Soap was not so reticent. He moved in with supernatural speed, and before she could protest, nuzzled into the side of her neck in a wolfish manner. “Why do you always smell so tasty?”
In response, Sophronia sniffed him loudly, trying to lighten the mood. He no longer carried the scent of coal and boilers. He smelled of something raw and wild, a tiny bit like freshly butchered beef and open fields. It wasn’t unpleasant, but it wasn’t comforting, either. She had found coal dust and oil so reassuring—once.
A throat cleared. “Touching as this is, youngsters, there’s work to be done.”
Soap backed away and the dewan stepped out of the shadows.
Sophronia was mortified by the fact that she hadn’t noticed him there. Too much of her focus had been on Soap—how had he done that? She curtsied exactly the right depth for the dewan’s social superiority. He was, after all, landed as the Earl of Upper Slaughter, even if he couldn’t boast an actual country seat.
“My lord, twice in one evening. To what do I owe the honor?” She tilted her head—to the degree of inquiry, not the degree of coquetry. It wasn’t done to expose too much neck to werewolf or vampire.
“Now, now, little trickster, don’t go throwing wiles in my direction.” The dewan squinted at her.
Soap snaked an arm about Sophronia’s waist and turned so that he stood shoulder-to-shoulder with her.
The dewan gave him a sharp look. “Like that, is it?”
Soap blinked at him. “I have always been hers. Although she is taking her time accepting it.”
“I didn’t realize you were so tame, pup,” replied the dewan, then dismissed it as unimportant with a wave of one massive hand.
Sophronia tried to delicately shrug away from Soap, but his arm only tightened. His statement had held so much finality it made her uncomfortable. How could she possibly combat such a feeling?
The dewan proceeded to grill Sophronia about her observations from the dinner party. She told him some of them. After all, he would be her patron eventually, and she had the sinking suspicion she might need his help in the days to come. He gave her little reaction, even when she spoke of his own agenda of trying to garner support for the Clandestine Information Act. His expression only changed when she mentioned the butler.
“Noticed him, did you?”
“Two guns and a knife? Of course I noticed.”
The dewan gave a funny half growl, half snort. “He’s with me. At least, I think he is, for now. I wouldn’t concern yourself overly. He was once a valet to an enemy of the Empire. But his master is dead, and the butler, as you call him, has great cause to play nicely with queen and country.”
Sophronia looked to Soap for further information. Soap’s expression said he was as mystified as she.
“What is your plan, my lord? Let the Picklemen expose and bury themselves, then slap a law on them? That’s a very indirect approach, for a werewolf.”
The dewan looked her up and down. “Should I take that as a compliment, coming from you, Miss Temminnick?”
“What if that’s their plan, too? What if they are not intending an outright attack, but instead are trying to discredit you, the Shadow Council, and the entire supernatural set?”
“Queen Victoria would never allow it.”
“And right now the general populace would never allow you to take their mechanicals away. But if the Picklemen cause one major nationwide malfunction, and blame it on a vampire vendetta, and then a Pickleman-backed manufacturer steps in and fixes everything? Then the supernatural are the villains and political power sways with popular opinion. So long as the papers spin it right.”
“You think that is their game?” The dewan was intrigued.
“I think it’s possible.”
Soap said, “I told you her brain worked in mysterious ways.”
Sophronia couldn’t suppress a rush of pleasure. He’s been bragging about me to the dewan. How sweet.
At least the dewan was considering her theory. Perhaps being indentured to him wouldn’t be so bad, if he gave her opinions weight despite her age and sex.
Nevertheless, he disagreed. “I think it must be something less subtle. They have gone to a great deal of expense installing the new valves, which allow them to control every mechanical in the nation. They only need the right command center.”
Sophronia got excited. “So Lord Akeldama’s exploding mechanical was a pilot designed to seize control of military dirigibles?”
The dewan continued as if she hadn’t interrupted, “That’s a lot of pawns in place for a supernatural character assassination, even if the end result would be a shift in political power. What you suggest requires delicate maneuvering and hinges on controlling popular opinion and the press, both notoriously difficult to influence. I think it more likely that their planned assault is more violent.”