Etiquette & Espionage (16 page)

Lady Linette winced. “Miss Temminneck, arrange after-hours lessons with Professor Braithwope, do. We really must work on that curtsy of yours, dear.”

“But I have advanced eyelash fluttering to practice, and a mathematics problem concerning how to order strychnine
and
a lamb dinner on a limited budget, and three chapters on court etiquette to read, and my handkerchief to starch, and the quadrille to memorize!”

“No one said learning etiquette
and
espionage would be easy, my dear.”

At the end of the third week, after supper, all the girls in the entire school collected on one of the lower decks instead of going to evening classes. There was a general air of excited anticipation, and the massive airship began to sink slowly toward the bland green of the moor. Eventually it almost touched the heath, it was so low.
I thought it wasn’t supposed to land,
Sophronia thought. She was careful to disguise her apprehension. From what little she had seen in the boiler room, she wasn’t certain the school
could
land.

The girls all trooped down to the warehouse bay, where the
glass platform awaited them. It was not to be utilized, however. Professor Braithwope, demonstrating his vampiric strength with a kind of embarrassed deference, pushed the massive platform aside, exposing the large hole in the bottom of the ship.

Older girls first, the students sat down around the edge of the hole, legs dangling, and simply jumped to the grass below. Most landed with small graceful bends, like a deep curtsy. One or two tumbled forward and bounced to their feet in the manner Lady Linette had demonstrated. “From my days on the stage,” she’d said.

Sophronia, Monique, and Sidheag jumped down without fuss, but the other debuts were nowhere near as committed to proving themselves. K th"-1">Both Agatha and Dimity had to be pushed.

Sophronia kept a careful eye on Monique in case she did, in fact, still have the prototype on her person and was planning to stash it behind some shrub or rock. This was, after all, the first time they had been to ground in weeks. But Monique remained a model student, in her way, surrounding herself with a group of stylish older girls and showing no indication of subterfuge beyond that normally required by lessons at Mademoiselle Geraldine’s.

Captain Niall stood waiting for them. The girls all gathered around him in an excited, giggling throng.
Two score
, estimated Sophronia.

He raised up his hands, grinning amiably.

A number of feminine sighs were emitted at the cheeky twinkle in that grin. The werewolf once again wore a top hat tied to his head and a massive leather greatcoat, which flapped in the wind of the moor. As before, his feet were bare, and even
though the coat was fully buttoned, it was clear he wore neither collar nor neck cloth underneath.

Sophronia suspected that many of the sighs and a good deal of the titillation resulted from the certain knowledge that he was entirely naked beneath that coat.

“Ladies, ladies, settle down, please. For the debuts among you, let me quickly say that as you only have me for lessons on an irregular basis, everyone is taught the same lesson together. And today we are addressing knives!” He said this last with a dramatic flourish.

A wave of murmurs and gasps percolated through the crowd.

The captain moved off to a low cluster of boulders, on top of which he had placed a long leather case. This he unrolled to display several knives of differing styles and materials. The girls gasped in appreciative horror.

He returned to face them, clutching three knives in one hand, displayed like a fan. “Don’t like knives?” He pretended to fan himself with the blades and fluttered his long eyelashes at them.

Sophronia wondered if he might be slightly unhinged.

Dimity said, “But sir, aren’t blades for gentlemen?”

“Ah, excellent starting place. In fact, no. Knives can be quite useful to a lady of quality. Swords are for men; they are too easily caught in the skirts. Knifework is far superior for ladies of your position. With fashion as it currently stands, there is always a way for a woman of style to hide a knife about her person. Over the next few months we will cover concealment and how to draw without mussing the trim of your dress. We will delve into blade sizes, applications, and materials. We will discuss
silver versus wood and the best place to strike a vampire versus a werewolf. You will learn some hand-to-hand combat, subversive attacks, and, of course, how to throw. Questions?”

Sidheag’s hand shot up.

“Yes, Lady Kingair?” Captain Niall did not look surprised, although this was the first time Sophronia had ever seen the tall girl show any interest in any lesson, be it feminine wiles, hidden messages, or deadly deeds.

“What about artillery?”

“Not my subject.”

“But you must have had military service,” protested Sidheag.

Captain Niall took that as a teaching point. “Will someone please explain why Lady Kingair made that particular assumption? Yes, Miss Pelouse.”

“Because all werewolves in England are required to se Kequumptrve Her Majesty.” Monique wore a simpering smirk.

Sophronia said, under her breath to Dimity, “Look at her, so smart! And the fact that he’s called
Captain
Niall isn’t a hint?”

Dimity hid a smirk.

Captain Niall gave Sophronia a look.

Oh, right, supernatural. He probably heard that.
Sophronia could feel herself flushing.

The werewolf continued. “I would like you all to please spread apart and find yourselves a nice stick that will work for some preliminary fighting. Ten minutes, ladies, and we will reconvene over yonder.”

Anticipating this relocation, the airship had drifted to hover over a flat rise and now floated several stories above the ground. The glass platform had been lowered and turned into a massive
gas lamp. It utilized a kind of swirling yellow gas that lit up the heath, allowing the lesson to be conducted with all the grandeur of a ball under a chandelier.

The girls broke apart.

Sophronia and Dimity followed Sidheag’s lead and made for a convenient shrub. There was no point in feeling about the heath in the dark for sticks. They all selected branches from the bush, ripping them off. Their selections were quintessentially to character. Sidheag wanted a nice big stick. Dimity broke off what she considered the most shapely branch and commented upon the bush’s aesthetic qualities. Sophronia chose one that fit her hand relatively well but wasn’t as big as anyone else’s. Thus far all the lessons at this school had involved some element of subterfuge, and if the captain asked them to hide their sticks on their personages, she didn’t want to be, well, stuck. She worried over this decision.
Sophronia,
she finally told herself firmly,
don’t overthink the matter.

