The vampire emerged from the wardrobe looking mercurial and refreshed.

“Ladies.” His tone was one of surprise. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company first thing in the morning?”

“Evening, good sir,” corrected Mademoiselle Geraldine.

“Is it? How droll. I have slept the day away?” He looked thoughtful. “I’m starving. Any tea?”

“Don’t you mean blood, Professor?” Sophronia was gentle with him.

“Blood, whot? No. Or. Yes. Ah, vampire. Right. Why did I do that?”

“You wanted to live forever?” It was the only reason Sophronia could conceive.

“Did I? How curious of me. Yes, drop of blood would be nice right about now. You offering, pretty lady? Or, um, is it lad?”

“No.” Sophronia’s tone was flat, and she tilted her head at Mademoiselle Geraldine.

“Oh, me, neither, Professor, but we do have some gentlemen in mind for your breakfast. If you’d like to follow me. There may be a bit of tightrope walking involved, but I’m sure you aren’t averse.”

“Whot? Tightrope, you say? How lovely. Used to be quite the carnival artist in my day, did you know that?”

“Yes indeed, Professor. That’s why you came on board my school, remember? The only vampire to tether the skies. Said you liked heights too much to stick to the ground and you’d take the risk.”

“Did I? Well, there you have it.” He trotted after Mademoiselle Geraldine.

Sophronia left the room with no little reluctance. It had felt like sanctuary for that one day. Even if the safe feeling was false, she had enjoyed it. She could not deny her love of adventure, not after the last few years, but right now she almost understood Pillover’s reluctance. Nevertheless, she had a ship to save and possibly a nation. She shifted the wicker chicken on her back and checked that Bumbersnoot was dangling over her shoulder. He wagged his tail at her.

They were off.

Over halfway to London, thought Sophronia. The small town far below had gas streetlamps. She couldn’t tell exactly where they were—possibly near Salisbury—but they were definitely making good time. They were now floating over increasingly populated areas.

Sophronia imagined reports in the local papers concerning a massive chubby dirigible spotted in the skies. Was the government spying on them? Or was it an invading enemy? The papers could get hysterical about such a thing.

She was surprised that they hadn’t yet come under investigation by local authorities. Surely some of the wealthier districts kept their own investigative dirigibles for use by the constabulary? Or perhaps they had approached and the Picklemen had eliminated them.

Mademoiselle Geraldine and Professor Braithwope had disappeared to see about the pilot’s bubble. After that, they would take out the two gunmen on the squeak decks. Sophronia had suggested Mademoiselle Geraldine get herself a gun first. The headmistress had muttered something mysterious about visiting her chambers and not needing a gun after that. Sophronia let her be mysterious—she had a dining hall to liberate.

She approached it with caution, heading for one of the side entrances. As hoped, the Picklemen inside were nervously running about, wondering why their men were missing. Accusations were being hurled back and forth in loud voices.

Sophronia let the door open wide enough for her observe as much as possible. This allowed her to learn something of the Pickleman plot. They did intend to use the pilot’s bubble to control all the mechanicals in London. There was something about the way Mademoiselle Geraldine’s pilot mechanical was designed that allowed it to transmit to multiple mechanicals at once. Or more precisely, transmit to all those fitted with the new valve. That makes sense, thought Sophronia. After all, the school boasts a huge number of mechanized staff that always work in consort without crashing. There was some feeling that if the ship were high enough, near the aether, the Picklemen might even be able to extend the reach to the whole of Southern England. The Chutney found this idea very exciting.

When the flow of men became concentrated around the high table, bent over some kind of chart, the flywaymen nearby craning their necks to see, Sophronia took a breath and entered the room. She clutched the wicker chicken to her chest, one hand on the trigger.

No one noticed her for what felt like a long time, although it could only have been a minute or two. Then again, she did look like a boy, so she didn’t stand out as much as she might have ordinarily. She’d used some of Bumbersnoot’s coal reserves to smudge up her face. They might think, at first, she was an escaped sootie.

Madame Spetuna was the first to notice Sophronia. In that first flash of recognition Sophronia realized she had maligned the woman in thinking she would betray the school. Madame Spetuna looked horrified to see her and made a frantic hand motion for Sophronia to get out.

Sophronia pointed at the chicken and mouthed explodes, making a bursting gesture with her free hand.

Madame Spetuna’s eyebrows rose up, and she made a quick toss motion and pointed to herself. She clearly wanted to be in charge of the chicken.

Sophronia was frozen by indecision. It was awfully tempting to give up the responsibility to an experienced intelligencer. Then again, the chicken was her burden. But Madame Spetuna would know better how it should be deployed.

While she tried to decide what to do, Madame Spetuna turned and said something that drew everyone’s attention. It was a bold move, designed to protect Sophronia and keep her unnoticed that much longer.

Sophronia was charmed, but wished she hadn’t bothered. Because in that moment she saw suspicion suffuse the Chutney’s face.