Perilous Journey of the Much-Too-Spontaneous Girl

by Leigh Statham

  As Marguerite approached her chair, Captain Butterfield swung around. “Welcome to the magic room, Lady Vadnay. A bit cobbled together, but she does a lot of good things. How can I help you today?” Marguerite noted the change in the way the Captain addressed her now that her father was paying for the voyage. It was a welcome change, but also slightly annoying. She proceeded anyway.

  “I was just wondering if we should come up with some sort of plan for extricating Captain Laviolette.”

  “Ahh, yes. Well, first we have to survive the border crossing and the Brits. Then we have to get through the storms, and then I agreed to help you find Captain Laviolette. However, I’m not sure if we will be extricating him.”

  “What do you mean?” Marguerite was growing tired of people telling her what she couldn’t do.

  “Well, there are two options when you are captured by Captain Douleur. You either sign on as crew, or you are tortured for information and then dropped on a deserted island. It’s been at least a week since your Jacques was flown away with, so by now he’s both broken and dying in Nova Scotia, or he’s hoisting the mainsail and stoking the boilers for Douleur. Let’s just hope he didn’t get dumped in Britland. There’s no way our Frenchie vessel will be welcomed there, even if we are just picking up a fallen friend.”

  “Well, how will we know?” Marguerite rang her hands with worry.

  “We won’t till we get to Cape Feare. It’s the only safe harbor for us, and unless Douleur stopped off in New Amsterdam, we’ll find her there.” Captain Butterfield turned and cried at one of her bots, “Get more steam out of that back boiler. We’ve got to get higher than this if we want to dock at the tip of the Bombay Tower and avoid the land rockets.”

  “Land rockets?” Marguerite wrung her hands with more earnest.

  “The Brits hate us, deary. Or have you been living under a gilded rock for the past fifteen years?” Captain Butterfield snorted.

  “Bombay? We’re not going all the way to India, are we?” Lucy asked.

  “No, deary. Wrong hemisphere. The Bombay Tower is in Bombay, New York. It’s the border guard station. All ships flying into Britland have to stop and check in there. It’s about as advanced as the Brits have gotten with their technology. Stands up into the clouds with lookouts and refueling stations for aerships. Also provides a nice little base for shooting Chinese fire rockets at unwelcome visitors.”

  “How are we going to get past there? We are obviously a French ship, and no, I haven’t been under a gilded rock.” Marguerite walked to the closest control panel and scanned the buttons, trying to make sense of them.

  “You think I’m making this trip just for you? Oh no, dear. I have a cargo bay full of French silks bound for the Republic of Charleston. The Governor there has six daughters, and they do love their ball gowns.”

  “I believe I have a solution to our navigation issue,” Outil said.

  “I was able to give Captain Laviolette a tracking beetle before we were parted on the Renegade. It is a long range sensor I’ve been working on for a while now. I was planning on giving it to you, Lady Vadnay, when I realized how easily we were parted at sea. But, as things looked to be a bit harrowing for Captain Laviolette, and you were not yet reunited with me, he agreed to test the bug. The signal is very faint, which helps me to calculate distance. I’m fairly certain it’s coming from North Carolina.”

  “That’s brilliant, Outil!” Marguerite cried and squeezed the bot’s arm.

  “Thank you, m’lady. We will certainly find Captain Laviolette there. If not the Captain, then at least the trousers he had the beetle sewn into.”

  “Oh dear,” Marguerite said, her enthusiasm draining.

