Manners & Mutiny
Page 39
“But not a surprise, Dimity. Most of us think that.”
Dimity blushed with pleasure. “Why, thank you. Monique’s says a lot about her hive. When the school punished her by not allowing her to finish, they removed her from the viable intelligencer roster but kept her record in play. I guess she has enough training to remain in the game.” Dimity knew Sophronia desperately wanted to hear about the Sophronia file. Of course, Dimity saved it purposefully for last.
Little drama-monger. Sophronia let her have her fun. After all, she felt guilty about getting them caught.
“Agatha’s was interesting.”
“How so?”
“Terribly fat. You know her father is in all sorts of pies?”
Sophronia had a vision of an older male version of Agatha with his head sticking out of a shepherd’s pie, as if he were bathing in it. She snorted a laugh.
Dimity corrected herself without pause. “Well, his fingers are. And Agatha has met Lord Akeldama before, several times. They’ve had dealings.”
“There was no indication of that at his dinner party.”
“I know. And there’s a note that says they think she’s running a long-form field operation.”
“Agatha? Really? On whom? Her family?”
“Didn’t specify. Could be on the school. Could be on us, I suppose. But there you have it.”
Sophronia frowned. She could hardly believe it. Agatha wasn’t that good. Or was she? Sophronia shook her head. She didn’t want to start mistrusting her dearest friends. Down that road lay a madness as horrible as Professor Braithwope’s. She was already doubting Madame Spetuna.
“Could we ask her about it?” Dimity was cautious.
“We could. But at what risk? Would we lose her friendship through suspicion? Or truth?”
Dimity stood up. “I’m for bed. This has been an eventful evening.”
“Dimity?”
“Yes, Sophronia?” Dimity’s tone was very arch indeed.
Sophronia made herself sound as humble as possible. “I apologize for getting you into trouble this evening.”
“Apology accepted. And?”
“You were right about the punishment being us missing the ball.”
“Very good. And?”
“I shouldn’t have been so impulsive as to plan this action without researching the target first.”
“True. And?”
“Will you please tell me what was in my file?”
“Since you ask so nicely. It was pretty much what might be expected. The fact that you are a covert recruit is at the top. There’s a note that you’d make a good independent intelligencer and they recommend against marriage right away—unless you net yourself one of the princes or a high-up Pickleman. A prince of the blood, said the note, seems unlikely. They know Lord Akeldama offered for patronage. Your seduction marks are low. I guess they don’t know about Soap, do they, Sophronia?”
Sophronia gasped. “Really, Dimity, I say.”
Dimity was smug. “That would make you similar to Madame Spetuna, as an operative, I guess.”
Sophronia was disappointed. She already knew all that—or at least suspected it. The recommendation for independent action in the field was nice. Most girls finished by coming out and being married into a position of power, the better to uncover information and manipulate society. Most would marry multiple times. It was an odd compliment to be thought capable of something different. It was also an insult to her seductive powers.
“That’s it?” Sophronia pressed.
“That’s about all.” Dimity was holding something significant in reserve.
“Dimity, please?” It was like convincing a cow to lay eggs.
Dimity relented at last. “They know you made a promise to indenture to the dewan.”
“What?”
“It says, right at the end of the file. No comment on how they know, who told them, or whether it’s considered a positive. But they do know.”
“I’m an idiot to think I have any secrets.”
Dimity only looked more smug.
“Go to bed, do,” ordered Sophronia.
Dimity laughed and went, but they both knew who had won that round.
Sophronia repaired to her room to find Bumbersnoot waiting for her.
Agatha had clearly been playing with him. He had one of her lace tucks tied about his head, like a jaunty tiara.
Sophronia picked him up for a cuddle. Not that a metal dog was the best cuddler, being hard, oily, ashy, and hot. But it made her feel better.
She put him on the foot of the bed, washed her face and hands, and slipped into her nightgown. She climbed under the covers, tucking her feet under her mechanimal for warmth, and tried to sleep. If it’s in my record that I promised the dewan, then Lady Linette has been told by someone. She listed the possibilities: Dimity, Agatha, Soap, Captain Niall, or the dewan himself. Of the five, she was absolutely certain of only one person’s loyalty—Soap.
She missed him so much it actually hurt.
TEA EMBARGO
New Year’s Eve dawned damp and disgruntled, a soggy tea towel of a day. But by noon the rain had turned to mist, and by sunset it looked like there might be a clear sky over the evening festivities. The girls were delighted. Rain would keep them all inside the dining hall, but clear skies meant the squeak decks were open territory, and teachers could only chaperone so many couples at once. Mademoiselle Geraldine, proverbial apple cart almost overset by her heavy breathing, issued strict instructions that they were to avoid tête-à-têtes. But while the headmistress didn’t know this was a school of espionage, the other teachers did, and were looking at a long night of tea-related canoodling. Professor Lefoux was positively dour at the prospect.
