by Geonn Cannon
“No, no. Please. No!”
The bald man in the brown coat was standing by the railing with a book in his hand. Despite the darkness he was still wearing the same round-lensed sunglasses she’d seen at the docks. He looked back at the sound of her voice and straightened as he closed the book on his thumb to mark his place.
“She speaks English?”
“A bit,” Tall Girl said. “Please, do not throw me overboard.”
The man smiled, but she was not comforted by that flash of pearl. “My name is Solomon. Do you know Solomon? From the Bible? Have they brought the Bible to this hellish place yet? Solomon was a very wise king, a very long time ago. Do you have a name? Something we can call you?”
She stared at him and shivered in the cold, and from fear. She hadn’t gotten a good look at him on the dock, but now she was able to take note of the man’s unusual features. He had a small chin and widely flared cheekbones, the combination making him look like a cobra. His eyebrows were arched with a tuft of longer hair at the apex. After waiting for her to answer, he waved his hand dismissively as if to erase the question from the air.
“No matter. We don’t need to know your name. Untie her arms, please.”
The ropes were loosened, but the men gripped her arms hard enough to hurt. Did they expect she would run? Where did they think she could have fled? The man Solomon handed his book to one of the men and reached into the pocket of his overcoat. He withdrew a small glass jar and unscrewed the top.
“If you have a name now, soon it will be nothing but a meaningless word to you. That fight on the dock was impressive. You were clever, and you were fast. These men are trained killers and yet you managed to take several of them out before they subdued you. I knew when I saw you fight that you were the perfect choice for host. Soon you will be the commander of me, of these men, of this entire vessel. We are going to give you a gift as a reward for the fire in your heart. We are going to give you Power.”
“You wish to steal my body. Hollow me out like a shell.”
He fished into the jar. “We are giving you the chance to become something much more than you could ever have dreamed. You got onto the caravan to be a nurse, a chambermaid, a house girl. I’m giving you the opportunity to be a god.”
“At the expense of my soul.”
Solomon laughed. “Such a trifling thing. People trade money, lives, other people in pursuit of power. What is one soul?”
“A precious thing. I do not accept.”
“That’s the glorious thing about this.” He removed his fingers from the jar to reveal they were coated with black ink. “You don’t have to consent. Hold her head.”
The wind picked up off the water as he began to trace designs on her forehead and cheeks with the ink. From his expression she gathered that the designs he was making were complex and had importance, but they felt utterly alien to her. She tried to imagine what they were by picturing the movement of his fingers in her mind but they made no sense. He ripped open the front of her dress and drew another hieroglyph on her chest, making her shudder as his finger traced over her sternum. The ink dripped down the curve of her cheeks, off her chin, and it felt like snails slithering over her skin.
From his other pocket, he withdrew an egg-shaped stone. He pinched her chin and pulled down until she was forced to open her mouth, and she grimaced as the stone was placed on her tongue. It was small enough not to gag her, but it felt wrong in her mouth, and it tasted strongly of sand and dust. One of the men clapped his hand over her mouth. She thought of how Solomon had said the word ‘Power,’ as if it were a tangible entity. If that was how English worked, then the stone in her mouth could only be called Wrong or Evil.
Solomon wiped his fingers when he was done, then retrieved the book from the man who had been holding it. Tall Girl watched the men, watched how they all adjusted their weight with the sway of the vessel underneath them, and she mimicked them to regain some of her balance. They could not plant themselves to the deck under their feet, and that made them vulnerable. Solomon flipped through the book until he found the proper page, all while the black ink slithered over Tall Girl’s skin. She shuddered in the cold and blinked the salt air out of her eyes. The stone felt as if it was gaining weight on her tongue.
Solomon began to read from the book, and Tall Girl thought she saw something spark out over the water behind him. He continued reading and fear shot through her as if she’d been struck by lightning. She tensed her arms against her captors but they head fast. As Solomon droned, the waves beneath the ship turned calm as glass while waves on the horizon churned. They rose and fell on the current. She continued to move her body in rhythm with her captors.
