Father, Father, Father, Father, please! Please!

However she'd managed to pull herself together when Vanilla died, Amy couldn't do so for Sally. Having lost her voice, she continually mouthed those two words into a pillow on Vanilla's bed. Hot tears and snot thoroughly soaked wherever her face pressed into the cloth.

FATHER!

When she was seven, a neighbor in a nearby tenement got extraordinarily drunk and shot himself in the head. One rumor had it that he had been fired from the cannery for reading some weird "union book" during his lunch break; another rumor was that his wife was screwing another man. Amid the calming vapors of incense, the stained-glass faces of the Madonna and the Christ had gazed serenely down on Amy that following Sunday. The priest-an ancient, corpulent black wolf from Belfast-had bellowed his homily.

"Of all the mortal sins," he'd said, "there are none worse than suicide, for this reason: forget the family you leave behind; forget the gaping hole you leave in the hearts of your friends and the community at large! You do the same thing to others when you murder." He'd paused to take a sip of water from a glass.

Two pews ahead of her, Amy had seen the three daughters of the dead man; they were badgers like he was, aged six, ten, and fifteen. They'd huddled together like chicks without a hen.

The priest continued: "But you can repent a murder. You can repent an affair, egregious lies, drunkenness, rape! But you can't repent suicide. Once it's done, it's done: you're stuck with it!"

The second-eldest daughter put her face in her hands, while the eldest held the youngest closer.

"Even if you'd just finished confession, even if you'd just taken Communion, you would not find yourself in Purgatory after committing such an act." He'd taken another sip of water.

All three of the daughters' heads had dipped low by this point. Whether in prayer or despair, Amy couldn't tell.

The priest thundered: "You would find yourself falling straight into the black mouth of Hell, and don't fool yourself: you would rightly, richly deserve it!"

Sally doesn't deserve it. She doesn't, she doesn't, SHE DOES NOT DESERVE IT!

Sleep.

Father, please! PLEASE!

Sleep. It's all right.

PLEASE!

Her mouth and her mind began to slow down, though the pain seemed to balloon inside her. She would never see Sally again. Never. Never.

Father, why, WHY, WHY!

Sleep.

WHY! WHY!

Sleep.

Her breathing slowed down.

Please!

Amy.

Father...

Amy.

Please...

Amy. Go to sleep.

When he found out about Tails's disappearance, Sonic had immediately sent for a translator; it was about three and a half hours later, as the morning sun rose high and hot, when he finally got one. To Sonic's deepest relief and deepest annoyance, the translator arrived on the same horse that Tails did. Sonic decided to wait for the pair to dismount before chewing Tails out. "Leutnant Prauer!" he barked, shoving his way past a trio of Qing soldiers.

Tails snapped to attention and saluted, his heels clicking together. He stayed like that, frozen as a statue. Sonic had always admired the lad's dedication to discipline. "Herr Hauptmann!"

It was then that Sonic saw the huge bloodstain on Tails's chest. Sonic ran up to him. "Were you hit? Where the hell have you been?"

"My apologies, Herr Hauptmann, I-" Tails cut himself off, and began again. "I was seeing to a wounded ally, sir. We passed her on the way to the fire, so I turned around and-"

"'Her?'"

"A missionary, sir. The one we saved in the market, I believe."

"Is that so?" Sonic studied the stain. No entrance or exit wound. He then studied Tails's face. "How was she injured?"

"Shot in the shoulder, sir. Almost burned to death by a Boxer, too."

"But she's alive now?"

"Yes, sir."

"Where is she?"

Tails didn't hesitate. "Peking University, Ward 3 at the back of the building."

Sonic knew Tails was the last man who would ever lie to him, but he was still angry. "So if I were to ride back to the hospital and start asking questions, I'd be able to verify that?"

Tails's stoic, military expression flickered only for a half a second; the insinuation that he could be lying-that he might have turned coward at the prospect of danger-had stung him. "Yes, sir. Ask for Dr. Mordecai: I helped him remove the bullet."

