A/N: I got three reviews last chapter! They love me, they really love me! Seriously, though, thanks to my readers. You make me keep on writing.

Chapter Six: Soldier of the Prophet

News about the ruined monument spread like wildfire. Elizabeth and I hurried through the boardwalk to find entrance to the First Lady's airship before someone looked too close at us, but everyone was too busy staring at the smoking ruin to even spare us a glance. When we came up the stairs to the entrance, there was a check point set up, and the coppers went patting down everyone that was trying to enter the area. That wasn't gonna bode well for either of us. Luckily, they hadn't noticed our entrance, so I slipped off to the side to see if there was a back entrance, Elizabeth right behind.

It looked like there was another way in, a servant's entrance or something off to the side, but when I jiggled the handle, it didn't budge.

"Dammit. It's locked." I said in frustration. Elizabeth appeared beside me and knelt to examine the lock, then pulled something out of her pocket and inserted in into the the hole.

"What are you doing?" I hissed, looking back to see if anyone was watching. The police were still focused on their searches, so we were in the clear for now, but if anyone saw us over here, we were done for.

"You're a roguish type. What does it look like?" she replied sarcastically, still fiddling with the lock. After a moment, something clicked, and she put her lockpicks back into her pocket and looked at me smugly. She pushed the door open and slipped through; I followed and shut it carefully behind us, making sure no one would have a clue we'd been through here.

"Where did you learn to pick locks?" I asked in astonishment. The door led into a deserted office area, with just a few desks and some old equipment laying around, covered in dust.

"Trapped in a tower with nothing but books and spare time? You would be surprised what I know how to do." she shot back. I raised my eyebrows at her, but she just smiled and ran ahead. Maybe she wasn't as useless as I first thought. She was definitely not what I'd expected when I got the job.

It looked like this route was for the workers, probably to keep them out of site of all the 'high society' ladies and gentlemen visiting for the ship. I knew from experience that they complained about being around anyone who stunk of hard work. We passed a man scrubbing the floor, and another mopping, both colored men that didn't even look at us as he walked past. When I noticed a john in the hall in front of us, labeled 'Colored and Irish Washroom', I stopped and motioned to Elizabeth that I needed a moment. It was against the law for whites to use a colored bathroom, but I wasn't waiting until we found another john. Elizabeth nodded and leaned against the wall to wait.

When I pushed the bathroom door open, a cloud of stink hit me straight in the face, enough to make me cough. I clear my throat and walked in anyway, because I really needed to piss, and it wasn't the first time I'd pissed in a dirty bathroom. The floor was missing tiles and the sinks were covered in grime; one of them had a leaky pipe that was draining into a rusted bucket. The urinals were cracked and old, and one of the toilets was completely missing. Something about it seemed strange; I tried to think what it was as I pissed, and then finally the lightbulb came on. This was the first place in Columbia I'd seen that was dirty. Everyplace else had been clean, sophisticated, and orderly; this bathroom was anything but.

"Miss, if anyone sees me talkin' to you- oh sir, it's not what it looks like, I wasn't giving her no trouble!" when I pushed the washroom door open, I looked over to see Elizabeth standing near the negro that was mopping; he was staring at me, his eyes wide, like he was afraid. The mop was stationary in his hand. Elizabeth, who was probably in the middle of asking him his life story, just looked confused.

"Is something wrong?" she asked him, but he just ducked his head and went back to mopping without answering her.

"On my honor, sir, I didn't intend nothing!" he said to me instead, avoiding both of our gazes with an intensity I'd never seen. His hands were trembling.

"It's fine." I replied, grabbing Elizabeth by the arm to drag her away, "I'm sure she was the one bothering you. Let's go, Elizabeth, let him go back to work." Elizabeth opened her mouth to protest, but I gave her a hard look and she relented, following me away from the Negro sullenly. When we were out of sight and earshot, she stopped; I sighed, but turned around to face her bombardment of questions.

"I don't understand," she started, "what's so wrong with me speaking to him? Why was he afraid?"

"You can't just talk to coloreds, Elizabeth-" I started, but she cut me off immediately, because the word 'can't' was nowhere in her vocabulary, clearly.

"Why not?"

