Chapter Text
The entire day had been difficult.
It had taken Griz at least three months to discuss and arrange something to keep the Creditor and the Solicitor-Baroness off of the back of the Great Hellbound Railway company. The Masters dismissed her work, either turning up their nose at a suggestion of contributing a way to repay the Bazaar’s debt, or outright dismissing her suggestions.
Griz wasn’t easily shaken by dismissals and failure and being ignored, but the looming threat of the Creditor has made her resolve much, much less stable. A dismissive comment by Mr Wines had left her spiralling down into a pit of self-doubt and hopelessness, putting into question of why she hasn’t abandoned her post and took a boat eastward. She had put years of thought and labour into ensuring London doesn’t get destroyed if the Bazaar tries to pay off the debt herself. That fact should have been appreciated by the directors of the Great Hellbound Railway when they weren’t laughing at her behind their back.
Seeing Betty, a woman who at least tried to somewhat improve London and ensure financial safety for the Hinterlands, throw a punch at one of the neddy men accompanying the Masters at the meeting had felt like a knife to the heart.
She moved with the fervour of a rabid stray, teeth bared and arms raised, and left three neddy men dazed as Mr Spices shuffled into the meeting room. Even as Griz took over the meeting and lined out the situation, Betty never stopped staring at her with burning malice, face demanding an explanation. She threw Griz’s warnings and advice to the wind, shouldn’t she at the very least be glad someone had heeded her warnings?
Griz had hoped that at least Betty would understand why the meeting had to be derailed. This was an urgent matter after all; London needed to be secured from potential disaster. Even if Betty went along with whatever she asked of her, she never seemed too pleased with it. Even now, after extending grace to the Bazaar with the Creditor-stone, Griz could tell her her anger had been simmering ever since they left Moloch street.
She had no reason to hold onto the derailed meeting; half of the day passed with Betty sulking about it like a petulant child. What Griz had done was for everyone’s good. Betty was a part of the equation to pay off the debt with her, and never did anything with it. She could have offered Griz an olive branch, pushed their politics aside, and did something good for London.
Griz felt her blood boil the longer she dwelled on Betty’s overreaction. And now, as Betty nonchalantly made her way back towards the elevator without a care in the world made that anger spill over, unable to be contained any more.
“What were you thinking!”
The echo caught the attention of Penstock, seemingly going unnoticed by Betty. Jervaise was nowhere to be seen, most likely walking away after he felt his job was finished . Griz huffed as she marched after the woman, wanting an explanation for her attack. “You aren’t leaving until you explain yourself!”
Betty turned her head, then her body, as her eyes darkened and frown deepened. Griz could see her chest rising and falling rapidly, as though readying herself for a punch. It pained her to think of a woman she once deeply loved like that, but her violent reputation preceded Betty at times. “Is breaking noses how you greet other law enforcement, or is it only for people of the Bazaar?”
“And here I was thinking crashing a meeting and holding everyone hostage was a tactic only criminals and terrorists use,” Betty replied, tone unreadable, glaring harder at Griz. “Do you and your people condemn it only when they do it?”
Normally, Betty would have a point. There were many hypocrisies within the Bazaar’s ruling of London. Crimes committed by the commoners sometimes brought out mobs of people eager to enact their punishment for the guilty. There were enough loopholes corrupt people have historically used to avoid punishment, but this wasn’t an attempt to terrorise people trying aid London.
This, however, was an urgent intervention. “Those two aren’t the same, and you know it,” Griz bristled at that as she crossed her arms. “This had to be done, because nobody would have listened to my warnings otherwise!"
“And how many desperate families intruded upon financier’s meetings to ask for a few pennies, so their children could afford themselves a meal?”
“That is not-” Griz had to catch herself with a frustrated hum. She had heard of such cases, where frustrated fathers and sons broke into meetings to beg for money, or for help from those involved with them. Saddening as it was, there was a time and place for such discussions. This was different; Griz had just barely convinced the Masters to listen to her and help, and they have intervened only after the Solicitor-Baroness got involved. “This is an emergency. We must pay this debt, lest the Bazaar do something drastic.”
