The Girl They Call Fitzroy.
By the time they stepped back out into Finkton, Sarah had climbed back out of the hole of her mind, and left the other memories down there. She’d also left the bottle of bourbon emptier and rolling on the elevator floor. She hesitantly gave Helena’s hand a squeeze, slightly embarrassed by her temporary breakdown, but it was forgotten as the scene in front of them sank in.
Civil war had come to Columbia.
Sarah put a hand on her gun, eyes flicking around the area, her other hand clenching and flexing as she readied the vigors. The length of the deck was scattered with bodies, clad in the blue of the Authority, and the red sashes of the Vox. She was somewhat relieved to see the blue uniforms were in the majority.
Then she remembered those dead-not-dead guards swaying and dazed after their first reality jump, and her stomach turned. The fighting seemed to have moved on - she could hear gunfire and shouts from further ahead.
Beside her, Helena looked this way and that, her jaw moving like she was digging at a sore tooth with her tongue. The she stepped down to the nearest body in red, knelt, and put her hand out to the dead man’s face. Her fingers hovered for a moment while she whispered something, before gently closing the corpse's eyes.
Sarah stepped around other bodies, still scanning for survivors, or threats.
Nothing. Just the false peace of the deserted battlefield and the sound of red banners snapping in the wind.
Tears still flickered in the air, more appearing as she looked up.
She shook her head, and walked over to where Helena still crouched.
“Guess the Vox have their weapons now.” The words came out accusatory, and Sarah bit her lip, sighed, tried again. “I meant...we should find Daisy, get the airship, get gone.” She looked up at the sound of a distant explosion. “This is the Vox’s problem now.”
Helena stood, pulling at her coat sleeves. Her eyes finally pulled away from the dead man, and met Sarah’s. When she spoke, she sounded distant.
“I’m not sure if I brought us to a world. Where the Vox have weapons.” One shoulder lifted. “Or I created one.”
“Created one?” repeated Sarah blankly.
Helena waved a hand.
“A theory. I was working on. Maybe the tears are...responding to me. Like some kind of...quantum wish fulfillment.” She twirled a finger in her hair, then grew still. “We need to check on the Lin’s.” She stood straight now, almost thrumming with urgency. Her feet began to pick their way among the fallen. Sarah watched her, stomach still knotted up.
Then she sighed and followed. A thought struck her and she stopped to pull two red sashes from the bodies. A few of the Vox’s faces looked familiar - she’d probably seen them in the airship when she’d met Daisy - and then she stopped looking at them, keeping her attention on the blonde curls ahead of her and moving forward. When she caught up to Helena, she handed her one of the sashes, and tied her own so it crossed her chest and shoulder.
“Don’t wanna be shot by our own side,” she explained.
Daisy, now...how was she gonna react when Sarah Manning, martyr of the Vox, turned up again like the bad penny she was? Sarah hoped like hell she wouldn’t shoot first and ask questions later.
They made their way back past the crates that still hung from the Sky-lines, and edged through the gate back into Finkton, staying low. The gunfire was louder here, and people made mad dashes across open spaces, skidding behind crate stacks and barrels.
Sarah drew her gun, hissing stay low, and the two of them took off in a kind of crouching run. Reflexes took over as a blue-clad figure appeared to the right, Sarah firing almost before she realised it. Another was lifted off it’s feet and thrown backwards against a wall with a wave of Helena’s hand. They ran around the corner, up the stairs, and burst into the gunsmith’s shop.
Sarah stopped, so suddenly that Helena ran into her, then spun around and grabbed Helena by the arms, trying to steer her back outside. Helena pulled back, confused, saying what is it, let me… and pushed Sarah aside.
Her face went white as she saw the bodies of Mr and Mrs Lin lying on the floor. They’d both been shot, blood pooling around them and sprayed across the doors to the backroom. Mr Lin’s hand still reached out for his wife. Sarah swallowed, rubbing her head as the pain came and went. Helena was crying quietly a few feet away.
“This isn’t what was supposed to...,” she sniffled, and wiped a green sleeve across her face.
“Helena…” said Sarah helplessly.
