Sophronia looked behind and saw that the last carriage was now a mess of wood and plush interiors dragging behind. Their poor little airdinghy, which had served them so well and proudly, was part of the wreckage.
Queen Victoria’s old military floaters were able to take the weight of only four cannonballs. It was one of the reasons they’d been discontinued. That meant the flywaymen behind them only had one more shot.
Sophronia had just enough time while they reloaded to do what needed to be done.
She jumped to her feet and dashed on, ending on the roof of the cab.
She stuck her head down over the edge into the engine room.
“Soap, I need you!”
“I’m a little busy right now, miss.”
“Miss?” said Dusty, confused by the gender switch.
“I’ll explain later,” reassured Sidheag.
“Let Sidheag drive,” said Sophronia to Soap.
“I’m helping Dusty!” protested Sidheag.
“Then let Dimity drive. This will only take a moment.”
Dimity’s face went owl-like in awe at her new responsibility. Nevertheless, she gamely stepped forward. Soap reluctantly relinquished his position.
“Just keep this gauge here at that mark, see? And this one between those two lines? Got it, miss?”
“I think so, Mr. Soap.”
“Another miss?” objected Dusty.
“You can’t tell me that one surprises you?” protested Sidheag.
“Are you a miss, too?” Dusty was still gamely shoveling.
But Soap had swung himself out and climbed up on the roof next to Sophronia. They had other things to repair than Dusty’s sensibilities.
“This better be important, miss.”
“Come on! They only have one more shot.”
“How you figure that?”
“With airships, weight is weight, they can’t have redesigned it that much. That’s an old model. It can only carry as much as it did in the old days.”
“If you say so.”
Sophronia was already running, crouched low, along the roofs of the carriages back toward the problem coupler. Soap followed gamely. They reached the edge of the freight carriage unscathed. Soap was not quite so sure-footed as Sophronia, but then she was beginning to feel that this was her native environment, running over the roofs of a moving train.
She pointed to the problem below. “There, can you work that last peg loose?”
Soap hung over the edge. “I’ll do my best.”
Sophronia handed him the hurlie and he lowered himself down.
He dropped farther than she had, bracing one foot precariously against each of the tiny bars at the ends of the carriages, straddling the coupler. It was a good thing they were moving slowly. He wrapped both hands about the peg and tried to shift it, twisting back and forth, tugging. The muscles of his back and shoulders strained. It was a dangerous position. If he was successful and the back carriage separated, he would fall off the end.
The peg wouldn’t budge, so he shifted to bang at it with his feet, just as Sophronia had done. Then he grabbed and wiggled it.
Cannon fire sounded. Sophronia, crouching on top, flattened herself to the roof once more.
Soap returned to pulling just as a massive jolt hit the train, jerking the coupler.
He tugged, everything jumped, and the peg worked free all at once. Now lacking the safety peg, and with the back carriages dragging against the tracks, the train decoupled. The front part of the train drew away.
Soap was forced into an uncomfortable contortion. He shifted his weight and pinwheeled forward, into the emptiness where the train had been. Sophronia lurched for the hurlie rope, grabbing on to it just in time. Her arms wrenched and she almost slid over the side, for Soap was no lightweight. She gritted her teeth and braced her chest against the transmitter edge. Front padding had some uses but it wasn’t comfortable.
Soap swung and slammed against the back of the freight carriage. But they weren’t dragging him along the track, which was something. Sophronia strained, holding him up by pure force of will, for he really was too heavy for her.
Soap was a dead weight. Sophronia’s arms began to shake and she wasn’t going to be able to hold him for long.
Then his head lifted and he twisted, scrambling for some kind of purchase on the train. His feet found the remaining half of the coupler. With Sophronia’s added weight on the hurlie, he managed to stand, leaning against the back of the freight carriage.
“Soap! Soap, are you hurt?” Sophronia’s voice sounded overly breathless and winded to her own ears.
“Just stunned and a little bruised, miss. Don’t you worry about me.”
“If you’re able, can I let go the hurlie? Then you can crank it in yourself?”
“Ready, miss.”
Sophronia let go. Soap managed to pull in on the hurlie rope so it was once more taut to the grapple over the top rail. He used the tension to climb up to the roof.
Sophronia pounced upon him. She was not so brave as to hug him, but her hands were quick to stroke over his head, checking for injury. He’d lost his cap, and the texture of his tight, curly hair was reassuring. She could feel no stickiness of blood, although he would have a bumper of an egg on the back left side.
“How do you feel? Are you dizzy? Did you rattle your brain?” She could not stop petting him.
Soap submitted meekly to her ministrations. “I’m fine, miss. Not much brain to rattle. You know me, same color and toughness as old boot leather.”
Sophronia sighed and forced herself to stop touching him.
He caught one of her hands as she lowered them.
“Though I do like your concern, miss.” He was looking at her with those serious dark eyes. The ones that switched twinkle for intent.
The horror of almost losing him curdled her stomach and she felt quite ill. Sophronia also wished she could see into his eyes clearly, check the state of his pupils. Sister Mattie had warned them about derangement of the brain due to physical force.
The train gave a start, as though sensing its newfound freedom, and picked up speed.
Sophronia braced Soap solicitously.
He let her, because he knew she needed it.
The moment Sophronia realized this, she knew she was in trouble. Because it had always been that way between her and Soap. And it was more than friendship. And she was an idiot not to have realized it sooner. What was it she had told Dimity? I want a man who stays out of my way. Soap wouldn’t ever get in her way.
“Miss, are you well?”
“Soap, I…”
They heard a shouting above them and looked up to see the underside of the flywaymen’s dirigible, managing to keep pace.