Terra Mechanica: A Steampunk Anthology (30 page)

Marina and Roy were thrown into the very same cellar that had held Roy captive. The door slammed behind them, but the tell-tale yelling outside revealed that they weren’t to be left alone for long. Despite their desperate situation, Marina couldn’t help but ask the obvious. “You speak French?”

Roy simply nodded, clearly shaken from their encounter.

“What did you say to them? Why did they kill them and not us?”

“I, uh . . .”

He’s still in shock.
Marina pulled up a chair and sat him down so he didn’t faint. “I told him the truth—that my family was wealthy and would pay a hefty sum for my safe return.”

“What about me, then? Why am I still alive?”

“Y-You’re a girl,” Roy said apprehensively. “You’re, well, useful to them.” His disgusted expression revealed his true meaning.

“Wonderful,” she said uneasily. “Well, my step-mother always wanted me to meet more men.” Marina laughed nervously. “Sorry; this is not the time for joking. I have a plan.”

Roy watched her with a perplexed expression as she took off her gloved extension and began prying at an already loosened floorboard in the corner with the sharp edges. “When I designed this ship, I added a hallway below the main cellar in case I ever needed extra room for supplies, cargo, anything. It leads directly to the engine room.”

Marina pulled it up, revealing a small, hidden staircase heading down into the dark. “Come on.” She pulled Roy up from the chair and prodded him down the stairs. She grabbed a box of forgotten matches from the top shelf and then joined him, returning the floorboard to its place as she went.

The darkness was consuming. Going entirely from memory, Marina grabbed a small oil lamp that hung at the foot of the staircase for that very purpose, and used one of the precious matches to light it. She and Roy headed down the narrow hallway.

They stepped through a hatch at the far end and into the dangerously flammable engine room. Large windows lining the walls served as the only source of light. “At this point, I’m not sure where to go. All I know is they’ll be furious once they realize they can’t actually drive the ship—not without me.”

“Because of your arm?”

“Because of my arm, yes.”

“How did that happen, anyway? I’m guessing, even in Russia, that having a mechanical arm is a bit out of place.”

“Soviet Union,” she corrected, “but yes, it is. Ask me once we get out of this mess; it’s an interesting story.”

“You seem awfully hopeful. How
are
we going to get out of this mess?”

“I . . .” Marina sighed. “I don’t know.”

“You’re an engineer, right?” Roy said incredulously. “So build something!”

“It isn’t that simple . . .” Marina spotted a couple hundred feet of worn rope coiled in a huge mass in the corner, often used to tether her airship before they landed. “We can escape. . .” She noted her leather gloves, and then a spare pair next to the engine. “But what to do in the water?” Marina looked at Roy with interest. “What are you trousers made of?”

“Uh, whatever normal trouser material is?”

“Probably cotton then. Perfect. Once we reach the water, we inflate our trousers to stay afloat.”

“How would you know if that’s possible—”

“But how to find land . . .” Marina wandered over to the storage closet to try and jog her imagination, but the effort was useless. She began pacing anxiously.

Roy watched her curiously. “What if we had some kind of flare? Then, we could alert other airships, or even sea-faring ships.”

Marina’s face lit up. “Brilliant. We could use our oil deposit and—” She stopped abruptly. “The closest ship is my ship. Our pirate friends will spot us.” Her expression fell. “If they don’t spot us by simply peering out the window. They will know we’ve escaped sooner, rather than later.”

Roy suddenly gasped. “You said there was hydrogen in the balloon, right?”

“Yes. That’s how we’re kept afloat—” She glared at Roy when she realized his thought process. “No.”

“It would work.”

Marina’s tone grew low and menacing. “We’re not burning my ship.”

“If we escape, it’s lost anyway. But if we light the hydrogen in the balloon, people will see it for miles!”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“This ship . . . the
Nikita
means everything to me. I built it with my own hands, and it carries the last of my father’s work.”

“You can rebuild it.”

“No. I could build another ship, yes, with all the money I don’t have, but it isn’t the same. The
Nikita
has been a sanctuary to me; down there, I’m nothing, doomed to live in poverty because I’m a woman, or because I won’t make myself a helpless female who has a to be ‘kept,’ or a thousand other reasons thrown at me my entire life because of how I dreamt of living. The freedom this ship has given me . . . It’s given my sister and me a chance to survive in this rotten world.”

Marina could feel tears begin to form unbidden in her eyes. “It means everything to me,” she finished, forcing her emotions down.

Roy carefully considered his words. “You have a sister?” Sympathy filled his voice.

Marina nodded. “She’s only seven.”

“And don’t you want to see her again?”

Marina grew quiet. “Of course.”

“I would do anything to see Lily again—that’s why I was dumb enough to try and stowaway on your airship in the first place. I’m sure you would do the same.”

Marina didn’t respond, instead choosing to look down at the floorboards, blinking heavily.

“So, if you had to choose between your ship and your family, what would it be?”

Marina clenched her fist, resolve forming. “I need your help.”

Roy grinned. “I await your orders, Captain.”

She led him to the far wall across from the engine. “Kick out two of the windows.” They heard a sudden burst of yelling from above, accompanied by loud stomping. “Go on—we can still do this.” A slight panic laced Marina’s tone.

They managed to anchor the rope between casements. Marina tossed it through the broken glass.

