9. Elizabeth
The girl's humming crept into my ears as I lay there, subtly at first before eventually I opened my eyes.
The office floor was as I'd left it, dusty and coarse. I could not see her where I was, but somewhere just out of eye shot her gentle tune filled the room. May the Circle, be… A voice called, a pounding upon the door. "Mr. DeWitt. Mr. DeWitt!"
From the hallway the shadow of a man demanded. As his fist wracked upon the door, I managed to roll upward onto all fours…raise my head. Opposite of me, hands back against my desk, was Elizabeth. "Bring us the girl...and wipe away the debt." She said, her voice a whisper, even as the man in the passage visible only in silhouette bellowed the same.
Her expression vacant. Was she the one humming? "Are you in there, DeWitt?!"
"What do you want with her?" I staggered to my feet, shouting. "What do you want with her!?"
"We had a deal, DeWitt!"
"Tell me what you want with her!?"
"Open this door, right now!" The shadow bellowed, fist hammering again and again upon the wood.
"Are you going to hurt her?! Tell me what you want!" I howled.
Elizabeth remained where she was, motionless. With fear in my soul, I rushed for the door, placed my hand upon the glass and swung it open to blinding light. In the glory I heard a man coughing...felt someone pushing upon my chest. The light resolved to Elizabeth's waterlogged form; blue eyes stricken amid disheveled hair. With her forceful compressions water spurted from my mouth. I gagged. Finally, I drew a clean breath and she stopped, desperation on her face replaced by a look of overwhelming relief.
"Anna?" I rasped.
"No, it's me...Elizabeth." She said slowly, brow raised in concern. She touched my face with the warming back of her hand. "Are you all right?"
"Where...am I?"
"Back in the land of the living." Above her seagulls coursed as gray and white, cawing streaks, backed by a blue firmament and fleecy clouds. I felt her take my hand. "Here, let me..." She began with a smile.
"I'll be fine."
"You almost drowned..." Together her hands embraced mine. "You need to..."
I wrested my hand and she pulled away. "I said...I'm fine." I could see her strained expression…the hurt upon face. It didn't matter…I didn't need her sympathy and I didn't want attachments. I had a job to do. Only...not now. Backward I slumped into the sand, eyes upon that brilliant sky. With a knit of brow her dismay turned to consternation. She crossed her arms and turned away as the sea breeze toyed with her damp hair. I lay there for God knows how long, listening to the surf, occasionally seeing her worried attention upon my form. Against the chill of the wind her arms remained about herself, and as we dried she took to sitting upon her side...marveling at the seascape.
"So, this is what it's like…outside." Against her voice, the wind, waves and gulls. "I'd always wondered. Is it always..." She continued to hold her arms about herself. "So cold?"
"Uhhhhhhgnn…"
Upward her gaze turned, although I could not see toward what. "The ocean…it goes on forever." She cast a hand to her brow, blocking the glare of the sun and casting a shadow upon her cheeks. Her brown hair tossed in the wind. "I could only see it when the clouds weren't bad. I never knew it was so…wet." With concerned brow, she glanced back to my sad wreck.
"Uhhgn."
"Will…will we have to swim? To Europe, that is?" I'd barely heard the words, but I knew, somehow and in an innocently laughable manner, that they were serious. "Mr. DeWitt, are you all right?"
From somewhere afar, a melody touched my ears. Her eyes opened. Her head turned…yearning upon her countenance. "Do...do you hear that? Ohhh! People…and…and…music!" Hand to her chest, she looked at me fleetingly then back toward the distant reverie. Astonishment and then a smile dawned. She rose hesitantly then eager from the sand, looking thunderstruck down the beach.
"Oh, Mr. DeWitt…please…" She dropped to my side, pressing hand against my shoulder. "Please get up…its not far and they can help. I'm certain!"
"Go on...I just need to..." I said, not completing my thought.
"Okay, a...ahhh...I won't be long…I'll get help…it's just down the beach!" She answered before dashing away. I slumped back into the sand.
