13. Old Soldiers

In the settling darkness Elizabeth turned from me, arms crossed, the stripes cast by the outer lights carrying across her battered form. "You're a liar, Mr. DeWitt...and a thug. Why should I trust you?!"

In the chamber dust hung heavy in the air, alongside the scent of cordite. "Because the way I see it I'm your only hope of reaching Paris." She sneered. "How do you think I...I even ended up here, Elizabeth? I gambled. And now I owe money to men you don't want to be in debt to. I came here to pay it back. Me busting you out, what do you think that was, charity?"

Arms yet crossed, she regarded me sternly. "You mentioned a man. Who!? Who sent you?"

I turned away, the vision of a city burning in the back of my mind. "Someone willing to take my marker...in exchange for you."

"But why?!"

"I suspect they were interested in meeting you." I said, looking ahead through split blinds toward a police cordon. "No doubt for lock picking lessons." Outside the battle raged. "You know, for a woman who cracks codes and shears holes in reality, you seem to have rather one-dimensional thinking. It's not like we couldn't have gone there afterward."

"You mean Paris, after New York?" Despite the venom in them, her eyes were working correctly again. "Or after you'd auctioned me off? Do not get too used to my company, Mr. DeWitt. From now on you are means to an ends, nothing more."

"Do you really think I'd let anyone hurt you?" I turned to her suddenly with anger and she recoiled. Had her insult been symptom of some other malady? I closed my eyes…shook my head….touched her upon her elbow. "Look, I'll...I'll get you to Paris...or more than likely die trying. But first, we...must get moving. If we don't, they'll surely find us."

"Who?" Elizabeth whispered, an entirely different character come to her voice.

"The Vox...the Columbian Militia...whoever is shooting this island up. I don't even know where this place is." Pressing to my feet, I offered my hand. She took it and I hauled her up, leaving us eye to eye. Briefly she glanced to her fingertips touching mine. I gritted my teeth, having no time for this. "Come on. We need to get moving."

"Yes, Mr. DeWitt."

#

I exited first, figuring the island we'd landed on...crashed on...would surely have gondola service. Down the brick paved street a gunship spit tracers from above, sending an explosion billowing into the air and into the debris covered facades that strode the boulevard. There would be no easy escape to the Aerodrome this time. As I wracked my brain for a way-out Elizabeth pointed toward the fortress like wall. In either direction it seemed to run as far as the eye could see.

"It's too damned high to climb."

"There's a tear." She answered. After a moment I realized she was asking permission to encompass our demise once more.

"That's awfully convenient. I thought you said that you couldn't create tears?"

"I can't...but there is one there that we..."

"Those tears you threw at me onboard the Star seemed rather convenient too. And well aligned. Are you certain you're not holding back on me?"

"I..." She answered, questioning herself with furrowed brow. "I haven't been..."

"Haven't been what?"

"I remember as a child being able to make them." Only reluctantly did she look at me. "But not since."

"What's through it?" Though barely visible I could see it now, a shimmering undulation in the air.

"Maybe the other side of the wall..."

Concrete popped next to my head, followed by the ear shattering crack of an automatic rifle. Shoving Elizabeth to the ground, I dove behind a fallen brickwork and spun in a crouch. Fifty feet away a Columbian trooper had emerged into the streetlight, yelling some religious bullshit as he obliterated the stonework. Steadying myself against Elizabeth's shrieks, I aimed and pulled the Broadsider's trigger, striking the man square in the chest to a yelp and muffled thud. Behind him another eye-goggled trooper emerged, leveling his weapon. Before I knew it Elizabeth was on her feet, dashing for the wall. Like a shooter following a skeet the second trooper tracked her, but as the man's bead drew closer she raised her hands and tore the air asunder in brilliant fire. Blinded by the apparition, the trooper shirked.

I would have shot him clean, but was too busy shitting myself. Before I could bring my sights back on him a barrage of bullets shredded his chest and face and just about everything else. His carcass tumbled backward over a moraine of debris. Rolling upright, I brought my gun to bear upon a troop of perhaps ten men, irregular in dress but heavily armed. Peering through Elizabeth's burning hole from the other side, they'd readied their arms but didn't fire. We leered at one another in a Mexican standoff. Slowly I placed the Broadsider upon a chunk of shattered crenulation...raised my hands open palm.

"Who is you?" Their leader said, a giant who seemed as though he'd sprung whole from the stone of darkest mountain in Africa. Mesmerized by the shimmering window in the wall, he and his compatriots held their weapons cautiously upon us.

"I can't hold it much longer!" Elizabeth cried, seeming to control the thing with one hand from upon the brick street. Down the avenue I heard more rifle fire.

"We're on your side." I rose, cautious to keep my hands aloft.

"And whuh side is dat?" The leader man said, distrust brimming in his voice both of us and the crackling apparition about him.

Pacing backward toward the dead trooper, I lifted his repeater and scavenged two clips of ammunition. Palms raised but weapon in grasp, I turned to face our apparent saviors. "Whichever side isn't shooting at us." Hearing Elizabeth's grimace, I gestured to the tear. "She ain't gonna be able to hold that much longer. Where the hell are we?" Uncertain even if they were from our reality.

The man's eyes had not wavered from the glowing ring. "They call dis da Arsenal."

#

Elizabeth seemed dangerously drained when she let the hole collapse, a hole I later realized had been an open steel gate. In our reality, and the reality on the other side of the wall, the gate simply hadn't existed. Looking to the shaky woman at my side, I whispered. "You okay?"

With a wary eye toward our new companions, she drew closer. "I'll be all right.

"Are we still...is this...still ours?" I asked, glancing about the inner grounds. On this other side of the wall we seemed to be inside a fortress, a garrison. Within the compound three story buildings of heavy white masonry rose into the fire lit night air, looming above the yards and foot paths.