Sonic looked around: an audience of soldiers, Qing and Legation men alike, was starting to form around them. "Get back to the fire!" he snapped at them, "Officer business, laus, laus!" The audience dissipated. He decided that the bloodstain and Tails's word were sufficient evidence for himself. In any case, he was glad that the young fox was alive. "At ease, Herr Leutnant."

Tails looked as if he'd been hiking with an overpacked rucksack for an entire week, and was just now ordered to throw it off a cliff. "Very good, Herr Hauptmann."

"I will debrief you tomorrow," Sonic informed him. "Right now, I need you to be my voice and my ears with those gentlemen over there." Sonic pointed at the Qing officers, one of whom who was smoking from a long pipe beside one of the wagons; judging from the smell and the supremely serene expression on the officer's piggy boar face, Sonic suspected it was opium. That's all these god-damned Chinese seem to do around here, Sonic thought, just sit back, smoke opium, and watch the world burn. It made him sick.

Tails had grace enough to blush. "My apologies Herr Hauptmann, but my father has new orders for both of us." He held out an envelope to Sonic. "This is for your eyes only, he says."

"And you're in charge of the wagons?" Tails nodded. "Very good." Sonic unfolded the envelope and pulled out his orders. "Take five men...," he mumbled, "..past Qiangmeng Gate, just up from the...ask for Mrs..." Sonic mouthed the name after "Mrs.", but it didn't sound right to him: "'Vowndevort'?"

Tails cocked his head curiously. "Sir?"

"W-O-U-N-D-W-O-R-T."

Tails looked thoughtful. "Oh, Woundwort," he said, "it's a salad green, like a dandelion. The Chinese grind it up it for medicine and boil it for tea."

Sonic nodded. "'Mrs. Woundwort,'" he repeated, and then said: "You have your orders, Herr Leutnant." He saluted Tails.

Tails returned the salute. "Very good, Herr Hauptmann." He hurried over to the Qing officers and began speaking intently with the one who wasn't smoking. After a few moments, he slapped the pipe from the smoker's hand and continued talking to both of them.

Sonic watched his protegee for a few moments longer. He realized that he was proud of Tails: the lad was brave, professional, observant; but above all, capable of acting on his conscience when it was called for. That was becoming a rare quality in the Kaiser's officer corps. Sonic allowed himself a small, proud smile as he said: "Wesreidau, Vorbeck! Saddle up! Halz, double up with Lindbergh! Neubach, you're double with me! Restock ammo, all of you!"

"Amy?"

No response.

There hadn't been any response since Knuckles had managed to oust the snake and crush its head with the butt of the shotgun. When he gave Amy the medical kits, she had only nodded blandly and gone downstairs to help the casualties. Despite the bat's screams of pain and terror, she removed the shards from Cixin's face and eye without a word. She'd then bandaged him up, nodded again at Knuckles, and rushed upstairs to lock herself in Vanilla's former bedroom. That had happened around four this morning; it was now eight.

In the end, Knuckles had to confess, fully, what had happened to Sally, and what he did. He couldn't stop himself that time, and wouldn't. He'd expected her to cry, to lash out, to attack him; but the girl he knew had simply vanished behind her eyes.

Knuckles listened through the bedroom door: he heard gentle snoring. He breathed out, and said quietly into the ceiling: "Thank You. She deserves all the rest she can get, after a night like this." Sal, if you're up there... Suddenly, a wave of anger crashed over him. I'm not the god-damned coward, he thought, you were. Not me.

No noise came from outside now. After the explosions-whatever had caused them-and the shattering of what seemed like every pane of glass for a mile around, the Boxer parade devolved into a riot. It didn't matter who was or wasn't Boxer, anyone and everyone fought each other with fists, feet, and blades; even a few primitive firearms had made their presence known.

