Curtsies & Conspiracies fs-2

by Gail Carriger

  Sophronia cocked her head and lifted the primer. “You sure you aren’t a project?”

  “Aw, miss, reading’s one thing, but I can’t be a gentleman, and that seems part and parcel of that secretive work of yours.”

  “Doesn’t have to be.”

  Soap was not to be persuaded. If Sophronia were to make an intelligencer of him, she’d have to do it without his knowing. “Well, I appreciate your sources; that’s all I’m saying,” she said.

  Soap smiled, a flash of white teeth. “Speaking of which…” His eye had been caught by someone coming up behind Sophronia.

  She whirled around to see a purposeful newsboy silhouette walking straight across the boiler room, like a delivery lad.

  The engineering chamber was a mere hum of activity at night, unlike the crashing cacophony of daytime. Most of the sooties and greasers were asleep, and all of the officers, but the boilers always had to be tended. The flickering orange glow from the burning coal turned the cavernous room into a waltz of light. Sophronia adored it. Sooties trotted about, but none of them moved straight across the open space between boilers—they stopped to feed them. Only one person moved with such directness—Genevieve Lefoux.

  “What ho?” said the scamp, dimpling up at them. Vieve was from above stairs; she belonged to Professor Lefoux, as much as she might be said to belong to anyone. But she was rather catlike about the situation. She never sat lessons and went wherever she pleased at whatever hour. Since she liked engines, much of her time was spent in the boiler room.

  After the customary pleasantries, Vieve said in a sprightly manner, “Hear my aunt got you good, Sophronia.”

  Sophronia cast the primer up at the ceiling in a gesture of appeal to higher powers. “You, too? Isn’t my business secret at all?”

  “Well, I might have read the report. You made them allover sticky with the highest six-month marks ever. Good on you, Miss Poofy Skirts.”

  “You turning against me, too?”

  “Oh, I’m not miffed. Amused you had to go up against the brunt of Aunt’s charms.”

  “She’s a dragon, your aunt.”

  “Sing that! Now, about—oof!” Vieve stumbled as a sootie hurtled into her, knocking her over.

  “Hey!” he yelled as Vieve bounced upright. “Watch it there, runt!”

  Sophronia pulled her shoulders back. “You watch it, you turbot!”

  The boy snorted at her. “Oh, mighty Uptop, what could you do to me?”

  Soap stepped in when it looked like Sophronia might actually launch herself at the boy. “Run along now.”

  Strong from shoveling coal most of his life, Soap loomed over the smaller sootie. The boy scuttled off.

  Sophronia sputtered. “Why, that turnip! Who does he think he is? Vieve, are you well?”

  Vieve dimpled at her. “Don’t concern yourself, miss. I’m not easily damaged.”

  Soap said to Sophronia, “Now, miss, don’t go causing a ruckus in my domain, please.”

  Sophronia stopped vibrating. “Oh, dear. I am sorry. This thing with everyone angry at me has rather put my nerves on end.” Sophronia hoped Soap couldn’t see how hurt she was by the ostracism. Soap’s eyes were so direct, she rather thought he might see into her heart better than anyone.

  Soap shook his head at her sympathetically. “Still, miss.”

  Sophronia agreed with the reprimand. She should have minded her manners, even with a sootie. Especially with a sootie. “Who was that unpleasant creature?” She thought she knew most of the boiler room staff by sight, if not by name.

  “Don’t know,” admitted Soap, embarrassed.

  “Don’t know? But you know all the sooties!” Soap was like the unofficial mayor of boilers.

  “That’s just it. We’ve taken on double numbers this week. Double! Some pretty dubious types, too. Second Assistant Fireman should have checked their characters better, if you ask me. Us old guard been trying to get most of them assigned to forward engine and propeller, but they don’t need that many when we’re drifting. So we’ve got ’em all mucking about here.”

  Sophronia looked around. “Have you taken on extra coal, too?”

  Soap nodded.

  “I didn’t feel us go low to meet the supply train.”

  “Early yesterday morning, miss.”

  Vieve added, “They brought it in from Bristol special.”

