The sootie doffed his cap at the august personages. “Evening, all. I’m here for the chimneys. Said I was to start with this room, if that suits.”
“No, that certainly does not suit,” said the countess.
“But madam, skinny as a pickled gherkin, I am. I fits, I assure you.”
Oh, dear, thought Sophronia, picking up on Soap’s hint, we’ve got Picklemen coming.
Mild chaos ensued, with the countess’s staff trying to hustle Soap out of the room, struggling to stop him from shedding further. Soap dodged them and clanged loudly. The countess issued increasingly strident instructions.
Sophronia and Sidheag took the opportunity to shift closer to Dimity and Pillover.
“What are you doing here?” mouthed Dimity at them.
Sophronia made a small shushing gesture.
Into the madness strode a tall, elderly gentleman in a top hat with a band of green about it. He was followed by three similarly dressed men, a short lady in somber grays carrying a reticule shaped like a metal sausage dog, and Felix Mersey.
Sophronia thought, Now we’re really in the soup.
The handsome footman followed, looking harried. “I tried to stop them, Countess, but they insisted, and he is a duke.”
The tall, reedy vampire placed himself before the countess protectively. “Duke Golborne!”
“Duke Hematol,” replied the Pickleman.
My goodness, thought Sophronia, Felix took my suggestion and involved his father, how remarkable. I may owe him another kiss.
The short lady, who Sophronia realized was Madame Spetuna in a new disguise, put her reticule on the floor. The reticule puffed steam out its ears excitedly and trundled in Sophronia’s direction, tail wagging back and forth.
The countess shrieked even louder. “Mechanimal! Get that repulsive thing out of my hive!”
Several of the staff left off chasing Soap and dove for Bumbersnoot, who scuttled away at a much greater speed than Sophronia had thought him capable.
The countess began fanning herself vigorously with a gold lace fan. Then she squealed a third time, for Bumbersnoot bumped against her foot. A maid dove after him, upsetting a lamp with a stained-glass shade.
Duke Hematol reached out with supernatural reflexes and caught the lamp before it fell.
This display of otherworldly prowess upset the head Pickleman, Felix’s father. He began to harangue the vampires, accusing them of all manner of dastardly deeds. The chief offense of which seemed to be trying to steal control of the crystalline guidance valve and its patents and production. Although they must have seen the body, no one cared about the girl who had been savaged. That, apparently, was ordinary vampire practice.
“We will not have Picklemen harnessing the aether and using it against us!” the Duke of Hematol said in defense of the vampire position. “Nor will we be ostracized from a technology that can change the course of human transport! We will not permit you to maintain sole control. Other possible applications for these valves are too dangerous.” It was like a heated debate in the House of Lords.
Soap, shrugging off all attempts at dismissal, went over to the fireplace and began clattering up it, causing as much ruckus as possible—more, in fact, than one might expect.
Bumbersnoot charged about with Westminster drones in hot pursuit.
Sophronia gave Dimity the nod.
Dimity cast herself prostrate at the feet of the Picklemen, begging them for salvation from imminent vampire doom. She claimed all manner of mistreatment at the hands of the countess. The tea was lukewarm. The biscuits stale. The seat cushion lumpy. And a girl had been bitten to death right in front of her! She demanded she be rescued instantly and rounded out her complaints with a plaintive explanation that she was missing a ball!
Bumbersnoot trundled over Dimity’s elegantly draped skirts, pausing to nibble at a large purple bow, before dodging the grasping hands of a footman.
Pillover began arguing with his sister. Protesting that, for being kidnapped, they had actually been treated fairly and the tea was excellent. Sophronia wasn’t certain if he was aware of the plan, which currently consisted of causing as much pandemonium as possible, or if he simply had a brother’s objection to a sister’s fibs.
Felix had spent the past few minutes staring at Sophronia, his mouth agape. He looked like a fish. A handsome fish, but a fish nonetheless. However, Sophronia knew it was only a matter of time before he got his voice back and demanded to know why she was dressed like a circus dandy. She made frantic silencing motions at him.