"Yes..." She said, slow to respond. Had she really recovered from the rifle butt? "I can feel the differences when I make the tear...like a vibration. Different, different realities have different vibrations, ever so subtle but I can feel them."

At that moment I could feel something else...the gaze of awestruck men upon her person. "You mine' tellin' us what da hell dat was?" The big black fellow said, eyes and teeth glowing in the reflected light of the yard.

"She...calls it a tear. It's a doorway...a doorway to somewhere else. I'm DeWitt. Booker DeWitt." Elizabeth shied away.

"What are you doing here?" One of the others asked, speaking the phrase in a distinctly Irish turn. By the way they were looking at Elizabeth, they had half a mind to burn her at the stake.

"We crashed...trying to escape."

"The ruckus outside that stirred up the hornets." The Irishman said, staring the big one. "You were trying to escape…from where?"

"From the Aerodrome. Turns out I'm not a very good airship pilot...we wrecked on the other side of the wall." The black man's men remained uneasy, eyes upon her. "I still didn't get your names."

"Our names ain't impotant, friend." The behemoth answered. "If yo' don't notice, we da one dat got da guns. How we know you tellin' da truth?"

"Because I was shootin' at the same guys you were. That puts us on the same side."

"No, it don't." He answered with a heft of his repeater. "Less'n you tells me why and from what and you escapin'."

"We don't have time for this, Cade." Another said, one with an ill look about him. Among the men his eyes had lingered upon Elizabeth the longest and not for her wizardry.

"I'll say what we have time fo', Finch." The one he'd called Cade said. "Runnin'...why?"

"I'm...trying to get her out of the city. If you haven't noticed, it's being burned to the ground."

Cade sized me up. "S'getting whut it got a'comin. You say you crashed? We dun heard an awful racket a bit earlier on' otha side dat der wall. Guess'n that you?"

"Uh, yeah."

"Who are you?" Elizabeth blurted, peering about my shoulder.

"Don' matter. You best be on yo way before we get to not bein' so damn friendly."

"You're bleeding." Elizabeth whispered from beside me, still with a wary eye upon the newcomers. I looked down to a bloody sleeve.

"Great." I said as she commenced a makeshift binding. I heard a muttering amongst the men.

"You him, ain't you?" Cade said, eyes upon my already bandaged hand. "The one Daisy dun said would be a'comin'"

I winced as Elizabeth finished tying the linen off, then took the repeater in hand, butt upon hip. "If one more person calls me a goddammed False Shepherd again I'm gonna be right perturbed."

"Well, whatevah you is, Daisy and her friends gonna wanna talk wif you. We all saw what you done wif da towa'...made a big mess of it. Dun thought it was some kinda sign, 'specially since we was a fixin' ta make a big stink anyhow." Though Cade was talking to me, his men were wary of her.

"If he's the Shepherd, then she's..."

"The Lamb." The Irishman finished, looking as though he'd seen an apparition. They all did.

Having turned cipher in the presence of these toughs, Elizabeth came out from my lee and stood before me, hands stained red. "I'm Elizabeth. Elizabeth, uh...Comstock."

#

From the southern wall we heard more commotion, followed by an explosion which rocked the nearby windows. Elizabeth and Cade's men shirked. Recovering her composure, the girl stepped forward to look at the devastation.

"So, how you reckon he know you comin'?" Cade inquired in hushed voice as we walked the grass about the largest building. Though it was difficult to discern its features in the dim light the central edifice seemed to be a long hall, three stories high, with a great dome at the center. To either side it was joined by "L" shaped wings, the leftmost interior of which we were skulking along. Only dimly did its vertical windows issue light. Before us lay a portico over a pyramid of stairs.

Colin Kearney and Owen Stave, the Irishman and fellow with an eye for Elizabeth, were listening closely, while the remainder of our contingent surveyed the rooftops for threats.

"I mean, we been seein' posters an puppet shows and all manna o' warnin' 'bout dis False Shepherd for near ten year now. Now heah you is. How dat even possible?"

"Don't know." I answered, remaining close to the cold sandstone of the wing we were advancing in the shadow of. "Either they have a prophet on their side..."

"Har har." Elizabeth muttered beside me.

"Or the same people that hired me did the propaganda around here." Glancing with a wary eye toward Stave, I couldn't help but remember Edmonton's words. "Like I told her before, two days ago I never heard of this place. So, you're Fitzroy's folk?"

"Who is this Fitzroy?" Elizabeth asked innocently. To a man Cade's contingent seemed appalled, but her expression was true. "Did...I say something wrong?"

"You really has been locked in a tower." Cade remarked, peeing back toward her before fixing his cace ahead at the yard.

"My whole life." Elizabeth answered while looking cautiously ahead.

"And how'd you do that witchery back there at the wall?" Stave queried, gaze convicting beneath bushy eyebrows.

"Witchery? You mean the tear?" Her eyes solicited mine. I shrugged. "It's not that, I assure you. I...I've always been able to use them, wherever I find them."

"Fink brothers magic." Said one of the men whose name I'd not caught. "I hear tell that's where all that fancy music come from."

"Music?" Elizabeth responded, obviously knowing what the man was referring no more than I.

"Made a fortune on it." He continued with a tip of his cap. "Rumor says they made a mint on other things too they saw through them...wha'd ya call'em?"

"Tears."

From above we heard a dull thud and the crack of a rifle. Cade's men dove for cover. Across the rooftops I saw the flash of an explosion...figures in silhouette. "Troopers." Cade whispered loudly.

"We haven't seen anyone this side of the wall." I observed. "Who the hell are they shootin' at?"

"Col'nl Slate's men, I s'pose. Maybe coverin' da landin'." Summoning Stave to his side, Cade directed the man to take a small continent and reconnoiter the deserted stone columns of the portico. Although Stave was unhappy about the matter, he agreed. Shortly four men were off, hastening along the plinth stones.

"Who is this Colonel Slate?" Elizabeth asked as she came along his side. "And what's so important about this place?"

