“Oh, you do, do you? You’re too young to have transgressions. Now, here, wrap this handkerchief around that finger and come along.”
With that, the two professors, trailing a protesting Vieve, walked the long stretch across the warehouse floor and left, shutting the door behind them.
The smell of blood, all that propeller noise, and Vieve’s whining had effectively hidden Sophronia’s presence. She wondered if the same trick would work on a werewolf. I must really learn more about the limits of supernatural abilities. She sent a thought of thanks after Vieve. I guess that’s a fair exchange for betraying my sootie visits to Dimity and Felix.
She was mystified as to why the girl had thrown such a tantrum. She felt around the floor where the vampire had shaken Vieve. Sure enough, as she patted, she happened upon the key to the shed. Professor Braithwope had put it into his waistcoat pocket, and Vieve had thrown her fit in order to pinch it for Sophronia. Blast it, Sophronia thought, now Vieve is one up on me and I owe her! I shall have to put some serious thought to getting rid of Shrimpdittle so she can go become an evil genius.
Sophronia put the key in the shed door and turned it slowly. The bolt clicked over, but if the cargo was that important, there would be more than a lock guarding it. Inside Sophronia could just make out that the shed was set up like a lady’s sitting room. There were multiple low couches, a very ornate chaise longue—all brass fittings and cream brocade—and fifty or more embroidered throw cushions. There was even a tea trolley near the door, complete with teapot and a plate of small cakes. She had no doubt those were from Mademoiselle Geraldine’s collection. Sophronia was not fooled by all the detail; no one set up a shed like this unless they were trying to hide something in plain sight. She checked the doorway for traps. She ran her hand cautiously along the jamb on each side and down the center for a trip wire. Nothing. Most atypical.
Cautiously, she moved into the room.
The ornate chaise across the way emitted a puff of steam from under its brocade ruffle and whirled to life. It had an affronted aspect, as though it were a mother goose and the decorative pillows strewn all about were its eggs.
The chaise charged Sophronia, who leapt to one side, bounced up onto a couch, and, in lieu of any other weapon, grabbed one of the cushions.
The chaise whirled on one of its legs, tassels flying. Its gilt decoration and upholstery disguised copious elaborate mechanisms. It faced Sophronia again, skittering from one side to the other, unable to jump up after her and unwilling to charge and break the other couch.
Sophronia waived the pillow at it.
The chaise puffed smoke out a back slat and waved two tassels with obvious menace.
Luckily, it didn’t seem to be able to sound the whistle alarm like a maid mechanical, nor the trumpeting blast like a soldier mechanical, but it was not going to let her out of the shed, either.
Its protocol probably dictates that it hold infiltrators here and not allow them to escape until someone checks. I could be at this all night.
Sophronia glanced around. There was no way out except the door by which she’d entered, and the chaise had that defended. She couldn’t see any weapons mounted on the angry furnishing. In fact, it seemed nothing more than a rather cushy—albeit autonomous—couch. Nevertheless, it looked as though it would crush her if she went for the door. It was certainly fast and heavy enough.
Sophronia considered firing her hurlie and swinging over the chaise and out like a circus acrobat, but there was no hooking point. Plus, she would not have gotten what she came for: the information Professor Braithwope and Sister Mattie had extracted from this room. There must be messages stashed somewhere in the arrangement of the shed.