11. Paris?

Climbing silently the stairwell, we were both silent at first. As the sound of an approaching elevator came from the shafts nearby, and despite my better judgement, I opened my mouth. "Do you mind me asking what the hell that was?"

"I told you..." She said, reluctant to look at me, her face illuminated by the infrequent light bulbs landing to landing. "It was a tear."

"Not that." I said, listening to the bark of anxious troops riding the steel cars downward. In my mind's eye, sketches came…drawings of birds. "The giant goddamned vulture."

"I don't know." The angst upon her face said differently.

"You had pictures of the damned thing all over your walls back at Our Lady of Eternal Solitude, Elizabeth. Cough it up."

"You wouldn't tell me about your family." She countered weakly, hair disheveled, turning to look upward at me. "Why should I..."

I took her upper arm. "Because I think our damned survival might just depend on it. Tell me what you know...now."

"I...I used to dream about him."

"Him?"

Brow fretful, I realized fear now upon her face. "I called him Songbird. When I was a little girl I...I used to dream about him. Sometimes he was my friend. Sometimes he was in my nightmares. I never...thought he was real."

"He sure as hell seemed real."

Her hand clasped the stairwell's railing. I let go. "I've often wondered if my tears were just a form of wish fulfillment. I mean, not real at all, just me making things..."

"From nothing?" She looked at me, and for a moment I realized that I might just be the only thing in her life she trusted. "How did you, uh, eat? Or get clothing or take care of your needs? Did you, uh, make all that too?"

A smirk touched the corner of her mouth. "Goodness, no. There was a dumbwaiter. I think, well I think you fell through it. Every day my meals would be delivered and anything else I asked for, within reason. Once and a while I'd receive a handwritten note. I never realized that the tower had been abandoned."

"But you knew you were in a tower?"

"When I grew older."

I glanced left. Glanced right with smirk of my own. "They call you the Lamb, you know."

"And you the False Shepherd. Let's…not call each other that."

Resuming our climb, we emerged in a utility room off the Ticketing Rotunda. Looking out from its doors we discovered the plaza in an uproar with lines of people fighting one another to get tickets.

Beside me Elizabeth was looking about, shifting uneasily. "What is the matter with you?"

She seemed embarrassed. "I...I really have to go to the bathroom. How do they do that out here?"

What a treat she was in for. Spying a ladies' powder room across the Rotunda's black and white checker tile, I raised my bandaged hand and pointed. "There. That's a powder room."

"I don't need powder. I just need to go."

"Elizabeth..." I said, not sure whether to laugh or cry. "It's a euphemism. Women don't like having to say when they have to tinkle."

"That seems rather inefficient." She looked the way of the lavatory and started to walk. "I'll be right back, Mr. DeWitt."

"It's Booker." I mumbled again but by then she was nearly out of earshot. I watched her like a hawk, but for all my bathroom wisdom, I had ulterior motives.

With one eye on the loo and the other on escape, I headed for the White Star counter. The attendants regarded me as if I had been in a wreck, which I had. For a moment I feared the attention, yet about me others were similarly bedraggled. I heard tell of revolt in Finkton and southern Emporia. People seemed of great mind to get out.

I pushed few Silver Eagles into the purser's hand and got our tickets punched, accommodations on the Star of the Atlantic bound for New York City. As I finished, Elizabeth's eyes found mine. We met before the line for the Versailles. She'd brushed her hair. Washed her face.

"Paris!" She exclaimed as she drew closer. "I can't believe it. Oh, Mr. DeWitt...how long will it take to get there?"

"You mean, assuming we get on the ship?"

"Of course."

"About a day. Depending on the winds, I suppose. A day and night and some change."

"So fast!" She said in amazement. "I've never been on an airship before."

A headache was setting in and I was eager for a hot shower...to rest my throbbing hand. Realizing our journey needed to take us back to the Promenade, I led the giddy girl back toward the utility room. There were even less people than before as we descended, discovering basements tinged with the scent of oil and smoke. Finding our way through deserted passages we climbed anew, emerging beyond the search lines. Gaining my bearings, I found us just off the arches of one of the boarding arms.

Darkness had fallen, leaving a cloud swept vault of stars beyond the glass. Floodlights illuminated the gantries, and three airships down I saw the Star of the Atlantic...just beyond which was Versailles of the Atlantic. Distraction was in order.

