by Geonn Cannon
“I didn’t know.” Her voice was shaking from the cold. Trafalgar returned and draped a towel across her shoulders. “Thank you, Trafalgar.”
“Of course,” Trafalgar said.
Using the towel as a shroud, Dorothy helped Beatrice take off her wet clothes. “I was coming back from an evening out.”
“Aha,” Dorothy said with a smile. “And your mind was not on the weather. I see. Was she a beauty?”
Beatrice couldn’t help but return the smile. “I’ve seen prettier.”
“Fresh.”
Trafalgar cleared her throat. “I’ll start a fire.”
Dorothy helped Beatrice of her pants, then held out the robe for her. “You’ll have to tell me all about this little minx. What was her name?”
“Sarah.” Trafalgar returned and switched on a lamp. In the new light, Beatrice saw the swelling on Dorothy’s face. Her eyes flared with anger. “Who hurt you?”
“Nobody I wish to spend any more time discussing this evening.” She looped her arm around Beatrice’s and guided her into the parlor. Your coconspirator is a much better topic. Dry yourself by the fire. I’ll make you something warm to drink and then you can tell me all about your lovely lady.” She placed Beatrice in the chair by the fire and turned to Trafalgar. “You deserve a drink as well. After all, you did save me from plummeting out of an airship.”
Beatrice said, “I beg your pardon?”
“It’s not important, love,” Dorothy said. “Trafalgar? Coffee?”
“That would be wonderful. Thank you.”
Dorothy said, “Back in a mo’.”
Beatrice waited until Dorothy was out of the room before she focused on Trafalgar. “How bad was it?”
“Not as bad as it could have been. We took the kidnappers by surprise in Swansea, so there wasn’t more than a scuffle there. But three of them managed to stowaway aboard the Skylarker and attacked us during the return trip. Dorothy was dropped out of the window, but she was wearing a parachute that caught against the frame. I pulled her back in and she helped me subdue the men. It was nothing more than a skirmish.”
“But it could have been disastrous.”
Trafalgar smiled and watched the fire. “Everything we do has the potential to be disastrous. And Dorothy tends to be a magnet for danger more than most. We can’t prevent her from ending up in those situations, we can only hope to be there for her when she discovers how deep she’s gotten.”
“I’m grateful you were there.”
“As am I.” She glanced toward the door to see if Dorothy was returning. “As for yourself... I can’t help but notice you don’t seem... what I mean to say is, you don’t have the bearing of someone who spent the evening in someone else’s bed. The past two years, I’ve frequently seen you, ah... your...”
Beatrice said, “Afterglow?”
Trafalgar smiled. “Yes. It’s absent now. So either you’re lying to Dorothy, or there’s more to the story that you aren’t telling.”
Beatrice tugged at the robe and avoided looking at Trafalgar. “I did spend the evening with someone. But it wasn’t necessarily for any romantic or libidinous urge. I had ulterior motives for taking this particular woman to bed.”
“I see. Reasons you’re not willing to confess?”
“Precisely.”
“I can respect that. But I would suggest putting on a better show when you talk to Dorothy. If I can tell you’re lying, she most assuredly will be able to as well.”
“Thank you.”
Trafalgar nodded and looked at the clock. “I should not have agreed to the coffee. I’ll go tell her that I’ve changed my mind and I’ve decided to retire.” She stood and inclined her head to Beatrice. “Good night, Miss Sek.”
“Good night to you as well.”
In the past year, Trafalgar had been using the spare room so frequently that Beatrice and Dorothy both considered her to be cohabitating with them. She still hadn’t officially moved in, but it seemed like only a matter of time before the spare room ceased to be available to other guests. Beatrice was pleased to have her in the house. When they met, she considered Trafalgar her enemy because she was Dorothy’s enemy. Now that the rivalry was ended and she’d actually gotten to know the other woman a little better, she was honored to consider her a friend.
