Battleship Bay
Eventually, Sarah opened her eyes again with no idea how much time had passed. Rubbing her face, she sat up, yawned and stretched and looked around. She scratched her head, trying to comb through the tangle of curls as she looked at the water. It was lapping at the sandy shore like an ocean does, but it couldn’t possibly be that large. Then she noticed the short waterfall pouring out of a squat concrete building over to one side - there must be some sort of water-replenishing system built in. And it agitated the water just enough to make small waves. Ingenious, really.
People in striped bathing suits, the kind that covered you from knees to shoulders, were everywhere - sitting on the sand or on blankets, or under large beach umbrellas, sprawled out on deck chairs, wading ankle deep in the water...but none of them were Helena. She jerked forward in a moment of panic and scrambled to her feet, shaking sand out of her mostly-dry trousers and jacket. The satchel still sat beside her, along with the box inside, and she slung it back over her shoulders. Everything seemed calm here, and Sarah relaxed a little - presumably the news of the False Shepherd hadn’t reached all the outlying sky islands yet. She can’t have been asleep for too long then. She took a step, then looked at her hand. That damn H.M….she rummaged in the bag and found a scrunched-up (but fortunately clean) handkerchief and tied it around her hand, covering the letters. There. At least the water had washed all the blood off.
After straightening her tie and waistcoat, and checking the pistol at her waist, she set off over the sand, almost stumbling into some children digging sand into buckets.
“Hey there!” she said brightly, crouching down to eye level. “Have you seen a girl...looks like me but with -” she wriggled her fingers around her head, “ - blonde curly hair?”
One of the kids shook his head, while the other pointed under Sarah.
“You knocked over my castle!” Her voice trembled, and Sarah shuffled backwards to reveal a pile of sand that may have once been vaguely castle-shaped.
“Oh...shite.” she muttered, then looked up at the little girl with a apologetic expression. “Here, I’ll help you build another one, all right?” While she packed sand into one of the buckets, she casually glanced around, but couldn’t spot Helena anywhere. She scooped the sand faster. What if she had been caught, and taken back? Sarah remembered the sight of the huge angel breaking into pieces, and glanced up at the horizon. There were a few other floating islands barely visible through the hazy clouds, but the fallen bridge and the remains of Monument Island were nowhere to be seen. Did we fall so far? Or did the angel just drift away?
She smoothed her hand across the top of the bucket, then flipped it upside down and carefully slid it upwards. A perfect, small tower of sand appeared, and the little girl's face broke into a grin.
“Ta-da!” crowed Sarah. She looked around for some shells to decorate it with before realising there probably wouldn’t be any. She did find a small stick, however, and proceeded to trace some narrow windows and a drawbridge in the sandcastle. She leaned back on her heels and smiled as the children continued their argument over who was the king of the castle, then foraged in her pockets for coins, pulling out two silver dollars, and telling them to put their hands out before flicking them up in the air and then dropping one in each palm.
“Ice creams!” she suggested brightly. Standing up, she brushed off her hands, then kept walking.
Passing by a small group of young men, she paused to ask them if they’d seen a girl with curly blonde hair. They shook their heads - one tipped his straw boater at her, saying, “I prefer brunettes myself,” with a wink and a smile. Sarah laughed and kept walking, circling the beach and listening to the random snatches of conversations.
I miss real beaches.
Yes but on real beaches you’re forced to mix with all sorts of people…
That’s what the Vox Populi do, stir up trouble. They’ll be coming for us in our beds next!
Sister Rachel should send the Founders down there and stomp them out - cockroaches…
Get a load of that one, looks like she just woke up from a bender!
There was a burst of laughter and Sarah forced her face to stay neutral, her fists balled in her pockets. She certainly couldn’t afford another fight, not now she had Helena to look after...once she found her. Hell, she couldn’t wait to get out of this place...should be fairly easy to steal one of those gondolas or gunships or...her eye was caught by a large airship gliding overhead, scowling when she saw the name. The Hand of the Prophet. A banner painted with a likeness of Sister Rachel adorned the bulging side, looking down upon all of Columbia. Of course she would have her own personal airship…
The temptation to take not only her ‘beloved Lamb’, but also steal the woman’s own ship made Sarah’s scowl turn into a grin.
