Waistcoats & Weaponry (22 page)

Sophronia nodded. “Soap, do you think you can make it all the way there on the back tracks without danger?”

“Birmingham and Leeds areas might give us stick. But if necessary we can stash the train and continue on in a more traditional manner.”

“Oh, yes, simply hide a whole train somewhere.” Even Sophronia was doubtful.

Soap smiled cheekily.

Dimity said, “Monique said it’s going to take the Picklemen a while to get all mechanicals installed with the crystalline valves. They must be ramping up valve production.”

Sophronia nodded. “After we get her to Scotland, if we sourced the factory site, we might be able to cause a delay in manufacturing.”

Dimity said, “We do need to get back to school eventually.”

“Can’t do anything substantial from there,” objected Sophronia.

“Do we
have
to do something substantial? Is this really our problem? What does it matter if Picklemen control mechanicals?” Dimity had already been kidnapped by vampires in the interest of subverting Pickleman interests. She was tetchy on the subject and preferred to remain out of it.

Sophronia said, “Just think, Dimity, what if they controlled the soldier mechanicals in our school? Mechanicals aren’t only servants, they can also be weapons. This is not something we can simply float away from and go back to studying poisoned tea. This is important.”

Dimity sighed. “But we do have time?”

Sophronia walked back to Monique. “What’s your best estimate on how long until the Picklemen control a usable majority of the nation’s mechanicals, given valve production and distribution times?”

Monique glared at her.

“Tell me and I’ll let you down.”

Monique narrowed her eyes. “Six months, a year at the outside. Mine was supposed to be a covert operation tracking their activities, designed to discover just such useful information. You messed it up.”

“Covert? In a
train
?”

“They didn’t realize, until you came on board.”

“That’s debatable,” Sophronia said, but cut Monique down with her bladed fan.

The blonde girl lowered her arms slowly, wincing from the pain.

Sophronia left Monique’s wrists bound together. Dimity took up a position, watchfully close. They couldn’t let Monique get into anything. However, the girl seemed more concerned with getting her shoulders back in order and making snide remarks about Dimity’s dreadful attire.

For the rest of the afternoon, Sophronia, Soap, and Sidheag concentrated on stoking the boilers and making certain the train kept up a steady pace. There were no switches for a while, so they clipped along smoothly and in relative peace. Soon the full moon rose over the horizon and night descended.

Sophronia distracted herself from thoughts of Felix by wondering if crashing a train into the Picklemen’s operation had managed to stall their dastardly plans all that much, or was it merely a minor inconvenience? Would more mechanicals be singing “Rule, Britannia!” soon or would it be months from now?

Before they lost daylight, Sophronia spent time tinkering with Bumbersnoot. Vieve had taught her how to pop open his casing to clean and oil him properly. She hadn’t noticed any
changes after retrieving him from Madame Spetuna. But there was always the possibility that when he visited her and the flywaymen, they got hold of him and installed a tiny crystalline valve. Had he a voice box, Bumbersnoot could become their “Rule, Britannia!” canary in the coal mine. Madame Spetuna had, after all, been infiltrating the Picklemen. But there was no evidence of tampering. Sophronia resolved to leave Bumbersnoot with Vieve for a proper checkup. In fact, she had a real need to consult with Vieve on much of what they had learned, and stolen, and crashed into.

“Getting on toward supper,” said Soap, catching her attention. He looked tired, his face drawn, his eyes only mildly twinkly.

Sophronia closed Bumbersnoot, set him to nibble at a bit of coal, and stood up.

“Food is all in the back.” Only then did she realize how hungry she was.

“We should stop for the night,” said Dimity, sounding unusually decided on the matter.

Sidheag wanted to press on, but Sophronia agreed with Dimity.

“It would be best to stop. It’s full moon night, and the tracks could be crowded with private celebration trains now that the sun is down. It’s not safe. Plus, we all need rest. It should be safe; timetables list this line as vacant all night long.”

“Picklemen might catch up to us,” objected Sidheag.

“I think they have other things to worry about. If Felix holds his tongue, they might continue to disregard us as a group of vagrant boys. Might even prefer us to the drones we stole the train from.”

“Except that we killed one of their dirigibles,” Sidheag answered.

