The Perilous Journey of the Not-So-Innocuous Girl (17 page)

“And here?” She motioned ahead of them.

“The propeller rooms.” He trotted ahead of her and opened the door.

Ice-cold air blasted Marguerite’s hair back from her head once again. She shielded her face and peered inside. Three huge metal propellers spun halo-shaped blurs at the end of each turbine. Bots were milling about, unaffected by the wind or noise. Marguerite shook her head in amazement. Her heart sped up to match the pulse of the engines, racing with the machinery in front of her. She thrilled to see such a modern marvel at work.

Marguerite couldn’t help herself, she started leaning forward, taking the smallest step toward the giant blades. She longed to touch the light gold alloy that encased the engine blocks. She could almost see the gears and cogs working against each other to move the mighty vessel forward.

Laviolette put a hand on her shoulder and gently drew her back. “Sorry, also off limits to humans!” He was shouting again. She appreciated him keeping his distance.

He closed the door and motioned for her to come back down the hall. “Let’s go somewhere that we can hear ourselves think.” He kept his arm to himself this time and strode deliberately to a wooden door in the midst of the metal ports that lead to the bot cabins. He opened it with a sweeping gesture and bowed as she walked through.

A darkened stairway met them. It reminded Marguerite of the cellar back home. Only each step here was carved from shining dark wood instead of cement. The same eeriness crept over her at the thought of plunging downward in the dark. She had the overwhelming desire to sit on the stair as she had back home—was it only two days ago? It seemed like a lifetime.

Her second thought was of the cricket. Her hand dove into her pocket. How could she have forgotten her precious cricket? There it was, smooth and cool, even through her glove. She squeezed it for security just as the door behind her closed and Laviolette flipped a switch flooding the passageway with light.

“You look as if you’ve seen a ghost, my dear.” His voice was laced with genuine concern.

She shook the sentiment off and stepped lightly down the now lit stairs. “It’s merely the evidence of the hurricane I’ve just endured. Where does this passage lead?”

“It’s the private captain’s entrance to the engine rooms and eventually leads to the bridge. I thought you’d like to see where all the decisions are made for the mighty Triumph.” He hopped past her down the stairs as he said this and smiled.

Marguerite knew she would never get over his teeth. No matter how crass or inappropriate he was, no matter how bossy and obnoxious, she would always admire that smile. She allowed herself the enjoyment for just a moment then marched on.

“Yes. I would very much love to see your seat of power.”

He gave a jolly laugh and bounded down the narrow hallway like a boy on summer holidays.

They passed several doors and passages and a few bots. The hallways weren’t as wide or as finely paneled as those near her quarters. Only a handful of lady passengers came their way, each one a giggling mess when they laid eyes on Laviolette. He greeted them all with equal parts courtesy and wicked grin, a fact that annoyed Marguerite and further set her mind against his intentions.

Laviolette pointed out different curiosities as they went: navigation headquarters with a direct speaking-tube to the crow’s nest, a weaponry room kept locked and rarely used on any of His Majesty’s passenger ships, the entrance to the cargo bays and water treatment facilities, and a large, bare room filled with escape pods that Marguerite found most fascinating. They resembled the estate’s rowboats she enjoyed as a child, only they were equipped with collapsible wings that could also work for makeshift sails when assembled upright and an onboard motor of the smallest design she’d ever seen.

“Remarkable!” she murmured to herself.

“Isn’t it, though?” Laviolette was once again genuine. “I had the fondest desire to be a smithy when I was a child, but my parents forbade me even visiting the shops. I did anyway, of course.”

“Of course you did,” Marguerite said absentmindedly as she inspected the fine craftsmanship of the aluminum-copper contraptions.

“I picked up enough to understand the genius behind this work, but I didn’t have access to the libraries and equipment your father has granted you. Quite admirable, actually, that a father would allow his daughter such a scientific education.”

