by Geonn Cannon
Trafalgar squeezed Cora’s fingers. “That’s magnificent. You deserve some peace.”
“Thank you.” Cora lifted Trafalgar’s hand to kiss it. “Now, I’m sure your manners are telling you to stay and be sociable, but I’m sure you want to go home and rest after your trip.”
“I’d be more than happy to stay for a while if you wish.”
Cora shook her head. “For too long, I’ve been crowded by guilt and regret. Now those guests have finally fled, I’d like to spend some time getting reacquainted with myself.”
“Solitude as self-exploration. I know the feeling.” She stood and bent down to kiss Cora’s cheek. “Be well, Cora Hyde. And when you’re ready, I’m positive Dorothy will want to have you over to Threadneedle for dinner.”
“I would enjoy that very much.” She arched an eyebrow and smiled coyly. “Perhaps she will be more forthcoming with details of your new ‘intimacy.’”
Trafalgar groaned, shoulders sagging. “Oh, good lord, she probably will be...”
Cora laughed and escorted Trafalgar to the door, offering her another bone-bruising hug before allowing her to leave. Trafalgar decided against taking a cab back to the townhouse so she could enjoy the fresh air, but also to give Dorothy and Beatrice more time alone. She had no idea what sort of conversation they might be having, but she did know that walking in on the middle of it would most likely not help any of them.
When she arrived, she found their luggage from the ship had already been delivered and was stacked at the base of the stairs. She paused next to the pile of bags and listened for sounds of distress or anger, but the house seemed curiously silent. The sitting room and parlor were empty, as was the kitchen at the back of the house, so she ventured higher. It wasn’t until she reached the second landing that she heard signs of life coming from Dorothy’s bedroom.
Trafalgar went to the door and held her breath. She thought she heard a sob, followed by the soft murmur of Beatrice’s voice. A moment later she heard Dorothy respond at equal volume, but it was possible to hear what was said: “Beatrice.” This was followed by another murmur and then Dorothy said it again, louder, “Beatrice!”
Trafalgar smiled and stepped away from the door, retreating as silently as she could so as not to disturb them. She stopped in her bedroom long enough to take off her shoes and exchange her traveling outfit for a more comfortable blouse and slacks, then went down to the kitchen to make herself a snack. There were days when she missed the home where she’d lived before joining forces with Dorothy, but the townhouse on Threadneedle had become special to her. There was something unique about it, cozy and powerful at the same time. She could almost feel the security of being surrounded by banks, as well as the extra precautions Dorothy had put on her personal vault.
In the kitchen, she found the tea cookies and nibbled on them as she read the newspaper to catch up on what had been happening in their absence. She wondered if mundane events in London had been affected by what happened in the Pratear cave. In one version of the world, Cora Hyde was in Brazil. In this version, she was in London. Could the presence of one person cause enough of an effect to create a noticeable change in a city so large?
She was pondering this when she became aware of someone behind her. She turned and saw Beatrice, wearing a long shirt and baggy pants, lingering in the doorway of the kitchen. Her hair was mussed from her time in Dorothy’s bed. The suspicion lifted from her features and she proceeded into the room, placing a hand on Trafalgar’s shoulder as she passed.
“Dorothy neglected to mention you changed your look.”
“I assume you had other topics to discuss.”
Beatrice chuckled softly. She poured herself a glass of water and carried it back to the table. She snatched a few tea cookies before she sat down.
“It looks good. It suits you.”
“Thank you.” She stared at the newsprint to avoid meeting Beatrice’s gaze. “I... assume the two of you did talk about the other change that occurred on this mission.”
Beatrice said, “It was the first thing she said.”
Trafalgar nodded and waited.
“Dorothy Boone,” Beatrice said under her breath. “She’s never been... She’s... She has never been one to bind herself with tradition.”
“No, no. Definitely not.”
