14. Good Times.
The captured gunship was named Doberman and on its bullet-pocked decks we left the Arsenal behind. Like Songbird, Doberman was three hundred feet long, not a Versailles of the Atlantic in any sense, but it did have a galley. After a hand washing that couldn't entirely remove the blood, I found bread and sliced beef and manufactured a sandwich. Against a stiff and smokey breeze, I stood eating it at the rail.
"What are you looking at?"
"The ships I sank. I was wondering what happened to them."
With the city a patchwork of fire and darkness, their fate was impossible to know. She had the same thousand-yard stare I did. The girl who'd wanted nothing more than to dance with me just two days before was gone. "Do you ever get used to it?" Elizabeth asked, looking at her hands. "The killing?"
"Faster than you could imagine." I took a bite. "That doesn't mean you like it."
"Sometimes...sometimes you need to do what you can to survive? Right?" She took my bad hand into hers…studied it for a moment, then looked up to me, her eyes seeming to seek some sort of solace in mine. "How is it?"
"Like Swiss cheese." I looked to a slice of the same hanging from my dinner. "I washed the new hole out and threw a new bandage on it and the mitt. Not pretty, but that's as good as its gonna get." Confidence not instilled, she began to loosen the wrappings and, with approving glance, retightened it. "You know, there is killing for survival..." I hazarded a cast toward the men gathered down the rails, "And there's taking pleasure in the act."
"You said you've done this sort of thing before." The light of ruddy light of burning Emporia played upon the underside of her face.
"Too many times. I offered her a bite. She deferred. "You seem like a decent enough sort, Elizabeth. That said, the less you know about me, the better."
"But why?"
"Now that you're out of yours, you might realize cages have their advantages. Out here, we must make choices. Not all end well."
She cast me a sidelong glance. "A choice is better than none, Mr. DeWitt, no matter what the outcome."
"You really believe that? What if you woke up one day and didn't like what you chose?" She'd turned to face me, but I was in no mood to elaborate. Treating with death and mayhem for two decades, I'd learned those who survived were not nice people. She deserved better...better than me.
Edmonton had claimed the industrial districts of Columbia were the domain of Jerimiah Fink and his associates, and for all his deception, I had no reason to doubt. In the moonlight just off Emporia its three thousand-foot works towered, smooth and clean-lined, looking like thin, gaunt tombstones. Here and there along their civilized flanks, along the wharves and buildings that had sprung up around the man's imperial towers of production, I could see fire and the flash of violence. "Finkton." My mumble drew the girl's eyes. "I'm sorry if I was harsh with you back there at the Arsenal, Elizabeth. I was scared."
"Scared?" By the incredulity in her voice, she seemed not to think that possible.
"Scared for you."
She didn't speak at first. Her eyes narrowed. "That you might lose your marker."
Ahead docks were looming. Torches and fire in the dark eaves of the buildings about them…and men. I sighed, making my way into the gunship's interior and down to the control cab, finding Cade and Stave in conversation, conversation stilled as I entered. "How's Slate?"
"Likely gonna make it." Stave answered. Cade's eyes remained upon me. "Less'n infection set in."
"What about us?" I shouldered my repeating rifle, sensing the taint of oil and hydraulic fluid in the air. "Me and Elizabeth?"
Cade registered my subtle threat. "Like I say...Daisy gonna be talkin' wif you. Ain't up to me."
The pilot they had flying wasn't a Columbian, rather a Vox ragtag whose command of the vessel seemed untrustworthy as mine had been of Songbird. Still, as we approached the docks, he seemed to know what he was doing. "All reverse." He commanded into a horn by the side of the wheel, ringing the nine-inch dial of an engine order telegraph. "I have power." He continued, reaching up to a throttle quadrant. Pulling the levers steadily rearward, the drone outside became a roar. Doberman slowed, approaching the docks at a crawl. Stone buildings loomed about us, brick and glass windows hanging over the gaping nothing of darkness below.
Stave cast a glance my way before departing the cab, while Cade continued to look out.
"This place mean something to you?" I asked quietly.
"I done work for Flambeau some twelve year. Nevah thought I see dis..." Upon those flickering shanties and warehouses his eyes lingered. "Finkton burnin'."
"After the way you'd talked back at the Arsenal, I find that hard to believe."
"Maybe, but I sad it come to dis." He examined his thumbs as the vessel thumped along the quay. "All da killin'...wouldn't make my Mama proud."
