Perilous Journey of the Much-Too-Spontaneous Girl (27 page)

“Butterfield,” She said the name like it was something foul she accidentally ate for dinner. Captain Butterfield bowed low and yanked on the chain indicating the girls should do the same. They both dipped their heads, and all three rose to see the look of annoyance on the woman’s face. The two captains together made a strange pair. Butterfield wore a frumpy brown cotton shirt and jacket with the worn pants of a deck hand. Her hair was as wild and unruly as ever, sticking out from all sides of her tricorn hat. Her face was brown from years on the open deck of a ship, and her eyes were a dull brown behind droopy lids. Douleur, on the other hand, was tall and thin, but her slender arms were lined with the definition of muscles used to hard work. Her black dress was of the finest silks and design, and she stood with a regal air. Her brown waving hair had the slightest hint of grey streaks but was combed up in a fashionable style. Her face was a porcelain picture of loveliness, but her eyes were penetrating and sharp, giving away her true nature of cruelty and contempt.

“Captain Douleur. So very nice to see you again,” Butterfield seemed, for the first time, to be a bit out of her element, nervous even.

“I can’t say that the feeling is mutual. What have you brought me that couldn’t wait until tomorrow?” She looked at the girls with disinterest. Marguerite tried to be patient and watch the night unfold, but it was not easy.

“Silks from Paris, Captain. There are more outside on the cart.”

“And two servants to boot.” Douleur lifted her glass at Marguerite and Lucy.

“That remains to be seen, Captain.” Butterfield forced a tight smile. It was a bold statement considering the situation and Butterfield’s obvious insecurity around the famous pirate queen.

“Have your bot bring the silks to my back room. The girls can come with me. Boots, take the chain.” Captain Douleur nodded to the copper bot to take the chain.

Up close, Marguerite could see that the bot wasn’t antiquated as much as neglected. He stood six feet tall with wide square shoulders and thick limbs, quite the opposite of the slender, streamlined Outil. He’d probably had a fine polish at one point, but no one had cleaned his gears past oiling in a while. He was covered in patches of green patina, and the lower half of both legs and feet were solid green making it appear as if he was stomping around in tall green boots. It was easy to see where he got his name.

Marguerite bumped into Butterfield, intentionally trying to get her attention so she could ask what she should expect now, but the square woman just walked out of the tavern without acknowledging the girls. Marguerite was feeling better about the fact that she’d shoved her goggles and gun in the pockets of her skirt, but less happy about the fact that she didn’t think she could get her hands out of the chain without help.

The bot named Boots pulled them through the crowded room following Captain Douleur. As they passed beside the man on the chair throwing balls, he reached out a foot and poked Lucy in the back of the head, never missing a beat. The crowd roared with laughter. Lucy tucked her head in annoyance and gave a quick look of annoyance to Marguerite that said—this better work.

They weaved past the crowd, eventually coming to a private room in the back. The bot led them in and closed the door, blocking out most of the din. Marguerite was impressed with what she saw. The furniture was of excellent taste, finely crafted, and looked extremely comfortable. Any of the pieces before her would not have seemed out of place in her own home in France.

There was a card table in one corner, several armchairs with downy seats, and two settees flanking a fireplace big enough to roast a whole pig in. A door on the other side of the room opened revealing yet another bot and Captain Butterfield, followed by Outil, whose arms were filled with bolts of silk. Captain Douleur lay languidly on a settee and motioned for Outil to come near. “Lay the bolts here.” She indicated the other settee. “Yes, I’ll take these. Do you have any others?” She looked closely at Marguerite and Lucy, lingering far too long on Marguerite’s face.

Marguerite’s throat tightened and she fought down a wave of anxiety as she wondered if this fearsome pirate captain known for torture and cruelty had seen her the day she’d accidentally attacked Douleur’s ship. Maybe she’d been given notice to watch out for Marguerite, the
international criminal,
just like the officials at the Tower of Bombay. Either way, she didn’t like the woman’s stare, and she looked away as long as she could bear it. When Douleur did not relent
,
Marguerite sighed out loud and met her scrutiny straight on.
She obviously sees something in me. No use in acting like a helpless simpering debutant,
she thought. Douleur quickly turned to Outil who was laying out three more bolts of bright colored silks and satin on the small sofa. “I do not care for the peuce,” Douleur said. “But I’ll take the rest. What is your price?”

