by Geonn Cannon
Trafalgar said, “Can you fix it? You seem rather adept at conjuring.”
“Conjuring is one thing. I can’t and won’t use it to fix a bone. It wouldn’t heal properly and lead to trouble down the line. But I can offer you palliative respite from the pain until we have a chance to properly treat the injury. You might feel a little lightheaded and discombobulated, but at least it won’t hurt anymore.”
“Yes, please.”
Beatrice leaned in and kissed Dorothy’s lips. Trafalgar looked away, ostensibly to check for Weeks or the Minotaur. When she looked back Dorothy’s body language was more relaxed. Beatrice opened the first-aid kit she had brought with her and found a sling. She carefully helped Dorothy into it, resting her arm comfortably in the folded cloth before wrapping her ankle with gauze.
“Thank you, Trix.”
“Any time.” She looked up as the air was shaken by another scream, quickly followed by another low roar. “I suppose you’re ready to get out of here.”
Trafalgar said, “Faster would be better, yes.”
Beatrice stood up. “Lucky for you, I know a way.” She held her hand out, fingers splayed, and the corridor ahead of them light up bright blue. “I left a trail of breadcrumbs.”
Trafalgar helped Beatrice get Dorothy onto her feet. She was still favoring her injured ankle, but for the moment Beatrice’s magic would help her stand. Trafalgar inspected the damage to her coat and slung it over her shoulder.
“It will be a slow trip back to the surface. We’ll have to go one at a time. But I don’t think you’ll complain much as long as it gets you out of here.”
Trafalgar shook her head. “Beggars can’t be choosers. Lead the way, Miss Sek.”
#
It was decided that Dorothy would be hoisted up first, followed by Trafalgar, with Beatrice coming last. They called up that Dorothy was injured, so the women on the surface took their time to ensure a slow and steady ascension for her. Once she was safely out, Beatrice helped Trafalgar into the harness and tugged on the rope to let Araminta know she was ready. They pulled her up, and Beatrice kept an eye on the tunnel in case anyone wandered by before the harness was sent back down for her. The corridor remained empty, although she could hear quiet sobbing from somewhere far away. Finally the harness was dropped a third time, and she hooked herself up to be lifted back to safety.
When she reached the surface, Dorothy was already being examined by the Skylarker’s medic. “Fractured clavicle, sprained ankle, various bumps and bruises. Scrapes on her hands and knees.”
Dorothy said, “You should see the other fellow.”
Araminta smiled and looked at Trafalgar. “What should our next move be?”
“A pair of psychic twins are still in the palace somewhere.”
“Handled,” Beatrice said.
“Ah. Well done. Then we should conceal the entrance to the labyrinth again. It’s not as if it was particularly difficult to find, but better to be safe than sloppy.” Trafalgar looked at the restrained society members seated in a row on the opposite side of the courtyard. “It would appear you’ve been busy while we were wandering around in circles.”
“Araminta Crook,” Dorothy said, “never one to rest on her laurels.” Her eyes were half-lidded from the mystical pain remedy Beatrice had applied. Araminta told Trafalgar to show her troops where the labyrinth door was so they could block it, and Beatrice helped the medic prepare Dorothy for transfer to the airship.
“I assume everything worked out down there,” Beatrice said. “With the stone...”
Dorothy nodded. “I’ll fill you in once we’re in the air.”
“It killed me to leave you in Rome. You know that, don’t you?” Dorothy nodded and gripped Beatrice’s hand. Beatrice turned and watched Trafalgar leading Araminta’s crew into the palace. “But you swear she had your back?”
“And then some. I owe her my life.”
Beatrice chuckled. “Bit hard to believe, given your history together.”
“Hm. But that’s history for you. Always in the past, while the future is always changing. It can surprise you in the most unexpected ways. I doubt our interactions with Miss Trafalgar will be the same after this little adventure.”