The two dukes moved from debating to yelling. The Pickleman claimed that the vampires had no right to go around kidnapping children and forcing the hand of perfectly respectable scientists. The vampire protested that any technology that excluded the supernatural ought to be banned outright.
Meanwhile, Soap upended the entire coal scuttle onto the fireplace stoop with a tremendous crash.
Bumbersnoot scalded a chambermaid, who screamed.
The countess stood up, trembling in agitation. No doubt her well-run household had never before seen such chaos.
Sophronia began making gentlemanly noises about everyone turning potty, mostly to add to the kerfuffle. Sidheag joined her, both of them attempting to sound as upmarket and foppishly offended as possible.
“This is going too far,” insisted Sidheag, waving a handkerchief about her face. “Coal dust, in a hive, can you believe it?”
Sophronia spoke through gritted teeth. “Agreed. It’s like the Marquis of Inkuppy and that dyed-blue poodle he will insist on carrying everywhere. It can’t be permitted.”
“What’s next, green champagne?”
“Or leather waistcoats?”
“Leather waistcoats! Dingle, you go too far!” Sidheag chortled, slapping Sophronia lightly on the arm. “Aren’t you a hoot?”
The Pickleman duke turned sharp eyes from his vampire foe to the oddly dressed dandies. “And who, pray tell, are you?”
“Who we are is not important. Who we represent is the tick.”
“Oh, and who might that be?”
Sophronia flashed her hand up into the air in a flamboyant gesture. “Who do you think?”
“Blast it. Is he also involved?”
“You know he doesn’t like to involve himself. You may think of us as mere observers.”
“Oh?”
Sophronia tilted her head coyly. “However, I believe we may have a solution to this madness. As a concerned third party, if we were remanded custody of the, um, borrowed property, perhaps you could all sort out the other aspects to your satisfaction, and our lord will return the children as needed.”
“I thought Lord Akeldama didn’t like to involve himself.” Both dukes looked suspicious.
Sophronia said, “He has an affection for children.”
“Father,” said Felix, tugging on the Pickleman’s sleeve.
“Not now, boy!”
“But, sir—”
“Silence!”
“Yes, sir.” Felix gave Sophronia a funny look.
Sophronia winked at him.
Strangely enough, the countess and the Picklemen actually considered Sophronia’s offer.
One of the other Picklemen said, “How do we know those two drones aren’t on your side, madam? Given that they are still working for a vampire. You would have a necessary alliance in place, after all.”
The countess waved an airy hand. “Oh, Lord Akeldama is as autonomous as any rove can be.”
“Certainly more than the potentate,” added Sophronia, pushing her cause. That seemed the right thing to say.
Dimity started whining again, aiming to make herself as unwelcome as possible. Pillover grumbled at her to stop winching. They resumed bickering. The countess and the Pickleman duke ordered them to be silent. At the same time, Soap resumed banging around in the chimney. One of the footmen began trying to persuade him into a different room. Soap used all his wiry strength and stubbornness to protest.
Meanwhile, the rest of the household staff still chased Bumbersnoot. The mechanimal had taken refuge under a sofa and was resisting extraction by feather duster. Eventually, he singed the duster into obscurity, the room redolent with the smell of burned feathers. Sophronia gave a casual little whistle. He reemerged, upsetting a small marble statue that looked as if it might actually have come from ancient Rome, and headed toward Sophronia. He was diverted by a footman diving for him.
The mechanimal was steaming and hooting in excitement, and his little mechanical tail was going back and forth with great rapidity. Sophronia had never seen it move so quickly, which reminded her of something Vieve had said. When his tail starts to wag as fast as a hummingbird’s wings…
Oh, dear, thought Sophronia. Madame Spetuna must have been running him practically everywhere over the last few days. Either that or Vieve’s calculations were terribly off.
The dog’s tail became blur. Ticktockticktock.
She looked at Sidheag. “I think it’s time we left.”
