Chapters 21 and 22

(In which Elizabeth emerges into a war-torn city and becomes part of the revolution against Silas)

Twenty-first

     No one traveled on High Street in the early hours of that autumn morning, no one driving or walking past the burned-out wreck of a block that, months before, housed the Griff Inn. Whether it was the light drizzle, or the hour, or the fact that there was not much to see in this section of Aldergate would be difficult to discern. But, regardless of the reason, no witnesses were there to watch as a lone, dirty hand emerged from the pile of rubble that had, at one time not that long ago, been a landmark of the city. The grubby fingers were followed by a second hand, more remarkable because it was made of shining metal, and then by a head, one whose hair was caked with dust and ash. 

     Elizabeth was sobbing with relief. There was a large portion of her that had thought this day would never come. It had taken weeks, by her own perspective, days upon days of tunneling through the wreckage, fearful that she would unknowingly weaken a load-bearing fragment and be crushed by the remaining parts of the building. Working as silently as she could manage, her heartbeat quickening to a drumroll any time she heard anyone on the street above her, fearful the guards would discover that she was still alive.

     Elizabeth had found the cave stocked with supplies, boxes of nonperishables and extra clothes. She didn’t know what kind of disaster Clara and Winnie had been preparing for, but she was thankful that they had. Especially since the pocket world outside the cave proved to be an arctic wasteland, with nothing but snow and mountains as far as the eye could see. If she had been left to forage for food on her own, she would have starved weeks ago.

     As it was, the isolation and panic had almost killed her. In the most hopeless of her moments, she imagined walking out into the ice and laying down, letting the cold take her into a painless death. Better than starvation. Better than being trapped in a cave-in.

     Elizabeth had panicked at first, had beat her hands against the rubble until her skin was scraped and bleeding, before reason had gripped her. The doorway wasn't gone; it was simply blocked. And what had been blocked could be unblocked. Even if it took days. Even if it took weeks.

It was dark when she finally broke through, the only light coming from distant gas-lamps. The buildings surrounding her, the ones that had once bordered the Griff Inn, were completely dark. She was grateful for the darkness, as she could only imagine how she would appear to an onlooker: unbathed, dusty, wild-eyed, and popping out of a pile of burned-out trash like a common rat.

Elizabeth settled back down into the hole, just low enough that anyone walking by wouldn't be able to see her. She had been so focused on her escape that she had failed to plan for what would happen afterwards. She still had some food left in the cave, and her suitcase and clothes were there as well. But she couldn't bring herself to go back down into the tunnel. What if it collapsed, and she had to start over again? The frustration would kill her long before starvation would. She would scale one of those mountains and throw herself off.

Cautiously, she poked her head above the wreckage, a tunneling animal surveying for surface predators. Two of the Griff’s outside walls remained at their previous height, but their windows had been broken, the brick and plaster marred by ash. Jagged teeth of shingles from the roof clung to the tops of the walls. Gravity had reclaimed the other walls, dragging them into the pile she spent so many hours digging through.

Elizabeth exhaled, the weight of all of the bricks she had moved settling onto her shoulders. She had known the wreckage came from the Griff's collapse, but had held on to a shred of hope that some other explanation was possible...maybe only part of it had fallen, some section that Clara and Winnie couldn't fix without appearing suspicious.

With the Griff gone, what were her options now? She could always retreat back to the woods...but, after the time spent alone in the pocket, her taste for solitude had soured. And what of the tree, that evil thing that had sent her running? No, she wouldn't be able to sleep a single night in the woods knowing that thing was out there. Calling to her.

Who she might still know in Aldergate? Clara and Winnie could still be alive, but she hoped they had gone into hiding, rather than be captured. Or killed. Lang was in custody, if not dead. She could check the Banging Drum, though there was no guarantee that Adri or Walton would still be there. Or if they would want to see her.

There were the other employees of the Griff. She had heard Tip mention children but had never met them or his wife. Hale was even tighter-lipped, and she suspected he went from inn to tavern to bed on a daily loop. Regardless, she had no idea where to find either one of them. They could be anywhere in the city.

That left Alasia, the woman who acted as a financial contractor to the Griff, helping Clara and Winnie with the money side of the business. She would turn up once every few weeks to pick up or drop off paperwork and have hushed conversations with the owners. Elizabeth didn't know her well; the extent of their interactions had been a handshake when they first met and a nod on every other encounter. She had the distinct impression that Alasia thought her--and all maids--silly girls not worth her time. But she might have some news about Clara and Winnie. Even if she wouldn't tell Elizabeth where they had gone, knowing that they were okay would be enough.

