The Perilous Journey of the Not-So-Innocuous Girl (12 page)

“Do we not have a private washroom in our quarters?” Vivienne finally spoke.

“No, ma’am, sorry. The suites do come with their own small water closet, but not a full bathing center.”

Vivienne’s eyes grew wide again. Marguerite wondered if they would ever shrink back to normal size after today.

Eventually they reached their cabin. It was a series of two rooms with a porthole in each one that looked out on the open sea and sky. The first room had comfortable seating for a small party and the back room was furnished with two modest beds and dressers for their things. All the furnishings were of excellent quality, but it certainly wasn’t the type of space either girl was accustomed to. Marguerite tried to be positive. “How cozy!”

A large mirror hung on one wall of the sitting room. Vivienne caught a glimpse of herself in it and gasped, touching the deep purple blotch on her cheek. She sank into the nearest settee and wept. The steward at the threshold purposefully looked away from the crying girl as he stuttered about a required meeting.

Marguerite quickly crossed to the door, closing it halfway to block Vivienne from his view, and assured him all was well.

“Yes, ma’am.” He seemed relieved at her interruption. “As I was saying, there is an all-hands meeting as soon as the ship has set sail. You will be notified by the communication system.” He pointed to a grate on the ceiling. “I did not want it to alarm you.”

“Thank you.” Marguerite gently closed the door as the man bowed quickly and left.

“There, there.” She turned back to the small figure sobbing on the couch. “It’s not that bad. We’ll have you fixed up in no time.” Marguerite pulled off her gloves. She felt like she should rub Vivienne’s back or comfort her in some physical way, but she was at a loss as to how that should be accomplished. Plus, she didn’t want to hurt her further, so she merely patted her shoulder a bit and felt awkward.

Outil emerged from the bedroom. Marguerite forgot the bot was even with them and flinched when she saw the movement.

“Excuse me, miss.” Outil took a step back. “I didn’t mean to alarm you. Your belongings have been distributed to the wardrobe and dresser. I know you indicated you would not need my assistance further on this journey, but I would highly recommend you reconsider that decision.” The bot almost pleaded, “I am designed to serve and protect those of the estate, but specifically, you. Please forgive my boldness.”

“Yes, right.” Marguerite looked thoughtful. “Captain Moreau was looking up the regulations on that. I feel bad enough as it is dragging you this far into the whole mess and deceiving my father. I’d hate to be accused of stealing an estate bot while I’m busy with all this lying and sneaking around. Besides, I have Vivienne to keep me company and this place is crawling with stewards and servants.”

She resumed gingerly patting Vivienne’s still hunched shoulders and smiled at Outil, her heart secretly torn between complete independence and losing this automaton she had come to rely on heavily. Still, she didn’t want to push any of the rules and risk being thrown off the ship.

Outil looked at Vivienne sobbing on the couch; her shining brass facial features actually changed to a quizzical expression. She didn’t have to say aloud that Vivienne was hardly in any state to be a comfort or help to anyone.

Neither bot nor girls had to make the decision, for at that moment, Marguerite’s stomach began to churn and lurch a bit. She jumped off the settee and was at the window in three easy strides.

They were off.

She could just see the end of the farthest-reaching docks moving ever so slowly out of view. The coast beyond it was dotted with other, smaller ports and docks that seemed to stand completely still. Her heart thrummed with excitement and she turned back to Vivienne to try and convince her to come see for herself. She thought better of it when she saw the wretched creature had finished crying but now stared across the room at nothing.

“Outil, fetch me a slumber aid.” She was so glad she had thought to grab her personal supply of medicines at the last minute. “What you need now is sleep, my friend.”

Outil returned quickly with the tiny purple pill and a glass of water. Marguerite felt a sense of relief knowing that Outil would be with them after all. She tried not to think about the scene back at her home when her father awoke.

Outil and Marguerite helped Vivienne to her bed. She limped and complained about a pain in her back. Marguerite assured her that she would feel better after some rest. Outil helped her out of Marguerite’s dress, revealing her own nightdress beneath, and settled her into bed. Just as the bot emerged from the bedroom and closed the small door, a loud
ping
sounded from the grate above them, followed by a hollow voice that sounded like it came from a tin of food.

“All non-vital hands and passengers are required to appear in the ballroom for the departure briefing. Ladies to the bow, crew to the stern.”

“My, isn’t that efficient!” Marguerite was quite taken with the technology thus far and knew she hadn’t seen but a small percentage. She stood and smoothed her dress before checking her face in the mirror. “I won’t need your company for this little adventure. Why don’t you stay here and tend to Vivienne in case she wakes up?”

“Yes, miss.” Outil stood against the wall in her position for resting and refueling, next to a window. All automatons ran on solar cells installed in their shoulders, but Marguerite noticed the bot turned her face toward the view, a puzzling detail that lingered with her all the way to the ballroom. What need would a bot have for staring out the window?

The steward had pointed out the corridors that lead to the ballroom on the way to their quarters. All the passages were labeled with brass placards indicating the major locations. Marguerite walked with confidence, others joining her along the way as she reached the large double doors leading to the meeting. She had to wait behind the few others who arrived there before her. Around their heads she saw bots holding back the crowd as large circles rose from the wide expanse of floor. Smaller circles appeared just after, surrounding each larger one, forming dining tables and stools.

“Ahh! Brilliant!” Marguerite smiled with satisfaction at the display of efficiency and mechanics. A girl in front of her turned and stared.

She seemed to be the same age as Marguerite, only shorter and stouter. Her hair was a drab brown and hung loose and straight behind her shoulders. She had a bright red bandanna tied around her head, holding the front strands back from her face. Her clothes were common for the working class. Her face wasn’t remarkable, but wasn’t ugly either. Freckles peppered her face and her teeth were in desperate need of bleaching.