#
I came to the wash of waves and the sound of voices. The burning blue of the vault remained overhead.
"He's right over there! He nearly drowned!"
"And you didn't?" A burly voice said, quite out of character with hers.
"No. I suppose I was lucky." Into the sand she fell upon knees, her dire expression blocking he sun above me. "Shall he be all right?"
The shade of a middle-aged man came overhead beside her, mostly in shade, a tank top of white and red stripes, orange sideburns and a bulbous nose. "Well, the man seems to be awake and breathing. Fellow, I do say, can you hear me?"
Upright I thrust myself upon a sand-encrusted elbow, scanning the surf and sea oat covered dunes…then meeting his gaze next to mine in stunned silence. Elizabeth drew back. I sat now, putting the gulls picking the sand beside me to flight. To the right as far as the eye could see I saw only waves and whitecaps, breakers that crashed in stiff waves upon the shore. Still, I heard the music playing.
"Yes…yes…just took a little water in." I coughed, feeling the breeze across my brow. Behind the ginger man Elizabeth looked on with concern, her white blouse and blue skirt now dried from the drenching we'd taken though not in a forgiving way. Like shipwrecked sailors the both of us looked.
Down shore perhaps a quarter mile, I saw a long wooden pier jutting across the water from what appeared to be a hotel. Wide, arched verandas, columned breezeways and ornate frontages adorned its expansive three stories, while a long Columbian banner roiled and tossed from one of its turret's rectangular facades. Oddly, it was the only bit of Columbia present, with not a single other island in sight.
"Where…where are we?" I asked, the realization growing that in the man's presence, perhaps I should mind my tongue.
"Why, Battleship Bay!" He answered, offering me a meaty paw. I took it and with a hearty pull he brought me to my feet. Immediately Elizabeth approached, concerned. "My God, it is true…a shipwreck of all things. Perhaps we should get the Harbormaster?"
"I…don't think that will be necessary." I muttered, coughing up seawater or seaweed in another spasmodic sputter. "We were just out for a…" I looked to the worried woman beside him, her blue eyes fraught beneath knit brow. "A little trip around the…island…before a wave capsized us. We're both fine, me and my…daughter."
"Well, glad to hear that news, then." My rescuer answered. Beyond him several people in beach attire had emerged from beneath the hotel's verandas, approaching in a cluster, looking on with concern similar to Elizabeth's. "Still, let us get you back to the resort…a little fresh water and a wash will do you good." Together we began to tread the hard, wet sand, eventually passing a handful of beach chairs, sunbathers and wooden beach booths alongside our new retinue and the people within. At my passage, the men and women looked up from their towels and picnic baskets, wondering from beneath their beach umbrellas at the stranger trudging past.
Flanked by the worried girl, my benefactor and I entered the compound through the first building, passing a rack of lifeguard gear and pastiche of posters. One was a fresh advertisement for a new airship, the Versailles of the Atlantic, bound 'weekly now for Paris.' With a touch of chest, I realized my envelope remained in place. Beyond the breezeway the resort enclosed a sequestered section of beach. There were many more people here sprawled upon the sand, though not as many as one would have seen on the Fourth in Jersey. Many, having obviously been alerted to my condition by the urgent requisition of their man, looked on. Above them prominently suspended in the sky a sign called out "BATTLESHIP BAY" with the fanciful turrets of an old-time seagoing dreadnought bobbing above the establishment's third story. Atop the first story and all about it ran a boardwalk, featuring along its length many amusements. Outward across the water jutted the pier I'd seen, adorned at its outset by patriotic bunting and a sign proclaiming, "Dancing 'til Dusk."
Outward he led us along the pier, our damp figures drawing more than a bit of attention from the beach goers attending the wooden length. He sat me upon a bench. "Found this down on the beach where the woman says they came ashore. Emily, might you get this man and his girl something to drink?"
