Sophronia saw blood splatter everywhere. Top hats and flywayman scarves went flying. Madame Spetuna flew into the air, like a child tossed by an enthusiastic uncle.
And the window through which Sophronia was looking shattered outward into her face.
Sophronia jerked back, so shocked by the blast she let go of her perch and fell off the side of the dirigible.
Instinct had her shooting her hurlie at the side of the ship, grabbing on to the rope. Good thing, too, as she couldn’t see anything. There was something in her eyes—she could only hope it was mostly her own blood and not glass. Thankfully, the hooks of the hurlie found purchase on some protrusion stable enough to support her weight. Then her arms were jerked almost out of their sockets and she crashed into the side of the ship, face-first.
The dark red of pain shredded through her brain, and then, blessedly, a bleak vacant black.
FALLING DOWN ON THE JOB
Sophronia had no idea how long she dangled, but it must have been a very long time.
When she awoke, the arm from which she hung—upon which she wore the hurlie—was entirely numb. Her face hurt like nothing she’d ever experienced before. A tender touch with her working hand suggested her nose was likely broken and much of her skin sliced by glass. She tried not to think about the consequences of scarring. Any future as an agent provocateur would definitely be impossible. She was thirsty and hungry, yet stomach-sick from the scene before she fell: Madame Spetuna exploding. All that blood. It was almost as painful as her shoulder out of its socket.
Mademoiselle Geraldine must have taken out the two guns on the squeak decks, or surely they would have seen her. At least Sophronia hadn’t become a target while she dangled.
Every part of her hurt—belly, head, face, back, arms—but what could she do? No one was going to rescue her. She had to ignore the pain and get herself to Sister Mattie’s classroom to rendezvous with the headmistress and the vampire. And she had to do it by climbing, for she’d given Mademoiselle Geraldine her obstructor. Sophronia and climbing, under normal circumstances, were old chums. But now? The very idea made her want to scream.
When asked afterward, Sophronia never could articulate how she made that nightmare of a climb. Somehow she traversed two-thirds of the ship with eyes partly closed from the hit to her face—thank goodness the glass hadn’t blinded her—and only one working arm. It made her rethink all previous hardships in her life. I’ll never complain of cold tea again.
Eventually, she made it to Sister Mattie’s balcony, collapsing in a heap among the potted plants. She was grateful for the leaves canopied over her, an odd kind of protection. The sky was turning gray beyond them, the sun soon to rise. Never in her life had it taken so long to climb anywhere. She hoped fervently that there was a vampire in residence to carry her to safety, because as she crawled with one arm toward the balcony door, she was convinced she would never walk again.
The door was locked and bolted. She knocked, but no one answered. She fumbled in her pocket for lockpicks, but the world seemed to be turning fuzzy as well as gray. Now her good hand wasn’t working, either. And then she found, to her surprise and embarrassment, that she was lying flat on her stomach, shaking. She wondered, around an odd buzzing in her brain, if she was the first to arrive. Shouldn’t the others have completed their tasks hours ago? Was it possible that they were in worse trouble than she?
And then she wasn’t wondering anything at all. She was sliding down a long soft peaceful tunnel into a numb sleep.
A loud shriek, like an upset teakettle, woke Sophronia. Disorientated, she jerked, only then registering the pain shooting through her body.
Ouch. Wait, is that me shrieking?
No, it was coming from her stomach.
All right, not her stomach but the hard warm body tucked up against her ribs.
Bumbersnoot!
Sophronia extracted the screaming mechanimal with her working arm, flopping like a fish because she was lying on his strap. Every movement was agony. She tried to concentrate on which parts hurt most, where the serious damage might be. Her face seemed particularly bad.
I’m sunburned was her first thought. That’s why my face is throbbing. The sun was beating down, although the potted plants were doing their best to protect her. They must be floating high enough to be above the clouds. Oh, no, I’ll get freckles and Lady Linette will be so disappointed.
Automatically, she fumbled with Bumbersnoot, trying to stop his noise.
Only one working arm? Did I misplace my shoulder? How careless.
Vieve had never shown her how to shut Bumbersnoot’s alarm off. Finally, Sophronia resorted to popping open the casing to his miniature boilers and dumping all the steaming water unceremoniously out onto the deck. With a smoky sigh, the mechanimal went silent. His tail tick-tocked ever more slowly until he was perfectly still.
Sophronia collapsed next to him. I know how you feel.
One small part of her brain realized that if any enemy was outside within hearing distance, they would come looking for the source of that noise. But she no longer cared. There wasn’t any part of her that didn’t hurt, including, now, her ears, which were ringing with the aftereffects of Bumbersnoot’s alarm.
The Picklemen have activated the valves. Apparently the espionage side of her brain refused to stop functioning. Perhaps it was like Bumbersnoot’s tail, the last to stop. We must be up as high as they need.
The door to the balcony banged open. Sophronia hadn’t enough energy to lift her head. Depression hit her. What matter if they find me now?
“Oh, it’s only you,” said a jocular boy’s voice. A shadow fell over her and his tone became high-pitched with concern. “Miss, what on earth happened to you?”
Sophronia groaned, finally remembering the events of the previous night. Fortunately, her jaw seemed to be working. “Exploded wicker chicken. Fell.”
Handle’s worried face appeared in her blurry field of view. “Was that you, making that squawk?”
“Not exactly. Help me inside, please?” She might have wondered what he was doing there, but her brain was only able to cope with one thing at a time. Right now it was busy remembering.
The sootie tutted and began to drag her inside—by her shoulders.
Sophronia suppressed a scream. It came out as a hoarse moaning cough. For the first time in her life, fainting genuinely appealed.
Handle let go of her.
Sophronia rolled onto her side and began to retch against the cool dirty wood of the deck. She hadn’t eaten in a long time, so nothing came out. Saved from one humiliation.
“Oh, miss. Himself will never forgive me for this.”
“What could you do?” Sophronia was weighed down with her own guilt. “You were under the whip. I’m sorry I couldn’t come for you first. Had to be stealthy. Best possible plan.”
“’Course you couldn’t, miss. Don’t talk waffle—sooties have been through worse. Now, how to get you in?”
“It’s not at all dignified, but you’d best drag me by my feet.”
Handle did so, and thus managed to get her inside Sister Mattie’s chamber.
Sophronia pulled the partly disassembled Bumbersnoot carcass in her wake. She half expected to find other sooties waiting for her, sitting around in the student chairs wearing bonnets and acting the farce of lessons. I must be delirious.