Alasia's office could be reached without traversing any of the busier public squares. Elizabeth squinted at the night sky, estimating it an hour or two past midnight. Late enough that a girl walking by herself might attract unwanted attention. She could probably handle anything that came along, but that meant using her hand and thereby revealing her identity. Better to wait a few hours and blend in with the crowds of early morning, try to catch Alasia coming into work.

She managed to fall asleep, a few uncomfortable hours spent huddled in the rubble, until the rain woke her.  She shivered and pulled her clothes tighter, grumbling at her luck. Being wet would make the morning's chill worse, but at least it would wash away some of the grime from the tunnel. She clambered from the hole in the pile, ignored the rumbling in her stomach, and started for Alasia’s building.

On the way, she saw other buildings that had suffered damage, though not to the same extreme as the Griff. Some of the stores’ fronts had been staved-in, their innards left open to the elements. Iron streetlights littered the sidewalks like felled trees, their decorative work crumpled and twisted as though made of tin foil. Piles of rock and brick blocked alleys and, in a few cases, entire streets. Cart-sized holes had been cleared through these to allow traffic through. The city looked like a war zone, like something on cable news from a strife-torn country with an unpronounceable name. Elizabeth began to wonder how long she had been gone.

The door to Alasia’s building--a thick, oaken monster that dominated the front of the building--was locked and scarred, with a waist-high swath carved from the wood at a haphazard angle. An awning sheltered the front stoop, and Elizabeth settled beneath its dry shadow.

The click of the woman's approaching boot heels had a precise rhythm. She did not slow as she passed Elizabeth. Alasia was thick-bodied, her long, steel-grey hair woven into a braid that struck against her back as she walked. She strode past the awning with a confidence that suggested she would be a handful for anyone who dared step into her path.

Elizabeth rose, but Alasia spoke without turning. "I don't carry any money, urchin. But I do have six inches of steel that I will gladly share with you, should you take one step closer. Be gone by sunrise or I will call the Guard."

"Alasia--" The woman turned, her eyes flashing as though Elizabeth’s words had been the first volley in an assault. She drew a dagger from its sheath on her belt. "It's me, Elsie."

"Yes." Alasia did not remove her hand from the hilt of the knife, nor did the chill in her voice thaw. "I see that. So good of you to appear, Elsie. Out of hiding, are you?"

"Can we speak?" Elizabeth glanced up and down the street. "Inside?"

The woman’s eyes narrowed. "For a moment." She opened the door and allowed Elizabeth inside, never letting her glare leave the girl. Alasia closed and latched the door behind her.

Gaslight streaming in from outside lit the foyer, filtered through gauzy curtains in the ground-floor windows. Alasia lit a few candles, which did little to dissipate the dimness. The two stood in silence for a heartbeat, Alasia's cold exterior stifling Elizabeth’s planned pleas for help. The woman finally spoke: "Well. You look a little worse for wear. Running the streets?"

Elizabeth supposed she needn't keep Clara and Winnie's secret at this point. "I was in a pocket. Clara hid me there."

"Clara died in the fire last fall. Nine months ago."

Elizabeth gasped. She had an unhinged thought that there had to be some way to undo this, that if she went back to the pocket and came out again, she would be granted a do-over. "I...how? How did the fire happen?"

Alasia looked disgusted. "The Guard did it. They came looking for you, girl, and they didn't like Clara's answers. And all the allegiances Winnie spent so long cultivating on both sides of the underground war? The neutrality that the Inn was famous for? Not worth so much, as it turns out. They emptied the Griff of guests, tied Clara to a banister, and burned the place to the ground."

"All to get to me?" Elizabeth was stunned. It didn't seem possible. "What about Winnie?"

"Arrested. Not seen since that day."

"The rest?"

"They may have fled the city. Plenty did."

"Why? What happened? The city...this wasn't all because of my...?"

Alasia popped her knuckles. "The Guard got word the revolution was growing. Started cracking down. Started doing door-to-doors, more arrests, ransacking any home or building rumored to be sympathetic to the cause. People got fed up...if there hadn't been a rebel faction in Aldergate, the Guard's growing aggression would've caused one to spring up. It's just been skirmish after skirmish for the past few months."

"But you're still here?"

Alasia snorted. "Where else am I supposed to go? 'Gate born and 'Gate raised. Someone's got to go about their business in this blasted crater of a city. The Guard'll do what the Guard does, and eventually it'll simmer down, and then we'll rebuild."