  “I agree. Oh dear,” Captain Butterfield echoed.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The Tower of Bombay was not quite what Marguerite expected. It was, indeed, a tower of angular metal configuration. It looked to have been quite splendid at some point, but over the years the copper fittings had turned green, and most repairs seemed to have been made with inferior metals and wood. It stood, at least, two thousand feet from the spring green earth below it. There was a lightning rod at the top, suspended by three trusses over a massive funnel for catching rainwater. Pipes and wiring ran from the uppermost level, down as far as Marguerite could see. Smaller water tanks perched precariously here and there on the way down as well, and various flags of different countries flew from each tank. The whole thing was crisscrossed by a network of catwalks and stairs. Two lifts ran right up the middle on chains attached to pulleys just under the rain funnel. They paused at what appeared to be small compartments for people to man out of the elements. Each one she could make out was also equipped with a slot for a gun, or as the captain had said, a rocket. The largest was at the top. It had a water tank and a British flag flying in the high aether wind.

  They pulled the Henrietta up to the topmost filling tank and prepared to dock. Having only traveled a few miles, they had no need to refuel, but they still needed to supply the border guard with papers.

  A plank was extended from the nearest refuge and a stocky, dark-haired man in a British military outfit walked to meet them, his face stern. Two younger men followed, also in uniform, and also in what appeared to be bad spirits.

  “Time to work some more magic,” Captain Butterfield said as she hoisted herself out of her chair and pulled open a cabinet under one of the control panels. “Ah! Here we are. Papers for the pretty silks. You lot stay here. I’ll return when the inspector is satisfied.”

  Marguerite watched her leave and turned to Outil. “I’d very much like to see those silks myself. I wonder if they actually are the very latest from France.”

  “The cargo hold is just two flights down from here. We could be down and back in no time,” Lucy offered. “I’ve seen them myself. Quite exquisite.”

  “I’m not sure this is a good idea. I believe we should wait here as the captain asked and then survey the fabrics when the inspectors are gone, m’lady.” Outil stepped up to meet the girls as they tried to leave.

  “Outil, it will only take a moment. I’m sure they will be busy with paperwork up above for ages.” Marguerite pushed her way past her bot and continued to the stairs just outside the bridge. As they headed down at a leisurely pace, chatting about what had transpired between their last meetings, they reached the cargo hold at the same time as they heard voices coming down the stairs behind them.

  “Oh, dear. Do you think that might be them?” Marguerite asked.

  “Could be. We better get out of here. Captain won’t like running into us. Maybe we can make it back up one level before they are on top of us.” Lucy started back up the stairs. They heard the men descending, and they ascended as quickly as possible. Then another sound echoed through the confined space.

  “Captain, is Lady Vadnay down here? I have great news for her!” Louis’s clear, young voice cut through the air and rang all the way to the bottom of the stairwell.

  A strange voice boomed out, “Lady Vadnay? You reported that you had no idea of her whereabouts, Captain Butterfield. What is this boy doing looking for an internationally wanted criminal in your stairwell? Hmm?”

  Marguerite turned to Lucy and mouthed the words internationally wanted? Lucy shrugged and motioned for them to move quickly to the next door up, which was only a few steps away. Marguerite didn’t hesitate. She skipped as quietly as she could up the stairs and pushed on the lever for the door in front of her. “That boy was bonked on the head in the midst of our last battle. He had a bit of a crush on the Lady and seems to be stuck thinking she’s still on board. Of course, I’d report her to you. I may be a privateer, but I’m no smuggler.”

  Marguerite heard this exchange as Lucy slipped past, and she carefully re-latched the door. As the men approached, they heard their continued conversation.

  “I find this very hard to believe, Captain. After we are finished with your cargo hold, we will require a full search of y
our ship. Bristol, report back to the tower and order more men up here, right away.”

  “I don’t think that will be necessary. I’m on a tight time table. The governor of Charleston is expecting me by tonight at the latest with this cargo,” Captain Butterfield explained.

  “And I can’t be held responsible for one of your reckless, young terrorists entering our country or aerspace. I’m sure the governor would understand.”

  “I will ask for a full written explanation then, from your hand, detailing why we were detained for no good reason at your tower, General, and I’m sure his daughter, Avery, will want to know why her silks were late. You are attending her ball next month, I assume.”

  “What is she talking about?” Marguerite hissed to Lucy.