"You have family here?" I asked, eyes following Stave's sally down the lowering gangway. Alighting upon the dock, he started shouting at waiting men.
"No. Dey back in Alabam. Long way from heah."
As Cade reminisced, I saw two of his toughs hustle Elizabeth down the gangway, grasped either side by her upper arms. Looking back toward Doberman, her bewildered eyes found mine.
"Cade, what are they doing!?"
His dark eyes caught up with mine. "Not what dey s'posd ta be. Come on."
Together we tore from the control gondola, leaving Cade's man to handle the controls. Along the side decks Vox were tying the ship off, roping hawsers to tall iron bitts and a dozen cleats fore and aft. I ran the gangway.
"Get off of her!"
On her right Finch turned to me with a scowl, ugly puss questioning what I was going to do about it. He'd had an ill look about him even back at the Arsenal. With the butt of my repeater I popped him square in the face, sending him broke-nosed to the brickwork underfoot. Seeing a riot in the making, Cade pulled the other off Elizabeth and imposed his formidable mass. From his sleeve a Billy club dropped. "Back off!" He said, raising the stick. Stave turned to face us, interrupted in his incitement. The crowd that had gathered about the docks began to form a ring. "Da woman an man got an appointmen' wif Daisy. Now who gonna get in my way?" Despite their torches and rifles the mob shrunk back and dead silence came over the crowd. Upon the ground the bloodied man faltered in his attempt to rise. Cade turned to us. "Time ta meet Daisy."
One of the men stepped forward beside a neutered Stave, glancing at my moaning handiwork. "Cade, Daisy ain't here."
"Well, where is she?" He questioned. "She got some important guests."
"Don't know, Cade, but she said she be back in a few hours."
"My appointment's delayed..." Boomed a woman's voice from the back of the gathering. "At least 'til mornin'. The crowd quieted, and like the Red Sea for Moses the sea of torch-wielding toughs parted. As the gathering turned a middle-aged black woman approached, clad in a blood spattered white collar shirt, red suspenders and gray breeches. Upon her belt hung a Colt 1851 Navy, the facets of its long barrel glinting in the torchlight.
She stopped before Cade, glanced at me and Elizabeth with brown eyes. "Who dis?"
"Ole Comstock's Lamb." Stave said from the fore of the rabble. "And this is the fabled False Shepherd himself."
Wiping a grimy sweat from her forehead, Fitzroy's eyes cast upon him, more to shut him up than favor. He got the message and she turned back to Cade. "Dat true? Dis da ole man's daughter?"
"Seem so, Daisy." Fitzroy had clean symmetry, wide eyes and generous lips. Her hair was thrown back in a braided ponytail, held by a red scarf. Were it not for look she was giving us she might have been pretty.
"You Fitzroy?" I eventually asked.
"Nothin' but. An you?"
"DeWitt. Booker DeWitt. Look, I got no quarrel with you or your Vox Populi, I just want to leave here with the girl."
Fitzroy's eyes narrowed, reaching to my hand. When I drew it back, she cocked an eyebrow. I let her have it. Eyes downward she pried open the bandage Elizabeth had so recently redone. "A.D." She said, obviously impressed. "So, you him...da one ole Father shithead afta. Caused a whole mess o' trouble at the Raffle and down in Battleship Bay. Lots o' dead crackers."
"Look, I ain't lookin' for a fight."
She reviewed her mob, many bloodied, hanging on her every word on the pier about us. "There's already a fight, DeWitt...only question is, which side you on?"
"I ain't on no side."
"If you ain't wif us, you against us." She looked to Elizabeth. "Long time I wanted to see you, Lamb. You daddy caused a hell of a lot of pain here for us'n. How you likin' da payback?"
"I don't." Elizabeth said, shying away from the woman's gaze.
"Yeah..." Daisy sneered. "Dat what I thought you'd say. You ain't had to do nothin' you're whole 'tire life while we squirm in his mud. But dis change things, don't it?" Her brow furrowed. Now we got you, maybe we put you head in a box and send you back home." I imposed myself between Fitzroy's contingent and Elizabeth. From my side Cade looked at me. I looked at him.
"Ain't no one gonna hurt da girl." Cade answered.
Fitzroy smirked at us both. "I ain't gonna hurt no one. But you ain't leavin' here wif her, False Shepherd. She too good for bargainin'."
"Comstock's kept her locked up in that tower since she was born, Fitzroy. She's as much his victim as everyone here is!"
"Uh, huh." She answered, eyes rolling. "Randall say you know Cornelius. Dat true?"