“Those families had emergencies too!” Betty shouted back at her. “Do you think they would have broken in if they were given aid before it reached that point!?”
“This is in the best interest for everyone!”
Penstock cleared his throat as he approached the two of them. “All of us here play a part in this and we must work together. And if you two must have this argument, the Bazaar would rather you take it away from her heart,” his voice was firm, though he remained closer to the lacre vat in case the Bazaar added onto her lengthy reply.
He was right; politics aside, Betty was as involved in this as he and Griz were. She ran the Great Hellbound Railway committee board after all. This was no time for petty arguments, and the heart of the Bazaar was no place for such either. If it was bound to happen, it was best left somewhere without an audience. Griz exhaled and pinched the bridge of her nose in defeat. They just had to put this behind and deal with this like adults. “Let’s- let us discuss it in the morn-”
“It was you that began this!” Betty stepped in front of Griz as she was to enter the elevator. “You didn’t let me leave, like hell I’ll let you leave!”
To hell with civility, then.
“Alright, have at it then!” Griz jabbed a finger into Betty’s chest. “I am doing something the Masters should have done months ago, while the line only reached to Ealing Gardens and Jericho! All the while you and your little Revolutionary buddies giggled like schoolgirls and sipped wine at my floundering!”
Betty caught her wrist before she was finished. “Said like a true English lady, tipping back tea like nothing else matters in life when nobody else did shit— ”
“Oh, let me correct myself—sewer-quality ale!” Griz argued back, blind to Penstock attempting to butt in. “Nothing better fit for a ratbag hanging around the worst of London.”
Betty’s eyes grew to the size of saucers. That shut her up. Now, Griz and the others could return to London and rest up like responsible persons and return to this better rested. To Griz’s misfortune, the hand around her wrist clenched down like a vice, and she winced as Betty began to speak. “Funny you say that, Commissioner. ”
Her title, spat out like it was nothing. Betty’s eyes darkened to a zee-predator’s peligin. “You know very well what kind of company you keep,” she growled, “To suggest my own is any worse would be hypocritical, like every other noble I have ever met!”
“And I have met enough workers who whine about no support, but then rejecting any help given to them!”
The grip got tighter as Griz argued. How did Betty harbour so much hatred for people like herself? Did she know how reactive some factory workers are when you suggest aid?
“Probably because they didn’t want some posh lady’s selfless charity,” Betty spat in her face. “I know what I’m talking about because I heard such—”
“Oh please”—Griz laughed at her attempts at arguing back—“When have you ever listened to anyone other than Revolutionaries? Do you ever use those ears of yours other than listening to yourself speak?!”
Penstock made a sound as he approached Betty. “Can we not—”
He didn’t even get a chance to de-escalate the argument before Betty launched into a tirade.
“I have been listening to the Masters’ and the Bazaar’s bull for as long as I have been living in this fucking cave,” her face twisted into a snarl, eyes piercing into Griz as she ranted. “And nobody listened to the people! Not even you!”
When did Griz not listen to the people? She headed the Tragedy Commission, a department that had to listen to the needs and complaints of the people, and ensured safety in cases of disaster. How was that not listening ?
“Nobody cared what the Masters wanted from London! You didn’t care!”
Griz took a deep breath. Of course she cared! Of course she was heading this entire mission, to save London exactly because the Masters did nothing! The Masters were a capricious bunch, and would easily throw away London if they found an acceptable alternative. Hearing Betty say such lies felt as though a dagger shot right through her heart.
Did Betty really not believe her good intentions, even after so long?
“You weren’t even there when London’s streets flooded!”
“I was—” Griz tried to argue. She was a busy woman, with new legislation and procedures being penned every day! She was busy finding a way to way to help, yet Betty continued her tirade.
“You would have known that summoning three Masters into a board consisting of people that might want to kill them was not a good idea!”
Those words were like a knife turning deeper than it already was. There were April and September of the Calendar Council, whose faces were murderous and shocked respectively. Then the Gracious Widow—how did Betty get into her good graces to invite her to the board?—with quiet, seething anger. The Contrarian looked positively intrigued by this turn of events, and Furnace was unreadable. The Board Secretary was terrified, too. They could all have good motives to attack a Master at their most unsuspecting.