She felt a tingle in the stone, as if she really had been hit by lightning and it was being conducted through the strange object.
Solomon raised his voice against the howls of wind, and Tall Girl begin to kick and fight against the men holding her. She could feel something dark and evil crowding in on her consciousness, a creature of some sort, from the depths of the darkness. She didn’t know how she knew, but she could feel the presence as surely as if a door had been opened. She was terrified in a way she’d never been before as Solomon continued to read. The ink on her face began to burn.
The ship creaked under the assault of the wind. The man covering her mouth turned to look behind them. The ship rose on another wave and his weight went onto his back foot. He was leaning away from her with a fractionally weaker grip... weak enough for her to pull away. Tall Girl twisted from him and lunged forward. The man released her mouth to grab at her collar, but he was already tumbling backward due to his unstable position.
She opened her mouth and spit out the stone.
Though the stone hit him in the chest, she was unable to propel it with enough force to cause any harm. He dropped the book in a desperate attempt to grab the stone before it hit the ground. The becalmed sea suddenly burst back into life, and Tall Girl was thrown to the deck with her captors. Solomon shouted in his own language as the stone hit the ground and rolled toward the rail. Lightning flashed overhead as storm clouds seemed to spontaneously blossom above the ship’s position.
The cant and roll of the sea caused the stone to move erratically so that Solomon couldn’t get hold of it. He let out a shrill cry as the stone went over the edge into the water. Tall Girl watched as he reacted without thought, tearing off his overcoat so it wouldn’t weigh him down. He put a foot on the railing and used it to push himself off, arms stretched out as he followed the stone into the wild sea. There was a boom that echoed so loudly she was certain it had been heard in Addis Ababa, and then quiet descended once more.
The men holding her were so shaken by what had just happened that she pulled away from them without effort. She walked to Solomon’s discarded coat and picked it up, wrapping the heavy leather around herself. Instantly she was warm, and she tucked her arms up into the sleeves to thaw out her fingers. The men looked at her and she remembered what Solomon had promised. Power.
“Your work is done. Leave now.”
They fled. She turned and walked away from them, stumbling on the uneven deck of the ship. She felt sick, and her mouth was dry where the stone had sat. Her mouth felt rotten, and she smacked her lips as she searched the vessel. Soon she found a flight of metal steps leading up to the shining beacon of the bridge, and she ascended with purpose. She set her jaw and held her head high. The darkness she’d felt descending upon her dissipated as soon as she spit out the stone, but she felt there was still a trace of the power Solomon had promised.
The captain, navigator, and the man who was in charge of the girls all looked at her, fearful but wary. “Did it work?” the captain asked in English. Her hair had come loose in the maelstrom and she knew she must look like a wild beast wrapped in a man’s coat. Due to her height, the coat fit rather well, but the sleeves were too long for her. The tail dragged on the ground behind her feet. She hoped she didn’t sound like a frightened girl when she spok
e.
“Solomon told you to expect this?” Her tongue was numbed by the stone, turning her sibilant letters into lisps. The men nodded, and she could see their terror. “He told you my final destination?”
“Yes. Cairo.”
“Then do not make me wait. I have been patient for far too long.”
“Yes, mistress.”
She turned to leave, but one of the men said, “What do we call you?”
“I am called Tall Girl.”
Her heavy tongue coated with dust and dirt, combined with her lack of fluency in the language, slurred the words together. When later the crew began referring to her as Trafalgar, she didn’t question it for fear of drawing their ire. Besides, there was something about the sobriquet that appealed to her.
She left them to their navigation and went down to stand on the railing. The tails of the coat flapped against her thighs as she stood on the upper deck and watched the coast of Africa roll by. She kept Solomon’s coat because it was warm, and because she had never had anything with material quite so fine. She went through his pockets and found all sorts of trinkets, bizarre items that she couldn’t pretend to understand. She knew when she arrived in Cairo she would demand all the girls in the hold be set free. As for Solomon’s men, she hadn’t a clue. She would kill if she had to, but the men seemed too frightened of her to put up much of a fight.
