“Your marks are fair, although not as we would have hoped given your lineage. Your reluctance to pursue subterfuge does you a disservice when it is rooted in laziness. Your good humor may work in your favor if you can harness it for information gathering and not simply gossip. Concentrate on combat and solo reconnaissance. You must build your character, Miss Plumleigh-Teignmott. Flibbertigibbets are only good if they have a solid foundation.”
Dimity looked humbled but relieved. She clearly had thought she too would be placed on probation.
Last, Professor Lefoux turned to Sophronia.
“Miss Temminnick, you are in receipt of the highest marks we have ever given in a six-month review. Your mind seems designed for espionage. Nevertheless, you veer away from perfect in matters of etiquette. Do not let these marks go to your head; there are many girls at this school who are better than you. Our biggest concern is what you get up to when we are not watching. Because, if nothing else, this test has told us you are probably spying on us, as well as everyone around you.”
All the other girls in the room, even Dimity, turned to stare at Sophronia.
In that moment, Sophronia knew they hated her. And because she was exactly as Professor Lefoux had said, one small part of her wondered if her assessment had been inflated for precisely that reason: to challenge her by pitting her against her fellow students.
“Oh, Sophronia,” hissed Dimity, “couldn’t you have faked it a little?” Dimity hadn’t a vengeful bone in her body, but even she could be manipulated.
Sophronia looked out from under her eyelashes at the others. Agatha was no longer holding back tears. Sidheag wore a small smile of discomfort. Preshea and Monique were openly hostile.
“Good luck,” said Professor Lefoux to them all, almost cheerfully, before walking swiftly from the room.
Everyone began talking in hushed tones. Everyone, that is, except Sophronia. And no one talked to her, just about her.
“Isn’t she Miss High and Snobby now?” hissed Monique.
“Bet she thinks the sun rises out of her tea in the morning,” added Preshea in her sharp, clipped voice.
“Highest marks ever. Isn’t that something? We witnessed history,” said Sidheag, her yellow eyes cold.
“I can’t believe I’m on probation. Papa will kill me,” said Agatha, possibly not exaggerating. One never knew with parents who sent their daughters to Mademoiselle Geraldine’s.
Sophronia tried out tactics in her head. Just now, she had nothing to say that wouldn’t sound falsely modest. Even if she told them her suspicion that she was being set up, she’d sound defensive. She would have to hope that Agatha and Sidheag would figure it out on their own. She felt certain, however, that she could count on Dimity.
Sophronia cocked her head to one side to look at her best friend.
Dimity looked away and said something sympathetic to Agatha.
Sophronia bit her lip and stared at her hands. She had thought Dimity would stay loyal, just a little bit.
The girls continued to ignore her all that day. It made for lonely classes and an uncomfortable evening meal. Sophronia tried not to let it affect her. They should recover from their resentment if she did nothing to aggravate them. But every time she performed a task well or answered a question correctly during lessons, she could feel the dislike. Several days saw no change to this pattern, and even Dimity still wasn’t talking to her, which was particularly awkward, as they shared a bedroom. Sophronia was both annoyed and hurt. She stopped having an appetite at dinner and started filching the occasional roll for later. She even contemplated not following Dimity when the girl crept out of quarters for her assignation with Lord Dingleproops. But since Sophronia figured that the letter was some kind of cruel joke and that the boy wouldn’t show up, she simply couldn’t let her friend walk into heartbreak alone. So when Dimity sneaked out of quarters, having changed at bedtime into her best evening dress rather than a nightgown, Sophronia followed.
Dimity used a series of evasion and climbing techniques to get around the ship. She held perfectly still and flattened herself against walls so mechanicals patrolling the hallways slid right by. It made getting around after hours very slow, and there was always a risk of discovery whenever a maid rolled into sight. Dimity was better at it than Sophronia had thought, which made her proud. After all, Sophronia had taught Dimity everything she knew on the subject.
Sophronia stayed out of sight, tracking her friend effortlessly, knowing Dimity was headed to the back squeak deck. Sophronia had it easier. She used a small grappling rope knotted at stages for climbing, her own personal invention. It was undemanding to creep along the same level, but up and down could be a challenge on an airship hull. Sophronia had scavenged rope from the sooties and asked Vieve to build her a hook and the emission hurlie. The hurlie was a kind of turtle-shaped device that clipped to Sophronia’s wrist. Vieve was fond of things that clipped to wrists. Once Sophronia flipped the catch at the turtle’s tail, a spring-loaded release mechanism allowed her to fling the turtle’s shell, with the grapple underneath, and the rope followed behind. Best of all, Sophronia didn’t have to use the ladder from Lady Linette’s balcony every time she wanted to visit the sooties.
Instead of climbing up onto the deck after Dimity, Sophronia continued edging around to the very back of the ship. She reeled in her grappling hook and hung off the side, looking into the skies, hunting for an airdinghy. Above her, the squeak deck was abandoned under its great balloon, except for Dimity. Dimity’s view was obstructed by the smokestacks, mast, and propeller, but Sophronia could see around and between them. The school floated with the breeze, so the air around them felt still and windless.
Hours seemed to pass, and Sophronia was convinced that the letter was a hoax. Then she saw it, coming up from below—an airdinghy. There was someone crewing it, but she could make out nothing from her vantage point but its sail and four balloons.
Above, Dimity’s silhouette came to the rails and looked out, but she could not see what Sophronia saw.
Sophronia wondered how Lord Dingleproops intended to board without setting off any of the school’s alarms. The back was the safest choice, since teachers and staff slept in the forward section and students in the middle, but there were mechanicals everywhere. Several had protocols that had them do nothing but look for shapes in the sky and set off alarms in teachers’ bedrooms when they saw something.
