At each stage, a set of mechanicals stayed behind, so that the tops of all three decks were ringed with soldiers by the end.

In a synchronized movement, the mechanicals all settled back onto their rear wheels, locking down to each deck with a clunk. Hatches opened in the chest area of their carapaces, the whole upper torso sliding back. Each ejected the barrel of a small cannon. Then, in one smooth motion, they all swiveled and pointed their little cannons at… her.

Sophronia had been expecting it. After all, she held the tiny crossbow, and the bolts to go with it, but it was still unnerving.

Monique stared at her with mouth open.

“Never witnessed this, did you?”

“I was always inside as ordered. I knew the school had protections in place, but these are remarkable.”

Sophronia took a deep breath. “Here we go.” She slipped out of her arm sling. Her shoulder screamed in protest, but she did have some dexterity and mobility on that side. She would need both hands from here on out. Besides, her shoulder could always be fixed later, if there was a later. She pointed the small crossbow at the back balloon. Do three bolts mean that each mechanical has three cannonballs? Or that only one-third of the mechanicals fire at a time? Either way, she had to aim carefully.

Sophronia fired. The bolt whistled and thunked. A half dozen cannonballs all shot out at the same time. Right, that’s one-third for each bolt, two shooting from each deck. Still, even with only a few shooting, Sophronia and Monique were surrounded by smoke and the smell of powder. The noise was deafening. If that didn’t get the remaining Picklemen’s attention, nothing would.

The six balls tore through the back balloon of the airship, leaving it in tatters, outgassing both its air and its helium. That end began to sag downward, the school now dangling from only the two front balloons. There was no explosion, but there were hot-air compartments, and the fueling mechanisms for these fell to the deck and caught fire. Not a very big fire, but it was a start.

Now Sophronia knew why the soldier mechanicals clamped down, because the deck on which she stood was tilting. She and Monique slid toward the rear side until they each came to rest behind one of the soldier mechanicals.

The deck wasn’t overly steep. They could still brace themselves and stand.

“Now what?” wondered Monique.

Sophronia pointed her second bolt at the inside lowest visible part of the back section. It wasn’t an easy shot. The bolt had to fly between rigging, but it hit where she hoped, about a third of the way down the gondola of the school proper.

As one, the soldiers swiveled, cannons pointing downward. Six of them fired again.

They obviously had no protocols against self-destruction. The two on the rear deck fired at their own feet. It was a good thing the airship was tilted, or the one on the far side of the deck from Sophronia might have hit her. As it was, the ball zipped directly over her head. Monique watched in delighted awe as the wood of the back section splintered while catch lines and belay ropes flapped free. The flames licked higher, provided with scraps of aged, lightweight, oiled wood to consume.

Because Sophronia wanted to keep Monique away from the record room, they hadn’t liberated the hallway gases in that section, so this was nothing more than basic destruction. But as the gondola there crumbled—shedding weight as mechanisms, furniture, rigging, and other items fell—the whole ship began to bob about.

“Look.” Monique pointed up. “Shearing wind.”

The ship was no longer floating safely within a breeze. Instead, the surviving balloons had caught in one wind, while the broken section and gondola were in another. Under normal circumstances, there were mechanisms, balance devices, ballast, and sooties to keep this from happening. Now these were failing or gone. As a result, the surviving balloons were caving in on one side and the whole ship was beginning to spin.

“Stop where you are!” The Chutney, his two bully boys, and the Pickleman recorder from the dining hall appeared on the squeak deck. All of them had guns, and all of them were pointed at Monique and Sophronia.

Now that Sophronia was facing him and not looking down from above, there was something awfully familiar about that dark-haired gangly recorder. What was under that trimmed beard and mustache?

Sophronia was pleased to see there were no flywaymen with them. Either they were needed elsewhere or they had given up this lark after the exploding wicker chicken and abandoned the cause.

The recorder with his too-black hair looked hard at Sophronia. His posture changed. He seemed to get taller. Sophronia shook her head, staring at him. His hair had been longer and silver last time she saw him. Also, he’d been clean-shaven and in a very nice suit.

“Miss Temminnick, I should have known,” said the Grand Gherkin, otherwise known as Duke Golborne.

“Why, Duke Golborne, I only recently spoke with your son.”

“Little traitor. What about him?”

“Oh, nothing, I’m certain he sends his regards.”

“Have you been on board all along?”

Sophronia tilted her head at him in acknowledgment.

“Those disappearances. The sabotage!” He glared at his companion. “I told you our little flywayman infiltrator didn’t have enough time. And for an intelligencer of that caliber to take herself out of the game like that, she’d have to have been protecting someone. That someone is Miss Temminnick here. I don’t know the blonde.”

Monique looked upset at that but wasn’t suckered into revealing anything. She stood, having produced a little gun from somewhere. She was holding it with a remarkably steady hand, pointed at the Picklemen.