The Perilous Journey of the Not-So-Innocuous Girl (2 page)

“Oh my!” Vivienne drew a dramatic breath. “How elegant. I so wish I were old enough to come.”

“Don’t worry,” Marguerite patted the girl’s knee, “I’m sure you can borrow them for your own ball.”

“Marguerite … ” Claude hissed at her.

It wasn’t a very kind thing to say, but Marguerite had never been very fond of Vivienne. She mostly endured her company because she was the only girl within a hundred miles that was close to the same age and station as Marguerite. That, and Claude had insisted she be kind to her.

“You’re right, Claude.” Marguerite smiled in repentance. “I’m sure your father will have loads of wonderful things for the guests to marvel at when your time comes, Vivienne. Still, it would be nice to have both of you there. I suppose I will be forced to talk to strangers.”

“I can’t believe you’re not excited!” Vivienne chattered. “New dresses! Handsome suitors!”

“I am excited,” Marguerite cut her off, “to have it over and done with! Dressing up might be fun, but dressing up to catch a man is not my idea of a good time.”

“Don’t be vulgar.” Vivienne blushed. “It’s not like that at all.”

Claude cut in, “I’d love to stay and discuss this matter with you girls, but I do have a few chafing dishes waiting for their motors in the shop.”

Marguerite tensed at the thought of not only being left alone with Vivienne, but also being without Claude’s protection should Pomphart come looking for her. “Do you think I could come help you at the forge today?”

“Not if you want me to get anything done.” Claude smiled merrily.

“Stop it! You know I’m a whiz with gear-work.”

“When you are actually interested in the work, yes, but I’m afraid that auto-spoons and brass tureens would bore you to death.”

Marguerite tried to make her eyes look large and beseeching, but she knew it was no use.

“No. But you can walk me there. I forgot my lunch anyway,” Claude said as he reached to help Marguerite up.

“I didn’t exactly have time to grab a snack as I fled the dungeons,” Marguerite quipped.

“Oh! I know!” Vivienne was bursting. “Let’s have lunch in town today. You’re not going back to your lessons are you? And Claude is busy with work. It will be such fun girl time!”

Marguerite sighed, but Vivienne was right. There was no way for her to return to the estate house without being trapped by Pomphart, and she had nothing to do if Claude insisted on finishing his chores. Still, she was uneasy about the idea of being on her own with Pomphart’s wrath hovering around an unknown corner waiting to pounce. The woman was ruthless when no one of importance was watching. She had a way of getting Marguerite off on her own and exacting whatever form of punishment she felt was suitable for the crime. Marguerite tried to complain to her father, but he wouldn’t listen, he thought Marguerite just didn’t want lessons anymore.

Claude knew all of this and sensed her fears in her quiet gaze.

“Come with me, both of you. I have someone I want you to meet.” Claude smiled.

Marguerite jumped up at his tug, tossed her wavy brown hair, and set her skirts aright, glad someone was helping her make up her mind. “Very well.”

“Hooray! Oh, I know just the place,” Vivienne said. “There is a new little patisserie I saw the other day I’ve been aching to try.” She skipped up the hill ahead of the other two, babbling on about buns and cakes and half sandwiches.

Claude reached for Marguerite’s arm and squeezed a bit. He used this gesture when he was about to chastise her, but she didn’t think she’d been that rude to Vivienne. The girl got on her nerves with every word, but her intentions were good and Marguerite wasn’t cruel by nature, just impatient.

“What?” she hissed.

“I have some news, but I wanted to tell you first.”

“Oh?” Relieved not to be in trouble, but also perplexed, Marguerite wished more now than ever that Vivienne would just skip into oblivion with her bouncy blonde curls and scattered thoughts.

“Yes. You know how we spoke a few weeks ago about my plans?”

“Did you find a position in Paris?” Marguerite could scarcely contain herself. Her friend was so talented, and she knew better than anyone that he was wasted working as a bondservant on her father’s estate. If he could secure an apprenticeship in Paris he could come back to La Rochelle as a master tradesman. Plus she could visit him there. Still, apprenticeships were hard to come by.

“No, I think it’s better than that.”

“What could be better than Paris?” In her mind, crowds of well-dressed ladies paraded down glittering avenues while the latest autocarts passed by in a blur of technology and innovation. Paris was the hub of all things Marguerite admired.

“I’ve signed into His Majesty’s service. As of next week, I’ll be an official member of the Royal Corp of Engineers.”

“You what?” She was stunned. It took her a moment to sort out her emotions. How could he have made this type of decision without consulting her? They had shared everything since they discovered each other as bored children on the estate a decade ago.

“I knew you’d be angry with me for not telling you beforehand, but an opportunity just presented itself and I knew it was right—I had to take it.”

“No, I’m not angry at all. Just shocked. You know how my father feels about the military.”

“But you see, that’s just it. I won’t have to worry about your father anymore, I won’t owe him anything. My first assignment is to New France.”

“Are you two coming or not? I’m starved!” Vivienne had doubled back when she realized she was talking to herself.

Marguerite wasn’t sure she could eat or talk at that moment. She wasn’t sure she could even take another step.

Marguerite continued to stand stock-still like a queen in the midst of her kingdom. The noonday sun glinted off the solar-panel shoulders of the automatons as they tended the crops with their swinging metal arms, each movement the same as the last in perfect mechanical harmony. A batch of human servants attended to the animals’ midday needs. A modest aership floated above the manor house in the distance waiting to deliver potential suitors looking for a real lady, but at this moment, Marguerite didn’t care about any of it. All she wanted was for Claude to erase the words he’d just said.

“New France?”

“Marguerite, I’ve explained to you countless times that I do not want to be stuck here mucking stalls my whole life. This is not my future.”