"Because – because you can't. They don't talk to us, we don't talk to them. Separate but equal, you heard of that?" she went silent at that and tilted her head to the side, as if in thought.

"...I've heard of it. But. That didn't seem very equal to me. He was afraid of you. Afraid you thought he was bothering me. And those washrooms were definitely not equal to the ones upstairs. The white bathrooms were spotless. Those looked like they belonged in the slums."

I rolled my eyes, because of course she wouldn't get it. Living in that ivory tower had given her all sorts of weird ideas. She'd get over all this after more time in the real world. I hoped she would, anyway.

"They probably just don't take care of them. Now, come on, let's go."

"No." when I turned back at the sound of her voice, she hadn't taken a step. Her posture was forward, almost aggressive, and she looked upset. Great. "Since separate but equal was passed in the Plessy vs. Ferguson case, colored people have been excluded from a majority of the good schools in America. They're given used books and old buildings to use as schools. Since most coloreds are still illiterate, they're not allowed to vote, but in Oklahoma, whites are excluded from the literacy test if their family could vote in 1866. Most negros work in low-end service or manual labor jobs, and their children have to help work to support the family, meaning they never any education and when they grow up, they go into manual labor and service too. No Negro has ever held a position of position in the government or a big business. They're stepped on and abused by us whites, Mr. DeWitt, you know it."

Where the hell had this come from? There was a challenge in her eyes when she finished her tirade, as if she was ready to rebut any comment I made on the subject. I wondered if all that stuff she'd quoted at me was true. I didn't read much; I got by in life alright without picking up any books, and I really didn't know the first thing about Ferguson vs. Penny or whatever she'd said, I just knew how things were. But I didn't think she'd accept that answer, and this wasn't a fight I was willing to start. My only job was to get her back to New York, not to discuss people's rights.

"Well, there's not anything we can do about it now, sister." I said, after a moment. "In case you hadn't noticed, you and me are fugitives, and we've got the whole town of Columbia trying to catch us. So we should probably worry about getting on that airship first. Then you can change the world."

She looked like she was going to argue, but after a pause she nodded, and I took that as a signal that we could keep going. But even as we exited back into the white part of the building, I kept thinking about what she said. It sounded pretty smart. Maybe she was right.

We wandered through the building slowly to avoid attention. Elizabeth didn't have much trouble blending in; she watched some puppet show named 'Duke and Dimwit' with glee, and nearly fainted when someone handed her a cone of some type of fluffy candy. She even tried to give some to me, and scowled when I flat-out refused. I didn't think it was possible for people to get more high-society, but the patrons here were wearing finer clothes than I'd ever seen; silk dresses with large, rose-covered bonnets, and men in fine cut suits with smart bowler hats, smoking fat cigars. They talked politics, the women giggled about gossip, and the men complained about the micks that worked the factories. Colored servants walked around in bright costumes, offering drinks and food, and on one end, a man was announcing the chance to take a picture with 'the father of our country' to a group of gasping children. We passed advertisements on the wall for vigors, fine spirits, and the occasional picture of the Lady Comstock, promising chances to see the dresses she wore and the causes she supported. It looked almost like she had as much pull here as her husband; the dames fawned over her dark hair and blue eyes like she was a famous actress.

We finally found the ticket kiosk a floor up, across a grand room that held a few groups of passengers and a man playing a violin. When I walked up to the kiosk, the ticket seller was deep in conversation on the telephone, turned away from the window so I couldn't hear what he was saying. He glanced at me once, but didn't turn to help me; I waited for a minute impatiently, but when he didn't even ask me to give him a minute, I rung the bell a couple times to get his attention.

"Hey, pal, in kind of a rush here." I growled, but he still didn't look up. I was getting a weird feeling about this; the room behind me had gone strangely quiet.

"Yeah, uh-huh, we're ready. Send in the bird."

I didn't like the sound of that at all. I slammed my hand on the counter one last time to get his attention, my other hand creeping to the pistol hidden in my waistband, and he finally turned and hung up the telephone.

"Can I get some help here?" I said icily.