Sidheag reached down and grabbed Pillover and Dimity up by the arms,. Together the three of them backed toward Soap and the mound of chimney-cleaning tools.
The footman grabbed Bumbersnoot. Bumbersnoot spat out a spiderlike object that was awfully familiar looking. It landed at the footman’s feet, hissing ominously.
How much time had Vieve said they would have once the explosive was launched? Only a few minutes.
Soap tackled the footman, trying to wrestle Bumbersnoot away. The two fell and landed on top of the explosive spider. They rolled to one side, still very close.
Sophronia did the only thing she could think off. She tumbled forward in one of Lady Linette’s rolls, grabbed the explosive, and threw it at the queen of the Westminster Hive.
At the same time, Sidheag threw all of Soap’s coal and equipment up into the air.
Soap whacked the footman upside the head with his coal scuttle, grabbed Bumbersnoot out of his grasp, and stood.
The spider exploded at the countess’s feet. The room became nothing but steam, smoke, and coal dust.
By the time the chaos had cleared, the two dandies, the chimney sweep, the mechanimal, and both Plumleigh-Teignmott children had disappeared.
They had to move incredibly fast; vampires were much quicker than they could ever hope to be. Such vampires as these would be startled only for a moment. Sophronia was banking on them focusing on their queen and then getting caught up in the group of Picklemen and their own drones before they could give chase. She was also hoping Madame Spetuna might do something to help delay the enemy.
Sophronia’s group burst out of the front door of the hive house and ran down the street pell-mell. Dimity brought up the rear, as she was overburdened with a fluffy ball gown and a recent faint.
Captain Niall, still a wolf, bounded toward them. His attached top hat tilted coquettishly.
“Please, get Dimity and Pillover to safety,” said Sophronia to the werewolf. “Sidheag, you, too. No point in all of us getting into trouble.”
Without protest, the three climbed up onto Captain Niall’s furry back. Behind them, a host of people poured forth from the hive, the likes of which had never been seen in the neighborhood before. The group included Picklemen, disheveled and covered in soot; Madame Spetuna, who seemed to be doing her best to trip everyone up; the Duke of Hematol, a vampire without hat or jacket; and a goodly collection of frantic drones. The queen herself, of course, could not leave the hive.
Captain Niall should have sprung away at that juncture, but he did not. He growled at Sophronia and Soap, who stood alone on the pavement. Soap clutched Bumbersnoot in his arms.
Sidheag explained the werewolf’s behavior, “He won’t leave anyone behind. It’s not the military way.”
“We don’t fit!” protested Sophronia.
“I’ve an idea,” said Dimity, hopping back off and pulling down her petticoat right there in a public street. She’s come a long way, has Dimity, thought Sophronia proudly.
Dimity handed the stiff horsehair garment to Sophronia. “Use this as a sling.” She climbed back on.
With a shrug, Sophronia and Soap sat down in the street on top of the skirt. Embarrassed by her own temerity, Sophronia curled about her tall friend, Bumbersnoot between them, wrapping up in the big purple petticoat like a cocoon.
Soap said, “I’ll get you all over with soot, miss,” clearly mortified by such intimacy.
“That’s all right, Soap. It’s Preshea’s jacket and Sidheag’s clothes.”
Captain Niall gathered up the edges in his teeth and levered. They were only a hairbreadth above the ground, but it was enough.
Thus burdened, the werewolf leapt away, looking more ridiculous than he ever had or ever would again in all his long life.
Duke Hematol, being a vampire, might have caught up to them. But fair sportsmanship must be considered. Technically, they had gotten away, right and proper. Plus the duke was not the kind of man to go running after anyone through the streets of London without his coat and hat. Lord Ambrose might have followed, but he was still at Monique’s ball. If Hematol had given chase, Captain Niall would have been required to fight him, and that would have been far too messy. Why involve the werewolves in such a shameful business? It was, in the end, impolite to borrow another man’s children. So the Duke of Hematol returned to his queen empty-handed.
