“I certainly hope not, or you’ve been acting a better hoax than Vieve ever pulled.”
Soap moved in close, quick as a supernatural; perhaps he was halfway to werewolf already. He certainly looked fiercer than she’d ever thought possible. “Happy to prove it by tossing that Felix blighter out the hatch anytime.”
Sophronia couldn’t help but giggle at the image—poor Felix would be so surprised, clutching his top hat and floating through the air. “Oh, Soap, you are droll.”
Soap blinked and slid back into familiar friend territory. “Well, then, miss, you tell that to the other sooties? Lately they been taking me seriously.”
“That’s ’cause you been all over moody,” barked one sootie, moving past them at a trot.
“Goodness, Soap, imagine taking you seriously!”
“Yes, imagine that?” said Soap, all smiles, but Sophronia detected an edge of bitterness.
Sophronia made good her escape, unsettled by the whole conversation. Sidheag going to London. Soap becoming a claviger and then a werewolf! She wanted her old silly boyish Soap back. The one who didn’t care for the state of the world. The one who made no plans to be immortal, who took no grave risks. The one whose eyes merely twinkled with mischief and nothing else. She wanted things as they were. And I thought it would be such fun to grow up. I can’t tell Dimity about it, either. Dimity wouldn’t understand. Dimity would tell her to stop visiting engineering. But as much as Sophronia was unsettled by the new Soap, she felt a sharp pain at the very idea of not seeing him at all. Oh, bother, thought Sophronia, why is he trying to ruin everything?
Next morning they told Lady Linette that Sidheag had disappeared. They said they thought she’d simply gone off to mope somewhere alone with her thoughts and her disturbing letter.
“You didn’t see her leave the ship?”
They all shook their heads.
Dimity twirled a lock of golden-brown hair.
Agatha looked at her feet.
“You’re quite certain? She wasn’t with anyone? This could be important.”
“Perhaps if we knew something of that letter?” replied Sophronia, knowing it wouldn’t work, but drawing a kind of battle line in the intelligencer sand.
“Indeed. Perhaps. But I’m afraid I don’t know myself.”
Sophronia narrowed her eyes. Lady Linette’s cornflower-blue ones were impassive. They both inclined their heads in acknowledgment. At least we both know where we stand, thought Sophronia.
“Very well, ladies, off with you. Breakfast won’t wait.”
For a fortnight they learned nothing more. There was no mail delivered. With Captain Niall gone, there was no one capable of running to Swiffle-on-Exe for the pickup. They didn’t go groundside, either. Professor Lefoux took over their bladed fan lessons. They had never before realized how integral a land-bound werewolf was to their collective mental stability. Floating in the gray drizzle—the general aspect of Dartmoor in January—with nary a peep from the rest of the world gave them all a malaise of the emotional humors. Even Dimity, who might have held to her bubbly nature with a birthday and a ball in her immediate future, remained troubled by Sidheag’s absence and stayed quiet.
Sophronia did not visit engineering. She was uncomfortable with moody Soap. Perhaps they both needed some distance. She wasn’t sure if she was punishing him for the gripes and hungry looks, or scared that she might unwittingly apply some of her seduction lessons to him. And the last thing she wanted to do was encourage her friend in a hopeless cause. His intent to turn werewolf felt near to a betrayal.
Dimity noted Sophronia’s lack of evening jaunts, as her repository of filched sweets grew ever larger with no clandestine distribution. Dimity felt it her ladylike duty to dispense tea-cake charity unto boiler room unfortunates. “Had a falling-out with your sootie beau, have you?”
“No,” said Sophronia shortly. “Just overly busy.”
“Busy with what?”
“Mastering the fan—I think I want it to be my trademark weapon. All great intelligencers have a trademark weapon.”
“And you’re choosing the fan because it’s both sensible and cooling?” suggested Dimity.
Agatha, who was spending time in their room as her own was lonely, perked up. “I prefer the garrote myself.”
The others looked at her, startled. Aside from the theater, and sleeping, Agatha rarely expressed an interest in anything. Let alone something espionage related.
“You do?” Dimity encouraged.
Agatha nodded. “You can wear it as jewelry, it hides away easily, and it’s a nice clean death.”
“I hate to say it, but I’m with Preshea on dealing down, poison’s best.” Dimity was firm on the matter.
“No blood?” suggested Sophronia.
“Exactly!” Dimity twirled the bangles about her wrist and sighed. “Enough of this morbid talk.”
Agatha was looking at her small weekly planner. “Shouldn’t we be heading into Swiffle soon? Without Captain Niall to give you two a ride, the school will have to meet your transport itself.”
The two girls looked at each other. “Oh, dear me yes. Depending on where exactly we are right now, it could take weeks. I hope Lady Linette hasn’t forgotten about the fact that we are due at a masquerade in a few days.”
Sophronia agreed, “We’d best make sure.”
They shouldn’t have underestimated their teacher. Lady Linette was, after all, a mistress of information. It was her business to keep track of details.
During breakfast, which, since Mademoiselle Geraldine’s kept town hours, fell at around noon, the girls heard the unmistakable repetitive thudding of the school’s propeller cranking rhythmically below them. This could only mean one thing: the airship had a focused direction in mind. They were no longer gliding idly about the moor.
Dimity and Sophronia exchanged excited glances. Mademoiselle Geraldine’s floating finishing school was heading into town.
SESSION 5: STEALTH MUSTACHES AND STEALTHIER FLYWAYMEN
The school arrived at Swiffle-on-Exe late the following evening. It floated in over the River Exe itself, to take on water for the massive boilers in engineering. Then it took up its customary position, moored outside town, the mismatched turrets of Bunson and Lacroix’s Boys’ Polytechnique in view down a goat path.
Sophronia and Dimity were to depart early the next morning. They were excused from their last lesson of the night with Professor Braithwope, the idea being that they should get to bed before midnight. They tried to explain this to the vampire, who regarded them with a sobering eye, almost like his old self. The effect was lost, however, by the fact that he had taken it into his addlepated head to shave off his mustache.