Trafalgar and Boone and the Books of Breathing

by Geonn Cannon

  “We’ll get you where you need to go,” her escort said. “Fellas like that, sometimes they just need to be taught a lesson, you savvy?”

  “Yes.” Amenemhat looked back and saw the other stevedore hauling Cecil to his feet. The rain muffled the sound of another blow landing, but he saw Cecil’s body go limp in his attacker’s grip. “Y-yes, I appreciate your assistance in this matter.”

  The large man nodded, his face grim. “Fella like that hurt my mam. I swore if I ever saw anyone tryin’ it, I’d make ‘im regret raising his hand. Now... I know I can find you a ship going where you need to go. But I can’t promise it’ll be comfortable.”

  Amenemhat didn’t have to force a smile, so complete was his relief. “Whatever you find will be more than acceptable. I simply must get out of this city as quickly as possible.”

  “Let’s see what we can do for you.”

  He looked back once more and saw Cecil being tossed against a brick wall. He brought his hands up to protect his face, but the brute was moving in for another round.

  “Good riddance,” he muttered, tightening his hood as he followed his savior toward one of the ships that would deliver him to his queen.

  Chapter Six

  With Beatrice out of commission and Cecil on his way to check the docks, Dorothy and Trafalgar were forced to make their own way to Threnody’s. It wouldn’t have been a difficult walk in ideal weather, but the rain forced them to hire a taxi. Neither of them felt comfortable discussing their predicament with the driver eavesdropping so they rode in silence. Dorothy reached up and touched her lips, the fingers sliding to one side to again feel the bristles of her beard. She winced and turned to Trafalgar.

  “Do you think he would mind terribly if he had to regrow this beard?”

  Trafalgar pitched her voice equally low. “Do you trust yourself enough with a razor to place one against his throat?”

  “Hm. You have a point.” She rubbed her knuckles against her throat. “I’ve no idea how he stands it. The things I have to suffer for the benefit of having a woman’s body, and men do this to themselves.”

  “Actually, the presence of a beard indicates a lack of effort. There’s grooming, of course, but all a man must do to grow a beard is stop shaving.”

  Dorothy sighed. “Very true.”

  The cabdriver glanced back as they exited the backseat, no doubt confused by any part of the conversation he may have overheard. Dorothy stood under an overhang as Trafalgar performed the rituals required to gain access to Threnody’s workshop, then followed her inside through the concealed basement doors. The interior was as dark and foreboding as always, but with an added depth to the shadows due to the storm. Dorothy remained close behind Trafalgar so as not to startle their host. Threnody could be a bit volatile when it came to strangers.

  Trafalgar stopped at the top of the stairs. “Threnody? It’s Trafalgar. Under normal circumstances I would never come to you unannounced, but we are dealing with a matter of great urgency.”

  “This is beyond the pale!”

  Threnody’s voice came from their right. They both turned to see a dark shape step into the kitchen. It was more the sense of movement than anything visual; black flapping against black.

  “You dare to bring a stranger here?”

  “No, I assure you. The truth is far more complex than that. No matter how it looks, this is Lady Dorothy Boone.”

  Threnody still didn’t show herself. “I have seen Lady Boone’s male disguise. She is talented but she is not that convincing.”

  Dorothy said, “Please, Threnody. It really is me. My consciousness was swapped with someone else’s by an artifact. My companion Desmond Tindall offered his body to me so I could participate in recovering my own. I can itemize every weapon I’ve purchased from you in the past if that would make you believe me.”

  “Anyone can read an invoice. Perhaps if you were to pay off the balance of Lady Boone’s seven thousand pound debt...”

  Dorothy couldn’t stop herself from laughing. “Seven thousand pounds? I owe you two hundred. And if you expect me to believe you would extend that much credit to anyone, perhaps your mind has been swapped as well.”

  Threnody moved out of the shadows to face them. Even in the low light, they could tell she was wearing the mask of a plague doctor, her standard disguise to cover the failed experimentation that had been done to her face.

  “All right. Perhaps you are truly Dorothy Boone. What do you require from me?”

