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.
It was a like telling an adventure story to a child. Sophronia made the most of it, exaggerating her own actions rather more than was truthful, and detailing the Chaise Longue Attack as if it were some epic battle.
Soap, and the small crowd of sooties who joined him, were entranced. They gasped in all the right places. When Vieve arrived and scooped up Bumbersnoot, they barely noticed. The younger girl settled herself to tinker with the mechanimal, making a host of adjustments and configurations. She placed a round spidery thing inside his storage compartment that looked uncomfortably deadly and hooked it into the dog’s tiny steam engine with various cables.
By the time Sophronia had finished her tale, Vieve was done with Bumbersnoot. Sensing that story time was over, the sooties dispersed.
Vieve showed Sophronia the adjustments she’d made.
“You detach it here, like so.” She tapped the side of the spider in a pattern of pressed buttons and twisted nobs.
Sophronia memorized it.
“That’s the only shut-down sequence that will incapacitate the explosive. Otherwise, it’s timed to be heat dependent. If you try to remove it early, it will explode. What I’ve done is connected it to Bumbersnoot’s boiler. This will cause a slow buildup. He already has a safety thermometer in his storage stomach to prevent overheating; this will cause him to regurgitate the explosive in exactly twenty-four days, if my calculations are correct. If the device is disconnected, it will explode in minutes. All this timing is rather delicate and requires that Bumbersnoot runs standard practices. If he is walked at high speed too frequently, he’ll emit the explosive sooner.”
“Will there be any kind of warning?” Sophronia asked, patting Bumbersnoot’s head.
“His tail will begin to wag faster and faster. When it’s going as fast as a hummingbird’s wings, he’s about to regurgitate.”
“How do we ensure he himself gets out of the blast range?” Sophronia was worried for her beloved pet’s safety. “And how do I get him back?”
Vieve shrugged unhelpfully.
“Ah, is that the mechanimal?” Madame Spetuna appeared as if out of nowhere.
Everyone started, including the sooties, who were usually excellent at spotting an intruder in their domain.
“Who are you?” Soap demanded.
“Ah, Soap, this is Madame Spetuna. She is that fortune-teller.”
“How do you do?”said Soap, intrigued.
Madame Spetuna nodded at him curtly. Clearly, she had no time for sooties.
After exchanging glances with Vieve, Sophronia said, “This is Bumbersnoot. Bumbersnoot, this is Madame Spetuna. You’ll be visiting with her for the next few weeks.”
Bumbersnoot’s ears dropped. He whistled bit of steam out his undercarriage in query.
“It not that you’ve done anything wrong, Bumbersnoot. It’s a covert mission for you.”
Bumbersnoot did not look convinced.
“Come now, you want to be an intelligencer like me, don’t you?” Sophronia patted the metal dog on his head and then handed him to Madame Spetuna. The fortune-teller began stroking the mechanimal covetously.
Sophronia said, “Vieve here has installed an exploding spider, and only the two of us know how to shut it down. If you try to take it out and keep him, it will explode in your hands. If you don’t get him back to me in under three weeks, he will emit it and explode.” Sophronia did not explain that said explosion would be slightly delayed. She wanted the woman to think that attempting to steal Bumbersnoot would be very hazardous. To provide further incentive, she added, “If you opt to merely drop him overboard, I will arrange for the flywaymen to learn who you really work for. I have broken into the record room before, you know.”
“That was you?” Madame Spetuna looked impressed. “Very nice touch, missy. And, of course, you could be lying to me about any of this, and I’ve no way of knowing.”
Vieve said, pertly, “I assure you, she is not lying.”
Soap followed this interchange with a look of skepticism. He was fond of Bumbersnoot. “Are you certain about this, miss?” he asked, as Madame Spetuna trotted away, clutching Bumbersnoot under one arm.
Sophronia watched the intelligencer disappear, nibbling her lip unhappily. “No, I’m not. We have to hope that Madame Spetuna and the flywaymen stick close. If they are after the Giffard test, then they’ll be heading to London, like us.”
Vieve was confident. “It will all work out in the end. Only think, Sophronia, how nice it will be to own all my gadgets.”
Soap pursed his lips. “Is that your bargain?”
“The things I do for gadgets,” said Sophronia.
Soap, fond of Vieve’s inventions himself, nodded sagely. “Now, miss, you let me know if you need any help getting that critter back, you hear?”
“Soap, what could you possibly…?”
“Why, miss, you think the flywaymen don’t have sooties on their big ships, too?” He gave her an almost evil smile. “My people are everywhere.”
