Waistcoats & Weaponry (14 page)

“We could cut it,” said Sophronia, who already had out her sewing shears to strip a petticoat for chest wraps.

She would never have thought Sidheag vain, but the girl looked genuinely perturbed at the suggestion.

“It’s her best feature,” protested Dimity.

Sidheag said, very quietly, “Captain Niall prefers long hair.”

“Oh, does he indeed?” said Sophronia, struggling to keep a straight face. “We’ll leave it, then.”

Dimity whispered, “How did you find that out?”

Without answering, Sidheag plaited and wound her hair up tight to her head. She pulled a cap on over it and transformed, suddenly, into a rather good-looking young man. She then helped unbutton Dimity’s beautiful gold gown. Sophronia stuffed it unceremoniously into the sack, which made Dimity look as if she might start crying. She refused to remove her stays, and chose some of the baggiest of the clothing so that she looked like a strangely top-heavy vagabond. Even in plaits, Dimity’s hair was quite poufy and held her cap out about her head. In the end, she resembled nothing more than a walking, talking mushroom. With her round, feminine face, one really had to squint to see her as male.

After brief discussion, they added a smudge of mustache to her upper lip with a bit of coal from Bumbersnoot’s stores. It wasn’t much help.

Sophronia stripped self-consciously, including her stays, before pulling on a shirt and jodhpurs. She had a passing good figure, but fortunately it wasn’t overly generous. She put her masquerade apron back on, instead of a waistcoat. Over that she added a tweed hunting jacket. It made her look like a butcher’s boy with a pocket obsession, but she liked how useful the apron was and wasn’t going to let it go.

“You can turn back ’round.”

The boys did so. Felix snickered at Dimity’s appearance, but
Soap was still so embarrassed he kept looking anywhere but at them.

“What’s he up to?” Felix asked, pointing to where Bumbersnoot, near the door, made a funny little circle of discomfort.

“Oh, dear,” said Dimity. “Look away, do.”

Felix did not, as there was nowhere else safe to look, watching with interest as Bumbersnoot squatted and ejected, out his back side, the gift Mrs. Barnaclegoose had passed along. It was a most undignified and anatomically accurate expulsion mechanism.

“Oh, yes,” said Sophronia, reaching for it.

A bladed fan! Far nicer than the ones they had practiced with, this one was steel, with filigree handle elements, making it lighter and more delicate looking. It had a leather sheath that was beautifully embossed, looking almost like a piece of mysteriously large and elaborate jewelry as it hung from a little strap with a tassel.

“That’s a pretty thing,” said Felix. “Gift from an admirer?”

Sophronia wasn’t going to give him any quarter. “I have a certain connection in London,” she said. Letting him think in terms of suitor rather than prospective patron.

Felix’s face went slightly sour. He clearly didn’t like the idea of a London rival, a man already finished with his education, based in town, with funds to spare.

Sophronia had no idea how Lord Akeldama knew she wanted one. Nor how he knew Mrs. Barnaclegoose could get it to her. The dandy vampire had more than a few tricks to go along with all those fancies. However, she was rather in love,
she hated to admit. With the fan, of course, not Lord Akeldama. She tested the edge, finding it beautifully sharp, and then carefully fastened the guard and put the bladed fan away in one of her larger pockets.

“What kind of connection?” pried Felix.

“A sharp one,” answered Sophronia coyly.

“Come with me to London, Ria. I’ll buy you such pretty things.”

Soap jumped in, gruff and annoyed. “Miss Temminnick doesn’t want your kind of patronage, Pickleman’s get.”

“Did I say anything about patronage?”

Sophronia sighed. “Hush up and change, please, both of you.”

Then it was the young ladies’ turn to look away while the boys stripped. Sophronia peeked—of course she peeked!—and she wouldn’t have been surprised if the other two did as well. Sidheag, raised by werewolves, had seen men bare before, but these were
boys
their own age—how could she resist? Besides, Sidheag wasn’t shy. Dimity rarely had the advantage, or disadvantage, but she was terribly curious about the opposite sex. Soap, Sophronia noted, had layered on more muscle than she’d expected. Felix seemed slight, white, and lean next to the sootie. Sophronia was ashamed of herself, but that didn’t stop her from taking a great number of mental notes. She’d been well trained in how to do so. It would be a while before she and Dimity could discuss the matter, and she wanted as much detail as possible for the purposes of compared opinions.

All too soon, Soap’s dandy and Felix’s jester costumes were added to the sack. The first-class coach now looked, by all accounts, to be occupied by a gang of scruffy lads bent on postal fraud or meat pie heists.

