Etiquette & Espionage (24 page)

“You could say you like lady’s undergarments,” suggested Soap.

“I’m doomed.” Pillover rolled his eyes and flapped the petticoat.

“Oh, go on, Pill,” Sophronia pushed.

Pillover, grumbling, pulled the petticoat on and all the way up to his armpits, as it was far too long for him. Sophronia
handed him her hair ribbon to use as a belt. Soap was clearly holding in laughter. Pillover took a deep breath and straightened upright with great dignity and aplomb.

Sophronia listened at the door, hand up to keep the others quiet. Then, when there seemed to be a lull in the activities outside in the corridor, quick as she could, she opened the door, dragged Pillover forward, and thrust him out, slamming the door closed behind him.

The rumbling in the hallway escala kallrd, and thted for a minute and then quieted. Into the silence a deep voice boomed out, “Pillover Thaddeus Plumleigh-Teignmott, what
are
you wearing?”

They heard Pillover reply querulously, “A petticoat, Headmaster.”

“So I see. You had better have an excellently malevolent explanation as to why.”

“Well, you see, sir,” Pillover started to say, then, “Ouch. Please, sir, not the ear.”

“Come with me!”

“Yes, sir.”

A clatter of mechanicals on rails and the thud of footsteps followed, leaving the hallway in silence.

“What do you know?” whispered Soap at long last. “He
was
useful.”

After that, they managed to escape Bunson and Lacroix’s Boys’ Polytechnique without further incident. Running up the goat path, Sophronia turned back to look at it only once. She thought that the school looked like an ill-decorated, oversized mangle of chess pieces.

“Our academy is much nicer,” she asserted between breaths
as they jogged along. The moor mists had not arisen, and the great caterpillar of multiple dirigibles pressed together that was Mademoiselle Geraldine’s floated gamely before them, lit by a picturesque golden moon.

“You believe so?” Vieve tilted her head in the manner of one who rarely considered the aesthetics of buildings. “Well, ours floats.”

“I mean, it’s less cobbled together.”

Vieve said, “I always thought it had a rather hatlike aspect—like a great floating turban.”

Sophronia tilted her head, but did not quite see it.

They raced on.

Sophronia was worried. “Do you think we made our window?”

Soap nodded. “Yes, but there might be another problem.” He pointed over at a distant hill on their right. There, under the light of the moon, was the shadowy form of a wolf. Wearing a top hat.

“Is that who I think it is?” Sophronia hoped despite herself that it might be some kind of very large dog.

“Know of any other wolves roaming the moors in evening dress?”

“He’s not supposed to be near civilization at the full moon!” Vieve objected.

“Guess someone made a mistake somewhere,” said Soap.

“This is
not good
,” Sophronia said, stating the obvious. The wolf’s muzzle was up and he was scenting the air. Almost as she spoke, his shaggy head turned in their direction.

“We’re closer to the school than he is,” Soap pointed out.

“Yes, but he’s supernatural,” said Vieve, who clearly had some experience in the matter of werewolves. Her little face, normally open and friendly, was pale with fear.

Sophronia took the lead. “Enough talk, everybody—
run
!” Hiking up her skirts, she suited her actions to her words, feeling no shame over the fact that she was down one petticoat and showing ankle to all the world.

Soap quickly outpaced her. His legs were longer, and he was unencumbered by skirts. When he reached the underside of the forward section, he began frantically hopping about and gesticulating wildly. Only then did Sophronia realize that the rope ladder from the boiler room had yet to be dropped ko bink we mdown.

She and Vieve came panting up. “Are we too early?”

“Possibly.”

Sophronia picked up a clod of dirt and threw it at the underside of the hull, close to where she thought the hatch might be. She missed completely; the ship was higher up than she thought. Soap and Vieve followed her lead. Vieve also missed, but Soap’s clod hit and spattered against the hatch.

Nothing happened. The werewolf had nearly reached their hill.

At the last possible moment, the hatch popped open and the rope ladder dropped.

“Soap, you go first; you’re fastest.”

“But Miss Sophronia, you’re a lady. Ladies always go first!”

Sophronia threw her shoulders back and looked him in the eye. “I am trained for this.” She wasn’t yet, but it was worth the lie. “Don’t contest a direct order during an active intelligencer undertaking!”

Soap frowned, but he clearly hated to argue with a lady. Least of all Sophronia. He began climbing up.

“Vieve, you next.”

“But—”

“Now!”

Vieve began climbing.

Sophronia started up last, and just as she did so, she snuck one last look at the werewolf.

With a vicious growl, he was upon her.

For the second time that night, Sophronia was grateful to have worn proper dress. Captain Niall dove for her in a tremendous leap of the kind described in countless gothic novels. His jaws were open, his mouth an angry cavern of teeth and dripping saliva, and when he struck he bit down hard, ruthlessly savaging her… other petticoat.

Sophronia screamed and kicked out.

The werewolf’s teeth were stuck in the bottom reinforced hem. This was her strongest-starched underskirt, the kind designed to support a gown in a full and feminine pouf.

Sophronia kicked again and her foot struck the beast’s sensitive nose.