Still smiling, Sarah interrupted a quartet of young women to ask if they’d seen a girl with curly blonde hair. The young ladies, parasols aloft, all shook their heads as well. A few of them looked rather politely scandalised at Sarah’s appearance, but one skipped after her as she walked away.
“Say, if you’re looking for an escort, someone to show you around…” the woman slipped her right arm through Sarah’s left, “...I’d be happy to oblige?” Her hair was blonde, not the white-blonde of Helena’s curls, but a dark gold, and held off her face in a loose bun, her eyes grey but somehow warm as she smiled. She twirled the parasol above her head and dug her bare toes into the sand. Sarah summed her up in a glance - one of Columbia’s well-heeled residents, who’d probably never gone hungry or had to wash a dish in her life. Still, she was very pretty.
She hesitated, then gave the woman a crooked little smile in return. It might be useful to talk to a local, she figured, and if it happened to be a rather attractive local, all the better. She bowed her head slightly.
“That’s very kind of you, Ma’am.” They fell into step across the uneven sand. “I actually am looking for my sister.” The sentence slipped out before Sarah even realised it. She shook off the feeling of lightheadedness - after all, it was the perfect cover story, given the resemblance between her and Helena. “She ran off somewhere while I was napping.”
A smile flashed over the woman’s face and her arm through Sarah’s pulled her slightly closer.
“Ah, so not just any blonde then!” she teased. “Have you been in Columbia long? You and your sister?”
Sarah thought quickly.
“Only a few days,” she lied easily. “What an...incredible place. So beautiful, and -” she mentally cringed at herself, “ - clean. Well-run.” She thought about the raffle. It seemed like an age ago. “It was my sister’s idea to come here on a pilgrimage. I barely know a thing about the place!” She arched her eyebrows quizzically and bit her bottom lip. “I’m sure you are a fount of knowledge though, Miss…?”
The girl blushed, looking down demurely.
“Oh, please, call me Ada.” Her fingers pressed down on Sarah’s arm.
“A pleasure, Ada. And I’m Sarah.” She placed her other hand over Ada’s briefly and flashed her another smile. “Now, tell me all about Columbia!”
The two of them strolled around Battleship Bay, as Sarah discovered this particular area was named, while Ada gave her a short history of the magical flying city.
Or, not magical at all, as she explained, but literally built on science. The ‘Lutece Field’, discovered by the brilliant and renowned physicist Miss Rosalind Lutece, oh, don’t frown Sarah, I’m sure we’ll find your sister soon! was what enabled the buildings and land to stay afloat. What Sarah had thought were huge engines underneath the islands were fans that assisted with steering and ‘driving’ the islands from place to place, and there were special balloons in strategic places,(such as along the Sky-Lines), but the Field was the force holding Columbia up in the pure sky, and away from the Sodom below.
That was the means of the city but not the reason for it being, however. Initially built for the World Trades Fair to showcase the United States unmatchable initiative and prowess, Columbia had seceded from the Union under the hand of the much beloved and missed Father Comstock as ‘Another Ark for Another Time’, a place where pure and righteous folk could escape the trials and tribulations of the world below.
“Although,” Ada looked up at Sarah through her eyelashes, and lowering her voice, “You mustn’t think we don’t know how to enjoy ourselves as well.” Sarah curled her mouth into a smile. There was certainly no shortage of courting couples in all corners - for all it’s many, many faults, sexual repression didn’t seem to be any more prevalent in Columbia than in the real world. She remembered the raffle, and bit the inside of her lip, her smile dying away. As long as you stuck to your own kind, it seemed.
“It had been most surprising when Miss Lutece’s brother had turned up here, no one had any idea that he even existed, of course it was a terrible tragedy what occurred…”
Sarah barely registered those last words as she again glanced up at the massive airship gliding overhead, distracted by the idea of stealing it. It was larger even than the one she had been aboard earlier, the one that had gone down in flames. Sarah repressed a shudder at the memory, and began to look away from the vessel when her eye was caught by an odd flicker in the sky next to it. She tilted her head and squinted, but merely saw a glimmer of light and then it disappeared. It looked very much like what the air had done when Helena had...done whatever she'd done. Huh.
