She wished fervently that Vieve were with them. Why had she brought a toff, a sootie, a lady, and a werewolf’s daughter, but not an inventor? Of course the inventor would be the one she needed. Sophronia tried to remember what Vieve had said about Bunson’s aetherographic transmitter. She had been so excited about point-to-point messaging across long distances. One thing was certain, it wouldn’t function while the train was moving. Vieve had insisted it needed silence to operate. For another, it needed aether to communicate from one transmitter to another. So that fairly explained why the freight carriages had no proper roofs. Was this some kind of communication train? However, they were hardly close to the aether now, so there must have been improvements to the prototype if that were the case. Vieve was now at Bunson’s, with the original prototype, and Sophronia wouldn’t put it past her to have worked on an upgrade herself. Was this train from Bunson’s, then? That explained its presence at Wootton Bassett. In which case, were there Picklemen on board?
Sophronia narrowed her eyes, straining to focus.
Is that…? Oh, yes, of course it is. Why should I be surprised? Sitting in the cradle next to the receiver, all innocent and unassuming, was one of the crystalline valve prototypes that everyone was constantly fussing over. She supposed that transmitter technology had probably evolved to require the prototype at this point. Although it wasn’t technically a prototype anymore, but was now officially in production. The vampires had tried hard to stop that, but Picklemen had won the day. And now, there it was, in use, bright as may be.
Sophronia gave the interior one more cursory glance, then withdrew her head, closing the hatch behind her. She lay back on the roof to think, eyes closed, enjoying the weak sun on her face.
Vieve used two crystalline valves to communicate commands from her hands to her sputter-skates. Perhaps the transmitter in the freight carriage is somehow steering the train in a like manner? Communicating with the engine? Why bother? And why put a man to sit watch over the receiver portion under those circumstances? It was very confusing.
Then a horrible thought occurred to her. Felix! Does Felix know? Did he come along because Picklemen are involved? Did he know it would be their train in the station? Sophronia quelled anger and a keen sense of betrayal at that idea. She tried to stay logical. She had no direct evidence as to who was in charge; no need to take it out on Felix, just because she didn’t like his politics.
The train closed in on the junction box. Sophronia flattened herself to the roof and waited to see if a green-banded top hat came walking up. They stopped at the switch and the door to the engine popped open. A stocky driver with a gargantuan mustache swung himself down and lumbered over to fiddle with the switch. No top hat. No green band. Sophronia couldn’t tell for certain, but she thought he was turning the direction toward London.
“No,” said a demanding female voice from the cab door. “We aren’t going back yet.”
The man looked up, unhappy with this order. “But miss, we’ve not much coal left, we need a restock.”
“Do it in Oxford,” commanded the unseen woman.
Sophronia frowned; she was certain she knew that voice.
“But why? This is a London train. Besides, other lines will be starting up soon. We can’t risk it, not on a popular track, not during the day. We’ll be seen, or worse, cause a collision. We’ll certainly slow everyone else up if you keep us at this snail’s pace.”
“That’s enough,” barked the voice. “Orders are orders. Oxford, my good man. The path is clear this morning, I checked the schedule.”
The man muttered to himself but muscled the switch back over with impressive ease. This was a great relief to Sophronia; they wanted to go toward Oxford, after all.
Still, that voice. She’d definitely heard it before. Unfortunately, the lady in the engine room did not get out.
Luckily for Sophronia, the driver didn’t feel the need to look up. Both she and the airdinghy remained unnoticed. She wondered if those were the only other people on the train, the sleeping man with the transmitter, the driver, his stoker, and the lady. Could such a thing be possible, all six carriages for four people and an aetherographic transmitter?
The driver safely inside the locomotive, the train started up again.
Sophronia retreated in relief to the relative security of their first-class coach.
Dimity and Felix were waiting for her, looking frightened and impatient.
Soap was still awake. He cracked an eyelid from his prone position the moment she entered. He evaluated her from head to toe and, apparently satisfied, went back to sleep.
“Where were you?” hissed Dimity. “Really, Sophronia, sometimes you are quite impossible.” She sounded snooty in her relief. She sounded almost like…
Which was when Sophronia remembered who belonged to that voice. Pieces began to click into place.
“You’ve been gone an awful long time for watching a sunrise,” added Felix.
Sophronia said, “Wake up, everyone, we need to talk. I figured out what the freight is, and who’s carrying it. Now we simply need to know why.”
Soap sat up and shook Sidheag awake.
She blinked at them. “What’s going on?”
Sophronia wished they had tea. Tea would do them up a treat right now. However, without tea, it would have to be gossip.
“On the positive, we are definitely headed toward Oxford, Sidheag. Hopefully, there will be a northbound train we can hop there. Unfortunately, this train we’re on is almost certainly a vampire concern. For some reason they’ve got themselves an aetherographic transmitter fitted with one of the new crystalline valves, and are relocating it.”
“Gracious me,” said Felix primly, “how on earth did you learn all that?”
“I overheard a woman giving orders to the driver. I recognized her voice. She sounds a little older and more cultured, but I’m pretty confident it was Monique de Pelouse.”
Sidheag gasped.
“Oh, dear,” said Dimity.
Dimity didn’t know the half of it. Sophronia cursed inside. Was Lord Akeldama in on it, too? Vampires could be very tricky.
However, her tone was prosaic. “At least we are familiar with her methods.” She explained for Felix’s benefit, “You met her on that trip to London. Older girl who was forced to sit at our table. Now she’s drone to Westminster Hive.”
Felix’s lip curled. “So sad.”
Sophronia, annoyed by Felix’s bias, found herself unexpectedly defending Monique. “It’s a valid option in our field, if perhaps not considered the most honorable. Not everyone has the same choices you have, Lord Mersey.”