If something did happen to her, if her search for the other elementals took her away from Dorothy’s side, she was grateful there was someone like Trafalgar to take her place.
#
Close to a week after rescuing Rowan Sullivan from his kidnappers, Dorothy’s bruises had faded enough that she no longer bothered concealing them with makeup. Desmond was obviously still feeling guilty for his part in what had happened and seemed to be keeping his distance. Dorothy sent him a message on Tuesday asking him for an evening out, but he’d never bothered to reply. She would have to speak to him before his nonsense carried on too long. She bore him no ill will for putting her on the airship, but she would definitely be irate if he used it as an excuse to ignore her.
She spent the majority of the week in her office, working on a map. She sketched coastlines whenever a mission allowed her the time, and on slow afternoons she transferred those segments onto a single larger piece of parchment. Drawing a map was such a relaxing pastime that she often did it in a sort of trance. She loved the way the paper felt under her hands. She even loved the smudges of ink that were left on her fingers and the side of her hand, though the stains could be a pain to remove.
Working from home also meant there was no need to dress up. She wore loose trousers and a sleeveless white blouse, her hair down and barefoot. It was a uniform she’d kept since she was a child and she saw no reason to wear it again in the privacy of her own home. Comfort above all, and damn anyone who thought differently. She cloistered herself in her den, behind the large oak desk which housed the instruments of her work and hobbies. Calipers, sextants, pencils, and pens were scattered among scattered pages of half-finished maps, while her research books stood like uneven walls on whatever surface was available when she set it down. It was a mess, but it was her mess.
Dorothy loved the smell of the room and the way the air felt in the room. It was comfortable. It was home. The carpet under her desk was smoothed by many afternoons of brushing her bare feet across it, or her toes curling over it.
The sun shifted, altering her light, so she decided it was time for a quick tea break. She left her study in search of something to eat.
Trafalgar appeared on the stairs in response to the door opening. She was dressed casually, in a blouse that was open at the collar under a cloth vest. Her dress swayed against her legs with the movement that had carried her out of the study.
“Dorothy! Do you have a moment? I received an item in the post and would like your opinion on it.”
“Of course.” She changed direction and followed Trafalgar into the parlor. “I wasn’t aware you were even here. When did you arrive?”
“Just after lunch. Beatrice offered to interrupt you, but I was willing to wait.”
“That was hours ago! I wish she had told me. I wasn’t doing anything particularly important.”
“It was no trouble waiting. You have a magnificent library, and this was a chance to take advantage of it.”
Dorothy gestured at the shelves. “Feel free. Books do no one any good gathering dust. Now... what brings you here today?”
Trafalgar picked up a box from the coffee table and presented it to Dorothy. She glanced at the postmark and stamps and smiled. “Cairo? A gift from Leola?”
“Indeed.” Trafalgar clasped her hands behind her back. “We’ve been keeping in touch. Mostly day-to-day things from the museum. She’s met someone. A grocer named Khalid.”
“Ah, a wonderful profession. The world shall always need grocers.”
She had examined the outer package before opening it. Even though she knew Trafalgar had opened it once, she was always careful about opening her mail ever since a package blew up in
her face. Once she was confident the package wasn’t rigged, she placed it on the table and opened the flaps. Trafalgar watched as Dorothy examined the contents, refraining from explanation so she could draw her own conclusions.
Dorothy lifted the slender statue from the box. It depicted a man standing on a small platform, his left foot extended with the other slightly behind. He wore the striped nemes headdress of an Egyptian pharaoh and stared forward with a small knowing smile. A pair of arms extended from the top of his head, sticking out to either side before bending upward at the elbows.
“A ka statue,” she said. “Interesting. Pharaohs believed these held their soul after death. It was often placed in the tombs alongside their mummified remains.” Trafalgar remained silent. Dorothy was barely aware she was even speaking aloud, only noting the facts to refresh her own memory. She brushed her thumb over the rough stone. Very strange. A forger would mostly likely have gone to the trouble of sanding it down to make it more tactilely pleasing to rubes who wouldn’t know better. “Whoever carved this was very talented... very meticulous. Is this limestone?”
