Perilous Journey of the Much-Too-Spontaneous Girl

by Leigh Statham

  The whole deck raised their eyes just in time to see the remaining pirate ship roar to life, a spout of flame shooting from its stern just before it shot away at a mind blowing speed.

  “What on earth?” Marguerite wondered. She’d never seen anything like it before. No ship could travel that fast and no ship would have flames that large on board a gaseous craft.

  “You!” A voice cried behind her. Marguerite turned to see Officer Vuitton marching toward her on the deck. She smiled triumphantly, awaiting his praise. Instead, he scowled and pointed at her with a stout determined finger.

  “Lock her in the brig! I don’t want to see her again until we are in New France at a tribunal!” Two officers flanking Vuitton came from either side and took Marguerite by either arm.

  “What for? Why are you doing this? I just saved your ship from the pirates. Besides, you have no authority to do this. I want to see Captain Laviolette. Now!” She stomped her foot and shook her turbaned head.

  “I would like to see him as well, but thanks to your ridiculous antics, he is no longer with us.” Marguerite’s heart dropped to her gut like a bird from the sky. “What do you mean?” she asked, bracing for the worst.

  “Did you see that ship tearing out of here like a sinner from church? That’s the Dragon. Fastest pirate ship in the Atlantic. No one knows how it operates or where they got the technology for it, and we were moments away from capturing her when, for the second time today, you ruined everything!”

  “But what about Jacques? Where is Jacques?” She had to know. She couldn’t wait another second.

  “He is still aboard the Dragon; you fool. They have stolen our captain and our rum and half our supply of water.” Her gut twisted over on itself. She had imagined a warm and loving reunion, now that all of the danger was behind them and the pirates thwarted. Since she helped in the final battle, surely all would be forgiven, and they could start anew. Especially now that she realized she didn’t want to fly without him. She didn’t want to do anything without him.

  “You don’t think he’s—” she couldn’t finish the sentence. She didn’t even want to think of the possibility of not seeing him again.

  “He’s not dead if that’s what you’re getting at. Douleur will try to ransom him off, but I doubt King and country will go for that. So she’ll give him a choice, be branded part of her crew or tortured to death. Laviolette isn’t stupid. He’ll stay alive one way or another.” She leapt at this news. He wasn’t dead. She could hold onto that. She did not kill him, so he was just fine. He could handle pirates. They just had to ransom him. He would be fine.

  “Well, for goodness sakes, let’s go get him and the rum and water, Vuitton! That is a simple mission.”

  “You, my dear, are the only thing simple around here. They are already halfway to North Carolina by now, and that is British country. We have no jurisdiction in that aetherspace. Our orders are to return to Montreal with the fleet. They are already several hours ahead of us, and we must catch them or pray for rain if we want to make it without dying of thirst.” He turned to his men now. “Put her in the brig. I’m done with her. I don’t care how good her aim is.”

  “You aren’t going after Jacques at all? What happened to leave no man behind?”

  “No, m’lady. We are not going after Jacques,” he said the name with a sneer. “The admiral will never agree to it. There are far more important things at stake here. Invading British aerspace and starting up a new war with those technology thieves is not worth the life of one man, no matter how fine a captain he is. If Laviolette wishes to return, he’ll find his own way.”

  “You can’t be serious!” Marguerite kept herself together for the better part of the harrowing day, but this pronouncement of idiotic policy was the last straw. “There must be some sort of provision for rescuing a fellow aermen. What if it were you out there? How is he supposed to find his own way?”

  “Lady Vadnay, I’m hardly the person you should be angry about over this. I do not make the policy; I simply follow it. Captain Laviolette is no longer our concern, and it’s your fault.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  The brig was everything Marguerite feared it would be—a wooden bench to sit and sleep on, no window, a bucket for personal business, and bread and water for meals. She kept forcing herself to focus on the positive aspects of being locked up. Luckily she was the only aerman in custody. No pirates had been taken prisoner. They either fell in battle or escaped to their own ship. They also let Outil keep Marguerite’s goggles, and Outil was allowed to bring her a book and a blanket. Plus there were only three days left before arriving in Montreal.

