Perilous Journey of the Much-Too-Spontaneous Girl (19 page)

Outil locked the door again; the second
click
brought a snort from the guard, but nothing more. Then they raced up the stairs as quietly as possible. Outil led her to a deserted bunk room where she’d stashed their packs. Leave it to Outil to think of food and water. Marguerite was desperate for more than bread to eat, but she took the pencil and paper first and scratched out a quick letter to her father.

“We must drop this in the post bag before we go.” One of the perks of being in the military was that there was no charge for posting letters from a vessel in service. Marguerite guessed the Renegade was still considered in service, and this was the best way to contact her father without raising suspicions.

“There is a drop slot on the way to the deck, but we must hurry. They will be changing shifts soon, and we don’t have much time.” Marguerite nodded in agreement and strapped on her supply pack and then her chute over the top of it. She would just have to wait a few more hours to eat real food. The two set off down a long corridor for the opposite end of the ship. Outil led the way and stopped only for Marguerite to drop her folded paper in the mailbag. She prayed that her father would understand, not only her cryptic missive but the reasons behind it.

They stayed quiet and kept their heads down. Most of the crew was sleeping soundly tonight, knowing a triumphant return home awaited them in the morning. There were a tense few moments when they came upon other aermen in the passages and thought they would be caught, but everyone was either deliriously tired or deliriously full of drink. All was quiet until they approached the hatch to the deck. They heard uproarious laughter and the sounds of singing above. “Oh, dear,” Marguerite said.

Outil stuck her head out the hatch for a moment, and then returned. “I believe there is a celebration underway.”

“Right. I didn’t think about that. They usually have some sort of deck party the night of arrival. Blast it. Can we get out without them seeing us?”

“The only light appears to be coming from a barrel containing a fire at the starboard bow.”

“Well, isn’t that brilliant. Light up a fire on the deck of a dirigible full of explosive gasses. Where do they find these ninnies?” Marguerite paused, and then her eyes lit up with inspiration, “Outil! This is perfect. Run to the nearest pipecom and call in to the controls that there is a fire on deck. That should give us enough of a diversion to jump ship.”

“Excellent point, m’lady. Only, I wish you’d reconsider this whole plan. I’m sure your father—”

“If I wanted my father to fix everything in my life, I never would have left home in the first place, Outil. Now hurry! I’d go myself, but I’m meant to be in a cell at the bottom of this beastly boat.”

“That is true.” Outil seemed somewhat defeated as she turned and trotted down the steps to the nearest pipecom. Marguerite could hear her soft voice reporting the violators to the commanding officers. Then she heard the rumble of agitation deep in the ship as the guards were awoken from their beds to deal with imbeciles. And finally, she heard Outil’s footsteps softly padding back up the stairs. “We should go now, m’lady. Guards are already making their way to the starboard deck entrance,” Outil whispered.

“Right,” Marguerite replied with a nod. They crept up the stairs until they could see the raucous men and their foolish fire. They could just barely make out the trap door for the opposite side of the ship flying open through the dark, but they definitely heard when the guards began to shout at the wrongdoers. “Now!” Marguerite hissed to Outil.

They climbed the rest of the way out of their hole and headed straight for the side of the ship. Marguerite paused, her breath catching in her throat, as the cold air hit her face and the sight of Montreal so far below began to register in her mind. This was going to be a very long drop. Outil already had one leg over the side. “M’lady, you must go now, or they will see us, and you will be taken back to jail. We won’t have another chance like this.”

“I know; I’m coming.”

“Would you like me to go first, or would you?”

“Together, we go together.” The noises behind them were growing. It seemed the party goers weren’t too keen on ending their celebration. “On three,” Marguerite offered. “One, two …” she threw a leg over the side as well. “Three!” She nearly shouted the last number; she was so nervous. And as she left the safety of the deck behind her, it occurred to her all at once that she had no idea how to activate her chute.

