“Oh, yes, lovely. We are letting you go. But we are still coming out on top.” She wasn’t sure she wanted to know what they meant. Once she was cut free, she started to try and climb out of the catapult, but they shoved her back down. “Now, how do you suppose she thinks she’s going to get back, Jo? Can’t fly, can’t even hold a rope.”
Marguerite looked up to the man wearing her goggles on his head as he said, “Only one way for it.” He leaned in to trip the trigger on the catapult, but before he could, Marguerite reached out and snatched her goggles back, pulling his head down with them. His forehead smashed into the bucket of the catapult as it launched Marguerite and her goggles high into the air between the two ships.
For the second time that morning, she found herself flying helplessly through the aether, thousands of feet above the Atlantic Ocean. Marguerite decided she wasn’t sure this particular type of adventure suited her at all. Maybe Jacques was right. Before she could finish exploring that thought, she landed with a painful crash onto the deck of the Renegade. A cheer went up, and battle broke out.
She kept her eyes glued shut, listening to the clang of grappling hooks hitting the opposite deck, the crack of gunfire, and the thudding of running feet. She tried to blink quickly to see where she could crawl for safety when familiar cold metal arms gathered her up from behind and carried her through the fray to the decks below.
“Outil!” she sobbed.
“Do not worry, m’lady. We have clean water at the ready. You’ll be good as new in twenty minutes.”
“I’m so sorry; I didn’t mean to cause all this trouble.”
“Hush now. It is time to rest. Let the men fight, and the automaton clean.”
“Where is Jacques? Can I see him? I need to apologize.”
“If my guess is correct, m’lady, he is still aboard the other ship. I’m sure he’s busy battling Captain Douleur.”
“But, Outil, I’ve been so horrible. I caused this whole skirmish, and now he’s in mortal danger,” she sobbed the words out as best she could, but she couldn’t finish. Outil opened the door to what must have been the washrooms. A blast of steam hit Marguerite in the face, and she could smell the strong lye soap.
“We’ll have plenty of time to talk once we get you cleaned up. Hold on, this might be a bit hot,” Outil said. Marguerite felt the bot take her goggles and pull her boots off her feet then lift her up and over the lip of one of the giant brass wash tubs.
She cringed and prepared herself for a scalding, backside first. But the air roared with explosion and the Renegade rocked dangerously from side to side. The water in the tub sloshed up to meet her prematurely, and Outil slipped and dropped her in. Marguerite had been so cold from sitting on the deck of the pirate ship, covered in wet who-knows-what, that she felt she might actually be on fire when the hot water hit her. Her whole body went under in the giant tub, and every nerve ending threatened to burst from the sudden heat. She pushed herself up to the surface as best she could, coughing and spitting soapy water.
“Oh, dear. I am so terribly sorry,” Outil said as she climbed back to her feet and handed Marguerite a bar of soap.
“Gears and goblins!” Marguerite cried. “It’s as hot as the river Styx!”
“Yes, and I have prepared a solvent that should do well to get the tar, and whatever else is in this mixture, off,” Outil said. “Just keep your eyes closed, miss.”The ship rocked again, and the sound of battle raged on above them. They heard the Renegade’s secondary engines roar to life and felt the ship lurch and sway back into movement.
“I need to get these clothes off,” Marguerite ordered as she took the rag soaked in fuel and scrubbed furiously at her face. “We need to help.” She winced with pain as Outil pealed the ruined flight suit off her injured shoulder; then she carefully removed everything else as best she could.
“I’m afraid your arm may be dislocated, m’lady.” The bot carefully took Marguerite’s favorite pink underwear and hung them in front of the drying ovens.
“Yes, I would agree. But this lye soap seems to be doing the trick.” She used her good arm to reach up and rub the cake all over her head. “Oh, Outil, I don’t even want to see a mirror for at least a month! Help me get this through my hair. Would you?”