She had no idea what awaited her in Egypt, but it had to be better than what was in store for her back home. She’d escaped her stepfather, she had survived the attempt on her life, and now every day ahead of her was a gift. She stuffed her hands in the pockets of her new coat and clung to her new name, repeating it in her head until it was a word of Power.
When she arrived in Egypt, she was Trafalgar even in her own mind. She strode down the gangplank with her head held high as she headed out to discover what exactly that meant.
Chapter One
1919
The six weeks Dorothy Boone spent in Mexico exploring the ruins underneath Teotihuacan didn’t afford her more than two or three hours of sleep per night, and the long journey back to London was spent transcribing all of her quickly-scribbled notes into a proper notebook. When she set out on her latest journey the idea of traveling by steamer was akin to suicide, but the war had ended and the waters around England were no longer being patrolled by those atrocious U-boats. Still, her journey had been restless and full of work. When she did stretch out on the cot it was purely biological need rather than a rest.
Once she was back on solid ground her fatigue caught up to her, and she dozed off moments after relaying her address to the cab driver. The sounds of London were a lullaby to her after so long away, and the familiar smell of the Thames made her feel comfortable for the first time since leaving. She lived to explore, but there were times she wondered if she only traveled so she could truly appreciate coming home. London, the cluttered metro so different from the countryside in which she grew up, but now she couldn’t think of anywhere she felt safer.
She could also hear laughter, voices raised in celebration. When she had left there’d been a veil over the entire world as ‘a war to end all wars’ waged all across the continent. It had stymied countless expeditions, and for the first few years of the conflict her main concern had been wondering how many artifacts and tombs were being trampled underfoot by the soldiers. Then in 1916, they received word that her brother Bernie and twenty thousand other soldiers were killed by a river called the Somme. There were nights Dorothy woke to find tears on her pillow or drying on her face, and she knew she’d been visited by a dream of her lost brother. They’d never been close, but the thought of him dying in some French field...
But now the war was over. They could process their grief and begin healing along with the rest of the world. The British sun shone through the clouds, through the window of her cab, and she smiled as it warmed her face as if to welcome her home.
The cab made the familiar turn onto Threadneedle Street and she opened her eyes to watch her home come into view. The building was white stone flanked by dull brown buildings on either side. The front door was painted red and set back slightly so as not to draw attention to her callers.
Threadneedle was a place of commerce, of bankers and stockbrokers, but it suited her needs perfectly. Her grandmother’s inheritance had allowed her to buy the townhouse, and a series of wise investments over the years had brought in enough extra money for her to purchase the property on either side for added protection. The entire street was zoned for banking, which meant the walls were reinforced in advance. Instead of money she used the vaults to store the items she brought back from her expeditions.
She paid the cab driver and accepted his help unloading her bags. The front door opened and Beatrice Sek stepped out. Dorothy smiled a greeting to her majordomo, paid the driver, and let Beatrice help her carry everything inside. She paused on the checkerboard tile of the foyer and took a deep breath of her home’s air. To her left, a staircase led up to the second and third levels of her home. To the right, Beatrice had opened the parlor doors in anticipation of her return.
Dorothy smiled and released a satisfied sigh. The house was dark and cozy, a welcome retreat from the clamor and glare of the city. Just stepping inside was like wrapping herself in a thick blanket and drawing it up over her head.
Beatrice was dressed in her work uniform; a white dress shirt with a sharp collar under a charcoal gray vest, black trousers, and shoes so shined that Dorothy could see her reflection in them. She was of mixed heritage, Chinese and French, and she could speak both languages fluently. Her hair was short enough that she couldn’t braid it, but one wave of finger curls fell across her right eye. Dorothy kept her spine straight as she scanned the house for any obvious signs of damage.
