Belly up to the Bar (C 1.4, H 1.5)

I look down at Salem's worried eyes when she approaches and I worry for her soft heart in this hard world. I wonder if I should push her away to prepare her for what lies beyond the protection of these walls, but instead, I reach down and hug her head against me, petting her soft curls in a comforting way but not answering her question as I look back at Lucky.

"I have a name," I tell him after a moment. "But maybe we should talk alone."

The corner of my mouth turns down as Lucky assures Salem that I came back like he told her I would, and I worry again that I'm doing her a disservice by being here. But she heads off before I can think of anything helpful to say, and Lucky is beckoning me down the hall without saying so like he did this morning. I take a breath, drop my backpack near the kitchen island, brace myself to hear that wet, death-rattle cough in the hall again and head after him.

When we reach the ladder, I blurt out, "Are you sure you want to be climbing right now?" I look pointedly to the bloodied bandage on his shoulder, but realize a moment later that he obviously climbed up here just fine and the ladder in the elevator shaft is more challenging than this one to the roof. It was a stupid question, but coming from me, why wouldn't it be? I look away, embarrassed, certain he won't answer me anyway.

My gaze snaps back to him when he actually answers me, but then he's climbing and I head up after him with the sound of death clamoring at my heels.

I sit with him on the edge of the roof, the lights from vessels bobbing on distant water bringing the stars down to our feet. It makes me think of how Mikkie saw me, that white light around me, how he calls me Whispers and Nuport calls me the key. I frown at the thought, but push it aside for now.

Instead of answering Lucky's question, I start with, "How is it that everyone I talk to seems to think you're easily manipulated, but I can't seem to do that myself?"

Hearing the quiet emotions behind Lucky's question makes me almost...feel bad for him. Maybe it is just it being so late, my being so tired, his being injured, the darkness around us, and his literally bared torso, but the question feels vulnerable.

I shake my head gently. "No. Not all of them. Karo does. Or maybe he was just mouthing off because he hates me. Benson doesn't think you can lead, but he also thinks you killed your mother, so I'm sure that has something to do with it. But it's the Vaulters who are really pulling your strings, isn't it?"

I rest my hands on the edge of the rooftop, leaning forward a bit so the wind rushes up against my face as I look over at Lucky Strike, not looking away even when his gaze moves. "You wanted me around because I see things others don't. I'm not sure it's really out." I pause a moment. "The Merrimack is the big ship? Why worry about something like that when you have this place?"

My eyebrows pull together in concern. I don't know why, but this whole situation seems to be a swirl of threat and danger, gunpowder and flint. Does he see it too? Does he care? Or is the idea of fulfilling his mother's legacy blinding him to anything else?

"What are you giving the Vaulters for them financing this project?"

Despite my efforts to maintain a placid exterior, I feel my cheek flinch at the mention of books, the reminder of our conversation downstairs still too fresh. I look away before he can read anything more in my expression, my next thought going to Pellet. She barey got up the ladder to the roof. How would she, or any Librarian, handle an attack from the Sipps? Would Hedges even do it, knowing she might be there?

"What if you don't?" The question comes softly - I didn't even mean to ask it aloud - but I don't take it back.

I wonder if Lucky believes they have a spaceship there...or maybe he knows. But whether it exists or not, that's all fantasy for someone like me, beneath notice in the Belly as Wells put it.

Lucky's explanation of what would happen to the Sipps if they backed out now only quiets me further. They can't back out, not with so much at stake. It makes me grateful that I've only had me to worry about for so long. It's lonely, but at least I'm not carrying so many people's lives and livelihoods on my shoulders.

I'm quiet for a few minutes, listening to the water below.

"What happened to your shoulder?"

I check his face twice before I'm certain he's amused, not trusting it completely but relieved when I'm assured it's there.

"I do," I tell him. I take a short breath, worry rising up that his amusement will fade quickly with what I'm about to venture. Instead of giving him the real reason for my reticence, I say, "But you only have me until I give it to you, right? Are you sure you want to be rid of me so soon?"