Felix spoke through gritted teeth. “You were mine and he stole you.”
“Poor boy, is that what you thought?” Sophronia considered the root of his anger. Was I some weird prize to him or did I actually break his heart? Terribly careless of me if I did. And either way, Soap suffers because of his bitterness? “You never had me, silly. Even if you had, you would have driven me away, in the end. I don’t like traitors.”
Felix’s beautiful blue eyes turned pleading. “I tried to warn you from the dirigible, remember? I tried to stop my father from shooting.”
“And yet you told him we were Geraldine’s girls, putting us all in danger in the first place.”
“You’ve been safe all this time, no attempts on your life. Not from my people, anyway.”
“Because we’ve been at school and you couldn’t get to us!”
“And what about when you were in London recently?”
“You think I didn’t know the werewolves had guards around my sister’s house every night? Felix.” Sophronia was frustrated. “Why are we always at dagger points?” Once, he had been a gentleman. She still remembered the prong incident fondly.
“Because you chose wrong.”
Sophronia wasn’t certain if he was talking about the Picklemen or Soap. “No, you did.”
Something gleamed in his pale eyes. “You sure about that? You don’t know everything, Ria. You only think you do.” There was something in his tone. Had his loyalties shifted?
“Actually, I know I don’t. So you tell me. The Picklemen on board, what do they want?”
“Not you.”
“Someone else, then? Someone who knows something. Lady Linette, perhaps?” She looked up at the head table over the sharp edge of her fan. Lady Linette sat chatting animatedly next to Mademoiselle Geraldine. There was no one lurking in the shadows to kidnap her. As if that were possible with Lady Linette.
“Something? Some device of Professor Lefoux’s?” She pushed, teasing Felix with her ignorance. Pushing him to prove he knew more than she did, lord it over her.
“Poor Sophronia, you have no idea what is really going on, do you? No idea at all.”
“Why don’t you enlighten me, then?”
“Me? I’m only here for the tea.” With which he turned and glided off—his well-tailored coat swishing. Bother Felix for looking almost as pretty walking away as he does facing forward.
Sophronia actually cursed. Then she returned to the real world. Felix’s coyness was a hint that something more was afoot. Perhaps the Pickleman infiltrators included a key member of their infrastructure? The Chutney, even?
At which juncture, the school’s proximity alarm sounded.
The proximity alarm was a series of very loud bells throughout the airship. Officially, it meant balcony access was restricted and all students were to remain stationary and not involve themselves in whatever was wrong. Unofficially, it meant that the school was under attack and the soldier mechanicals were marshaling on the squeak decks with cannons at the ready.
In the dining hall, the flirting and dancing and swilling of hot beverages ceased. The young ladies turned to look expectantly at the high table, awaiting orders. The nascent evil geniuses were less composed. One dropped his tea cake in alarm, a few dashed about in search of their hats—corralling one’s hat is an instinctive response bred into all gentlemen. Eventually, they realized that they looked foolish, and settled into merely glancing nervously about. Verbal speculation, of course, was rife.
“Proximity alert, students. Remain calm and continue to enjoy your tea.” Mademoiselle Geraldine’s voice boomed out. “Geraldine’s girls are not overset by a little ringing. Gentlemen of quali-tay do not seek their hats at the drop of a hat.” She paused to grapple with her problematic metaphor, then soldiered on. “The teachers will investigate while I stay with you. Lady Linette, if you would be so kind?”
Lady Linette rose and nodded sharply to Professor Lefoux and Sister Mattie as well as a couple of the visiting Bunson’s professors. They all marched from the room. Lady Linette paused at the doorway and issued a protocol order to the nearest serving mechanical. In response, the surrounding clangermaids and buttlingers rolled along their tracks to block the various doorways. There they clamped down hard to the rail, making it difficult for any student to leave the room.
Sophronia’s mind was on the visiting infiltrators. Had the Picklemen activated the alarm for some reason? Or could they be sabotaging the airship’s defenses, making it easier for attackers?