“You’re quite smart, you know.”

Soap raised his eyebrows.

Sophronia took out a little book from her reticule. It was an early primer, meant for young children. She’d been teaching Soap to read lately. They used what bits of time they had and the light from one of the boilers. “I don’t mean book learning, but smart in other ways.”

Soap began to follow where the conversation was headed. “Your school don’t train them like me,” he said, “even if they took boys.”

“Bunson’s?”

“I ain’t got the brain for science, miss. Only other stuff. Naw, leave me here; it’ll do for now.”

“But…”

“Now, miss, just because you ain’t got any projects to work on, don’t be casting them pretty peepers my way.”

“Projects? What do you mean, projects?” Sometimes Sophronia couldn’t understand a word that came out of Soap’s mouth. She got the meaning underneath, mostly. How could she not, when his own “pretty peepers” twinkled at her something terrible? Flirt.

“Miss Sidheag and them others you collect. Them as needs a little help to make it through. Them’s your projects. I ain’t interested. Course, if you wanted to make me somewhat else…” He trailed off and waggled his brows suggestively.

Sophronia cocked her head and lifted the primer. “You sure you aren’t a project?”

“Aw, miss, reading’s one thing, but I can’t be a gentleman, and that seems part and parcel of that secretive work of yours.”

“Doesn’t have to be.”

Soap was not to be persuaded. If Sophronia were to make an intelligencer of him, she’d have to do it without his knowing. “Well, I appreciate your sources; that’s all I’m saying,” she said.

Soap smiled, a flash of white teeth. “Speaking of which…” His eye had been caught by someone coming up behind Sophronia.

She whirled around to see a purposeful newsboy silhouette walking straight across the boiler room, like a delivery lad.

The engineering chamber was a mere hum of activity at night, unlike the crashing cacophony of daytime. Most of the sooties and greasers were asleep, and all of the officers, but the boilers always had to be tended. The flickering orange glow from the burning coal turned the cavernous room into a waltz of light. Sophronia adored it. Sooties trotted about, but none of them moved straight across the open space between boilers—they stopped to feed them. Only one person moved with such directness—Genevieve Lefoux.

“What ho?” said the scamp, dimpling up at them. Vieve was from above stairs; she belonged to Professor Lefoux, as much as she might be said to belong to anyone. But she was rather catlike about the situation. She never sat lessons and went wherever she pleased at whatever hour. Since she liked engines, much of her time was spent in the boiler room.

After the customary pleasantries, Vieve said in a sprightly manner, “Hear my aunt got you good, Sophronia.”

Sophronia cast the primer up at the ceiling in a gesture of appeal to higher powers. “You, too? Isn’t my business secret at all?”

“Well, I might have read the report. You made them allover sticky with the highest six-month marks ever. Good on you, Miss Poofy Skirts.”

“You turning against me, too?”

“Oh, I’m not miffed. Amused you had to go up against the brunt of Aunt’s charms.”

“She’s a dragon, your aunt.”

“Sing that! Now, about—oof!” Vieve stumbled as a sootie hurtled into her, knocking her over.

“Hey!” he yelled as Vieve bounced upright. “Watch it there, runt!”

Sophronia pulled her shoulders back. “You watch it, you turbot!”

The boy snorted at her. “Oh, mighty Uptop, what could you do to me?”

Soap stepped in when it looked like Sophronia might actually launch herself at the boy. “Run along now.”

Strong from shoveling coal most of his life, Soap loomed over the smaller sootie. The boy scuttled off.

Sophronia sputtered. “Why, that turnip! Who does he think he is? Vieve, are you well?”

Vieve dimpled at her. “Don’t concern yourself, miss. I’m not easily damaged.”

Soap said to Sophronia, “Now, miss, don’t go causing a ruckus in my domain, please.”

Sophronia stopped vibrating. “Oh, dear. I am sorry. This thing with everyone angry at me has rather put my nerves on end.” Sophronia hoped Soap couldn’t see how hurt she was by the ostracism. Soap’s eyes were so direct, she rather thought he might see into her heart better than anyone.

Soap shook his head at her sympathetically. “Still, miss.”

Sophronia agreed with the reprimand. She should have minded her manners, even with a sootie. Especially with a sootie. “Who was that unpleasant creature?” She thought she knew most of the boiler room staff by sight, if not by name.

“Don’t know,” admitted Soap, embarrassed.

“Don’t know? But you know all the sooties!” Soap was like the unofficial mayor of boilers.

“That’s just it. We’ve taken on double numbers this week. Double! Some pretty dubious types, too. Second Assistant Fireman should have checked their characters better, if you ask me. Us old guard been trying to get most of them assigned to forward engine and propeller, but they don’t need that many when we’re drifting. So we’ve got ’em all mucking about here.”

Sophronia looked around. “Have you taken on extra coal, too?”

Soap nodded.

“I didn’t feel us go low to meet the supply train.”

“Early yesterday morning, miss.”

Vieve added, “They brought it in from Bristol special.”

Sophronia said, “I take it you’re thinking what I’m thinking.”

“Someone plans to take this ship on a very long trip.” Soap pulled out a wooden pipe, lit it up with a wick from a nearby boiler, and puffed.

Sophronia wrinkled her nose. Revolting habit. She schooled her expression when he looked at her, but he must have caught her distaste.

He took the pipe out of his mouth, looked at it as though it had done something offensive, and then tapped it out into a coal heap and tucked it away.

And he thinks he’s not a gentleman! Sophronia smiled—a wide grin with no artifice to it.