  Sophronia said, “I take it you’re thinking what I’m thinking.”

  “Someone plans to take this ship on a very long trip.” Soap pulled out a wooden pipe, lit it up with a wick from a nearby boiler, and puffed.

  Sophronia wrinkled her nose. Revolting habit. She schooled her expression when he looked at her, but he must have caught her distaste.

  He took the pipe out of his mouth, looked at it as though it had done something offensive, and then tapped it out into a coal heap and tucked it away.

  And he thinks he’s not a gentleman! Sophronia smiled—a wide grin with no artifice to it.

  Soap looked a little overwhelmed by the power of her approval. Sophronia was, as yet, unaware of the effect of her smile on boys.

  Vieve watched this back-and-forth with interested green eyes.

  Sophronia continued their conversation. “Leaving the moor, do you think?

  Soap nodded. “A certain.”

  “What else do you know?” Sophronia asked.

  Soap shook his head. “Simply that, miss. I have tried, but them powers upstairs are keeping this one close.”

  They both looked to the ten-year-old girl dressed as a boy. Vieve had crouched down to play with Bumbersnoot. She shrugged. “You got more than me. No one’s talked in my hearing.”

  “Lady Linette! She didn’t give us our assessments. Perhaps she was called away to deal with this?” Sophronia mused.

  “Which direction are we headed now, Soap?” Vieve asked.

  Soap wandered over to a hatch in the floor of one corner of the massive room and stuck his head out of it. A few minutes later he returned. Soap always looked as though he didn’t quite have control of his limbs, like a goat. But like a goat, he was sure-footed and powerful, despite appearances.

  “Toward Swiffle-on-Exe, I’m thinking.”

  Sophronia was impressed. This was a skill she hadn’t known Soap possessed. One stretch of heath looked much the same as another to her.

  “Boilers will be needing water?” suggested Vieve. “For the journey?” Swiffle-on-Exe was a riverside town.

  “I wonder if Bunson’s has a mission for us?” offered Sophronia. Bunson and Lacroix’s Boys’ Polytechnique was near Swiffle-on-Exe and the primary reason people visited the town.

  “After Monique bungled the prototype retrieval? I doubt it,” muttered Vieve. “Things haven’t been roses between the schools since. Bunson’s won’t forgive Geraldine’s for nearly losing the only working device.”

  Sophronia’s instincts took over. “How do you know that?”

  “My aunt used to communicate regularly with a professor there.”

  “Algonquin Shrimpdittle?”

  “Yes, how…?”

  “When we infiltrated Bunson’s last year, you used his name to get us past the porter.”

  “You remember?” Vieve was impressed.

  “It’s what I do.”

  “Highest marks ever, right.” Vieve gave Sophronia a suspicious look. “Did you hold back during that test?”

  Sophronia avoided her question by asking one in reply. “Did you know about the oddgob?”

  Vieve nodded.

  “Oh.” Sophronia was disappointed. “And I took such careful mental notes for you. Did you know it had a component part that looked a great deal like the prototype?”

  Vieve frowned. “Not possible. Why would the oddgob need a crystalline valve frequensor? That valve is for wireless communication, nothing to do with oddgobbery.”

  Sophronia shrugged and fished the item in question out of her reticule. She handed it to Vieve, experiencing some relief at no longer
having it on her person. “Here, I stole it for you. Why don’t you tell me what it’s for.”

  “Aw, Sophronia, how thoughtful. You brought me a present!” Vieve examined the mini-prototype for a moment. Soap and Sophronia watched her for signs of intrigue. “Amazing, they let it fall into your hands when they made such a fuss over it only last year.”

  Sophronia nodded. “Unless it’s no longer a prototype and already in production and distribution. Technology does move awful fast these days.”

  Vieve dimpled again. “I know, isn’t it grand?” She pocketed the valve, only then realizing Sophronia had neatly avoided her earlier question. “So, did you hold back during that test?”

  “Maybe a little,” Sophronia admitted.

  Soap grinned. “That’s my girl.”

  Sophronia glared at him. He was getting familiar.

  “You are, miss.” He continued to grin.

