Trafalgar and Boone and the Books of Breathing

by Geonn Cannon

  Beatrice said, “I’ll find her myself.”

  Virago laughed. “Oh, I highly doubt that. The offer is on the table, Miss Sek. It’s up to you whether you take it or not.” She turned and walked toward the door. She lifted her right hand, and both doors swung open. “A water elemental in a storm like this... I have the keys to the entire world in the palm of my hand. It’s really quite magnificent. I hope to see you soon, Bao Tai Sek.”

  Beatrice closed her eyes and hung her head, ashamed of what she was about to do. But Virago was on the front steps and, when she left, there was no way of knowing when their paths would cross again. Beatrice and Dorothy had both been trying to find her since their last encounter, and neither had any luck. Now she’d discovered that even their most sacred place, the townhouse, was vulnerable. At the very least Beatrice could spend the time with her trying to find vulnerabilities in the damn woman’s powers. She raised her head and looked at the woman who was now completely shrouded in rain.

  “Virago. Wait.”

  The terrorist stopped and turned. Even in the darkness it was easy to see the poison in her smile. Beatrice pushed down the bile that threatened to rise.

  “Show me.”

  Chapter Eight

  Dorothy had the benefit of dressing in men’s clothing for years, so she had some experience in knowing what to pack. There was a moment in Desmond’s bedroom where she was worried about intruding on his privacy, but it couldn’t have been worse than actually borrowing his body. She packed lightweight shirts and trousers, then went into the bathroom and took whatever looked essential. Desmond liked to keep his facial hair neatly groomed and, sure enough, she found a grooming kit. A razor, brush, scissors, cream, aftershave, mirror...

  “Beards as a sign of laziness indeed,” she muttered as she added it to her things.

  Before she went back downstairs to where Agnes and Trafalgar were waiting, she took the opportunity for an experiment. She was in a relatively familiar space, without the pressure of time, and she did suppose there was a pressing need that required tending. She unbuttoned the fly of her trousers and the underwear. Out of habit, she started to lower herself to the commode, but realized it wouldn’t be necessary. She cleared her throat, closed her eyes, and relaxed. She had grown up with brothers so she knew that aim was a necessity, and she did the best she could with a minimum of actual contact.

  Afterward she declared the mission a success. There was a bit of confusion about returning everything to its proper confinement but she thought she was getting better at it.

  “Sorry, Des,” she muttered. “But on the brighter side, we’ll be closer than any true husband and wife could ever be. If nothing else this will make me a much more convincing decoy for you.”

  She took her bag downstairs and Agnes drove them across the river to Trafalgar’s home. It was full dark by the time they arrived and, though the rain had stopped, the heavy cloud cover meant there was no light from the stars or moon.

  Trafalgar turned on lamps as she moved through her space, a private sanctuary which she had been spending less and less time in. She said it was just more convenient to stay with Dorothy and Beatrice, but the truth of the matter was that the building hadn’t felt like a home since Adeline’s death and Leola’s subsequent departure. Now it was little more than a waiting room where she kept her tools and personal items. She didn’t have an armory or vault like Dorothy, and she certainly didn’t have anything like her library.

  She stood for a moment in the parlor. There were memories in this place, good memories, but perhaps it was time to let them go. She would always cherish her friends and the time they’d spent living under this roof, but there was no reason to keep it now that they were gone. Adeline was gone. Leola was in Egypt building her new life. Trafalgar knew the time had come for her to move on as well. She packed a bag and went back out to the car.

  “It’s a grand house,” Dorothy said. “I can see why you would be reluctant to leave it.”

  “It’s very large,” Trafalgar said, “and quite empty. Although I fear adding another body to the Threadneedle house might make it overcrowded.”

  Dorothy shrugged. “Nothing wrong with a little crowding.”

  Agnes drove them to Wanstead Flats, an area Dorothy had always considered anomalous within the confines of London. It was an unsullied stretch of grassland, pastures, and lakes that had remained free of homes or businesses. Agnes found a place to park and apologetically informed Trafalgar and Dorothy they would have to walk the remaining distance. “Mazzi is overly cautious, but not without reason. She doesn’t want just anybody discovering the existence of her plane.”

