by Geonn Cannon
Trafalgar tested the knob and found it unlocked.
“Assault and battery, breaking and entering...”
“Both crimes trumped handily by assassination and multiple counts of attempted murder.”
Dorothy raised an eyebrow. “You raise a fair point.”
They stepped into Quintel’s atrium and took a moment to get their bearings. A staircase directly in front of them led up to the second floor landing, which wrapped around the walls with a series of closed doors. Dorothy and Trafalgar stepped apart to look beyond the staircase into the back of the house. Trafalgar said, “Kitchen.”
“A larder,” Dorothy said. They both spoke at a low whisper, and they slid their feet across the tile to prevent their steps from echoing. She moved into the dark doorway next to her, and Trafalgar did the same. She found herself in an unfurnished sitting room, the heavy window dressings preventing the afternoon light from casting more than a sickly beige pallor over the walls. Dorothy reappeared in the entryway.
“Library, but completely barren. Not a book on the shelves.”
Trafalgar said, “Your transparent friend lied to us.”
“Then who were those apes on the front step? They wouldn’t defend an empty building. And the maid who brings in the groceries...”
Dorothy gestured at the cobwebs between rails on the stairway banister. “You truly believe a maid has seen this place?”
“This place... the grounds are protected by armed guards, who patrol around a locked gate. Two lines of defense. Who is to say there’s not a third? If someone outwits the guards and gets through the gate, once they see an abandoned house they’ll turn around and leave. It’s just another layer to discourage people from digging deeper.”
Dorothy considered the theory for a long moment. Finally she sighed and started upstairs, motioning for Trafalgar to follow her.
“This could all very well be what it seems. Ivy said the back was just as overgrown as we just saw the front to be. Perhaps the reason she never saw anyone enter or exit is because the house has been vacant this entire time. The guards gave up easily. Perhaps too easily. Whoever put them there may have been gambling on the fact no one would challenge two goons with loaded weapons. This entire fortress could be a red herring to distract people from finding his true stronghold. We’re wasting our time.”
“Perhaps.”
Dorothy reached the top of the stairs and went right, so Trafalgar took the left wing. She took the time to search each room thoroughly, opening closet doors and kicking aside what little furniture there was to be found, but there wasn’t a shred of evidence the rooms had ever been lived in. In one bedroom she pushed back the thick curtain and looked down into the backyard. Beatrice and Leola had moved three unconscious men onto the small concrete deck. Neither woman seemed worse for wear, so Trafalgar was confident they had made it through their confrontations without incurring any major damage.
From the other side of the house she heard Dorothy call to her and she hurried to see what had been found. Her boots sounded hollow as she jogged around the perimeter of the landing, their thuds echoing throughout the house and making it sound emptier than ever.
She found Dorothy in the bedroom attached to the balcony they had seen from the street. Unlike the rest of the house, this room had been furnished. A plush armchair stood next to the balcony entrance and angled to look outside rather than to catch the light. There was a bedroll in the corner, a dirty blanket and pillow piled on top of it. Dorothy was crouching next to the bed with a book in her hands. She looked up when Trafalgar came into the room.
“I believe I’ve actually found a clue. A mark on the inside cover declares it property of one F. Quintel. Our mystery man may at last have shown himself.” She stood up and thumbed through the pages. “He wrote it in some sort of code, so we’re not overly fortunate. But at least now we may have an idea of who we’re looking for. The frontispiece.”
Trafalgar took the book and flipped to the title page. The portrait showed a tall, broad-shouldered bald man with a pair of tinted glasses covering his eyes. His smile was wide but uncomforting; she remembered reading somewhere that some creatures considered showing their teeth an act of aggression. This man was revealing his teeth as weapons, something with which he could bite, rend, chew, tear. He wore a light-colored suit, and over it was a very familiar brown leather jacket.
“This is not Felix Quintel,” Trafalgar said quietly.
“How can you be so certain?”
