Sidheag nodded vigorously. Dimity shrugged. Agatha looked at the floor.
Dimity said, “Mummy and Daddy have arguments like this. When Daddy says something like that, Mummy calls him a Pickleman.”
Sophronia nodded. “Well, I haven’t taken sides yet.”
Agatha said, “Oh, dear, are there sides?”
“Very likely. Speaking of your parents, Dimity, they haven’t upset anyone recently, have they? Anyone important or powerful? On either side, perhaps?”
Dimity frowned. “I don’t think so, why? Oh, because of that odd thing with Lord Dingleproops’s letter? You think someone might be trying to influence my parents through me?”
“It’s one explanation.”
“I don’t know.” Dimity brightened. “I shall write and ask them directly. Or better, I’ll get Pillover to do it. They will be delighted he’s finally taken an interest in something besides Latin verse. They might even tell him something truthful. I think they gave up on me when I announced my ‘hankies for hackneys’ good works plan.”
“What?” Sophronia was distracted.
“London cabbies are so very often under the weather,” said Dimity with a sniff. “One does what one can.”
“Oh, well, yes. And getting Pillover to write, good idea.” Sophronia was determined to be nice and not to take Dimity for granted ever again. Especially with the possibility that Dimity’s time at Mademoiselle Geraldine’s was soon to end. Even if Dimity had some harebrained scheme about hankies.
Sophronia remembered last evening, when she and Vieve had spied on Professors Lefoux and Shrimpdittle. “I think Monique is somehow in on it, too. I know she’s been crowing about this ball of hers, but she’s at least involved in Professor Lefoux’s experiment as an errand girl. We should run an infiltration on her.”
Dimity nodded. They’d taken instruction recently from Lady Linette in the planning of provocational action. Time to put lessons to use.
“She’ll not believe it, if it were me,” said Dimity.
Sophronia agreed. “Nor Sidheag.” The taller girl looked up at her name. “You would never change your personality so drastically as to be interested in a ball. You might betray us, but not for an invitation.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” said Sidheag.
“It’ll have to be Agatha,” said Dimity.
Sophronia and Sidheag looked doubtful. Agatha was definitely their weakest link.
The redhead looked back and forth between them with dread in her eyes. “Oh, dear, scheming. I was afraid this would happen if we got chummy again.”
Sophronia hunkered down conspiratorially. “You’re the only possible choice, Agatha. You need to infiltrate Monique’s group.”
“Wait! What? Me?”
“Yes, simply pretend you really want an invitation to her blasted ball. Start lurking on the fringes. Keep an eye on her,” instructed Sophronia.
“Then report back to us with the details!” added Dimity triumphantly.
“Oh, I don’t know about this.” Agatha’s eyes were huge in distress.
“You don’t have to do anything, only watch.” Sidheag tried to be reassuring.
“It’ll be good for you, Agatha. Show the teachers you’ve got acumen.” Dimity was optimistic.
Agatha brightened. “Oh, do you think it might?” Unlike Sidheag and Dimity, Agatha actually wanted to stay at Mademoiselle Geraldine’s—to please her papa.
“And,” added Dimity brightly, “it might net you an invitation to the ball.”
That was not the right tactic. Agatha looked terrified at the possibility.
Sophronia said hurriedly, “Oh, I don’t think Monique would, no matter what you did. I shouldn’t worry about that, Agatha.”
“Oh, good.”
“So, are you game?” prodded Dimity, titillated at the prospect of gossip.
Agatha straightened and looked pugnacious. “I’ll do my best!”
Sophronia didn’t expect much to come of it, but Agatha did try. She began, with remarkable subtlety, to lurk among Monique’s followers. She inched her way down to that end of the table at meals. She offered to loan Monique her jewelry. Agatha had a great deal of nice jewelry, the real stuff, unlike Dimity.
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.