Waistcoats & Weaponry

by Gail Carriger

  She cracked it, careful to shield the opening with her body, worried that even the dim light of early morning would creep in and alert those inside. She put an eye to the crack and waited patiently for her pupils to acclimatize to the gloom. The coach was empty. She flipped the hatch open completely and stuck her whole head inside. She was now bottoms up, like a duck, on top of a moving train. She wedged her shoulders to block out the light so her eyes could adjust and see as much of the interior as possible.

  She stifled a gasp. There was someone inside! Fortunately, the gentleman in question was asleep—slumped sideways over the arm of a chair, mouth slightly open, snoring softly. He was a very handsome man, with long, wavy hair and an oval face. He was dressed well. Almost too well. It made Sophronia think of Lord Akeldama. She dragged her eyes away to examine the room.

  The inside of that shed was awfully familiar.

  Sophronia had seen something like it before, only smaller, on the roof of Bunson and Lacroix’s Boys’ Polytechnique during her debut at finishing school. Vieve called it a communication machine. Then it had looked like a deformed cross between a potting shed and a portmanteau. The appearance of the technology had not improved. The one at Bunson’s was divided into two human-sized compartments, each filled to bursting with a peculiar assortment of tangled machinery. Sophronia would wager good money that those two were now represented, in larger form, by the two freight carriages. This one was filled with hundreds of tubes and dials. In front of the sleeping man was an upright glass box filled with black sand. Nothing was happening, but Sophronia knew the receiver of an aetherographic transmitter when she saw one. An aetherographic transmitter on a train, oh dear.

  She wished fervently that Vieve were with them. Why had she brought a toff, a sootie, a lady, and a werewolf’s daughter, but not an inventor? Of course the inventor would be the one she needed. Sophronia tried to remember what Vieve had said about Bunson’s aetherographic transmitter. She had been so excited about point-to-point messaging across long distances. One thing was certain, it wouldn’t function while the train was moving. Vieve had insisted it needed silence to operate. For another, it needed aether to communicate from one transmitter to another. So that fairly explained why the freight carriages had no proper roofs. Was this some kind of communication train? However, they were hardly close to the aether now, so there must have been improvements to the prototype if that were the case. Vieve was now at Bunson’s, with the original prototype, and Sophronia wouldn’t put it past her to have worked on an upgrade herself. Was this train from Bunson’s, then? That explained its presence at Wootton Bassett. In which case, were there Picklemen on board?

  Sophronia narrowed her eyes, straining to focus.

  Is that…? Oh, yes, of course it is. Why should I be surprised? Sitting in the cradle next to the receiver, all innocent and unassuming, was one of the crystalline valve prototypes that everyone was constantly fussing over. She supposed that transmitter technology had probably evolved to require the prototype at this point. Although it wasn’t technically a prototype anymore, but was now officially in production. The vampires had tried hard to stop that, but Picklemen had won the day. And now, there it was, in use, bright as may be.

  Sophronia gave the interior one more cursory glance, then withdrew her head, closing the hatch behind her. She lay back on the roof to think, eyes closed, enjoying the weak sun on her face.

  Vieve used two crystalline valves to communicate commands from her hands to her sputter-skates. Perhaps the transmitter in the freight carriage is somehow steering the train in a like manner? Communicating with the engine? Why bother? And why put a man to sit watch over the receiver portion under those circumstances? It was very confusing.

  Then a horrible thought occurred to her. Felix! Does Felix know? Did he come along because Picklemen are involved? Did he know it would be their train in the station? Sophronia quelled anger and a keen sense of betrayal at that idea. She tried to stay logical. She had no direct evidence as to who was in charge; no need to take it out on Felix, just because she didn’t like his politics.

  The train closed in on the junction box. Sophronia flattened herself to the roof and waited to see if a green-banded top hat came walking up. They stopped at the switch and the door to the engine popped open. A stocky driver with a gargantuan mustache swung himself down and lumbered over to fiddle with the switch. No top hat. No green band. Sophronia couldn’t tell for certain, but she thought he was turning the direction toward London.

  “No,” said a demanding female voice from the cab door. “We aren’t going back yet.”