"You really Comstock's daughter?"

"The preponderance of evidence seems to indicate that I am." She said, perusing her fingernails as he met her gaze closely.

"You didn't know?"

"No. Not until Mr. DeWitt apprised me of the fact." She glanced my way. "Imagine my surprise."

"Daisy gonna want to talk to you too." Cade mumbled. "But first we gotta save Cornelius' bacon."

The name they'd been bandying about clicked in my head. "Slate...you don't mean Cornelius Slate?"

"Yah." Cade responded. "Old Injun fighter himself."

"My God..."

Elizabeth's brow furrowed in surprise. "You...you know him?"

Cade's retainers hung on my response. My head reeled. "I think I do. Or did...once. We… served together at Fort Riley, back when..." I didn't realize I'd stopped talking. It took Elizabeth's wide eyes to start me again. "Back when I first joined the Army."

"The Army?" Cade questioned. "You mean Comstock's?"

"No. I mean the damned United States Army. As in the Seventh Cavalry."

"You were in the Seventh Cavalry?!" Elizabeth asked. "You never said anything about that! What was Custer like?"

"By the time I got around to soldiering, long dead."

"Well, maybe you migh' be better in a fight den I dun thought." Cade admitted. By then his other men returned, telling of an entrance and nest of Columbian troopers on rooftop.

"Ole Slate must be getting senile ta' get himself penned in like dis."

"Penned in? You never said what's important about this place." I asked, glancing toward chastened Elizabeth. "Or precisely why you're here."

"Dis' da Arsenal. Columbian Militia got all sorts o' guns and ammu'nition in dem buildings. Same stuff dey bombed Peking wif. Since Slate been a high muckety in the Militia and had contacts, Daisy aks him ta take da place fo' da Vox. Things went down bad early on, now dem Militia gunships got him pin' all sides."

"He was in the Militia here?" I asked.

"Not Militia...Columbian regulars. Hellova loyalist. Only came ova to the Vox aft' Ole Comstock dun claim he commanded da Seventh at Wounded Knee. Oh, yeah...and that he single handed burnt Peking to da ground. Daisy been planning this 'celebration' fo' months now, but when Slate turn she aks him to spearhead da assault here."

"Why?"

"Cause we need guns an bad. I guess'n they thought seein' him standin' up der on some damn horse would make all dem troopers slip Comstock like some ole flea bitten blanket." An explosion echoed from up the way, followed by a continued exchange of screams and repeating rifle fire. "Don't look like that worked out so well."

Elizabeth had been listening, turning with a jerk toward the detonation over the rooftops. "Mr. Cade, do you have a first name?" She whispered as she watched the fireball rise.

He smiled, eyes and teeth white in the moonlight and rising pyre. "My Momma call me Joshua."

"Joshua." She replied.

"Anyway, they been a lot of folk entirely unhappy wit da turn dis city taken. Me personally, I think Slate been betrayed. All dis supposed to be bloodless but somethin' fall through 'n now Slate need us."

"Nothing's ever bloodless with true believers." I mumbled. "So, you're the relief party? Not a lot of you."

"Not a whole lot o' Vox willin' to save Slate's bacon...not afta how he done us."

I remembered Cornelius, thinking he must have been a hell of an antagonist. "You got a way off this rock? Aside from a long drop into the drink, that is?"

"We got a zepp keepin' station just off Finkton, waitin' for some flares. Shoot 'em off an dey come on in."

"But you have to bail Slate out first, right?"

"You know it." Cade replied.

"And if I..." I glanced to Elizabeth. "We...help you, would you have two seats on that airship?" Cade grinned evilly and I realized that we already possessed reservations. I thought about making a dash before he could rally his troops, but with the girl still wobbly and lacking any sort of endgame that got us off the island, I thought better of it. "Okay, Cade...if we're going to do this, what's the plan?"

"Bash down dat door. Shoot everythin' inside 'til it sayz uncle."

"A wiser plan I could not think of. But I do believe we should take out that nest of troops up there first." As I spoke, I heard gunfire and shocked cries. Upon the rooftop I'd only but mentioned I saw a figure rise, hand upraised in the moonlight.

Cade hefted his own rifle with a smirk. "Coud'n 'gree wif you mo'."

#

"Hall...of...Heroes." Elizabeth read as we approached the building's front, boots crunching in pea gravel. The sign had once been illuminated by a small light beneath. Now covered by soot and debris, "Heroes" had had the "e" removed and "H" shifted one right, a red "W" crudely painted in its place. "Hall of Whores," she corrected.

Clearing the approach to the wing's portico, one of Cade's men smirked. "Colonel Slate's sentiment, no doubt."

At the base Cade and his men knelt, covering the man as he raced to the top of the flight. "Barricaded!"

Cade and Kearney exchanged a glance, sweat-stained brows glistening. "Climb to a window."

"I cannot! There is no purchase!" The Kearney shouted back.

A little voice rang out. "I can help!"

Grasping Elizabeth by the shoulders, I turned her to face me. "Absolutely not!"

"Mr. DeWitt, I can help...I need to help!" She said earnestly, so eager to play a part. "These men, you...you're all risking your life for me and..."

"Elizabeth...how did you feel when those troopers came gunning for us back there? Did you like that?" Her face fell. "And if you take a bullet, lying there bleeding out then just where the hell will that leave me? Us?! Keep your goddamned head down."

"But..." Like a child she glanced to Cade for a dissenting opinion.

The black man shared a look with me. "Miss Comstock...I's 'preciate the sentiment but DeWitt right. Stay put 'til we's sure dey no threat 'round.

"Cade, I can't get to the window...it's too high!" I heard again from above. Rolling my eyes, I took my rifle in hand and trucked up the stairs, kneeling at the stone plinth to give the man a boost.

"Here, try this." I said, offering my back. Hearing footsteps behind me, I turned to see a small figure racing upwards. "Elizabeth!" I exclaimed, swinging back to cover the portico's approach. "Dammit, I told you to stay back!" Dubiously she pushed me and Cade's man aside. Above us I saw a rifle barrel jut from above the windowsill.