It had been a long night and everyone was glassy eyed—particularly Sidheag, who’d undertaken an entire wolf-ride from London before their balloon excursion. They agreed to take watches. Sophronia, still excited by the hunt and accustomed to prowling about late, chose first watch. She added, quite firmly, that she would take it with Soap, to forestall any bickering. Dimity stretched out on one bench and Sidheag on the other, with Felix gallantly taking the floor in the middle, using the bag of costumes as a pillow. Bumbersnoot curled up comfortably at his feet. A fact for which the young man was no doubt grateful, as the mechanimal was an excellent foot warmer.

Soon regular breathing and soft snoring meshed with the clatter of the train.

Soap stood near the door, peeking out into the night. Sophronia, after an awkward silence, edged past Felix to look out the opposite window and see if she could guess the distance to Oxford junction. There was no clear sign of anything. Clouds had moved in, obscuring the nearly full moon. There was nothing of significance visible but damp black.

Sophronia returned to the door, standing on the other side from Soap, uncomfortable because he was uncomfortable. She examined his face, but it was closed off. Even if he wanted to talk, he didn’t want to do so here, with the possibility of three sleepers shamming and listening in. Sophronia wasn’t certain, but she thought he looked more sad than upset, and that confused her.

Casualties on all sides
, she thought.
I get Sidheag sorted and now Soap’s gone sentimental on me.

She tilted her head at him and tried a small smile.

His mouth twisted. He blinked slowly, looked away, and then glanced back at her.

Sophronia tried another smile.

He puffed out a short sigh, loss and resignation rolled up into it. Then he seemed to give himself a mental shake and smiled back. It was almost his old grin—only without the twinkle.

Then it was Sophronia’s turn to feel lost and forlorn. Soap had withdrawn from her, and it was her fault.
Was I too tough when I yelled at him about turning claviger? It’s only that I’m worried. He should know me well enough for that. Did something happen on the journey just now? Is he still overly embarrassed about us changing? Is it Felix?
Sophronia knew, at that thought, that she would lose Soap to the clavigers, if he were given half a chance. If not, he’d see her through finishing, because he was loyal, and then take off in pursuit of a pack. She wouldn’t put it past him to go for Kingair. If they managed to get Sidheag ensconced, it’d help to have Lady Kingair vouch for him.

Sophronia couldn’t have explained, if asked, how she knew Soap’s intentions so clearly. But she did. She also couldn’t have explained why it hurt so much. But it did.

They stood watch in a silence so awkward it burned the backs of Sophronia’s eyes.

S
ophronia woke Dimity with the firm shoulder grab of silence. It was a technique they’d applied before they even knew it was trained into intelligencers.

Dimity awoke quietly, automatically reaching beneath her nonexistent pillow for a weapon. It was an instinct ill suited to Dimity, like watching a duck eat custard. But sometimes Dimity was surprisingly stealthy. She would have to unlearn a great many things, if she actually ended up as a real lady.

“Your watch, my dear,” Sophronia whispered. “The sun is almost up.”

Dimity knuckled her eyes; only four hours’ sleep, but she was willing to do her duty—true friendship, that.

Soap, still at the door, stretched languidly, looking exhausted.

Sophronia went to wake Sidheag.

“Let her sleep,” said Felix’s voice from the floor. “I’ll take it. She needs the rest.”

“Very gentlemanly of you, Lord Mersey,” approved Dimity, offering him a hand up.

Felix looked at her aghast. As if he would accept aid from a lady! He wasn’t in that sorry a state, although Sophronia was sure it had been an uncomfortable night on the floor. The kohl was smudged about his eyes and his hair was sweetly rumpled. Sophronia found it most disturbing—it made him look less aloof and more approachable.

Sophronia said, “If you’re sure. You know you actually have to
keep watch
? Do they teach you useful things like that at Bunson’s?”

Felix gave her a dirty look. “I suspect Miss Plumleigh-Teignmott can demonstrate the particulars.”

“I intend to climb up top to watch the sun rise, check on the airdinghy, and get the lay of the land.”

Soap paused at that, before folding himself reluctantly to the floor. Sophronia had expected him to insist on accompanying her.

But it was Felix who said, “Is that wise?”

Sophronia answered, “The wise would never have left the ball in the first place. I’ll be quick, and I want to retrieve my hurlie, my wrist feels bare without it.”

Felix looked to Soap for support. “You aren’t going to stop her?”

Soap said, “Kind of you to think I could, little lordling.”

Felix glared.