"Certainly, sir. Sorry about the -" before I had a chance to move, he yanked a knife from his belt and plunged it right into my hand, grinning. I yelled in pain and made the mistake of trying to yank my hand back; that just made the wound deeper, and me scream louder. Behind me, I could hear Elizabeth yelling something, and another man grunting. A few thuds, and then a loud masculine 'oomph' of pain; I yanked the knife out of my pain, gritting my teeth, then awkwardly pulled my pistol out and took aim at the man behind me. He went down like a sack of bricks, giving me time to relocate behind a pillar for protection from the shots flying towards me. Elizabeth was nowhere in sight, so I hoped she'd hidden somewhere; I couldn't protect her with an injured hand in the middle of a firefight. I'd be lucky if I didn't die myself.

Waiting for a lull in the gunfire, I leaned out and took another one out. When I darted back to my hiding place, I was met with the downward thrust of a knife; I threw myself out of the way, the strike barely missing, and then hit him across the jaw, dazing him enough that I could get a shot in.

The pillar was quickly becoming a bad hiding spot. I took a deep breath, then sprinted back to the entryway to the kiosk and lined up flush against the wall, near the window so I could use it to shoot from. When I could hear footsteps, I summoned up a vigor and lobbed a fireball at one, then took out another with a headshot. The last took a look at the bodies and turned tail; I got him once in the leg, then the back, and he lay still. After the last echoes of the shot died out, the whole room was as silent as death.

Shit. Where was Elizabeth?

It hurt like a bitch to hold the pistol, but I couldn't risk putting it away. I felt good enough to use my vigors, but I still wasn't sure how much I could use them before I exhausted myself. Summary: I was in bad shape. Grimacing in pain, I left the ticket booth and crossed the room to the exit, stopping only momentarily to strip a few bodies of ammo. I couldn't believe that fool girl had run off by herself. She was going to get herself killed pulling stunts like that.

The next room was empty, and the room after that. Great. It wasn't until I found the dock with the ferry to the First Lady's Airship that I finally spotted her. She was standing next to the ship, and didn't turn when I stormed in. Thankfully, I didn't see any blood, and she didn't look hurt, just spooked. For a real life Rapunzel, she did a good job of taking care of herself.

"Hey, Elizabeth! Just – stay where you are -" she whirled around, glanced at the pistol in my hand, and her eyes got wide. One hand flew to her mouth.

"Stay away from me!" she shouted, backing into the ship. I swore again and shoved the pistol into my waistband before I moved forward. I could hear her messing with something as I jumped on the deck and moved towards the control room. She was struggling to push the control lever to the left; when I entered, her breath hitched, and she stumbled backwards, but there was nowhere for her to go. I didn't say anything, just yanked the lever to 'go' awkwardly with my left hand and moved back, giving her some space. She sounded like she was about to go into hysterics.

"...you... you killed those people... I can't believe you did that. They're all dead. You killed those people." her voice slipped further into panic before she spun around to face me. Surprisingly, even though her breath was still shaky like it was hard for her to breath, she hadn't started crying. I wouldn't have blamed her if she had; I'd been hoping to avoid all this mess, honestly, but it was kind of hard when people started shooting at you.

"Elizabeth, I..." I trailed off, but the expression on her face didn't change. She took a step forward and shoved me backwards, almost knocking me on my ass. Her eyes were cold.

"You're a monster." she hissed; her breath hitched again, and she started gulping air, like she was about to have a panic attack. I got my feet back under me but still didn't move. I didn't think she'd take kindly to me getting any closer

"What did you think was going to happen?" I asked her, keeping my voice low like I was talking to a spooked animal. "Do you understand the expense that people went through to keep you locked up in that tower? ...you think people like that are just gonna let you walk away? You are an investment, and you will not be safe until you are far away from here."

She had turned to look out the window as I talked, her knuckles white on the rail under the window. Now, the tension disappeared from her shoulders and she turned to face me again.

"...what do they want from me?"

I shook my head. "I don't know. But that's the last time anyone gets the drop on me."

Unthinking, I reached for the railing with my hand, and my face went wide with pain; I leaned up against the wall heavily and took a few deep breaths, trying to control the pain. The knife had sunk clean through my damn hand and left another wound on the other side. It was a wonder I could even still use it. Blood had gotten everywhere in the firefight, leaving trails along my wrists and spread across my shirt (though lucky they were almost impossible to see on the black), and it was still leaking sluggishly from the back of my hand. I didn't know how I was going to manage bandaging it up.

