Waistcoats & Weaponry
Page 4

“Pardon me for introducing myself, Mr. Mechanical. I’m Miss Temminnick. Are you equipped with verbal protocols?”
The pilot ignored her. Perhaps it did not have the ability to see that a wayward student had climbed into its domain. Lacking options, Sophronia explored. There wasn’t much: a few ropes, a cornucopia of tools, and that squatting mechanical. She brushed off her skirts and sat down atop a tall leather hatbox thing. She ran an assessment of her physical condition, finding herself basically unharmed, simply sore. She considered how to retrieve her grappling hook, still embedded on the outside of the bubble. Her only option might be to climb back out, using one of the ropes as a safety line.
A whooshing noise interrupted her thoughts. An egg-shaped pod spat out of a tube and skidded along a specially designed trough. One of the mechanical’s arms came crashing down and cracked the egg open.
Sophronia jumped and squeaked at the suddenness of it.
The mechanical reached out with yet another of its appendages and unrolled the paper within. The paper was perforated with small holes of variable location. This the mechanical rested on a reader that looked like the voice coil of a standard mechanical—music box technology.
Another arm turned a crank and the paper fed through. Sophronia supposed this would normally issue a set of protocols to the mechanical on how to pilot the ship, but in this case it caused the tinny voice of an underused vocal-quadringer to read instructions.
“Rope ladder stashed below Pirandellope Probe, near feeding tube for capsule pipeline.”
Sophronia knew the instructions were for her. Somehow, even though the sound was mechanized and lacked emphasis, the message conveyed Professor Lefoux’s special brand of French disinterest.
SESSION 2: ON FANS AND FLIRTING
That’s it?” Sidheag was disappointed in Sophronia’s desultory description of the pilot’s bubble.
“When did you get interested in technology?” replied Sophronia.
“It’s not that; I was hoping that after we left, you would fall to your doom. Something exciting for once.”
“Thank you kindly, Lady Kingair. The fact that I was initially dropped overboard by a vampire wasn’t exciting enough for you?”
“Not with you, Sophronia, it wasn’t.” Sidheag passed over the buttered pikelets without having to be asked.
“I spoil you, that’s the problem.” Sophronia, secretly flattered, deposited a pikelet onto her plate.
Sidheag’s masculine face lit up with a grin.
Teatime conversation flowed smoothly among the members of their little band. Over a year and a half’s association and Sophronia would have described the other three as confidantes extraordinaire. The best part being that she knew they felt the same way about her. Each had her own set of abilities. Sidheag had stoic strength. Dimity a guileless craftiness. Agatha… well, perhaps Agatha was a bit of a wet blanket. She was loyal to a fault and she did try. She tried too hard sometimes.
As if to illustrate this, the chubby redhead looked suddenly panicked and began to pat her person and rifle through her reticule. “What class do we have after tea?” she asked, voice wobbling.
Dimity looked up from applying strawberry jam to her pikelet. “Captain Niall. It’s Thursday, we always have him on Thursdays, unless the moon is full. Really, Agatha dear, how could you forget? It’s Captain Niall!”
Agatha was relieved. “Oh, that’s all right. Unless… we weren’t meant to bring anything, were we? Scissors, or paperweights, or wheat paste, or…?”
“No,” Sidheag answered. She was always prepared for Captain Niall’s classes. They were her favorite, and not only because he was a proper bit of sweetmeat. Sidheag liked weapons training. She was Scottish, after all. “We’re moving on from deadly library supplies to something else this evening. He didn’t say what.” She tugged on her earlobe, uncomfortable. Sophronia wasn’t certain if that was because she didn’t know what was going on or because of Captain Niall. Sophronia suspected Sidheag of harboring a good deal of romantic interest in their werewolf professor. Of course, half the young ladies of Mademoiselle Geraldine’s tendered feelings in his direction. Captain Niall was quite dashing. Sidheag, either because she was embarrassed to acknowledge any emotion or because she was disgusted with herself for belonging to a popular movement, had yet to confess said interest.
Sophronia, as a result, rather enjoyed teasing her on the subject. “Didn’t say? Not even to you? But I thought you two were so close.”
Sidheag walked right into her trap. “Not that close! He doesn’t share lesson plans with me.”
“Well, then, does he share something else?”
Dimity was feeling equally mischievous. “Dead rabbits, perhaps? Laying his kill at your feet.”
“What?” Sidheag was genuinely confused.
Dimity was not to be turned aside. “As if we didn’t see you nuzzling up to the lovely captain regularly.”
Sidheag objected to this unwarranted accusation. “Nuzzling! He’s ten times my age!”
Dimity waved an airy hand. “Immortals usually are, and he certainly still cuts a fine figure.”
Sophronia nudged Sidheag’s shoulder. “And you know werewolves. I mean to say, you know them.” They so rarely got to rib Sidheag.
The Scottish girl actually blushed.
Mindful of her chamber-mate’s finer feelings, Agatha returned them to the subject of preparing for class. “Well, thank goodness it’s him. I was sure we had Lady Linette, and I’ve misplaced my chewing tobacco for card rooms and informant recruiting.”