My eyes widened.

The gunman opened fire, repeating rifle spraying the backside of the sign below and Cade's men who'd sheltered behind it. Shortly another joined in from the opposite window. The three of us tumbled backward off the portico. As the bullets shattered the topmost steps, I threw myself to shield Elizabeth...heard her scream, followed by a blinding burst of light. In the yard I saw men in green uniforms, round helmets atop a beast of olive drab iron, white star upon its front, a turret at its apex turning toward us. "Fire!" I heard from the top man. I rolled her across the bushes and off onto the pea gravel. Behind us where the window had been blossomed a terrific explosion.

A salvo of stony shrapnel followed the blast wave, pelting us in the gravel. Amid the ringing of my ears I heard sporadic gunfire, followed by Cade barking orders. Masonry and glass shattered amid a crescendo of bullets...followed by silence. Beside us Kearney moaned, having leapt fifteen feet to the ground and likely broken something important.

Pushing myself from the stones, I turned to see Elizabeth clutching at her head. "What the hell was that?" I screamed, my head still ringing like a bell. A trickle of blood dribbling from her ear and nose. "Jesus." I said and picked her up.

"I'm...I'm all right." She responded but was obviously not, her forearm bleeding too where she'd landed. I brushed the stones from where they'd embedded in her flesh.

"I suppose you think that was brilliant?!"

"I...I just wanted to…." She winced, holding her left ear and temple.

Tearing a strip from her skirt in the very same place she'd torn it before, I wrapped it around her bloody wrist. "What the bloody hell was that!?" One of Cade's people cried, nearly as afraid of Elizabeth's unholy conjuring as the men it had slain. Pausing before sallying the stairs, I discovered a gaping maw had been blasted away on the Hall's right flank.

"Some kind of mobile artillery." I supplied. "Gotta be." Of the green metal "artillery" and heavily armed soldiers that had appeared in the yard, I saw nothing. They were gone.

"She's a bloody witch!"

"No, I am not." Elizabeth insisted, brushing herself free of pebbles. "It...I don't know what it was." With my hand I drew her to her feet. "I saw it and...and reached out for it. You said before that we needed a way in without getting us all killed."

Cade's eyes were wide as Kearney's. Inside I heard the dash of feet and shouts. Distracted by the arriving foe, the Vox leader bounded up the stair. "Come on!"

"This way, men!" I heard from inside the ruined wall.

I followed Cade and Kearney, taking cover at the side of the gaping hole. A shot sang by my head and I pulled back, barrel to nose. Beside me Kearney dropped to a crouch and swung inward with a single blast. Inside someone shouted, followed by the hammer of bullets.

Looking to Kearney against the metallic storm I mouthed a count to three, whereupon both of us swung into the breach. Three men were standing at the wall beyond, uncovered, inside the wreckage of what might have been a coatroom or office. We opened fire, felling two as a third dove for cover. Leaping inward I threw myself against the far wall as Kearney took the other. Stave came beside me. "One more bugger in there."

"You in there..." I yelled, careful to maintain my cover. "This is your only chance...drop your gun and we'll let you off with your life."

"Surrender?" Stave hissed, turning me to face him. His eyes were poison. "There ain't no surrender here, fella...these are Comstock's jackboots...kill or be killed!"

"You want me to surrender?" The man said from his cover. "Half of General Walthorne's army is here, traitor...and you want me to surrender!?"

Cade moved in. "I don' see Walthorne's army nowhere...jus' you friend. We givin' you a chance...don look no gift horse in da mouf."

"I'll die before..."

As he spoke a screaming Stave swung about the broken stonework and blasted the man, shooting his arm clean off. Screams echoed the hallway as he fell, blood spurting from the stump until he stilled upon the floor.

"You did'n haf ta do dat!" Cade shouted.

Stave brushed his black hair back. "Yes, I did. You heard 'im...he weren't gonna give up on no account." For a moment he and Cade locked eyes, faces strained.

"Reconnoita da hall down to dem pillars. Keep yo' ass quiet." Cade said in a flat but commanding tone.

Breathing a sigh of relief, I spun about and shuttled back down the staircase, repeater at the ready. In the distance I heard explosions and saw the bottoms of the clouds, Aerodrome and other high islands under lit in orange. It could only mean one thing...the fires in Emporia were spreading. Crossing the pea gravel, a tall black man named Randall had his arm under Elizabeth. "Are you all right?"

"She still can't hear from her left side." He answered.

"Let me look." I said, wiping the spindle of blood trickling down her jawline. Her brow was furrowed in pain, eyes worriedly upon mine. "Ringing?"

She nodded, still obviously stunned. "It stings."

"Might be an eardrum. Give it a few days...it happens with explosives." Looking warily toward the dark and smoking hole behind me, I continued in a lower tone. "We need to get moving."

We went the long way about the corpse.

#

Despite the damage to its rear approach the Arsenal's windows and approach remained lit. Before us a broad, arched colonnade receded into the distance, offices set off from its length every dozen feet. Occasionally I heard gunfire. We advanced pillar to pillar, Stave nursing his abrasions and Elizabeth her ear and wing. Through the stonework of the walls a droning grew, a low rumbling. Taking to an office I peered from a window. Only the orange lit bottoms of the Aerodrome and smaller islands were visible.

"What are you looking for?" Elizabeth said, realizing how close she'd come beside me.

"The source of that noise. Sounds like an airship."

"I...I'm sorry, Mr. DeWitt."

"Why?" I cast her an offhand glance as I left the chamber for the main hall. "You might have just saved us all."

With a dirty sleeve she wiped wetness from her dirt and blood-spattered face. "Did...did you just pay me a compliment?"

"Maybe." I smirked. "Don't do it again."