  The man looked up, unhappy with this order. “But miss, we’ve not much coal left, we need a restock.”

  “Do it in Oxford,” commanded the unseen woman.

  Sophronia frowned; she was certain she knew that voice.

  “But why? This is a London train. Besides, other lines will be starting up soon. We can’t risk it, not on a popular track, not during the day. We’ll be seen, or worse, cause a collision. We’ll certainly slow everyone else up if you keep us at this snail’s pace.”

  “That’s enough,” barked the voice. “Orders are orders. Oxford, my good man. The path is clear this morning, I checked the schedule.”

  The man muttered to himself but muscled the switch back over with impressive ease. This was a great relief to Sophronia; they wanted to go toward Oxford, after all.

  Still, that voice. She’d definitely heard it before. Unfortunately, the lady in the engine room did not get out.

  Luckily for Sophronia, the driver didn’t feel the need to look up. Both she and the airdinghy remained unnoticed. She wondered if those were the only other people on the train, the sleeping man with the transmitter, the driver, his stoker, and the lady. Could such a thing be possible, all six carriages for four people and an aetherographic transmitter?

  The driver safely inside the locomotive, the train started up again.

  Sophronia retreated in relief to the relative security of their first-class coach.

  Dimity and Felix were waiting for her, looking frightened and impatient.

  Soap was still awake. He cracked an eyelid from his prone position the moment she entered. He evaluated her from head to toe and, apparently satisfied, went back to sleep.

  “Where were you?” hissed Dimity. “Really, Sophronia, sometimes you are quite impossible.” She sounded snooty in her relief. She sounded almost like…

  Which was when Sophronia remembered who belonged to that voice. Pieces began to click into place.

  “You’ve been gone an awful long time for watching a sunrise,” added Felix.

  Sophronia said, “Wake up, everyone, we need to talk. I figured out what the freight is, and who’s carrying it. Now we simply need to know why.”

  Soap sat up and shook Sidheag awake.

  She blinked at them. “What’s going on?”

  Sophronia wished they had tea. Tea would do them up a treat right now. However, without tea, it would have to be gossip.

  “On the positive, we are definitely headed toward Oxford, Sidheag. Hopefully, there will be a northbound train we can hop there. Unfortunately, this train we’re on is almost certainly a vampire concern. For some reason they’ve got themselves an aetherographic transmitter fitted with one of the new crystalline valves, and are relocating it.”

  “Gracious me,” said Felix primly, “how on earth did you learn all that?”

  “I overheard a woman giving orders to the driver. I recognized her voice. She sounds a little older and more cultured, but I’m pretty confident it was Monique de Pelouse.”

  Sidheag gasped.

  “Oh, dear,” said Dimity.

  Dimity didn’t know the half of it. Sophronia cursed inside. Was Lord Akeldama in on it, too? Vampires could be very tricky.

  However, her tone was prosaic. “At least we are familiar with her methods.” She explained for Felix’s benefit, “You met her on that trip to London. Older girl who was forced to sit at our tab
le. Now she’s drone to Westminster Hive.”

  Felix’s lip curled. “So sad.”

  Sophronia, annoyed by Felix’s bias, found herself unexpectedly defending Monique. “It’s a valid option in our field, if perhaps not considered the most honorable. Not everyone has the same choices you have, Lord Mersey.”

  Sidheag said, gruffly, “Unfortunately, she’s also had all the same lessons we have. So she knows all our tricks, just as we know all hers.”

  Sophronia said, “Except that she doesn’t know we’re on board. Unfortunately, she also knows our faces. There’s no disguising ourselves from Monique.”

  “When we stop, will she come check this coach, do you think?” wondered Dimity, glancing frantically around the interior. There was nowhere to hide.

  “I don’t know. I couldn’t tell if there are any other drones on board. There’s a man asleep with the transmitter. Good looking enough to be a drone. Perhaps this mission is one of such secrecy they could only entrust it to the two.”

  “Vampires always muck everything up,” grumbled Felix.