#
They were delayed in Knossos for most of the day, dealing with the local authorities and the true Archaeological Advisory Committee. The Watershed Society faced official sanctions for their unauthorized activity and taken into custody. Trafalgar informed the supervisor that Orville Weeks was still alive inside the labyrinth when they left, though she doubted that was still the case. When she started to warn him that his men should be cautious if they chose to go looking for him, the man stopped her with an upraised hand and shook his head.
“We’ve had incidents like this in the past. You are hardly the first to discover the entrance to the labyrinth, and Mr. Weeks is hardly the first to not make the return trip.”
Trafalgar frowned. “So why do you not block the entrance or post warnings?”
He smiled and lifted his shoulders in a shrug, already turning to walk away. “You presume it is our decision. He was here first, after all.”
Trafalgar was stunned at the man’s cavalier attitude, but she supposed he had a point. If someone went through the proper channels to access the labyrinth they would receive warnings. Surely people like the Weeks, who thought they could slip around the rules, deserved to suffer the consequences. Still, the idea of Orville Weeks wandering the maze until he starved or was brutally murdered like his brother didn’t sit well with her. It seemed barbaric. Then again she was wholly unmotivated to lead a rescue team back down to drag her kidnapper to safety, if he was even still alive, so perhaps there was a little savagery in her after all.
The Weeks brothers would have killed her without hesitation, would have made her Felix or Felina Quintel, and they would have used her to start a second Great War. Thousands, perhaps millions would have fallen in their bid for world domination. The more she thought about it, the less concerned she was about leaving him behind. He would only be put into another concrete box with no hope of escape. At least this prison had the benefit of being just.
Trafalgar touched two fingers to her eyebrow, a sign of respect for the beast that existed below the ruins of the palace, and turned to board the airship so Araminta could begin takeoff procedures. The sun was beginning to set, casting long shadows and painting the ruins in shades of red and gold that hinted at the splendor it had once boasted. With a good headwind they could be in Paris by morning and home in London by the following afternoon.
#
Araminta insisted on having a celebratory dinner once they were in the air. Dorothy ate a bit before begging off to get some sleep. The pain had started to come back in her shoulder and she wanted to be sure she got enough rest. Trafalgar and Leola spent some time on their own since their final mission together was over, and their return to London would mean parting ways once and for all. Ivy borrowed some makeup and a uniform so she could join the festivities without controversy - “Have you ever watched an invisible woman eat? Even if the food isn’t visible for the whole process, thank God, it’s still not the most attractive sight.” - and Araminta commented on how attractive she was. It was no surprise to Beatrice, then, when the captain offered the invisible assassin a tour of the ship that somehow lasted the entire evening.
Beatrice went alone to her room, locking the door behind her. For most of the trip she had put disturbing questions out of her mind but with the quiet of the ship she could avoid her mind no longer. She unbuttoned her blouse as she crossed to the en-suite. There was a trifold mirror above a water basin, and she twisted at the waist so she could see her tattoo. The bathroom had electric lights but she left them off as she cupped her hands in front of her chest and formed a simple ball of light. The pale blue energy coursed up her arms, thin glowing lines in the subcutaneous tissue of her forearm and wrist. It glowed through her fingers and formed a perfect sphere in the space between her palms.
The tattoo remained the same, so she focused and pushed more energy out. Her muscles burned, and the glow increased exponentially until the whole room was bathed blue. She felt moisture on her upper lip and saw in the mirror that she had a nosebleed. She ignored it and focused on the tattoo. Her shirt had been burnt in a perfect outline of the tree, and she was certain--
There. The branches of the tree were illuminated. It was subtle but there, difficult to make out given the lighting in the rest of the room. As she watched the glow became brighter. More blood trickled from her other nostril but she ignored it as the light spread downward into the trunk of the tree. The tattoo pulsed with light from the tip of its highest branch to the roots. The blood reached her lip and spread out. She tasted copper as she watched as the tree took on a steady burning brightness.