Worst of all, who was to say that Betty and her friends wouldn’t stop at the Masters of the Bazaar?
Griz imagined the progression; firstly the Masters fell, then did Jervaise and others like him. Then it would be Penstock and any other agent of the Bazaar on the shooting block, and finally, herself. Unless Betty thought of a reason to spare her from her cruelty, Griz would be killed by the same woman she hoped would make an exception between destructive plotting.
“Oh, you would love that, wouldn’t you?” Griz let out a bitter chuckle. “Have you and your friends line them up and turn them into carpets!”
“That would at least be a service to the people,” Betty shouted back. “Free them from their senseless cruelty, unlike you and your little ‘department!’”
“My department at least saves people, and has been saving them, for over 30 years!”
“If you know all of that about me and my friends—” Betty’s voice increased in volume—“Then why did you pick me, lady!”
Betty’s voice echoed around them. The stench of agitated lacre filled Griz’s nostrils, as someone tugged at her shoulder. She yanked her wrist free and looked at Penstock’s drooping eyes and eyebrows, exhaustion and anger clear on his face. Griz glanced around her, looking at the hexagonal formations on the walls and the door of the elevator.
This was not the appropriate place for arguments or deep discussions.
Betty’s sniffle caught her attention. Her frown had softened and her eyes glistened with tears. “If you knew all of that,” Betty argued, voice shaking with emotion. “Why did you pick me? Why didn’t you pick anyone else?!”
Something about Betty’s voice shaking like that twisted something inside of Griz. All of her rough edges softened, threatened to erupt into a desperate cry. It was akin to a fierce wolf shrinking into a terrified dog and Griz happened to be passing it by. Why did Griz want to tell her that she is the only person she trusted to not harm her, and apologise for the outburst? Why did she want to reach out and hold her close until she was calm again?
That’s unreasonable, thought Griz as she watched Betty back away, after this argument. Especially after this argument.
Betty turned on her heel and stomped toward the elevator. Griz looked at Penstock as her legs turned to lead. Tension pooling in her forehead made itself known, almost begging her to slow down and think her next steps through if she wanted this plan to succeed.
There was despair in Betty’s question, perfectly self-aware. Betty could have easily said no to helping out, citing her politics, but she stuck around and made her intentions clear; she is to help not for the Great Hellbound Railway’s sake but for the sake of London. Even if Griz had opinions—none too positive or constructive—she admired Betty’s dedication to the city. Were the pretences any different, she would happily assist, Griz was sure of it.
On the other hand, Betty was a criminal revolutionary. Yes, Betty held London and her people close to her heart, but her methods left a lot to be desire d . Less grit and gore for one; Griz was there when Betty delivered Mr. Veils’ severed head to the Department of Menace Eradication, and she witnessed the Board turn more and more revolutionary, with the interests of the company focusing more on worker’s interests and finances. She loathed the Bazaar and the Masters. Of course Betty would have a less than civil reaction to three Masters of the Bazaar bursting into a meeting.
Griz wouldn’t appreciate such an interruption either. Perhaps she wouldn’t mind if it was Betty doing it.
“Well?” asked Penstock as he approached. “Have you said what you wanted to tell her?”
She remembered Betty’s abrupt exit. Apologies bubbled in her chest begging to be said. Griz didn’t mean to begin the argument, nor insult Betty’s character, but her anger at inaction has taken over any semblance of reason. She hoped that Betty hadn’t gone too far from the Bazaar, and she was in a mood for an apology. Griz shook her head. “I’m not certain.”
“I feel there are plenty of words left unsaid between the two of you,” Penstock replied, “However, the last thing the Bazaar needs is a lover’s quarrel in the middle of her grand humiliation.”
Shame and anger, hot as lava, washed over Griz’s face. “That was not a lover’s quarrel! And you have no right to involve yourself in this issue.”
“It was too impassioned to not be one,” Penstock remarked, “Remember; in the matters of the Bazaar, look to love.”