She steered Ada towards the long, low building that walled off the left side of the beach, her eyes scanning the scattered crowds for the sight of Helena. She should be fine, as long as that Songbird didn’t appear again. If no one actually knew what the Lamb looked like...and Helena didn’t give herself away. Then she pointed at the airship.
“Now, what about Sister Rachel? Did she come here with Father Comstock?” Her tone was lightly curious, but her ears keen. Exactly how many of Columbia’s residents be willing to burn themselves alive for her?
Ada glanced up at the airship, her face lighting up.
“Oh,” she sighed, hand on her collarbone, “That is quite a tale.”
“It was a year ago today, when Our Prophet first appeared.” Ada sounded like she was reciting an oft-heard story. “Father Comstock was leading worship and performing baptisms in the Welcome Centre - the entrance to Columbia where we all pass through the cleansing waters, Sarah - when a great sphere of golden light appeared, so bright as to be blinding. Some say they saw an angel with great feathered wings, seven feet tall with golden fire burning in her eyes.” There was the slightest twinge of doubt in Ada’s voice as she told this part of the story. “When the light dwindled, there were two young women huddled together in the shallow water - Rachel, who was injured but still strong, and her sister, the Lamb, who was grievously ill and near death. Father Comstock immediately saw that they had been sent here by the Lord Himself, sent to him for protection. Rachel told him they had been in a terrible place, too terrible to even speak of, but she had found a way out. She threw herself on Father Comstock’s mercy, and he baptised her there and then.”
Sarah raised an eyebrow. The Rachel she had seen didn’t seem like the type to throw herself on anyone’s mercy. Or the type to grant mercy to others…
“The Lamb was transported to Monument Island and placed under the immediate care of the finest physicians of Columbia. She grew stronger in body, but suffered terrible amnesia and nervous vapours.” Ada’s voice had turned sympathetic when she reached the Lamb’s part of the story. For a moment Sarah wondered if she could be trusted with the truth...but immediately rejected it. Never fully trust anyone but yourself, and even then, keep an eye out. She leant towards the young woman.
“And she is still there? The Lamb? Locked away in that great angel?” Her face was open and quizzical, and Ada smiled at her trustingly.
“She is, indeed, kept under protection. For it has been foretold,” here her voice once again took on the quality of recitation, “that the False Shepherd will claw its way into Columbia to drag the Lamb back to the deep pit and rip her away from her beloved sister as it had tried to before. The False Shepherd caused Sister Rachel a great injury before she escaped its clutches, and she vowed before God and the Founders that she would never allow that to happen again. But God blessed her wound and gave her an eye of silver, to mark her as His own.” Ada blinked, as if coming out of a trance, then glanced sideways at Sarah and gave a little laugh.
“It does sound rather dramatic, I’m sure!” she said brightly. “But strange as it may seem, Sister Rachel has foretold many things that have since occurred.” She leaned her head closer to Sarah, and whispered, “They say she sees the future through her shining eye.” She leaned back again, and continued in a voice growing fervent, "She tells us there is a great war coming, that the Sodom below will tear itself apart. But Columbia will be there to bring the world to its true glory. Sister Rachel and the Lamb will save us all."
Her tone turned wistful. “I feel terribly for the Lamb though, shut away up there, with no friends but the Songbird. She must be so lonely.”
“Mmm,” murmured Sarah, “I’m sure she must be.” The story was becoming more confounding all the time. Her head was starting to hurt again, but at least her nose wasn’t bleeding. Then she remembered herself, and asked in an enquiring voice,
“The Songbird?”
Ada nodded. “Another gift from God. The Songbird is the protector of the Lamb.” Her voice rang with sincerity and pride, and Sarah smiled and nodded while she wondered how to nicely get the hell away from her.
They walked past another group of young men, these doing calisthenics, and entered a long, covered walkway. Sarah peered at what looked like some sort of boiler room at one end, various pipes and dials and switches, and workmen in overalls scurrying around. Must be what keeps that waterfall going …
On the wall opposite was a poster advertisement for the Aerodrome, complete with illustration of the Prophet’s airship. Sarah read the poster, filed the information away. That’s where she needed to go.
Then the walkway opened up to another beach area, and Sarah could hear the music again. There was the sound of a fiddle and an accordion and a pianola played a rolling jig, and she could see a small crowd gathered at the end of a long pier, some spinning and twirling while the rest stood around the outside, clapping in time with the music and stamping their feet.