The colonnade ended in a pair of oversized brass doors that glowed golden in the incandescent light. Pausing before one with Cade on the other, we swung them open to the building's central rotunda.

Before and above us towered the statue of the man we'd seen in poster at Battleship Bay...and nearly everywhere else in Columbia. Dressed in Seventh Cavalry uniform, Comstock was hewn from gray marble thirty feet high. A saber rose from his hand, while flags of red stripes and Columbia's blue-shielded white star hung at his sides.

As Cade's men swept the circular surround, Elizabeth stepped forward, still cupping her ear. "Our Prophet Father Comstock, Commander of the Seventh Cavalry, Hero of Wounded Knee. Why wasn't that in my history texts?"

Cade's men chuckled. I spat. "That man did not lead the Seventh. Forsyth did. Miles was over him. Hell, I don't even remember this jackass."

"You were there?" Elizabeth said with furrowed brow. "At Wounded Knee?"

"Yeah." I said, in no mood to revisit the matter.

Elizabeth turned me to her. "It must have been awful. I can see it in your face."

"I was sixteen." I said distantly, eyes yet upon the monument. "Full of piss and vinegar." Elizabeth gazed upon me with a vacant look. "It's an expression. It means I was eager to prove myself. Too eager."

"What...happened?" She asked, drawing closer as the men continued to clear the chamber.

"I don't want to talk about it. What the hell is this place?"

"Dunno." Cade answered, following his men into a new room illuminated in threatening reds and mauves. "Seem like some history lesson." Along the sides bloodthirsty Indians crept in chieftain headdress, complete with bows and tomahawks, here and there scalping innocent white women. In the light the teepees and fake fires seem almost real.

Elizabeth's eyes were saucers. "Was...was this what it was like?" She asked, lingering on the scalped woman.

"During the Indian Wars...sometimes. Wounded Knee? Hardly."

"Then why this if it's a lie?"

"It's a half truth. Useful for whipping up sentiment amongst the masses...at the expense of a true account."

It was apparent now that this wing of the Arsenal served as a sort of museum, history seen through a funhouse mirror. The next antechamber featured the Boxer Rebellion, the Chinese rebels done up in the same smear as the Sioux.

"These aren't Indians." Elizabeth said.

I stopped to read a placard, describing how in 1901 Columbia had 'rescued the American legation in Peking under siege by the Boxers.' Images about the fighters showed Columbia laying waste to the city from the air, pillars of fire, bombs and rockets aflame...the end of the Qing Dynasty. A host of maps related the subsequent breakup of the once great nation into the jurisdictions of the Eight Powers. It was odd how through all of my years in the P.I. I'd never heard a mention of this, yet...it all seemed oddly familiar. One thing was for certain, however...Columbia was a weapon. The whole city was a weapon.

"What is that?" Elizabeth asked with a gesture towards a wall of photographs.

"Columbia." I said, surveying the images of a great walled city and its surrounds aflame. Above it gunships and the islands of the city themselves launched volleys of fire. "Burning a city to the ground."

She stood silently for a moment before turning to read another panel. "Recalled by the United States' Congress. And in response Comstock and the Founders declared independence?"

"Hence yesterday's festivities." Down the passage I heard a sudden outburst of gunfire. In unison our group's heads turned. "Come on." Leaving the exhibits behind, we hastened after our comrades. As we moved back into the utilitarian corridors the exchange became more intense.

"Elizabeth." I stopped her with a grasp of arm as we traversed an open double door. She looked at me. My eyes were set upon hers. "You need to stay back."

"I can't...can't just let you die."

"I'm not going to die as long as you stay out of the way." With my fingertips I touched her ear. "How is this?"

"Better." She said, still cupping it. "But I still hear ringing."

"Better than deaf." I said, secretly relieved. "No more tears. None. Stay back but stay close."

Ahead the passage converged with four other main wings into a central Atrium, a vault Cade's men had taken cover. Across the wide expanse two wooden double doors were ajar, the barrel of a weapon poking out. At our approach it withdrew. Elizabeth and I took a knee near Cade and Kearney. "What is it?"

"Not sure." Kearney answered. "They were goin' to town on us a few minutes ago they seemed to pull back. This place is where we thought Slate's hold up was."

"What was he doing here?"

"What else?" Cade answered. "Tryin' ta secure arms and prevent his ole friends from getting' at 'em when we rose up.

"Maybe he got forced to move." I glanced up to the walkways that circumscribed the dome. "If we could get to those catwalks we might be able to open a window to the outside."

Cade followed my gaze. "We took some potshots by fellas up there before you caught up. Ain no way up der from here't least."

"We'll have to climb." I said, inspecting the walls about us. "Maybe we passed a stairwell back toward the statue."

"Maybe." Cade said.

Elizabeth cleared her throat and the hair stood on the back of my neck. "What is it?" I asked.

She seemed restrained. "There...there's a tear."

All of us drew back. "No."

"But Mr. DeWitt, it's a staircase!"

"Does it explode?"

She looked at me with hurt eyes. "I...I don't think so. It's just a different floorplan. We..." She stopped. "You could use it to get to the upper walkways."

To a man we were just a little terrified of the prospect of this woman unleased. "Okay...just the damned stair." I grumbled. "No bombs or guns or..."

"Okay, okay, okay!" She said.

She started to rise. I yanked her back down. "Give her cover, boys." Kearney and Stave nodded and rose toward the double doors. As they stepped forward the doors burst open and a mechanical monstrosity came lurching out, machine gun in hands. Spying Kearny and Stave, it turned and took aim. I'd never seen anything like it.

Kearney, whom I'd noticed was handy with a rifle, shot it between the eyes. Though it wore the skin and face of a man, the assemblage of gears and armature beneath its forehead was anything but. It returned his favor by blasting the man's brains across the walls. The remaining nine of us screamed and opened fire.