Soap leaned back against the sack of costumes, head under the window, eyes heavy lidded, watching the door. He pointed
at Bumbersnoot, who had moved to sit expectantly under a bench in one corner. “Can’t be too important or she’d take him with her.”

Sophronia felt a glow of pride. Soap understood her! And he trusted her. Why couldn’t Felix be more like that?

Felix, strangely, took that to heart and raised no more objections.

So with Dimity and Felix posted by the door, Sophronia creaked it open and, hugging the side of the train, inched her way out onto the footboard.

It was wet and nasty, and had she not had practice on the damp exterior of Mademoiselle Geraldine’s she certainly would have lost purchase.

Sophronia felt exposed and vulnerable. She jumped, trying to catch the top railing. She wished fervently for her hurlie as she missed and slid on the landing. She tried again, putting her will and strength into it, and managed to catch the railing and hoist herself up onto the roof. Strangely, she felt less exposed up high. As she had learned during her climbing adventures about the school, people rarely looked up.

The sun rose and the clouds lifted a little. She could see, far ahead on the horizon, the tall tower of a junction box. This train, unless she was mistaken, was not expected, and no one would be manning that switch. They’d have to stop, check it, and change it over to the desired direction. She was about to witness their hosts. Would they look back at the train and see the balloon?

Sophronia crawled along the top of the carriage to the airdinghy, which was still safely strapped down. She considered
knocking it off, and then decided it would make too loud a crash in the morning quiet. So she merely detached her hurlie and strapped it back in its customary place on her wrist.

She should have returned to the others at that point, but this was her first opportunity to explore without having to worry about their safety. She was dying of curiosity. What was the valuable freight in those middle cars?

She walked to the front of their carriage, jumped the coupler, and climbed across the roof of the next carriage. She moved softly and slowly, so her footsteps could not be heard by any possible passengers. She sensed that this carriage was as empty as theirs, but she didn’t
know
that. In front of her was the first freight carriage. From the air she’d thought it looked like a cattle cart, but up close it was a shock.

The top part of the freight carriage was, in fact, completely open to the sky. It seemed to be transporting a structure of some kind, a horse shed or similar, which boasted its own wooden roof. She suspected that there was an entrance from the front of the carriage, but in order to get there, she would have to climb across that roof, and she had no idea if it was secure or not. She risked it anyway.

Cautiously, she crawled about, examining the shed for clues. There were some funny-looking protrusions out the roof. One of them like a big metal cuspidor, another like the top part of a tuba. Eventually, she found a hatch. It was made so that something from the inside could telescope out. It didn’t seem big enough to fit a person, but she could fit her head.

She cracked it, careful to shield the opening with her body, worried that even the dim light of early morning would creep in
and alert those inside. She put an eye to the crack and waited patiently for her pupils to acclimatize to the gloom. The coach was empty. She flipped the hatch open completely and stuck her whole head inside. She was now bottoms up, like a duck, on top of a moving train. She wedged her shoulders to block out the light so her eyes could adjust and see as much of the interior as possible.

She stifled a gasp. There
was
someone inside! Fortunately, the gentleman in question was asleep—slumped sideways over the arm of a chair, mouth slightly open, snoring softly. He was a very handsome man, with long, wavy hair and an oval face. He was dressed well. Almost too well. It made Sophronia think of Lord Akeldama. She dragged her eyes away to examine the room.

The inside of that shed was awfully familiar.

Sophronia had seen something like it before, only smaller, on the roof of Bunson and Lacroix’s Boys’ Polytechnique during her debut at finishing school. Vieve called it a
communication machine
. Then it had looked like a deformed cross between a potting shed and a portmanteau. The appearance of the technology had not improved. The one at Bunson’s was divided into two human-sized compartments, each filled to bursting with a peculiar assortment of tangled machinery. Sophronia would wager good money that those two were now represented, in larger form, by the two freight carriages. This one was filled with hundreds of tubes and dials. In front of the sleeping man was an upright glass box filled with black sand. Nothing was happening, but Sophronia knew the receiver of an aetherographic transmitter when she saw one.
An aetherographic transmitter on a train, oh dear.

She wished fervently that Vieve were with them. Why had she brought a toff, a sootie, a lady, and a werewolf’s daughter, but not an inventor? Of course the inventor would be the one she needed. Sophronia tried to remember what Vieve had said about Bunson’s aetherographic transmitter. She had been so excited about point-to-point messaging across long distances. One thing was certain, it wouldn’t function while the train was moving. Vieve had insisted it needed silence to operate. For another, it needed aether to communicate from one transmitter to another. So that fairly explained why the freight carriages had no proper roofs. Was this some kind of communication train? However, they were hardly close to the aether now, so there must have been improvements to the prototype if that were the case. Vieve was now at Bunson’s, with the original prototype, and Sophronia wouldn’t put it past her to have worked on an upgrade herself. Was this train from Bunson’s, then? That explained its presence at Wootton Bassett. In which case, were there Picklemen on board?

