“We have pirates to deal with today, Louis—and captains,” she added the last bit under her breath.
“Yes, ma’am. That we do.”
“Have you had your breakfast yet?” Marguerite feigned concern.
“No ma’am. I haven’t. I like to get down here to Fifi and make sure she’s taken care of first, and then I feed myself.” He rubbed the cow affectionately.
Marguerite noticed that he had, indeed, freshened her water and put out new food for the beast. “Well, you are just a dear, Louis. Why don’t you run along and take care of yourself now. I will finish up the nasty bits today.” Marguerite indicated the waiting pile of manure.
“Are you sure, m’lady? I don’t mind doing it all, but I am a bit hungry. Dinner was sparse for deck boys last night, and I’m not used to all this green fruity stuff.” He waved an arm at the garden before him.
“Of course. Hurry on now and get a baguette before they are all gone.” She smiled at the boy who beamed up at her and only felt a tiny bit of guilt for her not-completely-sincere intentions.
After thanking her far too profusely, Louis ran off toward the mess and Marguerite took stock of the situation. She grabbed an apple from a barrel and munched it as she studied the pipes and pots and especially the cow. “Right then,” she told herself as she threw her apple core to the chickens that attacked it greedily.
She grabbed a sturdy looking basket from the pile for harvesting and lined it with a gunnysack. Then she picked up the shovel from the corner and set to work scooping up the foul smelling sludge. With her first scoop, Fifi mooed in angst and swung a foot toward her. But Marguerite was ready for her this time and jumped out of the way. “Oh, no you don’t,” she said.
A huge BOOM shook the ship and lady and cow both stumbled. Marguerite braced herself on the fence and had to gulp hard and breathe deep to get a hold of herself. She knew it was probably just a warning shot, but visions of rough corsairs and a rollicking ship falling to pieces began to flood her mind. Remembering the sight of Outil carrying Vivienne’s limp body as the Triumph was thrown about like a rag doll made her shudder and panic.
No. She thought. I can do this. I wanted this. It is not a proper battle. There won’t be any sort of battle. She braced for more fire and scooped quickly, then wrapped the remaining edges of gunnysack over the top of her disgusting treasure and prayed no one would question her on the way to the chute room. Fifi mooed angrily at her as she left. “Go milk yourself!” Marguerite hissed back.
The chute room wasn’t hard to find. It was just below the kitchens in the belly of the ship. It was dark and a bit musty smelling. She only received a few strange looks as she passed her shipmates in the small passages with her smelly package. Marguerite heard Lucy before she saw her. She sat sewing a chute next to an older woman and laughing her merry giggle, despite the stress of the moment. Marguerite set her basket down at the entry and hurried to Lucy’s side. She tried to sound official.
“I have a special delivery for the Renegade, Miss Lucy. Could you assist me with delivery?” Lucy put down her sewing and looked up at Marguerite with a conspiratorial smile.
“Of course, Lady Vadnay.” The two walked casually to the pile of crates, and Lucy picked one up.
“No,” Marguerite stopped her and pointed to another crate that looked to be on its last leg. “That one.”
“I’m not sure it will make the landing,” Lucy questioned.
“Exactly,” Marguerite said. Lucy shrugged and handed it to her just as another BOOM sounded in the distance. This time, the ship did not shudder and rock, however.
“What on earth could they be shooting at? The sun isn’t even up yet.” Lucy wondered out loud.
“Those are traditional warning shots, probably from the Renegade. Captain Laviolette is letting them know we are serious about defending ourselves.” Marguerite took the crate back to her basket by the door, far from the other women. She picked up the gunnysack carefully and slipped it into the wooden box, then hammered the lid on securely. Lucy walked up to her carrying a fresh chute.
“Breakfast drop is in fifteen minutes. We always send special morning rations if there is a battle possible. You’re going to need this too.” She held out the small tangle of canvas and ropes.
“Oh, no I won’t.” Marguerite grinned. “All I need is a bit of chalk or charcoal. Ah!” She spotted a chunk on the main work table. She snatched it up and wrote Special Delivery, Captain Laviolette in block letters across the sturdiest plank left in the whole box.