And we’re relying on Lord Mersey’s discretion
. Behind Soap’s back Sophronia gestured, making a sad face. Sidheag sighed but agreed. She, too, cared about Soap, and he couldn’t keep going indefinitely. They had to rest for his sake.

They rolled into a tiny station in a town so small they couldn’t even determine its name. It was nothing more than a platform next to a switch. There was no porter. There wasn’t even a ticket box.

Nevertheless, someone was paying attention, for a young lad with a cart pulled up next to the station shortly after they arrived. He hailed Soap from the roadway.

“Aye-up, circus in town?”

Soap looked startled, the gold Dimity dress streamers having slipped his mind.

Sophronia stuck her head around him and said cheerfully, a grin plastered to her face, “Indeed it is!”

The carter looked at her suspiciously. “You don’t
seem
like a circus.”

“More a tumbling troupe, if you know the type.”

“Oh, indeed?”

Sophronia jumped down to the track and did a little somersault forward, bouncing out of it onto one knee with a flourish.

The lad did not look impressed.

Dimity came to her rescue, jumping down and then doing the same kind of tumble maneuver. She then climbed up onto Sophronia’s shoulders. It was a move they’d practiced in class, for reaching items stashed in high places, but weren’t very good
at. Sophronia stumbled to hold her footing. Dimity waggled her hands around madly.

“It’s been a long day,” said Sophronia apologetically.

The carter’s eyebrows were still suspicious, but he was clearly pleased by their friendly manner. He offered up some useful information: “Hamlet probably not sized to do you any favors. Try up a few stops. There’s a market, end of this week, be a good spot for a carnival.”

“Thank you kindly!” chirruped Sophronia. “We may just do that.”

The lad doffed his hat and clicked his donkey into a lumbering walk.

Their inadvertent addition, Dusty the stoker, cleared his throat as the grumbling from the locomotive died down and the steam engine came to rest.

Sophronia looked at him, surprised into remembering that he was with them, not merely an extra feature of the stolen train.

Sidheag hadn’t forgotten him. “Is something wrong, Dusty?”

“Mr. Sid, sir, it’s only that we’re running low on coal. If you lads want to keep going, you’ll need to get fuel from somewheres, and this station’s not big enough to have reserves.”

“I’d better check the tender.” Soap disappeared behind the boiler. He came back a few minutes later, only to nod his agreement with Dusty’s assessment. Soap might be a novice train driver, but he had an excellent working knowledge of boilers and their coal consumption. He was also dragging a very dirty Bumbersnoot in his wake.

“Guess who’s eaten too much?”

Bumbersnoot was leaking steam out his carapace and steam out his ears and had a definite bloated appearance.

“Oh, Bumbersnoot, have you been eating all our reserves? Bad dog.”

Bumbersnoot’s ears sagged, guilty.

“Not a whole lot we can do about it now,” said Sidheag, protecting the mechanimal from Sophronia’s ire.

Sophronia sighed. “I hope he hasn’t damaged himself.” She put Bumbersnoot in a corner and tied his reticule straps to a nearby protrusion so he couldn’t eat any
more
of their precious coal. He did look unwell; it was troubling. “I should probably check his insides, but he’s running too hot to touch. Who’d like first watch?”

Soap said, “I’ll take it. What do you suggest, a regular walkabout, plus roof and skyline? Say every quarter hour or so?”

“If you’re sure you’re not too tired.” Sophronia really was worried about him. He looked so exhausted.

“I’d rather a solid block of sleep later.”

Sophronia said, “Very well, then, I’ll take second.”

Sidheag agreed to third and Dimity fourth. Dusty said he’d take fifth, unfamiliar with the division of two-hour watches.

Sidheag said kindly, “There is no fifth, but you’ve been doing all the stoking and aren’t even part of our operation. You should sleep the full night.”

“We’re most grateful for all your help, by the way, Mr. Dusty,” added Sophronia.

“And I’ll make it worth your while once we get to Scotland,” said Sidheag.

Dusty look embarrassed as everyone turned appreciative attention upon him.

“What would you like?” continued Sidheag. “Position at the castle?”

Dusty said, blushing, “Oh, now, Mr. Sid, I’m quite happy as a stoker.”

“Very well, then, we will try to arrange matters so our making off with this train doesn’t affect your stoking career in any detrimental manner,” said Sophronia.