“They’re dead. Sarah. Because of me.” Her hands worried at each other. “Maybe...maybe there’s another tear. I can. Fix it.” Sarah could hear the desperate hope in her voice.
“And what if the next world is even worse?” she asked, ‘Hey? What then? We can’t just...run away from this, not again.” I would have, before, I would have run as far as I could, tryin’ to find a world where I fit. Pain flashed through her head again, and she drew a breath in sharply. “Helena, let’s just go find Daisy and get us home.” A frown creased her forehead. “Get you to London, anyway.”
Helena rummaged through her pockets and pulled out a handkerchief, blowing her nose loudly. Sarah moved closer to her and put a hand on her shoulder.
“You just opened the door, and we stepped through it.” she said. “ This is not your fault.” She squeezed the shoulder for emphasis, and added as gently as she could, “Come on.” Helena nodded and stuffed the hanky back in her pocket, although she kept sniffling for a while afterwards, the pink circles around her eyes more noticeable.
They left the Lin’s shop, and skirted around the wall to the left, following the sound of shouting and cheering. The Vox had swept through the factory floor, as Sarah thought of it, and there were no one in a blue uniform left alive. She felt slightly sick. Sure, she’d seen some shite, but being in the middle of a war was another thing altogether. Not to mention the smell - blood and gunpowder and shit.
Her eyes widened as she saw everyone moving towards them. For a second she panicked, wondering if she was supposed to lead them, wondering if she’d fail again.
Then she realised they were headed towards the massive doors opposite the gunsmiths. The sign overhead told her it was the Factory Entrance - This Way, and she heard Daisy’s voice in her head saying to the factory! Right then. She nodded towards the gate and Helena nodded back, her eyes still red but her lips set in a straight line.
There was a huge shining lock on the doors - Helena took one look at it and shook her head, but kept staring while she pulled at her lower lip. Two of the Vox set down a bag next to the doors, and one knelt while the other handed him a greenish-grey lump.
Sarah’s brow furrowed, then her eyebrows raised.
“Well, that sure is one way to open a door,” she muttered, and Helena smiled a strained smile. They stayed back until the gelignite blew the lock inwards, and then the crowd surged forward again, crying THE VOX THE VOX THE VOX. The two of them tagged along, through a room already scattered with bodies, and burning vending machines. Water trickled down from burst pipes in the ceiling, leaving a route clear through the centre.The air was thick with greasy smoke, but they were soon through the next set of doors, out in the open air, and then it was another fight.
Daisy Fitzroy’s voice crackled over the P.A system, making Sarah search for her in the crowd ahead, but it was just her voice, making more speeches.
Brothers and sisters, I wish to speak plainly to ya. When you look at yourself, you see a face of a person, yes? A human being. But do you know what Fink sees? He sees livestock. He sees the nag that pulls his plow. The monkey that shovels his coal. If he could feed you hay, he'd feed you hay. If he could bed you down in straw, he'd bed you down in straw. And when your arms get frail and your legs grow weak, they'll bleed you dry, boil off your skin and turn you into chop. Now, if you wanna be a mule -- go on and be my guest. But if you wanna be a PERSON, well...then you best come talk to the Vox.
I wonder how it happened. Sarah felt the fear rising up her throat again, the knowledge of her failure making her hesitate to charge on like the rest of them. She crouched behind a pile of crates, rubbing her head, wondering if she could force her other memories open again. Did I do something stupid and heroic and…
“Sarah.” Helena’s voice was in her ear, and Sarah blinked, looked at the eyes identical to her own, but full of fierce concern. “I don’t want to lose you too.” She hesitantly placed her palm against Sarah’s cheek.
It trembled.
“You’re you. Not her.” Her eyes didn’t leave Sarah’s until she took a deep breath and nodded, and let Helena help her up.
Concentrate, Manning, she told herself, don’t die, and then she and Helena joined the fray.
I would like to offer some words of council to one Jeremiah Fink. Now, we should be all familiar with Mr. Fink's "philosophy" on the good people of this city. So it should come as no surprise that he views myself and the Vox in an unflattering light. He thinks we sow discord. Thinks we stir up trouble. He sees us as violent and hateful, and I resent those claims. We are peaceful. We are loving. We love everybody who loves us, but we don't love anybody who doesn't love us. We're peaceful with you long as you peaceful with us, but this notion escapes our "esteemed" Mr. Fink. Which is why we are left with no other option than to throw down tools and pick up rocks!