  “How has she managed to keep it unknown?” Trafalgar asked. “People must have seen it in flight.”

  “Of course. And they have seen her transferring it from hangar to hangar. It looks ordinary enough, as planes go. People saw enough of them during the War. It’s only if they become interested in the specific technology she’s using, or if they notice the range and speed of the ship, that it becomes problematic. She’s very careful when flying over London but, for the most part, it’s impossible to tell just how special it is just by looking.” She smiled at Trafalgar and Dorothy. “I believe that’s something all three of us have experience with.”

  They walked through knee-high brush, startling some grazing cattle, to a semi-circle of trees which surrounded a corrugated metal hangar. Lights shone from within and made the archway opening look like the mouth of a mythical cave. The plane stood within, shrouded in shadows. Dorothy didn’t know the color: it may have been yellow or simply appeared such due to the golden light washing over it from the lanterns. The winds spread ten meters in either direction, taller than any of them, and a good fifteen meters from nose to tail. A woman was crouched on top of the plane, her knees pointed out to either side like she was a cat getting ready to pounce. She wore tight tan pants, a brown leather jacket, and a flight cap. She was basically every newsreel image of a fighting ace Dorothy had ever seen.

  Agnes whistled to the pilot. “Mazzi! Come down and meet your passengers.”

  The woman unfolded and climbed down from the wing. Her face was square, her nose thin and pointed, and a crown of dark brown curls peeked out from underneath her cap. Her eyes were green underneath slender eyebrows that were arched in surprise.

  “The adventurers!” She spoke heavily-accented English, the vowels betraying the fact that her first language was Italian. “Isidora Mazzi. You can call me Mazzi.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Trafalgar said. “I am Trafalgar, and this is my associate, D--”

  “Desmond Tindall,” Dorothy interrupted. She had decided it was far easier to simply play the role than explain the situation to everyone who crossed their path.

  Trafalgar looked askance at her but seemed to pick up on her intention. “Yes. Professor Tindall and I are immensely grateful for the use of your ship. Agnes wouldn’t have betrayed your confidence unless it was a matter of grave importance.”

  Mazzi said, “I know Agnes well enough to believe she wouldn’t have spent the currency of my trust without thinking it was a worthy expense. And I’ve heard stories about you, Miss Trafalgar. Not so much you, Professor. No offense.”

  “None taken,” Dorothy said. “I tend to operate in more of a support capacity.”

  “Perhaps when we arrive at your destination, I can meet your other associate. Lady Boone? I have to admit, I’ve always admired her.”

  Dorothy couldn’t resist a smile. “Truly?”

  “Oh, yes, very much so. She is an inspiration.”

  Agnes grinned at Dorothy. “Well, I’ll leave you ladies to it. Good luck!”

  Mazzi smiled, confused. “‘Ladies’?”

  Dorothy said, “Ah, I-I am in the minority, it would seem. As I often am.”

  “You seem like my kind of gentleman, Professor Tindall. Come, I will help you stow your baggage and then you can help me with the pre-flight. We won’t be able to talk much onc
e we’re up, so I’ll go over a few hand signals just so you’re not completely in the dark about what I’m doing.”

  Trafalgar said, “I’m sure we can trust you to keep us safe.”

  Mazzi laughed. “Spoken like someone who has never flown with Izzy Mazzi before! We’ll go over the hand signals. Just in case.”

  Dorothy looked back at Trafalgar, trying to hide how excited she was at the prospect of a daredevil flight over Europe. Judging by the eyeroll she received in return, she was less than successful.

  #

  Amenemhat risked leaving his quarters after they had been at sea for several hours. He had spent the time lying on the cot trying to organize the thoughts and memories of his host. She was extremely well-educated as well as being handy in a brawl. She remembered wars and a great deal of history, including portions from his part of the world. The pyramids still stood! His people were not only remembered, they were revered! Several of them were even remembered by name, although it seemed Henuttaui was not one of those immortalized in history books. He would change that. Soon the world would know her name.