  “The governor’s daughters are the hottest ticket to the top of Britland these days. Every military man on the continent is in line for a dance with them, hoping for a strategic marriage.” Marguerite knew all too well what that meant. She felt sorry for the girls. It wasn’t many months ago when she was in the same position, forced to endure grumpy military men and flippant aristocrats looking for a wealthy bride.

  The British official seemed flustered now. They stopped walking just outside the door where Marguerite hid. She tensed as he stammered. “No, I, well, that is to say, I haven’t received my invitation just yet.”

  Butterfield jumped on his hesitation with no mercy. “Oh, I am so sorry. Invitations went out months ago. Yours must have been lost in the post. Those blasted French pigeons are so unreliable. I may have an extra in my cabin, however, if you’d care to go. Not that you have time—important man like yourself.”

  “Russell, count the bolts of fabric below. I will escort the Captain to her quarters and make sure it is secure on that level of the ship.” The footsteps quickly faded in different directions, and Marguerite smiled as they sprinted down the corridor, then up to the deck.

  “Ah, I needed some fresh air after that. Butterfield is going to kill Louis though,” Lucy said.

  “Why would she do that? He didn’t know any better. He’s just a kid. I didn’t even know I was being hunted internationally. Ridiculous.” Marguerite tossed her braid and took a deep breath of the fresh air.

  “Well, then you two are the last to find out. Everyone knows about the rich girl who tried to single-handedly take down Douleur’s ship, against orders and with no regard to the well-being of her shipmates.”

  Marguerite gave Lucy a critical stare. “That wasn’t at all what happened.”

  “I’m just reporting the telegraph that went out to all military personnel. Seems they want to make an example of you.”

  Marguerite walked to the edge of the ship and looked over, straight down the tower of Bombay. It was somehow dizzying to see the apparatus reaching up from the ground to meet them.

  “We’d better head back down before they catch us up here,” Lucy tried to fill in the silence.

  “Yes. I suppose so.” Marguerite leaned back from the edge and turned to head for the stairs. “We can wait in the mess until all of this passes.” Just as they approached the hatch they had exited, two hats bobbed up from below.

  “Oh, no,” Lucy said. But she was too late to warn her friend. The Britlander and Butterfield had already seen them. Maybe he doesn’t know what I look like, Marguerite thought, as she smiled prettily at the ornery little man who now grasped a gilded letter in one hand.

  “You!” he cried. “You are under arrest!” He sprinted out of the stairwell and straight at Marguerite, but she was too quick. She dodged him and ran for the other end of the deck.

  “Apparently he does know what I look like,” she said as she tried to figure out her next move. If she went back down, he would only follow her. If she stayed up here too long, there would be a swarm of soldiers on the deck in no time. She only had one option.

  She ducked around the masts and riggings until she came to the gangway. There was no way to hide on the ship, in a snap decision she decided she might be able to lure the Brits back to the Tower of Bombay and ditch them there. She bolted across the gangway toward the small cabin perched on the top of the tower.

  “No!” Lucy cried from behind her. Marguerite looked back for a moment and saw the officer in hot pursuit. He raced past the last pile of barrels before the gangway, and a small foot stuck out at just the right time, sending him sprawling to his belly. Marguerite saw this from the tower where she raced up the stairway that wound around the little shelter. She was heading for the small refueling barrel perched at the top of the tower just below the rain funnel. Soon both guards were helping their general up off the gangway then racing to pursue her. Marguerite reached the end of the stairs and climbed out onto the cold, wet tank. The top was a small flat circle. Beyond that was nothing but a straight drop to the soil below.

  Somehow she’d never been afraid of heights except for the day Jacques forced her to climb the rope ladder between ships. This was turning into much the same kind of situation. She knew she was safe as long as she was steady. She knew she was just as high as she always flew on a ship. Sometimes they even flew much higher. The difference was that there was no ship beneath her now, no rails, no cozy little cabin to hide in. She was completely exposed on top of a two thousand foot tower with angry men pursuing her. Her knees suddenly felt weak, and she began to think this spur-of-the-moment idea may not have been the best course of action.

