Curtsies & Conspiracies

“I’ve no idea.”

“How do our visiting boys figure into this?”

Sidheag shrugged. “Bunson’s is pro Picklemen.”

Sophronia nodded. “And the Picklemen will want to control any aetherosphere travel for themselves.” She was thinking about the prototype kerfuffle at her sister’s ball. Both the government and the Picklemen had been after the technology then. “No wonder we are floating to town.”

“You think there’s going to be some kind of contest for control?” Sidheag nibbled her lips. The werewolves, as a rule, were uninterested in advancements in science that did not pertain to munitions. Sidheag had not been raised to think in terms of patent control or manipulation of technological discoveries.

Sophronia said, “I’m not sure what I think yet, but that seems likely.”

It was far easier to get around the ship with Vieve. Sophronia didn’t have to climb the exterior to avoid patrolling mechanicals. Vieve had an invention of her own devising, the obstructor, which froze a mechanical in its tracks long enough for two girls to slide around it.

They sped through the central student section and then into the forbidden section. Dangling red tassels all around demarcated the highly restricted forward segment of the ship, which included the teachers’ quarters, the record room, and… the boiler room. Everything was going smoothly, even the most dangerous part: passing the doors of slumbering teachers.

Then a loud whistle reverberated through the airship, picked up and repeated by every mechanical within range. They hadn’t had to use the obstructor for two hallways, so it couldn’t have been their fault. The alarm was triggered by some other miscreants out after hours.

The two girls squeezed behind a massive marble bust of Pan and a once-underdressed nymph in the corner. The nymph had been clothed in skirts and a lace hat, to make her more the thing. This meant there was plenty of room for concealment. Just in time, too, for doors to teachers’ rooms popped open and heads stuck out.

“Is there no peace for the nak*d?” Sister Mattie wore a bed cap of sensible white lace.

“I think you mean peace for the wicked,” corrected Lady Linette, wrapped in a flowing silk robe of apple green trimmed in black velvet. Her hair was loose and flowing, her face free of paint. She looked lovely and fresh.

“Why would that apply?” asked Sister Mattie, before closing her door on both the problem and the noise.

“What’s going on?” The headmistress voiced that query, her rinsed red hair crowned by a great pink floof of crochet.

“I shouldn’t worry, Geraldine. It’s probablyour young gentlemen guests.”

“I warned you no good would come of having boys on board!”

“Might have told that to me, mum, whot?” joked Professor Braithwope, shimmering out of his room fully clothed and dapper. His mustache was a fluffy caterpillar of curiosity, perched and ready to inquire, dragging the vampire along behind it on the investigation.

“Oh, Professor,” simpered Mademoiselle Geraldine, “you don’t count. You’re a gentleman, not a boy, and qualit-tay to boot.”

The vampire looked around the hallway, noting no mechanicals or culprits who might have set the alarm. He was the only one dressed, his boots mirror shiny and his trousers cut to perfection. Sophronia wondered how such a nobby little man could manage to fade to the background so often. It was a real skill.

“Where’s the revolution?”

“Student quarters, I suspect. One of the boys. Our girls know better than to risk it at night. Or they know how to avoid setting off alarms.” Sophronia could have sworn Lady Linette glanced in their direction.

The vampire nodded. “I’ll see to it, being as I’m all gussied up and proper for public consumption. Plus, put a bit of fear into those monkeys, wrath of a vampire, whot?”

“A most excellent notion, Professor.”

Sophronia, forgetting her own first encounter with the vampire, suppressed a giggle at the very idea of Professor Braithwope, with his quizzical mustache and undersized frame, putting the fear into anyone—except perhaps the fear of growing the wrong facial hair.

The alarm, painfully loud, continued. There was no maid nearby to receive shutdown protocols. Professor Braithwope hurried off, and the other teachers disappeared into their rooms, presumably to hide from the noise.

Sophronia and Vieve continued on their way, reassured that attention was directed elsewhere.

“What was that about?” Vieve wondered.

“Viscount Mersey might have taken something Pillover said after dinner as encouragement.”

“Sophronia, you didn’t plant ideas in that poor nobleman’s head? You are a naughty girl.”

“Where’s your aunt? I didn’t see her just now.”

“Down in the laboratory with Shrimpdittle, I think. They’re working on something together, despite bad blood over the prototype.”

“Is that the real reason the boys are on board, as cover for this project?”

“Possibly.”

“Vieve,” said Sophronia slowly, “how would vampires handle floating through the aetherosphere?”

“I’ve no idea. Ah, here we are.”

When entering the engineering chamber from the proper door, rather than the outside hatch, they came in from above onto a wide landing with the whole of the massive room spread out before them. Sophronia loved the view. It was so impressive, with multiple boilers flaming and smoking, engines and machines moving and sparking, sooties running between massive mounds of coal. Usually, two-thirds of the sooties slept during evening shift, but tonight everyone was awake. A full complement of supervisors stood guard—firemen, greasers, engineers, and coal runners. Something is definitely afoot. Or should one say “a soot”?

