The headmistress handed over her ring of keys, gripping one small gold one. “This is the key you want. Open the box and toggle the switch.” She swung herself around and began laboriously to hop, one rung at a time, down the swaying ladder. She stopped with her head still in the hold. “Miss Temminnick?”
“Yes?”
“Congratulations. I pronounce you properly finished. Try to survive the next few hours.”
“Yes, Headmistress. Thank you, Headmistress.”
Felix and Dimity helped Mademoiselle Geraldine down the rest of the way.
“Now you, Ria.” Felix’s beautiful face was turned up to her. She had a tiny pang over what might have been. Such a pity about that whole betrayal thing. Too pretty. Too late.
Before Sophronia could disabuse him, Dimity climbed up the ladder.
Sophronia let her get all the way to the top.
“If you’re staying, I’m staying,” insisted the best of all possible friends.
“No.” Sophronia smiled despite the fact that it hurt.
“I’m trained, too, remember? You don’t need to protect me.”
“I know that. Look at you! Allied with Monique, come to my rescue. Of course you don’t require protection. That’s not it. I have something important, and I can only entrust it to you.”
Sophronia unbuttoned her man’s shirt, ignoring the gasps, and dug about in her cleavage, eventually producing her roll of torn notes from the Pickleman’s book. “Here. These are in code, but I’m convinced someone we know can crack it. I believe they are very important. They probably expose the whole of the Pickleman plot, or at least the worst bits.”
Dimity still hesitated.
“Take them.” Sophronia pressed them on her friend. “Make copies. Deliver them to anyone you think might listen. Take them to the popular press if need be. Try that new head of the Bureau of Unnatural Registry, Sidheag’s relation. I know she hates him, but he seems pretty upstanding—for a werewolf. I take it the dewan didn’t believe you when you asked for aid and Lord Akeldama wouldn’t interfere. So you went to the hive, and that’s why it’s Monique to the rescue?”
Dimity took the notes. “Couldn’t Agatha…?”
“No. Agatha works for Lord Akeldama, and Lord Akeldama likes to collect information, not share it. Monique works for the hive. The sooties don’t have any useful contacts. You’re the only one I trust. You have to stay safe. If I fail, you’re the only hope to get the truth out. Now, quickly, please tell me what happened with the mechanicals.”
“You know they were activated?”
“Bumbersnoot told me.”
“Domestics everywhere went crazy. Started tearing apart their houses. Not the walls and furniture, but anything steam powered or automated. Often each other. It was bizarre. People were terrified. Oh! And all the major mechanicals failed. Trains aren’t running. Ports are shut down. No one but us is floating. It’s chaos down there. Rumor is someone was killed. By a mechanical.”
Sophronia nibbled her bottom lip. “I figured it was something like. They’ve got a hold full of large angry mechanimals up here to finish the job.”
Dimity’s face went still. “Objective?”
“Probably toppling the government. It’s too much effort for anything less. How many steps removed do you think Felix’s father is from the throne of England?”
Dimity blanched. “He’s a duke… not enough.” She tucked the notes down her own cleavage, then rearranged her lace tuck to disguise the bulge. “I understand fully.”
And Sophronia knew, without having to explain further, that Dimity did, indeed, understand fully.
Face drawn and pale, her friend climbed back down.
“Will you come on?” yelled Monique.
“Dimity!” Sophronia shouted after her. “How’s Soap?”
Dimity smiled. “Bony boy. Tough transport, but he’s fine.”
“Catch.” Laboriously, Sophronia unhooked Bumbersnoot from where he dangled over her bad arm and tossed him down. She felt instantly lonely. It was as if he’d been hanging there most of her life—although it had only been three days.
Dimity caught him.
“I had to disassemble him a bit. Vieve can fix him. If I don’t make it, give him to Soap.”
Dimity’s big hazel eyes went wide at the very idea, but she nodded mutely. She looked like she wanted to cry but didn’t.
Monique and Agatha were engaged in a protracted conversation over the helm.
Next, Felix Mersey tried to climb up the ladder to Sophronia. She felt like an odd kind of Juliet, cursed with an overabundance of Romeos.
“I’m coming with you.” His tone was dramatically romantic.
“No, you most certainly are not.” Sophronia brandished her last piece of exploding fake food at him threateningly.
“But you’re badly hurt. You need help.”
“Not your help. You cannot be trusted.”
Obstinately, he continued to climb.
“Dimity, a little assistance, if you would be so kind?” Sophronia summoned reinforcements.
Dimity reached up and grabbed Felix by the foot with both hands, twisting it sharply.
“Ow!” the boy objected. “What’d you do that for?”
“Get down here this minute, young man.” Dimity sounded remarkably like Sophronia’s mother in a temper. A glimpse into Dimity’s future, should she find that nice innocuous parliamentarian and settle down.
Felix looked like he might try to continue up, although Dimity’s grip had to hurt.
Sophronia decide the food didn’t appear threatening enough. She put it away and whipped out her bladed fan. She’d lost the leather guard at some point. It looked quite deadly.
Felix climbed back down. “You’re a hardhearted female.”
“What are you even doing here?” Sophronia did not hide her exasperation.
He gave a little involuntary glance at Monique. There seemed to be some kind of arrangement between them. An odd and horrible thought occurred to Sophronia. Could he, all along, have been Westminster Hive’s inside agent at Bunson’s and within the Picklemen? Was his loyalty to his father faked? Rich, titled, beautiful—if he survived, he’d make for a good vampire. He had everything he wanted in life except immortality. And if he’d kept this hidden from her all along, he was also a very good actor.
Monique passed the helm over to Agatha, picked up and strapped to her back a large carpetbag, and then started to climb the ladder.
Sophronia was getting tired of arguing. And, of all people, she’d be happiest with Monique. Never would she admit it out loud, but at least she knew Monique’s motives and in what ways she couldn’t be trusted. And, quite frankly, if they went down with the ship, she wouldn’t feel guilty on Monique’s behalf.
“Very well,” Sophronia said.
The beautiful blonde hoisted herself nimbly in through the hatch, tugging up the rope ladder behind her.
“You think Agatha can handle your precious ship without you?”
“No, but she’ll get the thing down in one piece, and that’s all that matters. You look awful, Miss Temminnick.”
“Thank you, Miss Pelouse.” Ah, familiar ground.