The Perilous Journey of the Not-So-Innocuous Girl

by Statham, Leigh

  Neither bot nor girls had to make the decision, for at that moment, Marguerite’s stomach began to churn and lurch a bit. She jumped off the settee and was at the window in three easy strides.

  They were off.

  She could just see the end of the farthest-reaching docks moving ever so slowly out of view. The coast beyond it was dotted with other, smaller ports and docks that seemed to stand completely still. Her heart thrummed with excitement and she turned back to Vivienne to try and convince her to come see for herself. She thought better of it when she saw the wretched creature had finished crying but now stared across the room at nothing.

  “Outil, fetch me a slumber aid.” She was so glad she had thought to grab her personal supply of medicines at the last minute. “What you need now is sleep, my friend.”

  Outil returned quickly with the tiny purple pill and a glass of water. Marguerite felt a sense of relief knowing that Outil would be with them after all. She tried not to think about the scene back at her home when her father awoke.

  Outil and Marguerite helped Vivienne to her bed. She limped and complained about a pain in her back. Marguerite assured her that she would feel better after some rest. Outil helped her out of Marguerite’s dress, revealing her own nightdress beneath, and settled her into bed. Just as the bot emerged from the bedroom and closed the small door, a loud ping sounded from the grate above them, followed by a hollow voice that sounded like it came from a tin of food.

  “All non-vital hands and passengers are required to appear in the ballroom for the departure briefing. Ladies to the bow, crew to the stern.”

  “My, isn’t that efficient!” Marguerite was quite taken with the technology thus far and knew she hadn’t seen but a small percentage. She stood and smoothed her dress before checking her face in the mirror. “I won’t need your company for this little adventure. Why don’t you stay here and tend to Vivienne in case she wakes up?”

  “Yes, miss.” Outil stood against the wall in her position for resting and refueling, next to a window. All automatons ran on solar cells installed in their shoulders, but Marguerite noticed the bot turned her face toward the view, a puzzling detail that lingered with her all the way to the ballroom. What need would a bot have for staring out the window?

  The steward had pointed out the corridors that lead to the ballroom on the way to their quarters. All the passages were labeled with brass placards indicating the major locations. Marguerite walked with confidence, others joining her along the way as she reached the large double doors leading to the meeting. She had to wait behind the few others who arrived there before her. Around their heads she saw bots holding back the crowd as large circles rose from the wide expanse of floor. Smaller circles appeared just after, surrounding each larger one, forming dining tables and stools.

  “Ahh! Brilliant!” Marguerite smiled with satisfaction at the display of efficiency and mechanics. A girl in front of her turned and stared.

  She seemed to be the same age as Marguerite, only shorter and stouter. Her hair was a drab brown and hung loose and straight behind her shoulders. She had a bright red bandanna tied around her head, holding the front strands back from her face. Her clothes were common for the working class. Her face wasn’t remarkable, but wasn’t ugly either. Freckles peppered her face and her teeth were in desperate need of bleaching.

  Marguerite recognized her as the girl she’d seen in the street carrying a basket of bread. I guess even the common girls aren’t happy with their futures, she thought.

  The girl elbowed her neighbor. “Did you get a look at this one?” She scanned Marguerite head to toe, a sneer perched on her lips. “Ha!”

  The other girl glanced over her shoulder and echoed her friend’s snort, “Regular princess.” Both girls turned back to follow the crowd that was now being allowed to file into their seats.

  Completely stunned, Marguerite didn’t have time to respond. No one had ever spoken to or about her that way, at least not directly to her face. She stood stock-still for a full minute while other ladies filed past her. Eventually she took a small step forward and joined the throng to the front of the room.

  Stewards and bots stood to the side as the room filled, letting all the ladies find seats first. Marguerite chose the first seat she could find closest to the stage. She decided to shake off the unpleasant exchange in the corridor and not let it bother her, but only after she’d scanned the crowd and made sure the red bandanna was at a table on the opposite side of the room. Maybe she should have had Outil accompany her. As she looked around discretely at the others at her table and beyond she realized that most of the girls seemed to be from common-class families. Her fears turned in her stomach as she slowly lost discretion and openly searched the small crowd of women for a face or dress that seemed to match her own station. Had she been deceived? Were she and Vivienne the only girls of high birth on the whole ship?

  A bot stepped to the center of the ornate stage as the rest of the room filled with crew members. Its synthetic male voice, made unnaturally loud for the event, scraped against Marguerite’s human ears.

  “Welcome one and all to the Triumph!” He went on to talk about a few minor details; no food in quarters, lights go out automatically at bedtime, etc. Then he introduced Captain Moreau.

  A polite round of applause went up as he came from off stage, took a small device from the bot and held it to his mouth. “Welcome! Welcome! Ladies and gentlemen and automatons!” It seemed to be some sort of voice amplification device. “Congratulations on being a part of the maiden voyage of His Majesty’s newest aership, Triumph!”

  Another polite round of applause followed by whoops from the crew in the back filled the room.

  “You are part of a unique generation. Future Frenchmen, both Old and New, will talk of us and our time with great respect and wonder. We are the explorers, the peacemakers, the great inventors, the settlers of new lands and some of the bravest men”—he paused now and motioned dramatically at the ladies before him—“and women, to ever live!”