"Aren't you afraid?"

"Stayed alive this long. I must be doing something right. And I haven't done anything to cause anyone any anger." She checked herself. "Until now. I'm taking a big risk simply allowing you across my threshold, girl. The Guard would pay a fair amount to know where you are right now. They've been tearing the city apart looking for you."

"Because of my hand?" She blurted the words before she could stop them.

Alasia set her jaw and nodded. "Word spread fast. People saying that Eliza the knife-fingered was back, was going to free this city from The Pretender and the Black Guard." She snorted again. "Idiots. The revolution became public, rather than stay in the shadows...revealed itself to be made of farmers and urchins, no match for trained soldiers. So many died.

"But their numbers swell anyway, or so the propaganda says...you have to consider the source. Seems to be a bit of a standoff recently, though. Dead on both sides. Seems like most of the rest of the city is holding its breath, trying to see which way the wind blows before committing."

"And you? Which way will you lean?"

"I took you inside, didn't I?"

"Maybe you're trying to trap me. Hold me until the Guard get here." Stupid not to have considered this possibility until now, to enter without backup or escape plan. She could always fight, but was that what she wanted to become? Someone whose only recourse was to slice her way out of trouble?

"I let you in to hear you out. I owed Clara and Winnie that much. Whether what you say is true...whether they hid you or not, they trusted you." Alasia sheathed her knife into her belt and crossed her arms over her chest. "I am no friend of the revolution. This city was doing just fine before they...before you brought all this chaos down on us. But I don't think you deserve to die for what, I would presume, was an unfortunate accident with the Guard."

Alasia stopped talking, and it took Elizabeth a moment before she understood. "Yes, of course," she said, confirming. "An accident."

"For Silas's men to come down so hard on a neutral city...Well, it's hard to see that as anything but the opening shot in a war. Both sides will claim the other started it, but to burn down the landmark that was The Griff?" Alasia straightened, shaking her head. "Still, I do not plan to take sides in this conflict. If you're looking for help, you're out of luck."

Elizabeth started to protest, though of course, that was exactly what she had come for. But Alasia was, if nothing else, a survivor. 
But, just like Clara and Winnie had by hiding her, Alasia was choosing a side by taking her in off of the street, by explaining all of this to her, and by not calling the Guard. She could be counted on, just not for anything overtly against the Guard. Not for anything that might threaten her own life.

"I don't need a place to stay," Elizabeth began, "and I don't need any money. All I do need..." She trailed off. Had she really made this decision? "...Is to find two people. Adri and Walton."

Twenty-second

Her muscles were so stiff she would have thought them made of wood, had they not also been so sore. Elizabeth probed at the bruise on her right cheek, then at its mates on her chest and shoulders; they were just beginning to darken to a heliotrope shine. She hadn't managed to score a single point off Graves, but she had come close, and that was something she wouldn't have been able to say the day before. 
He had even said she showed promise. Compliments from the trainer were rare, especially for a "Central-born waste-of-space totem", as Graves most often referred to her. She had to collect each kind word like a precious stone and ruminate over it in private, scouring their surfaces for hidden sarcasm, hoping to locate a glint of truth to indicate their value.

She felt ashamed at how much each bit of praise had grown to mean to her. She was not a grade-grubber by nature--she had done alright in school, but had never troubled herself with the difference between a B+ and an A- the way other kids at her school had. But Graves brought out a drive in her she hadn't known existed. She found herself working harder just for the hope of some scrap of approval from someone so disinclined to give it. So ‘showing promise’ was practically a five-star review.

The compliment came after a parry, one executed during sparring practice. She had lost the match, of course; she had yet to win one, even against the other trainees. But she was improving, and that was what counted. This was a marathon, not a sprint, as she was being constantly reminded. Water and time can wear down a mountain. They, the trainees, were the water; Silas was the mountain.

They practiced, slept, ate, and lived in an underground dormitory, a vast cavern that lay beneath a block of Aldergate. It was accessed by a series of catacombs that twisted and crisscrossed this section of the city, opening in back alleys or beneath respectable-appearing buildings; Adri swore The Guard had not an inkling of the existence of any of the tunnels or of the lair where the revolution prepared its future army. 
Unlike the other trainees, with their forgettable faces--and hands--since she enlisted with the revolution, Elizabeth had been kept hidden. Too conspicuous, already known to the Guard. She would have grown bored with underground living if she hadn’t been kept so busy. After too little sleep, each day began with a pre-breakfast run through the tunnels with the other trainees, the pounding of their shoes echoing off the stones with a sound like the rumbling of a subway. Then breakfast, then sparring, then tactics, then lunch, then running again, then sparring... Exhaustion had quickly become her neutral state.