“My father
is
quite admirable.” Marguerite was puzzled at the thought of parents not encouraging their children to seek after their desires. “It’s a pity you didn’t get to see his entire collection.”

“Perhaps I will.”

“Oh?” She looked at him quizzically.

“After I transport you ladies safely to your destination I’m due one month’s leave. I may just stop by your father’s place. He’ll be grateful for firsthand news of his wayward daughter.”

“Ha! I’d like to see that. He’s not fond of military men.”

“Yes, I gathered. Why is that?”

“I don’t know, actually. Says he’s known enough of them to suit his tastes.”

She noticed Laviolette’s expression fall a bit. “Yes, well, we best be moving along.” He motioned for her to leave with him.

After twisting and turning into the depths of the ship, they finally came up another narrow staircase and across a hallway into a brightly lit room lined with a bank of windows. Under each window was a desk of sorts covered in gauges and buttons, a bot or a human manning each desk.

“Captain on the bridge!” A man near the door stood and shouted. The entire room, including bots, stood and saluted Jacques Laviolette.

“As you were!” Laviolette acknowledged them with a nod of his head and began showing Marguerite the instrumentation. She took in each dial and knob. She had read about these types of vessels. All the new technology for tracking air pressure and wind speeds, combined with more efficient designs and lighter metals, allowed them to travel faster and more efficiently than any other vessel in the history of aeronautics.

She gazed out the almost invisible glass and took in the view one more time. If only her cabin had this view, she would never leave from dawn till dusk.

“What’s that?” Laviolette looked at her with a puzzled expression.

“Oh, I didn’t realize I was speaking out loud.” She charged ahead. “I was just saying that if my cabin had this view I would sit from dawn to dusk, never taking my eyes off it.”

“Hmm.” Laviolette looked out the window as well. “My cabin does.”

She looked back at him expecting sarcasm and that inappropriate grin. But he was still gazing at the horizon.

“Helmsman Twelve,” he barked over his shoulder.

“Yes, Captain?” a bot answered.

“Run an analysis of that storm system off the starboard. I don’t like the looks of it. We can’t afford to run into any Barbary Storm Riders this trip.”

“What is a storm rider?” Marguerite had read much of Barbary corsairs, looting and pillaging ships flying above the open seas. They were skilled aermen; even in their outdated dirigibles they had been rumored to catch and lay siege to the greatest of Europe’s flying ships.

“Nothing too terrible. Just a new group of corsairs who follow the storms, using them as cover to attack unsuspecting ships. But I didn’t mean to alarm you. It’s highly unlikely they would be this far north this time of year and also highly unlikely that they would be able to catch the Triumph.” He patted a metal beam with pride. “She’s the fastest ship on Earth.”

Marguerite stared at the dark clouds forming to the southwest of the ship and wondered at a race of people who would choose to live their lives in a perpetual storm. “How do they control their ships?”

“We’re not sure. It’s one of the great pirate mysteries.” He looked back at her. “But really, you shouldn’t worry about it. Would you like to see the steerage?” He raised his eyebrows, trying to hide the grin at his own joke.

“No, I should be getting back to Vivienne. She’s still not recovered from our early departure yesterday.”

“I’ll see you to your room.”

The couple left the bridge and traveled a much shorter distance up a single flight of stairs and down a small hallway to her cabin. Their talk was light along the way. Marguerite shed her bristles and asked a number of questions about the basic mechanics of some of the things she’d seen and Laviolette was more than happy to answer, eager to talk about his new command. They passed an ornate door with a large knocker.

“What is this?” Marguerite eyed the portal. It seemed out of place in the streamlined and very modern ship.

“That is my cabin. Lovely door, yes?” He smirked. “Wouldn’t want anyone to confuse it with their own little hole.”

Marguerite rolled her eyes and kept walking.

“Don’t you want to see the view?”

“You’re being disgusting again.” She was tired of playing cat and mouse with him.