  “You mean, just like the Picklemen do? Everyone has their own agenda, Lord Mersey. The key is to manipulate motivations without being sucked into them.” Sophronia looked hard at Felix, hoping he might take her words as a lesson, think about his own position for a change.

  Unfortunately, he seemed mainly annoyed at her tone of voice.

  “So much for our grand escape to Scotland,” said Sidheag, slumping onto a bench. The lack of sleep was catching up to her.

  “Of course it’s the vampires.” Felix didn’t seem surprised enough by Sophronia’s revelation. And she was pretty darn certain it wasn’t simply his bigotry talking.

  Sophronia gave him a hard stare. “Felix, do you know something you’re not telling us?”

  The young lord shrugged. “It’s only that I thought I recognized the writing on the freight carriage as we approached, but I couldn’t understand what it implied until now.”

  “You didn’t think that might be relevant?”

  “Not until I knew there was a vampire drone on board.”

  “That’s not the point; the point is, you might have said something sooner if you had suspicions! What did it say?” Sophronia demanded. Blast his Pickleman secrecy. What had they landed themselves in?

  Felix was sullen. “Well, I couldn’t tell at the time. I didn’t see much of it. But now, I believe it was the brand of the East India Company.”

  “Bloody Jack?” Dimity was intrigued. She had a fancy to someday visit exotic lands. Most girls wanted to tour Europe after their weddings. Dimity had plans to visit places with more color. After she caught herself a sensible, tour-minded husband, of course.

  “Indeed,” acknowledged Felix. “My father has always suspected they had vampire ties.”

  Sophronia nibbled her lip in consideration. “Has the East India Company, by any chance, put in an order for crystalline valves recently?”

  Felix sneered outright at that question. “How should I know?”

  “Your father is a Pickleman,” pointed out Sophronia mildly, again, trying to make him understand his own bias.

  “He’s also a peer of the realm, and would never deal in trade! That’s Cultivator rank responsibility.”

  “Picklemen have a ranking system?” This was news to Sophronia. She altered her attitude to one of inquiry rather than instruction.

  Felix winced. “I shouldn’t have said that.” After which he clamped his mouth shut despite Sophronia’s big, pleading eyes.

  She inched closer and tilted her head, looking at him from under her eyelashes. Perhaps if I’m winsome enough, he’ll tell me more and realize how misguided the Picklemen are.

  Sidheag interrupted her tactics by asking, “Would Picklemen sell valves to the East India Company?”

  Felix nodded. “Of course. We haven’t any proof of vampire backing.”

  Another slip-up, he said “we.” Sophronia genuinely liked Lord Mersey. He was, frankly, adorable. But if Piston membership really was a means for recruiting Picklemen, she and Felix were ill matched. Sophronia bit her lip, looking disappointed.

  Felix tilted his head at her, inquiring, the corner of his mouth tilted up in a “forgive me?” smile.

  Why does he have to be so pretty? “You know, Lord Mersey, so far as I can tell, supernatural creatures come some good and some bad. Just like everyone else.”

  Felix bristled. “And the fact that they hunt humans for food doesn’t bother you at all?”

  “On occasion. But I’m not one to judge anyone’s character based on diet. I myself have an unacceptable love of mincemeat.”

  Felix couldn’t seem to help but smile at that. Sophronia could be awfully charming when she was self-effacing. “And the fact that we are apparently stuck on a vampire train doesn’t trouble you?”

  “Of course, but we aren’t supposed to be here. Anyone would be in their rights to get annoyed.”

  “And the fact that the hive kidnapped Dimity?”

  Dimity looked up, startled at being suddenly dragged into an argument. “Oh, now, see here.”

  “To counter a Pickleman monopoly. Frankly, it struck me as something the Picklemen themselves might do, were circumstances reversed.”

  “This is ridiculous. No matter what I say, you will always give them the benefit of the doubt. Even now!” Felix was losing much of his simulated boredom under Sophronia’s pointed remarks, but he didn’t seem to be losing his opinions.

  “Just as you will always see them as less than human and unworthy of trust, or even decency.”

  “They are monsters,” hissed Lord Mersey through gritted teeth.

  That raised Sidheag’s hackles because of the implied slur on werewolves.

