Trafalgar and Boone and the Books of Breathing

by Geonn Cannon

  When they landed in Tirana, she sent a telegram home to inform Beatrice of their progress. She also received a telegram from Cora explaining they’d made very little progress uncovering Amenemhat’s history. Dorothy wished them luck and offered her own library, although she highly doubted she would have anything relevant.

  Mazzi treated them all to lunch from a bistro in the airport and they found rooms to rent where they could sleep for a few hours. When they woke, Dorothy found a telegraph from Cora.

  “Went to your house, but Beatrice wasn’t present. Will try again later.” She furrowed her brow. “That’s odd. Where would she have gone?”

  Trafalgar said, “Perhaps she joined the Keepings on their pursuit of the Bessemer. She can recuperate on the ship as well as she can at home.”

  “I’m not entirely convinced that’s true, but I suppose it does sound like something she would do.” She sighed and looked at her watch. They were supposed to meet up with Mazzi in fifteen minutes. “We should get back to the plane. I’m not looking forward to twelve more hours of being whipped in the face.”

  “Consider yourself lucky. I’m not sure you’re aware of this, but those compartments were not made with a woman of my height in mind.”

  Dorothy winced. “I didn’t consider that. Are you all right?”

  “I’ll be fine. I once traveled eighteen hours folded into a crate.” Dorothy raised an eyebrow and Trafalgar smirked. “You’re not the only one who had adventures before we partnered up.”

  Mazzi was waiting for them at the airstrip. She smiled and clapped her hands as they joined her next to the plane. “Buongiorno, ‘ladies’.” She winked at Dorothy, who smiled indulgently. “Are we all rested up for the remainder of our flight?”

  “I suppose we shall manage,” Dorothy said.

  “I have excellent news for you. I have recalculated our flight plan. My sweet Valkyrie has been performing beyond expectations, so we can skip the stop in Izmir and go directly to Cyprus. I can get you there in five hours, and then to Cairo in another two.”

  Dorothy was stunned. Subtracting the time they’d taken to sleep, their trip from London had only taken fifteen hours instead of the thirty she would have estimated. She looked at the plane with newfound respect. “This is a mighty little plane you’ve built here. I’ll have to see about enlisting your services for future expeditions.”

  Trafalgar said, “For Lady Boone and myself, you mean.”

  “Ah, yes... of course that’s what I meant. But when did you have the time to recalculate anything? This layover was meant for rest.”

  Mazzi looked suspicious, but good-natured about her confusion. “Who can sleep in the middle of a grand experiment? I’ve always wondered how it would manage a long hop like this. I just could never justify a journey for its own sake. I owe you one, Professor Tindall, and you Miss Trafalgar.” She patted the side of the plane proudly. “Okay. hop on board. Sooner begun, sooner done.”

  “Indeed,” Dorothy said.

  They resumed their positions and once again they were off, this time crossing Greece. They passed over the Aegean Sea, and Dorothy peered over the edge to see if she could spot the area where she nearly died the year before. She caught movement in the corner of her eye and saw Trafalgar seemed to be doing the same thing. They shared a smile before Dorothy faced forward again. She didn’t want to jinx anything but, knowing they only had a few more hours in the air, she was actually starting to enjoy the way the wind whipped against her face.

  She also had grown fond of the back of Mazzi’s neck, as odd that statement seemed. The curl of her leather jacket, the way her hair danced in the constant stream of air pushing over her shoulders. She admired the set of the woman’s shoulders as she commanded the plane through invisible eddies and currents, pulling up or dipping down based on indicators only she could see. She was fortunate she didn’t have to stare into the woman’s emerald eyes for the entire journey, or hear that magnificent accent. The two combined were highly dangerous--

  “Crumbs,” Dorothy muttered, gazing down at what was happening in her lap. It was barely noticeable through her trousers and the tail of her jacket, but her body was definitely giving away the prurience of her thoughts. She flushed behind her beard and moved her hands to cover the embarrassing rise she had caused. She would have to be more careful about her thoughts. She focused on the scenery and, soon enough, her anatomy was no longer causing her distress.