Across Emporia, Finkton and Shantytown fires burned, flaring frighteningly in some places. Occasionally I saw the spark of gunfire. After my ride with Edmonton out to the Monument, I found myself not quite as petrified of heights. Perhaps, I thought, it was because it was at night. Following my lead she yawned. I smiled at her. She smiled at me.

As we approached the Star's gangway I began to worry. Signs were posted and the Atlantic was the furthest vessel out. Refugees about us were fretting over whether they would get to Paris or not. Not good. I kept her talking about her life and painting and what she wanted to do once we got to Paris, managing to get her past the danger and onboard the Atlantic none the wiser.

She liked to talk.

In contrast to the drafty Promenade and chill boarding arm, the passageways on the Star of the Atlantic...err, 'Versailles,' were warm and luxuriant. A red carpet took us to our quarters along a passage hung with pastoral paintings, a single accommodation I'd taken the liberty of registering to Mr. and Mrs. Booker DeWitt. With Elizabeth none the wiser, the steward showed us to our cabin and tucked us in.

Rearward I could hear the motors idling and the wind whistling through the wires. I locked the door, headed to a plush red chair, and dropped into it. Removing the bag I had secreted my gear in, I tossed the weapon to the table along with the spare Broadsider clip. I closed my eyes.

I heard a door open. Saw Elizabeth looking into the lavatory. "It's beautiful." She said, looking about with a most pleased expression.

"Not as pretty as your place was." I said, already half fallen asleep.

"A cage is still a cage." She scowled. "And there is nothing pleasant about a cage, no matter how beautiful it might be." She ran her fingertips along the door frame and mirror…to her reflection touched the pendant with a sigh. "This is freedom."

"Freedom from salt and grunge. I studied her oddly clean hair anew. "I'd recommend a change of clothes...and maybe a bath."

"Oh, that does sound so wonderful. But what about my...our clothes?"

"There's likely a robe there in the closet. I'll have the porter take care of your blouse and skirt. I'm going to try some sleep."

"I must say that sounds like a wonderful idea, Mr. DeWitt." She said again, stepping into the bathroom to draw a hot tap. "But a bath first. Promise you won't look?"

Hands draped over the chair's armrest. my eyelids were closed and I was fast on my way to oblivion. "Promise."

"Oh, I want to see Paris!" She sighed, almost giddy. "I want to see everything! With a gleeful grin she slipped into the bath. I heard muffled explorations, the reopening of the door. Her outfit sailed out upon the floor.

I looked at the pile of blue with one open eye, sighed and rose to collect it. Outside in the passage a Negro was walking by, dressed in a porter's pants and jacket. Upon his jacket a gold nameplate called out "Mr. Ellington."

"Uh, hello." He had exceptionally dark skin. At my approach, the man's eyes composed themselves. I must have looked like a walking war zone to evoke that kind of reaction. At least he wasn't a gargantuan bird.

"May I be of assistance, Sir?"

I tried to fashion a believable and actionable lie. "My wife and I, well, we got caught up in all the unpleasantness going on in Emporia this evening."

"Yes, Sir. I've heard about that. Something about anarchists?"

"Yes, uh, anarchists." I presented Elizabeth's accoutrements. "It's just that...well, we...my wife has nothing to wear other than what was on our backs. Is there any chance you might be able to wash these and get them back posthaste? I can pay."

Looking at the garments and particularly her unmentionables, he forced a smile. "Many people are indeed in the same unfortunate predicament this evening, Mr...?"

"DeWitt. Booker DeWitt. My wife...uh, Annabelle, well, she'd really appreciate it. She's taking a bath now and down to just the robe."

Ellington sighed but smiled, nonetheless. "I shall see what I can do, Sir."

"Excellent." I said, shaking his hand with two Eagles in palm. "By the way, have you any idea of how long it might be before we cast off?"

Ellington seemed uncertain. "Well, Sir, we were supposed to depart on the hour but the Columbian authorities have delayed us. No traffic has been authorized to depart for the last four hours, although the Captain has assured us that restriction will soon be lifted."

"I see." Having greased the skids, I smiled but was inwardly worried. "Thank you, Mr. Ellington. I shall look forward to your visit.