She swallowed the fear that had risen at the sight of the man she’d met so long ago. “This is the book of a man named Solomon. I met him twenty years ago aboard the vessel that took me from my home. He attempted to use me for a... a ritual. He put a stone in my mouth and summoned a creature from the depths of the sea. Or perhaps somewhere deeper. I foiled him by spitting the stone out before he was finished. It rolled off the deck and he jumped into the sea in pursuit of it.”
Dorothy took the journal back and frowned at the picture. “So whoever Quintel is, he is studying the work of a man who died trying to summon a creature from the netherworld. Perhaps he wishes to pick up where Solomon left off.”
“Solomon was no leader,” Trafalgar said. “I’ve spent the past two decades investigating the operation that sent him to Africa. He was but one small part of a larger organization. Perhaps he was a merlyn.”
“Merlin? Like King Arthur’s Merlin?”
“Of his ilk,” Trafalgar said. “They are powerful mages who are adept at conducting magic and summoning the darkness of the world that came before ours.” She held up the journal. “I’ve seen a book like this before, not long after he brought me to Cairo. I stole his coat after he fell overboard, and I used its contents to fund my journey to London. One of the items I sold was a journal that looked very much like this one.”
“You sold this book to Quintel? Then you’ve seen him!”
Trafalgar shook her head. “Those men had no reason to lie about their names. I was nothing more than a child speaking broken English. I cannot be certain this is even the same journal.”
“But the facts indicate it could very well be.”
“Yes. If Quintel is continuing the work Solomon began, then it is I who provided him the means. This day would not have happened, and Adeline would be alive still, if I had simply burned that journal when I had the opportunity.”
Chapter Eight
They searched the house thoroughly until they both had to concede there was nothing else to find. Even distracted as she was by the journal’s discovery, Trafalgar had to admit there was no secret passages or hidden rooms in which Quintel could be concealed. They stood at the top of the stairs after Dorothy confirmed the attic was a cramped, hot space with nothing larger than a coal chute, which she reported was completely empty.
“Ivy believed Felix Quintel was a real person because she found this place,” Dorothy said. “All signs point toward his being a decoy. We’re not looking for a single man.”
“Then who sat in that room watching the street? Who brought this journal here, and who hung that portrait like some sort of idol?”
Dorothy shook her head. “A watchman, someone designated to act as Quintel if the necessity arose. Even if it comes to pass that Quintel is an amalgamation of many rather than a single man changes nothing. The organization who put all of this together will still have a man in charge. Now, we should leave this place and return to our own territory to sort out what we know. Perhaps something will come to light once we hear how Desmond has fared this afternoon.”
At the door Trafalgar paused and looked back over the house. “Such an elaborate artifice. Why go to such extremes with something no one should ever see?”
“I haven’t a clue.” Dorothy now sounded exasperated. “We’ve searched the entire house, Trafalgar. Everything points to the fact that no one has been here for weeks, perhaps months.”
“No one except the maid and the guards. Set pieces that are visible from the street. In f
act, from the street, everything points to this being a functioning... home...” She closed her eyes. “Oh, we’ve been so thick.”
Dorothy frowned. “In what way?”
“Ivy never saw anyone go into the house or come out of it the entire time she was watching. But no one knew she was watching.”
“Correct. They couldn’t have slipped by without her seeing because they’d have no idea what her vantage point was.”
Trafalgar gestured at the house. “This is a stage, set dressing for an elaborate ruse. It was built to serve as the public residence of Felix Quintel, whether he exists or not. It is a place for Felix Quintel to perform for the benefit of others. Pray tell, what kind of actor performs when there is no one in the audience to appreciate his craft? This is not a ruse meant to fool people. It’s a tar-baby.”
“The Br’er Rabbit story?” Dorothy said. Her confusion faded as she realized what Trafalgar was saying. “It’s intended to draw attention. Those guards were willing to leave because their job isn’t to watch the house. They are employed to inform their master when someone shows an interest in the house.”
Trafalgar nodded. “He no doubt intends to trap us here. But to do that he would be required to actually make an appearance. If not Quintel himself, we can assume he will send someone.”