  She idly wondered how the other members of their little society were faring on their missions. She wondered what Amenemhat was doing on his longer journey. What was he plotting? How was he filling the time between London and Cairo? What devious surprises did he have up his sleeve for them? And, most worrisome, did they truly have a chance of retaking her body without causing some grievous injury from which she would never recover?

  #

  Beatrice blinked awake, uncertain when she’d fallen asleep. She had no memory of drifting off or even getting into a car. The fact that she was almost always a driver caused her to panic. She sat straight up in her seat and grabbed for the steering wheel, her hands landing flat on the dashboard of the passenger side. Her heart slowed when she realized she was a passenger. She looked to her right and saw Virago behind the wheel, revealing their conversation the night before hadn’t been a dream or hallucination. She wore a driving cap, a pair of goggles, and a bright red scarf that looked like blood against her pale throat. She glanced casually over at Beatrice, smiled coldly, and faced forward again.

  Beatrice scanned the countryside around them. She saw low stone walls dividing the road from a long flat field. The world seemed to tilt slightly at the horizon, as if they were coming down off a mountain, but looking back she only saw gentle mounds of hills. It seemed like she could see for a hundred miles in every direction, the view broken only by the occasional stone building. Up ahead the road was flanked on either side by tall, ivy-wrapped trees reaching up to the grey sky with skeletal branches.

  “Where are we?”

  “Ireland.” Virago’s brogue was thicker, as if emboldened by being in her homeland. “We’re not far from Kildare.”

  Beatrice sat up straighter. “Ireland? That’s not possible. What day is it?” She didn’t remember a boat, and she definitely didn’t remember traveling over four hundred miles.

  “It’s three days since you were last conscious. I didn’t want to take the risk you would change your mind before we passed the point of no return.”

  “You knocked me out?”

  “I let you sleep. A little longer than usual, but don’t you feel rested?”

  There was little Beatrice could do in their current positions. Even if she could angle herself properly to attack Virago, she was driving. She couldn’t risk running off the road, and she wasn’t entirely sure she would be able to make her way back home without help.

  “If you do that again, your life will take a painful turn.”

  Virago laughed softly. “I do like your fire. Which will be very useful when we get to where we are going.”

  Beatrice remained silent for the remainder of the ride, which ended on the grassless forecourt of a crumbling church. Virago removed her driving gear as Beatrice examined the grounds. The church was surrounded by a wooden fence that didn’t look as if it could deter anyone from knocking it over. Beatrice had been chilly since she woke up but, as she and Virago approached the side of the church, the temperature seemed to rise by several degrees.

  “This church was founded by the Brigidine sisterhood long enough ago that we don’t need to concern ourselves with the actual date. Brigid lit the eternal flame herself, and it burned here until the sixteenth century, when monasteries were being suppressed. Everyone believed the flame was extinguished, but that was a falsehood meant to protect the flame. A spark remained, and it was transferred into one of the sisters.”

  Beatrice said, “The flame elemental. That was how she was born?”

  They had reached a heavy wooden door with an im
posing iron lock securing it. Some magic was incapable of manipulating iron, but all magic could defeat wood. Virago didn’t even bother with the lock and simply shoved the door out of their way. The chains meant to keep them out slithered to the ground like the shedding skin of a snake. Virago led Beatrice inside.

  “In quieter times, she keeps the fire stoked here, where no one can disturb it. The actual flame is just a symbol. The true power is the elemental.” She turned and smiled at Beatrice. “As well you know.”

  Beatrice sighed. They were in a sanctuary, the pews long removed but with enough trappings that she knew where she was. A lectern on the stage was carved with the image of a flame. Pale blue light came in through the windows, reflecting brightly off the cobwebs collecting in every corner. Virago led the way down what had once been the center aisle, respecting the original architecture. Beatrice followed behind her.

  “Leave.”

