Act V: Home
"Dr. Faraday, bless her heart, was kind enough to get me just what's needed to fix up the boat," Sally tugged on the bandage, pulling it around Arthur's banged up leg. The tang of antiseptic prevailed as she continued, "The only thing we're missing now is the key, which is with General Byng."
"Ouch!"
"Ah, sorry," she'd gotten a bit fervent when mentioning Byng, and let up some of the pressure from tightening the wrappings a touch too far.
It's not like I want to strangle your leg, Arthur. Just one very brutish man.
"So, what, are you planning on going in and asking for it, then?"
"No," Sally lingered on the word, leaning back to check over her work. Two boards pressed Arthur's broken leg from each side, wrapped about with freshly sterilized bandages. She reckoned her frequent tying off of nappies helped her with this particular challenge, though the comparison was a bit irksome.
"No," she repeated, patting Arthur's leg gently, willing it to heal faster. "I'll be doing my best to get in and out with none the wiser."
Arthur shifted up to a sitting position, raising an eyebrow at her.
"Trying to pull the old 'slippery Salamander' on them?"
"Oh, god, of all the things to remember, that's the one that comes up?"
Arthur's grin was contagious, as he shifted to lean on the back of the couch, plopping his leg back to the ground.
"How could I forget? Every time you and I wanted to snag a few extra things, a smoke, an extra piece of chocolate, you name it, you would never get caught. Even if someone did see you, you could weasel out of it with a few well-placed words of wit."
"Well, then I guess the name fits," Sally smirked, getting to her feet and stretching. Gwen had been taken care of, Arthur was on the mend, and now it was about bloody time they were getting out of this godforsaken place.
As she stepped over to the counter, pulling together the ingredients for a "just in case" concoction of knock-out drug, she heard Arthur struggle to his feet and thump closer, murmuring, "Y-you're not thinking about going out tonight, are you? After all we've been through today?"
"Remember, I've had less shit kicked out of me than you have,"Sally nodded, tapping a syringe, feeling pleased by the color. "I can manage a late night out, even if your old bones can't make it."
"It's not that they're old," Arthur whined. "Just that one's a little, eh, broken."
"And it won't heal well if you don't rest, you know."
Arthur scratched the back of his head. He raised a hand for a moment, almost looking like he wanted to ask to go with her, then visibly deflated with a sigh.
"I suppose you're right. Doesn't make me feel great, having you go waltzing in through General Byng's front door alone."
"I've managed well enough on my own for years, now," Sally grabbed Arthur's sleeve, gently tugging him back to the couch, "and you've done plenty enough for all of us. Plus, I'll be going in through his back door," she winked, stepping closer to him. "He's always preferred it that way, anyways.
With a soft push on his chest, she guided Arthur back down to the couch. A smile, tender and sweet, played on her lips, and she murmured softly, "Please, rest. Relax. I've got this."
"Having this" was certainly a broad definition, as she watched General Byng gasp at her feet, soaked in morphalene laced water. His eyelids fluttered for a moment, then fell, and for a moment she thought he had died. The rise and fall of his chest spoke otherwise, and if she simply reached down and grabbed his throat and squeezed—
You're better than that, Sal.
Shaking her head of the idea, she reached down, fumbling in his drenched coat for a moment and pulling out the key card.
"You weren't putting this to good use, right, love?" she said chirpily to him, nudging him with a toe just to make sure he was out. When he remained still, she muttered, "rotten bastard that you are," and proceeded to make her way out.
Now, it was only a matter of getting out. To be gone from these wretched monsters that begged for her, caged her, and rejected her right to freedom. It was a future that she, and Gwen were owed, and with each click of her footfalls on the floor, illuminated faintly by the pink glow of the fountain, Sally found her breathing coming easier. She was leaving, and she would be taking Gwen and Arthur with her.
"You'll come to your senses!"
Hands grasped at her, spun her around—Byng, the general, sneered at her, grabbing her and slamming her towards the wall. There was a brief moment she felt grateful for her helmet as her head hit the glass case enclosing a fire extinguisher by the door, glass shattering and falling to the ground. She dropped to the floor in a heap, dazed, as Byng stepped closer to her.
The sneer on his face could melt the skin off the bones of a frightened chicken.
"I've done terrible things, Sally."
Like hoarding precious food supplies and comfortably watching people starve to death?
"I had to do them, but the mob despise me for it."