Griz scoffed at that statement. Perhaps she understood why Betty sometimes acted with her fists than her words. The last this she needed now was useless wisdom in the middle of saving London and the Hinterlands. And in that moment, he looked perfectly punchable. “I was trying to be helpful.”
“That comment was unnecessary,” Griz grumbled as she dragged her feet towards the elevator.
Penstock hummed as he walked in front of Griz. For a man so entangled with the Bazaar he was oddly chipper about the argument. Was he enjoying her anguish? Was he attempting to lighten the mood? Whatever his intentions, they were far too chipper. “You are far too happy for a dire situation,” Griz commented between laboured breaths, “What is so amusing about our argument?”
“I thought that her advice would help,” Penstock fiddled with the elevator’s buttons. “It could have made you laugh at the very least.”
Griz scoffed, “Some advice it was, Betty and I haven’t been together in—”
Penstock was looking at her with an odd look in his eyes. Griz couldn’t make sense of it; he squinted as though he was repulsed by the information she nearly revealed completely but his eyebrows rose with interest. What is his impression of her now that he learned of this unpredicted verbal blunder? Dread began to pool in her stomach as her face burned more than it did before. “Forget I said that—”
“Oh no,” Penstock chuckled, “I am…”
His pause was too long for comfort. What did he think of her now, now that she revealed her past love? A past love that happened to be a woman known for her anti-Bazaar sentiment? Would he think even less of her knowing she at one point loved a woman?
Griz looked away and swallowed. Whatever he thought of her, she loathed to think of it.
“Well,” he broke the silence. “I wasn’t expecting it to have been her.”
Griz felt a smile pull at her lips. “Not a lot of people know this,” she sighed, “But there was a point in time where Betty was less…”
“Savage?”
“Not quite—”
Betty did have an animalistic aura to her at times, but she was also capable of niceties if she so pleased.
“There was a time where she was patient,” Griz said, “More patient than today.”
As foolish as it was, Griz wondered if Betty could be patient like she were when they were in love. Would she yield any aggression out of mutual respect? Would she understand?
The elevator’s creak brought Griz out of her thoughts. Penstock was opening the gate and gesturing for her to step inside, mumbling about ladies entering first. She stepped in and leaned against the railing, exhaustion settling in her neck as she waited for Penstock to enter and send them back to his agency.
“Forgive me for asking, Griz,” Penstock said, “What did you see in Betty when you and her were a couple?”
Griz rubbed at her face trying to resist her eyes closing. “I can’t quite remember. It has been…” she began. “God, it has been years since we ended our relationship.”
“Years?”
“Yes, years. Many, many years.”
Many years Griz had spent wondering if she should give up hope for a woman keen on destroying her life. Betty had been clear about her dislike of the Bazaar and the Masters for years, and she let it get in the way of a loving relationship. Griz wished there was a way for Betty to return into her life without any political pretences, and offer a new beginning. The Great Hellbound Railway was a thorn in her side for months, with its lax regard for safety of the wider Neath and the Creditor as of now, but in a twisted way meant that Betty was easier to reach now.
Perhaps it was time for them to begin anew?
“So many years, yet you argued like your marriage was falling apart,” said Penstock, “I hope you are not considering going up to her and apologising for your behaviour.”
“I must.”
That was how adults did it. They did not squabble and throw cutlery at each other and shout petty insults over disagreements. They sat down at the table, folded their arms together and began their apologies without beating around the bush. Afterwards, feelings were settled and problems had a proper resolution. Arguing, at a point, became a thing of children and immature adults who only cared about settling scores.
This wasn’t about settling a score. It was about showing Betty her behaviour was uncouth and irrational, and they must begin on a different footing. If Betty tolerated all of the people who disagreed with her so patiently over the years, why couldn’t Griz extend that grace to her, then?
“Do you expect us to keep ourselves at an arms length while our lives hang in the air?”
“Obviously not!” Penstock exclaimed. His eyes narrowed soon after and his voice became colder. “But don’t you think that you may be sinking to her level?”