  “I’m my own girl, thank you very much.”

  “Sometimes. Sometimes you’re mine, or Miss Dimity’s, or even Vieve’s.”

  Vieve was too young to follow this line of reasoning, but she was bound to agree with Soap if the conversation nettled Sophronia.

  This one certainly did. In fact, Sophronia was finding it most flustering. She did not like being flustered, and she did not like that it was Soap doing the flustering. She wasn’t quite sure what this meant, so she resorted to orders. “Stop it, Soap.”

  “For now, miss. You tell me when you want this conversation to continue.”

  “Oh, really!”

  But Soap, who certainly could be a gentleman when he tried, left the subject at that and moved the discussion delicately on to the latest boiler room excitement: the sooties had adopted a kitten.

  Sophronia visited the boiler room regularly for the next few nights. Things remained uncomfortable in class and chambers. Dimity was barely passing polite, and the other girls ignored Sophronia.

  Of course, Bumbersnoot tried his best, but a mechanimal hadn’t much conversation and wasn’t really interested in speculating as to what might be afloat. Sophronia refused to volunteer any information to the others. The possibility of a visit to Swiffle-on-Exe and Bunson’s—which meant young gentlemen—would have her compatriots in ecstasies of delighted anticipation. So Sophronia held on to the news out of spite. She didn’t try to warn Dimity that someone might be after her. Dimity would take it as a pathetic excuse for interference. Without knowing the motive behind that mystery attack, Sophronia had no way to make her case. She’d no idea how lonely such a life could be. So she escaped to see Soap, and occasionally Vieve, most evenings. It was a risk. She might get caught, but it was better than the pointed silences.

  Then one morning at breakfast, Mademoiselle Geraldine made an official announcement.

  Mademoiselle Geraldine was a source of amusement to the students. She was, supposedly, the headmistress. She thought her school was a real finishing school and had no idea about the espionage side of things. This was an ongoing covert operation lesson for the students—all the girls had to participate in keeping their headmistress in the dark. She always addressed them at breakfast with such concerns and inanities as might be important were they attending an actual ladies’ seminary. And, upon occasion, she was given something of substance to say by Lady Linette.

  Over a light repast of giblet pie, boiled whiting, brawn, cold roast capon, and broiled haddock together with tea, brown bread, and sweet butter—the teachers did not approve of a heavy breakfast—Mademoiselle Geraldine informed them that they were headed to Swiffle-on-Exe for a brief stopover and that they could expect company once they arrived. The headmistress did not look pleased. Mademoiselle Geraldine might boast the rinsed red hair, loud voice, and well-upholstered figure of a former opera singer, but she took deportment seriously. Whoever their passenger was going to be, Mademoiselle Geraldine did not approve.

  Accordingly, they arrived at the outskirts of Swiffle-on-Exe the next evening after dark. Instead of taking up their customary mooring point, off a goat path west of town, they went south and put down lines near the banks of the Exe.

  The girls were all atwitter over this shift in tradition. Only Sophronia knew it was because they must take on boiler water. When everyone else was asleep, she crept out of quarters. It was dangerously busy in the hallway; the tracks were screaming with maid mechanicals, bustling to and fro carrying extra linens and washbasins. Sophronia had to flatten herself behind doors and inch along the walls at a pace so slow they wouldn’t register her. She decided not to visit the sooties, who would be too busy, and instead headed out onto a mid-level balcony. She leaned over the railing to watch as the airship sunk down and nested, nose first, over the river, rustling the willow trees along the bank. Eventually, the front section, which housed the teachers’ residence and engineering, bridged the water.

  With a belch of smoke out the stacks and a loud rumbling, a huge articulated metal pipe ejected from the lower front of the hull. Standing on a mid-level deck, Sophronia was in good position to observe under the light of a half-moon.

  The pipe was massive. Near its end was a set of four small inflated balloons. These rested atop the river and held the pipe, presumably, at exactly the right angle. Round steps collapsed out like flower petals as the pipe telescoped down. Sooties in the boiler room must have been cranking up a storm to create suction, for with a slurping noise the pipe shuddered and began to take on water. It looked as though the airship were drinking up the river through a flute.