But the food was good, the camaraderie improving, and there were the rare occasions when she allowed herself to admit that she was getting better. Her muscles were becoming ropy, her reflexes quick, her mind incisive.

Alasia had allowed Elizabeth to stay in her office for the rest of that first day, grumbling the entire time that if Winnie ever got out of prison, she would have words with her about fostering urchins onto unsuspecting accountants. Elizabeth had been locked in an office with a stack of books, three apples, and a pitcher of water, and warned to stay silent and keep away from the windows. "If I'm not back by nightfall, then go hang for all I care, for I'll be dead at the hand of the Guard or the revolution." Not the warmest of goodbyes, but Elizabeth had to be grateful for all this woman had already done.

Neither Adri nor Walton had gone by their given names, but knowing their physical descriptions, the story about their son, and their connection with The Banging Drum gave Alasia enough information to return mid-afternoon with an emissary from the revolution, a prim, meek man so thin and tidy he reminded her of a paper doll.

The man tossed a paper package at Elizabeth, not waiting for introductions. "There's clothes in tha', a sight nicer than what ye're wearin'." His voice was all business, but not unkindly, and he spoke with a lilt that sounded somewhere between Irish and Scottish. His hands danced with birdlike motions as he talked. "You should clean your face up first, though. Dinna' worry about the rest of ye, it'll na' be showin'. And there's a bonnet for the hair. Just wipe your cheeks down and put the clothes on."

He and Alasia left the room and Elizabeth did as bidden, wiping her cheeks and forehead free from the remaining grime. But she was at a loss with the clothes; they appeared to fasten with a series of loops that would only be reached if she was double-jointed in the elbows and wrists. Alasia heard her cries of frustration and returned, sighing in exasperation as she bound the dress tightly around Elizabeth’s midsection.

Alasia stepped back, examining the cream-colored dress with its red floral pattern, cut tight at the waist and flaring to a hoop skirt that stretched to the ground. She had Elizabeth don the matching gloves that stretched past the wrists and ended in a lacy bunching up the forearm, then grunted approval and called through the door. "It's last season's fashion, so if you're going for high-born, it might not pass."

The man opened the door. "It just has to get us across town. I dinna' think the Guard are so fashion-savvy as t'be criticizing this young woman's means t'afford a new wardrobe every season. But if ye think it's too dead of a giveaway, we will pretend t'be from a slightly down-on-their-luck family, puttin' on airs even though, with our new babby, we canna' afford t'be doin' so."

A squalling came from the hallway, and the door opened enough for her to see the man had one hand on a baby carriage. "Is there a baby in there?"

The man smirked. "Borrowed. We need t'return the gentleman soon. But for now, this darling is your own precious Bertram. D'ye know much about babbies?" She shook her head. "Well, best t'keep it simple, then. This is your son. We're out for a stroll. Married couples with young'uns are na' interested in revolutions as a rule. Too much to lose."

He said the last with irony, looking upon the young boy with an air of distaste. "This particular treasure appears t'be ripening as we speak. That will aid our urgency. If the Guard stops us, we can feign an emergency with the nappy. And enlist their aid in its changing. That'll get us through."

Alasia affixed the bonnet to Elizabeth’s head, tucking a stray hair back in an uncharacteristically affectionate gesture. "That'll do, good enough for what it's for. And you certainly have a new mother's tired look. Good luck, girl." She turned to the man. "I'm not on your side, but I wish you luck as well. And do try to keep this girl safe."

"Keeping people safe is no' exactly my specialty."

"I hope you didn't say as much to that child's parents. You may be the worst governess in history." They smiled but did not laugh at their own repartee, shaking hands in farewell.

"Thank you for all of your help, Alasia. Both today and all that you did for the Griff. It was a good home." Alasia's countenance softened, just slightly, and she nodded. An affirmation and a good-bye all rolled into one.

Elizabeth stepped into the afternoon sunlight with the man. He pushed the carriage. "Ye haven't had much acting experience." It was not a question.

"No," she admitted.