  “We were hoping you might have some non-lethal weapons we could use,” Dorothy said. “The less self-inflicted damage I have to recover from when I get my body back, the better.”

  Threnody said, “There is no such thing as a non-lethal weapon. Anything can be lethal if wielded correctly. Or incorrectly as the case may be.”

  She thought for a moment and then stepped between them to go upstairs. She gestured for them to follow her, and Dorothy noticed the Crafter smelled like clove cigarettes and oiled leather. She had never noticed the scent and wondered if it was stronger today or if Desmond just had a stronger sense of smell than she did. She ignored the mystery and followed Threnody upstairs to her shop.

  “I have a few prototypes that may fit your needs.”

  She sorted through the debris on her work table until she found an oblong wooden box with a lid that flipped open on the short right side. Dorothy instantly recognized it as an ammunition box from the Great War, though it was not information she recalled learning. Obviously more of Desmond’s mind slipping through. It was disconcerting and something she hoped she could somehow learn to prevent. She had a feeling that getting her body back would require her full attention. She could ill afford to be distracted or confused at the wrong moment.

  Threnody removed a weapon from the box. It had the butt of a pistol, but its barrel had been shaped into a wide, open circle which had been filled with opaque glass. She aimed it at the wall and squeezed the trigger. The glass came to life with a series of quick, fluttering flashes of bright white light. Dorothy flinched and turned away, and Trafalgar held up one hand to block the light.

  “More of an annoyance than anything else,” Trafalgar said.

  “You wouldn’t say that if I’d aimed it at your face. Hit someone in the eyes with this and it affects their nervous system. I heard stories of people in the trenches of the Great War being blinded or temporarily paralyzed while watching muzzle flashes or sparks of magic while at night. Quick bursts of light in an otherwise dark environment can disable your opponent without lasting harm.”

  Trafalgar took the weapon and examined it. “Splendid. This will do nicely. You really are ingenious, Threnody.”

  Threnody ignored the compliment and moved to another shelf. “Simple and effective, the ravdi.” She held out her hand to reveal a short stick that spanned the width of her palm with a few inches left over. It resembled Trafalgar’s emei piercers, but with blunt ends instead of sharp. She closed her fingers around the hilt and demonstrated a few blows. “A strike will cause pain on bony areas such as the knuckles or sternum. Fleshy areas like the arm, flanks, throat, or eyes will obviously be vulnerable as well.”

  “A stick?” Dorothy said. “I expected more from you.”

  Threnody glared at her. “Grab my arm, ‘Lady Boone.’”

  Dorothy stepped forward and grabbed Threnody’s arm. Threnody tossed the ravdi to her other hand then brought it down on the web between Dorothy’s thumb and forefinger. Her hand convulsed and Threnody twisted, escaping from Dorothy’s grip entirely. She swung the ravdi at Dorothy’s hip, hitting with far more force than it seemed possible. When Dorothy doubled over from that, Threnody casually adjusted her grip on the weapon and thumped the curve of Dorothy’s neck and shoulder with barely any force behind the blow at all. The pain still made her cry out and she fell to her knees.

  “I stand corrected,” Dorothy said, still down, her hand massaging her shoulder. “Hopefully Desmond will be understanding about any bruises he has when
I return this body to him.”

  “Hmph.” Threnody handed the ravdi to Dorothy and looked around her workroom again. She searched a different shelf and returned with another wooden box. “These pellets will burst upon impact. They’re filled with sulfur. Be careful with this one, because it would be very easy for anyone deploying it to be as affected as their enemies.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” Trafalgar looked at Dorothy. “Are you all right?”

  Dorothy was still massaging her shoulder. “I’ll be fine. These will be more than effective for our needs, thank you.”

  Threnody said, “One more item.” She opened a drawer and withdrew a small ovoid object made of metal. She pinched one end and the sides bloomed open like a black flower. The center shot forward and withdrew almost too quickly to see. “Squeeze to open, then slap it onto your opponent’s skin. Arm, hand, neck. Clothing might work, but skin is better. The needle with deliver a small dose of sedative. Your body will have some marks where the legs dig in, but those will heal as quickly as any scrape or bruise.”