  The only other problem was that Montreal was three days in the wrong direction, and the book was less than exciting—The Mating Habits of West Indian Green Vervet Monkeys and Other Odd Creatures. Marguerite read it cover to cover the first day. Then she spent the whole of the next day crying, which earned her a hankie from the guard on duty. By the third day, she gave up feeling sorry for herself and read the book again. She found little solace in the fact that mountain chickens were actually frogs and quite tasty roasted over an open fire, or that vampire bats would only drink one ounce of blood at a time and were meant to be called butterfly mice. All she desperately wanted to know was whether Jacques was alive or not and if he would ever forgive her.

  Late on day three, while wondering if she could train a magnificent frigatebird to carry cargo, Outil stopped by to visit her. “I brought medicinal salve for Lady Vadnay,” Outil addressed the half asleep man in the little wooden chair.

  “Sure, fine,” he snorted back without waking. Outil handed a little crock through the bars. Marguerite took it and eagerly rubbed it into her rough red cheeks and forehead.

  “How are things going above? We must be nearly home,” Marguerite said.

  “Yes, the harbor is in view, m’lady.” Outil answered directly, but she was watching the guard, who was not paying attention, out of the corner of her gleaming copper eye.

  “What is it?” Marguerite whispered.

  Outil held up a hand and continued to speak in a normal voice. “They will most likely escort you from the ship directly to the holding cells in town, m’lady. I have sent word to your father, and he should be there to meet us.”

  Marguerite wondered what it was her bot really wanted to tell her, but in the meantime, she played along. “Ugh! My father. I didn’t even think about having to face him. What will he say?” She put her head in her hands and waited for Outil’s next move.

  “I’m certain he will be understanding m’lady.”

  A voice called from up the stairs to the guard sitting half asleep on his chair. He snorted and called back. “You’re needed on level three for check in,” the voice said.

  “What about this prisoner?” the guard called back.

  “Forget her. She’s not going anywhere. Come on!” The voice was insistent.

  The guard looked at Outil and then Marguerite and said, “No funny business.” He jingled the keys clipped to his belt. Marguerite wondered if he was trying to make some sort of point about who was in power, or if he was just insecure and felt a little jingle might help ease his nerves.

  She rolled her eyes as he tromped up the stairs. “Did you have something to do with that? What is going on?” She whispered, even though the guard was long out of earshot.

  “I made a few friends while you were away on the Henrietta. I also worked closely with Captain Laviolette and was privy to a few conversations I don’t think he intended me to hear.”

  Marguerite looked back at the stairwell and then nodded, “Go on, what does this have to do with me being incarcerated?”

  “Well, it doesn’t really, but I know you are worried about him, and I just thought you should know that I am quite positive he is not dead.” Outil tipped her head and watched Marguerite’s face.

  “That is very nice that you are quite positive, Outil, but that doesn’t actually get him h
ome or get me out of jail. What did you hear?” Marguerite sighed in exasperation and sat back on her wooden bench, arms folded.

  “I don’t want you to think less of me, m’lady, but I heard a few things, and I read a few things.”

  “You read a few things? Outil, did you go snooping in Jacques’s personal papers?” Marguerite was very interested now.

  “Possibly. But only the ones he left sitting out in his room. He sent me there to fetch instruments a few times. I couldn’t help but see a couple of wireless telegraphs from before we left Montreal,” the bot actually looked sheepish.

  Marguerite was on the edge of her plank now, “What did they say? Who were they from?”

  “Both were from Montreal, some admiral there. At first, I thought they were written in code. But after the skirmish with the pirates, I realized they probably weren’t.”

  “Outil! What did they say?”

  “The first said: Capture the Dragon and bring her home. The second must have been in reply to a question of some sort. It said: Orders as follows. Use any means necessary to capture the Dragon. I also heard him speaking to his first officer about the plan a few times. It was obvious that whatever they were talking about wasn’t common knowledge or the plan to escort the fleet home.”

