The ball gown was nearly complete, wanting only the finishing touches. Once I had removed my dress, Madame Flambeau tightened my corset before putting the gown on me. “For a ball, you want the tiny waist, no?” she said, and I was so lost in thought about the warship moored only blocks away that I didn’t even argue with her about the corset lacing, as uncomfortable as it was.

When she threw the dress over my head, I momentarily forgot about the airship and impending revolution. “Oh, I’ve never worn anything so beautiful,” I said. The image in the looking glass was that of a stranger. I wished I could turn and admire the way the dress moved, but Madame Flambeau was busy making little tucks and sticking pins in the dress.

“You’ve got a lovely figure, and in my gown you’ll catch an officer’s eye, that’s for sure,” she said. “You won’t be a governess for long.”

“I will be at the ball as a chaperone,” I reminded her. “I won’t be trying to catch an officer’s eye.”

“Aye, but you’ll be one of the few ladies present they’ll be allowed to touch. With all those magister girls around, there won’t be many ladies who aren’t forbidden.”

“And that is why I imagine I will be very busy with my chaperoning duties at the ball.”

She laughed. “Not if I know Lady Flora. She won’t notice those who aren’t magisters. Chaperoning her is the easiest job in the city.”

I wished she would hurry and finish the fitting because I needed to carry out Lord Henry’s errand as soon as possible. With all those soldiers in the area, getting to the bookstore unnoticed might be more difficult. I was in such a rush to get out that I forgot to loosen my corset again before dressing, so hurrying down the sidewalk left me short of breath. I leaned against the wall to recover, then moved more sedately toward the barricades.

The British barrier was still in place, but there was more activity in the streets in the rebel area than there had been during my last visit. Mechanics ran past in small groups, pausing at each corner to look around before running ahead. A shrill whistle made me jump, and I turned to see the smaller steam engine that had pulled the hayride at the picnic coming down the street, pulling a cart filled with men rather than hay.