“But Miss Sophronia, you’re a lady. Ladies always go first!”
Sophronia threw her shoulders back and looked him in the eye. “I am trained for this.” She wasn’t yet, but it was worth the lie. “Don’t contest a direct order during an active intelligencer undertaking!”
Soap frowned, but he clearly hated to argue with a lady. Least of all Sophronia. He began climbing up.
“Vieve, you next.”
“But—”
“Now!”
Vieve began climbing.
Sophronia started up last, and just as she did so, she snuck one last look at the werewolf.
With a vicious growl, he was upon her.
For the second time that night, Sophronia was grateful to have worn proper dress. Captain Niall dove for her in a tremendous leap of the kind described in countless gothic novels. His jaws were open, his mouth an angry cavern of teeth and dripping saliva, and when he struck he bit down hard, ruthlessly savaging her… other petticoat.
Sophronia screamed and kicked out.
The werewolf’s teeth were stuck in the bottom reinforced hem. This was her strongest-starched underskirt, the kind designed to support a gown in a full and feminine pouf.
Sophronia kicked again and her foot struck the beast’s sensitive nose.
Captain Niall shook his huge, shaggy head, partly in pain and partly to get loose from the petticoat. His top hat wiggled back and forth hypnotically. The combined weight and motion dragged the undergarment off Sophronia. Both the werewolf and the petticoat fell to the ground. Sophronia, remembering that amazingly high leap the captain had performed in order to get them up on board the ship originally, began climbing as fast as she possibly could.
Sophronia’s under-petticoat was of good-quality horsehair, thick and very durable. It should be; it was a hand-me-down that had survived three sisters before her.
But the werewolf, with supernatural strength, tore though the thick fabric as if it were fine muslin. Captain Niall wrestled with the garment briefly before shaking himself loose from the tatters. He crouched down and leapt for Sophronia again.
Sophronia angled her bottom around and swung the rope ladder to one side, avoiding the werewolf by the narrowest of margins.
“Captain Niall,” she said between pants, “I liked you very much better when you weren’t trying to kill me!”
The werewolf landed, shook his head, and whined as from the hatch above someone pelted him with a handful of coal. One particularly large lump hit his already-abused nose.
He tilted his head back and howled.
Sophronia attained the safety of the hatch. Multiple soot-covered hands reached for her and dragged her inside. Meanwhile, Soap threw another handful of coal down at the werewolf. Next to him, a few of the larger sooties stood grimly clutching steel stoking poles, ready to fend off the beast if necessary.
There was no need, for as soon as Sophronia tumbled inside they hauled the rope ladder up after her and slammed the hatch closed. The wolf jumped up, crashing hard into the underside of the airship. Had the hull’s wooden beams not been reinforced with iron bracings, Sophronia was certain they would have shattered.
“What does he think he can do?” wondered Vieve, while Sophronia recovered her breath and brushed herself off.
“I don’t think he’s thinking at all,” replied Sophronia, rising from her hands and knees to her feet, panting and shaking. That was the werewolf of her childhood nightmares. “Someone ought to lock him up! He’s dangerous,” she said finally, when she felt her voice wouldn’t shake.
“And he’s ruined your other petticoat.”
“Oh, goodness. How will we get it back? Someone might realize it was mine!”
“Not a chance. See?” Soap pointed down out of the hatch, which the sooties had cracked open slightly. He had his eyes pressed to the gap.
Sophronia went over and joined him. She looked down.
Captain Niall, having apparently resigned himself to losing his quarry, was savaging her horsehair petticoat into teeny, tiny shreds.
“Really, what did my poor petticoat do to offend?”
Vieve said, “I can see now that your insistence on ladies’ dress is very useful, in its way.”
Sophronia looked the nine-year-old over. “You going to give it a try, then?”
“I didn’t say it was that useful.”
Sophronia had a sudden, terrifying thought. “Oh, goodness, the other students! They don’t know Captain Niall is here, do they? What if they happen upon him on the way home from the play? We must warn them!”
“But how to warn them without explaining that you were out?” wondered Soap.
“I’ll claim I saw him out the parlor window. I must go.” Sophronia stood. She was covered in soot, her face smudged, her skirts flat, and her hair loose.
“But Miss Sophronia, look at you!”
“Can’t be helped, have to chance it. Lives are at stake.”
“But who are you going to tell? Everyone is at the theater.”
“Not everyone. Come on, Vieve! The last thing I need is to be trapped by mechanicals again. I need you and the obstructor.”
ATTACK OF THE FAN AND SPRINKLE
Sophronia and Vieve dashed through the airship ever upward and forward, making their way to the forbidden tassel section. They paused in front of Professor Braithwope’s door.
“You had better make yourself scarce, Vieve. There’s no point in both of us getting into trouble.”
Vieve looked up at her, then nodded. “We must do this again soon.”