"Of course, James." From a trio of concerned women, a lady produced a glass of lemonade, pouring out the contents from a pitcher of bright yellow filled with ice. Handing one to me then to Elizabeth, we both relished the moment. I'd not had lemonade in years…and this was a sweet tonic. Beside us, tied to the bit, rocked a boat in the surf, its white-painted sides and wooden construction similar to the one I'd imagined Elizabeth had fabricated in our benefactors' minds. Not far away and at the wharf's distant end a fiddler, piano and harpsichord played "Saddle the Pony." She took a seat beside me, but her eyes shared that fiddler and the children reeling about him.
Amid a raised octagon at the end of the pier several dancers clapped in gay swimwear, happily encouraging their pirouetting woman. With the harpsichord in accompaniment, I noticed that she was oddly clean and dry. Around them open ocean receded.
"Never seen a dance before?" I managed. By now the coughing had stopped, only a gentle wheezing from my lungs a reminder of my near encounter with Davey Jones locker.
"No. I've not." She answered, taking in the gay spectacle. "But it looks wonderful. I suppose it wouldn't do to ask you to join me in a reel? I've always wanted to dance."
"I don't…dance." I said, looking about for what might swoop down upon us at any moment. "Especially after I've just about drowned."
"I am sorry about that." She whispered.
"How…how did we even survive that fall? It must have been a mile."
"A bit less…" She corrected, smiling as our rescuer's female companion brought us both another glass and the dancers spun before us. "If my books are correct, that is. As I understand it, Columbia lofts at 5000 feet, slightly lower than one might expect but at one ample enough for the air to be comfortably warm and breathable." She had paused, looking at me with concerned eyes. "I am truly glad you are all right. For a moment there on the beach, I feared the worst."
"Me too." Feeling some modicum of strength returning, I rose, and she followed…small and lithe at my side. Despite her sea-breeze dried attire and hair, I found it difficult to remove my gaze. "So, why should you be sorry? We're alive."
"Yes, but, you see, it's all my…" She turned sheepish now, looking to that thimbled hand, eyes evasive until one of the women brushed into her. Again she looked their way.
"I told you, I don't dance."
Arms flung wide, she stood…spun amid the musicians and dancers, ponytail flying behind her. "But you should…what could be better than this?!" At the finish she stumbled slightly, coming unexpectedly close…those blue eyes meeting mine. She was young. Deprived of everything. Who was I to judge?
Amid the clouds above I could now see the first glimpse of the city, and I realized that we were indeed at sea level. As the clouds moved off, I saw the by now familiar glint of airship traffic and the poster of the Versailles came to mind. "How about Paris?"
Her eyes narrowed. "Paris...but how...I don't understand...how would we get there?" She said with a shrug and shake of head.
"The same way I got here." I answered, pointing upward through the clouds to Columbia and the Aerodrome. "On one of those airships...there are dozens up there. One's got to be bound for Europe."
"So, we won't have to swim?!"
Remembering her paintings, I smirked. "You ever been to Paris?" Her eyes lit up. "But if you want to stay and dance..."
Her eyes had followed my finger, but she began to understand. "No, no! Let's go! Come on, let's go." She cried giddily. About us people were looking, the dancers and their men smiling around the musician." Come on, let's go right now!" Hand briefly in mine, she looked at it before leading me in a dash to the sand.
#
The salt in my britches chaffed, and as her black laced boots met the beach I couldn't understand why it wasn't bothering her. Dresses, I figured, had their advantages. After a moment she stopped and turned slowly about, taking the surround of beach and building, sea and sky in. Around us beach goer eyes continued to follow, particularly the men. Amid boat rental booths and beach huts, perhaps a hundred still enjoyed the sand, towels beneath umbrellas on this cool but sunny Columbian holiday.
I came up behind her and found her less ebullient, as if she didn't know whether to be happy or sad. In passing I heard a woman make a comment beneath her breath. Elizabeth raised a hand to block the afternoon brilliance, looking yet at the buildings and their patriotic bunting aloft in the breeze. "I'm out." She whispered, wind ruffling her chestnut hair. "It's hard to believe, but it's true, isn't it?" She took in a deep breath. "Ohhh..." She sighed, eyes closing. "Can you smell that?! I've never smelled...anything like that before, have you?"