Sarah’s heart strangely leapt as she saw the unmistakable sight of Helena’s hair flying in the breeze in the middle of the circle, and she had the urge to run towards her. But Ada was still holding onto her arm, so Sarah swallowed the lump in her throat and kept strolling and smiling at her companion, letting Helena dance a moment longer.
She didn’t understand the strength of her reactions to this girl. She’d always been protective of the girls she’d been paid to track down, even the ones who didn’t need it so much. But there was something different about Helena, some kind of...light, that drew Sarah in. Was it the resemblance? That must mean something, right? It couldn’t just be a coincidence. An image flashed through her mind of the photo on her desk back in New York, and it was gone before she could focus on it, the stab of pain in her temples making her wince slightly.
Ada stopped, a concerned look on her face.
“Are you quite alright, Sarah?” she asked.
Sarah tried to smile. “Fine.” she forced out. “Just...a headache.”
Hands firmly gripped her arms and led her to a shady spot.
“Sit down and I’ll fetch you a cool drink. I believe I had some headache powder in my bag as well...just wait here, my dear, and I shall be right back!” Ada shyly tucked Sarah’s hair behind an ear, smiled, then hurried back the way they came, the red of her parasol glowing in the sun. Sarah watched her go, pressing on her temples as the pain ebbed.
She sat for a moment, fidgeting with the makeshift bandage around her hand, then staring at her boots as they kicked into the sand. Then she nodded and stood up. Time to go and fetch Helena and get out of this place. Ada seemed sweet, but she was also just as brainwashed as the rest of this damn city, and liable to turn them in if she realised Sarah was the dastardly False Shepherd and her ‘sister’ the precious Lamb.
Sarah headed towards the pier. Her hands dug in her pockets, and pulled out a scrap of paper. The ink had run from the water but she could still read the name - Daisy Fitzroy. She fixed it in her mind then tore the paper up into tiny pieces. Something told her it wouldn’t be in her best interests to keep it on her. She thought about what she overheard earlier - something about...vox populi? Her brow furrowed as she tried to remember the tiny amount of Latin she had picked up over the years. Voice...people? People’s voice? Was there some kind of underground revolution building up? She tapped her fingers against her thighs.
With any luck, they wouldn’t even need to seek out this Fitzroy woman. And why would she be inclined to help a stranger, when she clearly had her own troubles. Sarah shrugged to herself, and as she mounted the wooden steps leading up to the pier, the wind changed and the music suddenly grew louder. The tune was familiar, a rollicking Irish jig that made her want to clap her hands and stamp her feet with the rest of them, but instead she stood outside the circle and tried to gain Helena’s attention without attracting anyone else's. However, the discrete waves had no effect on the girl, and she continued to dance, merrily spinning and ducking and weaving before grasping someone's hands and spinning them in a circle.
Sarah stopped waving and gesturing, and just watched her for a moment. She’d seemed so young and scared back in the tower, but now…all those notices and signs about ‘the specimen’ and ‘danger’ and whatever else. The way she had casually torn the air open. But the girl was just...a girl.
Helena threw her head back, laughing, then let go of the hands and started clapping. Her face was alive, and hungry, eyes darting over the faces around her, the sky, the beach - then she caught sight of Sarah and her grin grew even wider.
‘Sarah!” she cried and ducked through the circle, holding her hands out. “Come dance with me!”
“Uh,” Sarah took a step back, “No, thanks.” She glanced around, but no one seemed to be paying them special attention.
Helena looked faintly puzzled by her refusal. She spread her arms out, as if trying to encompass the sea, the sky, the sand, the people...the entire world outside the tower.
“What could be better than this ?” she said, tapping her boots on the boards in a passable hornpipe. Sarah laughed in spite of herself.
“How about...London?” she replied, in a low voice.
Helena stopped and grabbed her hands.
“London? Really?” Her eyebrows drew together. “But...how will we get there?”
Sarah pointed at The Hand of the Prophet, just disappearing from view.
“On that airship. It’s making a trip to London and we can be on it.” She felt vaguely guilty about the lie but she had to get the girl out of here somehow. Hell, maybe they should make a side-trip to London, before taking Helena to New York and whoever waited for her there.