"And your clothing, Sir?" He asked, with an eye on my salt laden vest and pants, the ones that had made my life a misery since the Arcade below.

"I think I'll have to wait until the lady is done with her bath."

Ellington tipped his hat. "Excellent, Sir. I shall come by presently."

Back in our cabin I heard the girl humming from behind the door, the same tune I'd heard as a voyeur overlooking her library. "Do you mind me asking what song that is?"

"Song?" Came her muffled reply. I heard the wash of water and a sigh.

"Yeah. Hmmm Hmm Hmmm Hmm, Hmm hmmm hmmm hmm..." I butchered.

Like a bell her laughter rang. "I think it's 'Loved Ones in the Glory, Mr. DeWitt, or something like that. I really know not for certain. My...religion tutor, Mrs. Oliver, she sang it to me several years ago...before, well..." She paused, her tone turning less whimsical. "Before she stopped coming."

I absorbed her change of mood. Since Annabelle's death and despite the people around me, I knew what it was like to be alone. "I'm sorry you had to live like that. I wouldn't wish it on anyone."

"Neither would I." She muttered, not bothering to elaborate. After a swooshing of tub water, I heard her rise and water drain. She'd quit humming, probably because I'd ruined if for her, and after a few moments emerged wet from the lavatory clad in white robe, white towel about her hair, feet bare. "Your turn." She said demurely from beneath the towel, those damned blue eyes looking up at me like I was the entire purpose of her universe. Removing her head wrap as we passed one another, she allowed damp chestnut to fall.

"It's about time." I joked, observing the curve of her hip and chest beneath the terry cloth.

"I'm sorry, Mr. DeWitt." She smiled sheepishly. "I'm not used to having to share." As she finished her eyes darted about, brow contorting in a mild panic. "You...wouldn't have seen a hairbrush about, would you?"

I glanced outside into the night and row of illuminated airships idling beside us. Thankfully the Versailles wasn't on our side, but we still had yet to move. "Can't rightly say I do. Ask Ellington, the Steward. He might have one."

"Really?" She answered, the concept that you could just ask someone for something here oddly foreign.

"Yeah. Just ask."

I turned away troubled, not by the bath but what I was thinking. Inside the water closet was a red enamel tub and two brass taps. I closed the door behind me. Throwing the hot I saw steaming water flow. Scarf, vest and shirt I shed, removing my tank undershirt and pants to a mound upon the floor. In the mirror beneath a thin filigree of dark hair my chest was marred by Elizabeth's book bruises, my normally brown hair dull with grime. I clenched my fist, the pain rippling from my wound through the sinew and meat of my forearm and shoulder.

The Army and my years with the Pinkertons had done well to keep me fit, while the cash flow issue had deterred any fat upon the bones I'd managed to keep unbroken. Yet the muscle I now looked upon in the mirror hurt more than in the past. Though I still looked hale, I could definitely feel autumn settling into my bones. Adding some cold, I slipped into the water and felt the heat sooth my chafed, scarred flesh. I soaped up, rinsed my hair...listened to the girl once more humming outside. Inexorably my thoughts strayed to Annabelle.

Annabelle Watson had been the apple in every lad's eye on Fort Riley when I'd arrived in 1889, the daughter of Major Bartholomew Watson whose family had connections to West Point and New York money and, as I later discovered, didn't like me one damned bit. The first time I saw her I was trouping on horseback past Mose Waters' store on Sheridan, wishing I could stop in for a beer or frankly anything at the canteen he'd set up in his basement. Such pleasures were not every day for a new Private.

The summer had been hot on post, typical of Kansas with the Mercury north of ninety, yet there she'd been, dressed in pale blue dress, knee length boots and matching parasol, her perfect face having not a bead of perspiration upon it. She'd been talking beneath the big shade trees out front with some of the veteran troopers before her eyes had landed upon me, and like Cupid's arrow through the chest I'd been smitten. A curmudgeon Sergeant had emerged from the store and shooed them off, but as she made her retreat her eyes trailed...spun that umbrella in her white gloved hands, brown hair blowing in the wind. She'd smiled my way and I knew then that destiny was unfolding.

But that was before Wounded Knee.

