Terra Mechanica: A Steampunk Anthology (31 page)

“Our plan worked! Another ship saw the exploding Zeppelin and picked us up. You were in bad shape, though.” Roy pointed to the dagger. “That was embedded in your shoulder.”

Taking care not the jostle her bandaged shoulder, Marina reached for her prosthetic arm and put it back into place. “Your inflatable trousers worked,” Roy continued. “It helped me keep you floating until the boat came.”

Marina smiled. “Thank you for saving my life.”

“You saved mine first,” Roy said, shrugging. His expression suddenly lit up again. “So, I told my father about you, except for the part where you threatened to throw me into the ocean, and he was so grateful you brought me back, that he agreed to give you the ransom money I promised you in the first place.
And
he’s willing to pay for you to get back to Russia, if you take a slight detour and escort me to England.”

“He’s letting you leave?”

“
Well
. . . I may have left out the part where it’s my mother paying you and she thinks you’re taking me to my grandparents in Paris, but details, details.” He shrugged dramatically. “And you really can’t say no because you need a crew.”

“I suppose I do.”

“And I make a great crew.”

Marina lifted an eyebrow. “Yes, because you definitely look like you’ve worked a day in your life.”

“Also, I found these,” Roy blurted, his words speeding faster than the propeller in Marina’s deceased airship. In his hands were Larissa’s goggles. “I figured I’d give them back to you in exchange for your silence on the issue. They must have caught on a plank when you tossed them overboard. They were still attached to it when it floated over to where we were. And, well, you just looked so sad when you had to toss them.”

Marina took them from him, genuinely touched at the gesture. The leather was waterlogged and one of the lenses severely cracked, but none of that mattered to her now. Despite the gesture, she hesitated. “I’m still not—”

“Also, they managed to scavenge up quite a bit of your ship!” His over-enthusiasm was amusing. “It’s outside. Once you’re up to it, you should take a look.”

Marina sighed loudly. “You’re trying very hard to get me to agree to this.”

“Is it that obvious?”

She bit her lip as she paused a moment to think. “I will escort you to France,” she began slowly. “You will check in with your grandparents so there’s no blame on me. After that . . .” She shrugged. “I guess I can’t control you.”

The gratitude that filled his eyes was almost comical. “Marina, you are a hero.”

“I’m going to lose my biggest client,” she muttered amidst his celebrating.

“You won’t because no one will know.” Roy grabbed her hand, and she didn’t have the strength to bat him away. “And because I already told my father everything about how much of a genius you are. He has plans for you.”

Marina raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Engineers are valuable. Maybe not in Australia particularly, but I know England houses some of the best universities.”

Marina slowly shook her head. “If your father is offering me a job, I have to decline. I much prefer working for myself.” Never mind that she no longer had a ship.

“Not a job. An investment! A scholarship, per say, to a British university.”

“I don’t speak English, Roy.”

“But you could learn. Just stop being stubborn for one minute of your life and think about it.”

And Marina did, pondering the idea in her mind before answering with carefully chosen words. “Larissa thought I was always running away. Maybe she was right. But no more.” She paused before continuing. “She always talks about leaving Russia. Maybe this is our opportunity.”

Before Roy could misunderstand her, she added, “I’m not saying yes. I need time to think about this.”

Roy pulled back. “Of course, of course.” He happened to glance at the table. “You can keep the dagger, by the way.”

“It’s a bit morbid.” She stopped herself when something suddenly occurred to her. “What is the date?” Roy told her. Marina smiled gently. “Today’s Larissa’s birthday.” She looked over at the dagger once more. “I know what to do with that.”

When she finally had the strength to look, Marina’s heart nearly broke at the shattered remains of her ship. What remained was useless, at her first glance, nothing but burnt wooden wreckage.

A particular piece caught her attention, however, and her heart nearly stopped when she realized what she was looking at—the steering mechanism, with all the accessories still attached. As she inspected it with disbelieving eyes and a wandering metal hand, Marina realized that it was still fully intact, and, with a bit of refurbishment, could easily be reused.

That piece had been her father’s great gift to her, his way of validating her use to him, reminding her that she was capable of so much more than her disability. It had been the very foundation of their designs, the core, the very heart of the machine. And here it was back again.

A faint smile tugged at Marina’s lips. The Zeppelin could be rebuilt; the most important piece, and her the sum of her father’s work, remained. His legacy would continue through her.

