Sophronia leaned in to Soap, who still wore the hurlie, which was still hooked to the top railing of the freight carriage.
She fell against him as though to embrace him good-bye in an excess of emotion. “They only have one ship,” she whispered into his ear.
Soap was confused but willing to participate even under the threat of an anxious gun. “Yes, miss.”
“And there are four of us, four people who know too much.”
“Yes, miss.”
“If we separate, they can’t chase all of us.”
“Ah,” said Soap, following her reasoning, testing the tension in the hurlie. “Yes, I see.”
Soap understood her. Soap would always understand.
SESSION 15: DEWAN EX MACHINA
Soap was still shaky from his head bang, but he was stronger than Sophronia, and they hadn’t time to switch anyway. Thus, for purely practical reasons, he had to hold the hurlie.
Sophronia turned to say to the duke, lips trembling with simulated emotions, “I’ll do anything you say, Your Grace, only please don’t hurt him.”
The duke looked utterly disgusted by this. Whether it was the idea that he would waste a bullet on a sootie, or the idea that Sophronia might harbor real feelings for an underling, it was difficult to tell which.
Then Sophronia threw herself at Soap, wrapping her arms and legs about him in the apparent throes of some passionate fit. It was the final embrace of lovers about to be parted forever, worthy of Romeo and Juliet.
In the same movement, like a dance, Soap sank them to their knees. Then he leaned backward and with a shift of weight slid them both off the side of the moving train.
Though the hurlie did enough to slow their fall, it played out too swiftly, and the train had picked up enough speed that they tumbled hard to the track below. The moment they hit the ground Sophronia had out her bladed fan and cut them free of the hurlie. Soap curled himself protectively about her, because he was prone to being stupidly careful with her welfare, so that he took most of the fall—and that on top of his crash earlier.
They ended with Sophronia sprawled indelicately on top of him. She unwound herself, heart beating double, because Soap was lying so very still.
“Soap! Soap?”
“Just give me a moment, miss, gathering my wits back about me. Not every day a lad intentionally throws himself from a train. Not every day I get you on top of me, neither, could be the shock of both at once.”
Sophronia ran her hands over him for the second time in so many minutes, checking for injuries. Not that she was a trained surgeon, to know when a bone was out, but she could at least determine if he had any open wounds.
He shifted uncomfortably under her touch. “Whoa there, miss,” he almost squeaked, “that’s enough of that!”
“Oh, dear me, are you hurt? Have I hurt you more?” She’d never forgive herself if she damaged him further.
“I think most of me’s fine, miss. Just, please, leave off the touching.”
“I do apologize.” Sophronia was mortified. Of course, Soap’s dignity! He’d hardly want her pawing at him. “I was only checking.”
“Whoa, now. Not that I didn’t like it, miss. You can check me much as you like, only later. I think right now we needs must focus on those friendly fellows. They’ve chosen to stay with us and let the train go.”
Sophronia rolled off Soap and onto her back, looking into the sky.
The flywaymen and their military dirigible were sinking down to the berm at the side of the track.
The train was out of sight—Sidheag, Dimity, Dusty, and Bumbersnoot with it.
Sophronia stood and brushed herself off.
Soap unfolded himself slowly. He was shaken by the fall, bruised and scraped quite a bit.
At her solicitous look, he said, “I think it’s all working, but miss, knowing you sure isn’t kind to a body.” He turned to the open field, clearly thinking about the duke and his gun. “Should we make a run for it?”
“Ah,” said Sophronia, “I believe we have reinforcements.”
So it proved to be, for, as the duke disembarked from his new dirigible, two werewolves came dashing up.
Sophronia stood and, dragging a reluctant Soap behind her, went to join this new gathering.
The werewolves chose to face the flywaymen and the duke, rather than the girl and the sootie. Probably wise.
While Sophronia and Soap walked toward them, the wolves, disregarding all sense of propriety, shifted form right there, in front of the whole dirigible crew in the middle of an open field. They had their backs to Sophronia, but she nevertheless took in the sight with no little embarrassment.
Soap said, “I do believe they think you are a lad.”
“Or this is too important to care about my moral standing.”
The dewan was speaking as they ambled closer.
“… and firing on a train, Your Grace! I mean to say, this can’t be authorized by the queen, I should have known about it. And you know you can’t use cannon fire in a private matter on home soil. What were you thinking? The entire countryside reverberated with the sound. People will think we are at war!”
Duke Golborne said, “My dear dewan, there is no one around to hear. Had I known you were running nearby, I might have employed a quieter projectile. Only creatures with such well-developed hearing as yourselves would know to come investigate. I assure you, I was being quite circumspect.”
He had not, of course, answered the dewan’s accusations.
“What on earth possessed you?” the dewan demanded.
“It was necessary. That train was carrying something valuable of mine. I wished it returned.”
“And may I ask what?”
“You may ask, of course.”
Sophronia and Soap pitched up.
“Good evening, my lords, Your Grace,” said Sophronia.
All eyes turned to her. It was uncomfortable. Sophronia was suited to life as an intelligencer because the one thing she really didn’t like was everyone’s attention on her. That, plus full-frontal werewolf, was challenging even for a girl of her acumen.
Captain Niall, standing a little to one side of the dewan, but equally unclothed, swore softly and said, “Miss Temminnick, what on earth?” He grabbed the top hat from his head and held it to cover his privates, mortified that a student should see him in such a state.
The dewan had no such scruples. Even knowing this odd-looking young lad was a girl did not deter him from his annoyance at the whole situation. He was not a man who tolerated being waylaid on a trip.
He frowned at Sophronia. “You again! We are due up north now, and yet you, young lady, seem bent on interfering with everything. What is it this time?”
Sophronia debated how much information to reveal and to what end. Her primary goal still had to be getting Sidheag home, and then getting herself and her companions safely back to Mademoiselle Geraldine’s and out of Pickleman clutches. Best, she thought, to throw herself on his mercy.
“Oh, my lord,” she said, eyelashes fluttering, “I am so grateful you have come! What would we have done without you? This duke has been so wicked. First he tried to steal this train, so we had to keep it away from him, and then he fired his big gun at us. It was very scary.”
“Oh, yes? And why do you think he wants the train?” The dewan was only partly taken in.