She wanted to see how far she could go, but a sudden pressure behind her left eye frightened her enough to stop. She slapped her hands together and sent the energy out in a sloppy wave, causing the entire ship to rock violently for a moment. She knew that the crew would blame turbulence and she was prepared to let them. It would be easier than trying to explain something she herself didn’t understand.
Beatrice ran some cold water and washed away the blood from her lips. When she was finished she pinched the bridge of her nose and leaned forward, unable to look away from her own reflection as she tried to staunch the bleeding. She thought back to the old man from her earliest memories, the man who had dragged her to Paris and left her there with no way of finding a trail back to her past.
What did you do to me, old man? Or where did you find me? What am I? What did you make me into?
Answers, as always, weren’t forthcoming. She checked to make sure the bleeding had stopped, rinsed out the towel, and took herself to bed where she could hopefully find some peaceful slumber.
#
Araminta plotted a more leisurely and far more scenic route back to England since there was no longer a timetable on their journey. It was sunset by the time the city was in view, and Dorothy went to one of the large windows along the gallery to watch as it unfolded before her. She was aware of Trafalgar joining her at the glass but she didn’t acknowledge her arrival until she broke the silence.
“Not one of them knows how close they came,” Trafalgar said. “If the Weeks had gotten their stone, I would be coming back here with another creature in my head. They would attempt a coup, and this world would be once again thrown into bloody conflict. You and I saved them from all of that but no one down there has a clue.”
Dorothy said, “Well, I’m certain a few of them suspect. But you’re right. They don’t know. It’s better that they don’t know. All the foiled plots, all the schemes that never come to fruition. It would drive them mad if they knew how often we existed on the edge of destruction.”
“I don’t agree. I think if they knew how often their lives were at risk, they might appreciate them more. They might appreciate those they love more.”
“Hm. You may have a point there, Miss Trafalgar.” She turned to face her. “I would have died multiple times on this excursion without your help. It’s not easy for me to admit that, but I would be cross with myself if it went unsaid. I owe you my life. Thank you.”
Trafalgar said, “I wouldn’t have been able to stand against the Weeks brothers without you there. I may not have died, per se, but... you saved me from a fate far worse.”
Dorothy turned back to face the window. “It will be hard to consider you a rival after this.”
“But you shall try?”
“No. It’s a waste of time. We’re not enemies any longer, Miss Trafalgar. From now on I shall gladly call you a friend.”
“That would be acceptable to me, Lady Boone.” Dorothy glared at her. “Force of habit. I would be happy to call you friend, Dorothy.”
The Rookery was devoid of cheering celebrants and confetti, their lone receiver being Desmond Tindall. He greeted Dorothy with a kiss on either cheek and shook hands with both Trafalgar and Beatrice. He looked at Dorothy’s bruises and sling with true alarm.
“What on earth happened to you?”
“We won.” Dorothy linked her other arm with his. “For now, that’s the only thing that matters.”
Ivy came down the gangplank and touched the brim of her hat to Dorothy. “It was a pleasure, Lady Boone. Hopefully the next time we meet we won’t be enemies.”
“Good day to you, Miss Sever.”
Leola and Trafalgar had arranged for their own transportation, and Beatrice followed Dorothy to the car Desmond had rented for them. She helped Dorothy get settled in the backseat so she wouldn’t aggravate her arm, then got behind the wheel and waited for Desmond to climb in beside her before she started the engine. She paused before setting out and looked over her shoulder.
“Any stops you want to make?”
“No,” Dorothy said with a sleepy smile. “Take us home, Trix.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Dorothy reclined against the seat with her hand in her lap, the other held tight against her stomach by the sling, and looked out the window at the airships buzzing back and forth across the Thames. The muddy waters reflected their bumblebee shapes against the golden sunset. People hurried across their paths, and others walked alongside them on the street, blissfully unaware of the madness the Weeks brothers had planned to unleash on the world. Dorothy smiled and closed her eyes, thinking about what Trafalgar had said. Maybe it was good to know the world lived on the brink, maybe being so close to the potential tragedy had turned her into a woman who didn’t let an opportunity slip through her fingers.