“Outil!” She yelled at her bot, but it was too late. Outil had drifted sideways and the rushing wind blowing up at them was deafening. The lights twinkling on the docks and reflecting in the river below her were growing nearer much too quickly. She knew there was no way to make sure she would hit the water. Even if she did, it wasn’t deep enough, and she was falling too fast for a safe dive. She groped at the straps for anything, a button, dial, anything. There was nothing but a tiny ring. Outil’s chute opened suddenly, black as the night. It caught the wind, and she shot up while Marguerite continued to fall like a cannon ball. The funny thing was, Marguerite thought she heard Outil yell, “Pull!”

So Marguerite grabbed the little ring and pulled as hard as she could. The ground below her instantly stopped shooting up to meet her. The black chute exploded open with a whoosh and carried her on the wind toward Outil and the wooded northern shore of the Saint Lawrence. She took a moment to close her eyes and breathe in the deep cool of the night air and calm her heart. This was going to work.

She watched Outil fall gently into the trees below, and she braced herself for the same. Her feet scraped the leaves harmlessly at first, then she dipped farther, and her legs began to catch on larger limbs. As she descended deeper into the foliage, she realized just how fast she was going. She tried to brace herself, but she was dipping lower into the forest and hitting trees left and right as she went. She tried not to cry out, but every time she bounced off her already injured shoulder, she couldn’t help but squeal in pain.

Within seconds, her body tore through the woods at full speed, snagging on every branch and limb until she hit the massive trunk of a pine tree and slid straight for the ground. Her harness jerked her to a stop as her chute finally caught on a limb, leaving her dangling a good ten feet off the ground. “Isn’t this lovely,” she said out loud. “I am fairly certain that every landing I make is going to be a complete disaster.”

“Outil!” Marguerite hissed through the darkness. “Outil, where are you?” After what seemed like an eternity of hanging, the bushes below rustled, and Outil stumbled free of their tightly woven branches. “Oh good, I was afraid I’d have to start screaming for help or some such. I can’t quite reach a limb for leverage, and I can’t unbuckle the straps. It’s too tight with me hanging on it.”

“I’m not entirely sure I know how to help you, m’lady,” Outil called out. “Well, just climb up here and, I don’t know, pull me to safety or something.” Marguerite gestured with her hands in exasperation. “And keep your voice down. We aren’t that far from the outskirts of Montreal. There’s no telling who could be lurking out here.”

“My ability to climb trees is not as refined as it should be, m’lady. I can try, but I think we’d be better suited with another plan,” the bot whispered as best she could. “Have you decided what we are going to attempt to do next, m’lady?”

“I thought that would be obvious, Outil. We are going to go see Claude.”

Marguerite kicked her legs and tried harder to swing herself to the closest branch, but it was no use. She couldn’t get enough momentum, and the branches were too far away on either side of her. “As much as I would enjoy seeing my creator again, I’m not sure how visiting Master Claude can help us in our predicament,” Outil answered.

“Who else do we know in this wild place who has access to weapons, ships, and owes me a favor?” Marguerite tried squirming out of her harness once more.

“Forgive me, m’lady, but why does he owe you a favor?” Outil asked, hands on hips, gazing up.

“Well, because we grew up together. You are always in debt to your childhood friends, aren’t you? And because he will owe me favors for the rest of his life for not making his feelings clear before he left France and ran off to marry someone else,” she barked.

“But, m’lady, you don’t want to get married.” Outil sounded genuinely confused.

“That is beside the point. He is an old friend, and I can trust him. If we can find our way to his new home, we can use his supplies and communication devices and put together a plan.”

“I suppose that makes sense.” Outil picked up a formidable branch from the forest floor. “Maybe if I push you with this branch you will be able to reach the limb nearest you?”

“Did you happen to pack any weapons in these packs, Outil?” Marguerite asked as she suddenly stilled. “Yes, m’lady, a pistol each, why do you ask?” Outil carried her piece of wood to the base of the tree and lifted it up.