  But first he would have to survive the journey home. He had waited until the sounds of the ship grew quiet before he went outside. It was night, and it seemed as if most of the crew had retired for the evening. A few of the men peered at him as their paths crossed and he was once again reminded that he was in a woman’s body. Boone remembered that women on a ship was considered superstitious by many sailors but he didn’t care to reassure their misconceptions. Let them fear his presence.

  He found the larder and prepared a small meal for himself. He was half-starved. He took his food out onto the main deck and sat cross-legged near the railing. They had sailed past the edges of the storm and the moon shone down on the water. He could see the shoreline of the unknown country they were sailing past. He chewed the meat carefully, grimacing at the taste but knowing it was better than nothing. Who knew what kind of delicacies these people ate? He was lucky to find palatable meat and bread.

  Amenemhat thought of Henuttaui, the most beautiful woman in any kingdom, mother of the king and holder of the title God’s Wife of Amun. He was a High Priest and therefore should never even have met her eye but she was too utterly appealing for him to ignore. He often lingered when he knew she would be passing by just so he could get a glimpse of her. Eventually she took notice and graced him with brief smiles when he caught her eye.

  She was the also one who did the unthinkable and came to him, who met him in prayer and knelt beside him on the mat. They didn’t exchange a word during that first communion. He was too terrified to say the wrong thing and she did nothing to ease his tension. When the prayer was finished, she stood and left, still without a word. He’d watched her go, confused but emboldened by her taking the first step.

  The first time they touched, his finger to the smooth back of her hand, he’d had an embarrassing physical reaction that was impossible to hide. She had noticed it, which only increased his humiliation. But she said nothing and turned her back so he could save face. Soon he was accustomed to the touch of her hand, the feel of her skin on his. Soon he had tasted her breath and felt her mouth on parts of his body that had never been touched by another.

  He opened his eyes and realized he had become distracted by the memory. He looked around and saw that he was still alone on the deck. The food spread out on a napkin in front of him now seemed horrid and unappetizing. He gathered it up so he could eat later without risking another trip out of his quarters. It would be a long journey home and anything he could do to minimize contact with these barbarians was worth the effort.

  Back in the safe confines of his room, he placed the food in the satchel he’d found in the closet, then looked at the floor next to the bed. The hand of his savior and would be rapist, Paul, had fallen out. There was also a small rivulet of blood seeping along the edge of the wall. The corpse would have to be dealt with soon. He sighed and decided there would likely be no better time, so he pulled the man out and swaddled him in a sheet.

  On his way back below deck, he encountered a pair of sailors. “Show me Paul’s quarters.”

  The men smiled at each other and one moved closer to her. “We could show you to mine. I bet they’re a lot more comfortable.”

  Amenemhat closed his eyes and sighed. He punched the man who had spoken in the throat, stomped on his ankle, and shoved his face into the hard metal wall of the corridor. He then grabbed his quarry under the chin, the other hand on his forehead, and twisted quickly until he heard a snap. His friend stared, too stunned to react, and Amenemhat grabbed the collar of his shirt to slam him against the opposite wall.

  “Must I make an example of you as well?”

  “No! No. No, Paul’s quarters... they’re... th-they’re at the end of this corridor. 3B-IO2.”

  Amenemhat released him. “Dispose of this man’s body. Tell no one what happened or you will be the next one sent overboard. Am I understood?”

  “Yes. Y-yes, ma’am.”

  Amenemhat turned and walked away. Paul would have clothing he could wear and, though it would likely not fit well, it would be better than wearing the same thing for the entire trip to Egypt. He looked down at Dorothy Boone’s hands. They had now felled two men, neither of whom Amenemhat thought she could stand a chance against. Henuttaui would be very, very pleased with the woman he was bringing to her. He wished he’d grabbed the statue before leaving, but it wasn’t entirely necessary for what he needed to do. Henuttaui’s statue would be more than enough to perform the ceremony.