I woke up an indeterminate time later. The light was still on and the rumble through the ship hadn't changed...a bad omen. The water was cold and upon inspection I noticed my clothing gone.

How they were gone was something of a mystery. With the door latched but unlocked, I figured that there could only be one explanation. Upon my emergence, it was obvious that I'd been right...we remained at berth. In the pull-down Elizabeth lay quietly asleep, eyes closed and in a dressing gown, half covered by a heavy blanket. Upon the plush chair my clothes were neatly folded in a small cake. I spied her outfit hung in the closet whose door remained slightly ajar.

'Not used to sharing.' I remembered as I sat on the chair, studying the subtlety of her nose and chin…the delicacy of her chin and face. Hair draped the lash of one eye, framing effortless beauty. She still wore the choker. I don't know how long I watched the rise and fall of her chest...listened to her stirring. I wondered what nightmares were troubling her brow. Maybe they were me.

Settling for the couch, I found my underwear. The robe was good for a blanket and I put my head down. On the table before me I set the flyer's automatic, just in case. New York. Paris. It didn't matter. Anywhere the hell but here.

#

I woke to sunlight streaming in through the blinds. They'd been drawn shut since I'd gone to sleep, and I squinted to noise from the bath. My Broadsider still lay on the table, alongside it holster my holstered .38. After a moment, the door unlatched and Elizabeth emerged, taking one last glance in the mirror before turning surprised to find me awake.

"Mr. DeWitt!" She exclaimed, hand suddenly at her chest. A blush had come to her face, one rather intense. Nervously she looked away. "Did...did you sleep well?"

My hand hurt. My back hurt. My everything hurt. "Yeah, fine." Examining her outfit, I found it not only clean but the missing fabric from its hem restored. "I see Ellington got your clothes cleaned."

"Yes. Yes, he, uh...did. I..." She hesitated and forced herself to look at me. "I hope you don't mind. I took the liberty of..."

"Getting mine cleaned while I took a nap?" She was staring at me now, mouth slightly ajar. Had she ever seen a man before?

"Mr. Ellington said that other than the bullet holes and tears, this was as clean as they could get it on such short notice. He was a very nice man..." She fidgeted with her finger anew. "Apparently there are a lot of people trying to get away from this just like us. I hope it will do."

"As long as there isn't any more damned salt in it, it'll be fine." She was still looking at me, which made me for some reason nervous. "Would you mind?"

My words seemed for a moment not to register. When they did, she stood up and turned away. "Oh, I am so sorry."

"Sorry?" I asked, pulling on my shirt.

"I'm not used to..."

"Sharing?"

"Other people."

"You mean men." I smiled, drawing my trousers on.

She'd turned to the window now, palm upon the glass, looking out at the strands of fog rolling through the rank of airships. "Especially men."

"You hungry?" I asked, finishing with socks, shoes and vest. As I tied my neckerchief, I looked about.

"I'm famished. I didn't know they had food here."

"It's a passenger liner, Elizabeth. Of course, they have food. You can look now."

She hesitated before turning. "Better than yesterday...evening." She stammered, the woman's eyes studying my battle torn garments in detail.

I sighed. "Okay, what would you like from the dining room?"

"Aren't we going together?" Her look was that of a puppy realizing her master was going for a walk without her. "But I thought..."

"That you'd like to get caught and taken back to your tower?"

At my insight, her face fell. "But this is the Versailles. It's not Columbian."

I held the strip from her dress to her that I'd freshly washed. She proceeded to once more bind my hand. "We're in Columbia and a long way from, uh, Paris. Until we are far away from here, you are not safe. Remember that."

#

I hit the passageway hungry and troubled. Although of similar build to the First Lady, the Star of the Atlantic didn't have the same layout. Berthed as we were in a high stateroom and forward, I had to think about directions. Looking for the stair down, I turned a corner to find troops in Columbian gray forcibly searching a room. Seeing their automatics and less than genteel manner I backpedaled, as I turned my gait becoming a run.

"We have to go." I said as I burst into our cabin, shocking Elizabeth who was writing out a note longhand.

Pressing my back to close the door, I saw her eyes widen. "What...what is it?"