Though the ride from the Rookery to Threadneedle Street took less than twenty minutes, Dorothy was already asleep by the time Beatrice pulled up to their front door.
Epilogue
Six weeks later
Dorothy swung her blade, grimacing as she missed the mark and left herself open for a counterattack. She retreated by shifting her weight to her opposite foot, but she was too slow. Her opponent took advantage of the mistake and thrust her weapon forward. The blade pressed into Dorothy’s blouse just above her heart. Her shoulders slumped and she reached up to push her mask out of the way. “This doesn’t count toward your overall average. I’m fighting with my weak arm.”
“The hell it doesn’t,” Beatrice said as she unmasked herself. She walked to the table under the window and poured them each a glass. “You have to learn how to fight even if your dominant hand is out of commission. You never know when it might be necessary.”
Dorothy swung her epee a few times, still getting used to the weight in her left hand. “I’ll be out of this sling in two more weeks.”
“This is for the next time.”
“I don’t plan on letting any more minotaurs step on me.”
Beatrice said, “So this time it was part of your plan?”
Dorothy grinned. “It’s all part of a plan, my dear Trix.”
Beatrice put down her glass and peered out the window. Her attention was drawn to the street and her demeanor changed. “I believe we’re about to have company. A carriage just pulled up.”
“Desmond?”
“Doesn’t look like.”
“Hm.” She took Beatrice’s epee. “I’ll put these away. Let them in and see what they want. Perhaps a commission.”
Beatrice said, “In your condition?”
“I can handle myself. Go.” She swatted Beatrice’s rear end with the sword and went to put them away. She quickly changed out of her gear and daubed at her sweaty forehead with a towel. She was just putting up her hair when Beatrice returned.
“Miss Trafalgar would like an audience.”
Dorothy blinked. “Trafalgar. Here? How unusual. Did you ask her to wait in the parlor?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Thank you.”
Dorothy went downstairs and found Trafalgar standing by the fireplace to examine the books lining her shelves. She was still wearing her jacket, but the parts
where the leather was ruined by dragging her through the labyrinth were expertly repaired. She had a bowler hat tucked under one arm and her hair was tied back in a single braid.
“Miss Trafalgar.” She turned and Dorothy smiled. “Welcome to my home.”
“Thank you. It’s nice to be here under less dire circumstances.”
Dorothy indicated the sitting area and they moved toward it. “I heard you were out of London for the past few weeks.”
“Yes, Leola and I went to the Red Sea to give Adeline a proper farewell. Then I escorted her to Egypt so she could get set up in a new life in Port Said.”
“Oh? And what will she be doing?”
“She wanted to work in a museum. She always said the best part of working with me was seeing everything I would bring back, so...” She made a casual gesture. “I had a friend who is curator, and he arranged something for her. I believe she’ll be a docent.”
Dorothy nodded. “I’m sure she’ll be fantastic at it.”
Trafalgar smiled and looked toward the window. “I came here today to make you an offer. I want to give you my contacts and the artifacts I’ve been holding on to for safekeeping.”
Dorothy was completely thrown. “You’re closing up shop? Whatever for?”
“It was difficult enough in this business when I had Leola and Adeline providing support. Now I’m alone. I can’t possibly continue. Working with you has convinced me that you’re a worthy successor. If you want, I could arrange for the movers to bring everything this weekend. Or if you would prefer, they could wait until your arm has completely healed.”
“No.”
Trafalgar said, “This weekend won’t work...?”
“No. I don’t... I don’t want your things.”
“Ah. Well, there are others who will be eager. I thought I owed you the right to first refusal.” She stood and put on her hat. “I can show myself out. No reason to bother Beatrice.”
Dorothy stood as well. “Wait! I don’t want your things because it would be a huge folly for you to just... to just walk away. Working with you has proven to me that you’re one of the... smartest, most resilient people in this business. You can’t simply take down your shingle and walk away.”