“It’s one of the things I love most about her. I never wanted to restrict her. I never wanted to say she could only get satisfaction from me and me alone. The idea of Dorothy only having one lover for the rest of her life is as ludicrous as imagining her becoming a housewife and mother.” They both laughed at that mental image. “She doesn’t settle. Nothing, no matter how remarkable, holds her interest for very long. There’s always something in the corner of her eye, stealing her attention. I held her attention for a very, very long time.”
Her voice broke on the last word, and she covered it by taking a bite of the cookie. She chewed slowly and swallowed before she went on.
“I’ve always known that I would be sharing Dorothy. That’s something you’ll have to accept before you enter into any kind of romantic relationship with her. She loves with all her heart, but it’s not a complete love. It never will be. The most you can hope for is that when she looks away, she’ll eventually look back.” Beatrice smiled and blinked rapidly. “She looked away and saw you. But she looked back at me. She got home, and... she still looked at me. I know she won’t leave me behind, no matter what the two of you share.”
“I won’t allow her to,” Trafalgar said. “I believe what the two of you share is too precious to be ruined by what we have.”
“For now,” Beatrice said. “In time, who knows?”
She finished her cookie, wiped the crumbs from her lips, and stood up. She paused next to Trafalgar’s chair and bent down to place a soft kiss to the top of her head.
“I’m going to get dressed. And then I will go for a long walk. Dorothy is in her bedroom. I know you’re probably exhausted from the trip, and I’m sure she wouldn’t mind the company.”
“Are you certain?” Trafalgar asked.
Beatrice squeezed Trafalgar’s shoulder. “When I get back, I’ll make dinner. Or I’ll bring something. And the two of you can regale me with everything that happened in Brazil. I’m sure it’s going to be quite a story. But for now, yes, I’m very certain that you should go upstairs and be with her.”
“Thank you.”
Beatrice patted Trafalgar’s shoulder and went back upstairs. Trafalgar followed her up and slipped quietly into Dorothy’s room. She pressed her back against the door and stared. Dorothy’s room was opulent and lavish in a way that no other part of her life was. She had a four-poster bed complete with ruffled lace curtains, which were currently tied back. The furniture was antique and fragile. A few of Dorothy’s outfits, which fit her like armor, were draped like tissue paper over the back of a chair. Heavy curtains had been drawn, probably by Beatrice, to keep the sunlight from disturbing her sleep.
And then there was the body lying in bed, impossibly small for the spirit it contained. Dorothy was more still and silent than Trafalgar was used to seeing her. A wave of red hair swirled above her head on the pillow, tangled curls like a small storm. Trafalgar moved closer to the bed and smiled down at the peaceful features of her friend. After a moment, there was a twitch behind the closed eyelids.
“Beatrice...?”
“It’s me,” Trafalgar said.
Dorothy pulled her hand out from beneath the pillow and held it out. “Get into bed with me, please.”
Trafalgar did as requested. Dorothy made room for her, and they lay under the blankets facing each other. Dorothy scooted closer, and Trafalgar realized that Dorothy’s habit of collecting lovers was far more than simple promiscuity. Dorothy Boone was the sort of person who loathed being alone. For all of her independence and self-reliance, in unguarded moments like this, she craved the weight of another body next to hers.
“I’m here, Dorothy,” she whispered, honored t
o play such an important role in Dorothy’s life. She put her arms around Dorothy’s waist, cradled her head, and held her as she fell back to sleep.
Epilogue
A week after their return from Brazil, Dorothy treated Trafalgar and Beatrice to afternoon tea at Café Royal. Dorothy wore a tweed suit, while Trafalgar chose an understated purple suit jacket over a skirt. She also wore a Musketeer hat to conceal her baldness. She normally didn’t mind the stares her look attracted but, on this day, she felt they would draw enough attention being three unchaperoned women. Beatrice was the least comfortable of the trio. The only clothes she had nice enough for the restaurant were her work clothes, and Dorothy had made it clear they would not be acceptable. Beatrice was not there as a majordomo.
“You are a guest, the same as us, and shall be treated as such.”