You only did that to save yourself, Sally grit her teeth, reaching out and grasping a large shard of glass. It hurt, cutting into her palm, but he didn't notice, too arrogant, too full of himself to see naught but what he wanted, what he wanted to take from her.
"I think I deserve a little consolation in my old age."
He leaned down and she took it. Sally bolted up and slashed out with the shard, cutting his face from chin to scalp, blade catching on his eye socket as she wrenched upward. Byng threw himself back with a pained cry, blood spurting from the wound. Dropping the bloodied glass shard, Sally threw herself at the door, fumbling for a moment with the handle, pain stinging her palm, her own blood making it slick. She forced the handle down with a "Work, dammit!", and she was through, she was free. The door slammed closed behind her, the automatic lock down shuttering it behind her.
"I am not your consolation prize," she snarled at the door, cradling her hand close to her. She would fix it when she got home, and then—
He knows where Gwen is.
Shivering with adrenaline, Sally trotted off to home, mustering forced, joyful greetings to the citizens of Wellington Wells and praying no one could see her fear through her mask.
The absence of sound was a stark contrast to what she had been expecting. Just near her front door, she could see what looked to be the body of a doctor stuffed into a trash can; she didn't care to see if he was alive or dead as she rushed through the door, locking it behind her with a click and booking it for the stairs. Arthur was absent, Gwen silent—they'd been taken, they were gone, she'd been too late—
The door slamming open was met with a startled cry from Gwen and a muffled yelp from Arthur, who jolted up in the bed, holding Gwen protectively to his chest. He blinked at her blearily, squinting at her without his glasses on. It had been clear that he had been sleeping, Gwen cuddled up with him, no worse for wear than when she had left.
"S-Sally? That is you, right?"
A deep, weary sigh left her, and she shuffled over to the nightstand, plucking Arthur's glasses off the side. She leaned closer to him, affixing them to his face.
"Yes, it's me." She reached out expectantly, and it took Arthur a moment before he realized what, or rather, who, she wanted. He handed Gwen over to her, and Gwen's happy noise had her heart soaring.
"We're getting out of here, Gwen," she cooed to her precious child, kissing her gently on the forehead. "You'll be raised far away from this wretched place, one that would look so unkindly to you."
With a nod to Arthur, she pulled out her secret weapon; a suitcase made to circulate air and keep Gwen safe. It would be terrifying for her, but Sally promised herself it would only be temporary. A moment, nothing more, in the entirety of Gwen's life.
She had a future, and it was one Sally would fight tooth and nail to uphold.
"It'll only be for a moment, dear one," Sally murmured as she placed Gwen in the bag. Gwen whimpered, and Sally gently touched her cheek—still warm from sleep, she imagined. "Hush, hush, don't fret."
A tightness blossomed in her chest as she zipped up the suitcase, flicking on the switch to circulate the air. Thank God it was mostly silent, save for the slight hushing sound of the pump. A sigh of relief, as she pulled the bag into her arms, looking towards Arthur.
"Now, all we have to do is travel safely across the entire city, and not upset any doctors, or any townsfolk carrying torches or pitchforks. Or plague victims, for that matter!" Sally laughed, hysteria making it sound more like a dying bird than anything a sane human would utter. "Oh, the stories she'll have to share when she's older."
"They'll be rife with danger and intrigue, certainly," Arthur agreed, as they made their way to the stairs—Arthur using a makeshift cane that looked strung together from two clubs, duct tape, and a dream. Clever, if unconventional.
"It shouldn't be to much of a problem if we, if we can just get to a hatch."
"Where is the boat, exactly?"
"Just inside of the old building at Ravensholm. No one thought to look there, considering the amount of those lingering on with the plague."
"That makes sense," Arthur murmured, opening the door for her. "I never found it, in all my scurrying about."
"I hope you don't mind if I ask one more favor, or," Sally tilted her head, "a series of ongoing ones. My hands are rather full, here, and I—"
"Need a helping hand?" Arthur waved one in front of her. "Thankfully, I've still got two. Hope to keep it that way, considering things."
Sally beamed at him, attempting a very mangled curtsy thanks to the large bundle in her arms.
"Good sir Arthur, here to accompany the lovely Lady Guinevere and her dear old mum off to safety?"
Arthur played his part perfectly, straightening up for a moment before bowing as low as he could.
