There was no way she was staying trapped with tea at a time like this. Even knowing that watchful gazes were on the students, she inched toward the nearest door. She fished about inside Bumbersnoot for her obstructor. Throughout all of this, her little mechanimal remained quiet. At least she knew the Picklemen hadn’t activated their valves. She thought to use her obstructor on the mechanical blocking the door and then climb out over its head.
“You there!” snapped Mademoiselle Geraldine. “Young lady in red, at the back. No leaving!”
Sophronia twitched at being noticed. She whirled to find the headmistress’s eyes fixed on her.
Others turned to stare. Someone laughed, not nicely. Probably Felix Mersey. Or Preshea.
Sophronia kept her fan up, guarding her face, and made a neat curtsy of acknowledgment. Mademoiselle Geraldine looked like she might call her forward to reprimand her, but she was saved by a loud bang and a sad crunching noise.
The whole dirigible shuddered.
People screamed. Those still at tea rose from their seats. A few went for the doors. The mechanicals would not let them by. Sophronia’s transgression was forgotten in the hubbub.
“Back to your seats, everyone!” ordered one of the remaining Bunson’s teachers, rising to stand next to Mademoiselle Geraldine. Across the wide room, Sophronia could see he was pale and holding on to the head table in fear.
Dimity, Pillover, and Agatha used the panic to congregate around Sophronia.
Then the ship began to list to starboard.
Mademoiselle Geraldine looked less composed at this. “All will be well, young people of quali-tay. Stick to your tea.”
“One of the balloons must be down.” Agatha tried to console an unhappy-looking Pillover.
There was another boom and then a loud clanging sound. The ship shuddered again. The bells continued to peal.
Pillover said, “I hate adventure. Did I mention recently that I hate adventure? Well, I do. Sophronia, is this your fault? Have you arranged an unwarranted adventure for us?”
“I don’t think so.” Sophronia pretended to seriously consider the question. “Not this time.”
“We are definitely under fire.” Dimity ignored her brother.
Greatly daring, Agatha patted Pillover sympathetically on the arm.
The ship shook again.
Pillover turned green.
“Flywaymen or Picklemen?” wondered Agatha.
“Or both.” Sophronia searched the room for Felix’s dark head. She couldn’t find him. He couldn’t have gotten out—he hadn’t near enough sneaking ability for that. He must be under a table or something.
Come to think on it, Sophronia couldn’t see any of his ilk. “Where, oh where, have all the pretty Pistons gone?”
“Sophronia! You can’t be thinking about flirting now,” Dimity reprimanded.
“No.” Sophronia lurched slightly as the airship vibrated like a dog shaking off water. “I’m thinking about taking cover.”
The floor of the dining hall was now tilted to such an extreme, it was becoming impossible to hold one’s footing in a dignified manner. The tables were all slipping toward the starboard wall, as only the head table was bolted down.
The students, some of them still seated and attempting to take tea, play cards, and engage in polite conversation, gripped the edges of their tables as they slid. The whole thing felt as if it were happening underwater. Apparently even a major battle was slow moving when floating.
“Hold fast, young persons of quali-tay. Hold fast!” sang out Mademoiselle Geraldine.
“We’re sinking.” Dimity’s round face was pale and she clutched her tassel jet necklace as if it were a talisman she could wish upon.
“Come on.” Sophronia led them to the starboard side of the room, which was now a steep downhill jaunt. The four of them backed up against the wall in the corner furthest from the head table. “Brace yourselves. We’re going down.”
“How do you know?” Pillover quivered in apprehension.
Sophronia tilted her head to where the Pistons had flipped a table on its edge, legs toward the starboard wall, and arranged themselves behind it, barricaded. If the ship continued to tilt, they would be effectively protected from tea party fallout. Except, perhaps, liquid damage.
Part of her wanted to stay with the Pistons, since they obviously knew what was going on. But the rest of her knew that the safest place from falling objects was actually the hallway, if they could only get past the mechanicals. Then again, with gas lines running throughout, if they did crash, the hallways might explode.
The floor was almost at a forty-five-degree angle. Everything that could slide, did. Things upended, and crashed and tumbled about. Several of the young ladies and—it must be admitted—the young gentlemen screamed. The young ladies were more properly padded for sliding, but it made for an undignified sight—ruffled skirts and petticoats, legs kicking about. In a few cases undergarments were visible!
Pillover fainted.
They all ended up bumped and bruised, piled together and leaning up against one another in an extremely intimate crush. As the proximity alarm bells continued to clang, any attempt at politely awkward conversation was impossible.