"It's called a hot dog." I answered, taking her by the hand. At our approach a black-haired cart attendant smiled. "Two frankfurters for the nice man and his pretty young daughter?"
"That'll do." I replied, noticing Elizabeth hanging upon our words. Scrounging through pockets, I managed to come up with a Columbian dime courtesy of the Ribbon. The gloves I'd worn since my arrival were gone...likely at the bottom of the Atlantic along with the Broadsider. Luckily in my vest I still had the envelope and coins. Frankfurters in hand, we headed toward the Bay's lower entrance.
After an indecisive study she took a bite and clenched her eyes. "Mmmmm...delishous." Still nursing that headache from my drowning, I took a bite of my own. In no mood to dally I scarfed it down before hastening her toward a nearby entrance. Away from the dancers we could hear a calliope above hooting the notes of a foreign but amusing tune. At the top of the entryway's stair we encountered a turnstile, a puzzle that vexed her. Three times she approached, only to be turn back at the resistance. Finally, she summoned the courage to push, then looking back at them like they were some snapping dogs. Having finished our dinner, we found ourselves in an arcade…a gift shop overflowing with paraphernalia celebrating the city.
All about the place's interior colors danced lined the walls, red, white and blue bunting intermingled with trinkets and souvenirs. At the shop's far end an arched window shed light upon the interior. From beside his counter a weathered attendant in red and white striped jacket noted our arrival. Aside from him, we were alone. Near the center of the room hung a prominent poster protruded from a barrel of the same name. "FATHER COMSTOCK – Our Prophet."
The portrait was familiar...the visage I'd seen in the distance at the park...severe but handsome, aged, white beard and mustache giving the appearance of a gaunt Saint Nick. Licking her fingers, Elizabeth fretted. "Mr. DeWitt...Comstock. I've read about him. They say he can see the future."
Her ignorance drew my consideration. How could she not know? Regardless, were I to make it to New York with her in tow, now was not the time to enlighten her on the matter. "Give a man a little power..." I looked for the resemblance in her face. "He falls into all kinds of love with himself."
"I don't like his look." At her observation, the attendant looked up to us, beady green eyes visible from beneath the brim of his white straw hat. Drawing closer, Elizabeth's voice reached me in a whisper. "Can we leave now?"
#
We pressed up another flight of stairs onto the deck above. Noticing that her benefactor was not only damp but still carrying sand, she smirked. "That fall into the water did you no favors. We need to find a way to dry out."
"You seem to have done no better." I observed. "There must be baths here, or showers we can rinse off in." I managed, inspecting for danger everyone who passed us by. "Only thing is, now that I've got you, I'm not gonna let you out of my sight."
She was looking at me, studying now my face as she walked alongside, the hint of a smile playing I her eyes…across her lips. "How old...how old are you, Mr. DeWitt?"
"South of forty..." I glanced her youthful face and form. "North of you." My quip seemed to disabuse her of any pretensions toward romance, and as we emerged onto the boardwalk and back into sunlight, I saw a group of Constabulary setting up a checkpoint at the zeppelin docks above…our exit. Before us vendors hawked trinkets from canvas tents and wooden stalls.
Dozens of suddenly happy attendants looked upon us. Unused to such attention, and quite possibly her first experience with a market, Elizabeth seemed bewildered. Like a typical woman, she gravitated toward a festively decorated booth hawking jewelry. "Mr. DeWitt...look at these, they're just like the key!"
Amid several pieces of jewelry laid out upon a black velvet board lay two neck pendants, each gold rimmed of black onyx. One was of a golden cage, its twin a songbird. In the shade a black-haired, mustachioed man in tie regarded us with toothy grin. "Bobbles for the pretty lady?"