The two continued to work on Marguerite’s hair and body as the battle raged on. Being with her bot and safely able to scrub the events of the morning away was helping Marguerite recharge. She was considering all her options and determined to actually help this time. “At least this ship seems to have a bit more staying power than the Triumph did,” Marguerite noted. By this time in the battle with the last pirates they’d encountered, the Triumph had been bursting to pieces.
“I’m fairly certain that the Renegade is doing most of the firing, m’lady. Officer Vuitton and I have been preparing rigorously the past few days. I found him to be a very intelligent commander. I can only assume he would be as intelligent in battle as well.”
“Oh, Outil, I’ve made such a mess of things,” Marguerite rested her head in her hands as the bot continued to work the knots and goo out of her hair.
“M’lady, you haven’t done anything to intentionally hurt anyone. These are unfortunate circumstances. You could possibly—” the bot stopped short.
“What? Please, let me know what I could possibly do other than what I have done.” She slammed her hands into the water and pushed away the other clothing floating around her.
“It was nothing.” The bot sounded a bit afraid.
“Tell me, Outil. I order you.”
“Very well. You could stop to think about the outcome of your choices before you act, m’lady. Especially when it concerns the safety of yourself and other people.”
Marguerite didn’t have time to lose her temper at the bot for her insolent comment. Just as she opened her mouth, a huge explosion rocked the ship, sending the water and women flying. As soon as they could get themselves back together, Marguerite cried, “Outil, get me out of here. I need clothes. I’m not going to die naked in a laundry tub!” She pulled herself out, grabbed a half dry sheet and wiped down, then pulled on her almost dry underwear. “I am not giving up my silks,” she declared as Outil handed her a man’s flight suit.
“This is the best I could find, m’lady.”
“It’s fine. Help me get it back on this blasted shoulder,” she winced with pain as she pulled the suit back up to her chest. “If you don’t mind, m’lady, I think I can fix this,” Outil said cautiously.
“What are you going to do?” Marguerite asked. “Just close your eyes and lean into me.” The bot reached for her shoulder.
Marguerite took a deep breath and steadied herself against the cool hands of her automaton. The bot held her arm carefully, bending it at the elbow. She rotated it up and then outward with a quick jerk. Marguerite cried out in pain at the same time as a satisfying pop gave instant relief.
“You are horrible, Outil! That hurt like crazy, but it feels measurably better now.” Marguerite grabbed the sheet she’d used to dry herself off with and tore one end into a long strip.
“Do you think you will need a sling?” Outil asked.
“Oh, no, this isn’t for my arm. This is for my ridiculous hair.” Marguerite wound the cotton around her head then through her hair and tied it all up on top of her crown like a wild turban sprouting tufts of wavy brown hair, like some sort of exotic plant. Then she slipped her feet back into her boots and cried, “Come on, let’s go.”
“Excuse me, m’lady, but where do you propose we go?” Outil asked.
Marguerite marched down the passage rubbing her shoulder, turban bouncing, explosions still roaring above. “Ballistics, of course. I need a gun. Preferably a big one.”
Chapter Seventeen
The ballistics rooms were a hive of activities. Men, women and bots were rushing from one duty to another. Officer Vuitton was in the middle of it all, shouting orders and peering through a great scope pull
ed down from the ceiling. He pulled back from the eyepiece just as Marguerite walked in.
“Well, if it isn’t Lady War-Maker herself.” He slammed the telescope back out of head bashing way and jerked open the gate to the armory closet.
“I’m here to help,” Marguerite said, head held high, maybe a bit too high as she took the guns and strapped them to her waist.
“I think you’ve helped quite enough. We all heard about your trick in the dingy this morning. I’ll have you know negotiations were moving along just fine before you flew into the middle of it like a loon on fire.” His words were harsh and critical, but he reached into the cabinet and rummaged around as he spoke. He picked up a medium sized flame musket, then thought twice, put it back and pulled out two traditional pistols in a holster and handed them to Marguerite.
“Take these and get on deck. We need sharp shooters up there, and you scored higher than any of this lot in marksmanship.” He pulled out a gear motion rifle and an ammunition belt and gave those to her as well. Then he handed Outil a giant arrow launcher and a quiver of exploding arrows.