The Vox had mostly cleared the way, and the two of them took care of a few stragglers. Helena moved like she was dancing, in a way - sweeping arm motions and quick sidesteps, her partners rising into the air as they struggled, and then dropping over the side, screams quickly fading. Sarah switched back and forth between vigors, the gun in her right hand growing warm.
Possession on the turrets, Shock Jockey on anyone in a blue uniform, bullets for both.
The next set of gates were at the end of the long body-littered deck, and were flanked by gun turrets that were now smouldering piles of metal. There was deep siren sound, and all heads turned as an airship - Sarah’s heart jumped, before she realised it wasn’t the Hand of the Prophet - pulled around above them, small flashes of light betraying the position of the Authority on board. Vox fighters made speedy dashes for cover, a handful being caught by a grenade and killed outright.
Small mercies, thought Sarah. She’d never had to put a mortally wounded person down, and she didn’t want to start now. From their point behind the thick metal base of one of the broken turrets, Sarah examined the position of the airship, the angle of the nearest Sky-lines, and how the Vox members were scattered about.
“If we’re gonna get through the gates,” she said to Helena, “we need to take down that airship. Everyone is pinned down.” Or, she thought, we could just...take it. Leave right now. The flash of guilt she felt surprised her, but only a little. She looked at Helena, then at the other fighters.
“Well, looks like we’re closest. Game?”
Helena nodded, eyes glowing with that righteous fury that she’d seen in Daisy’s. Was that a day ago? Two days? Another lifetime, Sarah thought grimly, literally.
Sarah counted under her breath as the airship inched forward along between the deck, and the buildings floating a few hundred feet away. Her hand slipped into the Sky-hook. The occasional shot rang out from both sides. Then she readied herself, already feeling her legs jittering, and bolted to the nearest Sky-line, jumping and connecting and flying towards the buildings next door. There was the sound of Helena making a whooping noise behind her, and, despite everything, she smiled.
The Sky-line passed through a tunnel in the red brick warehouse that was bobbing lazily in the air, and as it curved out the other side, it brought her near enough to the airship to -
Sarah half-jumped, half-fell onto the large flat surface of the wing, swinging the Sky-hook at the guard that had her gun raised, and knocked her back so far that she stumbled backwards off the edge. A few steps forward, and a downwards jump, and she was at the side of the ship, ducking behind metal barriers to avoid the gun turret that blocked the door. There was a crash as Helena landed, rolled, and slid down beside Sarah.
The green mist of Possession was sent at the turret, the humanoid figure atop immediately turning it’s attention to the Authority guards behind it. Shouts and screams rang out, and Sarah ran forward, holstering her gun, and scooping up a dropped shotgun. She kept to the back of the turret, and as the green cloud started to fade, emptied the shotgun into it. It exploded in a whine of metal.
The door was clear, and Sarah edged close and carefully peered around into the large open space of the centre of the airship. She frowned.
“Another one of those things. The Patriots,” she whispered to Helena. This one also looked like George Washington, she noted, rolling her eyes, and rubbing the fingers of her left hand together until tiny sparks started to pop. “I’ll take care of him. You go give those snipers a little push, yeah?”
They could see through to the other side of the ship, and the figures stationed along the deck with their sniper rifles. Helena looked, narrowed her eyes, nodded and flexed her hands. Then she held a finger up, pulled a small blue bottle of one of her pockets, and handed it to Sarah.
Sarah mouthed ‘thanks’ and emptied the Salts bottle, gagging theatrically although she was growing used to the strange salty taste. Helena watched her intently until she nodded, then they both took off running.
Sarah headed straight for the Patriot as it marched and turned, electricity arcing from her hand and stopping it in its tracks. Then she circled behind it, aiming the shotgun at the cogs protruding from its back.
Meanwhile, Helena dashed across the floor and was out the other door. One by one, the snipers jerkily flew off the side and vanished down into the clouds, to the sound of distant cheers from the Vox. She had a satisfied look on her face when she rejoined Sarah in the cabin. The Patriot lay on the floor where it had crashed forwards. The shotgun had turned out to be a lot faster than the handgun.
