Because I know too much, thought Sophronia.
The duke still had his gun and was staring hard at Sophronia. She had not revealed his plot to the werewolves. She had mentioned nothing about mechanicals or crystalline valves. She had held her peace regarding his evil plans, whatever those plans were. Did he trust her to keep them hidden? Or did he realize that she was not talking because the whole thing sounded preposterous? She was trained to know that the best explanation was always the simplest. They both knew that the childish whims of a group of girls, worried about their unhappy friend, made a plausible excuse. A countrywide Pickleman plot for mechanical uprising did not.
But what could the duke say to counter her, without revealing that plot himself?
Sophronia was betting on the duke’s not being as quick as she.
The duke glared. “My boy should have warned me about you sooner.”
Captain Niall said, “Now, now, Your Grace, Miss Temminnick is a little precocious. There’s no cause to insult the lady.”
“Lady?” snorted the duke.
There was a scuffle from behind him, on board the dirigible. It looked as if Felix was taking some exception to his father’s tone. But Felix had a bullet wound to the leg, and several large flywaymen appeared to be dragging him back from the railing. Obviously, they had been instructed not to let him join the conversation.
“Unhand me, you brutes!” he yelled, batting at grasping hands. And then, “Sophronia! Sophronia, there are more—” He was cut off by a massive hand.
In the interim, the duke decided on a new tactic. “Please excuse my son, he is overwrought. Well, my dear dewan, if you remand the young lady here into my custody, I will see that she gets safely back to school. I’m heading in that direction myself, I must take my boy back to Bunson’s, after all.”
The dewan looked as if he might jump on this plan, just to relieve himself of the responsibility of determining what was going on. A matter that, no doubt, seemed petty when compared with an entire Scottish werewolf pack running amok without an Alpha.
Captain Niall, however, was still thinking like Sophronia’s teacher. “I don’t know, Your Grace. You did fire a cannon at her.”
“At her train,” corrected the duke.
“So you acknowledge it was her train?” said Soap.
Everyone stared at him as if they had forgotten he existed, which they probably had.
“Who cares for your opinion, sootie?” demanded the duke.
The discussion might have gone on for a good long while, except that behind them came a deal of hollering and yelling, and over a small hill marched Sidheag, Dimity, and Bumbersnoot, armed with coal shovels and determined to come to the rescue.
Sophronia said to Soap, “They probably ran out of fuel just the other side, then found us gone. They should have stayed out of this.”
Soap said, stalwart friend to the end, “They didn’t know what we were up to—taking the tumble intentionally. They’re only doing what you would do in their position.”
Sophronia nodded. “True.”
The dewan said, “Is that Lady Kingair? Oh, good, she can help sort this out. Sensible female, for a mortal girl.”
No one had noticed, but the duke was backing toward his dirigible. A dirigible that was casting off, preparing to float away.
No one except Soap. “Uh, sirs?”
“Now!” yelled the duke, his gun swinging to point at Soap.
Only then did Sophronia realize that Duke Golborne wasn’t the only one with a gun. Perhaps Felix had been trying to warn her about that, not protect her honor.
Three of the flywaymen and the duke all shot at the assembled party.
Captain Niall, acting on supernatural teacher instinct, leapt to protect Sophronia. A bullet hit him broadside and the force of it thrust him over so that he landed fully on top of her.
The dewan moved equally fast. Disregarding the guns, which the men reloaded, he charged for the airship. It was already a few feet off the ground. It was military issue, after all, designed for this kind of maneuvering.
The duke tumbled over the edge of the gondola and back inside, displaying the fact that he favored yellow hose—I knew there was something funny about that man!
The dewan made a gigantic leap to grab the side of the dirigible, but even supernatural strength wasn’t enough. His grip slipped and he fell back to earth with a thud. Had he been in wolf form, he might have made it, but then what? Werewolves weren’t able to float.
He landed, swearing a blue streak.
Two flywaymen leaned over the edge and fired down on him.
He merely tilted his head back and bared his teeth.
Sophronia worked to lever herself out from under Captain Niall. He was bleeding from a shot to the shoulder, which seemed to have passed through and out his back.
“Captain Niall?”
“It’s not silver, Miss Temminnick. I’m in for a bit of a rough few hours but should be shipshape in no time.” He sounded more annoyed than hurt.
The dewan walked back toward them, looking very put-upon… and very hairy and, well, dangly. Oh, dear, and Dimity was running over to them. How on earth was Dimity going to react to dangly bits? Will she faint? She’ll probably faint.
Sophronia righted herself and looked over Captain Niall’s equally na**d body. “Captain, would you mind shifting a little to the…” She went perfectly still; horror hit so hard it felt as if her skin would crawl off her flesh.
Soap?
Soap was lying, fallen and still, a surprised look on his face, clutching at the side of his chest, where a great deal of blood was pouring out of him and onto the grass. A very great deal indeed.
Strangely, Sophronia’s mind kept on with her previous thought. Oh, dear, that amount of blood will certainly make Dimity faint.
She let out a raw scream, like that of an animal at the slaughter. It was coming out of her own mouth, but she couldn’t control it. And then she was moving, shoving away poor Captain Niall, her arms no longer weak from shoveling coal. She threw herself across the distance separating her from Soap and knelt next to him.
“Miss, what a noise,” reprimanded Soap, his voice a whisper.
Sophronia stopped screaming. “Soap,” she said hoarsely, “I forbid you to die.”
“Now, miss, that’s not fair. You know I always try to do as you ask. This time it might not be up to me, and I hate to disappoint you.”
Sophronia placed both her hands over his, pressing against the wound. But there was so much blood. It was a litany in her head, so much blood. She couldn’t do anything. For the first time in her life there wasn’t a single action Sophronia could take, no information to discover, no trick to pull, no climbing to do, no action to turn about and bend to her ends.