"Here, let me see your hand." Elizabeth said suddenly. Surprised, I held it out and watched silently as she ripped a strip from her skirt and wound it around the wound gently. Her face was still closed off, but it felt almost like forgiveness.

"What happened back there, it's not the last of it, is it?" she questioned as she knotted the makeshift bandage. She looked at the blood on my shirt, then pulled the sides of my vest together and buttoned it, covering the stain.

"I don't know." I said honestly. She didn't reply.

We went the rest of the journey in silence. Elizabeth seemed lost in thought, looking out the window for a long stretch of time without any movement. When we finally docked, I thought I was going to have to shake her out of it, but after a moment she shook her head and turned to me with a small, automatic smile.

"Where are we?" she asked as we climbed off the boat. A giant sign over the building answered the question before I could. It read, 'Soldier's Field' and was decorated military-style, in all red, white, and blue. A turnstile led into the area; seeing no other way to continue, we pushed out way through to the other side.

I started when I saw movement on the lower level, but relaxed when I realized it was some sort of moving model, with automated little machine boys moving around in a circle. There were eagles everywhere, and the one in the middle held a giant carbine. Some sort of military march played in the background, but there was no one around but us to hear it; somewhere I could hear what sounded like children shrieking, but this room was empty. To the left, I saw a locked door, and to the right, there was a scale model of the area we were in, floating above a table.

"I know this place. It was built in 1902 by the Prophet." Elizabeth said as we examined the model. It looked almost like a fair, with different attractions on several connected islands, and a circle of shops in the middle.

"What interest does Comstock have in this junk?" I asked skeptically, examining the model to figure out how to get to the aeroship from where we were.

"It was built to enforce the importance of national service to children." she said quietly. When I looked around again, I could see the slight childishness of the props and the music, added to the young voices I could still here in the distance. Everything was loud and over the top; I guess when I was a kid, it probably would've been something I got excited about.

"You mean the military?" I asked. She nodded.

"Train up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old, he will not depart from it." she answered almost automatically, as if she were quoting someone. That sounded like something a dame would say. Actually, it sounded like something my ma would've said. It had been her style of mothering; considering my actions in the past, I'd say it hadn't stuck well.

"Did you write that?" I said wryly, trying to lighten the mood a little. She looked as if I had struck her. Her eyes went wide in shock, her eyebrows almost up to her hairline, but unlike usual, she didn't get angry. She just looked miserable again.

"...no." What did I say? How did I always pick the wrong thing to say? It was like everything I said she took the wrong way. Women always did that, and I didn't understand it. Well, if she wasn't gonna say anything, I wasn't apologizing. I'd already done enough of that today.

We backtracked to the main room and I turned to the back to examine the door next to the ticket kiosk. It was big, with a metal rolling door closed tightly and some sort of electric generator next to it. The moment I turned to look for a switch, something crashed, and the lights flickered, then half went out, leaving us in semi-darkness. When I looked back, the generator had also fizzled out. Shit. I was gonna have to open the gate by hand. It took a couple tries, and probably ripped the scabs on my hand open again, but I got it up far enough for Elizabeth and I to squeeze through.

The decorating continued in the same nauseating style, with occasional signs for the airship, some vigor called Shock Jockey, and ads promoting 'separate but equal' treatment across Columbia. 'Let's show America how it's done!' read one. Elizabeth spit on it.

We exited the welcome building and out onto another boardwalk, populated by screaming children. I could feel the headache already. I stashed the shotgun I'd had behind a trash can, seeing as it didn't quite fit under my vest like a pistol, and Elizabeth and I explored the boardwalk inconspicuously. It was starting to get dark out, and tiredness was catching up to me fast, but there wouldn't be a chance to rest until we were aboard that airship; on the ground, we weren't safe enough to stop paying attention even for a moment.

