Perilous Journey of the Much-Too-Spontaneous Girl (2 page)

“Marguerite!” Jacques was the first on the scene. “Are you alright, my dear? Quick! Someone get a ladder. Call the medic! Move!” He barked orders like the Air Captain he was born to be. Marguerite cursed herself and pounded her fist on the altinometer. The little dial spun around and fell off its clasp, landing in the bottom of the circular compartment, completely useless.

“Yes, I’m fine,” she called back. Then more quietly to herself, “Just feeling like a complete idiot.”

“Lady Vadnay,” her professor called up, “I’m sorry, but I’m afraid you failed your first flight test. Very glad you survived, however. Very glad!”

“Wonderful.” She laid her head back against the seat. “Just wonderful.”

After much finagling, and procurement of a very tall ladder, Marguerite was freed from the trap of her own making.

“Are you sure you’re not hurt?” Jacques asked as he examined the scratches on her face, his hands on either side of her head.

“Yes. Yes. I’m fine.” She swatted his hands away. “My body is in perfect working order. My spirit, however, is crushed beyond repair.”

Jacques eyes twinkled. “I’m sure the ship feels the same way. He looked up at the envelope and battered cockpit still dangling from the windsock tower and covered his mouth with the back of his hand, failing to stop his laughter.

“I’m sure you find this hysterical, but I just set myself back by at least six months or more,” Marguerite said.

“They will give you another test flight before then. Everyone crashes—eventually.” He laughed again. “I’m going to climb up there and try to help them cut the poor beast down. Wait for me?”

Marguerite didn’t answer. She’d had enough of the field and his chuckling. As soon as he mounted the grey metal ladder, she gathered what was left of her pride and walked back to her dormitory.

The next day she sat at attention on the edge of her wooden chair, furiously scribbling notes as her teacher lectured on the mechanics of the next generation of aership thruster systems. Something sharp pricked her ear. Annoyed, she reached up to rub it, without breaking her concentration on the lecture.

“With improved aerodynamics and lighter construction materials, we should be able to see improvements in speed and process efficiency.” The professor, old and balding with a long white beard and a moth-eaten uniform, poked at a diagram on a chalkboard as he walked through the final information the young women needed to know for their exams the following week.

Another prick, this time to her neck.

Marguerite rubbed it again and heard giggles behind her. Annoyed, she glared behind her at the pack of simpering girls having a laugh at her expense. She looked at the ground. Two pieces of paper lay folded in the shape of stars with sharply creased corners jutting from each edge.

“Here.” The girl next to her bent over, scooped them up, and handed them to her. “You dropped these.” She barely hid a chortle as she turned back to the other girls, then pretended to listen to the lecture.

“Fortunately for us, France has a leading edge on mechanics and steam engineering. Our solar harnessing powers are unmatched, and our Royal Corps of Engineers is unparalleled in the world. The best that other countries can do is hope to steal our technology, then pick it apart, trying to reproduce it.” He chuckled at his own joke. “Why, we even have engineers from other countries denouncing their birth homes and swearing allegiance to the King just for the chance to go to our schools—schools such as this, ladies.” He flashed a wide, squinty smile around the room then turned back to the chalkboard. “Where was I?”

Marguerite knew she shouldn’t, but she couldn’t help it. She slowly unfolded the first paper and read the tiny script inside:

Why are you acting like you need to learn this material?

Everyone knows your lover will make sure you pass the exams
…

Unless you keep crashing.

Marguerite crumpled the scrap in her hand and forced her thoughts back to the lecture. She endured this kind of torment regularly. Jacques Laviolette was an instructor at the school, but not
her
instructor. And he was most certainly not her lover. He’d captained the ship that brought her to New France. They spent time together; they enjoyed each other’s company; and they frequently debated engineering and the latest science out of Paris. He’d made it clear more than once that he intended to marry her, but she had made it clear that she was not going to get married until she was good and ready, and that probably wouldn’t be until she was done seeing the world.

The most ridiculous thing about the whole situation was that she kept hoping the notes and comments from the other girls might be friendly at some point. But no, they just got uglier and more cruel.

She wadded the second note without reading it and tried to memorize what the professor said about thermodynamic possibilities. If it weren’t for the amazing subjects she was free to learn in this school, she would have left long ago. She certainly wasn’t here for the female companionship or the housing. But small, grey, and dingy as it was, at least she was able to secure a room to herself.

The teacher wrapped up his lecture and dismissed his class. Marguerite tucked her papers neatly into a satchel as several girls bumped into her shoulder while filing past.

She sighed and rose as soon as they were gone. Outil peeked around the corner of her classroom, and Marguerite smiled.

“Hello, how was the oiling?” Marguerite asked.

“Lovely, m’lady.” Outil nodded and took her bag of textbooks from her. “There is a new machinist who is most cautious with all of my gears. He was admiring Master Claude’s handiwork.”

“It sounds like you have a little bit of a fancy for this new boy. Was he human?” Marguerite grinned wickedly.

Outil stopped walking. “This theory is illogical in the extreme, m’lady. I was not designed to exhibit feelings other than loyalty, in any form, much less for a human I do not know. And I can’t imagine developing a
fancy
,” she repeated the word carefully, “as you call it, on another bot that is also not designed to return feelings.”

Marguerite laughed. “I was only teasing. Relax. Where is Jacques? Have you seen him? I never know how to find him now that his teaching duties are completed for the term.”

“I believe he is in the chapel, m’lady.” Outil moved easily away from the strange conversation of human emotions.

Girl and robot made their way to the school’s chapel, the oldest building in the neighborhood, possibly the oldest building in Montreal. Its soaring stone walls were already turning black with age. Inside the mammoth wooden doors, stained glass windows shed rainbow colors on all the pews. A man in a uniform sat with his head down, while an automaton meandered from one candelabrum to another, trimming wicks and mopping up spent wax.