"Ye won't last long, then. Unless ye can be a fast learner." He turned to her, locking eyes. His were a blue so light they could have been chipped off an iceberg. "I am your husband, and we are out for a promenade with our newborn son. Ye're tired, and bored, and jealous of the young women who dinna' have any responsibility, the type of young woman ye were until very recently. Ye're conscious that ye havna' yet lost the pregnancy weight, and ye look at other women jealously, and me with a bit o' anger if m'gaze strays. If ye can act that part, ye'll blend in, and we'll make it 'cross town without any harm comin' to us."

She absorbed this description. She thought she could pull it off, for a brief time, anyway. She put her arm through his, and gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek, letting a wan smile play across her lips. Her fatigue was not feigned. "I'm sorry, darling," she sighed, "I think we should be getting Bertram home. I've left all his spare...nappies there."

He tipped his head to her, and they began walking down the avenue. She tried to mold herself into the character the man had described, tried to glare subtly at the girls her age giggling and ignoring her as they passed. She saw the man's head turn to follow a particularly fetching young woman, and she hardened her lips into a disapproving line.

She lost her concentration for a moment, realizing a vital piece of information had been omitted. "Darling," she started, "I know this will sound perfectly silly of me, but I do believe I've forgotten your name!" She laughed, trying to pass off as a joke between a husband and wife.

"That was an oversight, Judith, dear." He accented the name, letting her know this would be her moniker for this trip. "For now, please call me Tom, or Tommy. Yes, that's a good young husband name...stick with Tommy. Though, once we get to where we're goin', everyone calls me Graves."

They made it across town successfully, a harrowing experience with so many members of Silas's Guard on the streets. Graves had to speak to Elizabeth about her reaction to the officials; apparently, she was letting all expression slide off of her face whenever she saw one. "An unfortunate tell," he advised. "If ye look guilty, they'll assume y'are. Any time ye see a Guard, smile at me and describe a meal ye've enjoyed."

She thought the suggestion ridiculous, but it seemed to work, and their conversation seemed no more inane than any of those overheard from other couples walking by. Elizabeth became distracted enough trying to recall meals from her time in Central that she forgot to be nervous.

The police waved them through the checkpoints with little more than a second glance. She saw urchins and merchants hassled and questioned, and at one point, a well-to-do man with an enormous walrus mustache stood against a wall for frisking. But the Guards apparently had little interest in a young couple with a baby.

Graves led her to an avenue in the grandest part of the city she had ever seen. The streets were clean, almost to the point of gleaming, and if any damage had occurred during the recent struggles it had been patched and repaired so seamlessly as to be undetectable. He stopped in front of a building with a great double-door made of a blue metallic material. He did not knock, but instead ran an outstretched index finger over one section, squiggling slightly as though autographing its surface. The door swung open on silent hinges. Graves turned back and gave her his hand to help her up the step, then stepped down and lifted the pram over the doorframe before ushering Elizabeth inside.

 Adri and Walton’s apartment occupied the upper two floors of this building, while the lower contained offices for barristers and importers belonging to or sympathetic toward the revolution. The couple welcomed Elizabeth warmly, happy that she had taken their offer and harboring no apparent ill will for her role in Lang's capture.

She had to reveal to them that she was from Central and actively looking for a way to return. She left out the part about being Silas’s sister; if they knew this, and if they believed her, their vision of her role in the revolution may have undergone serious alteration. Making a deal with someone who looked like Eliza was one thing, but making one with the genuine article, albeit a weakened and amnestic one, quite another. She may have found herself more of a hostage than co-conspirator.

Elizabeth affirmed she would join the revolution and play the part of Eliza the knife-fingered, reborn and leading the charge against Silas's forces, with the eventual goal of liberating Aldergate from his rule. In exchange, they would use all resources at their disposal to find her a Guide and return to Central. But they would do this only after their war had been won.

This did not strike Elizabeth as a particularly good deal. In fact, there was no guarantee that they would ever have to hold up their end of the bargain, should forces beyond their control cause the scales to tip in favor of Silas's forces. She would have preferred a set period of service: playing the role for six months, after which time she would be released to locate a Guide with their help. But she understood why they might be loathe to accept those terms; after all, she could just do a really bad job for those six months, then at the end claim she was due her compensation.

Of course, there was always the option that Priest had given her: a guaranteed return home, if she killed Silas. Killing a tyrant, liberating a city...why was getting home so hard? Why couldn't she just buy a ticket like a normal person?

