“Don’t bother trying to sit up.” One of them raised a hand to stop before she could move. “Save your strength.”
If the room wasn’t crowded enough, the door opened again and the three other vicars entered. Florence felt like she was some sort of feast laid out for the powerful to devour. It didn’t help that her “hospital bed” was an actual table.
“What happened up there?” Dove demanded.
“Give her a moment to catch her breath.” Florence appreciated Powell coming to her aid, even when she didn’t need it.
“I’m fine, thank you, Vicar Powell.” Despite what the masters had told her earlier, Florence pushed herself upright. Her body felt more fatigued than anything else. Her muscles had a dull ache, but it seemed the medicine Derek had given her was taking effect and the pain was a distant whisper in her mind. “Vicar Gregory assigned a group to go into the hall to test the weapon based off the schematics Arianna had discovered in Master Oliver’s office . . .”
She tried to summarize everything as succinctly as possible without leaving out any important details. Most important, she tried to expunge the general disdain that she still found herself harboring for Gregory and the incompetence that led to his death—and the deaths and injury of others.
“Why didn’t you retreat?” Master Bernard asked when she had finished her story. “Thomas corroborates that he asked you to leave him behind.”
Florence thought about it for a long moment, folding and unfolding her hands in her lap. How could she tell the truth without also outing herself as the woman who killed the last Vicar Alchemist? “I know what happened in the Alchemists’ Guild.” She didn’t feel guilty for Sophie in the slightest, just as she didn’t feel guilty for not pushing Gregory harder about his mistakes. But she remained intentionally ambiguous. “I know that Vicar Sophie made the decision to leave behind a portion of the guild to die.” Florence looked right at Ethel. If anyone knew the truth—it was her. But the vicar’s face betrayed nothing. “It has never sat well with me. And there’s precious little talent left in Loom.”
“You killed a Revolver point-blank in the first Tribunal,” Dove pointed out.
“I did. But that was different.”
“How so?” Master Emma asked, more curious than threatening.
“Because he made his choice. He stood against Loom, and I stood back. But Thomas, Willie, Shannra, Master Joseph . . .” Florence looked to Dove. “The Raven you sent to guide us.” She felt guilty she couldn’t remember the lad’s name. “They were all following orders. It was a mistake they had no share in making that would cost them their lives.”
“How did you know you could make the gun work?” Master Bernard asked. “I saw the equations and details you gave Gregory. How did you arrive at the correct conclusion when he and the rest of us could not?”
Florence wanted to say it was luck, but that wasn’t true. “I’ve worked on magical weapons for the better part of my tutelage. I was the gunsmith for the White Wraith, after all.” It felt like such an odd thing to confess now. “I once saw a weapon fired that I can only assume was experimental, possibly stolen, used by a Rider against an airship I was on. I worked on my own guns, tried to recreate what I saw without the benefit of ‘proper’ guild teaching.
“So, I made up the difference in my lack of education with creativity. Plus—” Florence couldn’t stop a small smile from gracing her lips, one that quickly faltered from the severity of the situation. “I know how a Rivet thinks. I know where their minds run into walls and how to step around them.”
“Can you recreate it?” Powell asked. “Do you remember what you did?”
“Of course,” Florence confirmed. “But I’d want to properly run it by Arianna. She may have improvements to offer.”
“With this, we can truly fight back,” Bernard murmured. “Regular Chimera can join the fight here on Loom, and we can send the majority of the Perfects directly to Nova.”
“More than that, we can win.” Florence let there be no room for doubt.
“We can win with a strong leader at the helm of the Revolvers.” It registered to Florence as a weird thing for Powell of all people to say. The man looked at the two Master Revolvers and wondered who he would pick from between them.
“We are far from a quorum.” Emma glanced uncertainly at the room. “I will vote for myself.”
“As will I.” Bernard side-eyed the woman who was now his competitor. “Perhaps the other vicars can help break the tie.”
“I’m not sure I’m qualified.” Leave it to the Vicar Alchemist to retreat from the world and its decisions.
“I cast my vote for Florence.” Her ears rang as though Powell’s words were gunshot.
“What?” Dove squinted her eyes at the Vicar Harvester.
“She is strong because she has learned from many guilds. She is what Loom is working to return to, and what students should strive to be—better versions of themselves through the acquisition of knowledge.”
“There’s no precedent for this,” Ethel cautioned.
“There’s no precedent for living in the Underground either.” Dove shook her head and pinched the bridge of her nose. She sighed heavily. “I vote for her, too.” The Vicar Raven looked to the two shocked Revolvers. “Nothing personal, I just already have a rapport with the girl and I hate getting to know new people.”
“Do you think the Revolvers would support it?” Ethel was the only one focused on how the guild would receive the news.
“We haven’t even heard yet if Florence supports it.” Bernard crossed his arms and looked to her.
Florence wondered if she stared down another Gregory, another powerful man who saw her as less because of her age and experience and tutelage. Even if he wasn’t, there would always be people like Gregory, seeking to undermine her at every turn.
Florence looked back to Powell. He had risen in an unconventional way as well, and she had witnessed it. Now, she wanted to show him that he had made the right choice in saving her from the wreckage of Ter.1. She wanted to make her life mean something.
“I support it,” she affirmed.
“How do you think you can lead the Revolvers without ever truly being one?” Emma asked skeptically.
It’s not an outright no, Florence thought hopefully. “Respectfully, I have been a Revolver from the day I was born.”
The room went silent. Florence wondered if she should say something more, but she let those gathered chew over their own thoughts. It gave her time as well, to think about the position she was about to put herself in. The more she considered, the less afraid she became.
“I change my vote, and cast my support for Florence.”
“What?” Bernard gaped at his counterpart.
“She did something the last vicar couldn’t do. You saw the gun.”
“That’s not reason enough to make someone a vicar!”