Elizabeth began to speak, but with a step forward I interposed myself between daughter and lech, annoyed that she had stopped to ogle junk when we needed to proceed posthaste. "No. We're in a hurry, friend."
"But isn't it odd? The same design as the key…"
We needed to be on our way. "Say, friend, where did you, uh, get these?"
"My supplier." He answered with a coy smirk, again annoying me with his attention upon the girl. "A small enameler up in Emporia, but that would be telling, wouldn't it? Are you going to buy something?"
At that moment I realized she was looking at me, holding the pendants in hand. I glanced about, looking for policemen. "How much?"
"For the pair, six Eagles."
"Robbery." I said, knowing Laslowe's stash of coins would not last at such depredation.
"Well, which one do you like more?" She asked, lifting the bird pendant. "Or that one?" She considered the cage. This dawdling exasperated me, but I couldn't help but notice that savaged pinkie. "The one on the right." I sighed, gesturing toward the bird.
"Are you sure?"
"I'm sure, Elizabeth." Why she couldn't make up her own mind eluded me. My hand sunk into the coin pouch. "How about two Eagles?"
The black-haired main smiled, looking over our sun-dried visages. "Unfortunately, three Eagles is the price, friend."
"Still robbery." Elizabeth was holding the pendant to her chest, concerned, apparently, that I might welch. With a sigh I forked over the coins. Appending it to a lace choker, the attendant handed it to the girl with a smile.
"I love it!" She said, drawing the fabric about her slender neck. She turned to me for approval. I wasn't looking at her any longer. As the clouds continued to clear people had begun pointing upward. From about us we began to hear gasps and frightened sobs. High above smoke rose from the wreckage of Monument Island, whose head and an entire shoulder were missing. About its remaining heights airships and zeppelins hung, shooting arcs of water. Sporadically a section sheared away, tumbling into the ocean below.
"It has to be the Vox! Who else would do such a thing?!" I heard a woman cry.
"Are you okay?" I came to Elizabeth's side. Alongside mine, her eyes had turned upward. She'd forgotten the jewelry.
"That was my home." She whispered with strained brow, tendrils of salted, sea-clumped hair rippling across her ear and temple. "Who was that man? He seemed like he knew you, but he must not...I've never been shot at before."
"Edmonton. A bad judgement on my part. I...thought he was an ally. I was wrong. If it makes you feel better, he wasn't shooting at you. By the way that place came apart, I doubt we'll be seeing him again."
From the clouds one of the zepps was breaking off and commencing a descent. Losing its profile in the waning sun, I realized it was turning our way. "We should get out of here."
Next to us a pair of women were sobbing. "Yes." Elizabeth said, eyes flitting between them and the descending gunship, and for a moment I thought she might join them. "Yes, we should. Let's go."
Had we any hope of an easy escape, our entry into the ticketing lobby dashed it. It was a well-tended place, festooned like the souvenir shop with memorabilia that lined its walls and festive bunting. Not only were the police searching people on the deck above, but they had set up a checkpoint just before the stair that led upward, signage calling out in big, black strokes "Departures, Arrival and Ticketing Booth." A dozen weary beachgoers stood in line, hoping to escape the watery course of Battleship Bay to the heavens. From beneath his octagonal, black brimmed hat, one of the coppers glanced our way. I pulled Elizabeth back into the hallway.
"What's happening?" She asked, tugging nervously at her tangled ponytail as she struggled to look round the corner.
"Those men are the same sort that came after us in the zeppelin...the ones who shot the hell out of your home." I glanced to my hand holding her back. "You wouldn't happen to have any gloves on you, would you?"
She shook her head, pondering furiously my intent. "They'll…recognize us?"
"They'll put you back in your prison and make me dead."
After a shocked moment, her gaze turned from me toward the chamber, where people shouted questions about what had happened above and who was to blame. One by one the constables were patting them down. Elizabeth hazarded a step forward...allowed herself a peek down an adjacent corridor. "I think I have just the thing." I looked at her, wondering what the hell she was talking about. "Will you come with me?"
