The handsome man from the aetherographic receiver joined her. He signaled at someone down at the end of the vacant platform, and a human porter pushed through the gate and hurried toward them. Money changed hands and the porter scurried off again.
“No mechanicals,” said Sophronia, squinting into the distant crowd in the station proper.
“There’s track down for them,” responded Sidheag.
“Yes, but not a one is running.”
Felix nosed in. “Pardon, ladies, if I might have a look?”
They allowed him space. He slid in next to Sophronia, warm and sweet smelling. Figgy pudding, she thought again.
“That is odd,” he corroborated, but offered no other explanation.
Minutes later the human porter returned, carrying two cups of tea and a copy of the Oxford Whistler. Monique and her companion, secure in their solitary state on the platform, made their way to a long bench under an overhang and sat with the paper and the tea. Their discussion seemed civilized, but despite Sophronia’s ear trumpet and Dimity’s lip-reading ability, they could not make out the topic.
Sophronia said, “Soap, now that I think on it, does Monique know you by sight?”
Soap replied, “Nope. Not one for fraternizing with sooties, that snotty Miss Uppity.”
“Perhaps if you climbed out the off side and nabbed one of those big brooms? If they don’t have mechanicals working to clean, they’ll be hurting for human staff.”
Soap followed her reasoning exactly. “Platform sweeper? Good notion. I can brush on past them; with my skin and these duds, no one would know me from the scenery.”
He climbed out the window on the far side of the coach, lowered himself down to the track, and dashed off.
Felix seemed troubled.
“What is it, Lord Mersey?” asked Dimity.
“I just realized how little I notice my household staff and the human servants all around me.”
Dimity grinned. “Scary, isn’t it?”
He nodded. “Very. I think I shall impress upon Father the necessity of raising their wages.”
Sophronia tipped her head at him. “You think loyalty can be bought?”
“Don’t you?”
Sophronia thought about her friends; money had never yet been exchanged between them. It made her feel sorry for Felix.
“Sovereign, sovereigns, or seduction,” said Sidheag calmly, before Sophronia could stop her.
Dimity nodded in agreement. “It’s our second lesson after the school motto: Ut acerbus terminus.”
Felix looked confused. “What does it mean?”
“‘To the bitter end,’” said Sophronia.
“Not that. I do speak Latin, thank you very much. I’m not a complete imbecile. I mean to ask, what does ‘sovereign, sovereigns, or seduction’ mean?”
“The three possible ways to turn a man to a cause,” explained Dimity.
“What cause?” Felix was unsettled. His eyes on Sophronia.
“I see Soap,” said Sophronia, wondering if Felix was afraid she could turn him away from a Pickleman future. I’m trying, she thought. Is it working? Self-consciously she shifted so the whole length of her side was pressed against him. His breath hitched in a most gratifying manner.
They watched as Soap appeared at the edge of the platform near the front of the train and jumped up. He’d found a big broom and pushed it about, his cap pulled down over his eyes, whistling softly, until he was right behind Monique’s bench. He slowed and did a bit of extra sweeping.
“Don’t do overmuch,” hissed Sophronia, her nose pressed to the glass in worry. “Monique will notice. Move off now, move off!”
Monique, occupied with tea, argument, and newspaper, nevertheless shifted and gave Soap a sharp look just as the tall, lanky sootie obeyed Sophronia’s silent order and moved on down the platform.
Then the young gentleman looked up, noticed the sweeper, and yelled sharply.
Run! Sophronia suppressed the urge to scream out of the train.
Soap turned back and ambled toward Monique and her companion, dragging the broom casually behind him.
Everyone in the coach held their breath, even Felix, who didn’t give two figs if Soap got caught. He was no doubt worried that Soap might give them away. Felix probably believed that sooties had no honor.
Instead of grabbing him, or yelling for the constable, or making any other threatening movement, the man signaled Soap forward.
Monique ignored Soap entirely.
The man asked Soap something, hands spread.
Soap shook his head.
The man got upset, throwing his paper down to the ground in annoyance.
Soap tipped his hat at them politely and returned to sweeping.
Monique and her associate abandoned their teacups on the bench and returned to the train.
“Drop!” hissed Sophronia.
Watching from the coach door window, they all ducked as Monique faced them for a moment. Had she seen the balloon basket on the roof?
Apparently not.
The stowaways popped back up in time to watch the man hand Monique into the cab before returning to the transmitter carriage.
They turned away in time to see Soap reach down and swig the leftover tea.
Felix and Dimity both made noises of disgust. Imagine drinking someone else’s leavings? How humiliating!
Then Soap hurriedly swept the rest of the platform, before disappearing ’round the front of the train.
TRAIN-NAPPING
Sophronia trusted in Soap’s abilities to get back on board, but she was impressed with his speed. He reappeared only a few minutes later, squirming through the window, looking chipper and pleased with himself. Also, he was bolstered by pilfered tea.
Sophronia couldn’t help glancing at Felix. She knew that all he saw was a dark-skinned boy who drank someone else’s leavings, like a beggar. She felt hot behind the ears. Why had Soap done such a thing in front of everyone?