“And whoever it is, that will be one more piece of this puzzle.”
Outside they reconvened with Beatrice, Leola, and Ivy. They explained what they had discovered and detailed Trafalgar’s theory. Leola and Ivy volunteered to stay and keep watch.
Leola said, “Whoever uses this house, one man or a dozen, is the one responsible for Adeline’s death. I’d like to be the one who takes him down if I can.”
Ivy said, “And I’m just annoyed. The one time being invisible kept me from seeing something.”
Beatrice said, “I’d stay as well, but someone has to stick with you for protection.” She nodded at Trafalgar and Boone. “You both have targets on your backs. I’d rather not take the risk of being across town in the event of a second attack.”
“Thank you, Trix. Now that we all know where we shall be, let us part ways.” Dorothy looked at Ivy. “Can we trust you? Quintel may have hired you, but things have changed since this morning. And now you know that I’m involved.”
Ivy raised an eyebrow. “You think I care enough about you to take that into consideration?”
“One would hope,” Dorothy said in a seductive coo, smiling slightly as she dipped her chin.
Ivy chuckled. “What the hell. Whatever’s going on here is a lot more interesting than a simple assassination. But if this Quintel fellow comes after me for not finishing the job, I’m counting on you and yours to have my back.”
Dorothy nodded. “Of course.”
“Then I’m on your side.”
“Excellent. Ivy, play nice with Leola. Whoever is behind this decided Trafalgar and I are his enemies, and the old adage stands true. For the time being the five of us, and Desmond Tindall, are a united front against Quintel. Whoever or whatever he turns out to be.”
“Agreed.”
They arranged for Ivy and Leola to both check in as needed during the night using street urchins to deliver whatever updates they might have. They climbed into the backseat of Dorothy’s car, and Beatrice set off toward home. They sat in awkward silence on either side of the bench, both watching the city through their own windows. Dorothy was recalling a number of encounters she’d had with Trafalgar and had no doubt the same litany of remembrances was occurring just to her left. She looked at the woman sharing her car and decided to try easing the tension between them.
“Tell me about Adeline Okoro.”
Trafalgar looked away from the window. “Why?”
“I know we encountered each other time and again, but she was always simply your steward in my eyes. She died because of this nonsense and I would like to know more about her as a person. I know she had a great talent...”
“Some might say a curse.”
“Some might. But she used it for the benefit of her friends. An ability like Adeline’s is neutral by nature. It’s what a person does with their ability that makes it a gift or a curse. From what I can tell Adeline turned it into a blessing for those around her.”
Trafalgar considered the argument and nodded slowly. She looked out the window again, her hands folded in her lap. They were nearly to the King Edward VII Bridge before Trafalgar spoke again.
“She was very fond of rabbits. She was fortunate to have a mother who could read and also had access to books. She thought the rabbit was particularly interesting and for one reason or another believed it was a fictional beast. The first time she saw one in real life she was overjoyed. She thought it was magic.” She smiled weakly. “In a world where magic was real, she saw proof in a simple long-eared swift-footed pest.”
Dorothy chuckled. “Rabbits.”
“She would draw pictures of them if her hands were idle for too long. She was quite talented.”
“Thank you. We’ll stop Quintel in her honor.”
“I appreciate that.”
The silence that fell between them for the rest of their trip was easier, a touch more amicable. Dorothy knew they still had quite a distance to go before they could consider each other friends, but she felt as if inroads had been made. At the very least she was starting to feel more comfortable working alongside Trafalgar to bring down the mysterious Felix Quintel.
#
Desmond was waiting at Dorothy’s townhouse when they arrived. He reported that Arthur Whitmore and Nigel Mummery were both confirmed dead. Witnesses revealed Whitmore had been killed by what looked to be a large mechanical bird which swooped out of a tree and pierced his skull with its talons. The construct couldn’t pull itself free from his shattered bones, so a constable was able to smash it with a truncheon. Attached to the bird’s wing was a note which read “Leonard & Agnes Keeping Send Their Regards.” Mummery was done in by a compressed-air rifle concealed within a viewfinder. The package was labeled as a gift from Dorothy Boone.