“My goodness, what is that smell?” Lucy asked as Marguerite examined her handiwork.
“It’s a delicacy Captain Laviolette requested for the morning of battle.” Marguerite smiled as the other women caught wind of the crate and turned up their noses. Then she whispered to Lucy, “Remember, no chute.” The breakfast delivery began to arrive just in time to stop anyone from questioning the peculiar package.
Lucy nodded and laughed, then put the package in the midst of the shuffle as Marguerite headed for the deck. For a moment she hesitated, rethinking her joke, but she knew there was no danger this morning. Negotiations would be first, and then a battle only if the pirates were completely crazy and they couldn’t come to an agreement. She couldn’t imagine any small band of pirates being foolhardy enough to take on an entire fleet of French warships. More likely, they would bargain for their own safe release rather than demand any booty or attack.
She continued up to the deck. It had been far too long since she had seen the sky. Even if it was still full of clouds and pouring rain, she needed to be outside. She needed to smell the ocean air and to feel fresh wind on her face. The trap door she’d entered the first night on the Henrietta was easy to find. She grabbed a deck-boy jacket and flipped the hood over her messy up-do. She pushed open the door and prepared for a deluge of water in the face.
To her surprise, all was calm and clear. The sun was just about to break on the horizon to the east, making the whole world a gorgeous pink color. The clouds had all but disappeared, and a moderate wind blew up from the south. Marguerite’s spirits instantly lifted. She filled her lungs with cow-free air and smiled as she pushed off the black waterproof hood.
The scene was as close to magical as Marguerite had ever seen. Ships of all sorts bobbed and drifted on the winds. It was clear which belonged to King Louis, with their flowing black envelopes and bright silver crests. The brown support ships with the Renegade were notwithstanding. There were three warships in total, flanking three cargo ships. A little ways south of this great bobbing conglomeration was another group of four ships, hodgepodge affairs, nothing like the foreign vessels that attacked her ship last year. These aerships looked to be at least a decade old, patched with various parts from other ships, and crawling with crew.
Small, dark bodies moved over the decks and rigging of each ship, like ants on an abandoned picnic. She flipped down her goggles and adjusted the scope mechanism for a better view. They were definitely preparing for something, but Marguerite couldn’t tell if it was battle or retreat. She couldn’t imagine how in the world the pirates could think of taking on nine royal ships and bring back any bounty to speak of.
She flipped her goggles back up as Pierre scampered past, hauling a rope as big around as his leg. “Mornin’ miss.” Two other boys scampered to help him.
Marguerite nodded and then asked, “Only one warning shot this morning, Pierre?”
“Yes, miss. I doubt there’ll be a fight today with the whole fleet together now. The Renegade is at the head. She’s been chosen to lead should the rogues lose their brains.”
Marguerite noted the Renegade’s position was closest to the pirate vessels, but she agreed with Pierre, there would most likely not be a fight making this the perfect time for her to get off the Henrietta and get back on the ship she was commissioned to. She felt bad leaving Lucy and Louis, but she needed Outil, and she had words for Jacques.
As Pierre scampered
off, Marguerite took note of the assets on deck. If she wanted to be of use and get herself off this ship, she was going to need a plan and some materials. There were ropes aplenty, random tools, mops, brooms and—ahh! An escape ship!
The Henrietta kicked in its propeller and began to head for the Renegade to make its morning drop as Marguerite quickly assessed the small aerdinghy. There wasn’t much to it. It was older than she was, had the tiniest speck of a motor and no envelope, no retractable glide wings, and the rudder was broken. How in the world was this supposed to save anyone?
She tinkered a bit with the engine and then checked the fuel tank—completely full. Then she realized it had an intake funnel for rainwater. Excellent. She checked to make sure no one was observing before she adjusted the throttle and pulled the start cord. The little monster coughed and chortled to life, then roared like a lioness awoken from a nap too early.
