“That’s the gossip.” Sophronia played along.
“I thought the teachers were at odds.”
“That seems to be reason enough for another gathering.”
“It’s so much more fun for everyone if a school rivalry is committed close up and in fancy dress?” suggested the younger girl.
“Exactly,” agreed Sophronia.
“Well, at least the food will be better. I tell you, Sophronia, if there’s anything rotten about being a boy, it’s the food. They expect us not to have any kind of discerning palate. The swill they give us to eat ought to be considered unlawful child endangerment.” Vieve sounded particularly French in her disgruntlement.
“I’m sure it’s nourishing to the noggin.”
“One wishes the tongue were also under consideration. I do miss tea at Geraldine’s.” Vieve sighed. “Will this party have crumpets? I’d kill for a proper crumpet.”
“I don’t think you’ll have to kill anyone, although you never know.” It was best not to use that particular figure of speech around Geraldine’s girls, Sophronia always thought. “Can’t you invent a crumpet emitter or something?”
“Cooking gadgets never work properly.” Vieve looked sad. “Try to kill someone or take over the world and boffins are all for it, but baking a cake is a more serious business. Must be left up to proper pastry chefs, I’m afraid. Cooks are always human, never mechanical. And Bunson’s cooks are several puffs short of the pastry.”
Sophronia nodded, adjusting Bumbersnoot to lie crosswise over her back, the better to climb. He tooted at her and shed a bit of ash down the side of her dress. “Bumbersnoot!” she reprimanded.
“Oh, yes,” Vieve was unperturbed by this rude behavior. “I’m afraid he’ll be doing that more frequently. Diminished storage capacity. I had to make room for the new valve. I did warn you the results could get messy.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“I didn’t? Well, you should take that as fact with anything you ask me to modify. My own inventions, from design to execution, are intended to be compact and elegant, but messing about with other people’s inevitably has untidy consequences.”
“Noted. Very well. I forgive you, Bumbersnoot.” The metal creature looked neither chastised by the reprimand nor excited by the reprieve. In the end, sometimes he was simply a mechanical sausage dog.
Vieve said, “Before you go, could I give you a present for my aunt? I don’t think we can arrange time to see one another secretly over the holidays. It’s best if we don’t remind people we are related. Gaspar Lefoux is supposed to be an estranged nephew.”
She produced a massive box from the shadows of the rosebush. It was quite wide enough for several Bumbersnoots to fit inside.
“Um?” Sophronia hesitated. How am I supposed to get around the ship carrying that?
“I put on straps, see, here and here? You can wear it across your back like a lute. Bumbersnoot will dangle below.”
Sophronia took it, glad that at least it didn’t weigh much. “What on earth is it?”
With a wide grin, Vieve unstrapped the gift, which proved to be some kind of hatbox, and popped off the lid. Inside was, not unexpectedly, a hat.
Now, it ought to be pointed out, at this juncture, that the lighting wasn’t good behind the Nib and Crinkle, among the rosebushes, near the goat path. The moon was not full. The fog was low. And yet there was no doubt about its appearance.
“Vieve, that is an inordinately ugly hat.” Sophronia would call Professor Lefoux many things, and not a one of them was leader of fashion, but her taste certainly wasn’t that bad.
Vieve seemed to know her own aunt less well than Sophronia. “Isn’t it hideous? Do you think she’ll like it?”
Sophronia quirked an eyebrow.
“Oh. Of course. Only see what it does.” Vieve carefully removed the hat from its box. It was a massive sunshade style made of deep midnight-blue satin, instead of straw. The wide brim was sprinkled with small bits of glass, in a simulation of stars. Upon closer inspection, the sparkling dots were in the formation of several popular constellations. The very top of the hat’s crown was painted yellow, obviously indicating the sun, with rays extending down over the side toward the brim. This alone would have made it one of the most curious hats that Sophronia had ever seen, but that was merely the foundation. Vieve had constructed a miniature winch device, like those employed by music boxes, dangling near one ear, that when wound up and released caused seven planets to orbit about the hat. These were on long wires of different lengths, anchored to rails at the brim, sticking up to revolve about in patterns simulating the solar system. Each planet was colored according to the latest scientific evidence: Venus being pale blue because of all the turquoise deposits, the Earth green for the lush landscapes, Jupiter orange for its iron-rich sands, and so forth. There was a dangling feather ball off the back on a particularly long wire—a comet? Stuck to the midnight blue were a few sporadic small puffs of down.
“What are those?”
Vieve glowed. “Recent pamphlets suggest there’s a kind of cosmic mist, no name as yet, but I thought my aunt would appreciate the homage to modern astronomical theory.”
Sophronia was impressed with the artistry and the execution, if not with the resulting style statement. Since Vieve’s shining eyes clearly indicated an expectation of some form of praise, Sophronia said the nicest thing she could think of without lying. “It’s very well made.”