“It would seem to an outside observer that everyone in our profession has simply gone off our nuts.”
“I’ve contacted the Met,” Desmond said, “and the members of my social club have been calling anyone and everyone who may be targeted. The loved ones of those who were lost must know that they still have friends willing to help them.”
“Very good, Des. Thank you. For now, after the day we’ve had, I believe we could all use a nice cup of tea.”
“I’ll put it on,” Beatrice offered.
“Thank you, Trix.”
Trafalgar hesitated at the threshold, but eventually joined them and sat awkwardly in the wingback chair next to the fireplace. Dorothy noticed her awkwardness and gestured at her.
“Professor Desmond Tindall,” Dorothy said, “allow me to introduce Miss Trafalgar of Abyssinia. Trafalgar, Desmond is my gentleman friend.”
“I see.”
Dorothy could see Trafalgar was revisiting their time with Ivy, the obvious flirtation they’d had with one another. She saw no reason to reveal the true nature of her relationship with Desmond, so she ignored the confusion on her temporary ally’s face and took a seat on the couch. They recounted their findings, or lack thereof, at the Quintel house. Desmond made a note of the man’s name and the address and promised to see if either was familiar to his brothers in the club who had joined him that afternoon in seeking out more traps and sabotage. In the end they confirmed at least nine people had been killed that day under mysterious circumstances.
When Dorothy noticed how late it was, she suggested they take a recess until the morning. “Miss Trafalgar, we have plenty of food here if you would like to dine with us. There is a room upstairs you can take if you would like to sleep here.”
“I appreciate the offer, Lady Boone, but I must decline. I must see to Adeline’s arrangements. Would you happen to know where one could find a bus or train?”
Dorothy said
, “Ah, yes, I forgot your driver is indisposed. Beatrice, would you mind driving Miss Trafalgar home?”
“I would be glad to.”
“That’s not necessary,” Trafalgar said at the same time.
Dorothy said, “I insist. Either you spend the night in my spare room or Beatrice will see you safely to your door. Those are your options.”
Trafalgar sighed and inclined her head to Beatrice. “In that case, Miss Sek, I would be greatly obliged to you.”
“It’s a pleasure,” Beatrice said.
Trafalgar walked from the parlor where the unofficial briefing had been held. Beatrice passed by Dorothy’s chair on her way out, checked to ensure Trafalgar wasn’t lingering in the hall, and leaned down slightly so she could whisper to Dorothy.
“All on the level? You just want me to take her home?”
“Yes, Trix.”
Beatrice nodded. “Sorry, mum, but I had to be sure. But this is a woman who, if she had arrived on our doorstep naked and hungry at this time yesterday, you likely would have been reluctant to even give her directions to a soup kitchen.”
“What a difference a day makes,” Dorothy said with a sigh. “We’ve both cheated death today, we fought each other and at each other’s sides. It was a hell of a day, Trix, and that deserves a modicum of sisterhood.”
“Of course, ma’am.” She straightened and looked at Desmond. “Good evening to you, Professor Tindall.”
He inclined his head. “And to you, Miss Sek.”
They left Desmond and Dorothy alone in her parlor. She leaned forward and removed her shoes, setting them to one side and stretching out her toes. Her stockings were ivory-colored with reinforced panels of black at the heel and toe. She hadn’t noticed before but now that the day was over her feet were exhausted. She crossed one leg over the other and leaned forward to rub the arches with strong strokes of her fingers. Desmond, seated in an armchair nearby, noticed what she was doing but made no offer to take over the massage for her.
She didn’t expect such chivalry from him. Other than a quick kiss or linking arms at public affairs, she and Desmond very rarely made physical contact. She first met Desmond in a professional capacity when she had several artifacts from the Valley of the Kings she wished to have verified. A few questions to the right people led her directly to Desmond’s office at the University. They surprised each other with their easy rapport and, based on their mutual interests, agreed that having dinner together would not be out of the question.