Perilous Journey of the Much-Too-Spontaneous Girl (8 page)

“Yes, that is correct.”

“And this is Outil, the automaton?”

“Yes.” Marguerite nodded. “Alright, you are to report to the first officer of ballistics to the left of the ship, there where they are loading powder and such. Officer Vuitton. Safe voyage.”

“Thank you ever so much.”

Marguerite gave a little dip herself and was off to meet Officer Vuitton. Behind her, she heard the voice of a young man squeak, “I’m Louis!”

She turned to look at the red-headed boy. Just as she suspected, he was yelling at her. She smiled and waved. “Safe voyage, Louis!”

“Enough,” the organizer grunted. “Louis what?”

As their conversation faded behind her, Marguerite focused her sights on the ballistics team. They seemed a sturdy bunch, each one hauling, at least, two crates to a lift and returning to the pile to get more without hesitation. An older man with sandy brown hair peeking from under a first officer’s hat was calling out orders and hauling the odd crate himself. Marguerite approached him triumphantly, bursting with pride at having found her position.

“You must be First Officer Vuitton?” she chirruped.

The man stopped, a bulky crate in hand, and regarded her with annoyance. “And may I presume you are Lady Marguerite Vanday?”

“Yes, sir. You may.”

“Thank heaven.” His voice was heavy with sarcasm as he turned and continued to load crates of ammunition. “Get yourself and that bot in gear and give us a hand here. You may be a lady, and we’ll make sure you are treated as such, but you have volunteered to serve His Majesty, and right now His Majesty needs his ship loaded as quickly as possible. That goes for all of you!”

He hollered at the rest of the crew who had stopped to stare at Marguerite and Outil. They jumped back into action and Outil followed suit. She stepped up to the dwindling pile of crates and picked up four to add to Marguerite’s personal trunk and carried them to the lift. “Now
that
is what I’m talking about.” Officer Vuitton cried. “You work as hard as your bot, m’lady, and we will be in business.”

Marguerite huffed over to the pile and grabbed the handles on either side of a crate. She jerked back, trying to lift it, but only succeeded in getting it balanced on her knees. Outil was back in a flash and helped her get the crate into her arms securely, and Marguerite proceeded to the lift. Hers was the last box on before the lift was yanked far over their heads.

“That’s it boys, and er … um … Lady. Take five minutes to rest and grab a drink. Last load in fifteen minutes. You—” He pointed at Marguerite. “Walk with me.” He set off at a quick pace heading down to the end of the dock. Marguerite scrambled to keep up, Outil at her heals. They caught him a few paces from the edge of the water. He clasped his hands behind his back and looked up at the massive schooner above. “Beautiful, isn’t she?” he asked.

“Yes, sir. Quite.”

“I was told that you know a thing or two about computations and weapons?”

“Yes, sir.” He turned and looked her over carefully.

“I was also told your bot is capable of much more than the average automaton?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Has it a name?”

“Yes,
her
name is Outil.”

“Huh, fitting.”

“Outil, it’s been reported that you answer to no one but Lady Vanday here. Is that correct?”

“Yes, sir,” Outil’s sweet feminine bot voice sounded out of place given the situation.

“Well, we have to get a few things straight while you are on the
Renegade
. This is a military operation. We have a mission to accomplish and as ballistics officers—yes, I consider the bot my officer as well—you will be answering to me. Got it? You must do as I say when I say it, or you could very well die. I didn’t want to bring a rich girl and her pet robot on this trip, but they assured me it would be worth my while.”

“Of course, sir. We wouldn’t dream of—” Marguerite started.

“That’s enough. I don’t need an explanation or any pretty compliments. I just need you to know that what I say goes. Not to be indelicate, but there is one more matter we must discuss.”

Marguerite tipped her head, curious.

“You will have a bunk to yourself, but it will be in the ballistics hall. You will not be allowed in the other ballistics bunks and neither will your bot. You will lock your door each night, and your bot will be in your room with you at all times. You will not flirt, flounce, or otherwise use feminine wiles to gain favor, access, or exceptions. In return, I will make sure you are treated with the utmost respect. Are we clear, m’lady?”

“Clear as crystal.” Marguerite clenched her fists and gritted her teeth.

“That should be yes, sir,” he said.

“Yes, sir,” she managed to sputter.

“Last but not least, it was brought to my attention that you have special favor with our captain. I hope I do not need to remind you that in the military, even though he may be my commanding officer, you are still my second in command and under my jurisdiction. I would appreciate it, for the sake of our comradery as a ballistics crew, if you would please keep your personal affairs to yourself.”

“Yes, sir.” Marguerite sucked in through her nose and out her mouth before opening it to speak, but Officer Vuitton was already heading back up the dock.

“I’m sure we’re going to have a
lovely
time together,” he called over his shoulder. Marguerite stomped after him. “Outil, help me pick up some crates, would you?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Marguerite swore the bot giggled as she said this, but bots didn’t giggle.

“I’m losing my mind,” she muttered to herself. “Completely losing my mind.”

On board, Marguerite barely had time to take in the amazing view from the deck before she was ushered below to help load the supplies and ready the ship for departure. The stairwells were much tighter than on the
Triumph,
and there weren’t any of the hand-crafted wooden embellishments she enjoyed on that ship. This ship was made for nothing but war and efficiency. Everything was forged from aluminum alloys—gleaming in silver and bronze. She descended three flights of stairs before reaching the belly of the beast where she was shown to the main meeting room for artillery. Crates of ammunition were stacked on the floor, leaving hardly any room for all those assigned to maneuver in the tight quarters. In the center of the space, behind locked metal gates, one whole wall was lined with guns and knives, just like in
the Triumph
.