“But, y’know, if you’d rather stay here and dance , then…” she grinned as Helena pulled at her hands, away from the circle and down the pier.
“No! Let’s go! Let’s go now .”
She held onto Sarah’s arm tightly as they walked and her head moved back and forth as she tried to see everything at once. Sarah could hear her whispering I’m out, I’m out, I’m out! to herself, and just tried to keep her steered in the right direction.
“The smell!” said Helena loudly, then pressed her lips together and continued more quietly, “I’ve never...does it always smell like this? The sun is so bright! And all the people!” she turned around to look back at the dancers, then gestured at the beach.
Sarah chuckled. “The beaches I know don’t smell like this.” The beaches on Columbia lacked the salty air of a real seaside, but also the stink of seaweed and rotting fish. As they stepped down onto the sand, she thought about what she’d always called ‘Shite Beach’ - a scraggy piece of land next to a river made undrinkable by factories upstream. She and her foster-brother would hang out there when their foster-mum was sick of them hanging around the house. She felt a sudden stab of guilt. The fight with Mrs S, that last big fight that had led her to running away, and pickpocketing enough to buy the cheapest passage to the States...she’d never even sent a postcard back home, not even to let them both know she was still alive.
“Sarah? Sarah...look.” Helena was pointing at a small kiosk. Rows of fairy floss on sticks lined the counter like small pink clouds. A sign read ‘Free Samples!’
Sarah shrugged. “Price is right,” she said, pushing the memories of home to the back of her mind.
Helena’s face lit up and she lunged at the kiosk, filling one hand with as many as possible, forming a kind of ferris-wheel of fairy floss, then pressing several more into a bundle into the other. She stuck her tongue into one and her delighted eyes met Sarah’s as she made a mmmpfhhh sound.. Sighing loudly, Sarah shook her head.
“That’s...a lot of sugary shite ya got there. You better not throw up on my bloody boots.”
Helena inhaled the rest of the first serving, shook her head determinedly, then started on the next. There was already a bright pink stain around her mouth. Sarah wrinkled her nose in mock disgust, then scooped a fingerful of the cotton candy into her own mouth. God, it made her teeth hurt.
They’d walked across the entire beach now - not that it was that big - and headed up another flight of stairs to a set of turnstiles that seemed to lead into some kind of gift shop.
They pushed through, the metal gates clanking as they turned, and were met with a barrage of Sister Rachel’s face. It was plastered over posters, postcards, banners, and framed icons. There were also smaller copies of this Father Comstock, all beard and powerless posturing, his image dull and worn next to the smooth glossiness of the Prophet.
Helena stopped eating abruptly, mouth hanging open. Her tongue was solid pink and her face was pale.
“Sister Rachel,” she whispered. Her eyes darted around the room as if expecting one of the images to come to life and step off the paper. Sarah didn’t blame her - the eyes of every visage followed her as she wandered around the store.
There was the most common study of Sister Rachel The Prophet with a golden halo. Sister Rachel standing in a long white gown, balancing a sphere of fire in her hand. Sister Rachel spreading her arms over a crowd of people - Sarah could tell it was supposed to be a protective gesture, but she found something rather predatory about the woman’s stance. Sister Rachel with an angel behind her, face hidden but topped by golden curls, wings outstretched. She darted a glance at Helena, who had gone back to the fairy floss, but now ate at it in a hurried fashion, like it could be grabbed away from her any second, her eyes still wide and apprehensive as she stuck close to Sarah.
“C’mon,” Sarah muttered. “Let’s get out of here, get to the Aerodrome.” She raised an eyebrow and Helena nodded, a tiny scared smile flashing across her face. Sarah slung an arm across her shoulders.
“Don’t worry,” she said quietly. “I won’t let her hurt you. Or take you back. All right?”
Helena nodded again, smiling properly this time, and leaning into Sarah for a moment. She pointed at a large basket near the exit, and made a face. It was full of miniature versions of the angel where she had been held.