Sarah grinned at her.
“Good work!” she crowed, and pulled her in with an arm around her shoulders. Helena leaned into her for a moment, sporting a matching grin. They ambled out onto the narrow deck around the cabin, and Sarah looked around for an anchor of some kind, managing to cobble one together out of thick rope looped around the wing supports and tying one of the broken Patriot cogs to the other end.
The two of them made the short leap from the deck to where the Sky-line passed just under the airship, and Sarah tossed the weight of the rope down to the Vox fighters who stood yelling and whistling. One grabbed the makeshift anchor and hooked it onto one of the broken turrets, and a few others took the Sky-line upwards to secure the airship for the Vox. A moment later, red banners were flying from the port and stern.
Sarah and Helena slid downwards and landed back on the decking in front of the gates that now swung open. Flights of stairs led up, and they joined the Vox running up them, through another set of doors and into the Factory. Open doors exposed lines of vending machines topped with various styles of automatons, now being dismantled and the goods liberated as the Vox swept through, smashing everything they could reach. Factory staff emerged from windowless assembly lines, faces ranging from fearful to fiercely jubilant as their sixteen-hour shifts were cut short.
Guards were still attacking in waves, but these grew lesser as the Vox moved forwards and grew in numbers, absorbing factory workers as it went. Sarah noticed some of the Vox in costumes she hadn’t seen before - crimson padded suits with grotesque devil’s heads, whose wearers threw balls of flame.
“Firemen,” she muttered, trying not to remember the ones she’d already encountered. At least the Vox version didn’t scream in torment every other minute. The closest heard her, and lifted up the grinning red face to show a young black man underneath, looking wide-eyed at Sarah.
“You’re her, right?” he said, narrowing his eyes and looking her up and down. “You’re Manning. We heard you were done for.”
Sarah laughed, hoping it sounded more convincing to him than it did to her own ears.
“Yeah, I heard that too,” she said lightly, shrugging and laying the shotgun that she’d kept hold of across her shoulder.
The man grinned as wide as his mask, and clapped her on the other shoulder.
“Daisy sure will be glad to see you,” he winked, and rubbed his fingers together to produce a flame and lit the cigarette he’d pulled from the bandolier.
Sarah and Helena exchanged a glance. Helena had that little smile she got whenever Daisy’s name was mentioned, but all Sarah could think was god...I hope so. To distract him - and herself - from the topic of Daisy, she jerked her chin at his costume.
“So, fireman. What’s the deal with the other ones, those suits full of flame? Put one down earlier, and,- ” she shook her head at the memory, dragging fingers through her hair, “ - he was screamin’ about mercy and the Prophet…”
The man nodded, all cheer washed from his face, and he blew smoke upwards.
“Bad business, the Firemen,” he grimaced. “A real, uh, special punishment for those who spoke against Sister Rachel. Accused her of murdering ol’ man Comstock.” He leaned forward. “I heard she don’t believe in heaven’n’hell, so she made her own.” He shuddered slightly. “Now, me? I chose this. That’s what the Vox do. Choose.” The tip of the cigarette glowed red. “For ourselves.”
Helena caught her eye again, and they gave the man a wave and wandered away. She pointed at a raised area with two elevator doors. One had been smashed in, wires pulled out. The other was still working and the little dial atop the door said the elevator was currently on the top floor.
“It goes to Fink’s office,” Helena said quietly. “That’s where she’d go. Right?”
Sarah nodded.
“Fink’s a dead man walkin’.” she said bluntly. “If he’s even still walkin’ by now.” She sighed and rubbed her forehead. Maybe finally getting rid of Fink would leave Daisy in a good mood, and she’d listen to Sarah explain how she’d returned from the dead. When she glanced back at Helena, she wasn’t surprised to see a glimmer of satisfaction on her face. After that tour of his private little prison, and Shantytown - not to mention that raffle set up - Sarah clenched her teeth. Helena looked back at her, mirroring the set jaw, and they mounted the stairs. Sarah jabbed the call button and tapped her boot as they waited.