“One thousand francs.” Marguerite, Lucy, and Outil all turned to look at Butterfield in unison.

“That seems quite high,” Douleur said. “Unless you were meaning to throw in the girls and the bot as well. I like the looks of this bot.”

Butterfield didn’t even hesitate a heartbeat before she replied. “Done.”

Douleur waved a hand at a woman standing in the corner Marguerite hadn’t noticed before. She was wearing men’s clothing, plus two pistols, and a sour expression. She walked to a small chest and opened it, pulling out gold coins.

Marguerite forgot herself and charged at the pudgy little woman, yanking on the chain, which in turn yanked Lucy off balance. “You said you’d trade the silks for Jacques. What kind of game are you playing? I am
not
for sale!”

Captain Douleur sat up with a look of amusement on her face, “Jacques Laviolette? Have you come to save your lovely Captain? Boots, fetch Captain Jacques, please.” She sat back on her sofa smiling and took a sip of her drink.

“Unchain my hands at once,” Marguerite demanded. “We will sell you the silks for Jacques Laviolette’s freedom, and that is all.”

“This one is fiery, Butterfield. Where did you pick her up?” Douleur continued to look amused as Marguerite struggled to wiggle her hands out of their chains.

“I picked them both up in Montreal. They are more trouble than they’re worth. The bot is quite amazing, though. Almost human. I should raise the price.”

“How about I let you keep your life?” Douleur looked at Butterfield in a way that made Marguerite’s heart ice over. This woman was cruel. She could easily see Douleur doing any of the things she was rumored to have done. It was Lucy’s turn to be upset now, “Captain Butterfield, I have served you faithfully for years, why are you doing this?” Big tears spilled down her warm brown cheeks.

“My girls, if you’ve served with Butterbuns here for years, then the first thing you should have noticed is that she’s always only in it for herself. I’m fairly certain these silks were destined for the governor of Charleston’s brats. Am I right?” Douleur’s expression had softened again, but the edge was still there.

“Oh, no, Ma’am,” Butterfield stammered. “I picked them up off a frigate stranded outside New Amsterdam.”

“I don’t care where you got them—” Douleur started but was interrupted by the door opening.

“What is it now?” a familiar deep male voice filled the room. Marguerite knew it at once. She turned to see Jacques walk into the room, a free man, no chains, and no whips. He was whole and unharmed and looked surprisingly good, considering he was being held captive by the most feared pirate in the world. His pants were the same, and his shirt sleeves were rolled up. Gear grease smeared his arms and hands, and a bit was on his face, but other than that, he seemed well rested, if not in ornery spirits.

“Jacques!” Marguerite tried to move to him, but the chain jerked her back. Outil took two steps forward, but Jacques held out a hand to stop her and stepped toward Marguerite.

“Eunice here thinks you remember her,” Captain Butterfield said. Jacques looked at Butterfield carefully, his eyes soft, but his face unyielding.

“I have a lot more to do before the
Dragon
is ready for flight, Douleur. I don’t have time to answer to every girl who thinks she knows me. We’d be here all night if that were the case.”

“Oh, I know your reputation precedes you, but there’s no need to be unkind.” Douleur grinned wickedly. She was enjoying this scene a bit too much. Marguerite was confused; Lucy looked terrified, and Jacques stood there useless in the room full of pirates. Marguerite’s only hope was Outil. She looked to her bot with pleading eyes. Outil looked at the bot holding the chain.

“I do know that bot, however,” Jacques said as he pointed to Outil. “She would be quite useful to me. She knows her way around an engine, if I remember correctly. And we can always use more serving wenches.” Jacques nodded toward the two girls—Marguerite fuming and Lucy weeping.

“Well, you got your wish. I just bought them from Butterbrains over here. Boots, give her the gold and show her out. I suggest you leave port tonight, Captain.” Douleur stood up and walked to Marguerite. “I want this one delivered to the ship. Send the silks to my dressmaker and Captain Laviolette, get back to work. Take the bot and the girl with you.”

