In a synchronized movement, the mechanicals all settled back onto their rear wheels, locking down to the deck with a clunk, and altered themselves. Like the porter at the boy’s school, these had open hatches in their chests, only much bigger ones, so that their whole upper torsos were sliding back. Each hatch ejected the barrel of what appeared to be a small cannon. Then, in one smooth motion, they all swiveled and pointed their little cannons at… Professor Braithwope. Goodness, thought Sophronia, what did he do that was so bad?
“Soldier mechanicals?” asked Sophronia of the air. At which juncture she noticed that the professor had a tiny crossbow in his hands. The bow was armed but pointing harmlessly down at the deck.
“Wait for it, Professor. We are an institution of high learning and higher manners. We simply cannot shoot first;, it isn’t done. Now, remember that, Miss Temminnick, do—a lady never shoots first. She asks questions, then she shoots.”
“Yes, Lady Linette, I’ll remember,” said Sophronia, riveted.
The fleet of airdinghies was now near enough for Sophronia to make out figures in the carrier baskets. They were dressed as their compatriots had been earlier that day, in goggles and riding outfits. There was one odd man out, however. In the airdinghy farthest to the left. Standing at the back, in the manner of an usher at the theater, was a gentleman. Sophronia couldn’t make out his features, but he was dressed in black with a stovepipe hat. His cravat was green, as was the band about his top hat. Despite his upper-crust dress, he remained in the background.
“Why aren’t you firing, Professor Braithwope?” A French-accented and imperious question came from Sophronia’s right. Professor Lefoux appeared out of a nearby hatch, all angles and disapproval.
“No just cause,” explained Lady Linette.
“But those are criminals out there. Flywaymen. We need no other cause.”
“Patience, Beatrice. We must understand what they want of us.”
“We know what they want! They want the prototype!”
“Did you get the location out of Monique?”
“No, she’s closed-lipped, that one. Some of her lessons she learned well.”
“So?”
“So I punted her down to debut status. We shall see if the boredom of relearning everything with the new girls loosens her tongue.” Sophronia did not like the sound of that. It meant Monique would be in all her classes!
One of the flywaymen hoisted something to the edge of his dinghy.
Professor Braithwope tensed and pointed the crossbow toward the airdinghies.
“Not yet,” said Lady Linette.
The flywaymen’s object made a loud sput and fired. A white mass hurtled toward them and landed with a splat against the side of the deck near Professor Braithwope.
The professor began to cough and fan the front of his face frantically while backing away at the same time. He was wheezing, and his eyes were tearing up.
The ladies, however, did not seem to feel any ill effects. Professor Lefoux approached and bent over to examine the white substance.
“Garlic mash,” she said, without emotion.
“That’s simply petty!” said Lady Linette. “Are you handling the exposure well enough, Professor?”
He sneezed at her.
Professor Lefoux occupied herself with kicking the mashed garlic into a pile and then covering it over with a handkerchief.
Through his wheezing, Professor Braithwope said, “Now can I target them?” His tiny crossbow was up. All the while, the mechanicals’ little cannons remained trained on him. The mechanicals, at least, considered him the greatest threat. Must be the mustache, thought Sophronia.
“No, no. That was only a warning shot, meant to discombobulate.”
“Whot? Warning, you say? Achoo! Well, it worked.” Professor Braithwope rubbed at his eyes with his free hand.
Sophronia watched in fascination as one of the airdinghies hoisted a white flag on the end of a mop and approached even closer. The small airship wafted one direction and then the next, as if confused.
“They want to parley?” Professor Lefoux was incredulous.
“Let them. We shall see what they have to say.”
When the dinghy was only a few lengths away, the flywaymen inside mounted a catapult onto the carrier basket edge and hurled something else at the squeak deck.
It landed with a clatter and rolled across the planks, coming to rest against the base of one of the mechanicals. The object unfurled, revealing that it was also a mechanical, only much smaller than the ones standing guard. It was not human-looking at all, nor any attempt at human-looking. It had four legs—four very short legs—and a small, spiky tail. Steam emanated slightly from its underbelly, and smoke came out from under its leather earflaps. It looked a little like one of those sausage dogs the Germans were so fond of.
“Mechanimal!” yelled Lady Linette. “Everybody hide!”
Sophronia took refuge behind one of the defensive mechanicals, as did the two female teachers. Professor Braithwope did not obey the command. He stood firm. His sneezing subsided and his crossbow remained trained on the airdinghy.
The sausage dog didn’t seem to understand the fear it caused. It trotted hopefully up to Professor Braithwope, mechanical tail wagging back and forth in perfect clockwork rhythm—tick-tock, tick-tock.
Upon reaching the professor, the mechanimal stopped, and then—Sophronia blushed—it squatted down and emitted a tube of glass out its backside.
Professor Braithwope stared and then bent down, retrieved the tube, and stood, all without relaxing his arm. He was clearly unwilling to let go of the crossbow, so he pulled the cork stopper out of the tube with his teeth. The stopper caught and stuck on one of them, but he didn’t notice. Inside the tube was a tiny roll of paper with a printed message.