So she borrowed an outfit from Agnes Keeping which was appropriately classy but just a bit out-of-date. She kept touching her collar, the lapel, the cuffs, and kept her eyes forward so she wouldn’t see if anyone was looking at her. Dorothy slipped an arm around her elbow and tried to reassure her that anyone who stared was merely jealous.
“Of me, or of my company?”
“Both are exquisite, darling,” Dorothy said.
They were given a four-top table, choosing to have an extra place setting instead of deciding which of them would sit alone on one side of a booth. They were still perusing their menus when an Indian woman in a stunning red suit approached the empty chair. Dorothy recognized her immediately, but it took a moment for her to remember the woman’s full name.
“Riya Lennox. Fancy seeing you here.”
Riya smiled and dipped her chin in greeting. “Lady Boone, Miss Trafalgar, Madame Sek.”
Beatrice blinked at the honorific, but said nothing.
“The Society was arranging a meeting to discuss your generous offer. We planned to meet in three days, on the weekend. I hope you’re not here to inform us you’ve become impatient and wish to rescind the offer.”
“No, not at all. In fact, I’m here to provide information which may help you come to a fully-formed decision. May I sit?”
Dorothy gestured. “By all means. We’re all ears.”
Riya pulled out the chair and sat. An attentive waiter bustled over, but Riya waved him off before he could begin speaking. Dorothy, Trafalgar, and Beatrice all closed their menus and focused on the woman positioned at what had just become the head of the table. She folded her hands on the napkin in front of her.
“I would ask how you’re recovering from your recent mission to the Amazon, but there wasn’t much in the way of physical damage on this trip. You both returned relatively unscathed.”
Trafalgar looked at Dorothy, but both remained mum.
“Of course, that statement depends on which version of events you hear. There’s the official report given to the Mnemosyne and Royal Geographical Societies. You spent a few days sightseeing and trying to convince Captain Neville to give up his quest. He was finally convinced by a dream of everything he stood to lose if he continued on his path.”
“That’s what happened,” Dorothy said.
“Mm.” Riya closed her eyes and began a recitation. “We engaged a tour guide by the name of Marco Eiriz to take us into the forest. This was the same man who had taken Felix Neville into the wilderness--”
Trafalgar slapped her hand on the table hard enough that people seated next to them jumped. Riya merely opened her eyes and looked at them again.
“Where did you get that?”
“Get what?” Dorothy asked.
“My journal,” Trafalgar said, never looking away from Riya. “I wrote down my memories of what happened in case they began to fade. I haven’t shown it to anyone. I don’t intend to show it to anyone.”
Riya said, “No, you haven’t. And you won’t for quite some time. You’re quite elderly when you finally agree to let the journal be published.” She withdrew a thin rectangular object from an inside jacket pocket and held her finger down on one corner. The face of the object lit up and she handed it to Trafalgar. She stared at the lit surface of the object, her face shining with its glow, and the anger in her expression gave way to confusion. She pressed her lips together and passed the object to Dorothy.
On the screen was what looked like a book’s title leaf.
THE JOURNALS AND MEMOIRS
OF
TRAFALGAR OF ABYSSINIA
1920-1934
An Account of the Beginning of a Partnership with Lady Dorothy Boone
Dorothy looked at Trafalgar, then at Riya. “Where did you get this?”
“Amazon,” Riya said. “The bookseller, not the forest. It cost me about two pounds. Trust me, that’s not as expensive as you might think. It’s considered relatively cheap where I come from.”
Beatrice had seen the screen now, and her hands were under the table. Dorothy knew she had filled them with weapons and Riya Lennox most likely had a gun aimed at her midsection. The shining device was sitting on the table and Riya picked it up, held down a button, and returned it to her suit jacket.
“Explanation,” Dorothy said. “Now.”
“The exact year of my birth isn’t important but, suffice to say, you would consider it the future. I’ve been hearing stories about you for my entire life. My mothers were both fans of your exploits. Ma’am had a first-edition of that book. A physical copy. I spent so many years thumbing through it that I can still smell the leather of the cover.” She finally looked at Trafalgar. “I can’t express what an honor it is to sit at this table with you.”