  Dorothy took the object and carefully examined it. “Quite ingenious. Can we add these items to my debt?”

  Threnody shook her head. “As I said, these are prototypes. I have no idea how effective they’ll be in the field. Consider this a test run. Let me know how they work, any flaws I need to work out, and I’ll consider it a fair exchange.”

  “Seems fair enough,” Dorothy said.

  “I’ll remind you that you said that if these fail when you need them most. Good luck.”

  Dorothy packed the weapons into her pockets, letting Trafalgar take the sulfur pellets. When they turned to leave, Threnody said Trafalgar’s name in a way that indicated she should hold back.

  “I’ll see if I can hail a cab,” Dorothy said, leaving them alone.

  Threnody stepped closer and lowered her voice. “It’s true? Dorothy Boone’s soul is in that man’s body?”

  “Soul, consciousness, essence. I doubt there is any true scientific word for it. But yes, those who last saw Dorothy’s body insisted it was under someone else’s control. And having spent quite a lot of time with Professor Tindall, I can swear to you that the man who just left is not him. So whatever the truth may be, it is undeniable that some sort of exchange occurred.”

  Threnody turned away, the dark oval goggles that covered her eyes reflecting nothing. She had been born as Ida Kearney, the daughter of an inventor. She was assaulted by a man who rewarded her struggling by bashing her face in with a bit of masonry. She repaired the damage to bone and muscle using metal and leather straps. As she aged, she updated her parts as-needed but she still considered her appearance ghoulish.

  “Would it be possible?”

  She didn’t have to finish the question. “Not without great sacrifice by the host. From what I understand, you would have to displace someone from their body in order to take it.”

  Threnody nodded. “I understand. I had to ask.”

  “Of course.” Trafalgar put a hand on her friend’s shoulder and squeezed. “Have I ever told you that I find your scars beautiful?”

  “If you’re asking if you’ve ever lied to me, then no.”

  Trafalgar said, “It’s no lie. It’s not softening the truth, either. When I saw your wounds for the first time, I was stunned. It’s evidence of the brutality you’ve survived and the brilliance with which you saved your own life. I am amazed by your face, Threnody. I am humbled by it. I have never seen anyone wear their strengths so brazenly.”

  Threnody had turned her back on Trafalgar. When she spoke, her voice was soft. “You should go. Time is fleeting for your friend.”

  “Can we meet afterward?”

  “Oh... right, your sling. I’m afraid it won’t be ready for a few more weeks.”

  Trafalgar said, “Not for that. As friends.”

  Threnody turned to face her again. “If you wish.”

  “Excellent. I shall look forward to it.” She patted the pocket which held the pellets. “I thank you in advance for the help you’ve once again given to us.”

  “Of course. You’re my best customers. If anything happened to you, I would lose two-thirds of my business.”

  Trafalgar smiled and left the workroom.

  Downstairs, she found Dorothy waiting on the front stoop. Desmond’s hair had flattened to his forehead, his clothing sopping wet and wrinkled at the collar. She’d never seen him look so disheveled and, once she thought about it, she had also never seen Dorothy looking less put-together. She was standing with her back to the wall, head turned to watch the street, arms crossed over her chest. Though the body was undeniably male, there was something feminine in the way his legs were arranged and the slope of his shoulders. If she squinted her eyes, she could have sworn it was actually Dorothy in one of her guises.

  Dorothy noticed Trafalgar’s approach and stood up straighter. “No cabs yet. We should have asked our driver to wait.”

  “May I make an observation?” Dorothy nodded. “You stand like a woman.”

  “I should hope so.”

  Trafalgar said, “You miss my point. You stand, walk, and comport yourself as a woman. Desmond’s body isn’t built for that. You’re making it behave unusually. That may be the source of your discomfort. If you were to simply stop focusing on it and let the body relax into a more natural pose, you would feel more at ease.”

  Dorothy furrowed her brow and pushed away from the wall. Her posture remained fine, but her hips and shoulders relaxed slightly. She hmmed and moved her arms as if testing the fit of a jacket.

