Perilous Journey of the Much-Too-Spontaneous Girl (9 page)

“Of course,” Marguerite was more than happy to be given something to do other than hide. She grabbed the wet rope—as thick as her arm—and started to coil it at her feet as neatly as possible. Outil stepped up next to the small group and pulled the rope with both hands so effortlessly the humans stumbled to the sides from the slack in it.

“Well, now! That’s a bot I could live with!” the man cried and slapped Outil on the back.

Having found themselves free from their burden, the others moved to help Marguerite coil—it was more than clear that she needed the help. The work was done in quick order, and the ship began to drift higher into the air, leaving Montreal far below.

A cheer went up from the onlookers left at the port. Marguerite ran to the port side rail to watch the river and city shrink beneath her. She couldn’t suppress a gleeful smile and a bit of a yelp. Others soon joined her and began to wave and shout
Au revoir!
to those below. A loud roar burst through the cool morning as the engines came to life. A surge of steam shot from the stern and a horn sounded. The deck went wild with cheers. The
Renegade
was on her way.

Outil joined Marguerite and pointed to three smaller war vessels of an older make that had also lifted their tethers and were following closely. “What do you suppose they are about?”

An aerman standing next to them answered, “Those’ll be our partners for this trip. Gonna take more than one ship ta bring in the cargo King Louis’s sent this time.”

“Seems a bit much, wouldn’t you say?” Marguerite questioned.

“Oh no, my darling. You’ve obviously never encountered the southern buccaneers. It will take heaps more than this small fleet to stop them. There are also war vessels accompanying the supply lines. I only hope the Brits don’t get involved—those bloody technology stealing parasites.” The man spit over the rail and made an obscene gesture in the general direction of England.

“Oh, my goodness.” Marguerite instinctively placed a hand on her face at the vulgarity. Outil immediately stepped between the two.

“Sorry, ma’am. Meant no offense.”

“Quite alright,” Marguerite replied, but Outil didn’t move. Overhead a loud
whoosh
caught their attention and the entire crew still on deck looked up. A huge sail was unfurled and caught the morning breeze, urging them to the east as the envelope full of helium pulled them toward the aether. The engines kicked in, and suddenly the ship turned port side. They began to pick up speed, headed straight for the Atlantic.

The air was suddenly filled with the sounds of Jacques’s voice. “Welcome, crew! I hope you brought your air legs and your iron spirits. This will be a harrowing voyage, but hopefully one with historical outcomes. We will be joined by our sister ships, the
Henrietta
, the
Steam Lily
, and the
Grapple
.”

Marguerite looked around for the source of the voice, but couldn’t see Jacques anywhere, so she relaxed and leaned back against the flour sacks to enjoy the ride. “The
Grapple
sounds like a proper name for a warship.” Outil observed. “I’m not certain about the
Henrietta
and the
Steam Lily
, however.”

“They ought to hire someone with a bit more imagination to christen these lovelies,” Marguerite agreed while Jacques continued with his rallying speech.

“There is no finer fleet of aermen, women, and bots in the world! There is no chance for failure as long as we stand together. The lawless will fall, and we will return triumphant at the end of this campaign. Too long have the buccaneers and corsairs, even British privateers, assaulted our kinsmen and stolen our technology and goods. Today we fight back! Today we exact revenge! Today they fall!”

A cry went up from the crew, so loud that Marguerite had to cover her ears. She looked to Outil, who stood at the ready, and wondered for a moment if this was, in fact, a wise journey to have undertaken.

The
Renegade
rose high above the earth as Marguerite and Outil descended deep into its belly to continue their assignments. Marguerite felt particularly proud of herself for having not only secured this position, but also for doing so without Jacques finding out.

They gathered their lists and autopens and began cataloging and testing all the weaponry and ammunition. Marguerite found she thoroughly enjoyed this kind of work. She thought it would be tedious at first but quickly fell into a routine of polishing, oiling, testing and inventorying each item. She longed to fire some of them but knew better than to ask Vuitton for that privilege.