  This task complete, sooties, tiny figures below her, ran down the finger keys of the flute. There were a few joyful whoops and splashes. Mortified, Sophronia realized they were bare. Having left their soot-covered clothes above, they were taking this as a rare opportunity to bathe. The water must be freezing, but they looked to be having a rollicking good time. Sophronia supposed Soap was among them, but she couldn’t distinguish individuals and wasn’t certain she should. Nevertheless, she was so taken with the spectacle she nearly fell over the railing. There might have been some small part of her that wished for Vieve’s binoculars.

  The next morning, the airship was back in its customary position, hovering over a hill west of town. The hodgepodge of buildings and mixed architecture that made up Bunson’s school was in view down the path. Sophronia blushed to think upon what she had seen the night before, and regretted not having Dimity to share it with.

  When Sophronia entered the communal parlor wearing a carriage dress because she could not do up the back of her day gowns by herself, Dimity was in huddle with Sidheag. Sophronia walked over to their group with an open expression, but the girls stopped talking and only smiled back. Fake, unfriendly, cutting smiles of the kind Lady Linette had made them perfect over the course of six lessons. Sophronia sighed. Still not forgiven? But I have such interesting things to tell.

  Then, before breakfast commenced, Mademoiselle Geraldine made a most shocking announcement, one that clearly distressed her.

  “Ladies,” she said. “We will be taking a trip. A great trip.”

  A collective gasp met this statement. The girls stopped reaching for crumpets and jam and looked up expectantly.

  Sophronia sat back in her seat and looked at Monique out of the corner of her eye. Monique’s genuine surprise suggested she hadn’t known. Monique supposedly had an advocate among the teachers, and yet she hadn’t been told? The girl’s expression changed from shock to annoyance. Oh, ho, she thinks she should have been told. Very interesting.

  “You knew.” Dimity was giving Sophronia an exasperated look.

  Well, at least she’s talking to me. Sophronia nodded.

  “Of course she knew! She’s the best, remember? Better than any of us,” Preshea interfered.

  Dimity looked away, flushing.

  “We are going to…” Mademoiselle Geraldine made an expansive gesture and left a pregnant pause, her stage training in action. “… London!”

  Squeals of delight met that. Every girl wanted to go to
London, even the ones who had been already. The shopping alone!

  Sophronia’s dining table erupted into hushed exclamations.

  “Think of it, town in March!”

  “Directly before the Season. All the new gloves will be in!”

  “I must write to Mummy and Daddy immediately to ask for an increase in my allowance.”

  “Will there be balls? Oh, I do hope there will be balls!”

  “There must be balls.”

  Sophronia nodded to herself. That explained all the extra fuel. But their school never left the moor. The fact that Mademoiselle Geraldine’s was actually a massive airship was supposed to be secret. No one would believe it was a real finishing school if they knew it bobbed about shamelessly midair. Sophronia’s mind jumped to the problem of staying covert. Can we avoid populated areas all the way to London? She ought to be excited. She’d rarely had an opportunity to visit the capital. But what fun could she have in London if all her girlfriends were angry at her? It was hardly as though she and Soap could go tripping about Regent Street, cooing over lace tucks.

  Mademoiselle Geraldine called for silence. It took awhile. “Now, now, ladies. Ladies! There will be plenty of time to talk among yourselves later. It will take us four days to get there. Classes will, of course, continue.” The headmistress took a deep breath, straining her stays alarmingly. “And that is not all!”

  The girls quieted in anticipation of more delicious news.

  “We will be joined by company on this excursion.” Mademoiselle Geraldine waved at the back of the room. The girls turned in their seats.

  The dining hall doors opened and in walked… boys.

  Mademoiselle Geraldine’s young ladies did not squeal at this, although it was certainly an even more squeal-worthy moment. Their training took over, and not a peep was to be heard. But there was the faint sucking hiss of multiple indrawn breaths, like helium escaping the big balloons.

  Again, Dimity turned to Sophronia, as if she could not help herself. “Did you know about this?”

  “Dimity!” reprimanded Preshea.