The Perilous Journey of the Not-So-Innocuous Girl (23 page)

“Outil!” Marguerite screamed and pointed.

“Hold on, m’lady!”

The bot pushed the throttle forward and instead of letting the wind carry them away in the path of their predecessors, she pulled back as they caught the rush of air and it sent them shooting upward, just missing the farthest tip of the stern where the large propellers had come to a complete halt.

Outil was a natural; she successfully steered the tiny aership about the Triumph like a bee buzzing at a large flower. From this angle, Marguerite could see a few parachutes had opened in the distance. She prayed that more passengers would have the good sense to use theirs and make it to safety.

She could also see the battle still raging on the deck below. Three large corsair ships had tied off to the Triumph, holding her in a dead standstill midair.

Pirates seemed to cling to every surface of the once-beautiful ship. There were battling bots on the riggings, the crow’s nest, and they seemed to have gained full access to the main door leading below. She strained to find Jacques in the chaos, but knew he was most likely already where she thought he would be, just below the surface of the deck.

“Outil, back to the stern!” Marguerite commanded.

“Miss?”

“The stern! Take us back to the stern!”

“Yes, miss!”

Outil brought the little ship around to the rear of its large mother once again as Marguerite turned to the other passengers. “Now’s your chance for glory, boys! Who’s with me?” She held up a revolver in each hand.

The men looked at her like she was insane.

“We’re going to get Captain Laviolette!” she cried louder, thinking maybe they couldn’t hear her.

The men looked at each other, then one turned to her and asked, “How do you know where he is?”

“Because he’s not going to leave his ship to these monsters. We have to help him and get him out of here!”

The man nodded, seeming to understand, and took a gun from her.

“Anyone else?” She pulled another gun from her waist belt.

The man next to her nodded as well and took a gun. The last man hesitated, then reached out a hand, presumably not wanting to look a fool in front of the very pretty girl he was glancing at in the seat next to him.

“Good! Then follow me!” She gave him a gun and took out her own. “Outil! Drop us off just over the rotor platform, and watch to pick us up there again!”

“Miss! We only have fuel to maneuver like this for about another twenty minutes before we will need to start coasting toward the land.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll be back before then!”

The floor of the propeller room was void of battle and extended well beyond the bottom of the large propellers that sat eerily still now. Outil expertly guided the small ship close enough that Marguerite and her companions would be able to jump aboard.

Marguerite unbuckled her safety harness and took a deep breath, gathering her skirts about her tightly and stepping up onto her seat. The open air ship gave her the perfect platform from which to launch herself onto the slick, sloping floor, but the wind made it difficult to stay balanced while crouched under the large, translucent wings.

Marguerite cursed her skirts for tangling and blowing wildly, wrecking her concentration. Ignoring them as best she could, she steeled herself, counted to three, and hurled herself toward the center of the deck. Her three companions followed after her, all of them landing hard and rolling to a stop. One landed just before the edge, but quickly scampered up to join them.

“This way!” she shouted, and ran into the bay, only stealing one glance at the beautiful light-gold machinery she had so wanted to touch only a few hours before. How could so much have changed between now and then?

They reached the door and opened it carefully, checking the other side for the enemy. The passage was dim, but quiet, and seemed clear. They edged forward, Marguerite checking each door for the red glow of bodies with her goggles as they went.

“Where’s the blasted tank room?” she hissed to one of her companions.

“It’s farther down, m’lady, but why would he be in the tank room?” She noticed the men exchange looks of dismay, as if they just realized they had followed a lunatic to their deaths.

“Because he said he wasn’t going to let these pirates have his ship!”

Suddenly a corsair passed in front of them from another passage. He was clearly startled to see the small band. He began to fire on them but the man to Marguerite’s left had kept his gun up and at the ready and fired before the pirate could take good aim.

She pushed all the air out of her lungs, steadying herself and raising her gun to the ready, drawing the hammer back.

Just ahead, another group of pirates entered the passage. The man to her left, once again, took quick shelter in a doorway and lost no time in firing, hitting his target every time. The second man hid and fired randomly but the third wasn’t so lucky. He shot wildly from the center of the hallway and was quickly taken down by the oncoming corsairs.

Marguerite could only press herself into an indentation in the wall and watch the bodies fall and jerk. One of her own, several of the enemy.
What am I doing? What am I doing?
Her mind was on fire.
I have to focus and get out of here!

“Where is the room?” she hollered to the remaining two, panic starting to seep into her chest.

“Just there!” One pointed to the next indentation where a door would be.

Her head was reeling. This was nothing like playing games in the forest. What had she been thinking?

One door more. She could make it. She gathered her skirts and looked to the man across the way as he reloaded.

“I’m going!” she cried.

“I’ll cover you!” was his reply.

She dove for the open hallway; bullets zinged past her from every direction. One grazed her ear, burning the pale skin like a hot iron. An answer of more bullets came from her companions to the rear. She ignored her ear and shot wildly in front of her, not caring if she hit or missed her target. The door she had been aiming for came up much more quickly than she had anticipated and she nearly missed it. She noticed the handle just in time and grabbed for it to stop her body from hurtling forward any more just as a rusty pirate ball made its bed in the soft flesh of her upper arm.

“Aagh!” she cried out in pain, grabbing her wound with the opposite hand and trying the handle with her injured arm which still held the gun.

Locked. “Damn it.” Bullets were still flying; another one grazed her skirts. She felt tears well up in her eyes. “I am not going to die here.” She said it aloud as if cheering herself on from some safer place.

She let the handle go and started banging the door with the butt of her gun. Every knock was a huge effort and caused pain to shoot from the wound to her head.

I’m going to die in this stupid hallway! I don’t want to die in this stupid hallway!