“Those will be a good fit. Now get up there and don’t kill anyone in a uniform. And for the love of all that is greased and geared, do not blow up our own ships.” He shooed both of them away like flies and started barking orders to his crew again. Marguerite tried to say something in her defense, but another explosion sounded, and Outil grabbed her arm pulling gently.
“Now’s not the time, m’lady.”
Marguerite nodded, “Right.” And they jogged back down the passage to the stairs.
“Let me go first,” Outil slipped past Marguerite once they reached the hatch and pushed up on the heavy wooden boards. The door swung open on its hinges, landing with a thud, and the noises of war exploded around them, no longer filtered by the ship’s dense walls. Pirates and aermen alike fought on the deck of the Renegade. The two ships were still tethered together, but the Renegade’s engines roared against the other ship, trying to pull away, but only dragging it along like a giant floating anchor. The smaller ship the Renegade had skewered was no longer hanging on the bow, but also wasn’t floating anywhere in site. She could only assume the worst. The explosion was most likely the envelope being destroyed, but there was no time to check the waters below for debris.
Marguerite looked desperately for Jacques but didn’t see him in the throngs. Maybe he was still on the other ship, the main one with Captain Douleur. She tried to pull on her goggles, but they stung her red and burning cheeks. She slid them down round he neck for safe-keeping and wondered if the English-speaking pirates realized the meaning of their captain’s French name was pain. Either way, it certainly was fitting. Captain Douleur had caused her more pain already than she cared to think about and they hadn’t even met face to face.
She looked for the other ship. It was high above locked in battle with the smallest of the French fleet. Then she scanned for the fleet.
They were gone. Not even the smaller support vessels were anywhere in sight. She noticed a French aerman ducked behind a few water barrels, reloading his hip shooter. She ducked behind the barrels, and Outil covered her while she questioned him.
“Where did the fleet go? Where is Captain Laviolette?”
“Captain’s still up there,” he paused loading his gun to point to the ships above.
“What about the fleet, where did they go? When did they leave?” She frantically tried to think of a way to get to the battle above.
“Oh, they caught the trade aethers back, and we stayed on to finish the job. It’s what we were sent for anyway.”
The man looked up from his job to address her and his face changed from concentration on his weapon to recognition. “Hey, aren’t you the lady who started this whole mess? Jumped the Henrietta’s escape boat and bounced off the envelope?” It was not a pleasant statement at all. Rather, one laced with hatred.
Marguerite jumped up and started to jog to the next set of barrels calling over her shoulder, “No, not me! No idea what you’re talking about!” But the soldier followed her.
“Yes, it was you. Your face is all burned up from the pirate fire mix, and you’re the one with the fancy bot.” He thumbed a hand at Outil as she fired on a pirate running at them.
“What does it matter? I’m here to help now. And you should too. Stop babbling and get to work!” Marguerite peered over the barrel with her rifle ready, trying to assess the situation and how she could best help.
“It matters because we were on the brink of settling all of this with a peaceable agreement. Then you fly outta nowhere and dive bomb their ship like some kind of crazy suicider, and the whole deal is off.”
Marguerite winced at his accusations, but held firmly to her gun, took aim, and fired at a hairy pirate with a nasty blood-smeared sword. Her aim was true, and he fell to the deck. She took aim at another trying to attack a smaller boy cutting desperately at the rigging ropes.
The aerman kicked her in the backside. “What do you have to say for yourself? If you’re not court marshaled you should be lynched in the least. I’d throw you overboard myself if I could.” Marguerite and Outil both swung their weapons in his direction.
“That is quite enough,” Outil said calmly.
The aerman took a step back but kept talking, raising his voice, “Captain said as soon as she was safe, we should attack. We moved fifty barrels of fresh water and rum to their ships, plus a dozen bots, then they throw her over and all hell breaks loose. My best mate died in the first round. We been friends since we were kids, and it’s her fault.” He pointed at Marguerite and spat as he spoke. “So, no. I don’t think it’s enough!”
