“She looks like whom?” She asked. “I hope you were going to say me. Because that would be very fitting,” she said as she lifted her pistol and pulled back the hammer, pointing it at Marguerite.
“Why is that?” Marguerite barked back.
“Because you are my daughter.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
All eyes were on Marguerite as the room waited for her to reply to the statement. Marguerite could only muster one word, “Liar.”
“I assure you, it’s true. All you have to do is look at your face to see the resemblance. I could spend the next ten minutes telling you my tale of woe, how your father was a tyrant and chased me out when he got tired of me, but wouldn’t let me take my baby daughter along. But that is old news, and we have much bigger problems. What is a mother to do with four very naughty children? Hmm?”
She motioned with the gun for all of them to move back, as she stepped in the room and Boots closed the door behind them. “I knew you were not to be trusted from the start,” she pointed at Jacques with the barrel of the pistol. “Honest eyes, tell no lies. I was certain when I saw the way you looked at my girl here, then proceeded to lie about knowing her. You even called her a wench. Tsk tsk. It only turns tacky when you lay it on too thick.”
Lucy took a step closer to Marguerite, and Douleur drew her other gun with her free hand and pointed it at her. “You are pretty, but I can already tell you are useless—only good for menial labor, at most. Possibly fetch a price in the Jamaican slave market, but your skin is much too dark to get any real money out of you there.” Marguerite reached down for Lucy’s hand and squeezed it.
“The bot is extraordinary, and I can deal with her programming. I especially like her voice. Very nice, feminine touch. You must let me know where you picked her up. I’d take a ship full of bots like her, much better than this old bag of bolts.” She indicated Boots with the nod of her head.
“So that leaves you, Marguerite.” Captain Douleur smiled a strange smile. It seemed to be full of nostalgia and sadness, but there was still cruelty underneath. “You grew up very, very fast. I’m under no delusion that we can sail off together, the happy mother and daughter pirate team, but there must be another way to deal with you besides killing you. No?”
Marguerite was as fast as lightning. She pulled the little gun from her pocket and fired straight at Captain Douleur without a moment’s hesitation. The captain fired as well, but her two guns were half a second behind Marguerite’s. As the blast of electricity from her tiny pistol struck Douleur between the eyes, the balls from the pirate’s pistols found purchase in Lucy’s arm and Outil’s head.
The bot fell helplessly to the floor, and the girl stumbled to her knees as the pirate captain crashed in a heap. “No!” Marguerite didn’t know who to turn to first. Lucy was bleeding, the red liquid dripping on the ground caught Marguerite’s attention first. She jumped to the drawer still open in the bureau, grabbed a silk camisole, and pushed it onto her friend’s wound.
“I’m alright. She just grazed me a bit,” Lucy said between tears. “Check Outil!”
As Marguerite turned to the ruins of her dearest friend, Jacques was already in action. He had Captain Douleur’s hulking automaton, Boots, by the arms and was trying to wrestle him down. A useless move for a human to make against a bot of that size, but he tried nonetheless.
The lead ball had hit Outil in the left eye, tearing off half of her lovely face and rendering her circuitry completely dead. As Marguerite stared at the amazing network of gears and cogs that made up her friend’s inner workings, she began to sob fully. She was so overcome she didn’t register the robot voice behind her.
“Master Jacques. There is no need to subdue me. I am not a threat to you.” Jacques let go cautiously and looked at Boots who stood still over his mistress laid flat on her back on the floor. A black mark was seared across her forehead. The bot lifted up one foot and kicked her hard in the ribs. Captain Douleur groaned but did not wake up. “How do you like this useless bucket of bolts now?” he asked in his monotone voice.
“Jacques!” Marguerite wept. “She killed Outil.” She lay her head down on the bot’s hard metal chest and let her whole heart spill out in tears and sobs.
“Marguerite, it’s not too late. We can get her to Claude. We can do this; we can save all of us. What on earth did you shoot Douleur with?”
Marguerite gasped through her tears, “I don’t know, just something Claude gave me.” She handed the weapon over to Jacques. “He told me not to point it at anyone I liked. I couldn’t think of anyone in the world I liked less than her right now, so I just shot her.”
“You did well, my love. This is going to be alright. We are going to make it. Just stay with Outil. Boots, can you help me?”
“Of course, Master Jacques. But only on one condition.” Jacques looked surprised at the bot. “What is that?”
“You call me by my real name, Bradley.”
“Excellent. Bradley it is. Let’s tie this pirate lady up and get her ship back in the air.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Because the Dragon had such a terrible reputation, they had no problems flying north along the coast. Any ships they passed steered far away from them, and none questioned their path. A few Chinese rockets went up from New Amsterdam as they flew past, but nothing that was a serious threat. Marguerite guessed the new governor wasn’t as friendly to pirates as he’d been made to sound.
Jacques and Bradley successfully repaired the engines and had them flying with a loyal skeleton crew of now ex-pirates who were more than happy to see Douleur bound and gagged in the brig. They steered the Dragon away from land until they reached New France. Then he ordered the French flag flown high, and they sailed up the Saint Lawrence River to Montreal where they took a sharp turn to starboard and sailed on to the northern forest.