Trafalgar remained tight-lipped, silent.
“We wanted to contact you earlier, but we knew that even with your amazing lives it would be difficult to accept the idea of time travel. We had to wait until your experience with the Pratear so we would know for certain you would believe what we had to say.”
Dorothy said, “You keep saying ‘we’...”
The corners of Riya’s lips twitched. She was obviously savoring what she was about to say. “By ‘we,’ I mean the Mnemosyne Society.”
“I see.” Dorothy’s mind raced. “So you’re from the future.”
“Yes. We try not to travel back in time very often due to... well, you’ve seen the repercussions of messing with the time stream. There are too many potential pitfalls.”
Trafalgar said, “But offering the Society twenty-five thousand pounds annually won’t affect the time stream?”
“We offered the money because our mission has changed in recent years. We’re less concerned with preservation of our own timeline if it means improving certain problems which have arisen.”
“You want to use time travel to remake the world in your image.”
Riya started to answer but then closed her mouth and thought a moment longer. “There has been much discussion about what you should be told about our intentions. Lady Boone, I told you that our deal was the annual stipend in exchange for accepting a mission from me at a later date.”
“I remember.”
“That mission will be to eliminate magic from the world.”
Beatrice furrowed her brow. “You can’t be serious.”
“The survival of the world depends upon it. Last century, magic existed in small amounts all over the world. But during the Great War, it was tapped by more people in higher concentrations than ever before. It opened the door to a flood you’re only beginning to see the effects from. These past few years, you’ve witnessed things you never would have dreamed possible.” She looked at Beatrice. “And you, for instance. Discovering what you are--”
Dorothy snapped, “You will speak to her as a person.”
Riya blinked in surprise. “I’m sorry?”
“‘What’ she really is,” Trafalgar said. “You meant ‘who.’”
“Oh. Yes, I’m... I’m sorry. I meant no disrespect to you, Madame Sek.” She was obviously flustered by her mistake. She wet her lips and continued. “Magic has become a virus in the e
ra I hail from. There have been great strides in technology and science, as you can see from the device I just showed you, but most people prefer the shortcuts allowed by magic. It took us too long to realize the consequences of what we were doing.”
Dorothy said, “And what exactly might those be?”
“Magic is a part of this world’s structure. Time and reality exist in a balance even our greatest minds don’t understand. The Great War began an era of reckless magic use which strengthened some elements and weakened others. The walls began to crumble, just like they did in the Pratear cavern. The only reason we found a way to travel in time is because of fissures like the one you prevented. We’re asking you to do the same thing you did in the cave, but on a much larger scale.
“One hundred years from now, humanity will be utterly dependent upon magic. Everyone will be adept. You would use it to butter your toast, to prepare your meal. And not long after that, it just stops. It’s treated like losing a limb. No one remembers how to function on their own, how to survive without the shortcuts. Younger people are from a generation who never experienced a world without magic. We don’t know if there’s simply a finite supply of magic in the world or if it was the abuses which caused it to fade, but we do know the loss is catastrophic. It’s called the Eschaton.”
“The end of the world,” Trafalgar said.
“It’s how many people react to it, yes. Magic vanishes and society is thrown into chaos.”
“But you want us to eliminate magic now,” Dorothy said.
Riya nodded. “Now, when it would do the least amount of harm. Before it becomes a scourge. If magic went away now, it would be inconvenient but the world would continue as it did before the War. There might even be a place for it, a niche where it could continue to thrive without spreading to the entire populace. The only thing I know for certain is that the future depends on what happens here, now. And I believe you’re the women for the job.”
Dorothy said, “It’s a big ask.”
“And not something I want you to answer without full consideration.” She pushed her chair back and stood. “I’ll give you time. You may discuss it with the other members of the Mnemosyne Society. I’ll return in a few days. If you choose to accept the deal, I will make arrangements for the first payment to be deposited in your accounts as soon as possible. Good day, ladies.”