“Exactly! Sometimes the most important piece of information is the chunk left out of the conversation.” Sophronia singsonged the sentence in a fine imitation of Professor Lefoux’s perfect elocution.
“Oh.” Dimity put down her hairpin nest, interested despite her annoyance. “You think she knew what we were looking for?”
“Or the school has some kind of new technology that allows them to track what files we examined. Invisible powder? Feel anything on your fingertips?”
“No.”
“Me neither. Then again…” Sophronia trailed off, biting her lip.
“Then again what?”
“It’s possible they knew what we were after and planted false information for us to find.”
“Could this be a lesson? Do they want us to figure that out?”
“Maybe. Or maybe it wasn’t us they were expecting, not really.”
“Lady Linette said she wasn’t surprised.”
“Lady Linette is the mistress of misdirection, remember?”
Dimity flopped back. “Sometimes I hate this place. Wouldn’t you like it if just once everything was exactly as it seemed?”
“No, that’s a horrible idea.”
“You would say that. So what did you learn, misinformation or no?”
“Madame Spetuna’s real name, and that she is missing, presumed lost to evil. That Lady Linette may think her a traitor, which is why she won’t believe me. Or that she really is a traitor. In either case, I wager she is back with the Picklemen. And you? Whose files did you look at?”
Dimity sat up, gossip in the offing. “Yours, mine, Monique’s, and Agatha’s. You know Sidheag’s is gone? Vanished. Wonder where they file those ones—you know, the students who got away.”
“Possibly also with the lost. Anything juicy?”
“Not in mine, except they actually think I’m better than I think I am. Which is nice.”
“But not a surprise, Dimity. Most of us think that.”
Dimity blushed with pleasure. “Why, thank you. Monique’s says a lot about her hive. When the school punished her by not allowing her to finish, they removed her from the viable intelligencer roster but kept her record in play. I guess she has enough training to remain in the game.” Dimity knew Sophronia desperately wanted to hear about the Sophronia file. Of course, Dimity saved it purposefully for last.
Little drama-monger. Sophronia let her have her fun. After all, she felt guilty about getting them caught.
“Agatha’s was interesting.”
“How so?”
“Terribly fat. You know her father is in all sorts of pies?”
Sophronia had a vision of an older male version of Agatha with his head sticking out of a shepherd’s pie, as if he were bathing in it. She snorted a laugh.
Dimity corrected herself without pause. “Well, his fingers are. And Agatha has met Lord Akeldama before, several times. They’ve had dealings.”
“There was no indication of that at his dinner party.”
“I know. And there’s a note that says they think she’s running a long-form field operation.”
“Agatha? Really? On whom? Her family?”
“Didn’t specify. Could be on the school. Could be on us, I suppose. But there you have it.”
Sophronia frowned. She could hardly believe it. Agatha wasn’t that good. Or was she? Sophronia shook her head. She didn’t want to start mistrusting her dearest friends. Down that road lay a madness as horrible as Professor Braithwope’s. She was already doubting Madame Spetuna.
“Could we ask her about it?” Dimity was cautious.
“We could. But at what risk? Would we lose her friendship through suspicion? Or truth?”
Dimity stood up. “I’m for bed. This has been an eventful evening.”
“Dimity?”
“Yes, Sophronia?” Dimity’s tone was very arch indeed.
Sophronia made herself sound as humble as possible. “I apologize for getting you into trouble this evening.”
“Apology accepted. And?”
“You were right about the punishment being us missing the ball.”
“Very good. And?”
“I shouldn’t have been so impulsive as to plan this action without researching the target first.”
“True. And?”
“Will you please tell me what was in my file?”
“Since you ask so nicely. It was pretty much what might be expected. The fact that you are a covert recruit is at the top. There’s a note that you’d make a good independent intelligencer and they recommend against marriage right away—unless you net yourself one of the princes or a high-up Pickleman. A prince of the blood, said the note, seems unlikely. They know Lord Akeldama offered for patronage. Your seduction marks are low. I guess they don’t know about Soap, do they, Sophronia?”
Sophronia gasped. “Really, Dimity, I say.”
Dimity was smug. “That would make you similar to Madame Spetuna, as an operative, I guess.”