Fearlessly, the airdinghy rose up until it was almost level with Sophronia. She heard Dimity give a glad little cry of welcome. When Sophronia could finally see into the gondola, there were two men, not the one boy Dimity expected. Sophronia had met Lord Dingleproops once at a party; he was a reedy, chinless, redheaded blighter, and while tall and strapping, he was not bulky. Both of these men were bulky. There was certainly something wrong.
As the airdinghy rose higher, Sophronia squinted, trying to make out more of the figures in the dark. Then she realized what was off about them. No top hats. No gentleman would ever meet a lady without appropriate headgear, even if that meeting was a joke. Whoever these men were, they were not noblemen. Plus Lord Dingleproops was a member of the Pistons, a social club. A Piston’s top hat was his marker, his sign of status; to travel without it was unthinkable.
Sophronia was not prepared to mount a defense, but she didn’t want anything to happen to Dimity. She threw her bread roll from dinner at the men. It hit one in the head but didn’t appear to do any permanent damage, even though it was a very hard roll. The man swore and looked up at her.
Sophronia cursed herself. All she had done was attract their attention, and one of them now pointed a pistol at her. Banking on the fact that he wouldn’t want to fire because of the noise, she wrapped one arm tightly about the railing that was her current anchor and pointed her hurlie at the airdinghy. She ejected the grapple toward one of the four balloons. The grapple sailed over, but on the pull back she felt the barb catch and tear through the fabric.
The airdinghy lurched to one side.
The man guiding the dinghy yelled. The other shot his pistol at Sophronia, who swung out and to one side, avoiding the bullet.
Above them, Dimity said, “What’s going on? Lord Dingleproops, is that you? Was that gunfire? You’ll wake the teachers!”
Sophronia shot her grapple again, catching another one of the balloons and gashing it open. Two ripped balloons was more than the airdinghy could manage, and it began to spin and sink, gaining speed as it went. The men inside were now more concerned with their own safety than with Sophronia or Dimity.
Dimity squeaked in alarm, calling, “Wait, come back!” But her imagined suitor was gone.
Sophronia yelled up to her, “That wasn’t Lord Dingleproops.”
Dimity was annoyed enough to actually speak with her. “Sophronia? What are you doing following me?”
“Keeping you safe.”
“By sabotaging my assignation?”
“I don’t know what they wanted, but they weren’t Pistons. No top hats.”
Clearly, Dimity preferred to believe in her own romantic visions than to see reason. “Oh, Sophronia, he was probably in disguise! Must you ruin everything?”
Sophronia couldn’t think of anything to say. Since she hadn’t determined what the strange men wanted with Dimity, she could hardly argue that she had protected Dimity from some sinister unknown. Perhaps one of them had been Lord Dingleproops, but she doubted it. Lord Dingleproops was the type to disguise himself, certainly, but he would dress up as a jester and still wear his top hat. Those men had been after Dimity, and they weren’t lordlings; Sophronia would stake her reputation on it.
As Sophronia climbed back to quarters, she reflected that perhaps it was best if Dimity didn’t believe that someone was after her, at least for the time being. Sophronia simply would have to keep an eye on her, whether she liked it or not. Of course, the question remained: who were they and what did they want with Dimity?
DIAMONDS FROM SOOTIES
Given that all her female friends were aloof and noncommunicative, Sophronia took refuge in the boiler room. There, fire and smoke turned scurrying workers into creatures of shadow, and boys not much older than Sophronia worked to keep the steam engines running and the airship afloat. Among these sooties, Soap stood out as the tallest, boldest, and shadowiest. Sophronia would have sworn he’d grown a foot in the months she’d known him. She was no petite lady herself, but Soap’s lean, muscled form towered over her, his wide face made all the more handsome by its perpetual smile.
“I hear you did particularly well, miss.” Phineas B. Crow—Soap for short, sootie by profession—attempted to look serious by concentrating on Bumbersnoot, but he couldn’t hide his inherent cheekiness. He also couldn’t hide the fact that he didn’t care one whistle for her high marks.
“Soap, I wish I had access to your sources of information.”
“You do, miss. Through me, a’course!” This comment was accompanied by a flash of glee from his dark eyes. “Here you go, Bumbersnoot.” Sophronia’s mechanimal was snuffling about in black dust, his clockwork tail tick-tocking back and forth in excitement. He expressed his delight at the small bits of coal Soap dropped from above by eating them—little puffs of smoke made his floppy leather ears flap.
“Didn’t bring Miss Sidheag south with you this time?” Soap prodded gently.
Sophronia gave him a look.
“What, even her? You’d think she’d grog to the fact that you’d been pickled.”
“Not Sidheag. Takes everything at face value, that girl. It’s one of the reasons she didn’t do well….” Sophronia trailed off, realizing what Soap had said. “Even you figured out I’ve been pickled?”
Soap took offense. He stopped feeding Bumbersnoot. “Even me? I’ve been around this here school long enough to pick up a few tricks.”
The mechanimal’s tail slowed to a steady tick-tock, tick-tock.
Sophronia looked at her friend: his buoyant demeanor, his skin so dark it was often difficult to tell where he began and the soot left off. “Are you happy here, Soap?”
“Why, miss, what a question.” Soap’s ready smile faded slightly.
Bumbersnoot, ignored, puffed steam at them, as if to say, What about me? No one asks if I’m happy. You know what would make me happy? More coal. Yoo-hoo, down here. You, with the coal! There was, of course, a pile of coal nearby, but Bumbersnoot wasn’t too bright. He was only a simple mechanimal, with very basic protocols.
“I mean, are you happy as a sootie?”
“Suits me well enough, miss. Decent hours. They let me get away with fooling about a bit. Not a bad life. Both my parents were slaves, miss. Or that’s what I’ve been told. Never knew ’em myself.”