Marguerite spent the entire day and a half voyage in a cabin far away from the Douleur’s awful captain’s quarters. Outil lay on the bed and Marguerite lay next to her, her head on Outil’s lifeless chest. Only as they began to drop out of the sky in sight of their destination, did she rise and look out the porthole. The thick pines of the north were there to greet her once again. She continued to gaze through the trees until she could make out the shapes of Claude’s empty barn and humble cottage. She pulled her goggles down and adjusted for distance. Claude stood in front of his house, wearing his own goggles and looking back up at her. He waved up at the ship in welcome. She assumed someone had hailed him from the deck or sent a wireless telegraph or pigeon. She wondered what had become of Hector, the little Spanish swallow.
Marguerite helped Jacques push open the gate; then they carried Outil’s body out together. Marguerite burst into a new fit of tears when she saw Claude approaching.
“Can you save her?” she wept.
“Of course I can.” He motioned for Jacques to carry her to the makeshift smithy forge in his barn. Marguerite felt a warm arm around her shoulders. She turned to see Louisa smiling with concern at her.
“If anyone can fix something he already dreamed up and built, it’s Claude,” she said in low voice.
Marguerite sniffed a bit as she watched the two men with the lifeless metal form. “You’re right.”
“I have someone I want you to meet if you can spare a minute.” Marguerite nodded, grateful for the kindness, as Louisa led her to the house. There in a cradle in the back bedroom lay the most lovely baby girl, all peaches and cream skin, with a perfect little nose and dark lashes brushing pink cheeks. She was sleeping soundly, dressed in a white eyelet gown. A blanket of soft wool was tucked around her in the handmade bed.
“She’s just lovely,” Marguerite whispered. It felt wrong to talk louder than that, almost like she was in church.
“She is strong and healthy; we couldn’t ask for more,” Louisa said as she smiled down at her baby.
“Outil would have been completely fascinated by her.”
&n
bsp; “Will be,” Louisa corrected.
“Will be,” Marguerite echoed, barely audible.
A knock at the door made both women jump. Marguerite moved first. “I’ll get it. You stay with your baby,” Louisa nodded, and Marguerite left to see who was there. A very tall, highly decorated aerman stood in the door flanked by four officers of equal pomp and circumstance.
“Lady Marguerite Vadnay?” the man boomed, a harsh contrast to the sweet sleeping baby.
Marguerite answered as she stepped outside and closed the door, “Yes, that is me.”
“I am Admiral Auboyneau and I hereby accuse you of high treason, obstruction of His Majesty’s orders, theft of an escape boat …” He continued to list several other crimes Marguerite was fairly certain she had committed. She sighed and held out her arms waiting for someone to chain them again. This is becoming too much of a habit, she thought. But they were not bound. Instead, the admiral kept talking.
“We have also been informed that you have helped to complete a mission of great importance to His Majesty and have not only discovered the technology behind the pirate ship the Dragon but have brought the ship to our aether along with its infamous pirate captain. Because of these special circumstances, I, Admiral Auboyneau, by the power vested in me, do hereby drop all charges against Lady Vadnay, under the condition that she never again volunteers for duty in His Majesty’s Royal Aerforce or any other branch of the French military, and that she hereby be released from her services with a dishonorable discharge.”
The Admiral then leaned in and whispered in her ear, “We had to issue some sort of punishment or they’d have our heads. We felt this fit the crime.” He stood back and returned to his full height. “This concludes your service to King and Country. We thank you for your efforts, your success, and your willingness. Godspeed.”
With that, the admiral bowed low and then stood in a more relaxed fashion. “Now, where is this Douleur? I can’t wait to get my hands on her.”
“She is locked in the brig of the Dragon. I think you’ll find ample evidence in the captain’s quarters to hang her.” Marguerite couldn’t quite believe she would ever speak of hanging someone in her life, much less her own mother. Then again, she hadn’t had time to really think about the fact that suddenly she had a mother again—and a pirate mother to boot. She wondered if she should get to know her a bit better, find out why she left. Was it really because she just wanted to see the world? Or had something more sinister happened? And why hadn’t she let Marguerite know she was alive all these years?
It was a lot to take in. She was definitely going to need a soft bed, warm tea and a few nights of good sleep before she would be able to sort this mess out.
“Marguerite!” Another voice called to her from where the military ship had dropped lift. “Dearest!”
She looked past the admiral and his men who were now heading for the Dragon and saw her father scurrying toward her on the dirt road. It was almost a comical sight. His cane flopped out of rhythm as his short legs hopped along at a much faster pace than he was used to. His perfectly pressed dress trousers were covered in dust, and his monocle bounced right out of his eye and flopped on his chest. Marguerite made her own quick move toward her father, and they met in an embrace.
“My dear girl, they told me all that has happened. I couldn’t be more proud of you. I mean, that is to say, you could have gone about all of this in a less haphazard fashion, but I’m so grateful that you’re home.”