"Goon squad." I muttered, eyes flashing left and right. Seizing the Broadsider in its harness, I threw the other magazine in my pocket and took her by the hand. "They're searching every cabin and they're armed. Don't ask me how, but they are. We have to go."

"But where?!" I saw in her eyes terrible fear. "You can't let them take me back there!"

I took her by her shoulders, meeting her gaze. "I've no intention of that. I've got a plan. We're going to figure out where they are and make our way to the other side of the ship. Once they've come through here, we'll sneak back in. The ship will be searched, they'll let it go and we'll be off to gay Par-ee."

"You think that will work?"

"It worked in the terminal." I said breathily. "What could go wrong?"

Heading aft we found a stairwell down, the deck swaying beneath us in the winds aloft. Elizabeth seemed to be accustomed to it, and I remembered how her tower had creaked and groaned. As for me the wallowing made me ill. Happening upon a hatch "For Authorized Personnel Only," we took it. The painting and curio dotted passenger ways now gave way to bare walls and peeling coats of leaden white. As crewmen disapproved our passing, we came to a utility lift and slipped within. With many more decks above us than below, I chose up.

Elizabeth had been asking questions the whole way. I'd been shaking my head. Finally alone, I let her speak.

"Mr. DeWitt, please, where are we going?"

"I told you. To the other side of the ship."

Looking about with arms crossed, she bit her lower lip. "This doesn't look like the other side of the ship."

"That's because we're not there yet." I sighed. By the way those crewmen had looked at us I wasn't certain we would even get there. The lift bell rang and the door opened short of the topmost deck. Outside several uniformed rates stood having a chat, turning in unison to look at us.

"Uh, looking for starboard cabins?" I said. "We seem to have gotten ourselves lost."

One of them, a broad man with heavy sideburns, dark beard and balding head, motioned us to our right with a twist of his thumb. "Starboard's that way, but this is the lift core. I'm afraid you ain't allowed in here."

I shrugged hands in pockets, palming the Broadsider. "Well, now that we know the way we'll oblige."

The burly man looked at his fellows. "I'll escort 'em. I'll see you in a few minutes."

"Ah, you really don't have to."

"I appreciate the sentiment, but Sir, Madame...I insist."

"That isn't what I imagined French sounds like." Elizabeth whispered as the crewman dumped us off in the Starboard Promenade. People both well-heeled and less so were out on deck, many in a state of shock. The morning sun was higher now and the mist that had veiled the Aerodrome had cleared. Below us much of Emporia was clear...at least of cloud.

With the wind hard from the west, pillars of smoke cut across the city, coming from buildings ablaze and ruins now only smoldering. Downtown, where fifty story skyscrapers gleamed in the morning sun, two burned, two giant candles billowing with flame and soot. Not far off a gunship put a volley into a line of Southside warehouses, spraying debris and bodies into the void and ocean below.

"Mr. DeWitt...what is happening?! Is this because of me?!"

"No…Comstock. It's because of your father."

"My...father?" .

"Look, maybe I should have told you this before but I kinda thought you...knew. When I said they call you the Lamb, well, it ain't for nothing…you're the 'miracle child.' Elizabeth…you're Comstock's daughter."

Her eyes flared, the horror of that revelation evident in every line of her face. She'd truly had no clue. "No!" She protested, waving the thought away. "I can't be. I can't!"

"You can." I shook my head. "And he wants you to follow in his footsteps."

"Well, I want a puppy but that doesn't mean I'm gonna get one!"

"Elizabeth, it's not your fault and it doesn't matter. I'm getting you out of here one way or another." She was staring at me with shaken eyes, even more so as she glanced down to her burning city. For a moment I saw her gaze shift toward the Monument, one part of the city no longer aflame. Then the glint next to us caught her eye and her expression changed.

"Mr. DeWitt..." She whispered, staring out the window.

"Booker..." I corrected, but as I spoke I saw her eyes narrow...focusing on the vessel next to us.

"That...that airship is the...Versailles of the Atlantic?"

Too late I looked over to see the name "Versailles de l'Atlantique" upon the chin of the vessel, along with the French flag emblazoned across half of its tail. "Uh, well, about that..."

