red, as was the man’s cruel face.
“Who are you, missy?” he barked.
Sophronia quailed a moment—he was very fierce—and then she remembered Professor Braithwope’s well- tended, if confused, facial hair and found her courage.
“That’s not possible, little miss. The lever hasn’t dropped. And this is no place for a young lady. Get along with you.”
“Please, listen! We must go down. We must!” This was one of those times Sophronia wished she had blackmail material. Why oh why were those lessons only for older students?
“If we were to go down, that newfangled gadget would have told us.” The man pointed to a small cradle, in which sat a guidance valve. It was partly encased in mechanisms that attached to a lever. Sophronia remembered what she’d learned about the first prototype—that it required two to communicate. This was the second, and Professor Braithwope’s suit housed the first. She remembered Vieve and her troubles convincing the sputter- skates to turn off using her guidance valve. It hadn’t worked properly because she’d needed a second valve. This, then, was supposed to have been the vampire’s safety net. Professor Braithwope, or his suit, should have alerted engineering when something went wrong. That lever should have dropped. But it hadn’t, and the professor was falling.
Sophronia might have argued with the man indefinitely, but there came a screeching, airy, puff noise, and a long metal tube, which ended above the platform, spat out a pelletlike object that nearly hit the man on the head.
He grabbed it out of the air and cracked it open on his knee; it split like an egg. Inside was a message, which he read and then, giving Sophronia a suspicious look, reached for a massive bullhorn. The brass horn was almost as tall as he, and all over covered in keys and levers. Raising it to his lips and adjusting the controls to his liking, the man yelled out over the chamber. “All hands, pull back, we’re going down at speed. Propeller tilt to steady a rapid decent. Greasers Six and Fourteen, take your sooties up top. We’re collapsing the midship balloon.”
A collective gasp met that statement.
Into the resulting comparative silence—the machinery still clanged and the boilers still flamed despite the fact that all human movement had stilled—a small voice said, “Not
The red-faced man said into the bullhorn, “Yes.
The chamber sprung into action. It was as though everything were in reverse. Sooties who had been running one way began running the other. Stokers stopped stoking. A few even threw water on the burning fuel, the resulting steam adding to the congestion of the room.
The angry man looked at Sophronia. “You, get out of here! Find yourself a place to brace. This is no lark, you realize? And what’s your name?”
“Monique de Pelouse,” said Sophronia, without missing a beat.
“I wager it is. Now off with ya. Get!”
Sophronia got.
A truly harrowing few seconds followed. The ship sank so fast Sophronia could feel it in her belly. It was a wobbly sensation, especially when one was accustomed to not feeling anything at all on the floating school. She holed up in her favorite meeting spot behind a—now much diminished—pile of coal, near the floor hatch. Eventually, Soap joined her there. Together they watched the ground approach through the hatch.
“What did you do, miss?” asked Soap as London came into view.
“It wasn’t me. I tried, but he only took instructions when some tube spat at him.”
They could see Hyde Park at the city center and Regent’s Park to the north.
“Pilot’s orders. Must have agreed with you. But deflating a balloon? It’s not done, not ever. The expense alone!”
They began to see streets and houses distinctly.
“Are we going to crash?” wondered Sophronia, her heart fluttering.
Soap inched one long arm about her waist with the excuse that she might need the support. Sophronia felt somewhat reassured.
The bones of the Crystal Palace and the now empty benches came into view. Everyone was crowded around what could only be the fallen body of Professor Braithwope.
“Man the pull back, swell up inflation,” came a yell over the bullhorn.
“Erp, that’s me!” Soap dashed back to work.
Sophronia felt bereft.
Someone in the crowd below looked up, pointed, and screamed. It must be a truly terrifying thing to see, the massive school hurtling down toward them.
Then Sophronia felt a mighty jolt. They stopped falling and hovered, almost exactly as high above the ground as they had been before the whole thing started.
The sooties cheered.
Several of the young ladies in the crowd directly below fainted. Each faint was, properly, backward and caught by one of the many gentlemen in attendance.
Sophronia let down the rope ladder attached to one side of the hatch and climbed to the ground as quickly as she could.
The 14th test
BALLS AND CHAINS
No one—at least no one who had anything to say about it at the time—noticed Sophronia climbing down. She made her way through the crowd, ending up between Dimity and Captain Niall. She noted with relief that Pillover was still there and nodded gratefully at Sidheag, who would have forced them into continued proximity with the werewolf.
Sidheag smiled back. Genuine pleasure lit up her long, masculine face.
Professor Braithwope’s body was bent in a most unusual way. Someone had removed the helmet of the aether-suit, and the vampire’s face was gray-green in color. His mustache was deflated and floppy.
Monique de Pelouse was bent over the vampire, her face a study in tragedy. Sophronia wondered if it was a calculated expression, intentionally revealing her intimacy with the vampire to other vampires present. Was she saying, in her best Monique way: I’m in the market for a new patron? She might as well have taken out a sign that stretched across Mademoiselle Geraldine’s midship balloon.
Lady Linette was barking orders. “Get those stairs down. Quickly! We must get him onto school grounds immediately!” Sister Mattie was pulling and rearranging Professor Braithwope’s limbs, attempting to get them back into alignment. Professor Lefoux’s normal attitude of strict severity was in place, but her hands shook as she attempted to remove the aether-suit.
Then Professor Braithwope’s eyes snapped open.
The crowd gasped in titillated horror.
The vampire’s skin was drawn back flush against his skull as he opened his mouth in a silent scream, showing yellow gums and the full length of his fangs. They were a stark contrast to his fragility, all that wicked strength in such a small, sickly man.
