“Because all werewolves in England are required to serve Her Majesty.” Monique wore a simpering smirk.
Sophronia said, under her breath to Dimity, “Look at her, so smart! And the fact that he’s called Captain Niall isn’t a hint?”
Dimity hid a smirk.
Captain Niall gave Sophronia a look.
Oh, right, supernatural. He probably heard that. Sophronia could feel herself flushing.
The werewolf continued. “I would like you all to please spread apart and find yourselves a nice stick that will work for some preliminary fighting. Ten minutes, ladies, and we will reconvene over yonder.”
Anticipating this relocation, the airship had drifted to hover over a flat rise and now floated several stories above the ground. The glass platform had been lowered and turned into a massive gas lamp. It utilized a kind of swirling yellow gas that lit up the heath, allowing the lesson to be conducted with all the grandeur of a ball under a chandelier.
The girls broke apart.
Sophronia and Dimity followed Sidheag’s lead and made for a convenient shrub. There was no point in feeling about the heath in the dark for sticks. They all selected branches from the bush, ripping them off. Their selections were quintessentially to character. Sidheag wanted a nice big stick. Dimity broke off what she considered the most shapely branch and commented upon the bush’s aesthetic qualities. Sophronia chose one that fit her hand relatively well but wasn’t as big as anyone else’s. Thus far all the lessons at this school had involved some element of subterfuge, and if the captain asked them to hide their sticks on their personages, she didn’t want to be, well, stuck. She worried over this decision. Sophronia, she finally told herself firmly, don’t overthink the matter.
They reassembled in a row. It was fascinating to see the whole school thus arrayed. Sophronia and the younger girls stood at one end in pinafores and pantalettes. The older girls, with their hair turned up and their skirts full-length, stood at the other. Except Monique, who stuck out like a very angry sore thumb among the debuts. Sophronia counted forty-five students in all.
Captain Niall walked along the row, examining the sticks.
When he got to Dimity he took the stick from her. “An interesting choice.”
“I like the shape and smoothness,” said Dimity.
“Not the best reason I have ever heard for choosing a knife, but not the worst, either. We will go over workmanship next week. Selecting a knife is like choosing a quality pair of gloves—appearance is important, but how it has been put together accounts for most of its function and duration.”
Dimity nodded and he returned the stick to her.
He turned to Sophronia. “Why so small?”
“I thought you might ask us to hide it.”
“Interesting reasoning.” With no additional comment, he moved on.
Sophronia let out a shaky sigh. She told herself that this was because she was not yet accustomed to the fact that he was a werewolf. Professor Braithwope’s vampiric nature was now routine, but Captain Niall was still wild and mysterious. And he smells funny. In actual fact, Sophronia wanted to impress him because everyone else seemed so taken with the man.
He took Sidheag’s stick, one eyebrow raised. “Like large sticks, do you, Lady Kingair?”
Sidheag shrugged like a boy, but Sophronia could tell the tall girl was hiding a smile.
“Know how to use it?” Captain Niall sniffed. Not in the way that a lady might sniff when offended by a comment, but in the way of a dog, tasting the air.
Then he tossed the stick at Sidheag, causing Sophronia to flinch. Sidheag, however, caught it with one hand, as though expecting just such a violent action.
The werewolf produced a knife from his greatcoat pocket—a short-bladed, all-wooden weapon, carved from mahogany.
“Oooh,” said Dimity. “How pretty!”
“For vampires, of course,” said Monique, trying to impress, but Captain Niall wasn’t listening to her.
Sidheag, grinning, stepped forward out of the line.
The girls murmured in confusion.
Sidheag lunged first. Using her stick as though it were actually a bladed weapon, she slashed out at the werewolf. It was not a wild slash, either, of the kind Sophronia and her brothers played at with fake swords.
Sophronia watched with interest, partly from a learning perspective and partly because Sidheag was exposing more of her character now than she had over the past weeks of intimate acquaintance. She’d been trained by someone who actually knew how to fight.
“Sidheag even moves like a boy!” commented Dimity.
“Yes, but she’s good, isn’t she?” Sophronia was favorably impressed. Better than my brothers, that’s certain!
Preshea wanted to know, “What high-rank lady gets that kind of training?”
“A lady by title only.” Monique crossed her arms and stuck her nose in the air.
Captain Niall was holding himself back. He must be. He is a werewolf, after all, and twice as fast as even the most highly trained soldier. He was also ten times as strong, if the legends were to be believed. Nevertheless, Sidheag isn’t at all bad. She keeps her stick in motion, always pressing forward, looking for a hole in her opponent’s defenses.
After a few minutes, Captain Niall called a halt to the impromptu match.
“Very interesting, Lady Kingair. I sense some of your”—he paused delicately—“father’s training.”
Sidheag inclined her head and resumed her place in line.
Sophronia, Dimity, Preshea, and Agatha all turned to stare at her, mouths slightly agape.
“I guess we found ourselves a teacher’s pet,” said Monique. “Then again, can you be a pet to a werewolf?”
“Oh, now, Miss Pelouse, I understand that playing favorites with professors is more your approach,” Sidheag shot back.
“Now, ladies, what you really want is to never get into the kind of situation Lady Kingair and I just demonstrated. You never want to actually engage with a rival. Your greatest advantage is surprise. Make the decision to strike first and with intent, and—if you will excuse the pun—stick to it. Miss Pelouse, if you would like to demonstrate?”
Monique moved forward, head held high, a small smile on her face.
Captain Niall approached her.
Monique, instead of striking out in the manner of Sidheag, stepped in toward the werewolf. She commented on the pleasantness of the night and the beauty of the countryside. She fluttered her eyelashes in a way Sophronia had come to recognize as very advanced. I should never have thought there would be a time when I would envy another girl’s eyelash manipulation.
Playing her game, Captain Niall leaned in. He flirted back. He looked deeply into her eyes.
Monique struck him hard in the side of the neck with her stick, behind and below the ear. A stick that she had, somehow, sharpened into a point.
It speared into the werewolf’s body half an inch at least.
Blood leaked out around the stick.
Captain Niall winced and gave a little gasp of pain. “Ah. Yes. Very good, Miss Pelouse.”
Sophronia gasped herself, raising a hand to her mouth in horror. A small, untraumatized part of her wondered why Monique had not displayed such skill when faced with flywaymen. Had she wanted them to kidnap her?
Several of the other girls gave little mewling cries of distress.
Captain Niall reached up and pulled the stick out of his neck. Blood oozed forth, but not of the color or quantity that Sophronia expected. It was darker, almost black, and slower. Then, right before her eyes, the wound began to heal and close.