Dimity blushed with pleasure. “Why, thank you. Monique’s says a lot about her hive. When the school punished her by not allowing her to finish, they removed her from the viable intelligencer roster but kept her record in play. I guess she has enough training to remain in the game.” Dimity knew Sophronia desperately wanted to hear about the Sophronia file. Of course, Dimity saved it purposefully for last.
Little drama-monger. Sophronia let her have her fun. After all, she felt guilty about getting them caught.
“Agatha’s was interesting.”
“How so?”
“Terribly fat. You know her father is in all sorts of pies?”
Sophronia had a vision of an older male version of Agatha with his head sticking out of a shepherd’s pie, as if he were bathing in it. She snorted a laugh.
Dimity corrected herself without pause. “Well, his fingers are. And Agatha has met Lord Akeldama before, several times. They’ve had dealings.”
“There was no indication of that at his dinner party.”
“I know. And there’s a note that says they think she’s running a long-form field operation.”
“Agatha? Really? On whom? Her family?”
“Didn’t specify. Could be on the school. Could be on us, I suppose. But there you have it.”
Sophronia frowned. She could hardly believe it. Agatha wasn’t that good. Or was she? Sophronia shook her head. She didn’t want to start mistrusting her dearest friends. Down that road lay a madness as horrible as Professor Braithwope’s. She was already doubting Madame Spetuna.
“Could we ask her about it?” Dimity was cautious.
“We could. But at what risk? Would we lose her friendship through suspicion? Or truth?”
Dimity stood up. “I’m for bed. This has been an eventful evening.”
“Dimity?”
“Yes, Sophronia?” Dimity’s tone was very arch indeed.
Sophronia made herself sound as humble as possible. “I apologize for getting you into trouble this evening.”
“Apology accepted. And?”
“You were right about the punishment being us missing the ball.”
“Very good. And?”
“I shouldn’t have been so impulsive as to plan this action without researching the target first.”
“True. And?”
“Will you please tell me what was in my file?”
“Since you ask so nicely. It was pretty much what might be expected. The fact that you are a covert recruit is at the top. There’s a note that you’d make a good independent intelligencer and they recommend against marriage right away—unless you net yourself one of the princes or a high-up Pickleman. A prince of the blood, said the note, seems unlikely. They know Lord Akeldama offered for patronage. Your seduction marks are low. I guess they don’t know about Soap, do they, Sophronia?”
Sophronia gasped. “Really, Dimity, I say.”
Dimity was smug. “That would make you similar to Madame Spetuna, as an operative, I guess.”
Sophronia was disappointed. She already knew all that—or at least suspected it. The recommendation for independent action in the field was nice. Most girls finished by coming out and being married into a position of power, the better to uncover information and manipulate society. Most would marry multiple times. It was an odd compliment to be thought capable of something different. It was also an insult to her seductive powers.
“That’s it?” Sophronia pressed.
“That’s about all.” Dimity was holding something significant in reserve.
“Dimity, please?” It was like convincing a cow to lay eggs.
Dimity relented at last. “They know you made a promise to indenture to the dewan.”
“What?”
“It says, right at the end of the file. No comment on how they know, who told them, or whether it’s considered a positive. But they do know.”
“I’m an idiot to think I have any secrets.”
Dimity only looked more smug.
“Go to bed, do,” ordered Sophronia.
Dimity laughed and went, but they both knew who had won that round.
Sophronia repaired to her room to find Bumbersnoot waiting for her.
Agatha had clearly been playing with him. He had one of her lace tucks tied about his head, like a jaunty tiara.
Sophronia picked him up for a cuddle. Not that a metal dog was the best cuddler, being hard, oily, ashy, and hot. But it made her feel better.
She put him on the foot of the bed, washed her face and hands, and slipped into her nightgown. She climbed under the covers, tucking her feet under her mechanimal for warmth, and tried to sleep. If it’s in my record that I promised the dewan, then Lady Linette has been told by someone. She listed the possibilities: Dimity, Agatha, Soap, Captain Niall, or the dewan himself. Of the five, she was absolutely certain of only one person’s loyalty—Soap.
She missed him so much it actually hurt.
TEA EMBARGO
New Year’s Eve dawned damp and disgruntled, a soggy tea towel of a day. But by noon the rain had turned to mist, and by sunset it looked like there might be a clear sky over the evening festivities. The girls were delighted. Rain would keep them all inside the dining hall, but clear skies meant the squeak decks were open territory, and teachers could only chaperone so many couples at once. Mademoiselle Geraldine, proverbial apple cart almost overset by her heavy breathing, issued strict instructions that they were to avoid tête-à-têtes. But while the headmistress didn’t know this was a school of espionage, the other teachers did, and were looking at a long night of tea-related canoodling. Professor Lefoux was positively dour at the prospect.