The fight had moved past them now, the rattle of gunfire becoming more erratic as it moved further away. Closer, the sound of voices lifted in song reached them, boosted by someone playing a blues harp, and Sarah could discern at least one loud Irish accents singing about the ‘girl they call Fitzroy’. She shifted from foot to foot. Daisy was the real hero of the Vox. Not her.
Her reverie was broken by the ding of the elevator, and she and Helena stepped in. As it rose, they passed layers of assembly lines, still running but unstaffed. The ‘Dollar Bill’ and ‘Veni! Vidi! Vigor!’ vending machines remained empty, crates falling onto floors, spilling and smashing bottles, the bright greens and reds and yellows of the vigors mixing with the vivid blue of the salts on one level; the ammunition and weapons that would fill the ‘Minuteman’s Armory’ rolling and clattering onto the floor on the next.
Helena twisted a finger in her hair, staring out at the factory works.
“What he said about Rachel. Punishing people.” Sarah noted again the lack of the honorific ‘Sister’. “ I. I know it’s true. But I can’t…” she kept staring ahead. “How could she…” She and Sarah both jumped a little as there was a shrill ringing noise erupted from the wall-mounted telephone. The elevator jerked to a stop.
Sarah bit her lip.
“This better not be Fink again…” she snapped, and picked up the handset.
“Yeah? Hello?” She leaned a shoulder against the wall.
There was silence, then a voice simmering with an undercurrent of rage and grief spoke in a deceptively calm drawl.
“I saw you die, Shepherd. Saw it with my own eyes.”
Sarah squeezed her eyes shot, then looked over at Helena. She gave a little shrug.
“Daisy...listen...the Vox have their weapons here, yeah? Do we still have a deal for the airship?”
Another beat of silence. When Daisy spoke again, Sarah could hear the curiosity struggling through.
“You sure sound like the Sarah Manning I knew. But that Sarah Manning died for the Vox Populi. She’s a hero to tell our children stories about. So...you’re either an imposter, or a ghost.” Her voice was still angry, but Sarah could just hear the nugget of hope in it. She swallowed.
“There’s a third option here, Daisy.” Sarah spoke quickly in case she hung up. “You seen those weird things in the sky around? Like...the air is...splitting?”
A longer beat of silence.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’ve seen a lot of those around lately.” A humourless chuckle came down the wires. “You tellin’ me those things raise the dead?”
“Not exactly.” Sarah sighed and leaned her head against the glass. “Look, get us up there, and we can explain it all.”
“We?” No pause that time, but her voice was back to ‘suspicious’.
Sarah looked at Helena. She nodded.
“I’ve got...the Lamb with me.” She mouthed ‘sorry’ at Helena, who shrugged again, and gave her a lopsided grin. “She knows more about it than I do.”
“Huh. You found her.” Daisy sighed into the receiver. “C’mon up then.” The anger had slipped away a bit, and now Sarah could hear how tired she sounded. Then the line went dead, and the lift jolted into movement. She replaced the handset, and rubbed the back of her neck.
“Well...hopefully she won’t shoot us on sight, then.” She found herself reaching out to take Helena’s hand for some comfort, hesitated with her fingers stretched out, and felt a rush of something hit her heart when Helena took it without even looking. Her eyes traveled up from their entwined fingers to the face that was hers but not hers, and she smiled in sudden relief.
This was what the other Sarah didn’t have.
“No wonder the bloody idiot got herself killed,” she muttered to herself. A sharp pain flashed through her temples, and was gone, leaving her slightly lightheaded.
“Hmm?” Helena murmured, squeezing Sarah’s fingers. She squeezed back.
“Nothin’.”
The lift slowed down, stopped, and the doors glided open.
A few Vox members were scattered around the large room they stepped out into, dragging bodies through a doorway on one side, methodically stripping them of weapons and ammunition and anything else that might prove useful to someone else. They looked over curiously at the two girls, but continued their work.
Straight ahead was a line of desks under a sign saying Office of Jeremiah Fink - Chief Executive. Sarah rolled her eyes when she saw more of the large golden statues, that Fink clearly loved more than his own humanity, standing around the walls. They moved through the room, stepping over the smears of blood and scattered papers. Double doors led outside to a round marble-floored platform, with stairs leading up ahead of them, and stairs leading down to the left and right.