As she walked, she asked me about anything and everything that came to mind; why I'd been sent to free her(I didn't know), what I'd done before I got here (after a moment, I told her hesitantly about Pinkertons, then about moving to Colorado to work on the railways), even about whether I 'had a woman in my life' (I told her haltingly about the death in childbirth, and she got the message and clammed up). We passed an ice cream shop, a library, and another 'Duke and Dimwit' play that seemed to involve wearing giant heads and dancing around while someone narrated. We stayed for a moment while Elizabeth enjoyed the show and I watched the backup Duke behind the stage, paper mache' head on the ground and asleep in a pile of empty booze bottles and cigarette butts. A toy store across the way had a giant toy Songbird that Elizabeth almost walked into before she noticed; when she came face to face with it, she gasped and jumped backwards like it was a bogey man. The store keeper laughed; I just patted her awkwardly on the shoulder and pulled her, white-faced, from the shop.

When we finally found the gondola controls, it was unmanned and not running; to no surprise of mine, when I pulled the lever, the generator behind it popped and fizzled out. Because nothing in this goddamn city could ever be easy.

"Look, Mr. DeWitt." Elizabeth pointed to a sign standing next to the the generator that I hadn't bothered to read. "It looks like this runs solely off that Shock Jockey vigor. We'll probably have to go find it to get the gondola running." The sign advertised that it could be found in the 'Hall of Heroes', which I vaguely remembered seeing somewhere on the model in the entrance. I hated backtracking, but it looked like our only choice. Two steps forward, one step back.

The whole area had gradually gotten quieter as we'd moved through Soldier's Field; now, it looked like all the people had finally left, with dark setting in fully. Something else felt wrong though; it tickled the hairs on the back of my neck, like someone was watching, even though the only other person around was a worker in a striped shirt, smoking a cigarette on one of the benches. I flinched when from somewhere above us, a loudspeaker kicked on, and a familiar feminine voice announced, "Gentlemen, the false Shepherd is loose in our fair city. Will you allow the lives of your sons and daughters to fall prey to his machinations? Or will you act, act for you womenfolk? Act for your prophet?" the loudspeaker fizzled out, and the square was as still as a graveyard.

"Where did all the people go?" Elizabeth asked, looking around nervously. When I looked ahead to where we needed to go, I could see the faded red of police blocks set up on either side of the stairway; that meant that they'd found us, and I was going to have to take them out before we could get to the Hall of Heroes.

"Elizabeth," I said quietly, grabbing her shoulder. She turned to give me a questioning look. "See those police blocks up there? Hide. I'll yell for you when it's safe." Her mouth went tight, but she just nodded and slipped away. I knew she was still upset with me, but it looked like she understood now that it had to be done. Still, I tracked her hiding place with my eyes, in case I needed to get her out fast.

Holed up behind one of the advertisements, I got the drop on the police block guards before they could even send out an alert. Not one had a chance to let out a yell before all of them were face down on the ground. Not bad shooting, for a pistol. Looks like some things never changed, no matter how much you wanted 'em to. I called Elizabeth out, and she emerged from behind a pillar cautiously, looking around for any stray coppers. I searched for a route to get through to the other side without getting near the bodies, but there was no way to. We were going to have to pass by them.

"Look, we're gonna have to walk through there. Just... close your eyes or, or don't look or something. Okay?" I said awkwardly. She glanced at me and nodded stiffly, then focused her gaze on the entryway at the end of the boardwalk, walking straight and upright, like she was trying to pretend it didn't bother her. I followed right behind her, keeping one eye on her back and the other on our surroundings for any threats.

It didn't work; we got halfway through the battlezone before she gave in and glanced down; she froze like a deer, as if unable to take her gaze away from the mess of blood and bone on the ground, and then just as suddenly took off to the railing. I looked away to give her a little privacy, but the wet sounds of vomit were hard to miss. It was a minute before she returned, pale and wiping her mouth on the back of her hand.

"I'm fine." she said before I could ask. I didn't know if she was trying to convince me, or herself. This time, when we walked between the stiffs, she went to the first one, unprovoked, and hesitantly pulled his arms across his chest, like they do at funerals. She did the same to the next, and the next, and even at the last one, whose face was half gone, she worked without flinching, rolling him onto his back and straightening his clothes like he was a boy getting ready for Sunday school. I wordlessly picked up a carbine, dropped by one of the men, and then waited. The first time was hard, I knew. Everyone worked through it a different way.