“It doesn’t go all the way down,” Roy said, watching it fall.

“That doesn’t matter.”

Marina set to work to rig the steam engine. She kicked out the bottom burner, the flame now uncontained. “It will get us far enough to survive the drop.”

The banging on the far room grew louder, until the sound of wood scraping against wood reached them. “They’re here,” Roy exclaimed.

Marina tossed him the spare gloves. “Get going.”

“But what about you?”

“I’ll make it.” Marina was already at the oil drum. “If you make it into the water before me, take off your trousers and inflate them.”

“Excuse me—”

“Just go!”

Roy disappeared out the window just as two of the pirates came crashing down the passage. Marina kicked off the stopper on the drum and tipped it over. She ran to the window, reaching for the oil lamp, but was stopped when a pirate grabbed her across the waist. With a sickening crack, Marina whacked his nose with her elbow. She dropped to the ground.

A sudden, sharp pain in her shoulder caused her to cry out. A blade sunk deep into her flesh as another man attempted to grab her opposite hand and pull her towards him. He reeled back in shock when the sharp points of her prosthetic pierced his skin.

Marina threw the lamp across the room and leaped from the open window.

A jolt of pain shot through her arms as her hands found purchase on the rope. It burned against the thick leather as she slid down. Fearful cries filled the air above her. Marina began to freefall as she neared the end; the line had burned away at its anchor. Down into the pitiless waves she plunged.

She hit hard. Disoriented and dizzy, Marina managed to reach Roy when he swam to meet her. “I was afraid you wouldn’t make it,” he said, sounding oddly humorous.

“It’s like you have no faith in me,” Marina replied, a grin crossing her features.

An explosion from above, as the flame hit the hydrogen, cut their conversation short. The entire balloon shot up in flames. Marina felt a nauseating pit fill her gut.

She barely felt it when Roy grabbed her mechanical arm and pulled sharply. Eyes growing misty, she swam after him, forcing her emotions down.

Faster and faster they swam, each ocean wave helping to push them farther from the falling wreckage. Marina was quickly lost in the repetitive action. She did not dare to look back, did not dare to risk ripping out her already battered heart by gazing upon the destruction of that which was so precious to her.

Marina’s arms grew heavy; she panted for breath. The water fought to pull her under and her strength was fading fast. For a moment, she wondered why she bothered, why she forced her body to continue its forward motion. Her entire life, literally falling to pieces, obliterated and burned, but she could not look back, could not look back . . .

Her choice had already been made. For her sister, she breathed a calming sigh and forced herself onward. For Larissa, she managed the last of the impossible swim to safety.

And once there, Marina spared a moment for the final burning shambles of her once great ship, watching as its remains sank into the sea.

“Marina!” Roy’s cry interrupted her mourning. “What was this about inflating our trousers? You were awfully proud of this plan earlier.”

“Yes, of course.” Marina stripped off her own pair of pants. She was hit with a sudden wave of dizziness. “First, you tie off the two ends at the bottom.” He mimicked her actions. “Then you blow air . . .” She took a moment to catch her breath. “You blow air into—”

“Marina, there’s something . . .” Roy’s eyes grew wide. “You were stabbed!”

“Oh, yeah,” Marina replied, her words slurring slightly. Blackness flooded her vision, and Marina felt herself slowly begin to sink.

Here she is, left alone with an infant who cries more often than she sleeps, who eats only when it suits her, and whose cheeks are bright red and flushed with a burning fever. The hour is well past midnight, and Marina is nearly at her wits end with the perpetual crying. She sits on the edge of her bed with her forehead resting on one hand and the other rocking the cradle, the back-and-forth motion threatening to drive her mad.

“Perhaps this is why you cry,” Marina says aloud, insincerity lacing her tone. “Perhaps this constant motion bothers you, too.”

Guilt rises from within her at her own harsh words. Larissa’s fever has only risen in the past three days; she is ill, so very ill, and along with the guilt comes a harrowing sense of fear.

Her frazzled thoughts rest on her father. “How did you make it through this?” she continues, sighing heavily. “What would you do right now?”

As though summoned, his words resound in her head: ‘I nearly lost hope.’

I understand—I finally do.

‘. . . I put all my love into you.’

Emotion hits Marina like a tidal wave and tears begin pouring down her exhausted face. Driven by an unknown force, she reaches into the cradle and pulls Larissa into her arms. “Please, Larissa, my angel, my
milakha
, I’m sorry. You can cry. But please . . . Please make it through this night. I’ll care for you, I promise, I promise . . .” She chokes back another sob. “You have to live.”

An hour later, Larissa’s fever breaks, her crying softens, and Marina continues holding her all through the night.

The daylight filtered in gently through the window. Marina’s head swam, but she forced herself to sit up, though the soft bed remained ever so inviting. A sharp pain shot through her left shoulder. She instinctively tried to clutch it, but realized her arm extension was gone.

A slight panic went through her until she turned and saw it lying on the table beside her. Next to it was a dagger, a ruby-eyed dragon carved into the gold handle, the blade jagged and cruel-looking. Roy stepped in, then, and smiled. “So you are awake! I was starting to get worried.”

“Where am I?” Marina asked, settling herself against the backboard of the bed.

“My father’s house; you’ve been asleep for almost a week.”

Marina was taken aback. “What?”