“Because you might want to get yours out. There is a man watching us from the bushes just in front of me.”

Outil dropped the limb and had her pistol out in lightening speed. She stood between Marguerite’s dangling form and the man who was now stepping out into the clearing to face them. He was very tall, and as best as Marguerite could tell in the dark, he appeared to be dressed in simple leather breeches and coat. She guessed they were homemade by the looks of them. He had a dark complexion and long black hair that fell at his shoulders. He also had a very large, very modern looking rifle strapped over his shoulder and a pair of goggles around his neck.

He held up one hand, indicating peace, but kept the other hand on the gun at his side. He stayed at the edge of the clearing around Marguerite’s tree. She couldn’t speak; she was so afraid. Two shots from the weapon at his side and both she and Outil would be dead. Actually, it would probably take four or five shots to get Outil, and she might get a shot off at him in the meantime, but Marguerite was a dangling duck, ready for the killing.

Outil was the first to break the silence. “Who are you, and what do you want?”

The man replied with a strange accent Marguerite had never heard before, “I should be the one asking who you are and what you are doing on my land.”

“Your land?” Marguerite couldn’t help but spit the words out. “This property belongs to King Louis.”

“Oh no, it doesn’t. Not as of four days ago. Your King of France signed a treaty with my nation, and this land belongs to the Iroquois.”

“Iroquois? Are you a native then?” Marguerite couldn’t hide her excitement at meeting a real, live native person. She’d spent countless hours poring over books about indigenous peoples discovered in all the new worlds around the globe. Her favorite, by far, were in New France. And now here she was, dangling above a heavily armed man, stepped right from the pages of one of her books. Except, he didn’t seem backward at all. Other than his simple dress and uncut hair, he was altogether very modern. And handsome—she couldn’t help noticing that, too. He cut an amazing figure by the moonlight; broad shoulders, bulging arms, a perfectly square jaw, and aquiline nose.

“I am Iroquois, and my people are native to this land, but we are not
native
in the way you suggest.” His voice was proud and sharp. He glowered at them and repeated his question. “What are you doing on our land?”

“I’m ever so glad they signed a treaty. This is wonderful news. However, does that mean you are in league with the French officials? Or, rather, are you going to turn us in for trespassing? Because, I’d really prefer that you not. Maybe you could help me get down from this tree, and then we’d be happy to leave your land as quickly as possible.”

“We have our own officials and our own laws. We do not need the usurpers of Montreal to handle our affairs for us,” he sneered.

Outil uncocked her pistol and let the barrel shift to the ground. “We did not mean to land in this particular location, sir. We were disembarking the ship over there and caught an unexpected current.”

Brilliant!
Marguerite silently cheered Outil on.

“Would you be so kind as to help me cut my mistress down?” she asked.

“I could do that,” he replied. “But I also want you to tell me what you want with Monsieur Claude.”

“You know Claude?” Marguerite practically squealed. “This is wonderful!” The man lifted his gun a bit and widened his stance.

“Lady Vadnay, I’m not sure this is good news.” Outil lifted her pistol once again. “It might not be the same Claude.”

“Of course, it is the same Claude,” Marguerite snapped.” He’s a famous inventor, the best in this part of the world. Everyone knows him because he can build anything. Also, because he has a horrible wife.” Outil shot a quick look at Marguerite.

“What? I’m sure she is horrible. I mean, I hope she’s not, but anyone who’d snatch a man up that quickly has to be horrible.”

“I know Monsieur Claude of whom you speak. He is a great engineer and a friend to my people. We have made many trades with him in the past year, and he has taken care of our needs. It is in part because of him that we have our land back. If your intentions are not of the purest good, I will shoot you before I take you anywhere near his home.” Marguerite was stunned. She knew none of this about her friend. They had exchanged a few letters over the past few months, but the post wasn’t reliable by air or land, and he’d never mentioned anything about native relations.