She shook it off. She might have done it herself, if no one had been watching. She was that in need of tea.
“What did you hear?” she asked.
“They were arguing over the morning paper. She said something about the need for greater range. He said that range was never discussed. She said that didn’t matter, that they would get blamed regardless and that she would make sure they knew he was at fault. Then he waved the paper and said he’d made it possible to get this far. Then she said it wasn’t their choice to question orders and that they would have to keep trying. That was it.”
“What did he say to you, when you spoke directly?” asked Sophronia.
“That was the strangest part. He asked about the mechanicals in Oxford.”
“The mechanicals? Why, are they not working?”
“That’s just it, he didn’t explain.”
“So what did you say?”
“I asked if I looked like my family could afford mechanicals. He got hot under the collar and said he thought I might pay attention to the world around me and threw the paper on the ground. Then the driver signaled for them to get back aboard.”
Sophronia nibbled her lip in thought.
Soap looked disappointed, as if he wanted something more from her than just lip nibbles. Then again…
“I brought you a present.” With a flourish, Soap pulled the morning paper out of his shirt front. He must have lifted it while drinking the tea and stashed it when they ducked for cover.
Sophronia grinned. His drinking the abandoned beverage was entirely forgiven.
“Good on you!” said Sidheag, slapping Soap companionably on the back.
Both Felix and Dimity looked askance at such familiarity. Dimity was concerned with Sidheag’s dignity, Felix with the dignity of the peerage. Lady Kingair should not go around touching sooties!
Sidheag was oblivious. “What does it say?”
Soap handed the Oxford Whistler to Sophronia without answering.
Sophronia opened it eagerly, readin
g the headlines. There was an announcement of the wedding of Jemima Smackadee to Wilfred Corkin, some threatened occupation of the Danubian Principalities, and concerns over staff repairs. It was frustrating; nothing seemed directly tied to the conversation Soap had overheard, nor the aetherographic transmitter on the train.
Dimity sat next to her on the bench, reading as well. Felix and Sidheag took the opposite side of the paper. Sophronia held it up so they could all read at once, scanning for relevant information. Soap, without having to be asked, took up a position at the door to keep watch. After lessons with Sophronia, he could read a little, but not well. He was only on the second-level primers.
The train lurched and began to pull out of the station.
Sophronia caught Sidheag’s eye. If they didn’t go northward, then they’d be headed to London. Sidheag would blame Sophronia for their not switching trains. Sophronia knew it and accepted responsibility. Sidheag ought to have been her priority. They should have gotten off along with Soap and left Monique and the vampires to their own devices. They could have pooled their resources to pay for a northbound ticket for Sidheag without them. But now?
Sophronia admitted to herself that perhaps she was following this new trail of intrigue because it might delay Sidheag’s departure. The more she thought about it, the more she worried about her friend’s choice. Should Sidheag really hole up with a pack of traitorous werewolves? Chugging across the countryside with an aetherographic transmitter might give Sidheag a chance to rethink her options. Then again, if I were in Sidheag’s shoes, I wouldn’t want anyone to delay me or question my judgment. Feeling guiltier, Sophronia went back to reading the paper.
Felix, sitting opposite her, leaned all the way forward to read the fine print. Did he need glasses? That was sweet. He reached out to straighten a corner of the paper, brushing her fingertips. She caught his eye around the side and he gave one of his little half smiles. She was trying to decide how to respond when his attention diverted back to reading and his face went ashen.
“What did you find, Lord Mersey?”
“It could be nothing.…” He flipped the paper and pointed out an announcement box. Sidheag came around the other side of Sophronia, and the three girls read the small section together.
“Well, ladies?” prodded Soap from the door.
Sophronia read out. “‘The mechanical manufacturers Messrs. Brine, Boottle, and Phipps very much regret the minor malfunction of servant units experienced by the residents of northern Wiltshire last night. Housekeepers are advised that a return of the steam tax for the time period in question will appear during the next accounting cycle. Please accept our profound apologies for any inconvenience.’”
“That’s what they call a bunch of mechanicals singing ‘Rule, Britannia!’ and then dying? A minor malfunction?” Dimity scoffed.
Sophronia said, “I wonder if the breakdown has spread to Oxford and that’s why none of the station ones were working. If it happened after last night’s incident, this paper would already have been in production. We’ll have to check the evening rags for another apology.”
“There’s a proper article here.” Dimity pointed below the announcement.
Felix sat back on the bench, crossing his arms over his chest, face sinking into its customary expression of manufactured boredom.
Sophronia read the article out as well, for Soap’s benefit. “‘Members of the gentry and other key families in several towns in North Wiltshire experienced an unexpected performance at midnight.’” She paraphrased, “He describes exactly what we saw with the dancing, although he doesn’t name the song. Apparently, everyone’s staff did exactly the same. Certain older models, or those not recently upgraded, were immune. The manufacturer won’t say for certain, but inside sources hint at sabotage.”
Sophronia passed the paper over to Dimity. “Mumsy did say she’d recently had Frowbritcher serviced. I wonder if that service included extra unexpected protocols?”