"Come with you?"
"Yes...come on!"
"Wait...I'm the one getting us out of here. You said it yourself, you've never been out of that tower."
She took me by the hand, looking up to me with eager blue eyes. "Yes, but I can see down a corridor. Come on!"
Against my better judgement I followed, crossing the floor quickly to the adjacent passage. Ignoring a bum sprawled on the carpet, Elizabeth and I approached a pair of doors, doors that did not give when I attempted their handles. "Brilliant, Elizabeth. Damn thing's locked."
She smirked at me and drew a pin from her messy, mote-dotted hair, slipped past me to kneel at the keyhole. "What are you doing?!" I exclaimed in hushed voice.
"You're a roguish type..." She whispered without looking back. "What does it look like?" Suddenly the lock clicked. "Done." The handle turned at her behest. I stood there dumbfounded as she opened one side. Pleased at her achievement, she turned back to me and grinned.
"Where did you learn to pick locks?!"
"Trapped in a tower with nothing but books and spare time?" She shook her head and chuckled, somewhere else, unconsciously wrapping her arms about herself. "You would be surprised what I know how to do."
#
Elizabeth had chosen well. The building's back corridors were for the better part empty, gray, wood-paneled passages which turned out to be a viable approach to the airship ticketing booths above. As Elizabeth fretted a new pair of turnstiles a woman in a flying uniform looked our way, sequestering her compact. I'd never seen a woman in a flying uniform before.
"Annabelle?
"Excuse me?" Elizabeth responded, obviously having not expected a conversation let alone someone to recognize her.
"Annabelle, it's me, Esther." The woman said, yet by the way she spoke I sensed something off.
A puzzled Elizabeth crossed her arms but smiled anyway. "Oh, no, I'm not Annabelle. I'm Elizabeth."
"Are...you sure?"
"My name is Elizabeth." She repeated, cordial but wary. "Do...I know you?"
"Elizabeth..." The woman repeated, hands upon hips. Turning from us, she slipped through the turnstile and made toward a flight of red carpeted stairs. "Isn't that a lovely name?"
Elizabeth looked at me and I her before following through the turning wickets. Both of us had felt it. Near the stair a hotel busboy was announcing, "Last customers...park's closing. Park's closing!" My ward was as puzzled as me as we mounted the flight.
"That was odd."
"Yes, it was." I said, stopping to peer out a grand arched window. Across the rounding beach outside the blue swell of the Atlantic coursed forty feet below, a vaulted, clear blue sky above. "Something's not right." My observation did little to put Elizabeth at ease.
With renewed caution we carried on. At the next landing past a shoeshine man, we entered a livelier portion of the establishment. Red carpet with golden trim adorned our way, while amusements mechanical and otherwise lined gilded walls…truly an arcade. Despite the place's impending closure many people remained at play amid the festive calliope we'd heard before.
The dazzle caught Elizabeth's eye, the girl turning curiously and with starts toward each unfamiliar pop or ring. A sign proclaimed, "Ticketing This Way." I took her by the arm and led her on.
A staircase later, we found ourselves in the waiting area for the air service up. The woman we'd seen earlier was there, waiting alongside a handful of others for boarding. For a moment, Ester's eyes hung uncomfortably upon mine.
"Are hot dogs everywhere in Columbia?" Elizabeth asked as we passed another cart, the side burned vendor in the process of satisfying a patron's hankering for sauerkraut.
"Wherever there is money and hungry mouths." I mumbled, feeling myself on edge. It was too quiet.
Perhaps she was still hungry because she took a great interest in the transaction. Near the counter a man was playing a violin. At my approach he the counter sat a mustachioed attendant, turned away from me, dapper in a white shirt, vest and dark gray vest. Talking into a hand receiver, his Bowler hat was tipped at a precarious angle.
"Two tickets for passage to the Aerodrome." He continued to ignore me. Ticking loudly upon the wall behind him, a clock made his disrespect worse. I rang the bell. He ignored me so I smacked it again
"Yeah? Just a minute, friend. Yeah, I have it." He said furtively. "Uh, how do you, uh, want to proceed?"