Marguerite slammed the off switch and ran for the hatch, ignoring the stares from the deck boys. There wasn’t a moment to lose. She barreled past other girls rushing to their duties, all the way back down to the belly of the Henrietta.
“Lucy! I need a chute after all, a big one!” Lucy looked up from her position at the drop hatch. Her goggles were askew, and her perfect hair flipped wildly in the wind. Marguerite noticed her box was second to last in line to go out.
“Hang on,” Lucy said to her coworker, then made her way to Marguerite’s side. “They are over here.”
Marguerite could see the Renegade’s deck coming into view through the hatch. She watched as the first crate was dropped and its chute popped open, guiding it softly onto the deck below. One by one the little crates were popped out in succession, like a giant dandelion being blown into the wind. “It must take a lot of skill to get them in just the right spot,” she commented.
“Yes, it does,” Lucy pulled a large pile of folded canvas from a bin. “These ladies have been precision dropping for years. This is the biggest chute we have. Don’t lose it or get cow dung on it, or whatever it is you’re planning.”
“Will do. Thank you, Lucy.” Marguerite gave her a genuine smile of appreciation.
“And be careful! I want to visit your fancy house in France and meet your bot, Outil. Can’t do that if you’re dead, you know.”
“Of course! Au Revoir!” Marguerite cried as she raced back up to the deck. Her legs burned from climbing all the stairs, and she was completely out of breath by the time she reached the little ship again. She began to secure the ropes of the chute to the hooks and holds of the aerdinghy, and occasionally she peered over the edge to the Renegade below.
By now its imposing black envelope was bellied up to their own brown one again. The two ships snuggled in the breezes like friends seeking shelter together. The parade of food was nearly complete, gauging by the size of the stack of crates on the deck below. A hand touched her softly on the back. Marguerite jumped in surprise and whirled around.“Excuse me, m’lady, but what are you doing with the old dingy?” Louis stood there with wonder in his eyes—or was that fear?
“Nothing, Louis. Get back to work and nevermind me.”
“But, I’m sorry, m’lady, if you’re planning to do what I think you are, those knots won’t hold you for two blasts of wind.” He indicated her neatly tied bows around the edges of the cockpit.
“Oh, well, I suppose that’s good to know,” she mumbled, unsure of what type of knot she could tie in its place. She was much better with machines and gadgets than she was with everyday nonsense such as rope.
Luckily, Louis was quick in both hand and mind. He deftly removed each tie and resecured them with much more complicated twists. “Excellent!” She patted him on the back and pulled her goggles back down and her hood up. She pulled the engine cord and climbed into the driver’s seat. There was only room for four people total. Such a useless rescue ship, she thought. The seat cracked and groaned with age, making her wonder about the stability of the entire vessel. Nevertheless, she tested the throttle again, and when she was happy with the state of things, she gave Louis a huge grin and shooed him away with her hand. He made as if he were going to climb in behind her, but she shook her head forcefully and yelled, “No!”
This was her idea, her scheme. Should it go awry, she wasn’t going to have anyone else hurt because of it. She’d already dragged enough people into deadly disasters in the past. She was willing to risk her own life to face Jacques once and for all, and to retrieve her bot, but not anyone else’s. Besides, all she had to do was drop and drift a bit with the aid of the small motor, and she would land on the deck of the Renegade.
A gust of wind caught her chute, whipping it up and forward. She shoved the chute out of her way and checked over the side of the little ship again, just in time to see the second to the last box plummet without a chute and hit the deck with a loud SPLAT!
“Ha!” She laughed out loud as she watched the deck hands scurry out of the way. She adjusted her scope and easily made out the figure of Captain Laviolette standing near the “special delivery” in his finest uniform, wiping at a cow dung stain and cursing. She could also still make out her charcoal message on the single board still intact on the pile of exploded cow dung.
Serves him right, she thought.
The chute strained against the wind again. She had to get going; things were picking up. She looked back to Louis and started to pull free the latch hooks that held the dingy to the ship. She motioned for him to help her with the back ones, but behind him she saw Captain Butterfield stomping toward them. “Go!” She yelled as she climbed over the seat to reach the hooks herself.
