That first day they had a lesson with Sister Mattie on the middle squeak deck on how to throw poison with greater accuracy. They were practicing with water in little perfume bottles. Sophronia asked if isinglass might be mixed with some of the poisons to turn them to jelly, allowing for less dispersal when hurled.

Sister Mattie went into a long diatribe about how different toxins changed when gelatinous, which had them all standing around dumbly staring at her for a quarter of an hour.

Then they heard “Clear the decks!” yelled in an excited voice, tinged with the hint of a French accent.

In accordance with their training, the young ladies scattered, running to the side or rolling away or, in Sophronia’s case, leaping over the railing to hang suspended on the outside of the deck. She did it with the ease of a girl overly familiar with balconies. Her leap and twist placed her staring back in at the deck, so she was in a perfect position to observe Vieve when she charged across it.

The young girl had strapped what looked like ice skates to her feet, only these had multiple wheels on them and some kind of tiny propeller. They were manipulated by a large ball Vieve clutched in one hand. She would tilt the ball to one side or the other to steer, somehow communicating with the skates wirelessly. The skates were firing at a much faster speed than anticipated. Vieve went bucketing all over the deck, weaving erratically from one side to the other, eventually crashing into the well-padded form of Sister Mattie.

Vieve tumbled backward onto her bony bottom. Unprotected by skirts and petticoats, she fell hard, her skate-covered feet sticking up into the air, the wheels still going furiously.

Sister Mattie also went backward, making an “oof” noise.

Sophronia was the first one at her side.

The nun was nonplussed at having been attacked by a small French cannonball. “Dear me, dear me, dear me. My goodness gracious! Who? What?”

Vieve remained lying on her back with feet in the air, apparently unable to turn off her contraptions. She said cheerfully, “What ho, Sister Mattie. Apologies. Only testing a new invention.”

Sophronia, solicitously, helped Sister Mattie to stand and brushed her off. “Are you all right, Sister?”

“Thank you very much, Miss Temminnick. Only surprised, not injured.”

“May I get you a glass of water or smelling salts?” Sophronia was fond of Sister Mattie.

“No, thank you, dear, very thoughtful.” The roly-poly teacher turned to glare at Vieve.

The other girls wandered back over. They surrounded the collapsed Vieve and stared down at her.

“You are a positive menace,” pronounced Monique.

“I don’t know why Lady Linette permits you on board,” added Preshea.

“Professor Lefoux is an able enough instructor, but that can hardly be worth your presence,” continued Monique.

“Useless creature,” said Preshea.

Vieve only looked up at them, lips pursed. Her green eyes were wide and shocked by this attack. She was accustomed to being ignored by the students.

Sophronia was having none of it. “Enough. Things go wrong with science. It’s the way of it. You’re hardly upset that class has been disturbed, so there’s no point in pretending you are.”

Preshea sputtered at this unexpected defense.

Monique was rarely at a loss for words. “Oh, ho! Sophronia appears to have herself a little pet.”

“Ladies!” Sister Mattie recovered her aplomb. “Enough.” She turned to Vieve. “Miss Lefoux, do get control of your shoes and take yourself elsewhere. You realize I will have to speak to your aunt about this incident?”

Sophronia wondered if that weren’t Vieve’s intent. Was she trying to make herself as inconvenient as possible? Perhaps to convince her aunt to let her infiltrate the boys’ school? After all, there were two other squeak decks, both vacant. She didn’t have to test her foot thingamabobs here.

“My sputter-skates,” corrected Vieve.

“What?”

“Sputter-skates, not shoes.”

Sophronia, delicately testing the waters, said, “They look like the kind of thing boys might appreciate.”

Vieve twinkled up at her. “Exactly.” She sat up, carefully balanced on her backside so the sputter-skates didn’t touch the deck. Then she reached down and pulled a small lever. The skates, true to their name, sputtered and died. The wheels stopped moving at last.

“I think,” said Vieve to no one in particular, “I ought to install a safety shutoff.”

“Do you indeed?” Dimity was droll.

Sophronia offered Vieve a hand up.

Vieve balanced precariously on her now quiet sputter-skates.

“Sister Mattie, could Sophronia help me over to those stairs, please?”

Sister Mattie, eager to be rid of the child and get back to lessons, waved her off. “By all means. Miss Temminnick, attend Miss Lefoux, if you would be so kind.”

Sophronia grabbed her friend’s bony shoulders and wheeled her across the deck.

When they were outside of listening distance, Vieve shoved the ball she’d been using to steer into Sophronia’s hand. “Look at that.”

It was leather and metal with a catch on one side. Sophronia opened it to find the mini-prototype—more properly, the crystalline guidance valve—nested inside.

“It transmits protocols via aetheric particles!” crowed Vieve. “Or at least I think so. The original prototype was designed for long-distance point-to-point communication like a wireless telegraph. But this little beauty can be used for point-to-machine commands. The theory is, it uses ambient aether in normal atmosphere, but it would probably work better, faster, and over larger distances within the aetherosphere.”

Sophronia was awed. “You think that’s how Giffard is negotiating the aether?” She paused. “He would have to have very quick response times from all over his ship to float those crazy currents.”

Vieve nodded, eyes shining. “These guidance valves are designed work better up there. That’s why he had to wait. We needed to develop and distribute this technology to him. Airships have been ready for ages. It’s the navigation they couldn’t master.”

“Professor Lefoux was testing it with the oddgob machine, and when I removed it she couldn’t get the machine to shut down properly.”

