“Get down here this minute, young man.” Dimity sounded remarkably like Sophronia’s mother in a temper. A glimpse into Dimity’s future, should she find that nice innocuous parliamentarian and settle down.
Felix looked like he might try to continue up, although Dimity’s grip had to hurt.
Sophronia decide the food didn’t appear threatening enough. She put it away and whipped out her bladed fan. She’d lost the leather guard at some point. It looked quite deadly.
Felix climbed back down. “You’re a hardhearted female.”
“What are you even doing here?” Sophronia did not hide her exasperation.
He gave a little involuntary glance at Monique. There seemed to be some kind of arrangement between them. An odd and horrible thought occurred to Sophronia. Could he, all along, have been Westminster Hive’s inside agent at Bunson’s and within the Picklemen? Was his loyalty to his father faked? Rich, titled, beautiful—if he survived, he’d make for a good vampire. He had everything he wanted in life except immortality. And if he’d kept this hidden from her all along, he was also a very good actor.
Monique passed the helm over to Agatha, picked up and strapped to her back a large carpetbag, and then started to climb the ladder.
Sophronia was getting tired of arguing. And, of all people, she’d be happiest with Monique. Never would she admit it out loud, but at least she knew Monique’s motives and in what ways she couldn’t be trusted. And, quite frankly, if they went down with the ship, she wouldn’t feel guilty on Monique’s behalf.
“Very well,” Sophronia said.
The beautiful blonde hoisted herself nimbly in through the hatch, tugging up the rope ladder behind her.
“You think Agatha can handle your precious ship without you?”
“No, but she’ll get the thing down in one piece, and that’s all that matters. You look awful, Miss Temminnick.”
“Thank you, Miss Pelouse.” Ah, familiar ground.
“Two black eyes? You always were an overachiever.”
Sophronia grinned and then stopped. It hurt too much. “It’s a gift.”
“So, what’s the plan?”
Sophronia grunted. “Activate the soldier mechanicals and fire on the ship.”
“Not a very complicated plan. How about we turn on all the gas in the hallways as we go up? More explosive that way.”
“I like the way you think,” said Sophronia before she realized what she’d said.
“I always hated this school.” Monique wrinkled her perfect little nose. “Spent a lot of time imagining ways to destroy it.”
“Now I see why you wanted to come aboard.”
“Pure joy of it,” finished the blonde with a sneer. “Let’s get to it, then.”
“What’s in the carpetbag?”
“Options.” Monique was annoyingly mysterious.
Sophronia didn’t know what to think about that. Was Monique to be trusted? Probably not. But some things must be taken on faith. She probably did want to destroy the airship. Monique was simply a hard guardian angel to swallow.
The two girls made their way swiftly through the halls of the dirigible. They worked unfortunately well together—settling into a pattern. Sophronia would take one knee, and Monique, who was taller and uninjured, would stand on Sophronia’s bent leg with a hand to her head for balance, knocking out the gas valves and fixtures in the hallways with a closed fan. They got good at it, like some weird acrobatic dance. They left behind them the redolent smell of gas and the fallen remains of knifelike chandeliers and parasol-shaped light covers. Dangerous indeed.
Professor Braithwope was nowhere to be found. They had no time to figure out where he had gone. Sophronia was, as a result, unexpectedly grateful for Monique’s company, even though the older girl rarely said more than two words in a row. At least Sophronia had someone with her at the end.
She tried once to start up a conversation. “How long has Felix Mersey been working for your hive?”
“Long enough.”
“Did you recruit him?”
Monique became all enigmatic, but she didn’t outright deny it. That was confirmation enough.
“What are you after, Monique? What have you been instructed to collect?” The carpetbag wasn’t empty, but it was suspiciously floppy. Even so, Sophronia was careful not to let the girl out of her sight, and, because she was no fool, not to let Monique get within fifty paces of the record room. Perhaps it was her imagination, but Sophronia was certain that frustrated the blonde.
Together they attained the forward squeak deck. Sophronia ran to the small brass box affixed to a railing on one side. She opened it with the gold key from Mademoiselle Geraldine, reached inside, and toggled the switch exactly as the headmistress had instructed.