  They turned toward the voice, which had come from a balcony overlooking the sanctuary. A woman was staring down at them, her green robe trimmed with gold at the cuffs and the edge of the hood which was lifted to conceal her features. The one word had been spoken softly but with enough power that Beatrice didn’t doubt there was a threat behind it.

  Virago held her hands out to either side. “We come here as friends.”

  “And yet you enter uninvited.”

  “She has a bad habit of doing that,” Beatrice muttered.

  The robed woman cocked her head. “British? By way of France? Interesting.”

  “You expected Mandarin?”

  “I never expect anything from strangers. It saves disappointment in the long run.”

  Virago stepped around Beatrice. “My name is Emmeline Potter. This is Bao Tai Sek. You may call us Virago and Beatrice, if you like. And what may we call you?”

  The woman said, “Sharing my name would imply you will be here long enough to continue this conversation. I assure you, that will not be the case.”

  “I hoped this would not be difficult.” She looked at Beatrice. “Show her.”

  “Show her... what?”

  Virago said, “There isn’t enough water around here to be impressive. But you can control stone, dirt, ivy. Think of something.”

  Beatrice furrowed her brow and looked around the sanctuary. One of the inner walls had collapsed, leaving behind a pile of rough and broken stones. She extended one hand, gathered energy in the cupped palm, and twisted her wrist to reach across the floor. The energy enveloped the stone and she used her other hand to manipulate the pile into a straight line. She turned sideways and pushed up, lining the stones into a row of steps which led up to the balcony.

  Virago chuckled and casually walked up the stones. “My friend--”

  Beatrice snapped, “No.”

  “--my associate Miss Sek is an earth elemental. I am a water elemental.” She had reached the balcony and reached out, pushing up the hooded woman’s sleeves. From below, Beatrice could see her forearms were covered with intricate flame tattoos, the ink spreading around her wrists as if her hands were the source of the fire. Virago smiled. “And you, my dear, are a fire elemental.”

  The woman pulled her hands away. “I’m nothing of the sort.”

  “There’s no point in denying it. We’ve come this far. Miss Sek and I found each other through happenstance, and once we were acquainted, I became aware of your existence. In the space of one year, three of the four elementals have found each other. Surely you understand the significance of that.”

  “Even if I were to accept your delusions and join your cause,” the woman said, “to what end? For what purpose have you come here to enlist me?”

  Virago said, “Prophecy tells of four elementals who will unite one day to bring about a fifth.”

  “Aether. That which makes up the stars and the void between them.”

  “Exactly. The prophecy merely says void, but I’m confident they are one and the same. Once we find the representative of Wind, we will be ready.”

  Beatrice said, “I still believe ‘void’ is not something we want to bring about.”

  “We shall agree to disagree,” Virago said, “at least until all four of us have been reunited. Then we can discuss it as a group. Are you with us?”

  The woman hesitated. She looked down to where Beatrice was still holding up the hovering set of stones. Beads of sweat had appeared on her forehead, but she appeared capable of continuing for as long as she needed to. Finally the woman looked back at Virago.

  “If it truly is fate that brought you here, then I suppose I have little choice in the matter. Where shall we begin?”

  Virago smiled.

  Chapter Ten

  Trafalgar admittedly didn’t know much about the demonstrations underway in Egypt. Everything she knew was what she gleaned from Leola’s correspondence. She knew that nationalists were involved in a revolution against England’s occupation. Leola wrote that she was treated well by the locals, since she wasn’t British by birth. Dorothy seemed confident that they wouldn’t have any trouble, but Trafalgar didn’t share her optimism. Even if Dorothy was able to talk her way through any confrontations, their foe was wearing the body of a British woman with little to no knowledge of what he was entering into.

  She looked over the side of the plane as Mazzi began losing altitude and tried not to panic; there didn’t seem to be anything resembling an airstrip in the vicinity. There was a possibility that they’d pushed the experimental aircraft too far and it was beginning to fail them, but then she saw a plume of sand rising up on the road that ran parallel to their descent. They were low enough that Trafalgar recognized Leola in the passenger seat. Leola raised an arm in greeting and Trafalgar waved back, so eager to see her friend she actually looked down to see if jumping out and running to her was plausible.