Dusty looked confused by the long words but disposed to be amenable.

Monique said, from the doorway where she sat hunkered under Dimity’s watchful gaze, “You won’t be working for a vampire-run operation ever again, that’s for certain.”

Dusty looked ashamed.

“Don’t you worry,” said Sidheag, turning her nose up at Monique, “I’ll make certain the werewolves look after you.”

Dusty said, “Never knew I’d end up mixed up with the supernatural simply because I got to stoking the wrong train at the wrong time.”

“Good stokers are hard to come by,” said Soap, “valuable asset and don’t you forget it.”

Sidheag agreed with him, slapping Dusty on the shoulder, causing a puff of black dust to rise into the air.

“Thanks, lads,” said Dusty, dipping his head to hide his pleasure.

After that, they let themselves down and trailed off to various coaches. Now that they had all six carriages to themselves,
they considered each occupying a separate coach in a kind of private hotel scenario. But in the end, they decided it was better to stick together. While Soap sat first watch, Monique safely trussed up in the cab, Dusty and Sidheag slept in one coach with Dimity and Sophronia in the next one down. They chose the carriage closest to the locomotive so that they could hear Soap shout if anything untoward occurred. Bumbersnoot stayed in the cab, where Soap could keep an eye on him and his overindulgence.

Dimity might have protested that Sidheag should not be alone with Dusty, even if it was a first-class conveyance, but as far as they could tell, Dusty still had no idea they were girls. Should anyone hear any details of this escapade, Sidheag’s reputation would be ruined, if being alone with Captain Niall hadn’t already done the trick. Sophronia was eager for a moment alone with Sidheag to learn more on that particular situation, as Sidheag and the good captain seemed to have gotten close. Unfortunately, Sophronia suspected even she didn’t have the necessary competence to extract information on Sidheag’s finer feelings from Sidheag. The girl could be remarkably tight-lipped. Frustrating, as other people’s finer feelings were fun to talk about.

After such an exciting day, Sophronia thought she would fall asleep easily, but her mind whirred like a mechanical. She stared up at the ceiling of the coach, thinking about the vampires, and Picklemen, and Felix, and Soap.

She thought Dimity was asleep already until her friend spoke into the silence. “Will Felix come back to you, do you think?”

“Oh, Dimity, he won’t do, not for me. I tried to make him over but he’s a dress in the wrong size no matter what I do.”

“But Sophronia, he’s a duke’s son.”

“He’s a Pickleman’s son.”
And I regret letting him get close. Why was I so taken by those blue eyes? I wonder if, all along, it was Felix who thought he could change me.

“Not one for the Picklemen, then?”

“I simply feel that world domination is not my cup of tea. Is that shortsighted?”

“No. I thought you might decide against them.”

“You did, why?”

“They don’t feel Sophronia-ish. Something about those green-banded top hats. I mean, how silly would you look in a green-banded top hat?”

“No one said I would have to wear one. They shouldn’t have started with me right from the beginning, if they hadn’t tried for the prototype…”

“So are we going to work with the vampires in this? Join up with Monique?”

Sophronia shuddered. “What an unpleasant thought.”

“You’re not the one they kidnapped.”

“Exactly! It feels equally wrong to help them.”

“But we can’t go up
against
everyone, either. We haven’t even finished properly yet.” Dimity sounded small and pathetic.

“No, but we can manipulate them to annihilate one another. I’m not sure how quite yet, but I’ll think on it. There’s always my
vampire friend
.”

“Felix won’t like it if you annihilate his father.”

“I told you it wasn’t going to work. Can’t base a marriage on annihilation, not even when one is an intelligencer and the other a Pickleman.”

“No”—Dimity was philosophical—“I suppose you can’t. It’s too bad. I thought you rather liked him.”

It was such a simple, wistful statement, and yet, for some reason, it brought hot tears to Sophronia’s normally dry eyes. “I rather
did
like him.”

Dimity whispered, fully sympathetic, having had her heart broken by a Dingleproops only recently, “Did you write him poetry?”

“No, luckily, I did not.”

“Well, then, less to recover from.”

“Good point.”

“Don’t worry, we will find you someone.” Dimity was ever the optimist. “Possibly not as handsome.”