  “So, you think they were referring to the pirate ship Dragon? Not an actual mythical beast?” She rolled her eyes. Her long days reading about monkeys had made her more snarky than usual.

  “Lady Vadnay, I believe Jacques is alive and may have planned not to leave that ship, and I don’t believe any of it was your fault. Of course, other things were your fault, but that’s not important right now.”

  Marguerite returned her head to her hands. Her hair was still wrapped in the turban, but she smelled of chemicals, and in spite of Outil’s cream, her face was still tender to the touch. She thought for a moment about what Outil was saying. It was a small bit of hope, but she wasn’t sure if she should grab onto it. Was it enough to sustain her? If so, then what should she do with it? She felt her chest begin to tighten, and her eyes begin to water once more.

  “M’lady? I know you don’t want anyone to think that you are in love, or that you care for Jacques, or possibly anyone, deeply. But I want you to know that you are at your best when you let yourself care for those around you.” Outil’s words hit the very center of Marguerite’s heart. Of course, the automaton, the non-human, was right. But Marguerite didn’t want her to be right. She didn’t want to be in love. It was too messy, too painful. But she also didn’t want to think about a life without Jacques. She stood up and walked to the gate facing her bot. “Outil, you have to get me out of here.”

  “M’lady, if you just wait until we meet with your father, I’m sure he will find a way to have you released.”

  “No, Outil, you have to get me out now. It could take weeks to rectify this mess, and in the meantime, we will be losing more and more of our advantage.”

  “I do not understand, Lady Vadnay,” Outil shook her metal head.

  “We need two chutes, paper, and autopen, and I’ll need a change of clothes. Wait, no. These clothes will be fine. Can you get the rest to me tonight? We will be disembarking in the morning, and by then it will be too late.”

  “Yes, I can procure those items, but m’lady, I don’t understand what you intend to do.”

  “We’re going to save Jacques!”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Marguerite sat waiting for her guard to fall asleep. She’d had this guard the first night of her stay. She was thrilled to see him return for the shift tonight because, while she had a terrible time sleeping on the wooden bench, he had no problem tipping his head back and snoring the night away on his hard chair. Just as she guessed, only a few moments after his snores reached a fever pitch, Outil came creeping down the stairs.

  Marguerite met her at the cell door and waited patiently as Outil picked the lock with one of her tool fingers. The mechanism eventually clicked into place, and the door swung open quietly. Marguerite scurried out, leaving her turban in a wad on the bench with the blanket heaped next to it in hopes that the guard wouldn’t be immediately alarmed should he wake in the night.

  Outil locked the door again; the second click brought a snort from the guard, but nothing more. Then they raced up the stairs as quietly as possible. Outil led her to a deserted bunk room where she’d stashed their packs. Leave it to Outil to think of food and water. Marguerite was desperate for more than bread to eat, but she took the pencil and paper first and scratched out a quick letter to her father.

  “We must drop this in the post bag before we go.” One of the perks of being in the military was that there was no charge for posting letters from a vessel in service. Marguerite guessed the Renegade was still considered in service, and this was the best way to contact her father without raising suspicions.

  “There is a drop slot on the way to the deck, but we must hurry. They will be changing shifts soon, and we don’t have much time.” Marguerite nodded in agreement and strapped on her supply pack and then her chute over the top of it. She would just have to wait a few more hours to eat real food. The two set off down a long corridor for the opposite end of the ship. Outil led the way and stopped only for Marguerite to drop her folded paper in the mailbag. She prayed that her father would understand, not only her cryptic missive but the reasons behind it.

  They stayed quiet and kept their heads down. Most of the crew was sleeping soundly tonight, knowing a triumphant return home awaited them in the morning. There were a tense few moments when they came upon other aermen in the passages and thought they would be caught, but everyone was either deliriously tired or deliriously full of drink. All was quiet until they approached the hatch to the deck. They heard uproarious laughter and the sounds of singing above. “Oh, dear,” Marguerite said.