She spent the next few days in a back room of Adri and Walton's apartment. Like Alasia, they told her to keep quiet and stay away from windows, but she was given plenty of distraction, bringing people in to meet and ask her questions. Sometimes the questioners were introduced, but other times the person simply entered and interrogated or examined or measured her, then left without any indication of who they were or what they had gained from the encounter.

Adri brought her food, changes of clothes, basins to be filled with hot water for bathing. Though sometimes dressed informally, the woman always moved with lithe grace, like a dancer, or like Elizabeth imagined a princess would--with seriousness and sadness.

Sometimes she would stay to pass idle chat about the weather, or politics, or how Elizabeth liked the accommodations. On one occasion, however, the conversation wandered to the subject of the woods surrounding the city. Adri asked how Elizabeth had found her way to the city, so Elizabeth chronicled the story of waking in the woods, and her subsequent weeks living in the wild. Adri listened attentively, periodically interrupting to ask a point of clarification. She even got Elizabeth to recount the story of the demon tree and of the battle with the Servant. Elizabeth only left out the murder of the Minotaur and any allusion to her relation to Silas.

At the end of the conversation, Adri appeared lost in an undercurrent of thought. A silence passed between them, during which Elizabeth fidgeted awkwardly. Finally, the woman spoke. "Elsie, I have been considering what you have told me. I...we had been planning on using you as...well, as a type of figurehead, trotted out to whip the masses into supporting us. Speeches, mostly. But, based on what you have told me...well, you strike me as a very capable young woman. To survive what you have been through...well, I cannot help but think that you might be of more use to us in a more...expanded role."

"I don't understand."

"You're intelligent, quick...and, if you spent all that time with one of those backstabbing assassins and came out of it still breathing, clearly a survivor." Elizabeth started to rise to Grim's defense, but Adri cut her off. "I wonder if, with a little bit of training, you might not be a good addition to the leadership of the revolution."

"Leadership? But I'm only..." She started to say fourteen, but then realized she had no idea, with all of the oddities of time of Edge and its pockets, how old she was.

"A girl? Yes, I know. But you have to understand: Silas and the Guard have been poaching all of our most promising minds for generations. If they identify someone who has leadership potential, they'll recruit them into the Guard, take them away to serve Silas. They're stationed elsewhere, of course...that's one of their biggest rules, you never work where you were raised, and you have to cut off all ties with your family and friends. The compensation must be incredible." She swallowed. "Or the punishments terrible. So, even before the loss of our son and his friends, many of our best minds have left the city."

"How did you get passed over?" Elizabeth didn't intend it as a jibe, but she couldn't make it sound like the compliment it was intended to be.

Adri cocked an eyebrow. "Late bloomer." She pressed her lips into a line, as though daring Elizabeth to speak further. "Anyway, as you might guess, us with a problem; if the other side has poached all of your potential leaders, how will you be able to match wits with them?"

Elizabeth considered. "You could recruit from elsewhere, assuming Silas doesn't do this to every city in Edge. Or you could train the most promising of the remnants." She paused. She had not found the answer Adri was looking for; she could feel the woman holding her breath in expectation. "Or you find ones they've missed?"

"Exactly! No system is perfect. Though the one that the Guard has devised, whatever it is, certainly takes enough of the obvious ones, it couldn't catch them all. So we look among those they wouldn't find suitable for one reason or another. The urchins. The crippled. The deranged. The mute." She looked at Elizabeth with a stare so penetrating that the girl swore she could see her bones. "The runners."

Elizabeth took a step backward. "This...this sounds like a bigger commitment than our original deal."

"Not really. Instead of wasting away in these rooms waiting for the next opportunity to make an appearance, you could spend these days in training. We would teach you to fight and teach you to lead. Military tactics, history of Edge...the things you would need to survive both in warfare and out. We've got a few hopefuls we're training right now, so we could just add you to their group."

"It wouldn't be more dangerous than what I've already agreed to?"

"It would give you a chance to influence the revolution. Do you want this situation to be a quick, decisive act, or a protracted siege, testing Silas's patience and resolve? Do you want to be part of helping it succeed or just a cog in the machine?

"I will not force you into this. But you strike me as having some...well, some intangible qualities. Ones you don't find often, but when you do, you don't want to let that person slip through without giving them a chance to hone those qualities. If you want to make a difference, if you want to lead...? We can help you to achieve that." Adri stood, smoothing out her skirt with her thin hands. "You don't have to decide now."

"What if..." Elizabeth stammered. "I mean, you believe in this revolution. I'm just hired help."