They headed up the next flight of stairs, and found themselves on a boardwalk, looking down upon the beach. There were small stalls selling boxed chocolates, and flower bouquets, and offering to take their photographic portrait. Sarah eyed the crowds nervously. The longer they were here, the more likely news of the False Shepherd was to spread and she didn’t want to get cornered. What could they do, jump off the side? Her gaze was dragged down and she realised that the land far, far below them was visible. She stepped closer to the railing along the boardwalk and stared intently. Yes, she could see green lands and rivers and lakes and even the shape of buildings, all tiny like she was looking down at a kind of toy. She realised she had been holding her breath, and let it out, raggedly, and half-laughed at herself.
Helena joined her, shading her eyes to look.
“I can’t wait to see what it’s like down there,” she said, dreamily, then took another huge bite of her floss. Now not only her tongue, but her fingers, and much of her lower face was pink. Not to mention parts of her shirt.
Sarah turned and leaned against the railing, folding her arms and looking down at her boots.
“It’s...alright. Some of it’s beautiful.” She frowned, then shrugged. “Some of it isn’t.” She looked up and groaned as she saw Helena engaging a couple in conversation. Then she saw the red hair and heard the posh accents and groaned again.
“Oh, they’re both so pretty.” She heard Helena say as she bent over whatever the Luteces held in their hands.
“The bird?” asked the man.
“Or the cage?” asked the woman.
“Or perhaps the bird?” he suggested gently.
“Nothing beats the cage,” urged the other.
Sarah glowered at the redheaded twins from behind Helena, arms still folded tightly across her chest, but they ignored her completely, even as Helena spun around to thrust two small open boxes at her.
“Which do you think?” There were two brooches - one with a bird in flight, the other a stylised birdcage. “The bird is so pretty. But there’s something about the cage.” She shook her head, blonde curls flying. “I can’t choose. Sarah?”
Sarah sighed and looked down. It seemed wrong to choose the bird, a reminder of Helena’s warden, but surely the girl had had enough of cages.
“This one,” she said, tapping it.
“Yes?’ said Helena, then nodded. “Yes. I love it.”
“Surprising. I expected the cage.” said Rosalind in an undertone.
“If you're going to be a sore loser, then I shan't do this again.” replied Robert evenly.
“Now that's just sophistry.” There was the barest hint of amusement in her voice.
Sarah looked up again after helping Helena fasten the brooch to her ribbon choker, ready to give the twins a right bollocking...but they were gone. She hadn’t noticed them walking away, they just...weren’t there anymore.
“Goddamnit,” she muttered between clenched teeth. If they ran into them again, she was going to put one of them in a headlock until they explained themselves.
Her frustration was replaced by apprehension as several people along the boardwalk screamed, others gasped, and there were cries of the tower! And the false shepherd, it must be! And where is the songbird? Why didn’t the Prophet foresee this?
She grasped Helena by the elbow.
“We should go,” she said in a low voice. Helena stared at what was left of Monument Island, fully visible now that the clouds had completely cleared. The setting sun behind it outlined the remaining wing and lower torso that calmly bobbed up and down.
“It was my home,” she said in a small, uncertain voice. “It had always been…” Her voice trailed off and she frowned. Sarah tugged at her arm gently.
“I don’t think you’ve been here as long as you think,” she whispered, glancing around the distressed crowds. “But...look, c’mon. We need to keep going.”
Helena followed her, still thoughtfully taking mouthfuls of fairy floss, brow creased. Sarah pulled up short at the sight of a line of people at what seemed to be a hastily-assembled checkpoint just through the doorway of the building they needed to pass through. The blue uniforms of the Columbia police dotted the crowd now, and were patting down the people at the front of the line.
“Shite!” muttered Sarah, pushing her hair back and trying to look like a respectable citizen. Helena peered around the doorway, innocently munching away, eyes darting around the foyer. Then her mouth curled at one corner and she tilted her head, indicating that Sarah should follow her.
She did so.
There was a double set of doors over to the right, and the two of them wandered over casually, Sarah reaching behind her to push the handle down.
“Locked,” she hissed.
Helena made a face as if Sarah was being rather dense, handed her the remaining fairy floss, then dug into her skirt pockets. Her face indicated she was finding many interesting items in there that may come in handy at a later time - then she grinned crookedly and pulled out a small roll of fabric that opened to reveal a few slim pieces of metal. Sarah’s eyebrows raised. She’d never had the patience to learn how to pick locks. She checked that they were out of the coppers line of eyesight while Helena fiddled with the lock, tongue poking at the corner of her mouth.