“How so?”

“Every time I start to think you are interesting and a worthwhile conversationalist you say something lewd and unbecoming.”

“Well I can’t help myself. I have lived most of my life at sea with a pack of ruffians, hardly a pretty girl in sight.”

“And this is my cabin, so I will bid you adieu, Captain Laviolette.”

“Will you be joining me for lunch? And please call me Jacques.”

“No. But thank you for the tour, Captain Jacques.”

“Dinner then, and just Jacques will do nicely.” It was a statement, not a request.

Marguerite wanted desperately to say no, but the thought of the food he would have for her made her hesitate. “We shall see, Just Jacques.”

He rolled his eyes. “Right then, eight o’clock sharp in the dining hall. Do not fear our lovely shipmates. Once you let your bonnet down with them as you have with me today, they will love you.” He tousled her hair and chuckled.

Ah! Her bonnet! Her hair must be a complete rat’s nest by now! And here she had paraded through half the ship looking like a wild beast.

“As I said before, we’ll see.” She put a self-conscious hand to her head where his had been and nodded as she backed through the door and closed it soundly.

Outil was there to meet her. “M’lady! Are you quite all right? You are so … disheveled!” Marguerite could tell the bot was trying to be polite, choosing words carefully. She didn’t care.

“Yes.” She took her frustrations out on the automaton freely. “I’ve just been thrust through five wind tunnels whilst trying to dodge the advances of our good captain.”

“We can have you cleaned up in no time, miss. Would you care to try the shower, as I have learned it is called?” Outil motioned toward the water closet.

“Yes, I suppose so.” Marguerite had taken off her gloves and stood in front of the mirror finger-picking through her snarls, completely embarrassed she’d let her appearance get this out of hand. A funny thought crossed her mind then, and she paused while gazing at her reflection. Back home she had never cared about her looks. She enjoyed dressing up as much as any other girl, but out on the estate with Claude, running free, she was sure her hair had been twice as wild as it was now, probably littered with grass and leaves; why did she care so much about her hair now?

She pulled the loose strands back from her cheeks. “Outil, do you think I’m pretty?”

“Pretty?” Outil tipped her head in question.

“Never mind.” She was embarrassed that she had even asked such a silly question, and doubly embarrassed that she had asked a bot. She turned and walked to the bedroom, intent on enjoying this newfangled shower thing.

As she passed through she glanced at Vivienne. Her friend was still sleeping but her face was pale and drawn. She was almost a gray sort of color, there was no rose blush left in her usually merry cheeks. Marguerite noted the time and asked Outil, “Has she been awake to eat yet?”

“No, miss, I was about to ask your opinion of the matter.”

“Has she said anything? Roused at all?”

“No, miss.”

Marguerite stopped and doubled back to the bed where her friend lay. She placed the back of her hand on Vivienne’s forehead. It was cold and clammy. She tried waking her.

“Vivienne dear. Vivienne?” Closer now, Marguerite could just make out beads of sweat on the small girl’s brow. “Outil, we must find some sort of doctor. This is not a good sign at all.”

“Yes, miss.”

“Hurry to the bridge; it’s back down the hall opposite of the dining area. Get Laviolette or whomever is available and come right back.”

“Yes, miss.” Outil was already striding toward the door.

It took Outil longer than Marguerite expected to come back with help. At first she waited fitfully by her friend’s side. She used a damp cloth to wipe her forehead and neck, thinking this might bring her around, but to no avail. She tried talking to her, but felt silly after only a few sentences. She paced the floor and stared out the window, but found none of the solace she’d felt before in the sight of the beautiful seascape.

Eventually, she stood still and felt tears welling up in her eyes as she considered all the things she’d done wrong. At the time, she’d thought for certain there was no other choice but to take Vivienne away from her abusive home. Now that they were thousands of miles away from medical help and surrounded by strangers, she was filled with doubt and regret.