  Outil stuck her head out the hatch for a moment, and then returned. “I believe there is a celebration underway.”

  “Right. I didn’t think about that. They usually have some sort of deck party the night of arrival. Blast it. Can we get out without them seeing us?”

  “The only light appears to be coming from a barrel containing a fire at the starboard bow.”

  “Well, isn’t that brilliant. Light up a fire on the deck of a dirigible full of explosive gasses. Where do they find these ninnies?” Marguerite paused, and then her eyes lit up with inspiration, “Outil! This is perfect. Run to the nearest pipecom and call in to the controls that there is a fire on deck. That should give us enough of a diversion to jump ship.”

  “Excellent point, m’lady. Only, I wish you’d reconsider this whole plan. I’m sure your father—”

  “If I wanted my father to fix everything in my life, I never would have left home in the first place, Outil. Now hurry! I’d go myself, but I’m meant to be in a cell at the bottom of this beastly boat.”

  “That is true.” Outil seemed somewhat defeated as she turned and trotted down the steps to the nearest pipecom. Marguerite could hear her soft voice reporting the violators to the commanding officers. Then she heard the rumble of agitation deep in the ship as the guards were awoken from their beds to deal with imbeciles. And finally, she heard Outil’s footsteps softly padding back up the stairs. “We should go now, m’lady. Guards are already making their way to the starboard deck entrance,” Outil whispered.

  “Right,” Marguerite replied with a nod. They crept up the stairs until they could see the raucous men and their foolish fire. They could just barely make out the trap door for the opposite side of the ship flying open through the dark, but they definitely heard when the guards began to shout at the wrongdoers. “Now!” Marguerite hissed to Outil.

  They climbed the rest of the way out of their hole and headed straight for the side of the ship. Marguerite paused, her breath catching in her throat, as the cold air hit her face and the sight of Montreal so far below began to register in her mind. This was going to be a very long drop. Outil already
had one leg over the side. “M’lady, you must go now, or they will see us, and you will be taken back to jail. We won’t have another chance like this.”

  “I know; I’m coming.”

  “Would you like me to go first, or would you?”

  “Together, we go together.” The noises behind them were growing. It seemed the party goers weren’t too keen on ending their celebration. “On three,” Marguerite offered. “One, two …” she threw a leg over the side as well. “Three!” She nearly shouted the last number; she was so nervous. And as she left the safety of the deck behind her, it occurred to her all at once that she had no idea how to activate her chute.

  “Outil!” She yelled at her bot, but it was too late. Outil had drifted sideways and the rushing wind blowing up at them was deafening. The lights twinkling on the docks and reflecting in the river below her were growing nearer much too quickly. She knew there was no way to make sure she would hit the water. Even if she did, it wasn’t deep enough, and she was falling too fast for a safe dive. She groped at the straps for anything, a button, dial, anything. There was nothing but a tiny ring. Outil’s chute opened suddenly, black as the night. It caught the wind, and she shot up while Marguerite continued to fall like a cannon ball. The funny thing was, Marguerite thought she heard Outil yell, “Pull!”

  So Marguerite grabbed the little ring and pulled as hard as she could. The ground below her instantly stopped shooting up to meet her. The black chute exploded open with a whoosh and carried her on the wind toward Outil and the wooded northern shore of the Saint Lawrence. She took a moment to close her eyes and breathe in the deep cool of the night air and calm her heart. This was going to work.

  She watched Outil fall gently into the trees below, and she braced herself for the same. Her feet scraped the leaves harmlessly at first, then she dipped farther, and her legs began to catch on larger limbs. As she descended deeper into the foliage, she realized just how fast she was going. She tried to brace herself, but she was dipping lower into the forest and hitting trees left and right as she went. She tried not to cry out, but every time she bounced off her already injured shoulder, she couldn’t help but squeal in pain.