"In a bit of a rush, pal."
Looking back over his shoulder at me the man mumbled, "I got it. I'll ring you back after the matter is in hand. Yeah, send 'em in. We're ready to execute."
"Excuse me, but could I get some God damned help here?!"
He hung up the phone...turned to me with a smile. "Certainly, Sir..." A Bowie knife appeared above his white curled sleeve. "Sorry about the wait!" He brought it over his shoulder and down into my hand, sinking the hilt to flesh.
In sudden agony I let loose a howl, looking at my impaled appendage as blood spurted outward from the wound. From the corner of my eye I saw Elizabeth looking on in horror. She twisted to motion behind her.
"What are you doing?!" I heard her exclaim as the violinist went for her arms. No! I thought. Somewhere not far away a woman shouted, "Get the girl!"
Again, the violinist lunged for Elizabeth, but she slapped him back, screaming, "Get off of me!" Squarely my little puppy kicked the goon right in the balls. A, for effort. The blow from her leather boot sent the bastard to his knees, groaning, followed by a wave of bright yellow vomit. At that point the hot dog vendor tipped his cart and the flyer drew a weapon.
Blood gushing yet from my wound, I yanked the blade clean and spun about, realizing as I did so that I'd been lucky...it had gone straight between my ring and index fingers with no broken bones. For a moment the sight of it caused my knees to go weak. Seeing the vendor's shotgun emerge, Elizabeth dove for cover. The ticket man had come out of his booth now, turning with a pistol for my head. To his shock I jammed his knife back between his eyes.
A shotgun blast tore the façade from the ticket booth. Whipping about as the ticket man collapsed in a pool of his own brains, I went for the gun and came up shooting, hitting the hot dog vendor through the neck across the room in a bloody spray against the wall.
From behind the column where the violinist had been seated the flying woman appeared, Broadsider in hand, barrel shaking. To my left I heard terror...saw Elizabeth race up a rise of stairs. The flyer wasn't much of a fighter because she hesitated to pull the trigger. For a moment I wondered if she were even going to. Still, I hadn't survived Wounded Knee, the PI and the Rocks by relying on other people's good intentions or failed bad ones. Faster than she could follow I dove and rolled, coming into an upright crouch with dead ticket man's weapon. Two shots rang out and she went down with a thud.
Across the room I heard a groan from where the vendor had fallen. When I strode to his side, he was remarkably still alive. By the amount of blood and way his eyes were glazing over I figured he would not be much longer. Ripping the shotgun from his grasp I spun and cleared the room, seeing that the woman was still moving. Why men would let a girl do their dirty work eluded me. She was a loose end.
I cocked the shotgun and walked over to her, holding its barrel to her head as she groaned, bleeding out upon the floorboards. With great effort she turned to look up at me with wet, gray eyes.
Dammit. I uncocked.
Relieving her of her of her firearm, I shoved it into my chest holster, searched her bloodied frame to find another magazine. Pocketing it, I went after the girl.
"Elizabeth!"
Around the corner ahead I heard "Stay away from me!"
The stairs led to an airship platform, against which hung a modest zeppelin. At my approach and the brandish of the shotgun the crowd parted, women screaming, children and men shirking to from my path. Elizabeth had joined them.
"You, stay!" I commanded, panning about. I ordered the rest of the bystanders off board.
"Get away from me!" Elizabeth shrieked anew. Undeterred, I burst into the passenger compartment and tailed her toward the cockpit. Inside a pilot threw himself against his controls in fear.
"You're him." He said shirking away, hands up at my bloody gun...looking at my face. Elizabeth was trying to squeeze past me for the door. With a kick I slammed it shut.
Grabbing him by the collar, I put the double barrel to his head. "You're very observant. After your friends' welcoming committee back there I'm all out of patience. Take us up to the Aerodrome...and I ain't gonna ask a second time."