“What about me?” Lucy whimpered. “They need help at the bar. Can you balance a tray?” Douleur was looking much too closely at Marguerite again.

“I’m not going anywhere without Lucy. Wherever I go, she goes. We are a package deal.” Marguerite stared back at the pirate queen.

“You go where I say you go, or your little friend loses her lovely curls and her ears. Understand? You’ll both be branded in the morning.”

Marguerite wasn’t quite sure what to say to that. She knew it wasn’t a bluff. She knew she shouldn’t push this situation, but she couldn’t let Lucy go, not to this crowd. Not when it was Marguerite’s fault that Lucy was here in the first place.

“Captain Douleur, if I may,” Outil’s soft lilting robot voice cut the tension. “Mademoiselle Lucy is my mechanic. She is excellent with bots, and I fear her talents would be wasted as a bar wench.”

“You don’t say?” Douleur looked from Outil to Lucy then back to Marguerite. She turned in a quick movement, sat on the settee and sipped at her drink again. “I want both girls in my cabin. Give them uniforms and lock them down for the night. We sail at sunrise, Laviolette.”

“Do you want to hobble on the wind? Or would you like operational engines?” Jacques barked back without apology.

“It’s your neck, aerman. Get the work done or die.” She waved a hand of dismissal. All around her, people sprang to action clearing the room. Marguerite watched as the large woman with the guns handed Butterfield the cash and motioned her to the back door. Marguerite couldn’t hold her tongue much longer. She knew she’d promised herself and Outil that she would be less impulsive, but watching Butterfield pocket the gold and walk toward the back door made a fire burn up her insides. Then the dowdy older woman turned around and smiled at them.

“Good luck girls. I probably won’t be seeing you again.”

Marguerite snapped. “You double-crossing, back-biting, piece of worthless dung! I’ll see that you are hanged as a slaver and a traitor to the crown! You’ll never get another legal job again! My father will see to that! You’ll be hunted like a dog!”

“Get them all out, Boots, will you. And gag that one.” Captain Douleur waved impatiently at Marguerite. The green clomping bot walked to a table and took a few strips of cloth from the drawer then walked up to Marguerite who was still ranting as Butterfield walked out the door and let it close behind her.

“This won’t hurt if you will just let me put it on you quickly,” the bot said.

“Of course, I won’t let you put anything on me, or in me, or the likewise. I won’t be bought and sold and manhandled—” Marguerite was cut off as the bot grabbed her by the back of the neck and pushed one piece of fabric in her mouth then expertly tied the other around her face holding the first in place. Then the bot picked up a pistol, motioned them all out to into the night, and closed the heavy wooden door behind them. Marguerite hung her head in defeat.

Lucy whispered through tears, “What are we going to do?”

But Marguerite’s mind was already formulating a plan. She watched Jacques lead their way through the dark back alley. Surely he had a plan, and they could get out of here together. But even if he didn’t, at least, she’d found him. He was here. He was alive. Her heart ached at the sight of him, and it broke with the thought that he was still angry with her. He could be angry with her forever after everything she’d done. He may never speak to her again. Maybe he had decided he liked being a pirate. Maybe he had more options. Maybe he didn’t want to marry her anymore, and he was out to conquer the world with this cruel new boss. Maybe Marguerite was worse than Douleur, always dragging innocent people into her messes and getting them killed.

Marguerite knew she was working herself up into a useless frenzy. She didn’t know at all how he felt, and she was no good in a frenzy. She tried to calm herself as they approached the entrance to the gangway full of pirates and bots coming and going from the
Dragon
. But as Jacques stood to see them on, he fell back into step beside her.

She could smell him; he was that close, but he continued to treat her like a stranger. It was almost overwhelming. She thought she might actually faint with the stress of the entire situation, something she hadn’t done in years. But when no one was looking, his soft, warm hand reached over, found her bound ones, and squeezed. It was a small, quick movement. No one saw them, but it was real. Marguerite felt it.

He still loved her, but would things ever be the same?