No time to check on her friends; the dirigible was settling with the clear intention of disgorging occupants.

“Soap, will you stay with Monique?” Sophronia took in the sootie from under lowered lashes.

Soap’s expression said much that Sophronia couldn’t interpret. Then he nodded and returned to checking gauges.

Sophronia faced Sidheag and jerked her head toward the door. The taller girl nodded and untied the apron she’d donned to help with the coal. “It’s all right, Dusty, you stay here. Mr. Sophronia and I got this one for now.”

“If you say so.”

Sophronia appreciated Sidheag’s continuation of their masculine personas. Monique had called her by name, but it was common among the gentry to refer to a man by his last name alone. Sidheag had turned it nicely in that direction.

“Ready, Sid?” Sophronia said, following the angle.

They swung out of the cab and crunched along the edge of the track toward the downed airship. It was fully inflated, only loosely lashed to the track, bobbing softly. It was big enough to boast a propeller, and proper ladders over the sides, unlike the airdinghy. Its gondola was more barge-than basketlike, a spacious transport indeed.

They heard a shout behind them.

Felix and Dimity were running to catch up. Dimity had Bumbersnoot slung over her shoulder. Lacy dog reticule combined with overly large clothing and corseted waist made her, if possible, even more incongruous.

Sophronia and Sidheag waited for them.

“Hello, lovely one,” said Felix to Sophronia, looking pleased with himself.

“Everything greased your end?” Sophronia asked, looking to Dimity.

“Topping, we dumped him out, shortly after you jettisoned the driver. Must be leagues away by now. Here, thought you might want this.” Dimity patted Bumbersnoot, grinning mischievously.

“Oh? Has he swallowed something interesting lately?”

“Only the vampires’ crystalline valve frequensor.”

“Brilliant! You keep him for now? I’d rather stay unencumbered. Anything new to add to the puzzle of what the vampires are doing with that transmitter?”

Dimity nodded. “Only thing we could get out of that drone before we chucked him was that they were only receiving information, not transmitting it. That valve was hooked into the sketcher component. The part on which letters appear. The drone was monitoring it and then making notes on a map.”

“You mean they weren’t responsible for causing the mass mechanical malfunction?”

“It doesn’t seem likely.”

Sophronia nodded, reevaluating what was going on, her attention taken by the dirigible in front of them. Two men had climbed out and were striding aggressively toward them.

Flywaymen. Sophronia had met their type before. They were dressed like the highwaymen of olden days in baggy britches tucked into tall boots, with sashes about their waists. Sophronia thought the outfits a bit much, but she supposed if one was a criminal outside society one could afford to ignore all the rules of proper attire. They had handkerchiefs tied about their heads, instead of respectable hats, and cravats pinned with onion brooches. It was a hodgepodge of styles that Mademoiselle Geraldine had explained was “only affected by the disenfranchised.” Really, thought Sophronia, you’d think with a Pickleman alliance some style would rub off. However, there was no way to know if these flywaymen were allies or not. There were many flywaymen and they didn’t often work together. Besides, who was she to talk fashion? Sophronia pulled her tweed cap farther down over her forehead, ensuring that her plaited hair was still tucked securely underneath.

Sophronia said to her friends, “Ready, boys?”

Felix said, “You sure you don’t want me to talk?”

“Best not. Flywaymen have allied with Picklemen before. Your father could be involved. You could be involved.”

“Ria, you wound me!” He seemed genuinely upset. “My father would never fraternize with the lower orders, not even for the good of the Empire!”

“And Picklemen do everything for the good of the Empire?”

“Of course.”

“It’s just that they think that the Empire’s good means everything under their direct control.”

Felix bristled. “That’s not fair!”

Sophronia realized she’d made an error. “My dear Lord Mersey—Felix. It’s not that I don’t trust you. It’s the Picklemen whose judgment is in question.”

Felix looked a bit mollified. She’d also trapped him neatly into thinking about his own instinctual alliance with the Picklemen every time they were mentioned. She added a cautious “You do realize that you still have the choice. Your father hasn’t made it for you.”

He might have immediately reacted badly to that, accused her of trying to win him over, so she added quickly, “That choice can always be to follow him. I know you are not the type to be told what to do by anyone.” She tried a little flattery. “Far too strong in character. I simply wish to ensure you realize you are making a choice.” She tried a winsome little smile.

That seemed to help matters. Felix looked to be actually mulling over her words. Am I getting through to him at last? “In that case, dear Ria, thank you for looking out for me. Such a supportive attitude.”

He leaned toward her and his tone, much softened, indicated that he now perceived her attempted influence as tantamount to wifely concern for his future. Perhaps she had taken it too far. He did have the prettiest eyes.