“Alabaster.”
Dorothy raised an eyebrow. “Indeed? I didn’t get to know Leola well, but I highly doubt she would have taken something from the museum’s collection. Where did she acquire this?”
Trafalgar was leaning against the back of the divan, arms crossed over her chest. “A curiosity shop. It was gathering dust alongside earthenware pottery and dishes meant to entice tourists. She got it for an absolute steal because the owners assumed it was fake. Leola sent it to me as a souvenir, but the more I investigate, the more I believe it may be authentic.”
“It’s difficult to say without more research.”
“You’re welcome to borrow it for as long as you need.”
Dorothy nodded. “Thank you. I’ll keep you apprised of anything I discover.” The eyes of the statue were very interesting. They seemed to have depth, somehow, a perception that made her feel as if the statue was returning her gaze. Her intrigue quickly turned to an unsettled feeling, and she suppressed a shudder as she placed it carefully back into the box. “Are you staying for dinner?”
“Beatrice asked me the same thing,” Trafalgar said with a smile as she followed Dorothy out of the room. “I have already accepted the hospitality.”
“Excellent. You know, you really must get into the habit of calling her Trix.”
Trafalgar didn’t seem overly keen. “I feel that is more of a nickname between the two of you. I would feel awkward using it.”
“I doubt she would mind.”
“Then I shall consider it. But only if she asks me.”
“That is more than fair.”
As Dorothy closed the door, she cast one final glance toward the box holding the ka statue. It seemed extraordinarily unlikely that it was authentic, but there was always the possibility that something slipped through the cracks at one dig or another. Or perhaps it was the product of an undiscovered tomb, an item recovered by a grave robber who had no idea what they possessed.
Whatever the statue’s origins, she couldn’t deny the fact that she felt an inexplicable unease in its presence. She was grateful to shut it behind the study doors to focus on dinner and conversation with her friends and compatriots. Any mysteries it might conceal could wait until after they’d eaten.
Chapter Three
It rained again over the weekend. Dorothy, suffering from a bout of cabin fever, asked Beatrice if she would mind relocating to the Inkwell for a few hours. At least there she could drink liquor she didn’t have to buy for herself. She gathered a translation she had been working on - an academic exercise more than anything else - and, on her way out the door, picked up the box containing Trafalgar’s statue. She tucked the box under her arm and allowed Beatrice to carry the umbrella over her head as they crossed to the car.
Beatrice drove her through flooded streets to the quaint gated building where the Mnemosyne Society met. The windows of the ground floor were lit with a soft yellow glow, and Dorothy was relieved to see someone else had gone to the trouble to warm the place so she wouldn’t have to shudder while the furnace rattled to life. Her gratitude was short-lived, however, and died quickly as soon as she stepped inside.
Cecil Dubourne, the youngest member to take up their profession, was seated at a table near the front window. Abraham Strode stood over Cecil in the middle of some beratement, his natty jacket pushed back so he could rest both fists on his hips. Cecil’s face was skewed by a smug smile, his posture indicating he felt he’d already won the argument. Strode was distracted by the new arrivals, and Cecil merely tipped his head to them in greeting as Dorothy shook the rain from her sleeves.
Leonard Keeping was seated at the bar and sighed with relief when he saw the new arrivals. “Ah, Lady Boone. Thank God. Someone who can talk some sense into these yahoos.”
Dorothy sighed wearily. “What is it now?”
Cecil said, “I merely made a comment about Mr. Strode’s pocket handkerchief--”
“Using coarse language he should not repeat in front of a lady,” Strode interjected.
Cecil rolled his eyes. “And he took offense.”
“He has been taking potshots at me all month. He is an insufferable man who doesn’t have what it takes to be a part of this club. His father would be ashamed to see what his son has made of his legacy.”
The humor evaporated from Cecil’s face. “Now, watch your tongue, fellow.”