  “You may be onto something there. Now if only you could find us a cab.”

  “Perhaps...” Trafalgar looked down the street and saw a cab approaching. She stepped onto the sidewalk into the rain and lifted her arm. The cab immediately slowed and pulled up next to the curb. She turned and smiled at Dorothy, who glared at her from beneath Desmond’s knit brows. She shrugged and opened the back door of the cab. “Never underestimate the compassion of a cabbie who sees a damsel in distress.”

  “You? A damsel?”

  Trafalgar said, “It comes in useful from time to time. And besides, you’re not looking particularly damselesque today. Not that you ever do, really...”

  Dorothy heaved a sigh and settled in the backseat. She gave the address of Leonard and Agnes Keeping to the driver and slumped against the back seat.

  “I never thought I’d see the day when I missed a man treating me like a dainty flower.”

  Trafalgar patted her on the knee. “You’ll be sick to death of it again in good time, Dorothy. I have faith.”

  The cabdriver looked over his shoulder at them, confused but unwilling to give up the fare. Dorothy smiled at his confusion as he pulled away from the curb.

  #

  Amenemhat was escorted through the alien ship by her savior, who revealed his name was Paul. He kept one hand possessively on his shoulder, letting it slip lower as he guided him through doorways and narrow passages. Amenemhat did not appreciate the constant pressure of the man’s hand, but he didn’t want to risk his deliverance by saying anything. It had taken hardly any time whatsoever to find a ship bound for Cairo. He was pleasantly surprised by the estimate of how long the trip would take. One week wasn’t anywhere near as fast as he would hope, but also it was not as bad as he feared.

  Paul spoke quietly with a few members of the crew until he was passed along to the captain. Amenemhat used the name “Dorothy” when asked for his identity but refused to tell them what he was fleeing. The men seemed to have come up with a scenario in their heads, for they looked at her with an odd combination of pity and scorn. To them, he was a woman who had angered her man or perhaps refused to perform wifely duties. They thought whatever had turned him into a runaway was his own fault. Let them think what they liked, so long as they took him home.

  He was given a small, cramped cell with walls of curved metal. There was a small bed, a circular window, and a narrow desk attached to the wall b
y two chains. Clanks and thunks traveled through the belly of the ship and seemed to echo in the tiny chamber. He didn’t know how anyone could be expected to sleep in such a place, but he wasn’t going to complain. Paul also found a pair of men’s clothes, black trousers and a white shirt, so Amenemhat could change out of his soaked outfit.

  “Let’s get you out of those wet clothes,” was how he phrased it, eyes skimming hungrily over his borrowed body.

  “I can manage,” Amenemhat said.

  “I insist, pretty little Dorothy.”

  Paul reached for her. Amenemhat drove the flat of his hand into Paul’s throat and felt the fragile construct of his windpipe crunch under the force of the blow. Paul’s eyes went wide, his tongue extending as he gasped for air. Amenemhat pulled Paul deeper into the room, grabbed the back of his head, and quickly introduced his face to the metal wall four or five times before letting the man fall like a bag of wet bread. He exhaled sharply and adjusted his blouse, which had gone askew in the brief interlude. He composed himself and dragged the heavy dead weight from the center of the floor to the space beneath his bed. Hopefully he would find a more permanent solution before smell became an issue.

  He removed his wet clothes and paused to look down at his body. Deceptively muscled, though petite. The woman Boone had fight training and, judging from some of the scars he could see, she’d been in her fair bit of actual fights. He again thanked Amun for providing him with such a worthy host. It was a good omen that he was on the right path and that his objective was blessed by god.

  Someone knocked on the door. He turned, looked at the blood on the floor, and stepped forward to block the door from opening.

  “Who is it, please?”

  “Bennie. Cap’n wants to know if Paulie is gonna sail with us, ‘cause if not, he’s gotta go ashore now ‘fore we shove off.”

  Amenemhat said, “He... he’s going to spend the trip here. With me. Taking his... rightful reward for rescuing me on the docks.”