Several adjacent shops were looted as well, and Knuckles had not been shy in using the shotgun to deter them from the apartment: the bag of shotgun shells was much lighter now. Not that they'd have found much to steal, of course. The most expensive items in the building were the shotgun, the medical kits, and a few simple shelves filled with books.

What Knuckles had not expected, as he watched from the corner of the shattered window with the shotgun ready, was for the army to show up. An hour into the melee, what looked like an entire division of the Qing's own soldiers stormed onto the street with horses and cannons. The rout was almost instantaneous: the soldiers' European rifles and Mongolian sabers chewed into the Boxers with the lethal efficiency of a scorpion's mouthparts, causing them to scatter like roaches from a sudden light.

Now the Qing soldiers marched briskly up and down the wide dirt road in patrols two wide and four deep. They marched in a strange way, with their legs raised high as they stepped over glass shards, kicked aside dying men and animals, and trampled dark patches where blood had soaked into the arid yellow soil. Their formidable presence simultaneously reassured and intimidated the echidna.

To Knuckles's surprise, he heard a knock at the front door. He left the bedroom door. Another, more insistent knock. He checked the shotgun as he came downstairs, stepping over the bodies of sleeping old women, old men, and children.

The knocks grew harder, louder. "Mrs. Woundwort?"

Cixin, who was curled up on the couch, woke up first. Pain had kept him in a very light sleep, but Knuckles was glad the kid had gotten any sleep at all. "What is it?" he groaned.

Falun snorted himself awake. "Whuh, hm?"

Knuckles waved to get their attention, put a finger to his lips. Quiet. They both nodded understanding.

Approaching the sheet that now covered the shattered window, Knuckles peeked through the extreme left edge,: from here, he couldn't see where the front door opened onto the street, but he could see the corner just before that. Two copper-brown horses stood there, their riders wearing smart khaki uniforms and dark brown slouch hats. Foreign soldiers; Sally and Amy's people.

What do they want? Knuckles thought, scowling. Had Sally told them about this place?

The knocking became more rapid. "Mrs. Woundwort?"

Knuckles recognized that voice: the blue hedgehog. What the hell was he doing here?

Irritated, Sonic knocked again. Judging from the state of the street he was on, atop the stenches of dead men and cordite, one brutal fight must have occurred here within the past few hours. He suspected that whoever this Mrs. Woundwort was, she would be like most European civilians after seeing blood in a foreign land for the first time: cowering under her bed, or otherwise wedged into a spot that felt secure, but in actuality wasn't. He tried to sound friendly, as if he were inviting her to tea. "Mrs. Woundwort! We're here to pick you up! You can come out now!"

The door opened. Instead of a tall, comely rabbit lady with fur the color of heavily-creamed coffee, a huge crimson echidna stood in the doorway with his knotted, muscular arms folded across a heavy chest. "You looking for Vanilla Woundwort?" he said brusquely.

Sonic recognized the man at once. "Ah, Knuckles, is it?" Knuckles nodded gravely. "Yes, is-"

"She's dead. We tried to bury her last night."

Sonic, for the first time in his life, didn't know how to respond. "Oh."

Knuckles nodded.

"'Tried to'?" Sonic asked.

"Boxers attacked us during the wake. We had to run."

Sonic nodded, then shook his head. "I see." He paused, then asked: "Do you have any wounded?"

Knuckles nodded, motioning for Sonic to follow him inside. "A couple."

The baby, asleep in the arms of Falun, woke up. Her keening drifted out onto the street, turning the heads of the soldiers who'd come with Sonic. "Is that one of your casualties?" Sonic asked.

Knuckles shook his head. "No. A few of us got hit with glass, but that one on the couch took the worst of it." He sighed. It just now hit Knuckles that he was operating on at least one hour of sleep, out of the past twenty-four. Not even his coolie jobs with the British railways put men on such brutal shifts. He said to Cixin: "Get up. These guys want to fix your eye."

Amy was in the foyer as Sonic helped Cixin onto Lindbergh's horse. She watched as the horse turned and galloped off.