  More whoops and applause echoed through the air. Marguerite couldn’t help but feel her heart soar. She was actually aboard a state-of-the-art aership heading for New France with a room full of other girls building their own futures, not just accepting the ones handed to them. She couldn’t remember a more thrilling day in all her life. She clapped along with the rest of the crowd and smiled at the other girls seated at her table. She pretended not to notice the way they looked sideways at her tailored clothing and traveling hat. She’d never felt self-conscious in the latest styles from Paris before. She wasn’t going to start now.

  “And now! Without further ado, I present to you your captain for this journey.”

  Marguerite leaned to the girl next to her and braved a question. “Captain Moreau isn’t the captain of the ship?”

  The girl looked at her wearily and shrugged her shoulders.

  “A fantastic soldier and a fine friend, Captain Jacques Laviolette!” Moreau held out his hand in a sweeping gesture as Laviolette took the stage.

  The balloon in Marguerite’s chest popped as the tall young man with dark, wavy hair took the speaking device and smiled, perfect teeth and all, at the crowd. She tried to duck down and look away to avoid his gaze, but it was too late, she was seated too close to the stage. As he scanned the room and waved a bit, waiting for the applause to die down, he spotted her and held her gaze firmly as his smile increased, as if to say: I win again.

  Chapter Twelve

  Marguerite looked away quickly and fussed with her dress, then opened her reticule pretending to search for something. As Laviolette began to speak she took out her hanky and dabbed her nose, then looked at the ceiling and everything else in the room to avoid making eye contact again.

  “Thank you!” Laviolette waved his hand in a motion to silence the roaring crowd. “I’m so pleased to have you aboard my new ship and my first command. Please do not feel you are in the hands of an amateur, how
ever, as I have almost fifteen years’ experience navigating the air over our great country and its tributes, as well as the oceans of this world.”

  Fifteen years? thought Marguerite. How old is he?

  “You’ll find that this ship is equipped with the latest of all that our modern engineers have to offer, including hydraulic lifts for moving between floors with freight and luggage, in-wall wireless telegraph stations, a ship-wide communication system which allows me to keep you up to date with the latest news as we voyage toward New France, and as many of you have already witnessed, an incomparable dance floor that can be changed to a dining hall with the flip of a switch, saving us precious amounts of space.” Marguerite felt his eyes burning on her again as he spoke of the dance floor.

  The girl next to her applauded freely and spoke to her neighbor, “Isn’t he handsome? I hear he’s unmarried too. I’d like to catch me a man like that! Forget New France!”

  Her friend nodded enthusiastically then added, “He comes from big money too. I hear he gave up his father’s fortune to see the world, but when he came home with a title and his own ship his family took him back.”

  “You don’t say?” The first girl clasped her hands enthusiastically. “Handsome, smart, and rich? Yes please!”

  Marguerite couldn’t take it anymore. “He’s a terrible dancer.”

  The other girls at the table looked at her like she had a pie on her head. She straightened her back and turned to the stage while she pretended not to hear them continue their conversation, this time about her.

  “And just who is she?” the first girl asked.

  “Don’t you know? That’s Lord Vadnay’s daughter, Lady Vadnay herself. Had a coming-out party last week the likes of which could have clothed and fed my whole family for the rest of our lives. Must not have gone very well if she’s got herself stuck on the fastest ship to New France.”

  Both girls giggled and turned back to stare at Laviolette as he finished his speech.

  “As I close, I’d just like to remind you that here, on the great ship Triumph, we are all equals. Each of us has a unique history and we all have our own assignments to fulfill, but we are bound for a land that is like nowhere you’ve ever been before. It is a land where women and men of all social stations work side by side to carve homes out of the wilderness, where servants and masters share dinner at a common table, where we band together, not only for survival, but also for strength and the common good of France, our great Motherland. I’m excited to share it with you and hope that you come to love it as I do.” He bowed deeply to the crowd as the room thundered with applause and shouts.

  One of the girls at Marguerite’s table turned to her. “He may not be a good dancer, but he knows how to excite a room full of women.”

  Marguerite rolled her eyes and shifted on her tiny stool. She was rolling Laviolette’s speech around in her mind. Surely not all of New France was as he described—a wilderness needing to be carved out. Montreal was said to be a beautiful and very cosmopolitan city, as were other cities along the coast, or so she’d heard. They must mean for all of these farm girls to marry common soldiers and tackle the edges of the frontier lands. But as she thought more about it, she realized that she wouldn’t mind eating dinner with the servants if it meant that Claude was at the head of the table in their own home.

  She watched Laviolette stop briefly to whisper something to Captain Moreau before he exited the stage. Moreau nodded and took the speaking device back.

  “Ladies and gentleman, in an effort to celebrate this beautiful new ship and our new home before us, Captain Laviolette has suggested we stage a ball after evening meal here in the dining room. Please join us in our revelry as we make new friends and enjoy the finest ship that King Louis XIV has to offer!”