I fingered my Broadsider's trigger. "United States Army, Seventh Cavalry. We served together at Wounded Knee."
"Do tell." Pondering the matter, a twinkle gleamed in her eye. "Then you good in a fight."
"I can handle myself."
"You pulled Slate's ass o' da fire, so I suppose I owe you somethin'. He more trouble than he worth, but his men know guns." She glanced back to the Doberman. "What dey got onboard here?"
"Don't rightly know. But it was something they had a hundred troops working on all night."
"Toby. Bart. I need you ta see what dey was in a hurry to load onto dis boat back at da Arsenal. Check every magazine." Looking back to me and Elizabeth, she smiled. "Joshua, take dis man's guns. Finnian, Nora...you all see our False Shepherd and his lost li'l Lamb upstairs at da Good Time. They gonna be our guest tonight."
#
Across the boulevard from the docks rose a theater five stories tall, approached by a twin stair. Centered above its ticketing booths and broad green awning hung the words "The Good Time Club" in gold trimmed black, the words encasing a clock. Between the stairs a bronze statue surveyed the street twenty feet tall, oversize watch in his hands. Unlike the real article, this one's face was intact.
Finnian and Nora ushered us along through its central double doors. The man and woman were rough folk, orange haired and like many of the Vox of Irish descent. By their uneven complexions I figured they'd worked too many years in the sun for their heritage. Like the rest of Finkton the club's interior was dark, though in the window-filtered light I could make out chandeliers above the twin balconies and promenade that constituted the second floor. Tables and a long catwalk split the wooden floor below, and to either side broad stairs led upward. As we walked Finnian revealed the "The Good Time Club" was Jerimiah Fink's showpiece, a 'gentleman's getaway' designed to show off his wealth and lure potential investors to his businesses. In its spare time it served as a reward for his favored and high-ranking employees, a place to blow off steam, lose some money and entertain courtesans. Ignroning the stairs, they led us to an improbably powered elevator back toward the dressing rooms.
As Elizabeth huddled beside me, the elevator doors opened to yet another shock. Upon a cart in the lift's lone light lay the mutilated bodies of an Asian man and woman. "Chen Lin. Finnian whispered as he crossed himself. Unfriendly as she was, even Nora turned her head away. "This is what they get for helping the common folk. Where'd you find them, Alfie?"
"Down below when we rigged the generator." The brown-haired man pushing the cart said, sharing a glance with his three mates. Retrieving his newsy cap from the sprawled corpses, Alife examined it for sopped blood. "Fink's goons have a damned dungeon down there. Lin and his wife ain't the last, either.
"Why them?" I asked. With a sudden wince, Elizabeth had turned away. "You say Fink did this?"
Finnian nodded, looking again at the bodies. "His goons. Chen Lin and his wife, they made guns for us. Not enough, but they tried." Alfie pushed and along with two Vox extricated the cart from the elevator. Avoiding the pooled blood on the floor, we headed up.
As we rose Elizabeth looked at me with horror. I noticed that both Nora and Finnian didn't seem too ruffled. Both had handguns. So had the rest of the Vox, along with rifles. Columbia, for all its well-organized militia and Constabulary, seemed to have capsized at their uprising like a top-laden boat. If not this dead weapon smith, who then was backing them?
The bell clanged and elevator doors opened. Finnian and Nora escorted us to our room, which though spacious was, like everything other than the lift, suffering from a power outage. Nora shut the door, warned us that they'd be nearby and 'not to try anything.' Not wishing a fight yet I smirked and began planning how to kill them both.
Despite the lack of illumination there was plenty of light from outside. Above us the Aerodrome remained aglow though only the shadows of two airships hung at berth. From Finkton about us and Shantytown down the quay buildings flickered. Below on Emporia's south side hellish flames licked upward, consuming the frontage. Had Morgan and his wife had made it out alive? Had anyone?
Within the room there was a bed in the corner, complete with sheets and covers though in the dim light I'd no idea what color they were. The pillows looked inviting. A table and chairs accentuated the floor, a floral print carpet beneath. Thin sheer curtains blew inward from the open windows, carrying the smashing and reverie of the mob with them. I didn't know how late it was. It must have been past midnight. We needed to sleep. Neither of us spoke. Beside me Elizabeth had shed clothes down to her chemise, washing her face in a basin hair untied.
"How…how is your ear?"
"Still ringing." Her eyes met mine. "They've a lot of guns. And angry people. And I guess, I'm...I'm Comstock's daughter so they blame me. Nothing like burning a witch at the stake to placate the masses."