"I'm sorry for your loss," he said to Knuckles, who was gently rocking the baby in his thick arms. "How did she die?"

"Birth. This one's her's."

Sonic winced; his aunt had died in the same way when he was fifteen. He hoped that one day, doctors would be skilled enough to stop such travesties altogether. He looked the baby over, and smiled at her. She smiled back. Whether they were born in Peking, Mombasa, or Berlin, all babies shared that same gummy grin. "If she's a newborn, do you have anyone to nurse her?" he asked Knuckles.

"Just one." He tilted his head back at Amy. "There was more of us, and the one who did yesterday, she..." Knuckles fell silent. The baby began to fret and squirm.

"She's dead, too," Amy said as she extracted the baby from Knuckles's arms. "The Boxers took her last night." She tried to hold herself together when she spoke. This man was a stranger. He didn't need to know the full reality of her friend's fate.

Damn this infernal city, Sonic thought. Then something occurred to him. "Where is that other woman?" he asked.

"The other woman?" Knuckles asked.

"The chipmunk, with-" Sonic stopped himself. As his mind had been so focused on locating Mrs. Woundwort for the past hour or so, the fact that Tails had rescued the chipmunk had been tucked away. Now it came back to him.

"The one with red hair?" Knuckles prompted. Sonic nodded slowly.

Amy felt herself beginning to cry again. "That was her," she managed to choke out.

Unbidden, a huge grin split Sonic's lips.

If her hands had been free, Amy would have immediately punched him in the face. "How could you laugh about that?"

It was around two in the afternoon when Sally woke up. What day is it? She tried to sit up, and realized that her right arm was in a sling of white linen. Her sheets were white linen too, not the coarse cloth that normally- She was seized by a coughing fit.

The dry voice of Dr. Mordecai. "Ah, Miss Acorn, you're finally awake." The scribble of pencil on paper. "Your energy is an encouraging sign."

Her lungs felt painfully raw. "Where am I?" Her voice sounded as ragged and thin as an old sock. Then, one by one, last night's events came back to her. Her eyes widened. Oh my God.

"Peking University," he said as he propped her upright with another pillow. "No, don't get up just yet. I'll send them to you."

"'Them?'"

"Your colleagues have been waiting outside for the last hour."

Most clearly, Sally remembered the look on Chu's face when she'd asked him to blow her brains out. I did that? Yes, I did. Why did I do that? Shame threatened to swallow her; she took in a breath, closed her eyes, and prayed silently for mercy. She realized that Dr. Mordecai had left her side, and then she heard the hollow sound of running feet on varnished wood.

To Sally's horror, Amy burst into the room. She knows. Sally saw it in her face as the girl stormed up to her and gave her a hard slap across the cheek. I deserved that.

Then Amy wrapped her arms around Sally, careful to avoid the shoulder as she squeezed her friend tight. "Don't you ever, EVER scare me like that again!" she sobbed, not even attempting to hide her brogue now. "Do you fucking hear me? Don't you ever try to run away like that! I'll stitch us up at the hip if I have to!" She began to laugh, repeating Sally's name as if it were the tastiest, most scrumptious word in the English language.

As Amy stormed up to Sally, Knuckles had stood in the doorway to the ward, utterly dumbfounded, with his hands over his mouth and eyes wider than he'd thought possible. He approached the hospital bed as one might approach a sleeping tiger. "Sal?"

Sally held Amy now, the latter's face buried in her neck. She closed her eyes, not daring to meet his. Then she found her courage, and then did meet his eyes. She tried to speak, tried to phrase some kind of apology. Instead, a second bout of harsh coughing seized her.

Sonic stayed by the doorway, watching them with that same grin plastered on his face.

Author's Note: I want to thank Thomas Holmes II, Archon of Athenai, and Haloixix13 for all of your kind comments and helpful feedback: I didn't believe I would ever get this far into the story when I started it, and you guys absolutely helped me get this first act of the off the ground. Thank you so, so, SO much.