“You don’t.”
They parted, and Sophronia was left feeling both forlorn and triumphant, although her prevailing emotion was one of relief. She was wrung out, like wilted spinach. I’m losing my touch, she thought. I got caught! Her stomach sloshed. Confidence shaken, it took a long time to make her way back to her quarters.
By the next morning, however, Sophronia was more controlled. She went, during their brief free time before breakfast, hunting for Vieve.
The thing about Vieve was the scamp turned up when she pleased, and no one was entirely certain where she spent the bulk of her time. So when one was looking for Vieve, it could prove difficult to actually find her. Sophronia pestered the hall steward, one of the human staff members, into getting the word out that Vieve was wanted. And after searching for a bit, she gave up.
The younger girl appeared, dimpling excitedly, to escort her to breakfast an hour later. They hung back, despite Monique’s teasing, for a quick exchange. Sophronia shook her head quite firmly at Felix when the boy looked as if he would come over and take her arm. She indicated that she already had an escort, and even Lord Mersey was well mannered enough not to interfere. He did, however, look offended.
“Quickly,” said Sophronia. “Your Bunson’s plan is getting me into heaps of trouble. I’ve had to promise the loan of Bumbersnoot to a fortune-teller.”
Vieve gave her best effort at a guilty look.
Sophronia was not fooled—Vieve rarely felt guilty about anything. “Can you kit him out to emit a timed explosive? Set the timer for three weeks in the future, give her incentive to get him back to me quickly?”
“I won’t ask for the details.”
“Nor should you. Well, can you?”
Vieve scrunched up her nose. “Explosives aren’t my strongest suit. It’s ridiculously difficult to acquire them when one is only ten. Then again, I could link something under pressure to his own functionality, get the viscosity of the oil down enough to begin a gradual buildup.” Her forehead wrinkled. “You’d have to shut him down and clean him out if you got him back early.”
“Show me how?”
“Of course.”
“The boiler room, this evening?”
Vieve nodded and then skittered off.
At breakfast Professor Shrimpdittle was red-eyed and panicky, with a very high cravat tied about his neck.
Soap was thrilled to see Sophronia that night. “My goodness, miss, I thought you’d forgotten all about us.” His grin practically lit up the boiler room.
Sophronia thought he was looking remarkably fit. Had he got himself new clothing? Well, newer clothing. “Never, Soap. Things have simply been busy with this trip, that’s all.”
“And with all them fine visiting gentlemen?” Soap’s tone was overly casual.
“Now, Soap. You know you’ll always be my favorite.”
Soap tugged his own ear self-consciously. “Aw, miss.”
Sophronia unstrung Bumbersnoot from his reticule disguise and put him down on the floor. His tail tick-tocked happily as he nibbled chips of coal and snuffled in the black dust.
“So, miss, what’s the doggerel?”
Sophronia relayed to Soap some of what she was currently scheming—the bits she was tolerably certain wouldn’t offend. She told him of Vieve’s plan to relocate, her own plotting against Shrimpdittle, the fortune-teller spy, and the possible attempted kidnapping of Dimity and Pillover. And how it all might be tied to Giffard’s fancy new dirigible technology and the guidance valve that was once a prototype.