Adri narrowed her eyes. "I think you have the same hatred of oppression that I do." She crossed to the window and parted the curtains, looking down onto the street. "Aldergate has been good to me. I have worked with Silas's people, and we have made money we would not have if we shunned them. But other people have not been so fortunate. It's a discredit to my character that I had to lose someone important to me before I realized what a horrible place this is for most of the people living here. Being safe, being wealthy hide the horrors of the everyday. You start to believe you’re successful because you're a good person, because you're smart, because the poor people made stupid choices. But I was just lucky. Walton was lucky. I want to stop living in a city that when your luck runs out, when you look the wrong way at a Guard, you get killed or disappeared."

"I also lost someone important to me," Elizabeth said, thinking of Clara. "Someone who didn't deserve to die."

Adri nodded, still looking away. "You say you're just hired help. Well, there are other cities and other jobs. If all you're looking for is food and a chance to find a Guide, you don't have to take this one. But we'd like to have more than just your face and your hand working for us. We'd like to have your mind, and your spirit. Your fire. We'd like for you to become a part of this."

"Don't you need to confer with the others?"

"They will trust me. And if they won't, well, they can see for themselves." Adri headed for the door, lifting an armload of laundry on her way out. "Graves will be up to see you later today. If you want to be trained, we can get started immediately."

*******

When she told Graves she accepted, he suggested they leave immediately. She protested, then realized she had nothing to pack, nothing to change into, and nothing better to do. No excuses, in other words, to prevent her from beginning that very moment.

He showed her a hidden passage behind a wardrobe within the bathroom of the topmost floor, concealing the opening to a dumbwaiter just large enough to fit a single person. Graves showed her how to work the ropes to lower it until she felt it hit bottom, and then get out so he could pull it up and follow her down. She crawled into the slight space and descended into total darkness.

The shaft continued for what felt like further than the height of the building, the air growing progressively colder and damper until she became certain she had passed below ground.  The dumbwaiter hit its nadir with a soft bump, and Elizabeth reached blindly forward, feeling her way out of the dumbwaiter.

Wherever she was, it was as dark as death. She coughed, and from the sound of the echoes, she was in a room-sized chamber. She heard the elevator start its ascent, heard the soft warble of the ropes as they rubbed against the metal restraints. She waited a few minutes until the dumbwaiter returned and she felt another presence in the darkness with her.

"Ye didn't go off wanderin', did ye?"

"I'm right here."

"Well, welcome to the underground of the Underground. The dark side of the rebellion. Where the magic happens. Home, for the duration. I'll show ye to the dormitory."

He grabbed her hand, finding it on the first try despite the absolute blackness, and led her down a gentle slope, calling out physical impediments before she could stumble over or into them. They paused while waiting for some sort of machinery to lower a walkway over what felt like a deep chasm, the echoes of their footfalls swallowed in the depths as they crossed a bridge.

After a few more minutes of walking, she felt his hand on her shoulder, halting her forward progress, and without warning, a light exploded the room into brightness. Elizabeth cried out and shielded her eyes with her forearm. When she hesitantly let her eyelids separate, the space blossomed into focus.

She stood in a cavern no larger than the first floor of her parents' house, the ceiling ten feet above her. Bunks lined the walls, enough to sleep twelve, with tables interspersed between. A third of the beds were unmade, and books and papers littered the surfaces of the bordering tables. A pad about twenty feet square lay on the floor in the room’s center, with wooden swords and other assorted weapons scattered on it.

"Pick a bed and a desk. We'll have someone bring down some changes of clothes. Make yerself comfortable, and the others'll be by in a while." He saw Elizabeth’s quizzical look. "There are four other trainees right now. This is where ye sleep, where ye learn, and where ye do some of the trainin' I'll be givin' ye."

"You're the trainer?" She didn't mean for her tone to be so incredulous, but Graves seemed so...manicured. Effeminate, even.

He smirked. "I know, ye were probably expectin' a big, burly type. Tattoos and shaved head and a face full of scars. Not this handsome gentleman." He waved over his torso. "I'll give ye a few minutes to settle in. Then we'll see what that hand of yours is capable of." Graves stalked off, and Elizabeth noted how little sound his footfalls made.

He returned with a bundle of clothes, all black and made of a material that felt familiar under her fingertips, like spandex. Graves turned away while she climbed into the tank top and pants, which fit perfectly. There were no gloves, and it felt almost shameful to leave her left hand exposed after spending so much time with it hidden. Not since the woods had she left it unhidden for so long at once.