"Of course, my dear lady. It's only natural that such ways of chivalry should be extended to one so lovely as yourself. None shall see you harm, so long as I'm around to, eh," he reached into a pocket, pulling out a...rubber duck. "Squeak us out of trouble."
Despite how horrible the joke was, Sally couldn't help but laugh.
"Arthur, that was awful."
"Sally, don't insult sir Quack's feelings. He's very gallant, you know," and he gave it a squeeze for good measure. With that said, he moved in front of her, opening up the door. Sally took a breath, glancing back to her home. It held so many memories, and while she was fond of some of them, it was time to move one.
Blessedly, their journey to Ravensholm was long, arduous, and lacking any and all people would would dare to impede their way. A benefit of traveling by night, truly, especially with the curfew in effect. It was almost boring, if it weren't for the fear that around every corner would be someone waiting, watching, expecting.
Once they reached the island, what met them there weren't bobbies or doctors, large and imposing, but those wastrel types, minds addled by plague and weakened by starvation. As promised, Arthur made short work of them. Sally had never sen him move so silently, sneaking up behind the plague bearers meandering the island and silencing them by way of strangulation. It was almost unsettling, how efficient he was, even considering his injury.
The safety of darkness wouldn't last, and as they sneaked past a final guard, she could just make out the first light of dawn peeking beyond the horizon.
"We couldn't have timed that better, could we?" Sally whispered as they stepped onto the lift's platform.
"Not in the slightest," Arthur murmured in reply, tugging the lever back that would lead them down to the dock.
The old lift grumbled with the weight of them, grinding and rumbling as it carried them down. It was a wonder they had made it this far, and a giddy little laugh stole away from her. When Arthur glanced over, she explained, "I can't believe no one's here. I thought, I thought for sure Byng would somehow be able to beat us to it, that he had one more ace up his sleeve, or—"
She trailed off as the shaft opened up onto the sight of an old, ill-kept dock...with their bright red, shiny getaway sitting pretty in the center. Her knees felt weak, and if she didn't have to hold Gwen she would have collapsed.
"We're nearly there," her voice quavered, and as the lift settled to the earth, a strong hand laid on her shoulder. She looked back to Arthur, and as their eyes met, she felt a bone-deep relief, one that rushed through her as a wave crashes over the sand, pulling and tugging away a calloused part of her she thought would always remain.
"Let's get out of here."
They crept towards the boat, both of them holding an unspoken paranoia that something, someone, would ruin this moment. The engine was easy enough to hook up, compact as it was, and she let Arthur slide into the seat ahead of her, handing over Gwen. Anxiety pricked at her skull, even as the engine rumbled and she shifted the boat into gear, beginning a slow putter forwards. Past the boulders about the cave, careful and cautious, keeping mind of the prow as they moved out, out to freedom. Arthur seemed to hold her same fears, staying silent beside her.
As the cave walls parted, revealing the open ocean, she heard the zipper being pulled back, and glanced over to see Arthur carefully easing Gwen out of the pack. The spray of wind and water flowed over them as the boat picked up speed, and something snapped. Tears bubbled and dripped down her face, into her mask, and she laughed, grabbing it and ripping it off her face, throwing it overboard with careless abandon.
"Oh, Sal..."
"We've done it," she gasped, exhaustion pulling her down, towards the wheel. Arthur's hand came out to steady her, and she reached up to grasp it, to find anything to hold onto.
"We can go, away from this place. We can make our own adventures, Arthur. You, me, and Gwen. The Three Musketeers."
She reached out, pulling Gwen into her arms. Gwen stared back at her with doleful eyes, and Sally laughed.
"You can cry all you'd like where we're going, Gwen, and not a single soul will tell you to 'cheer up'. It will be real, whatever you feel, and you'll be free to experience it, and all life has to offer."
A smile, a true one, not one forced by Joy, nor the mask, nor the ever-present pressure to be a perfectly cheery people pleaser spread on Sally's face. She hugged Gwen to her tightly, then leaned, ever-so gently, to rest her head on Arthur's shoulder.
Before knowing where they were going, how they would get there, or whatever the hell they would do, she could take this moment of bliss and simply. Be. As Arthur wrapped one arm around the both of them, she looked up to the new dawn cresting the horizon; bright hues of orange, yellow, and blue greeted her, and for the first time in ages, Sally felt the stirring of something she thought had long ago died.
Hope.