Sophronia narrowed her eyes, straining to focus.

Is that…? Oh, yes, of course it is. Why should I be surprised?
Sitting in the cradle next to the receiver, all innocent and unassuming, was one of the crystalline valve prototypes that everyone was constantly fussing over. She supposed that transmitter technology had probably evolved to require the prototype at this point. Although it wasn’t technically a
prototype
anymore, but was now officially
in production
. The vampires had tried hard to stop that, but Picklemen had won the day. And now, there it was, in use, bright as may be.

Sophronia gave the interior one more cursory glance, then
withdrew her head, closing the hatch behind her. She lay back on the roof to think, eyes closed, enjoying the weak sun on her face.

Vieve used two crystalline valves to communicate commands from her hands to her sputter-skates. Perhaps the transmitter in the freight carriage is somehow steering the train in a like manner? Communicating with the engine? Why bother? And why put a man to sit watch over the receiver portion under those circumstances?
It was very confusing.

Then a horrible thought occurred to her.
Felix! Does Felix know? Did he come along because Picklemen are involved? Did he know it would be their train in the station?
Sophronia quelled anger and a keen sense of betrayal at that idea. She tried to stay logical. She had no direct evidence as to who was in charge; no need to take it out on Felix, just because she didn’t like his politics.

The train closed in on the junction box. Sophronia flattened herself to the roof and waited to see if a green-banded top hat came walking up. They stopped at the switch and the door to the engine popped open. A stocky driver with a gargantuan mustache swung himself down and lumbered over to fiddle with the switch.
No top hat. No green band
. Sophronia couldn’t tell for certain, but she thought he was turning the direction toward London.

“No,” said a demanding female voice from the cab door. “We aren’t going back yet.”

The man looked up, unhappy with this order. “But miss, we’ve not much coal left, we need a restock.”

“Do it in Oxford,” commanded the unseen woman.

Sophronia frowned; she was certain she knew that voice.

“But why? This is a
London
train. Besides, other lines will be
starting up soon. We can’t risk it, not on a popular track, not during the day. We’ll be seen, or worse, cause a collision. We’ll certainly slow everyone else up if you keep us at this snail’s pace.”

“That’s enough,” barked the voice. “Orders are orders. Oxford, my good man. The path is clear this morning, I checked the schedule.”

The man muttered to himself but muscled the switch back over with impressive ease. This was a great relief to Sophronia; they wanted to go toward Oxford, after all.

Still,
that voice
. She’d definitely heard it before. Unfortunately, the lady in the engine room did not get out.

Luckily for Sophronia, the driver didn’t feel the need to look up. Both she and the airdinghy remained unnoticed. She wondered if those were the only other people on the train, the sleeping man with the transmitter, the driver, his stoker, and the lady. Could such a thing be possible, all six carriages for four people and an aetherographic transmitter?

The driver safely inside the locomotive, the train started up again.

Sophronia retreated in relief to the relative security of their first-class coach.

Dimity and Felix were waiting for her, looking frightened and impatient.

Soap was still awake. He cracked an eyelid from his prone position the moment she entered. He evaluated her from head to toe and, apparently satisfied, went back to sleep.

“Where were you?” hissed Dimity. “Really, Sophronia, sometimes you are quite impossible.” She sounded snooty in her relief. She sounded almost like…

Which was when Sophronia remembered who belonged to that voice. Pieces began to click into place.

“You’ve been gone an awful long time for watching a sunrise,” added Felix.

Sophronia said, “Wake up, everyone, we need to talk. I figured out what the freight is, and who’s carrying it. Now we simply need to know why.”

Soap sat up and shook Sidheag awake.

She blinked at them. “What’s going on?”

Sophronia wished they had tea. Tea would do them up a treat right now. However, without tea, it would have to be gossip.

“On the positive, we are definitely headed toward Oxford, Sidheag. Hopefully, there will be a northbound train we can hop there. Unfortunately, this train we’re on is almost certainly a vampire concern. For some reason they’ve got themselves an aetherographic transmitter fitted with one of the new crystalline valves, and are relocating it.”

“Gracious me,” said Felix primly, “how on earth did you learn all that?”

“I overheard a woman giving orders to the driver. I recognized her voice. She sounds a little older and more cultured, but I’m pretty confident it was Monique de Pelouse.”