Waistcoats & Weaponry
Page 37“There’s a proper article here.” Dimity pointed below the announcement.
Felix sat back on the bench, crossing his arms over his chest, face sinking into its customary expression of manufactured boredom.
Sophronia read the article out as well, for Soap’s benefit. “‘Members of the gentry and other key families in several towns in North Wiltshire experienced an unexpected performance at midnight.’” She paraphrased, “He describes exactly what we saw with the dancing, although he doesn’t name the song. Apparently, everyone’s staff did exactly the same. Certain older models, or those not recently upgraded, were immune. The manufacturer won’t say for certain, but inside sources hint at sabotage.”
Sophronia passed the paper over to Dimity. “Mumsy did say she’d recently had Frowbritcher serviced. I wonder if that service included extra unexpected protocols?”
She looked hard at Felix. He seemed upset—why? They had all seen the malfunction at the ball; he could hardly have hoped they would forget. The only new information was that the malfunctions had extended over a much larger area than only Sophronia’s house. What did that matter? What else had they learned? The name of the manufacturing company. Perhaps that was what had shaken him.
Casually she said, “Does anyone know anything about Messrs. Brine, Boottle, and Phipps?”
No one said a word.
Sophronia contemplated the initials BBP. Had she seen them somewhere before? At that moment, all forgotten in the excitement of the morning’s events, Bumbersnoot tooted smoke at her.
“Oh, dear me yes, poor Bumbersnoot, you haven’t had any breakfast. Anyone have something he could burn? His boiler will die down soon otherwise.”
Sophronia picked up her little mechanimal, petting him affectionately, even though she knew he couldn’t feel it. While the others talked quietly about the implications of a wider-ranging malfunction, Sophronia fed Bumbersnoot coal. At the same time she surreptitiously checked the underside of one of his ears. There, branded into the leather, was a string of letters Sophronia had always thought some kind of illegible maker’s mark. Now she suspected the letters were BBP. Bumbersnoot was a mechanimal that’d come to her by way of the flywaymen, but she was sure he’d originally been made by Picklemen. After all, they had been around when she’d first acquired Bumbersnoot. Picklemen, in her experience, were very fond of mechanimals. Considering Felix’s reaction, she thought it pretty darn likely that the company of Messrs. Brine, Boottle, and Phipps was a Pickleman front. But what did that signify for the “Rule, Britannia!” malfunction? Had the vampires triggered it to sabotage the company and discredit the product, sort of like a character assassination on an industrial scale? Sophronia thought that if so, the sabotage could have been carried out by this very train. It had, after all, been in a station close to her house, in North Wiltshire.
Was the aetherographic machine being used to transmit protocols to multiple mechanicals simultaneously, telling them to sing “Rule, Britannia!”? Why would the vampires reveal their hand to the Picklemen like that? Character assassinations were supposed to be subtle. Vieve had specified that crystalline valves only worked point-to-point. By rights, that meant that for every mechanical commanded to sing, there would need to be one crystalline valve inside the mechanical and a sister valve to do the sending on board the train. She counted on her hand. For her brother’s party alone, with twelve mechanicals, that meant twelve companion valves on the train. Yet she had seen only one in the freight car. Perhaps the other freight carriage was absolutely full of valves?
Sophronia’s mind buzzed. She said, “It’s possible that the very train we are on is responsible for all this madness.”
Sidheag waved the paper about. “How do you figure that?”
“It’s too conveniently in the right place at the right time. Plus, vampires are open in their mistrust of mechanicals. I think the operatic performance may have been some kind of test.”
Dimity said, “Would they be so bold as to run a test like that in front of everyone?”
“I wondered the same thing. Perhaps the test was a mistake?”
Soap said, “Monique did say something about range. Perhaps the mistake was that it didn’t take out more mechanicals? Or that it hit too many?”
“Is it possible that the vampires are trying to take control of all mechanicals, throughout England?” Sophronia wondered, looking at Felix.
Felix said, his voice soft, “Of course it’s possible. Anything is possible with vampires.”
Sophronia thought of her bladed fan, a gift from a vampire. Was Lord Akeldama trying to buy her cooperation? Though he was a rove, and unattached to a hive, he could be acting in the interests of all vampire-kind. “There is another possibility. They could be trying to discredit mechanicals and through them the new crystalline valve technology. Remember, vampires missed out on the monopoly.”
Felix liked this guess. “They get the politicians on their side.”
Dimity said, in a small voice, “There are sides? Whose side are we on?”
“The werewolves,” said Sidheag instantly.
“Goodness, are they involved, too?” wondered Sophronia, trying to fit that into her various theories.
Sidheag considered. “Vampires and werewolves aren’t particularly friendly, but they will band together against an antisupernatural enemy as needed.” This was said pointedly for Felix’s benefit, but then she returned to Sophronia’s question. “However, in this case, I think, no. Werewolves are less likely to tinker in industrial politics than vampires. Plus, we’ve got our own dilemma right now, remember? What do wolves care for the politics of machines?”
“Are you implying that the vampires somehow caused it? I think that highly unlikely,” objected Sophronia.
“Lady Linette always says there are no coincidences, only opportunities,” said Dimity, trying to play the peacekeeper.
“If anyone is likely to take advantage of this kind of situation, it’s the Picklemen,” said Sophronia.
“What does that mean?” demanded Felix, for some reason annoyed. “Do you support vampires against Picklemen?”
Vexed by such a direct questioning of her loyalties, especially when she felt she had made her thoughts plain, Sophronia took the unprecedented step of stating her position outright. “I support balancing out power. Perhaps you might want to think about the broader scope yourself.”
“Vampires have enough power already,” hissed Felix.
“Would you please try to be logical, without prejudice?” Sophronia couldn’t help it; some of her frustration with Felix’s myopic perspective leaked out. Why isn’t he trained like we are, to think about motives and manipulation? Why doesn’t he understand that this damages my affection for him?