Curtsies & Conspiracies

She still wore the hurlie. She rarely took it off except to bathe. She managed to use one hand to release the catch.

Bumbersnoot moved closer.

Sophronia couldn’t point the grapple at her own captor, and she daren’t risk hitting Dimity, but the man who had spoken was an easy target. She angled her wrist at him and fired. She got the grapple over the ruffian’s shoulder, jerking back to bring the hook into the flesh of his upper back. The man screamed and turned, scrabbling with his hands.

“Get it off, get it out!” he yelled. There was blood leaking down his shirt—he was without a jacket. All three of them were. So thuggish.

In the same instant, Bumbersnoot snuck up against Sophronia’s captor’s leg and blasted hot steam on the man’s bare ankle, scalding him badly. That’ll teach him not to wear hose, thought Sophronia.

The man yelled in surprise and let her go. Sophronia dove down, scooped up Bumbersnoot, and rolled out of reach. Lady Linette had made them practice that maneuver in full skirts. The extra material actually helped, cushioning the somersault. Sophronia couldn’t get very far, however, as her wrist was still attached to the other man via the hurlie.

At the sight of the blood, Dimity fainted, becoming a dead weight in her ruffian’s arms. He swore and tried to keep hold, but Dimity’s chiffon dress was slippery, and she hadn’t Sophronia’s propensity for covering herself with gadgets. Without handholds, the man lost his grip. Dimity collapsed to the forest floor.

The bleeding man managed to free himself from Sophronia’s hurlie, which she retracted. Momentarily unencumbered, Sophronia pulled out her letter opener. She’d begun to carry it right after they started knife- fighting lessons, as soon as she realized it would work just as well and be more innocuous. After all, a lady might expect a missive at any moment. It wouldn’t do to be without a letter opener. She made a mental note to start wearing and training with her hurlie in her left hand so she could use both as weapons in a fight.

With one ruffian trying to pick up a limp Dimity, another clutching his burned leg, and the third trying to grab his own bleeding back, it looked like Sophronia had the best of them. She was no fool, however. It was her and Bumbersnoot, whose ribbon strap she threw over her neck, against three fully grown men. She ought to run, but she wasn’t about to leave Dimity in their clutches!

The men were wary of coming at her again. She was, after all, armed with a projectile. She wished for a gun. If this kind of thing were to become a regular occurrence, munitions lessons really shouldn’t be left for older students. Then her training kicked in: get them talking.

“What do you want?” she asked, pleased with how steady her voice sounded.

“Oh, no, little miss, we know better then that,” said one.

Another said to his companions, “We can’t let her go. She’ll alert the others.”

“Good idea,” said Sophronia, at which juncture she threw her head back and screamed at the top of her lungs.

Instantly, not so very far away, she heard someone crashing through the trees. She screamed again.

Apparently, deciding it was most important to hush her, two ruffians charged. Sophronia took aim and fired with her hurlie a second time. It hit the burned man in the chest and bounced harmlessly off. The hooks were made to catch on the draw back, not the firing. I should get Vieve to mount a sharp point in the middle that pops out when I release the turtle. Still the man howled in surprise; the spring-loaded release was strong, so it would at least bruise. Then the other man was upon her.

Sophronia fell into Captain Niall’s best defensive stance for the smaller personage when faced with a large opponent and raised her letter opener. The ruffian moved in, no doubt relying on the fact that she was female and could not possibly know anything about fighting. Captain Niall had only taught them a single attack, but he had made them practice it over and over and over. Sophronia slashed out, opening up a long gash on the man’s arm.

He backed away warily.

The other ruffian stopped, grabbed at her grappling hook, and began tugging on it. Soon he would have Sophronia by a leash, and she had no time to undo the turtle from her wrist, focused as she was on fighting the first man. Sophronia prepared to kick. That was a dirty tactic, not taught by Captain Niall, but Soap had shown her a few tricks and she was prepared to use them if necessary.

It was not necessary, for a rescuer appeared out of the forest.

“You screamed, madam?”

“Why, Lord Mersey, what are you doing here?”

“Following you, of course. Spot of bother?”

“Little bit of one, yes.”

The young man looked with interest at Sophronia’s opponents, one holding a collapsed Dimity, one bleeding from a gash to the arm, and the third bleeding from a wound to the back.

“My dear Ria, you hardly need my help.”

“Hardly.”

“Have I told you recently how much I admire a capable woman?” As he spoke, the young lord reached inside his coat and produced the most remarkable gadget. It wasn’t very big and was rather flat, which explained how he could keep it in his coat without upsetting the lines, but it was extremely evil looking. It was long and sharp with multiple attachments and a nozzle blackened from extruding some toxic substance. It looked highly flammable and quite deadly. Vieve would have been enthralled.

The ruffians were suitably impressed. They stopped.

“Put down the young lady,” said Felix.

The man holding Dimity hesitated.

Felix was an aristocrat and accustomed to instant obedience. “This moment!” He swung the weapon to aim at the man and Dimity. “I assure you, I am a very good shot. I will most certainly hit you, not her.”

“What is that thing?” quavered the ruffian.

“Oh, this?” Felix was casual. “This is a ballistic exploding steam missile fire prong. It’s my latest invention, and it’s very, very good at being deadly.”

That did it. The ruffian holding Dimity dropped her once more, and she flopped becomingly, like a sleeping princess from a fairy story.

The man who had been hurlied said to the other two, “We ain’t paid enough for this.”

The others apparently agreed. “Leave it.”

With little more to-do, the three ruffians dashed away into the forest.

Sophronia and Felix looked at each other.

“Nice prong,” said Sophronia after a moment.

Felix grinned and waggled his eyebrows lasciviously. “Thank you for saying so.”

Sophronia was instantly suspicious. “You mean that isn’t a ballistic exploding steam missile fire prong?”

“No such thing, my dear Ria, but it certainly sounds wicked, doesn’t it?”

“Then what is it?”

He handed the evil-looking object over. “Ah, a portable boot-blackening apparatus with pressure-controlled particulate emissions, and attached accoutrement to achieve the highest possible shine. For the stylish gentleman on the go.” He presented his own well-turned-out leg, proving that his boots were as shiny as could be, despite exposure to the outside environment.

Sophronia looked down the barrel of the thing and, accidentally, pulled the trigger. A fine mist of boot black hit her in the face, making her squeak, sputter, and drop the object.

She pulled out her handkerchief to repair the damage but left the apparatus where it lay in the leaves. “Automated shoe-shining kit?”

“Shoe-shining prong.” Felix picked it up and moved closer to her. “You are unhurt?”

Sophronia nodded, still trying to clean her face.

After a moment, Felix took the handkerchief away from her and began to tenderly remove all trace of the black. Sophronia submitted to his ministrations in a momentary lapse of training. Her mind went blank, and she couldn’t determine how to extricate herself from the intimacy. She was not prepared for tenderness.