They went up.
A large building rose up before them, with the familiar Fink logo on the huge clock face at the top of a tower, and a long, low wing that stretched out to the edge. The Hand of the Prophet was docked at the end of it. Sarah sighed in relief. The building gleamed in brass and brick and large ornately framed windows...but now, scarlet banners flapped in the wind, and the clock had stopped ticking. As they came to the top of the stairs, they saw Daisy staring out at them through a ground floor window.
She jerked her head to her right, then disappeared.
Sarah squinted into the window as they passed, and thought she could see a slumped shadowy figure, still wearing a top hat. Fink, maybe. Alive? Maybe.
By the time they walked around the side of the building, Daisy had opened the doors and stood, one hand holding a hand cannon, the other resting on the hilt of her Bowie knife. Her eyes flicked over Helena with mild interest, but kept returning to Sarah. Her expression was flat, like she was trying to suppress whatever hope she had that the woman in front of her was real. After studying them for a long, uncomfortable moment, she waved them in and led them to the room on the left, furnished with two desks and matching chairs, a tiny sofa in front of the window, and a drinks trolley.
Sarah let out a relieved sigh.
“Thank bloody god,” she said out loud, and poured herself a bourbon. “Uh, anyone else…?” Helena screwed her nose up, plopping herself down on the sofa, and Daisy just shook her head. She stood with her arms crossed, looking exactly as she had in the other Columbia, if somewhat wearier, and with blood on the white shirt and streaked over her face. Her locs were bundled up on the nape of her neck and tied with a red silk scarf.
“So. This is the Lamb.” she said, giving Helena a proper once over, and then staring between her and Sarah. “You two are kin.” She didn’t question, just stated it.
“No,” said Sarah.
“Maybe,” said Helena.
They both looked at each other, and then at Daisy. Sarah downed her drink and poured another.
“We don’t know what we are,” she admitted. “Never met until, what, a few days ago? And that wasn’t here. Not this Columbia, I mean.” she looked at Helena and raised her eyebrows beseechingly.
Daisy raised her eyebrows as well, but disbelievingly.
“You two better get to explainin’.” The deep brown of her eyes glittered with amber where the sunlight hit her face. “We still got a lot of work to do. So make it quick.” She turned one of the chairs around and straddled it, arms folded across the back. “Tell me how a dead woman is sittin’ here drinkin’ with me.”
Sarah and Helena exchanged glances, then started to talk.
They told her everything that had happened since they had met in the tower - or at least, the summarised version - taking turns until they were finishing each others sentences. Daisy listened, occasionally interjecting, seeming to grow slightly more relaxed as the story sunk in. She still kept her eyes on Sarah, examining her face, her hands, the way she tapped her feet.
“Quite a tale,” she said, fingers drumming against the chair back, “I ain’t saying that I believe all of it, but - “ she looked at Sarah again. “Here you are, Shepherd, large as life.”
Sarah chuckled over her glass.
“And twice as ugly,” she retorted, taking a sip.
Daisy, unexpectedly, smiled.
“Now, I wouldn’t say that,” she drawled, and stood up. Sarah felt a blush moving up her neck, not daring to look at Helena, knowing she’d be sitting there making that stupid kissy face.
“I’m done with my business here,” Daisy continued. “And if the two of you are really gonna take on the Prophet by yourselves...we better get you on that airship. Hear you got me a replacement too.” She looked at Sarah again, and winked, so quickly that she thought she’d imagined it. “Deal’s a deal, Shepherd.”
Helena spoke up.
“Is it Fink? In there?” she nodded towards the other room. “He’s dead?” Her face darkened when Daisy nodded, and her hands twisted around each other. “Good.” she said flatly.
Daisy gave a surprised chuckle.
“This one’s a wolf in lambskin, Shepherd.” She tipped her head to the side, and looked out the window, tapping her fingers on the knife hilt. “Helena. I need to speak to Sarah.” She stepped over to the doorway and pointed. “Second room down. Fink’s son is in there. I ain’t one to hold the son responsible for the sins of his father and I don’t plan to hurt the boy. Somethin’ tells me you’re good with children...do you mind?” She turned and looked at Helena, who looked back, examining Daisy’s face. Then she nodded and stood, turning at the last minute and waggling her eyebrows at Sarah as she went through the door.
