Waistcoats & Weaponry

They heard a shout behind them.

Felix and Dimity were running to catch up. Dimity had Bumbersnoot slung over her shoulder. Lacy dog reticule combined with overly large clothing and corseted waist made her, if possible, even more incongruous.

Sophronia and Sidheag waited for them.

“Hello, lovely one,” said Felix to Sophronia, looking pleased with himself.

“Everything greased your end?” Sophronia asked, looking to Dimity.

“Topping, we dumped him out, shortly after you jettisoned the driver. Must be leagues away by now. Here, thought you might want this.” Dimity patted Bumbersnoot, grinning mischievously.

“Oh? Has he swallowed something interesting lately?”

“Only the vampires’ crystalline valve frequensor.”

“Brilliant! You keep him for now? I’d rather stay unencumbered. Anything new to add to the puzzle of what the vampires are doing with that transmitter?”

Dimity nodded. “Only thing we could get out of that drone before we chucked him was that they were only receiving information, not transmitting it. That valve was hooked into the sketcher component. The part on which letters appear. The drone was monitoring it and then making notes on a map.”

“You mean they weren’t responsible for causing the mass mechanical malfunction?”

“It doesn’t seem likely.”

Sophronia nodded, reevaluating what was going on, her attention taken by the dirigible in front of them. Two men had climbed out and were striding aggressively toward them.

Flywaymen. Sophronia had met their type before. They were dressed like the highwaymen of olden days in baggy britches tucked into tall boots, with sashes about their waists. Sophronia thought the outfits a bit much, but she supposed if one was a criminal outside society one could afford to ignore all the rules of proper attire. They had handkerchiefs tied about their heads, instead of respectable hats, and cravats pinned with onion brooches. It was a hodgepodge of styles that Mademoiselle Geraldine had explained was “only affected by the disenfranchised.” Really, thought Sophronia, you’d think with a Pickleman alliance some style would rub off. However, there was no way to know if these flywaymen were allies or not. There were many flywaymen and they didn’t often work together. Besides, who was she to talk fashion? Sophronia pulled her tweed cap farther down over her forehead, ensuring that her plaited hair was still tucked securely underneath.

Sophronia said to her friends, “Ready, boys?”

Felix said, “You sure you don’t want me to talk?”

“Best not. Flywaymen have allied with Picklemen before. Your father could be involved. You could be involved.”

“Ria, you wound me!” He seemed genuinely upset. “My father would never fraternize with the lower orders, not even for the good of the Empire!”

“And Picklemen do everything for the good of the Empire?”

“Of course.”

“It’s just that they think that the Empire’s good means everything under their direct control.”

Felix bristled. “That’s not fair!”

Sophronia realized she’d made an error. “My dear Lord Mersey—Felix. It’s not that I don’t trust you. It’s the Picklemen whose judgment is in question.”

Felix looked a bit mollified. She’d also trapped him neatly into thinking about his own instinctual alliance with the Picklemen every time they were mentioned. She added a cautious “You do realize that you still have the choice. Your father hasn’t made it for you.”

He might have immediately reacted badly to that, accused her of trying to win him over, so she added quickly, “That choice can always be to follow him. I know you are not the type to be told what to do by anyone.” She tried a little flattery. “Far too strong in character. I simply wish to ensure you realize you are making a choice.” She tried a winsome little smile.

That seemed to help matters. Felix looked to be actually mulling over her words. Am I getting through to him at last? “In that case, dear Ria, thank you for looking out for me. Such a supportive attitude.”

He leaned toward her and his tone, much softened, indicated that he now perceived her attempted influence as tantamount to wifely concern for his future. Perhaps she had taken it too far. He did have the prettiest eyes.

Sidheag interrupted what looked to become a lengthy flirtation. “May I remind you that we have flywaymen to deal with?”

“I can handle a few flywaymen. I’ve done it before.” Sophronia spoke with more confidence than she felt. After all, the last time hadn’t turned out at all well; Dimity had been shot.

They walked past the engine of the train.

Dimity referred to Monique in the doorway. “Saw your nicely strung-up slab of bacon.”

“Don’t insult bacon,” said Sidheag.

“I do my best work under stressful circumstances,” replied Sophronia.

The two flywaymen waved and hollered at them. “What ho!”

The flywaymen approached with amicable expressions on their faces. And seemed quite delighted to find the train apparently under the command of a scrappy band of larrikin boys.

“Young squires, how do you do this fine afternoon?” inquired one, with forced jocularity. He was a squarish, stubby sort, wind chafed, boasting a red nose in a round, pockmarked face.

The other, larger and angrier, had shaggy black hair and both hands shoved deep into his pockets, no doubt clutching some form of weaponry.

Sophronia was not one to abandon her lessons at a whim, so she played along by answering in kind. She forced her facial muscles and shoulders to relax. She splayed out her hands palms forward, tailoring her body movements to show openness and goodwill.

“Top of the day to you, my lords,” she said. “May we be of some kind of assistance? You seem to have landed on our track.”

“Now, now, young squire, you know that there is Her Majesty’s track,” said Stubby, still smiling.

“Indeed, indeed it is. How right you are, my lord. But, if at all possible, we should very much like to use it and are in a bit of a hurry.”

“Oh, are ye? And where are you off to in such a tearing rush with such an odd mix-up of a train? Are you not a little young for such heavy responsibility?”

Sidheag stepped forward, hackles up, less kind than Sophronia and in more of a hurry. They had played this hand before—the one pretending to be nice, the other… less nice.

“I am Lord Kingair and this train is under my commission.”

“Oh, is it indeed, lordly lad?” said Stubby, and then, with his smile made over nasty, he showed his intent in a manner most unwise. “What if I were to say that we should like to borrow it for a while?”

“We should say,” answered Sophronia, placing a hand ostentatiously on Sidheag’s arm as if to sooth Lord Kingair’s ruffled aristocratic feathers, “that you already had a perfectly serviceable dirigible. What would you want with our train?”

The flywaymen chuckled at this impertinence.

Stubby said, “It’s more what you want with us. Why have you been following us these three days?”

Now, that was interesting information. Was that what Monique had been doing? Following the airship by train? Why by train? Sophronia puzzled over the matter. I suppose it’s the only thing strong enough to haul two freights’ worth of aetherographic machine. Which means they must have been using the machine to track the airship! That was why the train kept pausing—they had to be still to use the valve. They must have known the ship would float over populated areas, or a train would be useless. But it would also explain why they wanted to stay secretive.