Sophronia stuck her head out the hatch, her last piece of fake food at the ready, just in case. “My, but that’s some pretty floating.”

“Thank you. I’ve been in training these seven months,” said a sharp cool voice in response. “Never thought it’d be for you, but we can’t always pick our battles.”

There, standing before her, looking well dressed and as stunning as ever, was Monique de Pelouse.

OUT OF THE FLYWAYMEN INTO THE FIRE

I got your note.” Monique was almost smiling.

“Or rather, we got your note.” Dimity appeared from behind the taller girl with a mercurial grin. She was wiggling Sophronia’s doily-wrapped crossbow bolt gaily in one hand.

“As requested, we kept the bolt for you.” Agatha ducked into view from the other side of the baffle.

“What are you all doing here?” Sophronia could hardly believe it.

“Agatha and I utilized Soap,” explained Dimity. “Last night. You know, as a”—she struggled for delicacy under the circumstances—“lupine mount. Werewolves are really quite fast, and he was in enough control of himself not to eat us, as it wasn’t full moon anymore. That said, I shouldn’t recommended it as a long-distance mode of transport, not for three people.”

“Three! Is Vieve with you?”

“Nope.”

“Can’t be Pillover.”

“Never that rusty-gutted whiffin.” Dimity was not about to give her brother any quarter.

“Who, then?”

“Felix Mersey.”

Sophronia couldn’t stop asking questions. This was all so amazing. “Felix?” She shook her head, which was a bad idea as it made her nose hurt.

Monique interrupted what looked to be a long inquisition. “Someone had to man the boiler on this airship, after all.” Of course Soap would have been a better choice, but he could no longer float.

“You’re using a peer of the realm for manual labor?”

“You can think of a better use?” Monique was getting quite vampiric in her old age.

“You trust him not to sabotage your ship?” Sophronia stared at Monique and Dimity. Both should know better, for different reasons, but still!

“Yes, with good reason, but never mind that now.” Monique was impatient.

Dimity craned her head back and squinted up. “Sophronia, you look awful. What have you done to your face? Is that paint? Are you in disguise? And look at your slippers! They’re filthy.”

“Fell. No. No. And sorry about the slippers.” Sophronia was grateful she wasn’t actively bleeding anymore. The last thing they needed was Dimity fainting.

Agatha continued the assessment. “And your arm, did you break your arm?”

“Dislocated shoulder.”

“Could we get on?” snapped Monique. “I can’t hold this thing here forever.”

It was then that Sophronia realized Monique was at the helm of the dirigible. It was one of the little ones with only two decks—one open on top under the balloon and the other below, housing the boilers. Rather startlingly, the airship appeared to actually belong to her.

“How many can you hold?” Sophronia accepted this fact reluctantly and moved on.

“How many do you have?” The blonde was as annoying as ever, even as she made expert adjustments to the balloon’s height and propeller speed, to keep pace with the school.

“Two dozen sooties and one headmistress.”

“Twenty-six.” Monique calculated out loud.

“Twenty-five,” Sophronia corrected. “I’m staying here.”

“What? Why?” objected Dimity.

“I must crash the school.”

“No!” Dimity and Agatha gasped in shock.

“Has to be done—trust me. Monique? Can I start loading?”

“Yes, yes.” Monique was dismissive. “I’ll adjust the air ballasts. We should be fine. Sooties aren’t heavy.”

Agatha ran to the opposite edge of the gondola to help stabilize.

Sophronia realized, without too much surprise, that Dimity and Agatha were acting as Monique’s crew. With Felix Mersey down below. The dirigible must belong to the Westminster Hive.

“Handle, you first,” Sophronia said.

“Right you are, miss.” Handle slithered out the hatch and down the rope ladder. Smokey Bones was a fluff of disgruntlement, riding his shoulder like a small angry figurehead.

“Is that a cat?” wondered Monique. “Oh, really.” But despite this verbal disgust, she looked on her furry passenger with unexpected affection. Sophronia would never have supposed Monique a cat lover, but when Handle marched over to get instructions, she made chirrup noises and scratched Smokey Bones under the chin. The cat narrowed yellow eyes but showed good sense and did not swipe at her.

The other sooties followed. A few collapsed against the gondola baffle. Most automatically headed below. It might be a smaller boiler room, but it was still a boiler room and they could make themselves useful.

Unfortunately, that meant Felix Mersey came up. He looked the same, perhaps more smudged than normal. Something was missing. Oh, yes, his waistcoat was plain with no gears sewn on. He lacked a brass ribbon about his top hat. In fact, he—shockingly—wore no hat at all. Fortunately for the state of the universe, he still wore a bit of kohl around his eyes.

“Ria, you’re hurt.” He looked up at her.

“Yes, but it’s not important. Dimity, is that everyone?”