  As for Dorothy Boone’s consciousness, he hoped it was very comfortable staying right where it was. Her body now belonged to his beloved.

  #

  Mazzi called her plane Valkyrie. It was indeed gold in color, as Dorothy confirmed when she climbed into the middle seat and fastened the harness. It took off at half past nine o’clock, frightening the cattle the group had encountered on their way to the hangar. Mazzi was in the forward seat with Trafalgar at the rear, their positions carefully chosen to better distribute their weight.

  “I want to warn you I’ll be going slow over the city,” Mazzi shouted over the chop of the propellers, “but once we’re over the Channel I can make up some time. That’s both to reassure you and a warning. It gets a little windy up there.”

  “I’m sure we’ll be fine,” Dorothy assured her.

  Mazzi said, “Remember you said that in six hours when we arrive at Rome.”

  Dorothy said, “Wait, I’m sorry, did you say six hours...?”

  Mazzi was already facing forward and either didn’t hear her or decided not to answer. That estimate would have them traveling at speeds of 250 kilometers per hour. It hardly seemed possible, but as soon as they were airborne, Dorothy believed their pilot may have been overestimating the flight time. Their heads and shoulders were exposed to the air and were soon battered by frigid and relentless winds. They both wore leather caps and goggles which matched Mazzi’s, but Dorothy was unprepared for how uncomfortable it would be. For the first time she was grateful for Desmond’s beard. She twisted as much as her seat allowed and saw that Trafalgar had wrapped a scarf around the lower half of her face, her features clearly visible through the taut fabric. Dorothy held up her thumb, but Trafalgar shook her head and responded by turning her thumb down.

  Dorothy faced forward again and pushed up her sleeve to look at her watch. The next twenty-four hours would be non-stop travel, save for a brief stopover in Albania so their pilot could sleep. They would arrive in Rome in the dead of night for refueling, then jump over to Tirana for their layover. Dorothy thought Rome, being the midpoint of their journey and Mazzi’s home country, would be a better choice.

  “I’m not entirely welcome in Rome,” she said. “Long story. I should be fine so long as I don’t leave the airfield. I do hope your passports are in order.”

  As do I, Dorothy thought. She had Desmond’s passport in her jacket pocket, but she had no idea if there would be any iss
ues with it. Hopefully they wouldn’t have any problems at their stopovers.

  Their speed did increase over the Channel, as evidence by a stronger burst of wind against their faces. Dorothy was beginning to question the wisdom of an experimental craft. But they had to reach Cairo before Amenemhat did.

  She looked out over the flat expanse of black sea. Somewhere out there was the Bessemer, and aboard it was the man who had stolen her body. Part of her wished it was plausible for Mazzi to turn and sweep across the water until they spotted the ship. Dorothy highly doubted the Valkyrie, as impressive as it might have been, could land on a cargo ship. In any event, they would likely run out of fuel before they even caught sight of their prey.

  In a little over one day’s time, they would land in the desert. Then they could begin planning.

  Chapter Nine

  The players were all on the board.

  At sea, Amenemhat aboard the Bessemer. Pursuing him aboard another ship were the Keepings. Cora Hyde and Abraham Strode were back home in London pouring through any references to ancient Egypt for references to their quarry. Dorothy wished she could assist in that endeavor, but she was board an experimental aircraft called the Valkyrie with its inventor and pilot and Trafalgar. The seat was comfortable but exposed to the air and too cramped for her to do anything but sit and contemplate her current situation.

  She was trapped in Desmond Tindall’s body.

  The worst part was that she was becoming more comfortable in his skin. She actually did manage to fall asleep on the plane, her exhaustion eventually overpowering the shriek of wind. She felt a burst of confusion upon waking but, once she remembered the events of the past few hours, she calmed down. She had taken Trafalgar’s advice to let the body relax, to let the muscles settle in a way they were familiar with, and it had done wonders. But now she was concerned about becoming too comfortable. She wanted her body back. She didn’t want a period of adjustment, she wasn’t herself back.