Out on the floor Stave had thrown himself behind a planter, a small copse of green steadily being blown to bits by the automaton. Sensing our barrage from its left, the machine turned, showing the shattered face of George Washington. With a rhythmic clunking another of the abominations lumbered through the door.

"Stair!" I shouted to Elizabeth who was cringing beneath me. She looked upward, quite unable to move. "Stair!" I shouted again. Against her terror she forced herself behind a pillar. As she did, I unloaded into the walking statue until light burst from my right. I turned to see a stone spiral staircase leading up to the second story. I dashed through, leaping through the ring of fire into a sepia netherworld.

It was a weird feeling, going through. At first, I felt like a static charge was upon me, and I was going to pop. Images crowded my mind, confusing images and thoughts and memories that were and weren't mine. Elizabeth followed along with two of Cade's troupe. When we reached the second story, twenty feet above the atrium floor, we were all holding our heads. The tear collapsed, followed by the impact of bullets along the catwalk railings.

Face first upon the stone, the four of us slowly regained our wits and looked to one another. "Sounds like maybe two automatics." Randall said. His mate, a man I'd didn't know, was still holding his head.

"What's your name?" I said in hushed voice.

"I'm Getty." He replied twice, shaking his head as a bullet took a part of the stone railing off above us.

Elizabeth offered her hand. "Pleased to meet you."

I looked at her. Randall and Getty looked at her. With her gesture unrequited, I peered through the thick railing, seeing the men crouching behind the same across the circumference of the chamber. Below the Washingtons were blowing the building apart, our remaining fighters screeching and wailing as they dashed from one hiding spot after another. "Dammit...a couple of grenades would be good right now."

"Like these?" Elizabeth asked. The three of us turned and Elizabeth was holding three sticks with cylinders upon them. They looked like potato mashers.

"Where'd you get those?!" I asked in amazement, taking one in hand.

"I...I found them." The girl said, and I could tell by her eyes that might not quite be true. "The strings at the bottom of the pommel...pull them!" She shouted. "Then throw!" I did and sat there looking at one. "You have above four seconds!" She shouted...after the fact.

I heaved it over the edge. The explosive went off midair, sending our trigger-happy opponents to cover and the glass dome of the ceiling down upon us. Georges One and Two brought their arc of fire upward. The fire stopped.

Looking downward, I realized the automatons had run out of ammunition. "Get them!" I heard from across the gulf side opposite us. Two Columbian troopers rose and began firing with automatic weapons, shredding the railing pillars and forcing us back. Below Cade and his men charged, shooting the automata to pieces, bashing their faces in with the butts of their rifles. Cringing beneath the fire, I pulled the strings on another potato masher and whipped it over my shoulder. I heard a shout and it went off, sending a body flying head over heels to the floor twenty feet with a thud. I rose and shot the remaining Columbian in the arm, landing two or three rounds until my weapon clicked dry. Dropping the magazine, I reloaded with my second and advanced around the curve of the upper walkway, weapon trained on the moaning ahead.

As I rounded the curve two men lay dead on the ground, one with his arm nearly severed. Blood pulsed from his wound despite his attempts to staunch the flow. His flanged helmet was askew on his head, his gray coat dark with his impending death. He looked like a kid.

"False Shepherd..." He whispered, fumbling to unholster his pistol with his remaining hand. Behind me Randall and Getty approached, weapons trained. By the time they arrived Elizabeth was in the way, kneeling over the bleeding boy. "Bloody hell. Get out of the way, woman!" Getty exclaimed.

"No!" She said.

"You're the lamb..." He whispered, eyes fixated upon her. Removing the Broadsider from his holster, I put it aside.

"I'm Elizabeth." She said, affixing a makeshift strap just below his shoulder and tightening it. He grimaced and tears slipped his cheek. "I want to help you."

"What going on up der!?" I heard from below. Peering from just above the railing, I saw the smashed automata upon the black and white checkerboard below. Kearney's corpse was a wash of blood. From behind the planter Cade looked upward.

"You're clear! But be careful. Bound to be more of them!" I turned back to the boy. "Where are the rest of your troops? Where is Slate?"

His pale blue eyes looked at me, fading fast. "False Shepherd, I won't tell you anything." I had half a mind to adjust his attitude, but Elizabeth's stern gaze stopped me.

Peering out the second story windows, I could see floodlights in the yard to the East. Moored along the Arsenal's wharves were heavy airships, beneath which I discovered men loading on ordnance and crates. Echoing through the corridors I heard screams and gunfire, followed by an explosion out in the yard. "I think we found Slate." Turning back toward Elizabeth, Randall and Getty, I found the boy motionless, eyes wide and glassy.

"He's dead." Elizabeth whispered. With a brush of her bloodied hand she closed his lids. "We caused this. We did this." Stricken with grief, she looked up to me.

"No." I answered. "Comstock and his Founders did, Elizabeth. They made one decision after another that set this city to go up in flames starting with locking you in that tower. We were just the match that lit it. There would have been other matches."

"But we started it."

I took her by the arm and lifted her to me. "The world's been burning a long time, Elizabeth. You wanted out of the frying pan and now you're in the fryer. It won't stop burning when we're gone, either." She wanted to cry...she was a woman and had a right to...yet it seemed she'd already done so much that she had nothing left. Alongside Randall and Getty we made for the doors.

"They're loading zeppelins out there, Joshua." I said, voice echoing from the dome. Cade and his men had dragged Kearney's body off and surrounded the doors.

"Tryin' t'escape?" He bellowed up at me.

"No...more like they're preparing for battle."

#

Beyond the doors I could see a chamber surrounded by closed offices, at its end a pair of open double doors. A barricade had been set in the middle, peopled by deceased Columbian gray. The sound of gunfire hit our ears, now much louder. "Get 'em! "Get 'em!" We heard. "Over near the columns!"

Cade's men dashed to positions about the portal while we worked the catwalks above, catwalks that ended in solid wall. Looking at below I cried out. "No way through up here!"