She looked hard at Felix. He seemed upset—why? They had all seen the malfunction at the ball; he could hardly have hoped they would forget. The only new information was that the malfunctions had extended over a much larger area than only Sophronia’s house. What did that matter? What else had they learned? The name of the manufacturing company. Perhaps that was what had shaken him.
Casually she said, “Does anyone know anything about Messrs. Brine, Boottle, and Phipps?”
No one said a word.
Sophronia contemplated the initials BBP. Had she seen them somewhere before? At that moment, all forgotten in the excitement of the morning’s events, Bumbersnoot tooted smoke at her.
“Oh, dear me yes, poor Bumbersnoot, you haven’t had any breakfast. Anyone have something he could burn? His boiler will die down soon otherwise.”
Soap produced a lump of coal. He seemed to like having them stashed about his person for Bumbersnoot.
Sophronia picked up her little mechanimal, petting him affectionately, even though she knew he couldn’t feel it. While the others talked quietly about the implications of a wider-ranging malfunction, Sophronia fed Bumbersnoot coal. At the same time she surreptitiously checked the underside of one of his ears. There, branded into the leather, was a string of letters Sophronia had always thought some kind of illegible maker’s mark. Now she suspected the letters were BBP. Bumbersnoot was a mechanimal that’d come to her by way of the flywaymen, but she was sure he’d originally been made by Picklemen. After all, they had been around when she’d first acquired Bumbersnoot. Picklemen, in her experience, were very fond of mechanimals. Considering Felix’s reaction, she thought it pretty darn likely that the company of Messrs. Brine, Boottle, and Phipps was a Pickleman front. But what did that signify for the “Rule, Britannia!” malfunction? Had the vampires triggered it to sabotage the company and discredit the product, sort of like a character assassination on an industrial scale? Sophronia thought that if so, the sabotage could have been carried out by this very train. It had, after all, been in a station close to her house, in North Wiltshire.
Was the aetherographic machine being used to transmit protocols to multiple mechanicals simultaneously, telling them to sing “Rule, Britannia!”? Why would the vampires reveal their hand to the Picklemen like that? Character assassinations were supposed to be subtle. Vieve had specified that crystalline valves only worked point-to-point. By rights, that meant that for every mechanical commanded to sing, there would need to be one crystalline valve inside the mechanical and a sister valve to do the sending on board the train. She counted on her hand. For her brother’s party alone, with twelve mechanicals, that meant twelve companion valves on the train. Yet she had seen only one in the freight car. Perhaps the other freight carriage was absolutely full of valves?
Sophronia’s mind buzzed. She said, “It’s possible that the very train we are on is responsible for all this madness.”
Sidheag waved the paper about. “How do you figure that?”
“It’s too conveniently in the right place at the right time. Plus, vampires are open in their mistrust of mechanicals. I think the operatic performance may have been some kind of test.”
Dimity said, “Would they be so bold as to run a test like that in front of everyone?”
“I wondered the same thing. Perhaps the test was a mistake?”
Soap said, “Monique did say something about range. Perhaps the mistake was that it didn’t take out more mechanicals? Or that it hit too many?”
They looked at each other in silence for a long moment.
“Is it possible that the vampires are trying to take control of all mechanicals, throughout England?” Sophronia wondered, looking at Felix.
Felix said, his voice soft, “Of course it’s possible. Anything is possible with vampires.”
Sophronia thought of her bladed fan, a gift from a vampire. Was Lord Akeldama trying to buy her cooperation? Though he was a rove, and unattached to a hive, he could be acting in the interests of all vampire-kind. “There is another
possibility. They could be trying to discredit mechanicals and through them the new crystalline valve technology. Remember, vampires missed out on the monopoly.”
Felix liked this guess. “They get the politicians on their side.”
Dimity said, in a small voice, “There are sides? Whose side are we on?”
“The werewolves,” said Sidheag instantly.
“Goodness, are they involved, too?” wondered Sophronia, trying to fit that into her various theories.
Sidheag considered. “Vampires and werewolves aren’t particularly friendly, but they will band together against an antisupernatural enemy as needed.” This was said pointedly for Felix’s benefit, but then she returned to Sophronia’s question. “However, in this case, I think, no. Werewolves are less likely to tinker in industrial politics than vampires. Plus, we’ve got our own dilemma right now, remember? What do wolves care for the politics of machines?”
Felix shot back with, “Yet it’s interesting that the vampires are making this power play right after one of the most powerful packs in Britain has been fractured beyond repair. Isn’t it? Perhaps they want to take advantage of the dewan’s distraction.”
“Are you implying that the vampires somehow caused it? I think that highly unlikely,” objected Sophronia.
“Lady Linette always says there are no coincidences, only opportunities,” said Dimity, trying to play the peacekeeper.
“If anyone is likely to take advantage of this kind of situation, it’s the Picklemen,” said Sophronia.
“What does that mean?” demanded Felix, for some reason annoyed. “Do you support vampires against Picklemen?”
Vexed by such a direct questioning of her loyalties, especially when she felt she had made her thoughts plain, Sophronia took the unprecedented step of stating her position outright. “I support balancing out power. Perhaps you might want to think about the broader scope yourself.”
Waistcoats & Weaponry Page 15