Graves picked up a wooden practice sword, swinging it as if testing its weight and balance. "Pick up any one ye like. Or just use the hand, if ye feel competent with that. Are ye left- or right-handed?"

"Right."

"Very good. So ye can have a weapon in the right, and your left will be an additional weapon. Might make it tough to hold a shield, though. Unless we make ye one special."

Before he finished the sentence, his arm flashed forward, the solid wood of the practice sword stinging her right bicep. "Ow! What the--?" She yelped as another strike caught her hip, then another poked her chest. "Graves! Stop it! I don't even have a sword!"

A slice scraped across her cheek, a warning. "I told ye to pick up a weapon. Would ye be waitin' for an engraved invitation? I gave ye more warning than an enemy would, that's for sure. And what did ye do? Ye didna' duck, ye didna' parry, ye did naught but stand there gapin'. Ye didna' even protect your neck. The greenest of The Pretender's Black Guard would have ye gutted before ye even knew there was an attack."

"So, I...failed?"

"Worse. Ye didna' even ken to the fact ye were bein' tested. If ye learn nothin' else, learn this: races are easier to win if yer opponent doesna' know he's s'posed t'be runnin'." He clucked his tongue in disappointment. "Adri led me to believe ye had some promise. I'll have to mark the calendar. It's not very often I get to prove her this wrong. Too bad I hadna' thought to place a wager on it."

Elizabeth could feel tears welling up unbidden. "I'm here to help."

"And how would ye be helpin', exactly? Slowin' down the Guard so they canna' get to a worthy opponent? Gettin' stuck on one of their swords and makin' it too heavy to be swung? Aye, that might do, in a pinch." He laughed, but it sounded forced.

"Aren't you supposed to train me?"

"That's my half of it, aye. But what of your half? What should I expect from you, Totem?"

"My name is--"

"Oh, I know the name. But what ye are is altogether different. Ye're no warrior, that's for sure. Despite the fact that fate has done its damnedest to make ye into one. I mean, look at ye!" He took her left wrist, turning it back and forth in the cave's light. "A goddamn work of art! An indestructible blade, one that canna' be taken from your person! One that responds like flesh made steel! D'ye know how many warriors would give their souls to have what ye have? D'ye know what I could do with such a thing, if I were you?" She stood in silence, unable to meet his gaze. "I called ye a totem because that's all ye are. A symbol, one that others have imbued with meaning. But, for all practical intents and purposes? Useless."

The tears spilled over her lower lids, hot on her flushed cheeks. "What do you want from me?" she hissed.

"In exchange for training ye?" His tone became casual, and he examined his fingernails as though his manicure was unsatisfactory. "Yer devotion."

"To the cause?"

His eyes flashed. "Hang the cause. Causes come and causes go, and one way or t'other, the fight for the soul of Aldergate will end, either in independence or back in chains. I'm talkin' about devotion to the trainin'. To becomin' the best warrior ye can be with what the Gods have seen fit t'give ye. To do what I tell ye, when I tell ye, without question. If ye think ye're tired and I say 'tisn't so, then 'tisn't, and ye keep goin'. If ye think ye're hungry and I say ye're not, then ye don't eat. If ye think ye're ready and I disagree, then ye keep learnin' until I'm satisfied."

He touched her face gently, wiping a tear across the cheek his sword had scratched. "I'm glad ye're cryin'. Not cause I like t'make girls cry, mind ye. But because it shows ye've at least got some spirit.

"I've told ye what I expect. If ye canna' agree to this, I'll happily lead ye back to Adri's quarters, and ye can spend the days in between engagements readin' or doin' needlepoint, or whatever it is useless girls do when they're not needed.

"But if ye can..." His eyes narrowed, a playful smile writing itself across his jaw. "Well then, I can swear to ye that when ye're done, ye'll be more than a match for any Guardsman that Silas can draw out o' whatever pit he pulls 'em from. Ye'll be competent with a sword, with a dagger, with a bow, with a sling...with any weapon ye can get your hand on. Ye'll be able to read your opponent's movements, know his next move before he does. By the time I'm done with ye, ye won't be a girl with a weapon attached. Ye'll be a weapon, period.

"So, what'll it be, then?"

Elizabeth took a step back and squatted without taking her eyes from Graves. Her probing right hand found a practice sword, and her grip closed around the handle. She knew she was a novice, or whatever level was below that; she wasn't even sure she was holding the weapon correctly. But she stood up, cracked her neck, and held the blade out toward her trainer.

"Very well. Let's get ye some more bruises."