Cade nodded toward the floodlights dancing through the windows. "Den like you said earlier, break dem windows 'n go 'roun?"

Looking outward I saw a shallow pitched rooftop. "Yeah. We'll scout ahead outside and see if there's a way back in."

"Keep dem heads down." He shouted. Looking at Randall, Getty and a weary Elizabeth, I kicked the glass outward. It shattered with a crash and I was quick to pull my leg back, lest it be amputated by the falling shards. As the shatter ceased, I stepped outward and reached back for the girl. Beside me the two Vox remained close behind, raising their weapons toward anything that might have come from the rooftops. Though the crash had been loud it had been only one of many such sounds about the Arsenal. Gunfire continued to resound. Below us two hundred feet away I could see what looked like bombs being loaded onto the gunships.

Randall dashed to the windows around the upcoming building, a round one capped by a dome. Off its circumference two different wings led, both overlooking the wharves. "Armories." Randall said.

"What are they doing?" Elizabeth asked.

"Looks like they're getting ready to deliver some presents. If your folks are going to survive, Randall, we have to stop them. Do you see Slate?" Below in the darkness I saw the flash of repeating rifles...heard screams on the wharves.

"Tin soldiers!" I heard a man in grey cry out before a bullet sent him flying back for cover. "You're all damned tin soldiers!"

"No...but I think I hear him." Randall replied.

I turned to Elizabeth, then Getty. "Go tell Cade what we see. Then meet us...we're going to that overlook there down the right wing and shoot the place up. Tell him he's clear all the way toward the loading docks." Getty nodded and was off.

With his departure we moved out, slinking the rooftops against the orange cast of the city. From our vantage point I could see at least six of Columbia's dozen islands alight to one degree or another, worst of all Emporia. Off the flanks of the three moored military gunships below fire and light danced amongst its buildings, punctuated by fleeing hordes of civilians. Gunfire cracked. Retraining my surveillance to the wharves I saw a party of a dozen engaging a whole platoon of Columbian guardsmen. A fool's errand.

"What the hell's he doing?!" I said.

"What do you mean?" Elizabeth replied.

I pointed to the bald-headed man in the dozen's van, shooting down a contingent of bomb loaders even as we spoke. "Them. They're outnumbered at least ten to one but they're attacking. They're gonna die."

"Maybe that's what they want." Said Randall. "What would you do if you knew your friends were about to be bombed out of existence!?"

Hefting the repeater for its sights, I saw the man in grey clearly now, fighting like the Dickens himself. Older and balder, he was indeed Cornelius Slate. From his rear some of the Columbians wheeled, flanked by three of the damnable walking machine gun turrets. Taking the third potato masher, I yanked its strings and let fly.

It landed before the first Washington, which, sensing the object in its path, paused...just in time for it to blow the thing to kingdom come and a handful of soldiers advancing along with it. Before the dust had settled I'd snapped upright, unloading controlled bursts into the troops flanking Slate. Randall joined at my side, forcing the remainder behind a wall of crates.

"Get down!" I yelled, falling backward with a hand on Randall's and Elizabeth's clothes. Machine gun fire exploded, ripping the roof's edge to shreds. "Tin soldiers!" I heard, followed by a hideous metallic bang and explosion of springs.

I hastened for a ladder, a ladder that hung not over solid ground but over the docks of Emporia a thousand feet below. I pulled back, reeling. Elizabeth and Randall crawled to my side.

"What's wrong!?" She cried.

"Heights make me nervous."

"Doesn't seem like a bright idea coming to Columbia then, gambling debt or naught." Elizabeth retorted. Peering over the precarious drop, it was her turn to blanche. "But I...I see your point."

"Jesus." Randall said indignantly and headed down.

I edged back toward the rim, hearing below shouting. From the doors of the Arsenal Cade's men were charging the crate piles, weapons blazing. "I only wish I had a damned sniper rifle." After a moment I looked to Elizabeth as she cringed at the battles stray rounds.

Her eyes met mine. "What do you expect me to do about it!?"

"Well, maybe produce a damned sniper rifle!"

"I told you, I can't just make tears."

"Fine." I said, handing her the Broadsider. "Then use this.

"I can't." She said, shaking her head. I forced the weapon into her palm. She looked upon it as though I'd given her a rattlesnake.

"Just point and shoot!"

"I can't!"

"Do you want to go to Paris!?" She closed her eyes and fired into the troopers below. By now Cade's killers were upon them, bashing heads and shooting others point blank. Buoyed by the black man's arrival, Slate had risen. Exchanging sabre for the repeater, he engaged the last mechanical in single combat. I took aim and opened fire.

Amid the Columbian strong point a hundred fifty feet away men were screaming, falling ahead of Randall and his solo flanking charge. Broken, the remainder scrambled for the airships. As I took aim at a second redoubt, the closest airship's mooring lines fell away and she began to cast off. I switched targets and raked the departing ship.

I saw the gas bags burst and the vessel began a slow descent. "How do I get the damned thing to explode!?"

Elizabeth turned away from her weapon. "I can't hit!"

I rolled my eyes. "You can't aim." I corrected and took it from her before she wasted any more ammunition. "How do I get the airships to explode!?"

"You can't! They're filled with...with helium and the Lutece cells are what do the heavy lifting anyway. All the air envelope does is alter their buoyancy!"

"Why didn't you tell me that before I wasted a magazine!?" I shouted, opening fire on the men trying to cast off the second zepp.

"You didn't ask!"

The airship I'd mutilated continued to founder, its horn sounding a plea for help. Inside I saw desperate men at its con before it fell below the wharf line, only its upturned tail planes and the lamp lit Columbian star and shield upon them illuminated in the night.