Captain Niall shook his huge, shaggy head, partly in pain and partly to get loose from the petticoat. His top hat wiggled back and forth hypnotically. The combined weight and motion dragged the undergarment off Sophronia. Both the werewolf and the petticoat fell to the ground. Sophronia, remembering that amazingly high leap the captain had performed in order to get them up on board the ship originally, began climbing as fast as she possibly could.

Sophronia’s under-petticoat was of good-quality horsehair, thick and very durable. It should be; it was a hand-me-down that had survived three sisters before her.

But the werewolf, with supernatural strength, tore through the thick fabric as if it were fine muslin. Captain Niall wrestled with the garment briefly before shaking himself loose from the tatters. He crouched down and leapt for Sophronia again.

Sophronia angled her bottom around and swung the rope ladder to one side, avoiding the werewolf by the narrowest of margins.

“Captain Niall,” she said between pants, “I liked you very much better when you weren’t trying to kill me!”

The werewolf landed, shook his head, and whined as from the hatch above someone pelted him with a handful of coal. One particularly large lump hit his already-abused nose.

He tilted his head back and howled.

Sophronia attained the safety of the hatch. Multiple soot-covered hands reached for her and dragged her inside. Meanwhile, Soap threw another handful of coal down at the werewolf. Next to him, a few of the larger sooties stood grimly clutching steel stoking poles, ready to fend off the beast if necessary.

There was no need, for as soon as Sophronia tumbled inside they hauled the rope ladder up after her and slammed the hatch closed. The wolf jumped up, crashing hard into the underside of the airship. Had the hull’s wooden beams not been reinforced with iron bracings, Sophronia was certain they would have shattered.

“What does he think he can do?” wondered Vieve, while Sophronia recovered her breath and brushed herself off.

“I don’t think he’s
thinking
at all,” replied Sophronia, rising from her hands and knees to her feet, panting and shaking.
That
was the werewolf of her childhood nightmares. “Someone ought to lock him up! He’s dangerous,” she said finally, when she felt her voice wouldn’t shake.

“And he’s ruined your other petticoat.”

“Oh, goodness. How will we get it back? Someone might realize it was mine!”

“Not a chance. See?” Soap pointed down out of the hatch, which the sooties had cracked open slightly. He had his eyes pressed to the gap.

Sophronia went over and joined him. She looked down.

Captain Niall, having apparently resigned himself to losing his quarry, was savaging her horsehair petticoat into teeny, tiny shreds.

“Really, what did my poor petticoat do to offend?”

Vieve said, “I can see now that your insistence on ladies’ dress is very useful, in its way.”

Sophronia looked the nine-year-old over. “You going to give it a try, then?”

“I didn’t say it was
that
useful.”

Sophronia had a sudden, terrifying thought. “Oh, goodness, the other students! They don’t know
Captain Niall is here, do they? What if they happen upon him on the way home from the play? We
must
warn them!”

“But how to warn them without explaining that you were out?” wondered Soap.

“I’ll claim I saw him out the parlor window. I must go.” Sophronia
stood. She was covered in soot, her face smudged, her skirts flat, and her hair loose.

“But Miss Sophronia,
look
at you!”

“Can’t be helped, have to chance it. Lives are at stake.”

“But who are you going to tell? Everyone is at the theater.”

“Not
everyone
. Come on, Vieve! The last thing I need is to be trapped by mechanicals again. I need you and the obstructor.”

S
ophronia and Vieve dashed through the airship ever upward and forward, making their way to the forbidden tassel section. They paused in front of Professor Braithwope’s door. n/fo, rd and for

“You had better make yourself scarce, Vieve. There’s no point in both of us getting into trouble.”

Vieve looked up at her, then nodded. “We must do this again soon.”

“Perhaps without the werewolf attack and the loss of petticoat life?”

“Perhaps.”

With which the young girl tipped her cap at Sophronia and retreated down the hall, one hand in her pocket, obstructor pointed out in front of her, whistling some French tune in the tones of the deeply satisfied.

Well, I’m delighted someone had an enjoyable evening
, Sophronia thought before knocking loudly on the vampire’s door.

There was good deal of clattering, a wet slurping noise, and the sound of india rubber squeaking, and then the door was opened a crack and Professor Braithwope peeked out.

“Whot, whot?” He had something dark about his mouth.

Oh, dear,
thought Sophronia,
have I interrupted him at tea?
She tried to peek around him and catch a glimpse of whomever he might be supping with. But while the vampire was modestly sized, he occupied all of Sophronia’s line of sight.

“Professor, I do so hate to disturb you, but I have urgent business requiring your immediate attention.”

“Student, whot? By George, how’d you get into this section without setting off the alarms?”

“That’s not important, sir.”

“No, I think it might be.”

“Not
now
, sir. There is a problem, please, sir. It’s Captain Niall.”

“Werewolf, whot? What’s that to do with your getting into restricted areas of the school without a chaperone?”

“No, sir, he’s loose.”

“Of course he’s loose. Loose and leagues away, as he should be.”

“No, sir, he’s
here
.”

“On the ship, whot? Not possible. Werewolves don’t float.”

“No, sir, below. He’s here, on the moor, directly below, and the others should be returning from the theater soon. I saw him out my window.”

“Girlish fancies.”