“Yes, I know that.” She took a deep breath. “But will your future be so much better if you are shot dead in New France? What about training school? What about Paris?”

“All of those things are just a step sideways. What are they going to teach me at training school that I don’t already know? I’ve practically built every automaton on this estate. There is no way that I can work to a higher position here when your dear old dad has me right where he wants me—and Paris!” He drew in a deep breath and let it out in a laugh. “Paris would be worse. I’ve talked to the smithies and loaders in town. They said it’s the same scene there, just dirtier and more crowded. My only chance of having my own life, my own home or business, is in New France, and I’m ready to make my move.”

Marguerite’s eyes filled with hot emotion. She ground her teeth together in frustration and held her breath, trying to come up with the right response. She knew in her heart that he was right, but she didn’t want it to be true. She didn’t want a single thing to change.

He stared at her intently. She knew her face told Claude everything, and she hated it.

His voice was softer when he said, “Did you think we could just play children here our whole lives? Did you think you’d be the lady and I’d be the smithy and we’d have tea together under the bushes every afternoon?” His tone was not unkind, but it stung all the same, pushing her just enough to gain the power to speak.

“No, Claude. I didn’t think that at all.” She blew out the breath she’d been holding and tried to make the cogs of her mind adjust to this new future.

“Besides,” he said, pulling on her arm gently, coaxing her to walk on, “you're almost done with old Pompface and you’ll be surrounded by suitors in two days’ time. Then they will draw and quarter me as soon as they take the throne of Vadnay.”

She looked up at his freckled nose and softened her eyes just enough to let him know she didn’t hold anything against him, but not so much that he could see her extreme disappointment. She knew all along this could be a possibility; she just never dreamed it would happen this way. She knew better than to push the matter further. Still, the truth burned in her chest like a hot coal.

He smiled and walked on. “You’re going to be fine. I promise. I’ve already got a plan in place.”

Vivienne came running back down the lane. “What’s going on? Why are you walking so slowly? We’re going to run out of daylight hours.”

“Claude is going to New France.” Marguerite couldn’t believe she said the words out loud. They felt wrong. Her whole person felt wrong. Any giddiness from her earlier mutiny against her governess had been squashed flat like a toad on the highway.

“New France? I wonder how the food is there?”

Marguerite rolled her eyes and Vivienne continued to talk about the possible conveniences of the new land as they approached the forge where Claude did most of his work. It was a large and very modern building. The outside was lined with shiny tin siding, making it look almost like a machine itself. Inside, the ceiling had alternating glass panels allowing for natural light alongside what artificial light the man-made lamps could generate. The walls were lined with shelves and work benches. Tools were stored with a system, but a newcomer would never know that from a glance. It seemed to be a scene of utter chaos. A few bots and one other human worked steadily at the tasks in front of them, easily grabbing what they needed from various hooks and shelves scattered around the large open room.

A female automaton that Marguerite had never seen before stood at attention by Claude’s main workbench. Gleaming silver trays and copper dishes were lined up beside her. She’d obviously been hard at work polishing them.

“This looks lovely, Outil!” Claude cried. “Marguerite, I’d like to introduce you to Outil. She’s my latest invention.” He beamed like a father presenting his newborn daughter.

Marguerite was confused. “I thought you said you wanted me to meet some
one
. This is just a bot.” She turned to the machine, looking it over closely.

The automaton stood taller than Marguerite, almost as tall as Claude’s six-foot frame, and cast its bronze eyes into the distance as was protocol. Its outer panels were cast in a fine bronze alloy that was polished to a mirror shine. You could see the gear-work at her joints, perfectly oiled and of much finer craftsmanship than typical plantation bots. Her shoulders were capped with the usual light panels for converting any light source to power and her face had decidedly feminine features. Most bots were gender-based for novelty’s sake more than anything else, but this bot seemed even more feminine than what one would usually expect. Marguerite almost felt like she should be wearing a skirt of some sort.

“She’s top of the line, state of the art, best of the best. Anything you need, she can deliver. She’d make a perfect lady’s maid if you could talk your father into letting bots work in the house full-time, but she also has a new feature I’ve been working on for outside jobs. See here.” Claude pointed to one of the open joints in the automaton’s elbow. “Feel this.”

Marguerite reached out and touched her slender finger to the opening. Instead of cool metal she felt an almost warm, synthetic substance. “What is it?”

Claude beamed like a little child. “I call it clearcoat. I modified an epoxy formula I’ve been working on and combined it with a few other ingredients to form a waterproof barrier I can apply to all the bots. It should cut down on the need for constant oiling and rust-wear in the wet seasons.”

“Why would you need to prove anything to water?” Vivienne had her head tipped sideways as she stared at the bot.

“It’s brilliant, Claude. Really brilliant.” Marguerite wished she could enjoy this moment of triumph with her friend fully, the way she would have if he hadn’t just told her he was leaving on a death mission.

“She’s for you, Marguerite.” He smiled down at his childhood friend. “I wanted you to have more than a cricket to remember me by.”

“Oh, Claude.” She felt numb all over so she fell back on basic manners “I don't know what to say. I’ve never thought of having an automaton for a lady’s maid before.”

“Well, you should. She’s the perfect watchdog for when you-know-who is on the warpath. She can even walk you into town if you decide you want to have lunch there after all.”

“Wait, I thought that was settled … ” Vivienne looked confused.

Marguerite cut Vivienne off. “That is very thoughtful of you, Claude.” She touched Outil’s highly polished forearm again, wondering at the sheer genius of her friend. She bit her tongue hard as her mind raced with arguments against his leaving. Eventually she couldn’t hold back, “She will never replace you.” Her voice sounded harsher than she meant for it to be.