II.
"When
beggars die there are no comets seen;
The heavens themselves blaze
forth the death of princes."
--From Julius Caesar (II, ii, 30-31)
The first time she wore the mask in public, it felt like an act of gross indecency. She chose the twilight hour, praying that somehow she'd miraculously inherited the ability to vanish into the shadows along with the books and paintings. No one gave her much notice, but still she felt exposed, as though someone would point her out as an imposter at any second. Worse than the prospect of being caught by some remnant of Norsefire was the thought of defiling the memory of the mask's previous wearer.
As Evey stepped over sleeping people huddled in an alley, a heavy black duffel bag slung over one shoulder, she despaired of ever being able to move in her new disguise with anything resembling grace. She was more than a foot too short for the cape, and drowning in black fabric. She could only imagine the humiliation of approaching a quarry only to be caught tripping on her own robes.
She had hoped to wait at least another week before venturing out into public; she knew there was plenty of work to do, and yet she didn't feel that an appropriate mourning period had passed. Still, she had to remind herself that V would be the last person to obey the rules of courtesy when action was sorely needed. And her mission tonight was of more importance than a simple reconnaissance session—she'd been alarmed that morning at just how empty she'd allowed the kitchen cupboards of the Shadow Gallery to become.
Coming to the street corner she'd spent the afternoon watching from the roof, Evey ducked around the side and paused behind a large garbage bin to catch her breath. It was a slightly windy evening, and the scent blowing off the garbage nearly made her choke. Instinctively she reached to cover her mouth, and jumped in surprise when her fingers met with only warm metal. She hadn't taken this kind of thing into consideration. Inwardly, Evey sighed, and turned away from the wind. Obviously, this was going to take more practice than she'd initially thought.
She'd chosen the warehouse because it was one of the few that still had a back entryway. She knew V would probably have found a more stylish way to get the necessities, but considering she'd hardly learned to find her way through the small expanse of underground tunnels without getting lost, theatrics didn't seem a very good idea. The warehouse was normally closed at dusk, a large concrete bunker door lowering to keep out potential looters. There were also security guards who patrolled the perimeter of the building just in case; she'd seen them there the night she'd left.
Nearly a year ago. The thought made her breath hitch in her throat, and she momentarily forgot what she was doing there at all.
But the guards had a bottle of vodka tonight, discipline lax in the wake of the present riots, and Evey shook herself, watching one of the guards teeter around laughing to himself, mentally trying to calculate how long it would be before he passed out. She thought that she ought to do something to hurry it up a bit, and silently felt the hilt of the single dagger she'd strapped to her belt before leaving. The prospect sickened her. She'd have to wait it out.
As if reading her thoughts, the man made off toward the alley a moment later, one hand still clutching the vodka bottle, the other unzipping his fly. Evey's stomach turned as he passed her hiding spot, but she took full advantage of the opportunity, knowing it was likely the only one she would get that evening. Her hand still on the hilt of her knife, Evey swept out from behind the garbage bin and into the area for trucks to unload into the warehouse.
The door control switch was flashing red: a malfunction. Thinking that if might be her lucky night after all, Evey gave the 'open' switch a sharp jab. She could always try to get the code out of the inebriated guard, but she wanted as little contact with him as possible. Fortunately, the damaged controls obeyed her command, and the bay door began grinding upward. She had no time to celebrate, however, as she quickly discovered that the controls were far from quiet. The door's track was badly in need of oil, and it produced an awful grinding sound that made Evey press her hands over her ears despite the mask and wig.
"Hey!" The guard came stumbling back at the noise, his fly undone and his shirttail sticking out comically. He tripped over his own heavily-booted feet as he rounded the corner, and Evey quickly jabbed the controls again, bringing the door to a stop barely two feet above the pavement, and rolled under it into the warehouse.
There were no lights on inside, and she had a momentary nightmarish feeling of being dropped into one of her brother's ancient video games. The ones he used to love before…
But she pushed the thought away, and blinked until her eyes adjusted. Now was not the time to get nostalgic; it was not the time for any emotional attachments at all. Evey made her way over to a large cooler against one wall and began shoveling packages of frozen goods into the duffel bag hardly bothering to look what it was she was taking. She'd have to make do with whatever it was she managed to get; over the past year she'd learned to tolerate nearly anything so long as it had a small amount of nutritional value.
A few moments later, she was rolling back out into the night, and this time she didn't even feel the bite of the pavement against her shoulder. The guard had somehow managed to get a bit of his sanity back, and was speaking very quickly into a radio. Evey made a run for it, attempting to slip back into the shadows behind the garbage bin and out through the alley, but for once security was just a hair too fast for her. She'd misjudged for the first, if hardly the last, time in her new career as vagabond.
"Hey!" yelled the one with the vodka bottle again. He made to crack it over her head, but his reflexes were still dulled by the alcohol and Evey ducked easily out of the way.
"Bloody hell, you're the bastard blew up Parliament!" shouted another voice, and Evey turned to find at least ten more of them rounding the corner at a run.
"Yes," she said slowly, hoping the mask would hide the terror suddenly threatening to drive her to her knees. "I am." Something had happened at Victoria Station; it had worn away more than a little of the strength she'd built up during her imprisonment. She found herself afraid again, though for entirely different reasons now. No longer did she fear the compulsion to join in the fight; now she worried that she didn't have the strength to do all that was needed of her.
The guard looked at her strangely for a moment, apparently thrown by the sound of her voice. Evey smiled a bit to herself, gaining confidence. She took the moment to slip a hand beneath her cloak, feeling for the dagger again.
"Stay right there." The guard made up his mind at last and reached for her wrist. Evey flinched away, pulling the dagger out of her belt a bit clumsily.
"Don't touch me." She was swept with an overwhelming sense of déjà vu the moment the words were out of her mouth, but she stamped it out with a vengeance, gritting her teeth at her own foolishness.
"What you gonna do, blow us up?" Another of the guards was advancing as well, and now Evey began to feel cornered. They were closing in fast and she had a brick wall to her back. Wonderful planning once again.
"You don't want to mess with me," she spat, wishing that she could remember even one of the extensive repertoire of quotes she'd heard V use over the past year.
"I think I'll be judge of that," said the guard. He stepped forward boldly, and Evey faltered for just a moment. It wasn't until she felt his hand wrench the edge of her mask that her body sprang back into action, and when it did, it was without a moment's thought. Her arm shot out with panic-speed, and the next thing she knew the dagger had sunk several inches deep into the man's chest.
"Christ!" shouted one of the guards. Any semblance of discipline went all to hell as the group rushed forward toward the fallen man, who was now bleeding profusely onto the pavement.
Evey's hand dropped numbly, and she backed away from the scene, momentarily forgotten by the guards. It was like something out of her worst nightmare. She'd agreed to take over the fight, never to kill. And now…here she was, doing nothing more noble than hunting for food, and she'd already murdered an innocent man. He'd just been doing his job.
Her knees began to buckle, and Evey stumbled as her back bumped the bricks of the wall. When she managed to look up again, the scene in front of her hit her like a punch to the stomach.
Not the sight of the guards, huddled around their fallen companion, but of the other figure. One clothed in a costume identical to hers. And it was standing in the midst of all the chaos, just calmly watching.