  It was not. Just the idea made her a bit nauseated.

  They were on the ground just a few minutes later, and Leola’s jeep caught up with them as Dorothy and Mazzi were unloading the cargo. Leola ran to Trafalgar and greeted her with a rib-compressing hug, laughing in her ear as they swayed together. The driver of the jeep approached slower, a small-framed Egyptian man with his black hair left long on top but short on the sides. He wore a sky blue shirt with thick brown suspenders, tight slacks, and shiny black boots which were scuffed and stained by sand around the soles.

  “You look amazing, my friend,” Leola said against the side of Trafalgar’s head. “I have missed you so much.”

  “I’ve missed you as well. The house is quiet without you underfoot. And the washing never gets finished on time.”

  Leola laughed and stepped back to brush her hands over Trafalgar’s shoulders. “Is that why you are not wearing your jacket? I hardly recognized you without it!”

  “Even I am not foolish enough to wear such a jacket in the desert.” Trafalgar laughed and playfully clapped Leola on the cheek. The driver was lingering a few steps away, hands in pockets, observing the reunion with a nervous smile. “Is this Khalid, your grocer?”

  Leola laughed. “No, Khalid is at work. This is Denny Razek. He is a friend of the museum. When I received your telegram about the purpose of your visit, I asked for his assistance. He agrees with your associates, the Keepings, that your adversary is seeking the Books of Breathing.”

  Denny stepped forward. “Yes, it seems clear you were correct to assume that is his purpose for coming here. If he no longer has the ka statue, he will require the books to take a permanent body and presumably regain his power. May I ask whose body it is that he stole?”

  Trafalgar looked at Dorothy, who was watching Mazzi from the corner of her eye. It was too late to bring the pilot into the story, and it wasn’t something to drop lightly into a simple introduction.

  “We’d prefer not to say at this time,” Dorothy said, “but we’ll enlighten you as soon as it becomes prudent.”

  Denny had caught the glance at the pilot and nodded his understanding.

  Trafalgar said, “
Would you happen to know where we can find these Books of Breathing?”

  “I’m afraid not,” Denny said. “But I know where we can begin looking.”

  “That is half the battle.” She extended her hand. “Miss Trafalgar.”

  Denny smiled wider and took her hand. “I’m aware, yes. Leola frequently regales everyone at the museum with stories of your exploits.”

  Leola nudged him hard, looking bashful. “Denny.”

  “Apologies,” Denny said, but he did not look particularly apologetic.

  Trafalgar chuckled and turned to gesture at the other two members of her party. “May I then introduce you to Isidora Mazzi, our pilot, and Lady... Lady Boone’s fiancé, Desmond Tindall.”

  Dorothy extended her hand to Denny, but there was an odd expression on her face. Perhaps it was merely seeing one of her expressions being made with Desmond’s features. It was like she was wearing a very close-fitting mask. The effect was disconcerting to say the least, and it could have accounted for the way she seemed to be eyeing Leola’s friend.

  Mazzi also shook their hands, but said, “I’m afraid I’m not staying. Unless Miss Trafalgar and Professor Tindall need me for the return trip...?”

  Dorothy said, “I don’t think speed will be a necessity when we return to England. At least I should hope it won’t be.”

  Mazzi clapped her hands together. “Rocambolesco. Then I shall take my leave.” She reached into her flight jacket and held out a card to Trafalgar. “You’re good eggs. Any time you need to be somewhere in a hurry, all you have to do is find me.”

  Dorothy said, “Thank you, Mazzi. I don’t know what we would’ve done without you.”

  “You’re most welcome. And thank you for the opportunity to stretch my baby’s wings.” She turned and looked at the plane, hands on her hips. “I didn’t want to tell you this when we were still flying, but I had a few pilot friends waiting in Cyprus and Athens, just in case I needed their help.”

  “Always nice to have a backup,” Trafalgar said, “but I’m glad we didn’t need it.”