“I trust everything went well in my absence.”
“As well as it ever does, mum. You were greatly missed.”
“Was I?”
“Professor Tindall stopped by several times inquiring as to when you would return. Threnody also left word, but I believe she is only concerned with an outstanding payment you owe.”
Dorothy clucked her tongue. “I do so hate leaving debts. I’ll settle with her at once.” She faced Beatrice. “Anyone else pained by my absence?”
Beatrice considered for a moment and then shook her head. “No one I recall.”
“You are impossible.” Dorothy put her arm around Beatrice’s waist and pulled her close. Beatrice leaned back with a smile, forcing Dorothy to come to her for a proper greeting after nearly two months apart. When they parted she smiled. “If you will not say it, then I shall. I missed you terribly, Trix.”
Beatrice smiled and smoothed down the front of Dorothy’s blouse. “You’re tired from your journey. Go upstairs and draw a bath, take a nap, and I shall put away your things. I’ll wake you for dinner and then we can discuss your homecoming celebration.”
“Splendid.”
She went upstairs to the familiar comfort of her bedchambers, pausing once more on the threshold to breathe in the scents and cast her eyes over the environs. Beatrice had been made aware of her impending return and the curtains were open to air out the staleness.
Dorothy unbuttoned her blouse as she crossed to her en suite. Her clothes were clean as she had put them on only that morning, but the last time they’d been laundered was in Mexico City. In her periphery she could see her reflection in the mirror but she refused to give herself a thorough examination. She knew her skin was reddened from exposure to the sun, her freckles standing out proudly across the bridge of her nose, and her hair without a doubt resembled a fright wig. It hadn’t been properly tended in two months.
Dorothy drew a bath as she undressed, scrubbing what grime she could from her hands and face so she wouldn’t soil the water. She wet a razor and shaved her legs, applied cream to the cracked skin of her feet and hands, and finally sank down into the water feeling more human than she had in ages. She soaked with her eyes closed, letting th
e warm water draw the dirt of another country from her pores. She was close to drifting off when the air was disturbed by Beatrice joining her in the bathroom. She brought her hand up out of the water and Beatrice placed a sponge against her palm.
Dorothy curled her fingers around it and finally opened her eyes to look at her majordomo, her representative, her driver, her closest and possibly only friend.
“Say that you missed me, Trix.”
“I missed you.”
“How much did you miss me?”
“Terribly, Lady Boone.” She lightly grazed her lips over Dorothy’s before kissing her properly. Beatrice teased Dorothy’s bottom lip with her tongue until Dorothy took it into her mouth. She tasted something sweet on Beatrice’s tongue and realized the younger woman had been downstairs eating a scone. The honey taste lingered and transferred from Beatrice’s mouth to hers, a subtle hint of sweetness. Dorothy moaned softly into the kiss; now she felt as if she had truly returned home. She reached up and trailed her wet fingers through Beatrice’s hair before opening her eyes.
Beatrice moved to sit between the edge of the tub and the wall, and Dorothy obediently leaned forward and drew her legs up so she could rest her head on her knees. Beatrice put her hand in the water next to Dorothy’s hip and drew the water up over the curve of her flanks, letting it trickle down her back. Her strong and sure hands paused on a crescent arch of pink skin where a wound was almost completely healed over.
“This is new,” Beatrice said. “An arrow?”
“Just glanced off me,” Dorothy said dismissively.
Beatrice bent down to kiss the injury before continuing. Dorothy closed her eyes and sighed her contentment. The purpose of her trip to Mexico was to explore the hidden catacombs beneath Teotihuacan to determine if they held any clues to the city’s sudden and complete destruction. It had once been a culture and social mecca, but in a handful of years it had been completely abandoned. Within a few centuries the same fate befell three other large social centers in the same area. Signs pointed toward some sort of civil unrest, an uprising against the wealthy, but if that was true then where were the victors?