Marguerite recognized her as the girl she’d seen in the street carrying a basket of bread.
I guess even the common girls aren’t happy with their futures,
she thought.

The girl elbowed her neighbor. “Did you get a look at this one?” She scanned Marguerite head to toe, a sneer perched on her lips. “Ha!”

The other girl glanced over her shoulder and echoed her friend’s snort, “Regular princess.” Both girls turned back to follow the crowd that was now being allowed to file into their seats.

Completely stunned, Marguerite didn’t have time to respond. No one had ever spoken to or about her that way, at least not directly to her face. She stood stock-still for a full minute while other ladies filed past her. Eventually she took a small step forward and joined the throng to the front of the room.

Stewards and bots stood to the side as the room filled, letting all the ladies find seats first. Marguerite chose the first seat she could find closest to the stage. She decided to shake off the unpleasant exchange in the corridor and not let it bother her, but only after she’d scanned the crowd and made sure the red bandanna was at a table on the opposite side of the room. Maybe she should have had Outil accompany her. As she looked around discretely at the others at her table and beyond she realized that most of the girls seemed to be from common-class families. Her fears turned in her stomach as she slowly lost discretion and openly searched the small crowd of women for a face or dress that seemed to match her own station. Had she been deceived? Were she and Vivienne the only girls of high birth on the whole ship?

A bot stepped to the center of the ornate stage as the rest of the room filled with crew members. Its synthetic male voice, made unnaturally loud for the event, scraped against Marguerite’s human ears.

“Welcome one and all to the Triumph!” He went on to talk about a few minor details; no food in quarters, lights go out automatically at bedtime, etc. Then he introduced Captain Moreau.

A polite round of applause went up as he came from off stage, took a small device from the bot and held it to his mouth. “Welcome! Welcome! Ladies and gentlemen and automatons!” It seemed to be some sort of voice amplification device. “Congratulations on being a part of the maiden voyage of His Majesty’s newest aership, Triumph!”

Another polite round of applause followed by whoops from the crew in the back filled the room.

“You are part of a unique generation. Future Frenchmen, both Old and New, will talk of us and our time with great respect and wonder. We are the explorers, the peacemakers, the great inventors, the settlers of new lands and some of the bravest men”—he paused now and motioned dramatically at the ladies before him—“and women, to ever live!”

More whoops and applause echoed through the air. Marguerite couldn’t help but feel her heart soar. She was actually aboard a state-of-the-art aership heading for New France with a room full of other girls building their own futures, not just accepting the ones handed to them. She couldn’t remember a more thrilling day in all her life. She clapped along with the rest of the crowd and smiled at the other girls seated at her table. She pretended not to notice the way they looked sideways at her tailored clothing and traveling hat. She’d never felt self-conscious in the latest styles from Paris before. She wasn’t going to start now.

“And now! Without further ado, I present to you your captain for this journey.”

Marguerite leaned to the girl next to her and braved a question. “Captain Moreau isn’t the captain of the ship?”

The girl looked at her wearily and shrugged her shoulders.

“A fantastic soldier and a fine friend, Captain Jacques Laviolette!” Moreau held out his hand in a sweeping gesture as Laviolette took the stage.

The balloon in Marguerite’s chest popped as the tall young man with dark, wavy hair took the speaking device and smiled, perfect teeth and all, at the crowd. She tried to duck down and look away to avoid his gaze, but it was too late, she was seated too close to the stage. As he scanned the room and waved a bit, waiting for the applause to die down, he spotted her and held her gaze firmly as his smile increased, as if to say: I win again.

Marguerite looked away quickly and fussed with her dress, then opened her reticule pretending to search for something. As Laviolette began to speak she took out her hanky and dabbed her nose, then looked at the ceiling and everything else in the room to avoid making eye contact again.

“Thank you!” Laviolette waved his hand in a motion to silence the roaring crowd. “I’m so pleased to have you aboard my new ship and my first command. Please do not feel you are in the hands of an amateur, however, as I have almost fifteen years’ experience navigating the air over our great country and its tributes, as well as the oceans of this world.”

Fifteen years?
thought Marguerite.
How old is he?

“You’ll find that this ship is equipped with the latest of all that our modern engineers have to offer, including hydraulic lifts for moving between floors with freight and luggage, in-wall wireless telegraph stations, a ship-wide communication system which allows me to keep you up to date with the latest news as we voyage toward New France, and as many of you have already witnessed, an incomparable dance floor that can be changed to a dining hall with the flip of a switch, saving us precious amounts of space.” Marguerite felt his eyes burning on her again as he spoke of the dance floor.

The girl next to her applauded freely and spoke to her neighbor, “Isn’t he handsome? I hear he’s unmarried too. I’d like to catch me a man like that! Forget New France!”

Her friend nodded enthusiastically then added, “He comes from big money too. I hear he gave up his father’s fortune to see the world, but when he came home with a title and his own ship his family took him back.”

“You don’t say?” The first girl clasped her hands enthusiastically. “Handsome, smart, and rich? Yes please!”

Marguerite couldn’t take it anymore. “He’s a terrible dancer.”

The other girls at the table looked at her like she had a pie on her head. She straightened her back and turned to the stage while she pretended not to hear them continue their conversation, this time about her.

“And just who is she?” the first girl asked.

“Don’t you know? That’s Lord Vadnay’s daughter, Lady Vadnay herself. Had a coming-out party last week the likes of which could have clothed and fed my whole family for the rest of our lives. Must not have gone very well if she’s got herself stuck on the fastest ship to New France.”