Sarah quickly downed the remainder of her drink, poured another one, and let herself drop down on the sofa. She wrapped her hands around the glass, feeling her leg jitter.
“Did I...did she...do good, then?” she asked her glass, then took a sip.
“Yeah. She did good,” Daisy replied, softly, and took a seat next to her. She shifted so she was facing Sarah, and leaned an elbow on the sofa back. “May have been out for herself when she started, but she gave the Vox her all at the end.” There was something sadly tender in her voice, and Sarah glanced over at her, suddenly feeling like she was stepping into a delicate minefield. She tipped the remainder of her drink down her throat and wiped her hand across her mouth.
“I...I want to ask how it happened.” she said, looking at the window, then at her feet. “But if you tell me, maybe the memories will come back and -” she looked at Daisy, “ - I dunno, my brain might explode or somethin’.” Her fingers dragged through her hair. She could feel Daisy’s knee barely pressing against her own, and she gambled on that horrible tenderness in her voice, and placed a hand on it.
The knee didn’t move.
When she looked up at Daisy, the woman was staring at her with a strange mix of affection, resentment, and a dash of indecision.
Sarah swallowed.
“I know I’m not...her. But…” she drifted off, not sure what she was going to say. She felt Daisy shift position next to her and sigh.
“No. You ain’t her. But...hell...“ Daisy reached out with slender brown fingers and cupped Sarah’s chin, leaning forward and then stopping, eyebrows raised slightly, eyes questioning.
Sarah answered by letting herself lean forward, her mouth barely an inch from Daisy’s full lips. She closed her eyes as Daisy’s mouth covered her own, and let herself stop thinking for just a moment. When the kiss ended, she opened them again and found Daisy looking at her with a small sad smile. She placed a palm against Sarah’s cheek.
“Better get you on your way, Shepherd,” she said lightly, and drew her hand away. She stood, stepped over to one of the desks, and pulled out a voxophone, rubbing a thumb back and forth over the polished wood. “Dunno if this’ll set off those headaches of yours, but...I found it. After.” She held the voxophone out, and Sarah took it. It felt heavier than the others she’d picked up through the city, and her fingers hesitated to touch the ‘play’ lever.
The she did, and her own voice came crackling out.
(cough) Daisy... you win this bloody war, you send this to New York. (hacking cough) They ain't getting the girl. Whoever they are -- (uhhhshit) Maybe I did right by you and theVox. I...I hope so...Get her to London if you can...for me……….I’m sorry….lena...lena?
The pain hit her head like a train and the voxophone dropped from her hands as she grabbed her head. Daisy was standing close enough to catch it before it smashed on the floor, and she hurriedly tossed it on the sofa before grasping Sarah by the shoulders.
“Sarah…” Sarah could hear her voice coming from a long way away. “Sarah, you’re alright. Sarah.” Slowly, the pain ebbed away again, and she felt Daisy press a handkerchief against her nose.
Shit, she muttered and took over the handkerchief, while Daisy put an arm around her shoulders and walked her to the room where Helena was currently acting the part of the Songbird for a small boy with red eyes but an entranced expression under a mop of dark curls. She ran in a circle with her arms outstretched, making squawking sounds, swooping at the boy with her clawed hands out.
When she saw Sarah clutching the bloody square to her face, she stopped and ran over, taking the weight from Daisy. The boy remained seated on the floor, mesmerized by the sight of the two of them, and seemingly unafraid of Daisy.
“Sarah...” Helena crooned, wrapping her arms around her back and gently stroking her hair. She looked at Daisy inquiringly. The other woman shrugged.
“Probably shouldn't've given her that voxophone,” she muttered. “Thought she’d want to know, anyway.”
“It’s fine, Daisy, Helena,” said Sarah, voice muffled by Helena’s shoulder. She straightened up and wiped away the last of the blood from her nose.”That was a bad one though.” Her eyes met Daisy’s and they both almost smiled. Then she turned back to Helena. “We should get goin’. It’s time to visit dear Sister Rachel.”