Roy’s offer burned in Marina’s mind for the duration of the journey home. To work as an engineer for his father, the possible opportunity of attending a university . . . It was nearly overwhelming to take in. She needed time, she had told him as they parted. There was work to be done—fixing the airship was of paramount importance to her—but she insisted that she would be in touch soon.

Perhaps they would agree to pay for schooling for Larissa. That would certainly sway her decision.

The surrealism of the moment flooded Marina’s mind as she stood before the door of her home in the middle of the chilled night. With an amount of hesitation that surprised even her, she unlocked the door and entered the dark, single room. As her eyes adjusted, she immediately spotted Larissa sleeping in her bed. Marina smiled gently as she approached her and knelt, placing her hand on her sister’s shoulder. She spoke. “Larissa? Larissa, wake up.”

With heavy blinks, Larissa stirred into wakefulness, but her eyes widened with joy when she saw Marina. She surged up and nearly jumped into Marina’s arms. “I missed you.”

“I know, I know. I missed you, too.” Marina’s grip instinctively tightened when she heard Larissa sniff loudly, knowing well it was the first sign of her tearing up. “You can cry,
milakha
.”

And she did. Larissa crumbled into Marina’s arms, eventually managing a single, coherent phrase through her sobbing. “You came back?”

“I promised you, didn’t I?” Marina began stroking her sister’s dark hair, so much like her own. “Don’t ever forget that you’re the most important thing to me.”

Larissa’s grip on her tightened. “I missed you.”

“I know,” Marina replied, pulling back and removing a wrapped, brown package from her bag and setting it on the bed. With a tenderness known only between the two of them, Marina wiped the tears from her sister’s eyes and kissed her forehead. “Quiet your tears, my angel. I have quite the story for you.”

“Inspector Roux, there has been a kidnapping.”

Marcel Roux’s heart would once have raced at the words: a kidnapping! Immediately his keen mind would have gone to work, investigating, interviewing, uncovering, and rescuing. He had been the première specialist of Paris—of Europe.

No longer.

“I am sorry to hear it,” he replied in defeat. His hoarse voice sounded only vaguely like his own. He did not even look at the stranger at the door and looked instead out of the window of his invalid hospital room at the smoke-clouded rooftops of his beloved Paris.

“Sir, we need your expertise.”

“Monsieur, I need it far more than anyone, so if you can locate it back on the streets of Aÿ-Champagne, do feel free to return it to me.”

“Ah.” The visitor moved from the doorway to the foot of Marcel’s bed. “I was told there had been an accident in Champagne, but no one claimed that the famed Marcel Roux had lost his expertise there. The whole of inspectors everywhere might have rushed to the scene to discover it for themselves.”

“You are too kind, though misinformed.” Marcel turned his face into the light to look at the stranger to make his point.

Yet his guest seemed unfazed by the appearance of his scarred face, or by the clouded eye or the missing fingers of his right hand. If that was not enough to dissuade the youthful gentleman, then Marcel Roux could not demonstrate the rest, for his legs no longer obeyed the command to rise and walk.

“What is your name, Monsieur?”

“Junior Inspector Clement Noël, sir.” The young man saluted with eager haste. Everything about him proclaimed him green: the freshly tailored police inspector’s uniform, the spotless leather boots, the pristine hat. The boy so crowded the tiny room that Roux was curious as to who had encouraged him into police inspecting rather than the brute squad.

“Inspector Noël, as you must clearly see, I am of no use to you.”

“That is not what I am told by countless others. Will you not even hear the details of the case and advise me in what direction I should take?”

“Fine.” Marcel gave in only to get it over with. It was a mistake to entertain even the slightest notion that he could any longer be helpful to any cause, let alone a kidnapping. “I will hear it.”

“The wife of a prestigious Frenchmen—who must remain anonymous for the sake of the remainder of his family’s safety; we shall call him Monsieur M—was taken from Parc Montsouris as she walked with her child, who was also taken.

“It happened this morning in broad daylight. There are two witnesses, but they have given us completely different stories. The only physical evidence we have are the baby’s pousette, which we have left untouched at the park, awaiting your perusal of the scene.”

“My . . .
my
perusal of the scene?” Roux gasped at the audacity of the junior inspector. “I cannot stand. I can barely see. My hand is useless.”

“Monsieur, it is your brain we need. The rest of you, well . . . There is a man who specializes in chairs that can move themselves. You could sit in that chair as well as you could sit here.”

“I could not afford it.”

“Monsieur M has very deep pockets. He specifically said he must have you and no one else. So if he must have you, you must have that chair. We could pick one up on our way to the scene. What say you, Monsieur?”