He came at me from the left, letting out a fierce war cry, and I didn't think; I swung my rifle up, took aim, and pulled the trigger, and half his naked chest, and the warpaint on it, was blasted away. He fell to the ground, gurgling, the ends of his jet black hair sticky with blood, and I stepped up to him and shot again. Then I lowered my weapon, and my knees buckled, and I sat there staring at the red staining the ground and the feathers tangled in his hair until Johnson picked me up and told me to stop being such a goddamn chicken, come on, we got Injuns to kill.

When she came back, we continued on.

The Hall of Heroes was in another corner of Soldier's Field, behind a sign that deemed it 'closed until further notice'. That suited me just fine, meant nobody around to get in the way. It like it was set up on another island that we needed a gondola to get to, but it was going to take some work to get to it. Another police block was set up in the the square before the gondola; it looked from where we were standing like they were having some sort of meeting, so Elizabeth and I hid around the corner to listen and see if we could learn anything useful.

"-keep a watch out for the False Shepherd. There's a chance he's trying to make his way through here and if he is, we have to stop him."

"Sir, why isn't Slate here to help us?"

"Slate has bigger fish to fry. Besides, it's just one son of a bitch and a girl. That too much for you to handle, Matthews?"

"No, sir!"

Slate... it couldn't be. I'd known a man named Slate, once upon a time. It wasn't a common name, but still, the chances of running into him again, especially here, were unlikely. It was probably a coincidence. I jerked my head at Elizabeth, to tell her to hide, and quietly leaned around the corner, taking aim at the copper closest to me.

Blam. Down.

Blam. Another. That was enough time for them to stop whirling in confusion and start returning fire. I ducked back around the corner for a minute and reloaded, watching bullets slam into the stretch of wall open to the outside. Elizabeth was behind the other side of the entryway; she looked calm this time around, not jumping at the sounds of shouting or shots firing.

Another moment of waiting, then I darted out and kneeled behind a pillar next to the stairway. That gave me a better view of the ground below without making me more vulnerable. The coppers had been right out on open ground, but now that they knew I was here, they'd scattered behind loads of cargo and the police blocks, waiting for me to show my face.

One was not well hidden. I took aim and hit him in the shoulder; he cried out, and disappeared from sight. There was only one of me, and a lot of them, so it was easier for them to lay down covering fire and creep forward than it was for me to take them out; since I'd never exactly been a wanted fugitive being hunted by the police before(though I'd done pretty much everything else), this was a rough learning curve for me.

Leaning out to take a potshot, I almost lost my head, but another one of the cops went down. There were maybe five or six left. They were at the front of the open ground now, but it looked like they weren't sure about how to breach the staircase. I hadn't picked my spot because of that, but it was good; all that open ground made it hard for them to get any closer without being exposed long enough for me to shoot them down. It looked like I'd get out of this one with everything still attached.

"Booker, a crow!"

Shit, that was Elizabeth. I glanced back; she was already out of sight, smart girl, but when I looked back to scan the plaza, I saw what she was talking about. One of those robed men from the Order of the Raven, the ones that appeared and disappeared like magic tricks, was stalking along the side of a building not too far away, not looking at all scared of my peashooter. This pretty much pulled the rug out from under my feet, just as I thought I was done with this battle.

This was probably a good place to use some vigors to my advantage. Turning towards the big crate that most of the police had taken shelter behind, I felt inside for my murder of crows and coaxed it forward like a living thing. When I thrust my hand out, the swell of energy rolled down my arm and exploded in a squalling, whirling hurricane of ravens, who rocked out around the crate to find their prey. There were exclamations, cries of pain, and enough confusion that I could jump forward, race down the stairs, and circle to the left of the crate, giving me a clear shot of every one of the coppers as they tried to bat ravens away from their face and torso. With a distraction like that, they all went down easy, even the two hiding on the other side of the square, who couldn't get a clear shot on me while their brothers in blue had been blocking their view.

That just left me with the Crowman, who was... where? Where the hell was he? I looked around warily, searching for anything out of place, but I couldn't find a trace of him. Where could he have gone?