“Exactly. And I think she had it configured wrong. She was trying to send the signal to it. I’m using it the other way around. Plus this school floats high enough up that aether particles are prevalent. Don’t you see? The applications are endless. You could have multiple valves in a controller hub going to machines all over the ship. In theory you could even use it to remotely control mechanicals. I’m so stupid—last fall I thought it was going to be used for human-to-human communication. I was wrong. These things are meant to transmit protocols!” She looked down at her skates. “Of course it’s only on and off. And in my case, the off didn’t work. But the very idea!”

“Fifty percent effective?” Sophronia wondered who was controlling this technology. Mademoiselle Geraldine’s had an unknown patron; was he or she in on this? What about the British government? Bunson’s had Picklemen ties—they had wanted the original prototype. And then there was the pillow shipment, not to mention Professor Braithwope and Monique’s talk of vampires.

They had reached the staircase and could not delay matters to discuss further, as Sister Mattie was watching. Hastily, Sophronia handed Vieve back the guidance valve and said, “Thank you for last night, by the way. It was most helpful. Come by my quarters during luncheon? I feel a terrible headache coming on that may require me to rest this afternoon.”

“I’ll filch some sandwiches,” said Vieve.

“Excellent.”

FINDING FORTUNE

How will you infiltrate Bunson’s without being found out as you get older?” Sophronia asked Vieve, gesticulating elegantly at the front part of her own corset.

“I come from a long line of bony women, so I shouldn’t think that will be a problem. And I managed to fool even you, until you were told.”

“True, but I was more thinking about the fact that some of them must already know you as you at Bunson’s.”

“Only Shrimpdittle and if you can deal with him, I should be in form. So long as my aunt keeps mum, I don’t see as there should be any real difficulty.”

“If you say so.”

“I know so. And I have a wonderful fake mustache I shall begin sporting in a few years time. That will fool most anyone. Mustaches are like that.”

“You’d make a terrible intelligencer,” said Sophronia at that outrageous statement.

“I know. Hence the reason I want to infiltrate Bunson’s, which is far more amenable to my personality.”

“And contact between the schools? How will you handle that?”

“It is more amicable now than it has been before. But…” she trailed off, her small face thoughtful.

“You don’t think good relations will last?”

“You serve different masters.”

Sophronia sat up. “Do you know who is the patron of Mademoiselle Geraldine’s?”

Vieve shook her head. “No, but I know it isn’t the Picklemen, and they’re the backbone of Bunson’s. Those who aren’t Picklemen don’t get along with them, so…” She shrugged her conclusion.

Sophronia didn’t think much of the Picklemen herself. “In that case, are you certain you want to go there? There must be other evil genius schools.”

“None as good as Bunson’s. It’s a feeder to École des Arts et Métiers, the best university. Besides, I don’t mind a Pickleman or two. They have the funds and an interest in technology. Do you think it’s them Professor Braithwope was referencing the other night in the shed as wanting the technology?”

“Must be. Sister Mattie said the intermediary had gone to infiltrate flywaymen, we know the Picklemen are mixed up with them, and… wait a moment, what will I do about Bumbersnoot with you gone? Who will look after him?”

Vieve shrugged. “It’s time you learned mechanimal maintenance, if you will insist on carrying him everywhere like he’s a toy.”

Sophronia grinned at her pet, who was lounging on the end of the couch wearing lace and ruffles. “Oh, he doesn’t mind, do you, Bumbersnoot?”

Tick-tock, tick-tock went Bumbersnoot’s tail in apparent agreement.

“Come here, you charmer,” said Vieve, scooping up the mechanimal and removing his reticule attire. “I’ll show you how to clean and oil him and leave a few tools. You should try it before I relocate, in case you have questions.”

Sophronia prepared to be instructed. If Vieve was set on leaving, she had better learn to fend for herself in the matter of technology. Funny, she thought, I used to love to take things apart.

“Oh, ho ho, looks who’s all chummy.” Monique came into the room and cast herself in an unladylike manner into an arm chair.

“I thought you had a terrible headache, Sophronia. You don’t look like you’re ill,” accused Preshea, following Monique.

Sidheag, Agatha, and Dimity trailed into the parlor after them.

“Oh, Preshea, what do you care? You had Lord Mersey all to yourself at luncheon,” said Dimity.

Vieve looked at the fashionable young ladies surrounding her. She issued an ironic little bow, packed up her things, and made good her escape.

“I don’t know why you associate with that brat,” said Monique. “Older girls shouldn’t patronize younger ones.”

No one replied, but there was a collective arching of eyebrows. After all, Monique was forced to spend most of her time associating with them, and even Sophronia—the eldest of the bunch—was three years her junior.

Monique wrinkled her nose, as if smelling the absurdity in her own words. She quickly moved the subject on. “Preshea, darling, is it only I who have noticed, or has this whole trip to London become excessively dull?”

“Don’t fret, dear Monique. You still have your party to plan.” Preshea was all optimism.

Monique brightened. “Oh, yes, the party. How droll of me to forget. Should we consider refreshments?”

Preshea and Monique then spent a quarter of an hour discussing the delights of the upcoming ball. They listed all the diversions and delicacies in a manner that emphasized the fact that no one else in the room would get to sample any.

Agatha played her role painfully well, pretending interest. Really, thought Sophronia, she is a better intelligencer than the school gives her credit.

Sophronia and her friends remained unaffected by the barbs. She and Sidheag played tiddlywinks while Dimity knitted. Dimity was fond of knitting and was currently attempting to craft small yellow booties for Bumbersnoot. She claimed this was practice for her future as a charitable lady of means. Sophronia secretly worried that the mechanimal would slide all over the floor—not to mention, why did a metal dog need warm feet?—but the act was kindly meant.