“Thank you, Father. I am very glad to be home as well.” And the tears sprang to her eyes again. She stopped trying to fight them. She cried whenever she felt like it now. She’d cried for Outil all the way home. When she wasn’t crying for Outil, she cried for Jacques’s safe return. Last of all, she cried for herself. She reached into the pocket of her flight suit and pulled out the bundle of letters tied in red ribbon and handed them to Lord Vadnay.
“Did they tell you about—her?” she said.
He took them from her and turned them over in his hands, peering at them as if they were some sort of strange new contraption. “Where did you get this?” he whispered.
“I found them in Captain Douleur’s cabin,” Marguerite pointed up to the Dragon. “I thought I recognized the script when I first found them, but there was no time to read them. It was only later when I realized that I recognized it because it was your handwriting.”
“Marguerite, are you saying what I think you are saying?”
She nodded her head. “I believe my mother is alive.”
Her Father took his monocle out again and wiped it off with a handkerchief. “My dear girl. We must talk through this. Maybe not tonight, as you look completely worn to the bone, and I know you are worried about Outil, but soon. We will speak of all of it soon.” She nodded again and wiped her face on the handkerchief he now offered to her.
“Did you know? Did you have any idea?” She searched his face for any hint of a lie.
“No. I had no idea where she was, honestly. I paid various men to track her for several years, but after losing her in the pirate-infested Indies, I figured she was gone for good.” He placed the letters in his vest pocket and took her hands.
“Let’s go up to my ship. You can rest there.”
“That sounds very appealing,” she said. And father and daughter caught the next lift back into the sky.
Chapter Thirty
Marguerite hadn’t slept in the past few days. She wondered if she would ever sleep again. Lucy joined her in the night and the two played cards and talked until Lucy finally returned to her own cabin before dozing off. Marguerite lay in bed staring at the ceiling, replaying everything she’d been through in the past few weeks.
She thought about all of her stupid decisions, some of her more daring successes, and she tried not to think about Captain Douleur. She decided she would refuse to associate her with the word mother. The woman was a beast. When she allowed herself to dwell on their encounter, she shuddered at the comparison her father made in the library not so long again in Montreal. Was she really just like her mother? Was there some sort of magical tie that bonded a child to its parentage even when they are not raised by their hands? Could all of these desires to be daring and to travel be in her blood?
A tapping at her door early in the morning brought her away from this morbid train of unanswerable questions. Marguerite was so fatigued and so used to having Outil answer her door and filter the visitors for her that she hadn’t thought before calling out, “Come in!”
The latch turned and Jacques stood in the doorway, the morning sun shining in through her porthole onto his greasy clothes and jubilant expression. “I have wonderful news. Claude worked through the night with the parts we found on the Dragon, and Outil should be functioning again this afternoon.”
Marguerite sat up, gathering the covers about her chest in an attempt at modesty. “That is marvelous!”
This happy news was just what she needed to pull her mind away from all of her troubling ancestral thoughts. She smiled at Jacques who suddenly registered the situation and Marguerite’s clothing—or lack thereof.
“Oh, dear. So sorry. I’ll be back later,” he whispered and started to close the door.
“No,” Marguerite reached out for him. “Please come here, for just a moment. Hand me my shawl.” Jacques looked at the floor and smiled. Then he looked up and down the hallway and slipped inside, closing the door quietly behind him. He picked up the soft pink wrap and was at her side in an instant. He took her hand and held it to his lips then ran his fingers over her cheek, cradling her face.
Marguerite wrapped the shawl around her shoulders and whispered, “And what of you? Is His Majesty satisfied with your service?”
He kissed her hand again. “Why yes, he is. He has offered me a promotion and command of the Renegade once again. An actual command this time, not a cover for another operation.”
“And do you think you might take it?”
> “That depends,” he smiled at her.
“On what?” she wasn’t going to give him any leeway.
“On whether or not I am compelled to take it by my low status as a single man in this new world.” He smiled at her as he kissed her hand again and held it at his lips.
“I believe you are safe to pass up this particular commission without any fear of the law hunting you down,” she said with a smile. Then her face suddenly turned dark.
“What is it,” he asked.
“Only, I just can’t believe you’d still want a harebrained woman like me as your wife.”
“I don’t want a harebrained woman as my wife. I want Lady Marguerite Vadnay as my wife, and she’s anything but harebrained.”
“Do you really mean that?” she asked, hating how pathetic she sounded. But she needed to know. She had to be certain.
“Yes. I mean that.”
“Then the answer is yes.” Jacques leaned in slowly and Marguerite closed her eyes, savoring the moment before their lips met, when a fierce banging came at the door.
“Why does everyone seem to think I need to be up early this morning? Stay here.” Marguerite walked to the door and opened it a crack. A deckhand stood in the hall, his face flushed and his breath coming in large gulps. “What’s the matter?” Marguerite’s chest tightened.
“It’s her, miss.” He gulped a few more breaths then finished. “She’s escaped.”
“Who?”
“Douleur! They were escorting her back to Montreal to stand trial, but she got away. I thought you’d want to know.”
“Oh, cogs and sockets. Thank you.”
“Yes, miss.”
Perilous Journey of the Much-Too-Spontaneous Girl Page 21