Elizabeth. I turned and raced back up the steps and towards the entrance to the building where she was hiding. There was an angry shriek, and the flutter of a black wing caught my eye in the shadows.

The Crowman had her backed up against a wall and was advancing slowly, as if he were enjoying it. She had picked up a candelabra somewhere; she took a swing and the sharp end where the candle was supposed to be ripped through part of his hood, but he didn't stop moving.

"Hey!" I yelled, hoping to get the attention of the Crowman before he got any closer to Elizabeth. It worked; he turned for a split second, and that was just enough time for me to slam into him and take him down to the ground in a tangle of limbs. The ravens around him squawked and wheeled, diving at my head as we wrestled, but I ignored them. I reached for my pistol, but before I could grab it, he pulled a knife from somewhere and thrust towards my side; I managed to grab his arm to stop it, but that left his other hand free to claw at my face and I had to duck to keep him from gouging at my eyes.

Elizabeth was doing something behind us, but I couldn't see what it was. There was a sound like a crack of lightning and a flash, and then a whoosh of chilly air hit us both in the side; he shifted, and then rolled us over so that he was on top, but I used one foot on the ground to keep the momentum going and then kicked him in the stomach, grunting in satisfaction when he rolled away. There was a surprised exclamation, and then suddenly he was gone, and so was the ground under me.

An arm snaked around my torso and yanked me backwards with a gasp of effort, and the ground appeared under my ass again. In front of me, a hole had appeared in the wall and the floor, leading into open air, as if the whole building had just... disappeared in one small area. Gusts of chilly air hit me from the opening, raising goose pimples on my arms. The edges of the hole in the stone flickered in a way that I'd never seen before; it looked unnatural and something about it, not just the air, gave me the shivers up and down my spine.

Elizabeth heaved me backwards another couple of feet with my help, until my legs were no longer dangling from the opening, and then stepped in front of me and made a familiar motion, as if she were slamming an imaginary set of curtains shut. The sides of the opening raced together, clashed in a crack of thunder, and then the hole was gone as if it had never existed, taking the Crowman with it.

"...what the hell," I gasped brokenly, "was that?"

She took a few deeps gulps of air, her shoulders shaking with the effort, before she answered.

"It's a... a tear." she gasped. "...it's like an opening into another dimension, kind of."

"Another dimension." I repeated in disbelief, staring at her. She ignored my words and offered me a hand up, which I ignored, climbing to my feet by myself.

"I've been able to make them since I was little. They're like windows into other worlds. Most of the time, they're dull as dishwater, just a different coloured towel, or a tea instead of coffee, but sometimes they're useful."

I wasn't sure that I believed this. Maybe this girl had been locked up because she was crazy.

Then my mind jumped back to Monument Island, when I'd been watching her through the observation hatches. She'd done something then too, something that I couldn't explain. A whole street had just appeared in the middle of the room, and it hadn't been a projection or a trick. This time, she'd made a hole through the side of a building and down through the entire rest of the floating island. I knew it was real, because the Crowman had fallen through it; I'd felt the air on my skin, gusting through the opening.

Maybe... maybe she was telling the truth.

"So, these tears... can you make them anywhere?" I asked. She shrugged.

"I used to be able to do a lot more with them when I was little. Now I can't do much, except sometimes pull things through, if they're worth it."

I turned towards the square that led to the gondola platform and she followed me without question. "Got any airships in there?" I asked, mostly as a joke. She cracked a smile and shook her head.

"No, but sometimes I can find other things. Weapons, ammo, things like that. I'll help you, if I can."

This time, as we walked through the bloodshed, she didn't hesitate as much, though she still insisted on sprucing up the stiffs before we left. I scrounged in their pockets, pulling out wallets, change, ammo, anything we could use. From one, I took another pistol, loaded it, and handed it to Elizabeth, hand grip first. She looked at it with furrowed eyebrows and shook her head, so I grabbed her hand and forced her to take it before she could protest.

"You almost got killed back there. I'm not saying you have to attack anyone, just keep it for protection. That probably won't be the last time someone tries to come after you." she pursed her lips, but shoved it into her skirt at the hip and didn't argue further. I took that as consent, and together we headed for the gondola.

