanimal?” This was said by a mocking voice with clipped elocution, as if each word were being prematurely assassinated.
The girl behind the voice was tiny, with a mass of tightly curled black hair and a heart-shaped face set in a morose expression. She was, unfortunately, beautiful. Sophronia’s only consolation was that the girl had a decidedly low nose. Sitting next to her was a wholesome redhead with freckles quite beyond Sophronia’s own—somewhat of a relief, that—who glanced with shy interest at the mechanimal and then focused her attention on her own shoes. Next to her sat Dimity. The last girl, who was not seated, was an angular, mannish creature, her posture slouched and her dress ill-fitting. She was occupied in chewing on a stick and sneering at them all from the far corner of the room.
“Sophronia! Where did you get that?” Dimity bounced to her feet and came dashing up to exclaim over the mechanimal. She had changed clothing, presumably having borrowed a dress. She’d kept on her garish jewelry, however, and found a gown of sea green that strained to balloon over her many petticoats.
“I happened upon him during a recent excursion to a squeak deck. I thought I’d call him Bumbersnoot.”
“Goodness me, why?” Dimity patted the metal dog on the top of his head with two fingers, not convinced. Bumbersnoot puffed out some smoke, flapping his little leather ears. Dimity started back.
“Why not?” Sophronia looked over at the pretty girl with the mocking voice. “And, unfortunately, he is indeed all I have with me. We had a bit of an upset with the luggage on our way in.”
“Which I told you all about,” said Monique de Pelouse, appearing in the room from one of the bedchambers. The room was set up like a proper drawing room, most unlike what Sophronia expected in a school.
Dimity looked like she’d swallowed something sour. Apparently Monique was still lying about the rescue.
“Oh, yes, indeed you did, Miss Pelouse,” said the pretty one with the mocking voice. “So exciting.”
“We aren’t allowed personal mechanicals.” Monique tilted her blonde head, eyes narrowing. Sophronia noticed her hair was now up and styled, and that without the wig and face paint she was quite beautiful, if a little aristocratically horsey. Too many teeth.