“But there is so much more to learn.” The answering voice was higher and tinged with Yorkshire.

“Stuff it, Spicer. Gather your things. And come back to me before you head down. I’ve a few items of interest for the Gherkin”—That means Duke Golborne is on board! How did I miss him?—“and some notes from my interrogation for that idiotic book of yours. The blasted runner scampered off without pause, idiot boy. Where do we get our recruits these days? Honestly, I don’t know why we bother.” From the fading volume, Deep Voice was already walking back the way he’d come.

Sophronia stuck her head around the corner.

A large wall-shaped sort of chap was striding away. He’d left the door to the record room wide open.

I could go in, wicker chicken blazing, and take Note-taker out right now. Or I can target his notebook, and steal it after he’s gotten the next bit of information from Deep Voice. Sophronia liked the second option best. Once Note-taker was on his own, headed to the Gherkin, he’d be vulnerable. Then again, if he had encountered Madame Spetuna’s record and knew who she was, the man himself must also be eliminated. Sophronia nibbled her bottom lip. How do I sabotage a Pickleman without giving my own presence away? Right now my only real advantage is surprise. No one knows I’m on board. But I don’t want to kill the blighter. She was capable, of course, but always found murder the least appealing part of espionage. She wasn’t squeamish, like Dimity, but she wasn’t as bloodthirsty as Preshea, either.

For now Sophronia elected to follow him until he collected more information. The intellectual chappy appeared in the record-room doorway, pulling on his coat and hat, and, notebook clutched under his arm, he headed after the other man.

Once he disappeared around a bend in the hall, Sophronia followed.

A CLASSICAL EDUCATION

The administrative room was Deep Voice’s only possible location. Of course, Sophronia had explored the room before. She’d investigated most of the school by now. It was rarely used, for Mademoiselle Geraldine kept no proper administrators on staff. It was a cramped, dusty place, filled with piles of forms, bootlaces, defused mechanicals, old lesson plans, and irrelevant embroidery samplers. It was an odd place to station a Pickleman, its only advantage being a front-facing location and, perhaps, the fact that by comparison to other rooms, it was unused.

It was possible, Sophronia supposed, for an infiltrator to have been living there unnoticed for weeks. Or possibly to have stashed something important there, with no one the wiser.

She watched as Note-taker let himself inside. She then ran down the hallway after. The sign on this door read ADMINISTRATOR ACCESS ONLY, NO PEONS. Under it someone had pinned a scrap of paper that read NEEDS DUSTING. Under which someone else had penned another note scrawled with a prosaic WHY BOTHER?

Sophronia ignored the notes and took out her hearing trumpet, pressing it to the crack.

“Here, take this as well,” Deep Voice was saying.

“Why on earth would I want that? You know I prefer reading to sportsmanship.”

“It’s not for you, idiot. It’s for the Gherkin. The creature seems to think it’s vital. I had a devil of a time getting it out of his claws.”

“You do realize he’s insane? What’s vital to him is likely useless to the rest of us.”

“Do as you are told, Spicer. Here, take the bolts, too.”

There was a rustling noise and a funny kind of a moan.

“Shut your mouth, fang boy,” barked Deep Voice.

Ah, thought Sophronia, I appear to have found Professor Braithwope. Unfortunately, I wasn’t the first.

“Couldn’t you be a little kinder to the poor fellow?” said another voice, this one rich and female. “He may be lost about the mind, but I assure you he is a gentleman and quali-tay.”

And Mademoiselle Geraldine is here, too.

Even realizing that her teachers were in trouble, Sophronia was relieved that at least she knew they were still alive. It made her feel less isolated. By her calculations, there were fourteen Picklemen, plus three younger runners, and half a dozen flywaymen, one of whom was Madame Spetuna. Against them Sophronia had about two dozen sooties, enslaved in the boiler and propeller rooms, and now, Mademoiselle Geraldine and Professor Braithwope.

I now know all the players and their locations. At last I can start to plan.

It was unfortunate that the enemy was spread all over the ship, making them harder to eliminate en masse. But it had one great advantage—it slowed communication. While she had been surveying the situation, the airship had kicked up speed, and they were heading to London at the fastest float possible. Admittedly, it wasn’t very fast. Last time, the float to London took four days, but they had taken layovers and been under steam cloud cover. Pressing the issue, she thought it would be two and a half to three days.

Well, she thought, if London is the target, at least I know I have some time.

Not at the moment, however, for footsteps were heading toward the door. Once more she raced away. That was the one good thing about dancing slippers—at least she was soft-footed.

She heard Spice Administrator Note-taker shut the door, and she could guess what path he would take. The end of this hallway was a staircase down to the middle level. It was impossible to go directly the length of the ship on the upper level, unless one had a hurlie and the will to climb. So Sophronia ran ahead of him, heading for the classrooms.

She chose the first classroom after the stairs, Lady Linette’s. It was open, as she’d left it during her search, dark and quiet. Sophronia dropped Bumbersnoot outside the door, in the hall, with a command to stay. She could only hope he would obey. She and Vieve had never determined all of Bumbersnoot’s protocols—as a result, he pretty much did as he pleased. Leaving the door ajar, Sophronia arranged herself inside the room. She opened the curtains so the moonlight would kiss her face. Then she sat down at Lady Linette’s large harp, fortunately undamaged. Staging, in seduction, is almost as vital as the seduction itself. She dabbed a bit of lemon tincture on the floor so the scent permeated the air, and began playing softly.