"Do you mind me asking how you do that, whatever it is?"
"Tears? Honestly, I'm not certain." Behind her Emporia shimmered silently. "But, you know how I said I always had plenty of time to read? Well, I tried to figure it out once. I read literature on physics and other such things."
"Yeah, and what did that teach ya?"
"That...that there's is a world of difference between what we see..." She waved her hand to room and skyline. "And what is."
She seemed to register my gaze and grew quiet. Trying to shake what I was feeling, I walked into the washroom only to find the tap dead. I took my turn at the basin, washing my face and hands. She was sitting on the couch when I returned, the place I'd been. Off to the side the bed was turned down, remarkably clean considering the circumstances. I sat beside her.
"Just before I, er, met you, Elizabeth, I found some notes in a book. Rosalind Lutece? Does that ring a bell?"
"She was the scientist who looked over me. At least until a few years ago." Her face seemed to question 'why?'
"Well, in those notes she was pondering what made you so different. She figured it had something to do with part of you remaining from where you'd come, and that the universe didn't like having its 'peas mixed with its porridge.'"
Her brow furrowed quizzically, almost amused. "What does that mean?"
"I was hoping you'd enlighten me."
"You didn't seem so keen on my nature before. Why are you so interested now? Your connections in New York?"
I grimaced. "When I first arrived here, I kind of staggered in the Aerodrome. I saw something there...a vision I've been trying to wrap my arms about ever since."
"A vision?"
"I saw a city on fire. The city I came from. New York. It seemed so...so real. Like one of your t..."
"New York...where you wanted to…take me?"
I sighed. "Never mind. It was just...just nothing."
Elizabeth shrugged, stopped me…placed gently her hand upon mine, studying our fingers as they joined. "I'm sorry. I didn't...please forgive me? It's just that…" In the faint light I could see the tensing of her brow. "Would...would you mind holding me? I think it might help me sleep."
"Hold you?" I swallowed, feeling her nails on the side of my palm.
"Hold me." After a long moment looking into those eyes, I slipped my arm about her shoulder and neck, my other beneath her nightdress...rose and carried her to the bed. She was still fixated upon me as I set her down. I turned away, bending over the bed's edge to loosen my boots. Jacket and vest landed upon the empty chair beside the bed, followed by my shirt. "Here." I said, fluffing a pillow. Placing it beneath her, I eased her back on blankets. She brushed her hair aside as I lay down behind her. Realizing the windows were out and the temperature still dropping, I pulled the covers over.
"What they...he...did to those poor people..." She whispered. "I thought I was going to…" Over her shoulder her gaze turned to me. "You didn't seem much fazed."
"I wish I had been, Elizabeth, but I used to work for people like Fink."
"Really?"
"Yeah..." Cries echoed from outside, causing us both to turn in the dark. "They used to call us in when the workers got restless."
"To do...what?"
"To demonstrate the folly of men striking...throwing down tools."
She cocked her head, then after a long pause, spoke. "You hurt people."
"Hurt would be an understatement. I'll tell you this...sometime there is precious need for folks like Fitzroy."
"Why?"
"Cause of folks like me."
"Booker..." Again, her fingertips touched my hand.
"Yeah..."
With a sigh she rolled fully into me...tucked her head into my chest and shoulder. I felt her breath sweet and warmth upon my breast. "If...if this doesn't work...thank you for trying."
AUTHOR'S NOTE ********************************************************************************************************
I've never quite figured out how to respond directly to Reviews, other than Private Messages, so my apologies.
For those who have chosen to respond with Reviews, thank you...they mean the world to me, as writing and posting here at FanFiction is a bit like howling into the wind otherwise. When I've written, I've poured a lot of soul into it, and hearing how you experienced and felt about the stories is incredibly important...it is the fuel that gives me the energy to continue. So, it's hard not to notice that there aren't many reviews.
I put these stories up about 3 years ago and did get some reviews, but mostly nothing, which discouraged me and I took them down. At the time, I believed they weren't that good and just kind of gave up. Regardless, they represent 4, going on 5 years of my life so I've decided to put them up for posterity and leave them like bones, in the hopes that some will enjoy. My heart is tied in Booker and Elizabeth's story, and I had a vision of something a little different. So, better or worse, I'm going to finish re-editing what I've done and complete the last book. For what it is worth, I hope you enjoy them. I sure have enjoyed writing them.
CTC