Helena glanced at Iris’s valise and her typewriter case. “You came prepared, didn’t you? I like that in a person. Come, follow me.” She walked out the door, and Iris had to scramble to catch up with her, weaving through the chaos again.
They ascended the stairs, leaving behind the chill of the basement for a small room on one of the upper floors. It was well lit and clean, with a table and two chairs.
“Have a seat, Iris,” Helena said. “And fill this out for me. I’ll be back in a moment.” She set down a waiver and a pen before striding away, leaving Iris alone.
Iris glanced over it. The waiver was filled with things like I agree to not hold the Inkridden Tribune responsible for anything which may befall me, including but not limited to: dismemberment, sickness, perforated and ruined organs, starvation, long-lasting disease of any kind, broken bones, and even death. I will take full responsibility for whatever happens to me—bodily and mentally and emotionally—while I am on the campaign to report.
She read through the fine print; she signed where applicable, and she didn’t think twice about it. But Forest came to mind. She wondered how many scars the war had given him.
“Here we go,” Helena said, returning with an armload of supplies. She set down what looked to be a folded uniform and a narrow leather bag with a thick strap, to be carried across one’s back. “Your jumpsuit. There’s another one in the bag, for when you need to do laundry. Also socks, boots, menstrual supplies. I can’t stress enough how vital it is you wear the jumpsuit, because of this little thing right here…” She snapped the jumpsuit so it would unfold. It was gray and plain, with buttons up the front. But Helena pointed to a white badge stitched with the words INKRIDDEN TRIBUNE PRESS, just over the right breast pocket. “If you get into a hairy situation—which gods willing you won’t but we must prepare for anything—this proclaims you are neutral in the war—that you are only reporting what you see and should not be perceived as a threat. You understand?”
“Yes,” Iris said, but her mind was whirling.
“Food rations are also in the bag,” Helena said, tossing the jumpsuit onto the table again. “In case you need them, but you’ll be assigned to a house, which will feed you and give you a safe place to sleep. Now, may I look at your typewriter?”
Iris unlatched the locks and lifted the lid to the case. And she didn’t know what she expected, but it wasn’t for Helena to go wide-eyed and let out a whistle.
“This is your typewriter?” she asked, inclining her head so her fringe would shift out of her eyes.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Where did you get it?”
“It was my grandmother’s.”
“May I touch it?”
Iris nodded, puzzled. But she watched as Helena reverently traced the lines of her old typewriter. Touching the keys, the carriage return, the roller knob. She let out another disbelieving whistle.
“An Alouette! Do you even know what you have here, kid?”
Iris held her tongue, uncertain how to answer.
“This typewriter is a very rare beast,” Helena said, leaning closer to admire it. “Only three were made just like it. Haven’t you heard the old story?”
“No.”
“Then I should tell you, so you know exactly how precious this relic is. Decades ago, there was a rich man in the city named Richard Stone. He was a widower and had only one daughter, who was his pride and joy. Her name was Alouette, and she loved to write. Well, she fell sick with tuberculosis when she was only fifteen. Because of that, her two dearest friends could no longer visit her. Alouette was despondent. And Mr. Stone was driven to find a way for his daughter to communicate with her chums, and he found an old, cranky inventor who specialized in typewriters. Mr. Stone went into debt to allow three to be uniquely assembled. The legends claim the typewriters were constructed in a magical house on a magical street of Oath by a man with a magical monocle that could discern magical bonds—who soon vanished, by the way. But regardless … the typewriters were named after Alouette. She was given one, of course. And then her father gifted the other two to her friends. They sent letters and stories and poetry to each other for a full year, up until the night Alouette passed away. Shortly after that, Mr. Stone donated her typewriter to the museum, to be displayed with a few of her letters.”
“And the other two typewriters?” Iris asked quietly.
Helena cocked her brow. “They remained with her two friends, of course.” She lifted the typewriter and found the silver engraving. The one that Iris had spent years tracing and wondering about. “You said this belonged to your nan, correct? And were her initials by any chance D.E.W.?”
“They were,” Iris said.
Daisy Elizabeth Winnow had been a reserved woman, but she had often told Iris stories her of childhood. The saga of her typewriter, however, had never been shared, and Iris was struck by the whimsy of it, imagining her nan being friends with two other girls. How the three of them had written to each other, through their separation and sadness and joy.
“It makes you wonder where the third one is, doesn’t it?” Helena said, carefully setting the typewriter back down. “Or should I say, the second one, since this is technically the third.”
Iris had an inkling. She said nothing, but her mind wandered to the letters that were hiding in her bag. Her heart quickened as she thought, It isn’t the wardrobes connecting us. It’s our typewriters.
“So, Iris,” Helena said. “I have to ask this: are you sure you want to take your nan’s typewriter to war? Because you could sell it to the museum. They would probably pay you a fortune and be downright giddy at the opportunity, displaying it with The First Alouette.”
“I’m not selling it,” Iris replied curtly. “And it goes wherever I go.”
“I figured you’d say that,” Helena replied. “But I digress. This is how your correspondence will work: you’ll take the next train out of Oath, which leaves in half an hour. So we don’t have much time. You’re going to Avalon Bluff, a town six hundred kilometers west of here, close to the war front. Keep in mind you’ll be under a new chancellor and their jurisdiction, and that the laws you once knew in Oath and the Eastern Borough might not apply in the west. Things also change drastically in war, so pay close attention to the rules of daily life, so you remain safe.