Marguerite stared at the possibilities in front of her. She knew exactly which weapons she preferred to shoot, which would feel balanced in her hand, and which would be hard for her to manage. She memorized their positions, from the giant long-range musket ballers to the air-powered dart slingers, and all the pistols in between. This was her new job.

She felt torn between excitement at such a remarkable array of weapons at her disposal and the memory of what it meant to actually use one—to be hit by one. She reached up and rubbed her shoulder without thinking.

Vuitton was there, barking orders again.

“Gentleman, and Ladies,” he tipped his now bare head at Outil and Marguerite. “We are on a very important mission for His Majesty, King Louis XIV.”

“Long live the king!” the men around her shouted in unison.

“Long live the king,” Vuitton repeated. “You have a particularly delicate job on this voyage. We are to maintain the weaponry, keep track of the ammunition stores, calculate battle efficiency—if there is a battle—and if need be, provide the captain with support in hand to hand combat. If any of you do not feel like you can provide these types of services for His Majesty, that’s rather unfortunate. It’s too late to back out now.”

A few of the men laughed at this. A few laughed while they looked at Marguerite and Outil. This crowd response did not go past Vuitton’s watchful eye. “Gentleman, I’d like to introduce you to my second officer, Lady Marguerite Vadnay, and her automaton companion, Outil. Ladies, please join me.” He motioned for them to leave the crowd and stand on an ammunition box next to him at the front of the small space filled with bodies.

Marguerite couldn’t be sure, but as she passed through the group, she thought she felt someone’s hand on her backside. She jumped, but in a split second, decided not to pay them any heed. That’s probably what they wanted, to see her squeal and squirm like a little girl. As soon as she stepped a bit farther, she heard a yelp behind her and turned to see Outil squeezing the hand of a man she’d just passed.

“I’m sorry. It was an accident,” he whined.

“Enough, Outil. I’m pretty sure he learned his lesson,” Vuitton ordered. Outil dropped the man’s hand, and the ladies made it to the front of the room without further incident.

“Lady Vadnay comes to us with glowing references, battle experience, and a brilliant head on her shoulders. Outil is more than just a labor bot. She is highly intelligent, stronger than all of you put together, and able to crush your hands if you step out of line. So there will be absolutely no disrespect to my second officer or her companion. Am I clear?”

“Yes, sir!” the room cried in unison.

“Good, because the next person to disrespect either of them will be thrown overboard without a chute. Am I clear?”

“Yes, sir.” They all cried again.

“Lady Vadnay will be referred to as Officer Vadnay on board. Her orders are as good as my orders. You will obey without incident. She will be in charge of maintenance, inventory, and calculations. I will assign a team to her momentarily. Outil will be in charge of assisting Officer Vadnay and any extreme, heavy work that needs doing. This does not mean that you will grow fat and lazy on my watch. This also does not mean you will order this bot around. This is not your bot. She does not belong to any of you. She answers to me, Officer Vadnay, and King Louis. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir!”

Marguerite tried not to, but she couldn’t help smiling a bit at this man’s ability to control a crowd. She tried to take mental notes on his stance, his tone of voice, anything that might set him apart from your average aership officer. She needed to learn fast and learn well.

The rally broke apart at Vuitton’s word, and everyone got to work. “We sail in one hour!” He cried, and everyone cheered. “You two come with me.” He had Marguerite and Outil outfitted with parchment and autopens and set them to work cataloging the ammunition. It was a tedious job, but it kept Marguerite from having to deal with any more wandering hands or carrying any more impossibly heavy crates.

The time passed quickly, and before she knew it, the audio pipes lit up. Marguerite nearly jumped out of her uniform when a familiar voice thrummed through the works and echoed in her compartments.

“All hands on deck! This is Captain Laviolette. We are pulling anchors now. All hands on deck!”

Marguerite looked up at Outil, who had been bent over a stack of retractable harpoons. The bot shrugged and pointed to the others filing out of the room to join the crew on deck. Marguerite shook her head and mouthed, “
No
!” She couldn’t risk Jacques finding out she was on board yet. He’d toss her off with an anchor and be done with her in front of the entire city. It just wouldn’t do. She bent back over her catalogue and continued to make careful marks on the thick cream paper.

“You too.” Vuitton’s voice was louder than necessary in the small space. Marguerite jumped. “Excuse me?”

“All hands on deck means you too. Come on, get to it.” He stood by the stairway, the last of the men chugging up the stairs in front of him. Marguerite sighed and lay down her writing utensils. Outil followed suit and took up behind her mistress on the metal stairs. They were steep, and Marguerite’s muscles ached by the time she reached the top, but her heart bubbled and burst when the excitement of the deck and the expansive view overcame her.

Men and bots, plus a few women, were everywhere, hoisting weights and coiling ropes as a fine mist from the gray clouds around them settled on their clothes and faces. They were all singing a working song in unison.

Upon the air, we’ll fly our flag

Upon the currents merry,

And over shore and over land

We’ll float our big brass belly!

Sing Hey! Sing Ho!

Shine up your gears

and fill the envelope!

Sing Hey! Sing Ho!

Toss off your fears.

The dawn is full of hope!

Renegade!!

Marguerite almost forgot to watch herself amidst this chorus of joy, dew, and sweat. Then she caught sight of Jacques across the deck, monitoring the progress and talking with another man of high rank. She quickly ducked behind a stack of flour sacks still waiting to be moved to the galley. Outil followed suit. “M’lady, do you mean to hide from him our entire journey?”

“No,” Marguerite hissed. “But I don’t want him to see me when he can just pitch me over the side into the St. Lawrence without guilt.”

“Hey there, lass! Give us a hand?” A merry crewman signaled for her to grab a rope he and four others were already pulling on. “Just coil up the extra there in a neat pile while we pull it on deck, will ya?”