Soap looked a little overwhelmed by the power of her approval. Sophronia was, as yet, unaware of the effect of her smile on boys.

Vieve watched this back-and-forth with interested green eyes.

Sophronia continued their conversation. “Leaving the moor, do you think?

Soap nodded. “A certain.”

“What else do you know?” Sophronia asked.

Soap shook his head. “Simply that, miss. I have tried, but them powers upstairs are keeping this one close.”

They both looked to the ten-year-old girl dressed as a boy. Vieve had crouched down to play with Bumbersnoot. She shrugged. “You got more than me. No one’s talked in my hearing.”

“Lady Linette! She didn’t give us our assessments. Perhaps she was called away to deal with this?” Sophronia mused.

“Which direction are we headed now, Soap?” Vieve asked.

Soap wandered over to a hatch in the floor of one corner of the massive room and stuck his head out of it. A few minutes later he returned. Soap always looked as though he didn’t quite have control of his limbs, like a goat. But like a goat, he was sure-footed and powerful, despite appearances.

“Toward Swiffle-on-Exe, I’m thinking.”

Sophronia was impressed. This was a skill she hadn’t known Soap possessed. One stretch of heath looked much the same as another to her.

“Boilers will be needing water?” suggested Vieve. “For the journey?” Swiffle-on-Exe was a riverside town.

“I wonder if Bunson’s has a mission for us?” offered Sophronia. Bunson and Lacroix’s Boys’ Polytechnique was near Swiffle-on-Exe and the primary reason people visited the town.

“After Monique bungled the prototype retrieval? I doubt it,” muttered Vieve. “Things haven’t been roses between the schools since. Bunson’s won’t forgive Geraldine’s for nearly losing the only working device.”

Sophronia’s instincts took over. “How do you know that?”

“My aunt used to communicate regularly with a professor there.”

“Algonquin Shrimpdittle?”

“Yes, how…?”

“When we infiltrated Bunson’s last year, you used his name to get us past the porter.”

“You remember?” Vieve was impressed.

“It’s what I do.”

“Highest marks ever, right.” Vieve gave Sophronia a suspicious look. “Did you hold back during that test?”

Sophronia avoided her question by asking one in reply. “Did you know about the oddgob?”

Vieve nodded.

“Oh.” Sophronia was disappointed. “And I took such careful mental notes for you. Did you know it had a component part that looked a great deal like the prototype?”

Vieve frowned. “Not possible. Why would the oddgob need a crystalline valve frequensor? That valve is for wireless communication, nothing to do with oddgobbery.”

Sophronia shrugged and fished the item in question out of her reticule. She handed it to Vieve, experiencing some relief at no longer having it on her person. “Here, I stole it for you. Why don’t you tell me what it’s for.”

“Aw, Sophronia, how thoughtful. You brought me a present!” Vieve examined the mini-prototype for a moment. Soap and Sophronia watched her for signs of intrigue. “Amazing, they let it fall into your hands when they made such a fuss over it only last year.”

Sophronia nodded. “Unless it’s no longer a prototype and already in production and distribution. Technology does move awful fast these days.”

Vieve dimpled again. “I know, isn’t it grand?” She pocketed the valve, only then realizing Sophronia had neatly avoided her earlier question. “So, did you hold back during that test?”

“Maybe a little,” Sophronia admitted.

Soap grinned. “That’s my girl.”

Sophronia glared at him. He was getting familiar.

“You are, miss.” He continued to grin.

“I’m my own girl, thank you very much.”

“Sometimes. Sometimes you’re mine, or Miss Dimity’s, or even Vieve’s.”

Vieve was too young to follow this line of reasoning, but she was bound to agree with Soap if the conversation nettled Sophronia.

This one certainly did. In fact, Sophronia was finding it most flustering. She did not like being flustered, and she did not like that it was Soap doing the flustering. She wasn’t quite sure what this meant, so she resorted to orders. “Stop it, Soap.”

“For now, miss. You tell me when you want this conversation to continue.”

“Oh, really!”

But Soap, who certainly could be a gentleman when he tried, left the subject at that and moved the discussion delicately on to the latest boiler room excitement: the sooties had adopted a kitten.

Sophronia visited the boiler room regularly for the next few nights. Things remained uncomfortable in class and chambers. Dimity was barely passing polite, and the other girls ignored Sophronia.

Of course, Bumbersnoot tried his best, but a mechanimal hadn’t much conversation and wasn’t really interested in speculating as to what might be afloat. Sophronia refused to volunteer any information to the others. The possibility of a visit to Swiffle-on-Exe and Bunson’s—which meant young gentlemen—would have her compatriots in ecstasies of delighted anticipation. So Sophronia held on to the news out of spite. She didn’t try to warn Dimity that someone might be after her. Dimity would take it as a pathetic excuse for interference. Without knowing the motive behind that mystery attack, Sophronia had no way to make her case. She’d no idea how lonely such a life could be. So she escaped to see Soap, and occasionally Vieve, most evenings. It was a risk. She might get caught, but it was better than the pointed silences.

Then one morning at breakfast, Mademoiselle Geraldine made an official announcement.

Mademoiselle Geraldine was a source of amusement to the students. She was, supposedly, the headmistress. She thought her school was a real finishing school and had no idea about the espionage side of things. This was an ongoing covert operation lesson for the students—all the girls had to participate in keeping their headmistress in the dark. She always addressed them at breakfast with such concerns and inanities as might be important were they attending an actual ladies’ seminary. And, upon occasion, she was given something of substance to say by Lady Linette.

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