  Fortunately, a voice interrupted them before it could descend into an all-out fight. “Um, pardon me?”

  “Soap?” Sophronia was grateful for the distraction.

  “It’s not that I don’t find this conversation fascinating, miss. I most assuredly do. I never seen you tongue-lash a lordling afore.”

  “Soap!”

  “It’s the clouds, they’s lifting a bit, and up and ahead of us there’s a ruddy airship.”

  “What?”

  “Midsized, kinda disreputable looking.”

  “Is it attacking?” asked Sidheag.

  “No, I think we may be following them.”

  “What?” Sophronia and the others rushed to the window and forced it open, craning their heads to look up.

  Just as Soap said, there was a dirigible. It was a bit scruffy, like a fur muff left too long in the attic. If the train hadn’t been on tracks, Sophronia would have agreed that they were following it. They chugged along in its wake until the tracks inevitably steered them one way and the dirigible drifted in another.

  “That was odd.”

  “Coincidence?” suggested Sidheag, not sounding confident.

  “I don’t believe in coincidences, not in our line of work,” replied Sophronia.

  “Escort?” Dimity wondered.

  “Could be that’s the reason we have so few drones on board—they’re all up there,” Sidheag said.

  “In which case we’re in trouble because they’ll have spotted the airdinghy.” Sophronia looked hard at Felix. “Did you recognize that ship?”

  Felix shook his head. Sophronia wanted to trust him but wasn’t sure she could anymore.

  After a pause, Dimity said, “What have we landed ourselves in the middle of?”

  Sidheag looked guilty. “Sorry, everyone, you’re all here because of me. If I didn’t want to get home…”

  Dimity said, “Nonsense. Be fair to yourself, Sid, we all insisted on coming with you.”

  The two boys nodded.

  Dimity grinned and added, “Besides, did you forget? It’s always Sophronia’s fault.”

  Sophronia nodded. “Too true.”

  They made it safely into Oxford. Although the train paused several times, no one ever came t
o look into their coach, or noticed the airdinghy on top. With the others diligently on watch, Sophronia and Soap finally napped. Soap took the floor, scooting partly under the bench on which Sophronia slept.

  “I’m used to it,” he said when the others protested.

  Sophronia’s hand fell over the bench side as she dozed. She woke to find it resting gently on the top of Soap’s head. His cap had fallen off. His hair was short and rough to the touch. Like the autumn heath of the moor, warmed by the sun. She liked the texture, her fingers stroking it without meaning to. Quickly, guiltily, she stopped herself and looked around. Dimity was staring out the window. Sidheag was stationed at the door. Only Felix had seen the caress.

  Felix narrowed his eyes and looked away, clearly uncomfortable.

  Guilt washed over Sophronia. She snapped back her hand as if burned and sat up.

  In silence she began to lay out breakfast on the bench opposite. When she woke Soap, he had a small smile on his face.

  They ate out of the picnic baskets. Soap had filched mainly meat pies, a smart decision as they were self-contained and nicely filling. There were jars of barley water to drink, the only thing he’d found quickly transportable. No one liked it—who did?—but it was better than nothing. The stores were generous but weren’t going to sustain them forever. When they arrived at Oxford station an hour or so later, it was with considerable relief.

  Unfortunately, the station was crowded with morning business. The unexpected private train was shunted off to the last platform. As they pulled in, window still open, they heard a station call boarding for the Deft Twelve Star bound for Glasgow.

  Sidheag nosed out the door, excited, but they were too late. Four platforms over, the train in question pulled out before they could even come up with a plan to sneak off their own train. Sophronia grabbed her friend and yanked her inside just as Monique jumped down from the engineering cab.

  Monique, as ever, was dressed to the height of current fashion, her carriage gown one of tiered lavender taffeta with black satin ribbon edging around the bottom of the wide, full bell. It was exactly suited to the climate and the conditions of winter travel. Her blonde hair was perfectly done and she looked beautiful. She must have had very little sleep herself. It didn’t show, which Sophronia found highly annoying. Monique was probably accustomed to being up all night, living among vampires.