Sophronia and Vieve, unnoticed, made their way down the spiral staircase and through the crowds to the far corner of the room, ending up behind the coal pile that had long since become their regular meeting spot.

Soap was waiting, fairly vibrating with anticipation.

“What took you so long?”

“Someone set off the alarm.”

“Not you two? Never you two.” Soap’s faith was endearing.

“Course not. Sophronia set up a patsy to take the fall.”

Soap swung to look at her.

Sophronia smiled slyly. “What can I say? Boys need lessons sometimes.”

Soap arched an eyebrow at her.

“Not you, Soap. You’re not a real boy. But Felix is being difficult.”

“Felix, is it?” Soap did not look pleased.

“Lord Mersey, I mean,” Sophronia corrected herself.

Soap looked even less pleased.

Sophronia didn’t quite understand where she’d gone wrong. Soap was usually such a good-natured chap. She changed the subject. “So, what’s the surprise?”

Soap brightened. “We’re going undercover for the next three days. Weather not being obliging.”

“What do you mean? It’s been lovely for March.”

“Just so. We can’t go sailing to London all visible. So they brought out the steam machine. We’re going to white!”

“Well, that explains all the extra water that flute took on.”

“You saw that?” Soap looked away from Sophronia. “What else did you see?”

Sophronia tried to look more mysterious than embarrassed.

Vieve was not interested in innuendo—a new machine was about to be cranked up! “I’ve heard about it but never seen it in action.”

“I’ve only helped do it twice before,” said Soap. “Come watch.” He led them to sit atop a pile of coal. “Don’t interfere!” He shook a finger at Vieve.

The sooties wheeled out a massive apparatus, one that usually huddled at the back of the room. They arranged it to sit straddling the distribution hatch—a massive opening used to bring in coal and shovel out ash.

The contraption was hooked up to boilers and attached to a complex series of metal tubes, springs, and gears, the range of which charmed Vieve.

“Oh my goodness, is that an electrosplit goopslimer port? I do believe it is. And is that a Thrushbotham pip-monger swizzle sprocket? Oh, two swizzle sprockets!” Vieve was practically squeaking in excitement.

The machine was cranked up and began to puff.

Never before had Sophronia seen such a massive amount of steam at once. The boiler room filled with hot white moisture. All her curls fell flat—Mademoiselle Geraldine would be so upset.

There was a great deal of yelling and some crashing, and then the sooties had the device corked up. All the steam, one must presume, was now flowing outside the ship.

Soap sauntered over, hands deep in his pockets. The soot on his face was clumped and spotty from the steam, and he looked inordinately pleased with himself.

“Wanna see?”

“Of course!” said Sophronia and Vieve in unison.

Soap helped Sophronia down, and she was shocked by how large and strong his hand was. He led the way over to the small hatch Sophronia used on her solo visits.

They stuck their heads out and saw… nothing. Only white.

“We are our own cloud! Ingenious.” Sophronia was impressed. “And it will hold day or night, despite temperature shifts?”

“Of course!” Soap took this questioning as doubt of his actions and integrity. “Designed by Professor Lefoux, this was! She don’t make mistakes, that one. Except bringing this bit of trouble on board.” Soap pulled off Vieve’s cap and ruffled her hair.

Vieve swatted him.

Sophronia nodded. “Thank you, Soap. This has been most entertaining. But we should be getting on.” She was profoundly relieved. At least for a while Dimity will be safe from attack. No one will be able to find her.

Soap looked surprised; normally Sophronia lingered. “You should? Right then.” He led them back to the staircase. Vieve scampered up, but before Sophronia could follow, Soap touched her arm. “Who is this Felix chap?”

“Just an impossible boy. I shouldn’t let him bother you.”

“You need me to teach him any lessons? A little boxing ’round the ears?”

“That’s very kind, Soap, but I can fight my own battles.”

“I don’t like you fraternizing with boys. Ain’t normal.”

Sophronia quirked her head in amusement. “No? And here I was thinking that’s how society worked. Might as well learn the way of it.”

“Oh, you believe so?” Soap leaned in. Even though she stood on the first step, the sootie towered over her. He smelled of wet coal and engine oil. It must be quite strong, as it seemed to be affecting her breathing. He leaned in, his normally cheerful face quite serious. “I could teach you a bit.”

He was so close, Sophronia thought for one delusional moment that he intended to actually kiss her on the mouth! Imagine that? Soap! Instead he reached for her arm, the exposed piece between glove and sleeve where his filthy hand would not soil her dress. He raised it to his face and kissed her just there, his lips impossibly soft.

Sophronia froze. But I don’t think of Soap like that was her first reaction, and then she felt a tiny bit of annoyance. Why would he want to complicate our friendship? And then caution. It’s up to me to ensure he doesn’t.