The dirigible was designed to float easily and with minimal effort, not to withstand a train-sized battering ram. The gondola was only made of thin wood, and splintered around the locomotive much as the custard and strawberries had once done over Mrs. Barnaclegoose’s favorite bonnet.
They thrust easily through the one-room interior of the dirigible, leaving bits of propeller, small steam engine parts, and wood scraps scattered behind. The train didn’t even try to derail.
The balloon section, suddenly free of a deal of weight, bobbed upward, swaying wildly from side to side.
Dimity gasped. “Would you look at that?”
Like some strange form of fruit from a floating trifle, the heart of the flywaymen’s dirigible spilled forth vast numbers of crystalline valve frequensors. Hundreds of them scattered everywhere. They must have been all set up, below the airship deck, in hundreds of little cradles, all linked to one big aetherographic transmitter. It explained everything, including why the airship could only boast a skeletal crew—the weight alone!
The frequensors, which were like faceted milky glass, sparkled, rolling everywhere. Some fractured into thousands of pieces, some were smashed under the wheels of the train as it completed its destructive charge and emerged unscathed, leaving carnage in its wake. Again, thought Sophronia, not unlike me and that trifle.
The dirigible’s balloon, along with the top portion of what remained of the gondola, bobbed higher. Sophronia and Dimity stuck their heads out their respective doors; Dimity, pushing Monique carelessly aside as if she were a curtain, craned to look behind. Monique was still screaming, but that might be due to the indignity of being treated like drapery.
Dimity yelled, “The duke has left Lord Mersey and is trying to collect prototypes—sorry—frequensors. Oh, dear, it’s as if he’s lost his marbles.”
Sophronia said, “I wager the pickled duke is none too pleased and is going to demand an explanation from his son.”
Sidheag looked at her, face somber. “Will Felix rat us out?”
“I begged him not to.” It was the best answer Sophronia could give, because she didn’t know. Would her Piston beau reveal who they were and where they came from?
Soap said, monotone, concentrating on the track in front of them, though it was clear now and not worthy of such focus, “Don’t have much faith in your sweetheart, there, do you?”
Sophronia said, “I’ve no illusions as to my consequence. If forced to choose between me and family, I don’t know if he has the backbone to go up against the duke. I hadn’t the right to ask that of him. Why should he do that for me? We’ve no formal engagement. I tried to encourage change, but in the end a man can’t be blamed for his nature.”
Soap still did not turn. “Perhaps someday you will apply that same sentiment to me,” he murmured.
Sophronia was startled by the idea.
The train let out a puff of smoke and Soap tooted the horn merrily. They picked up more speed on a slight decline.
Sophronia added, “Then again, he may surprise me.”
Into the resulting comparative silence Monique said, “Well, that was an interesting maneuver.”
Sophronia replied, “They were responsible for the mechanicals’ malfunctioning. Each one of those prototypes responded to a crystalline valve installed in a nearby household mechanical. That’s why so many were serviced recently.”
Monique said, “Took you long enough to figure out.”
“It’s going to take them a while to re-valve all mechanicals.”
“But when they do…” Monique added, darkly, “Can’t you see the disaster in front of you? Or are you still blind? Let me down, I can help.”
“Why the vampire involvement? Why you? Why your hive?” demanded Dimity.
“You are complete imbeciles, all of you! What do you think has been happening all this time? Since I first tried to repurpose the prototype valve almost eighteen months ago. When you two plebeians stopped me with a cheese pie. You think this has all been a lark? You think the Picklemen are interested in anyone’s welfare besides their own?”
Sophronia frowned. What has welfare to do with it? She wanted to step in, but it was much smarter to let Monique run her mouth. If allowed to vent poisoned steam, she might reveal everything.
Sidheag, on the other hand, was red faced and aggravated.
Sophronia caught her friend’s yellow-eyed gaze and shook her head sharply.
Sidheag glared at her, expressing ire.
Sophronia mouthed, “Let her talk.”
Sidheag sighed.
Monique continued her diatribe. Dangling from a train doorway apparently stretched the tongue as well as the shoulders. “You think this prototype was designed to speed up floating? Oh, no, that was simply a decoy use. You think it’s for point-to-point communication? Take over from the telegraph? That’s only one application. No, the Picklemen have been intending this all along. Put one of their little toys inside each and every mechanical in England, and you know what the Picklemen have?”
Sophronia said, without inflection, “A standing army located in every household, able to take direct commands from them at a whim.”
Monique nodded. “A power currently limited only by the need to service every single mechanical in the realm. And transmission distance. They are moving fast to solve the first problem, and they have scientists trying to improve upon the second. There are some who think if they could only get close to the aetherosphere, they could transmit to most of the country. But all they need is London. London is what matters.”
Sophronia, being a country girl, took mild offense at that but understood Monique’s point. London was, after all, the seat of power. In addition, almost every good London family, progressive or conservative, employed mechanicals. Only the vampires and the werewolves abstained.
If she hadn’t seen all those crystalline valves with her own eyes, she would have thought Monique’s talk vampire propaganda. It all seemed so far-fetched. She couldn’t deny the fact that the very idea that Monique had been in the right all along rubbed her the wrong way.
Sophronia turned away, uncomfortable. Bumbersnoot was sitting smugly by Soap’s feet. He’d emitted the prototype and the hurlie. Sophronia retrieved both, stuffing them into pockets.
Dimity said to Monique, “And why haven’t the vampires brought this to the attention of the government?”
“The potentate knows. And the dewan, of course. But what can the Shadow Council do against such a maneuver? Parliament has a daylight hold on operations, and too many MPs are affiliated with Picklemen. Cultivator-rank peons are everywhere. If we made any overt move against them, they would simply deny everything. Intent to commit a crime is not a crime. Besides which, we don’t know exactly what they propose to do with the power. Any public outcry would be greeted with grave suspicion as vampire hysteria. Those supernaturals see plots everywhere, they always do. Secrecy was our only option, and now you’ve botched that up, too. What a plague you are, Sophronia!”
Sophronia said, “You started it.”
Monique rolled her eyes. “You are a child.”
Sophronia asked, “What’s our school’s position been in all this?”
“Is that your loyalty? Are you going to fight for a finishing school, Sophronia, for the rest of your career? It’s not a very wealthy patron.”