Meals were fast and small, but she was delighted to find that they were made up of more than just the dreaded salt meats and beer. Fresh fruits and vegetables accompanied fresh eggs and warm bread, and of course, salt meats and beer.

Her cabin was small, but it was her own. She dutifully locked the door and changed for bed while Outil powered down in the corner. She curled up on the small pallet and only wished for her silk covered feather mattress for a moment before she drifted to sleep.

The next day started in much the same way. Marguerite felt happier than she had in months. She was
finally
getting close to accomplishing her goal of being an aership captain, and she found that life on the aership suited her.

She and Outil were finishing up with a carton of ignitable grease pellets when the ship suddenly lurched forward. Since leaving port the trip had been very smooth, and Marguerite could hardly tell they were moving at all from the lower decks. Everyone stumbled and a few called out, but Marguerite flew right off her feet and landed in a heap of ammunition crates.

“Ow!” she cried. Outil was instantly at her side to offer her an arm, as were four other crewmates, smiling and shy. “Why, thank you all.” Marguerite reached up and took the arm of the most attractive man within reach.

“It’s a bit rough at times. Not usually that rough, but you’ll get used to it, Officer Vadnay.” He smiled wide, revealing dark yellow teeth and a few black holes where teeth of any color should have been.

“Oh, my!” Marguerite tried to hide her surprise at the contrast between his horrid mouth and handsome face. “I’ll be ready next time. Thank you.” Outil rolled her robot eyes and went back to her job.

“All stop,” Vuitton came through to their compartment. “Ship is at an all stop, prepare for orders.” He continued into the next set of rooms and repeated himself. Marguerite let go of the man’s arm and turned to another. “What exactly does that mean?” He was not nearly as handsome, but his teeth didn’t show while he talked or smiled.

“Means something’s prolly not right with the riggin’s. I figure we’re only about forty miles or so out of Monty, so it’s prolly just a precaution.” The sounds of shuffling and boxes moving were interrupted by a strange, new sound. It was light and steady, the sound of wings flapping.

Marguerite turned to see an automated pigeon flapping around the small compartment. Its wings beat frantically as it flitted about the small space. A few men swatted at it; others jumped out of its way. She laughed at the scene until she had to duck suddenly as the out of control bird sailed right for her head.

Outil was still standing close enough to reach out a shining arm and snatch the bird out of the air. However, she wasn’t fast enough to do it before it emitted a formidable blob of gear grease right on Marguerite’s head. “For the love of monkey wrenches!” she cried. “Who let this blasted bird in here?”

“Someone looking for you, miss.” Outil held the bird out in one hand, its mechanical eyelids blinking with a
click click,
and its body still twitching from flight. In the other hand Outil held out a small piece of parchment.

“What is this fuss?” Vuitton asked as he rounded a stack of crates.

“Lady Marguerite is being summoned to the bridge, sir,” Outil said.

Vuitton leaned in closely, measuring each word as he said, “If this is some kind of lover’s spat, you best nip it in the bud and get back down here to work.”

Marguerite’s stomach filled with rocks as she read the neatly written paper. She’d recognize the penmanship anywhere. Even the best autopen in the world couldn’t hide his scrawl. Jacques had found her out.

She wanted to lash out, to set Vuitton straight. They were absolutely
not
lovers. Instead, she nodded. “Yes, sir. Come on Outil. Let’s get this over with.”

“Oh, no.” Vuitton took the paper from her hand. “This says, Second Officer Vadnay. It says nothing about your bot. We need Outil’s help getting all these crates to their cannons before it’s time to use them.”

