Etiquette & Espionage by Gail Carriger Page A

movements fluid and quick. The room in which they sat in no way resembled a classroom, except that it was
called
a classroom. A series of brocade settees was arranged in a semicircle around an imitation fireplace, a small piano, and an articulated brass statue of a cow. There were plush carpets on the floor, side tables on which the girls placed their books, and a maid mechanical waiting patiently in the corner in case she was needed to fetch tea. It looked more like a drawing room than anything.
    “Another weakness in vampires, of course, is the limited range. A vampire who is hive-bound must stay near his queen, and the queen cannot leave her house. Roves are similarly tethered to a place, although our range is larger. When swarming, of course, all distances are moot, whot. There are some notable exceptions; the queen’s praetoriani has a larger range.”
    Monique was trying not to look interested. “Why?”
    “Our scientists suspect he is in a constant state of swarm because he is responsible for the queen’s safety.”
    This was all very confusing to Sophronia, who had heard very few of the terms he was spouting forth and knew almost nothing—beyond late-night parlor stories—about vampires.
I wonder what the professor’s range is? That might be a rude question.
She was just about to ask for clarification on the word “praetoriani” when an explosion shook the classroom.
    The entire airship lurched to one side and then righted itself. An odd sensation, since, until that moment, Sophronia had quite forgotten they were afloat.
    Several of the girls screamed.
    Displaying the speed he had only recently described, Professor Braithwope dashed out the door. Rather than waiting to be told to stay put, Sophronia leapt up and followed him.
    The hallway was in chaos, filled mainly with young ladies, most of them covered in some kind of soot. Apart from the soot, they were all dressed beautifully, and were chattering among themselves with more animation than distress. Sophronia estimated around two dozen or so; perhaps half the attendees of the school? She hadn’t yet managed a firm grasp on the numbers, but Mademoiselle Geraldine’s seemed to have fewer students than one would expect from a normal finishing school.
    Professor Lefoux, taller than most by a head, was trying to control the chaos.
    “Now, ladies, calm down, do! Is this any way to behave in a crisis? What has Lady Linette told you time and time again?”
    The girls quieted and stood expectantly. One or two took out handkerchiefs and began trying to repair the sooty damage to gown and face.
    “That was
not
a rhetorical question, ladies!” snapped the Frenchwoman. Professor Lefoux herself was far more soot-covered than any of the others, and less inclined to deal with it. She had her hair back in a tight bun that appeared to pullher skin away from her eyes. It made her look like a greyhound that had stuck its head out a carriage window.
    “In a crisis, remain calm,” called out one voice from the crowd.
    “And?” Professor Lefoux gestured impatiently with both hands.
    “of ize="-1Assess any damage to one’s attire. A lady is never disreputable in public, unless intended for manipulation of sympathies.”
    “Good. Anything more?”
    “Ascertain the nature of the emergency. See if it can be turned to your advantage or used as an opportunity to gather information,” said another voice.
    While all this was going on, Sophronia—unconsciously following the instructions being repeated dutifully around her—made her way through the crowd to the open door of Professor Lefoux’s classroom. Professor Braithwope stood on the threshold, staring in. He had out his own handkerchief and was waving it about in front of his face ineffectually, trying to dispel the smoke still permeating the room.
    Sophronia nudged up next to him and looked inside.
A proper classroom.
There were uncomfortable-looking chairs facing tables covered in interesting-looking apparatus and