Taking up a position again at the edge of the rooftops I resumed fire, picking off hostile Columbians one at a time. Randall's assault from below and mine from above had allowed Slate and Cade to move from crate pile to crate pile, until the Columbians near the second airship raised their hands. By now it too had cast off, turrets blazing toward the advancing Vox. Throwing one of the motorized Washingtons on its side, Slate made it spit fire, blowing out the vessel's control gondola in a spray of blood and glass. Keeping the trigger mashed, he demolished the front of its gas envelope. Onboard the militia who'd thought they'd escaping wailed and slowly, like a dead whale, it too began its long descent to Emporia.

"Come on." I said and headed toward the ladder. Elizabeth was hesitant to accompany me.

"I can't...can't do that fall again."

"And I thought I was scared of heights. We have to do this."

"I'll find another way. There has to be a tear around here somewhere."

"No tears." I said bluntly. I shoved the pistol into her hand anew. "You need to learn to shoot with your eyes open."

"I can't. I can't shoot people."

I pointed towards more barricades below, where the Irishmen and winnowed Vox were finishing off the last of the Columbian survivors. Together we looked outward at the stars and cloud over the city, the lights aglow about and below us. In the distance I could see a Ferris Wheel still aglow all golden and shimmery, the grounds around it ablaze. The winds were unusually calm. "If you don't, we'll never stop the killing. I'll go first."

With a half turn I placed my foot upon the rung and began my descent. With closed eyes I placed foot below foot, Elizabeth following with great reluctance. "I hate this!" She shouted, voice a tremble.

I kept climbing, trying not to think of the consequence of a misplaced step. "You mind me asking a question?"

"Right now?!"

"Yeah...right now." She didn't answer, which I took as approval. "When your tower fell apart, how...how did we survive that? I mean we fell a mile, Elizabeth...a damned mile, and only came up with a little drowning. I've figure I missed something."

Above me I heard her boots connecting with metal, foot over foot as she followed. The ladder continued down to the Arsenal's foundations and oblivion, but we'd done our thirty feet.

We were at the wharves.

I stepped onto the stone and caught her off the ladder. She was quaking. "You okay?"

"No." She answered as I put her down.

"How?"

"It was me...there was a tear." She didn't meet my eyes.

"Awfully convenient. Why didn't you leave?"

She glanced upward now at me and I could see emotion playing across her face. Torn. "I...did. After I found out what you were doing, I ran as hard and fast..."

"I meant from your tower. Why didn't you just...just open a tear to Paris and go? Hell, do it now!"

"I told you I can't. I don't know why, but I can't."

"But you said you used to."

"When I was a child."

"Then something's changed. It may not exactly be in your conscious mind, but you're creating these things." I tipped her chin upward and brought her eyes to mine. "Did you go through them? When you were a child."

For the longest time she didn't speak. "Sometimes."

"But you didn't stay. Why?"

"I don't know..." She finally said. "Maybe, family."

"A father and mother you've never seen? That lock you in a tower and throw away the keys?"

She looked downward. "It was all I knew. I didn't want...to be alone." The breeze caught Elizabeth's hair as we stood there, her eyes leaden. I pulled her too me and closed my eyes, feeling her in my arms.

"You're not alone anymore. Come on."

Together we emerged onto the ramp. About us lay dead bodies in gray and rags, some piled atop one another. Others lay in bloody sprawl where they'd been shot down. One by one Cade and his men were making more. I walked up to the man and got into his face. "Killing wounded ain't going to win you any praises after this is over!"

Cade turned to me. "Las I knew you weren't da one in charge heah. Seem like you don enough killin' of you own, Shepherd. This be Colonel Slate." He motioned with his head toward a man on the ground, tended to by a gray-uniformed Columbian I didn't recognize. Back to barricade, Slate was coughing up blood.

"By God, its ole' scalp himself." He croaked. "I'd say you haven't aged a day, but that would be a lie. What are you doing in Columbia, DeWitt?

"I came for her." I said with a toss of head over shoulder. The patch on his left eye was new, pale face weathered and balder. Though his beard was white along the broad curl of his mustache was much the same. I knelt beside him. "Where'd you get it?"

"Somewhere in my right flank...probably a goddamned lung." He answered, looking up as Elizabeth parted the round of men about him. "My God, you're her."

"Yeah, and I'm him. And any of you guys call me the 'False Shepherd' again, I'm gonna finish what the Walthorne's boys started."

He was still looking at Elizabeth. "Playing the hero now, Booker?"

"I never claimed to be no hero."

"Then what are you?" Slate coughed. "Cause the white injun I knew sure weren't that. He cracked a weak laugh from the blood-tinged corner of his mouth. "You can't take her."

"You'll be sorry if you think you're stopping me." I looked about to the remaining men and bound Columbian prisoners. "Not you or no one." Some of Slate's survivors came running from the surviving airship with litter in hand. I backed away. As they loaded him onto the stretcher, Slate grabbed me by the forearm...right where I'd taken the bullet. "No, you don't understand, DeWitt. You cannot take her."

"He gonna live?" I asked the man tending him, seeing Slate now fading.

"I hope so." He said, voice shaky, countenance dire. "If he's right...he took it in the lung, but the other'n okay." As with the others, his eyes flitted between me and the girl. "That her? The Lamb?"

Randall sidled beside him and took a knee. "Yep. That's her."

"I done thought she was just a myth." I heard one of the men say.

"She ain't no myth." Answered one of Slate's Sergeants, a burly man whose gray coat was spattered in blood. Turning from us, he pointed a flare pistol into the sky and shot upwards a brilliant red spark.

"Please call me Elizabeth."

"Elizabeth Comstock." A voice supplied. Men raised their guns.

"Look, you idiots. She ain't no angel and she ain't no devil...she's on our side." I said. "She's been as much under Daddy's boots as everyone else in Columbia. That ends today."

"Then if she ain't no angel, what the hell is she?" Randall supplied. The smell of cordite was heavy in the air, and soot and smoke shifted and blew about us. "What the hell magic she doin' we all seen back there?"

For a pregnant moment no one breathed…simply looking at her in her bloodied majesty. Eventually, I spoke. "She's just Elizabeth."