They reassembled in a row. It was fascinating to see the whole school thus arrayed. Sophronia and the younger girls stood at one end in pinafores and pantalettes. The older girls, with their hair turned up and their skirts full-length, stood at the other. Except Monique, who stuck out like a very angry sore thumb among the debuts. Sophronia counted forty-five students in all.

Captain Niall walked along the row, examining the sticks.

When he got to Dimity he took the stick from her. “An interesting choice.”

“I like the shape and smoothness,” said Dimity.

“Not the best reason I have ever heard for choosing a knife, but not the worst, either. We will go over workmanship next
week. Selecting a knife is like choosing a quality pair of gloves—appearance is important, but how it has been put together accounts for most of its function and duration.”

Dimity nodded and he returned the stick to her.

He turned to Sophronia. “Why so small?”

“I thought you might ask us to hide it.”

“Interesting reasoning.” With no additional comment, he moved on.

Sophronia let out a shaky sigh. She told herself that this was because she was not yet accustomed to the fact that he was a werewolf. Professor Braithwope’s vampiric nature was now routine, but Captain Niall was still wild and mysterious.
And he smells funny.
In actual fact, Sophronia wanted to impress him because everyone else seemed so taken with the man.

He took Sidheag’s stick, one eyebrow raised. “Like large sticks, do you, Lady Kingair?”

Sidheag shrugged like a boy, but Sophronia could tell the tall girl was hiding a smile.

“Know how to use it?” Captain Niall sniffed. Not in the way that a lady might sniff when offended by a comment, but in the way of a dog, tasting the air.

Then he tossed the stick at Sidheag, causing Sophronia to flinch. Sidheag, however, caught it with one hand, as though expecting just such a violent action.

The werewolf produced a knife from his greatcoat pocket—a short-bladed, all-wooden weapon, carved from mahogany.

“Oooh,” said Dimity. “How pretty!”

“For vampires, of course,” said Monique, trying to impress, but Captain Niall wasn’t listening to her.

Sidheag, grinning, stepped forward out of the line.

The girls murmured in confusion.

Sidheag lunged first. Using her stick as though it were actually a bladed weapon, she slashed out at the werewolf. It was not a wild slash, either, of the kind Sophronia and her brothers played at with fake swords.

Sophronia watched with interest, partly from a learning perspective and partly because Sidheag was exposing more of her character now than she had over the past weeks of intimate acquaintance. She’d been trained by someone who actually knew how to fight.

“Sidheag even moves like a boy!” commented Dimity.

“Yes, but she’s
good
, isn’t she?” Sophronia was favorably impressed.
Better than my brothers, that’s certain!

Preshea wanted to know, “What high-rank lady gets that kind of training?”

“A lady by title only.” Monique crossed her arms and stuck her nose in the air.

Captain Niall was holding himself back.
He must be. He is a werewolf, after all, and twice as fast as even the most highly trained soldier.
He was also ten times as strong, if the legends were to be believed.
Nevertheless, Sidheag isn’t at all bad. She keeps her stick in motion, always pressing forward, looking for a hole in her opponent’s defenses.

After a few minutes, Captain Niall called a halt to the impromptu match.

“Very interesting, Lady Kingair. I sense some of your”—he paused delicately—“
father’s
training.”

Sidheag inclined her head and resumed her place in line.

Sophronia, Dimity, Preshea, and Agatha all turned to stare at her, mouths slightly agape.

“I guess we found ourselves a teacher’s pet,” said Monique. “Then again, can you be a pet to a werewolf?”

“Oh, now, Miss Pelouse, I understand that playing favorites with professors is more
your
approach,” Sidheag shot back.

“Now, ladies, what you really want is to never get into the kind of situation Lady Kingair and I just demonstrated. You
never
want to actually engage with a rival. Your greatest advantage is surprise. Make the decision to strike first and with intent, and—if you will excuse the pun—stick to it. Miss Pelouse, if you would like to demonstrate?”

Monique moved forward, head held high, a small smile on her face.

Captain Niall approached her.

Monique, instead of striking out in the manner of Sidheag, Kr o Ni stepped in toward the werewolf. She commented on the pleasantness of the night and the beauty of the countryside. She fluttered her eyelashes in a way Sophronia had come to recognize as very advanced.
I should never have thought there would be a time when I would envy another girl’s eyelash manipulation.

Playing her game, Captain Niall leaned in. He flirted back. He looked deeply into her eyes.

Monique struck him hard in the side of the neck with her stick, behind and below the ear. A stick that she had, somehow, sharpened into a point.

It speared into the werewolf’s body half an inch at least.

Blood leaked out around the stick.

Captain Niall winced and gave a little gasp of pain. “Ah. Yes. Very good, Miss Pelouse.”

Sophronia gasped herself, raising a hand to her mouth in horror. A small, untraumatized part of her wondered why Monique had not displayed such skill when faced with flywaymen.
Had she wanted them to kidnap her?

Several of the other girls gave little mewling cries of distress.

Captain Niall reached up and pulled the stick out of his neck. Blood oozed forth, but not of the color or quantity that Sophronia expected. It was darker, almost black, and slower. Then, right before her eyes, the wound began to heal and close.

The werewolf handed the bloody stick back to Monique, who took it with a little curtsy.

Dimity fell facedown into the grass in a dead faint.

Sophronia crouched over her friend and with a gesture signaled Sidheag to help.

The tall girl bent down, and under cover of the hum of confusion, Sophronia asked, “What did you mean by that? What you said to Monique?”