A pirate ran up behind the aerman. Marguerite moved her aim to the side and shot the man directly in the heart, then moved her barrel back to the aerman. There wasn’t a way to get to Jacques, so she would do the best she could here, and try not to think about the aerman’s accusations.
Outil spoke again, “I think you need to turn around and fight now, sir. Lady Vadnay will be dealt with by those in authority.” Marguerite didn’t look back. She threw herself into her job, shooting as best she could, her aim always accurate and her breathing steady. She was good at this. She could do this. She could help make up for her mistakes, make Jacques proud again.
Thinking about Jacques made her tear up again. She wiped her swollen eyes on the rough, too big sleeve, and refocused. The boys nearly had the ropes severed when the Renegade cut back its engines to save fuel, and the pirates were falling left and right on the deck. Those pirates who figured out what was going on were beginning to scramble back to their ship. Marguerite realized they would soon be free of them, but only for a time. They were too close for air cannons to work without damaging their own ship, so hand to hand combat was all that was left. Unless …
“Outil, can you light your arrows?” Marguerite called to her friend.
“Yes, m’lady, but I don’t suggest it this close to our own envelope.” The enormous black balloon was only a few feet above their heads. “An accidental fire could be disastrous for us.”
“But you have excellent long range capabilities on that weapon, right?” Marguerite asked. “Not particularly,” Outil replied. “I’m much more effective at close range. I was not designed for combat.”
“Hurry then, trade me weapons and light up an arrow.” Marguerite stood next to Outil and forced the swap.
“But miss, I’m not certain that you should do that. Protocol calls for no fire to be used on board unless in dire circumstances.”
“These circumstances are fairly dire, Outil. Light me up.” She held up the cross bow with the arrow fuse first. “The boys are almost done cutting; we haven’t much time.”
As a small deck boy chopped at the last rope, the two ships drifted farther apart, straining the connection. The Renegade’s engines roared to life again in preparation for separation. Outil let out as much of an exasperated sigh as an automaton was able and use
d her finger to light the fuse.
“Excellent, cover me!” Marguerite ran into the battle, eye fixed on her target, Outil at her heal, blocking all of those who tried to harm her mistress. As the boy came to the last few centimeters of rope, Marguerite took aim and fired directly at the ship that had held her captive less than an hour before. A gust of wind caught her shaft and blew it off course; it exploded in the air above the deck harmlessly. But the pirates had now realized her plan and began to take action.
One of them called out to the others, “She’s going to blow the envelope! Get her!”
Another cried, “Save yourselves!”
Pirates and aerman were everywhere at once, attacking her, jumping ship, throwing tethers, and calling out curses.
But the boy’s knife was true, and now that she could factor in the wind, so was Marguerite’s aim. As the rope between ships broke at last, Outil lit another round and Marguerite aimed and shot without hesitation. The small staff flew through the air in an arc against the wind. Perfect aim drove it right to the heart of the brown bag of gasses over the pirate ship’s deck. The Renegade roared to life, swinging out and away from the other ship, just as the arrow exploded and the giant brown balloon went up in flames faster than a heartbeat.
“Yes! I knew it was hydrogen!” Marguerite cheered as the flames sent an updraft of heat, causing the two ships above to fly apart. With its envelope gone in a matter of seconds, the pirate ship and everyone on it dropped out of the sky like a rock. The crew of the Renegade gave an uproarious cheer, and the pirates left on deck dropped their weapons and fell to their knees in surrender.
“That was extremely lucky, m’lady,” Outil said.
“It had to be done, Outil. There was no way around it. If they’d gotten away, they would have continued to pester us, and we would have lost more aermen.”
“Yes, m’lady,” Outil conceded. Marguerite was not pleased with her bot’s reaction, however. She expected more praise. A pat on the back, something. She was trying to make right all the wrong she’d caused that day. A roar filled the aether around them, louder than the Renegade’s engines. It came from above.
Perilous Journey of the Much-Too-Spontaneous Girl Page 12