“But sir … ”

“I’m sure you’ll be just fine walking up there on your own. Now snap to it! Don’t keep the bridge waiting!” Vuitton dismissed her with a wave of his arm. Marguerite was both furious and frightened.
What if he was angry? What if he was already turning the ship around to take her home?
She couldn’t bear the wondering, and the long walk up the tiny stairs, through the upper deck, and around to the bridge was infernally long.

The
Triumph
had boasted a captain’s deck and a bridge, high above the body of the vessel, attached precariously to a structure that housed the giant round envelope. Marguerite remembered her first journey in the small banging lift, where she’d eaten her first real meal in days with Jacques, surrounded by an epic view of the oceans below them. She did not doubt that this meeting would be just as memorable. The envelope for the
Renegade
was much more sleek and streamlined for speed and war, making it impractical to house the bridge in the air. Marguerite could hear the wind howling and rain slapping the deck above her as she walked through to the fore of the ship. At least she didn’t have to see him completely disheveled and wet.

The
Renegade
housed its bridge in the fore, just below one of its enormous razor-tipped ramrods. Windows lined the front most portion of the hull, allowing the officers to see what lay before them without having to subject themselves to the elements.

She finally reached the opening to the busy area. A crowd of men and two women—neither of whom were very pretty, Marguerite noted with satisfaction—were scurrying about with tools and maps and goggles, intent on their work. She stared at them and suddenly wasn’t so keen about her assignment.
This is where I belong. Not down in the belly with the explosives and people missing their teeth.

She touched her hair self-consciously and looked at the black gun oil stain on her fingers. A young man approached her and glanced at her grease-streaked hair, then the rank on her uniform. “Can I help you, Officer?”

“Yes, I am Officer Vadnay, I believe Captain Laviolette requested my presence?” she tried to sound confident, even though she felt sheepish and nervous.

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll go find him.”

The boy hadn’t turned completely around before Jacques was upon them. When she saw his face, stern and furrowed, Marguerite couldn’t move.
What was he going to say?
She’d lied to him less than forty-eight hours earlier. She’d hidden her plans from him and even kissed him passionately goodbye when Outil hadn’t been looking. She began to panic.
What had she done?

Then he smiled his beautiful smile at her, all of his teeth white and sitting exactly where they should be, his eyes twinkling and his tone merry. “Ah! The lovely Lady Vadnay.” He bowed low. The warm welcome was worse than if he’d immediately berated her. Something was not right. Maybe he was ill? Except he looked healthy as ever and even quite dashing in his captain’s best. The rest of the bridge turned to look at the exchange and watched curiously.

“Imagine my great surprise when I saw your name on my ship’s manifest this morning. What an honor to have a
lady
of your standing aboard the
Renegade
.” He smiled again. “I believe you are serving in ballistics?”

“Yes, Captain.”

He sounded genuinely pleasant. Maybe he wasn’t mad at all? Maybe he was happy to see her. She pushed aside the doubt and smiled.

“That doesn’t seem like the right place for a
lady
to be serving on a warship.” He stretched out the word lady again and scratched his chin. Marguerite didn’t like the way he was saying
lady.

“Oh, but I scored excellent marks in ballistics. They made me second in command.”

“Yes, I’m sure they did. Excellent.”

“If you have something else in mind, Captain?”

This could be it!
She thought excitedly.
He’s not mad, and he’s going to invite me to work with him on the bridge! He knows as well as anyone that I am cool under pressure and a crack shot. Plus, I know my way around the instruments, and I’m a quick learner. This is all just a show for the rest of the crew.

“Actually, since you mentioned it, I do have something else in mind. Come with me. Henry! You have the bridge. I need ten minutes.” He smiled again, only Marguerite realized this time that his smile did not meet his eyes.

He took her arm, not gently, and steered her back through the hall and down a tight corridor. It was too close to walk side by side, so he was pressed against her and forcing her to walk quickly in front of him. If she hadn’t been so confused about the direction events were about to take, she may have said something snarky to him about excuses to get close. She decided instead to try apologizing. Surely she owed him that.