What was Betty’s level, exactly? What was it that Penstock implied there? Unease settled heavily, heavier that it was before, as Griz considered his words. How was a civil apology sinking to a level best fit for someone who fights in her spare time? Wouldn’t talking be far above fisticuffs in terms of maturity? Griz looked at Penstock between the throbbing in her brow. He made a gesture, as though he wanted her to continue her thought.
There was a moment where a vision struck her. Griz had sunk to her knees, looking up at Betty, and pleaded for forgiveness. A forgiveness for assuming all Betty did was fight and kill. A plea for mercy, for she never thought a revolutionary like her was able to be so constructive and well read! And all she got in response was a shrug—
Betty was not like that. If Betty cared as much as she said she did for London she would listen and accept it. Griz knew all she would get is a curt nod and a handshake cementing the apology as a tangible thing. Betty wouldn’t be cruel to a woman she loved!
“That is ridiculous!” Griz shook her head. “We need to approach this like adults. Apologising is the least I can do if we will be working together.”
“With anyone else, maybe. With Betty, absolutely not,” Penstock said flatly.
“Why not?”
The dim red within the elevator lit up Penstock’s cheeks and nose, leaving his eyes in shadows. Even if his face was less readable, Griz could tell that he was scrutinising her. Anyone would think she was foolish to accept help from someone whose first instinct was to hit a person of authority. “You bore witness to how she argued and behaved in front of the Bazaar today,” he spoke flatly, “You saw her hit a Neddy man to the point his nose got broken and bled.”
“She shouldn’t have done that,” Griz replied.
“Obviously, she overreacted to them. But-” Penstock began- “What is stopping her from going after you?”
A lump formed in her throat. She had unwillingly thought of that before, as a worst case scenario of a revolutionary rampage, but not a consciously malicious attack. Not even after killing Mr. Veils; that was an act of mercy in Griz’s eyes.
“She has a limit—“ Griz tried to argue, but Penstock interrupted her.
“She has already killed one Master of the Bazaar. You are incredibly lucky that was Mr. Veils and not a Master that is near and dear to your heart.”
“Impossible,” Griz scoffed, “She knows how dangerous that would be.”
“Ah, but she found a way to do it! That had kept her occupied from going after other Masters,” Penstock continued, “What do you think is stopping her from going after Mr. Pages?”
A pause. Would anyone be fool enough to go after Mr. Pages, a Master too busy with its literature and the Ministry of Public Decency? It was very unlikely it would put up a satisfying fight.
“What is stopping her from going after the Bazaar herself?”
“That would be more than impossible,” Griz leaned forward. “One could not easily access the Bazaar’s insides without permission! You keep her under lock for most of the year, and anyone foolish enough would be persecuted on the spot!”
Penstock, obscured by the light, stepped forward. “What is stopping Betty from going after you?”
Shrinking into herself, Griz pushed herself against the wall. Penstock’s words carried a weight she did not want to acknowledge. Betty had a temper, a violent streak and took pride in destabilising the Bazaar’ s inner workings even more than they were beforehand. She fought at the Docks for fun. She bragged around Revolutionary circles about her murder of Mr. Veils. Betty had ways of making violence worth her time.
And Penstock was right; what was stopping her from attacking Griz?
It made her already aching heart hurt much, much worse. Could Betty hurt her on purpose, all over the Bazaar? Would she play along with Griz’s request and then kill her in the end? Or would she kill her earlier?
Between the worry, however, came a question. Why was Penstock so worried about her and Betty’s argument? It was a badly timed one, for sure, but his focus on Betty’s violence was as though he was talking about a ticking time bomb of an animal, not a woman who needed to work on herself. Why was he putting himself in a situation he had no place in?
Warmer, brighter light began to seep into the elevator. Penstock’s face appeared unmoved by his words, save for a small frown on his brow. “We are here now,” he said as he moved towards the door. “Remember my words. Do not give her the satisfaction of feeling superior to you for wanting to keep a city safe.”
Griz stood still in the elevator, unsure of his words. An apology wasn’t submission to a horrible person, it was common decency. Most importantly, Betty deserved one if they were to do this together. Penstock gestured for her to move, and she did, slowly, towards his agency, where the air was not as thick and light was more natural.