“Soap, have I told you recently how much I adore you?” Sophronia’s heart lightened, her worries about Bumbersnoot allayed slightly.
Soap looked down at his feet and shuffled them in the coal dust. “Aw, miss, not again.”
Sophronia stood on tiptoe and kissed his dusty cheek. “Thank you. You’re a chum.”
Madame Spetuna departed the ship before breakfast the next morning, Bumbersnoot with her. Sophronia felt his lack keenly. She hadn’t realized how prevalent the mechanimal was in her life—puttering about her feet as she washed in the morning, blundering into the furniture while the girls gossiped, eating discarded gloves while they dressed of an evening. Her shoulder, without the weight of the lace strap from his reticule-disguised form, felt nak*d. She had only a few days to miss him, however, because they finally arrived in the great city of London.
Around midnight on a fine clear Thursday in mid-March, a lone cloud wafted over west London toward Hyde Park. There it stopped and hovered in a most un-cloud-like manner. It hesitated and then headed purposefully toward the grounds of the Crystal Palace, where the Great Exhibition halls were being torn down. It sunk low enough to touch the top of the center post, where once massive buildings had housed engines of industry.
No one observed this odd behavior except two gin-soaked gentlemen. They watched the cloud slowly part, revealing itself to be, in actuality, a massive dirigible.
“Did we visit one of the opium dens this evening?” inquired one gentleman of the other, trying to explain away this hallucination.
“Dens? Hens?” said the second, tripping over a mulberry bush.
The two gentlemen swayed where they stood, leaning against each other, transfixed while the dirigible undertook a series of transformations. Dark figures swarmed up to the squeak decks and then climbed over the casings of the huge balloons, scrambling about with the aid of rope ladders, but looking, to the befuddled watchers, like so many four-legged ants.
Eventually, the ants unrolled a canvas banner that stretched the full length of the central balloon and read BLENHEIM’S BUILDERS & SAFETY INSPECTORS. FOR QUEEN AND COUNTRY. The ants then proceeded to rig scaffolding from the ship’s decks down to the ground. After these adjustments the airship looked quite convincingly as if it were part of the Crystal Palace deconstruction operation.
In Hyde Park the only way to hide something as huge as a floating school was to pretend it was a tradesman’s concern, a business that functioned through the use of day laborers. Anyone of note tempted to look must instantly look away in humiliation. After all, persons of consequence did not pay attention to buildings going up or down—they were too exposed. Anything to do with construction was highly embarrassing.
When Sophronia awoke the next day and trotted out on deck to investigate, she couldn’t read the legend spread above them, but at breakfast they were told what it said.
There were a few cries of outrage from the young ladies. After all, they didn’t want to be associated with builders any more than the aristocrats strolling through Hyde Park.
Monique was particularly upset. “We can’t be seen to be here, on a ship emblazoned with an advertisement! It’s simply too shocking! What if someone observes us disembarking?”
“Well, you’ll have to be careful no one does, won’t you? After all, young ladies shouldn’t be around building sites regardless of signage. You are, as of this moment, restricted indoors. Is that understood?” Mademoiselle Geraldine was firm on this matter.
They all nodded.
Sophronia entertained herself by imagining what kind of disguise might best facilitate escape. She couldn’t, after all, look like a builder. She hadn’t the physicality for it.
“I guess if I want to wander around, I’ll have to pretend to be a sootie,” she muttered. After all, most industries required the use of small wiry boys in some capacity.
Dimity was shocked. “Sophronia, first men’s garb and now lower-class men’s garb? The very idea!”
Sophronia admitted, “It is daring. Luckily, I have no reason to leave the ship. Yet.”
“You will not be allowed off school grounds regardless, ladies,” continued Mademoiselle Geraldine. “It’s too dangerous to parade around London without an escort. Those of you who have families in town will make special arrangements. For the rest, this is an educational jaunt, not a pleasure cruise.”
Preshea was upset. “But the shopping! I have been given an extra allowance in anticipation of this trip!” She emphasized the final p so sharply it almost popped the eardrum.
“It will wait, Miss Buss.”
“But Monique’s party!”
“That’s enough, Miss Buss.”
Preshea looked sulky.
Monique was smug. Her parents were in town preparing for the ball. She would be allowed to shop as much as she pleased.
So they lodged in Hyde Park, and their classes continued despite the tempting activities outside the windows. The view included the aristocracy taking the air, hackney cabs rolling by, and the certain knowledge that, just out of reach, were all the luxuries and privileges afforded by town.