We had to use the skyhooks to get to the Hall of Heroes. The gondola was stuck on the line, sandwiched by cargo, so I gritted my teeth and bore it, but that didn't mean I liked it. Elizabeth, on the other hand, whooped and laughed the entire way, not noticing my discomfort. Since I never knew what we'd find at the end of the line, I didn't want her in front of me either, so my entire view on the ride was open sky around and below me. It was a relief to set my feet back on solid ground, even if it was still ground floating in midair.

The Hall of Heroes was, as promised, completely deserted on the outside. The first room held another mechanized statue of George Washington that spewed terrible poetry; we moved on, looking for signs of where the Shock Jockey could be. The next room held a more familiar face, preserved in stone. He had a balding head and a large, formidable mustache, one eye covered by a patch. His clothes were simple army wear, but even carved in stone, they looked neat and clean; a trait of the man that wore them, always. One foot thrust forward, saber held outstretched, he looked as if he had been depicted directing men into battle, a stance that fit him so well that even no matter how much he'd changed, I recognized him down to the boots.

The placard under the statue read, 'Cornelius Slate, Soldier of the Orient'.

"He's quite the looker." Elizabeth said as she examined the statue, finger on her lips as if she were thinking.

"I know him." I replied shortly. She turned to look at me in surprise.

"Know him? How?"

I didn't get a chance to answer; somewhere, a loudspeaker kicked on, and then the question was being answered for me.

"Corporal DeWitt." I grimaced at the title. "It seems you haven't lost your bearing, soldier. I'm sorry that it had to come down to this."

"What are you doing here, Slate?" I yelled back, not sure if he could hear me. There was silence for a moment.

"I was invited here by our Father Comstock and the Lady Comstock. They wanted to celebrate the victories of the American soldier here in Columbia, and to preserve the heroic deeds and the lives that were given for the American public. They built this place in our honour, yours and mine. Is it not grand?"

I didn't look around.

"Look, we're just here for the Shock Jockey vigor. If you can tell us where it is, we'll leave you alone." I tried.

"I know that's what you're here for, DeWitt. We knew you would come here. Unfortunately, I can't let you continue. Not as a threat to our Prophet. Hopefully, once you know more you'll see reason. You were a good Corporal, DeWitt, a real warrior, and once you know everything you can stand beside me to teach Columbia about the honour of the soldier."

There was a shift in the air and a scuff of feet on stone. Around us, doors opened, and soldiers poured in, each loaded with a firearm. I pulled my carbine and swung up to aim, but there were already too many, and more were flooding in. There were dozens of them, every single one armed, every single one with the hard face of a soldier. These weren't cops. And with only the statue in the room for cover, there was nowhere to hide. We were surrounded.

"Put it down, Corporal."someone commanded. The sea of soldiers parted down the middle, and in walked Cornelius Slate in the flesh. He looked older, much older than when I'd know him; time had not been good to him and, just like in the statue, had apparently taken one of his eyes. He had a pistol in a holster on his belt, but he didn't pull it.

"Just give us the Shock Jockey, Slate." I snarled, raising the gun.

He held out a hand, and something arced from his palm to Elizabeth and me. The moment it touched my skin, I screamed, and my body convulsed. Waves of pain contorted my limbs, even as I fell to the ground. Behind me, Elizabeth was screaming too, and then with a pained gasp, she collapsed and fell silent. The arc of electricity from Slate's hand cut off, but still I groaned, unable to move, unable to even look up. It was as if my limbs were paralyzed. I tried to say something, anything, as he raised his hand again, but all that came out was a gurgle, and then there was more pain, and then darkness.

A/N: So. You've probably noticed we've taken a turn in the story. A big one. Where will it all lead? (Muhahah.)

Thanks to freelancer93, Mr. CJ of Blackwater, and Zephr-of-Shadows for the fantastic reviews. To answer your questions, CJ: The story will remain a secret. It's more fun that way! Free Lancer: I hope this chapter is a little better on that! I'm working hard to keep Elizabeth as awesome as she was in the game. And Zephyr, I think maybe we both took the pendant thing the wrong way, but come on?! Lock the girl up in a cage with a bird-jailor, and then give her bird/cage jewelry? Seriously?

As always, thanks for reading and drop a review for me if you can. See you next time!