She tried the locked handle once more. To her surprise the door gave way just enough for her eyes to meet the barrel of Jacques’s gun just below his eyes.

“Marguerite! What are you doing?” He glanced at the arm she was holding, blood seeping through her fingers. “You’re bleeding! Quick, inside.”

“There are others,” she said as she stumbled into the bay.

Jacques pushed her along and peered back outside. He quickly slammed the door behind them, locking it.

“What are you doing? Two of your men are out there helping us!”

“No, I'm afraid they aren’t. They are all fallen.” His voice was somber but he recovered quickly and came at her. “What on earth are you doing here? When I thought I heard a lady’s cry I almost didn’t open the door, thinking it was a trick of the enemy. But my gut told me it might be you. You make me feel such a fool! But I was right!” He helped her to a crate and peeled her hand away to look over her wound. He tore the arm of her dress open to get a better view.

“It doesn’t look that bad as far as bullet wounds go. It was a clean shot. We can mend it later.”

Marguerite noted it was like watching a novel come to life. If she didn’t hurt so much she probably would have found herself filled with complicated feelings as he ripped the rest of her sleeve off and wrapped it around the wound tightly enough to stop the bleeding but not so tight as to cut the circulation. She cried out in pain, then quickly bit her lip as he secured the makeshift bandage and ignored her cries.

“Explain yourself.” He was finished and looking her in the eye with only the slightest hint of sympathy.

“I knew you’d be here,” she managed to croak over the banging that had ensued on the door. “When I heard your message on the talkie, I knew you were heading here to blow up the ship. It’s the only way to take all of it down at once—the ship and the pirates.”

His face was slick with sweat and seemed even older now with his brow furrowed. He sighed.

“Of course you are right, but why are you here?” He reached toward her face and she stiffened, instantly thinking of their kiss in the corridor. But his hand rested on her goggles and gently pulled them down so they hung around her neck. She hadn’t realized she was still wearing them.
Fool
, she thought.

“To save you … ” Now she felt even more a fool. What had she been thinking? She hadn’t saved anyone. She’d gotten three good men killed and nearly lost her arm in the process of fulfilling her delusions.

“You came to save me?” He chuckled, but not a cruel or sarcastic laugh, an honest and sincere laugh of admiration. “And how are we supposed to get out of here? I can’t have you die with me. Now I must save you
and
destroy my ship.”

“Outil is waiting. She’s a good pilot. She dropped me at the propeller room … I jumped … she will be there. Just tell me what to do. I imagine we j-just cut the hoses t-to the envelope, am I right?” She was stuttering like a scared child. All of the strength and determination she felt earlier was gone now that she was looking at him face to face.

He stared at her. Marguerite couldn’t make out his gaze. Was it shock at her gall, or amazement at her stupidity?

Quickly as he could, he scooped her into his arms and held her to him. She cried out in pain as he squeezed her open wound, coaxing blood all over his shirt.

He let go of her just as quickly. “You silly woman. You are absolutely right. I am sorry about your arm, but it’s not as serious as the matter at hand. I must finish cutting these hoses and get us out of this room if we want to live to see the biggest explosion the Atlantic has witnessed in a century!”

“Here, put this on.” He handed her a small breathing mask lying in a pile on the floor, then jumped to his feet with a renewed vigor and began cutting at the hoses attached to the tanks.

Marguerite strapped the mask on with her good arm and reached for the knife tucked into her boot.

Jacques saw her with the weapon and shook his head, pointing silently to the other side of the room.

She copied his movements, cutting as fast as she could with her good hand, keeping the wounded one close to her body to minimize the shooting pains. Soon the air was filled with the hiss of gasses long cooped up and aching to escape. Once they’d made their way halfway through the room, Jacques took her good arm and motioned for them to leave. She followed him to the door and stopped to grab the pistol she’d dropped on the way. She handed it to him but kept her knife for herself.

The banging had stopped some time ago, but Jacques was cautious anyway. He slowly opened the door and peered outside. Marguerite’s chest suddenly lit up like a ray of sunshine had found its way to her heart. Confused, she was afraid a spark had somehow already ignited her dress and the whole place would go up in flames around them both, but then she remembered … the cricket … Outil was looking for her!

Jacques looked at her strangely then signaled that the passage was clear and grabbed her uninjured hand again, motioning for her to run. They shot into the passageway, running as quickly as they could toward the propeller room. Marguerite winced as they jumped over the dead bodies of their fallen crewmen. Their heads lolled at strange angles, blood was freely flowing on the gray floors, and they were most certainly dead.

Footsteps soon rang out behind them. Growling voices cried out in a strange language. There was no time to remove the bodies.

Marguerite turned to see her assailants just as they reached the propeller room door. Angry men with long beards and high turbans were charging at them, swords flashing and guns being drawn.

Jacques shoved her inside. As long as they didn’t fire, they were safe, they were almost safe.

Marguerite could see Outil’s ship had just made one pass. She ran as close to the edge as she dared, watching Outil circle around to make another pass. The wind whipped furiously at her skirts and hair. She turned to see Jacques trying to bar the door. He was struggling with the latch, it seemed to be jammed. She ripped off her gas mask and cried, “She’s coming, Jacques! Hurry!”

He relinquished the door and sprinted to the edge of the deck where Marguerite was waiting. She pulled her own goggles over her eyes just as Outil made her way toward them in the flying pod. The corsairs burst through and raised their weapons on the two as Outil sailed just below. Jacques grabbed Marguerite’s hand and together they jumped for the escape pod as the pirates fired through the open door, the tiny spark from the gun roaring into a huge ball of flames.

A thunderous explosion rocked the sky and the sea, sending the tiny boat-plane hurling through space along with flaming debris—all that was left of the Triumph.