Outil waited at the back of the massive, echoing room while Marguerite moved silently up the aisle. She slipped into the pew next to the man and sat quietly for a few moments until he lifted his head and smiled at her.

“Hello, Lady Vadnay,” he whispered.

“Hello, Jacques. What are we praying for?” She was half-sarcastic, half-concerned.

“Nothing really … I just received some news, trying to digest it and figure out the next steps.” He sat back and stared ahead at the pulpit.

“Anything you’d care to include me in?” She slid her hand across the bench toward him.

He swept it up and kissed her knuckles without taking his eyes off the front of the church. He kept her hand at his mouth for a moment longer than was appropriate, and then exhaled and kissed it again. “I have a commission. The ship leaves next week.” He smiled, but happiness did not fill his eyes.

“Oh! Where are you going?” Marguerite’s heart leapt at the prospect of going with him to finally use all the knowledge and skills she learned.

“To the Atlantic. The corsairs are moving farther and farther from the Barbary Coast. King Louis himself has decreed that we must stop them from attacking our trade routes and drive them back to the Mediterranean. They are also afraid that the British may be aiding them in attacks on our merchants,” he spoke quickly. “We will have the finest warships France has ever built, and I will captain one.”

“That’s wonderful! When will they have our tests sorted out?” Marguerite didn’t miss the fact that fulfilling her dream of serving on an aership rested on her ability to pass this test.

“Next week. They should have the students cleared before the ship departs—but, Marguerite, my love, you cannot go.” The corners of his mouth turned down, matching his eyes at last.

“What are you talking about? Of course, I can go. I have but to volunteer. We will work together. It will be wonderful!”

He let go of her hand and folded his arms. “Marguerite, you failed the flying exam, and there won’t be another opportunity to retake it until after I have departed.” She began to protest, but he stopped her. “Do not argue. There is no way around this. Besides, this is not the type of voyage I think you should be on for your first assignment. You’ve already survived one pirate attack. There is no reason to see the world from a battleship.”

He reached up to stroke her cheek, but she pulled away.

“This is ridiculous, Jacques. You said it yourself; I’ve already proven myself in battle. I’m a crack shot, and I think quickly under pressure. Outil and I are a marvelous team. School is merely a formality so I can get into a cockpit,” she whispered fiercely, trying not to disturb the quiet of the chapel. “And why must you leave so soon?”

“Because the supply routes are being attacked daily. His Majesty’s aeronauts have to constantly devise new routes and carry more armory than is usually necessary, which leaves less room for supplies. In short, it’s costing the king a pretty penny, and that doesn’t count the bounty he’s losing when the pirates win skirmishes.”

“I suppose the ship will be outfitted with modern weaponry?” she asked.

“Yes, in fact, your friend Claude just finished a commission to create a defense system to thwart their blasted air cannons.” She shuddered at the thought of the giant bursts of wind that rocked the ship and tore it to pieces. “We won’t be going in to save anything. We are going to search and destroy. This is going to be a dangerous mission, Marguerite. Trust me, you are not ready. In fact, I doubt they will have any female crew on the battleship.”

“I’m not planning on being in hand-to-hand combat. I’ll be on the bridge with you. It won’t be like the last time where we were attacked from out of nowhere, and I had no idea how to help or what I was doing. I’m ready now. I can help you lead the attack.”

Marguerite couldn’t believe this conversation. All these months she thought they had the same goals. She thought he knew that she wanted to work on an aership and eventually command her own in the Royal Fleet.

Jacques laughed. “Darling, you won’t be on the bridge.”

“What do you mean?” She folded her arms and stared at him.

“Even if you passed all of your exams and were granted a post on this mission, first-year cadets don’t serve on the bridge. You would be below in the engine room or on the galley ship.”

“The galley, as in where food is prepared?”

“Yes, I’m afraid so. It’s the order of things.”

Marguerite sat back and put her hands in her lap, methodically smoothing her skirt as she choked back disappointment. “I want to fly.”

“And you will!” Jacques reached for her hand again. “In a year or two you’ll be on the bridge, and we will be married. Besides, you will be able to pilot a small ship privately before that.” He took her hand again and kissed it more softly this time. “Your accident yesterday … I’m sorry I laughed. I know that was uncalled for, but it frightened me. I don’t want to see you in danger ever again, especially if I can prevent it.”

She couldn’t argue with his logic, but it bothered her that a man was still deciding her future. Even if he was a handsome, kind, thoughtful, and funny man, who knew exactly how to make her insides melt at just the wrong times. Even if his plan aligned with her dreams perfectly, she still felt squirmy about it.

And she didn’t like him assuming she would go along with all of this. She wiggled her hand free. “I don’t think so, M. Laviolette.” He smiled at her.

She glared back, heat rising to her face.

“You always laugh at me, but I am not making a joke. You act like this is all just a hobby for me. I don’t think you take me seriously when I tell you I want to fly, and I
will
fly. I also don’t need your permission or your timeline in order to accomplish my goals.” She stood. “And I
do not
need your proposals any longer.”

Even though her hands were shaking, and she felt as if she would explode, right there in the middle of a church before the altar and God and everyone, she regretted the harsh words as soon as she said them.

“I know you are upset, but that is no reason to take it out on me.” His tone was serious.

“If you love me so much, why are you running off to battle pirates without me? You expect me to wait here and be a good girl. This is Claude all over again!” She threw her hands up in the air and turned to leave the pew, then thought better and twisted back to point a finger in his face. “Except this time I’m not a stupid girl. I’ve done things. I’ve seen things. I know what I want and it has nothing to do with you.”