“How’d you learn how to do that anyway?” Sarah muttered. The vision of the air tearing open passed through her mind. This girl was proving to have many odd talents.
“Locked up with nothing to do,” Helena shrugged, “except read. I learnt - many things.” She nodded sharply as the lock clicked and the handle turned under her fingers. They slipped through the door and softly closed it behind them. Helena immediately plucked the fairy floss from Sarah’s hands and continued nibbling.
They were in a wide corridor, seemingly the employee thoroughfare. There were large notices at regular intervals reminding them ‘Do not speak to the patrons Unless spoken to first!’ and “Keep this area Clean - it’s your Job!’.
Sarah brightened. If they could keep off the public route, all the better.
The corridor led to a small storeroom, and a set of wooden stairs led up to another corridor. As they passed through, the song playing on a radio sitting on a long bench faded out, and an overly-bright voice started a spiel -
Is your housekeeper acting suspicious? Try asking the girl a few key questions, such as "don't you think those Vox Populi folk have a valid complaint against the Prophet?" And "I'm sure some of your friends have attended meetings...I'd sure like to see what they're all about!" Now, back to the music…
“The Vox Populi again…” Sarah murmured. Helena blinked.
“Vox populi, vox Dei,” she said.
Sarah half-laughed.
“Oh, you learnt latin as well as lockpicking?” Helena nodded, then she translated,
“The voice of the people is the voice of God.”
Sarah scoffed.
“ What people though?” she queried. “The ones in charge or the ones doin’ all the work?” She shook her head. “Anyway, the Vox Populi just sounds like more trouble than we should bother with. I just want to get out of this place, not get dragged into some...uprising that’ll likely get us both killed.”
Helena sucked the last shred of fairy floss from the stick in her hand.
“Uprising? You mean like...Les Miserables?”
Sarah looked back at her blankly.
Helena waved the unnaturally pink stick around in the air.
“The Paris Uprising!” she exclaimed, then put the stick back in her mouth and ruminated some more.
“Oh, right. That. Something like that, yeah.” Sarah shrugged. School hadn't been a priority in her life. They reached the top of the stairs and turned another corner, finding two sets of doors marked with large signs stating ‘Colored & Irish Washroom’. She tensed up as she realised there were people here as well, until one of them spoke to her.
“It’s you. Glad to see you still alive, miss.” The young man spoke with an Irish lilt, and he had his arm around his companion, the young woman leaning her head on his shoulder and looking at her with friendly brown eyes.
“Do I...?” Sarah began, then the realization hit her. “You’re from the Raffle.” She shoved her hands in her pockets. “Well, I’m glad to see you’re both still alive, too.”
“We’d never got away if it weren’t for you,” said the woman softly. “Daisy said there were folks like you out there.” She dug in a pocket and pulled out a scrap of blood-red silk. “Take this now. If ya’ll run into Daisy, show her this so she knows you’re on our side.” She handed it to Sarah, who stared down at it, remembering how she had hesitated with the ball, and hating herself for it.
“Thanks,” she mumbled and shoved the fabric scrap into an inner jacket pocket. Helena stood aside, looking from face to face with inquisitive eyes, and tapping the pink candy-encrusted stick against her bottom lip, but staying silent.
Sarah cleared her throat. “We’re, uh, trying to get to the Aerodrome.”
The Irishman pointed at the double doors ahead.
“Afraid you’ll need to go the public way.” He chuckled. “People are on the lookout for the False Shepherd, but the descriptions are way off. You should be safe,” he waggled a hand, “for now.”
Sarah nodded, and shifted her legs uncomfortably.
“Thank you!” Helena said loudly, sliding her hand into Sarah’s. She could feel the stickiness from the fairy floss.
“Yeah, thanks,” said Sarah, adding “good luck..with, uh, everything…” She let Helena tug her along the corridor to the doors.
“They were nice,” she whispered into Sarah’s ear, loudly. “What is this raffle?”
Sarah closed her eyes for a moment and breathed in.
“I’ll tell you later,” she whispered back, and cracked the door open. Scanning the crowd for blue uniforms, she saw none, and opened the door wider.
“Let’s go get ourselves an airship.”