Etiquette & Espionage (Finishing School, #1)(20)

Sophronia stopped chewing long enough to ask the one question that was still really bothering her. “What was the prototype of?”

Mademoiselle Geraldine looked deeply confused. “Prototype? Linette, what is the child talking about?”

Lady Linette gave Sophronia a fierce look, and then covered it up by toying with a curl. “I have no idea, Geraldine, no idea at all. You know these modern girls—they will have their little joke.”

Oh, dear, thought Sophronia, I might be failing Lady Linette’s discernment and discretion mandate already. Exactly how much am I supposed to be concealing from the headmistress?

“Ah, Linette, sometimes I feel as though I know nothing of what is going on with young persons these days. They seem to talk in cipher. Don’t you find?”

“Indubitably, Geraldine.”

Sophronia, for lack of any other option, gave a huge, guileless smile and stuffed her face with more tea cake.

A knock came at the door. It swung open, and Professor Braithwope’s unstable mustache, followed by its unassuming owner, trotted in.

“Do pardon me, ladies, but Lady Linette, something musically related has come up. It requires your immediate attention.”

Lady Linette stood. “You’d better come with me, Miss Temminnick.”

Sophronia grabbed a handful of finger sandwiches. “Thank you for the tea, Headmistress. It was most illuminating.”

“Very prettily said, my dear. At least we know we won’t have any trouble with your elocution. No, dear, don’t curtsy. I couldn’t bear it—not twic lot—note in one night.” With that, the headmistress turned back to her tea. Sophronia surmised that they had been dismissed.

Lady Linette hustled her and Professor Braithwope out into the corridor. “What could possibly be so important, Professor?”

“The aetheric long-scan monocular sensors are picking something up. Possibly adversaries.”

Sophronia said, “She doesn’t know, does she?”

“Who doesn’t know what?” Lady Linette’s attention swiveled.

Discernment and discretion, indeed! “The headmistress doesn’t know what’s really going on here.”

“Oh, and what is that?”

“I haven’t quite figured out the particulars myself, but you’re keeping her in the dark intentionally, aren’t you?”

“No, dear, you’re keeping her in the dark intentionally. You students. It’s part of the training.”

“You’re keeping me in the dark, too. Am I supposed to figure something out? Is this a test?”

“Lady Linette,” interrupted the professor, “we really haven’t the time.”

“Oh, yes, lead on, do. To the squeak deck.”

“Whot-ho.”

“I suppose you’d better follow, Miss Temminnick. Can’t have you gallivanting about the tassel section on your own. The mechanicals are already overwrought.”

They moved through a series of corridors. Professor Braithwope led the way with a kind of controlled speed that hinted at a truly heightened fitness level under those fancy clothes—he must be a sportsman. Cricket, perhaps? Exiting onto one of the observation decks, he veered off and felt around the back of a railing. There must have been a lever hidden there, for a secret door snapped down, revealing a set of stairs. The three of them climbed up. These stairs were not lit by gas, and there were no windows. It was only the regularity of the steps that kept Sophronia from stumbling.

Eventually, they emerged out onto one of the very top decks, directly under one of the three colossal balloons. This deck was a full circle, stretching from one side of the ship to the other. It was like being on a rooftop. Looking down over one of the railings, Sophronia could see various other sets of decks bulging out, like enormous semicircular steps leading down into cloudy nothingness. Looking across, she could see there were two other decks just like hers, one under each of the other two massive balloons. Out the far back of the ship was a crow’s nest, raised up to be almost touching the underside of the last balloon. Turning about, she saw that at the front, near them, was another crow’s nest. This one was enclosed. It looked like a bathtub overturned on top of another bathtub. There was no apparent means of access, as the only thing holding it up was a set of struts and one long beam.

She pointed. “What’s that?”

“Pilot’s bubble,” Lady Linette answered from behind one of the several telescopes that dotted the edge of the deck.

Professor Braithwope merely stood, squinting, into the night sky. His mustache quivered, due either to the slight breeze or to agitation—it was difficult to tell which.

“How does it land?” Sophronia wanted to know.

“What?” Lady Linette was distracted.

“The school, how does it land?”p w it lan

“It doesn’t, dear. Not all the way. Mostly, we drift,” replied Lady Linette.

“Then why do you need a pilot?”

Professor Braithwope turned piercing eyes upon her. “You ask a lot of questions, little bite.”

“Well, Professor, sir, you are providing me with a number of curiosities.”

He returned to scanning the skies. Suddenly he pointed. “There!”

Lady Linette swiveled her telescope around, following his pointing finger. “Ah, yes, I see. Oh, dear. Flywaymen.”