Curtsies & Conspiracies by [email protected]

Author:[email protected]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
ISBN: 9780316190114
Publisher: Little, Brown Books for Young Readers
Published: 2013-05-29T16:00:00+00:00

The next morning Mademoiselle Geraldine’s left its Dartmoor home and began to float out over more populated areas. The students were reminded curtly at breakfast by Sister Mattie that “people who live in dirigibles should not throw chamber pots.” The remark was met with censure by Mademoiselle Geraldine but appeared to have been predicated on action taken by the visiting boys, who snickered knowingly.

The propeller could no longer be activated during the day, for it blew too much of their cover away. They lost speed and bobbed up most of the time, trying to catch breezes heading toward London. Suddenly, Sophronia understood the excitement over Giffard’s accomplishment. Riding those impossibly high-up aether currents would allow them to move with both speed and stealth. At present, only on cloudy days and at night could they could fire up the propeller and move with any kind of purpose.

That first day they had a lesson with Sister Mattie on the middle squeak deck on how to throw poison with greater accuracy. They were practicing with water in little perfume bottles. Sophronia asked if isinglass might be mixed with some of the poisons to turn them to jelly, allowing for less dispersal when hurled.

Sister Mattie went into a long diatribe about how different toxins changed when gelatinous, which had them all standing around dumbly staring at her for a quarter of an hour.

Then they heard “Clear the decks!” yelled in an excited voice, tinged with the hint of a French accent.

In accordance with their training, the young ladies scattered, running to the side or rolling away or, in Sophronia’s case, leaping over the railing to hang suspended on the outside of the deck. She did it with the ease of a girl overly familiar with balconies. Her leap and twist placed her staring back in at the deck, so she was in a perfect position to observe Vieve when she charged across it.

The young girl had strapped what looked like ice skates to her feet, only these had multiple wheels on them and some kind of tiny propeller. They were manipulated by a large ball Vieve clutched in one hand. She would tilt the ball to one side or the other to steer, somehow communicating with the skates wirelessly. The skates were firing at a much faster speed than anticipated. Vieve went bucketing all over the deck, weaving erratically from one side to the other, eventually crashing into the well-padded form of Sister Mattie.

Vieve tumbled backward onto her bony bottom. Unprotected by skirts and petticoats, she fell hard, her skate-covered feet sticking up into the air, the wheels still going furiously.

Sister Mattie also went backward, making an “oof” noise.

Sophronia was the first one at her side.

The nun was nonplussed at having been attacked by a small French cannonball. “Dear me, dear me, dear me. My goodness gracious! Who? What?”

Vieve remained lying on her back with feet in the air, apparently unable to turn off her contraptions. She said cheerfully, “What ho, Sister Mattie. Apologies. Only testing a new invention.

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