“Oh, you can offer insult but once the tables are turned it’s another story.”
Leonard sighed and looked helplessly at Dorothy. “Would you please intervene?”
Dorothy began to say something but then thought better of it. “Very well.” She stepped forward. “Mr. Dubourne, Mr. Strode, thank you for your time but you will no longer be necessary in the Society. Please take a few minutes to gather any belongings you may have left in the building and then show yourselves out. You may leave your keys on the bar.”
Cecil and Strode both stared at her. “I beg your pardon?” Strode gasped, shocked.
“The entire purpose of forming this group was to overcome petty bickering like this. I did not gather you all together and provide this place for us so I could play mother hen to a bunch of grown men who should know how to behave. If you cannot be civil to one another, then we have no use for you. But if you wish to remain, then you will respect one another. And if one of you cannot do that, then the other must learn how to let things go. Am I understood, gentlemen?”
Both men muttered that they understood and returned to their respective tables. Strode pushed in the chair which he’d been using and chose a position with his back to Cecil’s table.
Dorothy straightened her jacket. “Splendid.” She noticed Beatrice watching everything with a bemused expression. “And one more thing. Beatrice tends bar because she likes it, not because it’s her job. You are not to treat her as if she’s hired help. She is here because I would be dead without her assistance. She is an equal member of the Society, a fact which may one day save your lives. If you wish for her to make you a drink, you will ask politely and you will thank her. And you could make a drink for her from time to time as well.”
Leonard cleared his throat. Cecil and Strode awkwardly shifted in their seats. All three made muttered agreements.
“Fabulous. Trix, if you wouldn’t mind...”
“Tea?”
Dorothy smiled. “And one for yourself. I’ll be on the first floor. You are gentlemen. Start acting like it.” She paused by the bar long enough for Beatrice to pass her a cup of tea, which she accepted with a dip of her head, and continued upstairs.
The first story was a library which had been filled with books from the libraries of every society member. Dorothy placed her things on one of the long tables in the center of the room. She put down the box with the ka statue and rested her hand on top of it for a moment. It wasn’t her intention to dig into its mystery, but there was a chance the Inkwell’s li
brary held more useful information than the one she had at home. She could look up a few things while she got settled.
She took off her wet outer jacket and hung it on a rack near the stairs. The space between the shelves was tight and dark, so she took a torch with her so she could read the spines. It was quiet enough that she could hear the rain rattling against the shingles even with another floor above her. The library was a cave, its small windows completely darkened by the storm. The chill was a physical entity clinging to the floor and the corners, pushed from one spot to another by her presence. It seemed like the storm was picking up. She also heard voices from below under the steady drumming of rain, conversational rather than argumentative, so she tuned it out.
The shelves revealed a book on Egyptian iconography and another on Egyptian funereal practices. Her shoes made hollow clicking sounds as she navigated the aisles. It took a bit of digging but she also found a journal that was marked as a reference guide to hieroglyphics. She flipped open the front cover and smiled when she recognized the handwriting.
“Cora. I’ll have to remember to thank you the next time we see each other.”
Dorothy took the books back to the table. In the time the statue had been in her possession, she’d noticed a string of characters carved on the base. She sat the lantern close enough to see the shapes and opened Cora’s journal. Occasionally forgers would include something accurate just to throw off appraisers or collectors of ancient artifacts, but the phrases would be gibberish. On the other end of the spectrum were authentic but mundane carvings. She’d once been positive “TENTAMUN ENJOYS SEXUAL ACTS WITH CAMELS” was a modern prankster, but the item was confirmed to be from the thirteenth dynasty. It would seem even ancient women had their honor impugned on restroom walls.
She placed one finger on each symbol as she deciphered it in the book, slowly transcribing it down. “Here imprisoned... gathered to the bosom of... time?” She tapped her pencil against the book as she double-checked the work.
Beatrice appeared at the head of the stairs. “Dorothy?”