Louis stayed, however, and popped the last two without worry for his own demise. Then he called out to her, “Don’t die, m’lady!”
She twisted back into her seat and fastened the harness just as the last hook came free, and the ship plummeted into open space.
Chapter Fifteen
This was a terrible, terrible idea. Marguerite chided herself as she dropped like a rock out of the sky.
She revved the engine and pulled hard on the throttle, trying to get some forward thrust. The parachute whipped and whistled, occasionally hitting her in the head as it flipped in the upward wind. Then just as quickly, it caught on a gale and popped open, slamming Marguerite hard into her seat.
Terrible idea! She repeated as the little ship bobbed a few times, and then headed right for her target, the deck of the Renegade. Except that her target was moving.
By the time Marguerite had secured her chute and cut the aerdinghy free of the Henrietta, they were already done with the food drop and sailing up and away from the larger ship, which was now sailing toward the pirate ships.
Excellent, Marguerite thought. All I have to do now is steer this little disaster of a ship to the giant moving target ahead of me. Easy as winding a gear.
Except that the wind blowing her toward her mark was also blowing her mark away from her. She pulled hard on the rudder, and then remembered it was broken. She pushed with all her strength on the throttle. It kicked in a bit more power, but not enough. If she was lucky, she would make it to the aft deck—but only just. As she drifted helplessly, the wind picked up again. A huge gust blowing her higher in the air and forward in the right direction. She shoved on the rudder again. This time, something clanked, and it gave way sending her soaring a good fifty feet higher than was necessary.
“Oh, merciful gears!” She cried out as the chute deflated in the upward motion and she began to plummet again. Her engine continued to spit out full power, pushing her forward, but the chute wasn’t catching now. She was rocketing straight for the giant black envelope of the Renegade.
Marguerite quickly inspected the round hull of her ship and counted her lucky stars. There was a chance she wouldn’t puncture the giant bag of explosive gasses, but only a small chance. She held on tightly and closed her eyes as the black balloon rushed up to meet her tiny wooden capsule and her bottom left the decrepit seat again
.
This is it, she thought. This is how I die.
But impact was not as explosive as she’d feared. In fact, it was quite lovely. She sank deep into the giant oval shaped balloon and was instantly bounced back into the aether. It was an exaggerated copy of the way it had felt to jump on her father’s bed when she was a child. She would land on her backside and rocket back into the air, landing on her feet on the floor. Only, this time, she felt her chute catch the wind again as she arched up and began to soar back down toward the sea. She had just enough time to catch her breath and open her eyes before she realized that she had been too liberal with her throttle and the Renegade was now nowhere in sight. Instead, the patchwork riggings of a pirate ship were dead ahead.
“Clogged cogs and steaming cylinders!” She yelled out loud and covered her face. Even though the chute slowed her descent, she was still coming in too fast. It was not going to be a soft landing. The aerdinghy hit the rigging, just above the deck on the smaller of the three pirate ships. Marguerite hit the controls of her dingy with a loud crunch, and the ship ricocheted off the ropes and posts and then hit the actual deck. Marguerite heard another loud whack and the sound of wood splintering as she was thrown about her tiny cockpit like a wet noodle in an autocart spoke.
A few more whacks and clangs and a final, nasty knock on the head, and Marguerite and her ship came to a sudden stop, leaving her bruised and bleeding and dizzy. Her head felt like someone had boxed it repeatedly with a monkey wrench, and she had somehow managed to land upside down.
Rough hands grabbed her and shoved her harness slack as they unhooked it; then they dropped her unceremoniously to the ruined deck floor. A piece of splintered wood jammed into her side, and she cried out in pain. “It’s one of them she-fliers!” a voice cried out. “Get her up and outta here.” Marguerite realized suddenly that these were not the strange voices of foreign corsairs, but English-speaking men with British accents.
Perilous Journey of the Much-Too-Spontaneous Girl Page 10