She turned to me, bewildered. "This...isn't the Versailles of the Atlantic?! Where are we...where are we go..." Looking to my pocket, she reached for it. I caught her hand but felt a burst of heat, saw light and the passes fell from my pocket. For a moment before the ring collapsed in a pop, I saw a hole. She pushed me back...picked them up...stared at them in wide eyed shock.

"New York…City? You...lied...to me." She said before looking up.

"Elizabeth..." I sighed.

"You were never taking me to Paris..." She let her hands fall, eyes recognizing my betrayal.

"Look, there was a man. He offered to wipe away my debt...in exchange for you."

She shook her head, backing away. "So, you were just going...going to sell me?!"

"No! It wasn't like that." I insisted, but in my gut, I knew that was exactly like that. Her eyes had teared and a sudden convulsion turned into a wrenching sob. About us now our stir had garnered couples' attention. "Come on, it..." I said, reaching out to draw her hands from her face. "Everything is gonna be okay. Will you just..." Suddenly I felt motion, and something hard struck me in the groin. As I went down, she tore herself from me, swiping wetness from a furious face.

A for effort, I groaned. My knees hit the floor.

As I cringed there on the deck with the guests on the Promenade exchanging hushed whispers, I saw the girl duck back into the passage we'd arrived. The carpet didn't look as clean from this vantage point. Promptly I made it look even less so.

Staggering upright from my vomit I steadied myself upon a wooden handrail, seeing the dizzying heights below. I managed to stumble forward and throw myself through the hatch.

"Elizabeth..." I didn't quite shout as much as squeak. Gaining speed down the corridor I passed a crewman. Over her shoulder Elizabeth glared at me with wide eyes before darting down a passage. Rounding the corner, I saw her feet ascending a ladder fifty feet away.

I hit rungs seconds after, my balls feeling as though they'd burst. Above me she scampered higher, working her way through the third in a series of many open hatches.

"Elizabeth, stop!" I shouted now with more volume.

"Stay away from me!" She yelled, only to lose her footing. As I heard her yelp my heart stopped, but after a breathtaking moment she continued onward.

"Wait! I just want to talk to you!"

"I said, stay away!"

I kept after her, climbing fast as I could. Something glinted above...an undulation in the air. There was a flash and about me balloons were falling, bouncing off my face, accompanied by the sound of party favors. I shirked and covered my head, but as quickly as they'd burst around me, they were gone. "Elizabeth!" I bellowed again. "Just hold up for a minute. I'm not angry with you!"

"Well, I'm angry with you!" She shouted back. "Get away and stay away!" Despite her parlor trick I was gaining, but as I climbed, I began to discern another distortion and braced for her wrath. The tear burst and suddenly crewmen were scurrying down the ladder. We collided. With my hand gripping the side rail I dangled off the side. Below me one grasped onto the rungs, while the other caught onto him screaming obscenities. I looked down at the forty-foot drop to the metal decking. "God Dammit!" I screamed, wrestling with the rungs and harangue of the men below. The world flashed and they were gone. Above me I saw Elizabeth attempting a closed hatch.

"I am not going with you!" She cried, banging against hard metal that wouldn't turn. "You…you lying bastard!"

She was trapped. I increased my climb until I again saw that weird glow. My eyes widened. "Elizabeth!" I roared, cringing at what she had in store for me next. "Don't go in there!"

Glaring at me in defiance, she ripped the hole open. "I've no need for one such as you!" Squinting upward against the crackling glow of the ring I saw crewmen, gazing downward through an impossibly open hatch.

One looked downward. "Merde, elle est là!"

At least one was a crewman. The other wasn't. "That's her!" I heard a gruff baritone say, emanating from what I now realized to be a Columbian trooper rifle in hand. . "Get her!"

"NO! NO! NO!" I wailed, climbing fast as ever I had. Both men looked to me in shock.

"No! Let...me...go!" Elizabeth shrieked, twisting in their arms. She struck at the gunman, jamming her knee into his thigh. He winced in pain and anger flashed. With the butt of his rifle he racked her in the temple.

"NO!" I howled, but the deed was done. She fell rag doll into the other's arms and the tear collapsed. As I came to the closed hatch, I knew what I'd find even before I spun it...an empty deck and machinery completely out of sorts with what I'd seen. Climbing through, I found myself painfully right. Closing the hatch, I sank to my knees, left with nothing but aching nuts and scent of burnt air.