Helena hummed in agreement.
Daisy walked out of the room, and opened another set of doors that revealed a long corridor. It led to a small dock in the open air, with the huge airship waiting. She frowned, and turned to Sarah.
“You could’ve just taken the one you captured out there,” she said thoughtfully.
Sarah shrugged.
“Wanted to see you,” she said, and smirked. Daisy’s mouth curled up at the corners. Helena looked from one of them to the other, mouth open and eyes starry.
“Well,” Daisy said, suddenly serious again, “ship’s loaded up with food, water, ammunition...everythin’ you need. Travellin’ over Emporia is best - our people are there now. There’s a gate to Comstock House there, too, unless you want to fly right up to the Prophet’s windows.” She grinned humorlessly. “She’ll have her own little army of Founders, no doubt.” She stepped forward and took Helena’s hand. “Glad to have met you, finally.” She crooked her head. “Ain’t nothin’ like what I expected. You take care of this one, you hear?” She pointed at Sarah, and Helena nodded enthusiastically. Then she extended a hand to Sarah, clasping her wrist. Sarah did the same. Their eyes met for a moment.
“What are you gonna do with the kid?” Sarah asked.
“Find his ma,” Daisy answered, then she lowered her voice. “It ain’t Fink’s wife, neither.”
Then she ushered them down the hallway, and when they stepped onto the airship and looked back, she was gone. Sarah felt her chest hurt, but only for a minute. Helena looked around nervously, as if thinking about the other airship and what had happened in it.
In this reality, the airship was littered with evidence of the Vox’s use of it, and draped with red banners, masking the clinical whiteness somewhat. One covered what looked like a statue, and Sarah, curious, peeked underneath. Just another angel, but this one was gold, wings folded behind her back, and holding a set of pan-pipes to her sculpted mouth.
“Huh,” she muttered, and let the fabric flutter back down.
Helena was fiddling with the controls, plotting the course to Comstock House via Emporia. Sarah joined her and touched her shoulder.
“You alright?” she asked gently. Helena chewed on her bottom lip, then nodded.
“A little. Nervous.” she said. Her eyes squeezed shut. “Rachel will be...angry. With me.”
Sarah laughed out loud.
“I think she’ll be a lot angrier with me!” Sarah grinned, then pushed down the engine button, and heard the roar beneath her feet as it came to life. Within a few minutes, they were sailing high above Columbia, blue skies above and the city in the clouds spread out below.
Emporia was close enough to see the wide streets and garden beds that connected the fancy shop fronts when a whistling noise came from behind them, in the cabin. Sarah frowned, turning around, and Helena’s head shot up, her face going pale.
“No, no, no,” she gasped, leaning forward to look out the window.
“What is it…” Sarah cried out, then she saw a giant dark shape swoop down past the airship. “Oh, shit,” she said, as the Songbird rolled gracefully in the air, then headed back up towards them. The whistling continued, and she realised it was the same tune that had played in the tower library. “The music calls it…” she muttered, and strode over to the angel statue, yanking the banner away to reveal the panpipes moving jerkily up and down. The whistling was coming from here, and she cast about for something to hit it with, her hand eventually closing over something metal and heavy, and she brought it down on the top of the statue, hitting it until it stopped with a dying whine.
She realised she was holding the wrench in her hands, the one that Helena had knocked her out with, and she dropped it.
“Is it - “
Before she could finish, the Songbird collided with the front of the airship, smashing the front window and sending Helena stumbling backwards. Sarah barely kept her balance, grabbing one of the chairs that was bolted to the floor.
“Helena!” she shouted, fumbling at her waist for her gun. Then the Songbird screeched, shifted its huge claws so it was holding onto the ship, and rolled again. The airship rolled with it.
Sarah held on grimly as everything turned upside down. Boxes and bottles and paper and anything else that wasn’t attached, including Helena, fell through the air. Before they could hit the ceiling, the ship rolled again. Everything seemed to hang, motionless, for a moment.
Then gravity caught up, and she lost her grip, and fell.
The last thing Sarah saw before she blacked out was Helena slamming into the floor beside her.