  The room erupted in the loudest round of applause yet. People leapt from their seats and whooped and whistled. Marguerite found it all very uncouth but stood, clapping demurely all the same, and turned to leave as the rest of the crowd poured into the passageways back to their rooms.

  Marguerite followed, her frustration surging as she was jostled about in the crowd. She received several more long stares from other girls, and a few from the crew as well, which only helped to further her bad mood. At the last turn she was relieved to find the passage to her quarters nearly empty. She let out a deep sigh and headed for her door when someone grabbed her elbow.

  “Excuse me, miss.” It was the steward who’d initially shown them the way. “Beg your pardon.” He quickly let go of her arm when she glared at him and pulled it back. “The ship’s captain has requested that you dine with him this evening. It’s the custom for the ladies of the upper classes to eat at the captain’s table with the highest-ranking officers.”

  “Yes, about that, exactly how many ladies of the upper classes are aboard this vessel?”

  “Well, yourself, of course,” he said, pausing, “and your companion, miss.”

  “I see.” Marguerite realized her folly now. The contract she signed had not been for this voyage, it was for all the nobles who’d ever flown away with the blessing of the King to New France. All of those names scrawled on the paper had actually gone before her. None were here now. The common girls must have had their own documentation, as was the case in the military. “And how long, exactly, is this voyage supposed to take?”

  The steward lit up at this question. “It used to take us a full week or more, miss, but the Triumph has been rated as one of the fastest aerships in His Majesty’s fleet and should have us there in five days or less!”

  “In that case, we shall take all our meals in our rooms.” She turned briskly and continued down the hall.

  “But miss!” The steward chased after her. “We don’t serve meals in the cabins, not even the suites.”

  “That doesn’t matter, I’ll send my bot to fetch it for us.” She didn’t turn around but kept marching toward her door.

  “But miss—” He was out of breath trying to keep up. “The captain … ”

  “The captain will be just fine dining with his fellow officers and the rest of the riffraff on this boat. Good day.” She reached her door and quickly stepped inside, closing it before the little man could bark at her anymore.

  “What an ordeal!” She sat, locked the bolt, and lay on the large lounge fanning herself. Outil came from the bedroom and quietly closed the door.

  “Is everything all right, miss?”

  “No, but it will be in four days.” Marguerite watched the clouds roll by out her port window.

  “Lady Vivienne seems to be sleeping peacefully now.”

  Marguerite had all but forgotten about her ailing companion. “That’s good. I suppose she was probably up most of the night.”

  “Yes, miss, I’m fairly certain she was.” Outil stood at attention against the wall where she could see out the port as well.

  “I’m famished, Outil, would you mind heading out and finding me some sort of breakfast? The dining hall and ballroom seem to be the same common space.”

  “Yes, miss.”

  “And see if there is a library aboard. This is going to be a long four days. I will require some sort of diversion.” Marguerite sighed deeply and closed her eyes.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Marguerite awoke to the sound of water splashing. For a moment she was angry with the servant girl for changing the water in her washstand at this early hour. But then she realized she wasn’t on her bed and sat bolt upright with alarm.

  “Outil!” she cried.

  The bot was standing in her chosen spot at the window, her head turned to the blue light beyond. “Yes, miss?” She turned her hollow gray eyes toward her mistress, her voice as calm and soothing as ever.

  “I quite forgot where I was. I was dreaming about the north field on the estate. It was on fire and we were all working to help put it out and save the orchards. Even I was rushing to help, with all the other servants. We had to carry buckets of wat
er. It was so hot and terrible. Claude was there, he was throwing the buckets onto the flames, but he was too close, I could see his silhouette against the flames but I couldn’t get to him.” The more she recounted her dream the more she began to fret. “Oh, Outil! Do you think he’s in danger?”

  “M’lady … ” Outil walked to the sofa and took her mistress’s soft fleshy hand in her own cold, metallic one. “I can assure you that he is most likely out of harm’s way. I have calculated the odds of his being in open combat. Factoring in New France’s recent peace treaties with the local native populations and the fact that he is assigned to a construction regiment, there is very little evidence or probability that he is in any more danger than he would be if he’d stayed on the estate.”

  Marguerite squeezed the bot’s fingers and stood, letting the cold hand fall from her lap. “I must telegraph him, all the same. I shall go find one of those wall ports they were speaking of in the introductory meeting.” She paused then. “Where is that water sound coming from?”

  “The water closet, miss.” Outil stood and pointed toward the bedroom. “It is of a most creative design, very convenient for humans. Water flows from a spigot in the ceiling and the temperature is adjustable according to your preference.”

  “Are you serious?” Marguerite was truly amazed. “Is that Vivienne in there now? How is she doing?”

  “She seems to be a bit better. She awoke and asked for a sip of drink and to wash herself. I just finished showing her how to operate the controls. She should be finished shortly.” Turning to the small table at the other side of the room, she added, “It is well past traditional luncheon time, would you care for a meal?”

  “Yes! I am famished!”

  On the table before them was a modest collection of odds and ends: some toast, a meat pie, a bottle of cider, and what appeared to be a bowl of pickled fish mixed with green olives. Marguerite lifted her nose in disgust. “Was this all you were able to procure?”