  Marguerite forced herself to focus on her goal. She needed to get back to the ship, and then they could fly away and leave the British tower guard behind. The deck of the Henrietta started to fill with curious onlookers. One of which was Outil. Perfect. She called out to the bot. “Outil! The rope!” Her arm wasn’t one hundred percent better, but she knew she could hold her own this time. “Fire her up!”

  Her nerves were another matter entirely. She saw Captain Butterfield hollering commands into the closest pipe as Outil quickly untied a rope on the main envelope of the Henrietta directly across from her precarious spot on the tallest tower in the world. Then she accidentally looked down.

  She couldn’t look down. She wouldn’t look down.

  She looked down again.

  She knew it was illogical, but as she felt the tower sway and creek with the wind, her thoughts suddenly turned to the fact that it wasn’t exactly a sturdy structure. She took a step to steady herself, and her foot slipped on the cold, wet surface. She righted herself quickly, but her heart was now pounding its way out of her chest. This plan was positively suicidal. She froze in place, and time seemed to stand still with her.

  There was no chute. There was no Jacques. There was no escape. She could hear the three soldiers thundering up the stairs behind her, hollering what she could only guess were obscenities in English. She heard her name from below and dared to open her eyes to see Outil standing ready with a length of rope. The Henrietta’s engines were roaring to life, and the ship was pulling out. Outil threw the rope, and Marguerite knew she had to move her body.

  Just move, she told herself. And she did. Both arms reached out and grabbed the rope as it swung past her head, but she wasn’t fast enough. Outil jumped forward and retrieved the returning line and threw it again as fast as lightening. This time, Marguerite was ready. She focused on the life line and grabbed with both hands as tightly as she could. She ignored the pain in her shoulder, closed her eyes, and jumped off the Tower of Bombay. The men behind her swore and yelled, but their voices faded away as she flew through the aether.

  I really must stop doing this.

  She opened her eyes just in time to see Outil standing right in front of her, ready to catch her. But she was moving too fast. She hit the bot at full speed, and they both sprawled on the deck as the little ship burst into full speed ahead—which wasn’t nearly as fast as Marguerite would have liked. She vowed then to figure out a way to get her hands on The Dragon’s technology. There had to be a way to get these ships to sail faster.

  “You
are bad luck and not worth your weight in pine needles. No wonder they locked you in the brig. I’ll do you one better. Josephine, lock her in her room. The bot too. I’ll let you out when we are in North Carolina—if I have forgiven you.” Just then the sky erupted in colors and flashes of light all around them.

  “Blasted Chinese rockets!” Captain Butterfield swore. “Get out the water cannons. We are going to be lucky to make it past Virginia now. Soak the envelope! Fire back!” The battle was fast but glorious. Water and fire were everywhere. The rockets exploding on and around the deck were deafening and colorful, but Marguerite knew that one strike to the shabby brown envelope holding them aloft with explosive gasses would knock the entire ship out of the sky like a dead bird.

  She ignored the captain’s order to go to her room, dodged the big girl, Josephine, and with Outil’s help grabbed a water cannon. She pointed it at the envelope, watching for incoming rockets. She successfully joined a few others in soaking the vile weapons before they did any damage to the ship, but as they finally flew out of range of the Tower of Bombay and the battle ended, she also soaked the captain. Butterfield marched up to her and took the hose. “Your quarters, now!”

  Somehow Marguerite knew this was an order she couldn’t ignore. She marched below deck sullen and wet. Outil followed, a persistent squeak coming from each step of her now soggy gears.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  At least this time, Marguerite had a porthole to watch out of. As they sailed south along the coast of the British Colonies, she saw much of the same landscape of her own New France. Thick forests and winding rivers covered and cut the land below her. She faced port side, so there were no mountains, but every now and then she got a glimpse of the ocean.