“Perhaps without the werewolf attack and the loss of petticoat life?”
“Perhaps.”
With which the young girl tipped her cap at Sophronia and retreated down the hall, one hand in her pocket, obstructor pointed out in front of her, whistling some French tune in the tones of the deeply satisfied.
Well, I’m delighted someone had an enjoyable evening, Sophronia thought before knocking loudly on the vampire’s door.
There was good deal of clattering, a wet slurping noise, and the sound of india rubber squeaking, and then the door was opened a crack and Professor Braithwope peeked out.
“Whot, whot?” He had something dark about his mouth.
Oh, dear, thought Sophronia, have I interrupted him at tea? She tried to peek around him and catch a glimpse of whomever he might be supping with. But while the vampire was modestly sized, he occupied all of Sophronia’s line of sight.
“Professor, I do so hate to disturb you, but I have urgent business requiring your immediate attention.”
“Student, whot? By George, how’d you get into this section without setting off the alarms?”
“That’s not important, sir.”
“No, I think it might be.”
“Not now, sir. There is a problem, please, sir. It’s Captain Niall.”
“Werewolf, whot? What’s that to do with your getting into restricted areas of the school without a chaperone?”
“No, sir, he’s loose.”
“Of course he’s loose. Loose and leagues away, as he should be.”
“No, sir, he’s here.”
“On the ship, whot? Not possible. Werewolves don’t float.”
“No, sir, below. He’s here, on the moor, directly below, and the others should be returning from the theater soon. I saw him out my window.”
“Girlish fancies.”
“That’s possible, sir, but wouldn’t it be better to check and make certain?”
“Whot, whot? Yes, well. I suppose you’re right.”
“Quickly, sir. They’re due back at any moment.”
“Yes, yes. Where’s my hat?”
The vampire vanished for a split second and then pushed his way out into the hallway.
He was looking a tad disheveled, but he’d pulled on a greatcoat and buttoned it closed to disguise any possible fashion transgressions, and he had boots on his feet, which was more than might be said of a werewolf. Sophronia wasn’t certain, but she believed she might be coming down in favor of vampires as a general rule.
“Where is the blighter?”
“Below the boiler room area, sir. Last I saw.”
“Miss Temminnick.” The vampire tipped his hat and then sped away.
There was no point in even trying to keep up; he moved faster than any human could.
Oh, great, thought Sophronia. Now how am I supposed to get back to my quarters?
Vieve’s head reappeared around a bend in the hall. “Need a helping hand, or should I say wrist?” She waved the arm with the obstructor.
Sophronia grinned.
“So there we were, in all our evening’s finery, coming up the path toward the ship, and you will never guess what we observed! It was almost more exciting than the play itself. Although it was a very stirring performance of An Ideal Bathtub.” Dimity’s eyes were shining, her hands clasped together passionately, as she was thrust into the wondrousness of reliving the evening recently passed.
Sophronia, only slightly smudged, in a clean pinafore and her second-best set of petticoats, pretended rapt attention.
They were seated tête-à-tête on the settee while the other girls milled about, nattering about the finery of dress, the play, and the handsomeness of some boy or another—not necessarily in that order.
“Oh, what did you see?”
“Professor Braithwope, in a greatcoat!”
“Presumably he owns outerwear.”
Dimity left off clasping her hands to fiddle at something hanging about her neck.
Sophronia leaned forward. “Dimity, are you wearing two necklaces?”
“I couldn’t decide. But don’t distract me. Where was I?”
“On Professor Braithwope’s greatcoat.”
“Oh, yes. Don’t you believe greatcoats are rather a werewolf’s provenance? Not to mention the fact that vampires aren’t supposed to feel the cold. Anywho, where was I? Oh, yes. Professor Braithwope and his greatcoat were fighting a werewolf! Captain Niall!”
“Oh, how horrid.” Sophronia arranged her features into an appropriately shocked expression. Or what she hoped was appropriately shocked. She wasn’t doing very well in her acting lessons so far. I probably look more like a stuffed squirrel.
Dimity didn’t appear to think so. “Unfortunately, I didn’t see very much of the confrontation.”
“Was the exchange of fisticuffs that rapid? Supernatural speed, I understand.” Sophronia nodded wisely.
“Oh, no, there was blood, so I fainted.”
Preshea came over and stood before them, hands on hips, in nothing but her stays and drawers. So immodest!
“Sidheag caught her. Such a shame, Dimity, that you hadn’t arranged to faint earlier in the evening, when young Lord Dingleproops was paying you so much attention.”
Dimity blushed. “His parents are friends of the family, that is all!”
Sophronia ignored Preshea and looked to the other girls to continue the story where Dimity had fainted out of it. “What happened with the fisticuffs?”
“Not so many fists, actually. More fang and claw,” said Agatha.
“Very well, what happened with the fangicuffs, then?”