Trafalgar and Boone in the Drowned Necropolis

by Geonn Cannon

  “I hope you know I’m here if you need me.”

  Beatrice licked her fingers before easing her hand under Dorothy’s skirts. “I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life, ma’am.”

  Dorothy closed her eyes as Beatrice’s hand explored her most sensitive areas. She put her hands on Beatrice’s shoulders and bit her bottom lip, arching her back as she rocked forward against Beatrice’s touch. She sank down and kissed Beatrice, whose free hand slid up the outside of Dorothy’s leg. Their lips and tongues met, and Beatrice twisted to blaze a trail down Dorothy’s throat.

  “You smell like the library.”

  “What does that entail...?”

  “Dust. Smoke and candlewax. Old books.” She sucked the skin just below Dorothy’s ear, making her shudder. “Inkwells and paper. What were you up to before I arrived, Lady Boone?”

  Dorothy shivered again. “In good time, Miss Sek. For now, perhaps you can tell me what else I smell like. Be as detailed as possible.”

  Beatrice chuckled and breathed deep.

  #

  Dorothy woke from a light doze to the smell of ozone and petrichor, the sublime smell of dirt after the rain, and the far more unique smell of a sleeping Beatrice Sek. She turned her head and kissed the curve of her lover’s shoulder. They were lying tangled together on Beatrice’s too-small bed rather than the larger one in Dorothy’s bedroom. She took a moment to appreciate how blissful the moment was. Just her, the woman she loved, and a room large enough to hold them. Everything else was an unnecessary complication.

  The storm was still pouring down, and it made telling time difficult. Dorothy knew it was well past dinnertime by the rumbling in her stomach, so she kissed Beatrice’s lips and carefully extricated herself from the other woman’s arms and legs to go in search of sustenance. She stooped to pick up her blouse and was slipping into it when Beatrice stirred and said her name. Dorothy returned to her and sat on the edge of the bed. Curls of black hair had fallen into Beatrice’s face so Dorothy brushed them away.

  “I’ve been looking for something,” Beatrice said. “You know that my birth is a mystery.”

  Dorothy nodded.

  “The past few months, I’ve been looking for information. Either about the old man who left me with my parents, or the ship that brought us to France, anything that I could follow back to the source.”

  “I see. And have you found anything?” Beatrice pressed her lips together and Dorothy deduced the answer. She patted Beatrice’s leg through the sheet. “Nothing you wish to share. I understand. In your own time, then.”

  Beatrice averted her gaze. “What if I discover something about myself that makes you hate me?”

  Dorothy bent down and kissed Beatrice’s lips, touching her chin to turn her so they were looking at each other again. “I could never hate you, Bao Tai Sek. You could anger me, or frustrate me. You could irritate me with ease or drive me absolutely insane, but I would never hate you.” She put her hand over Beatrice’s heart. “For as long as you are the same person you’ve always been, you don’t have to worry about losing me.”

  “Thank you, Lady Boone.”

  “I like it when you call me Lady Boone during the deed,” Dorothy said, “and ma’am is fine for when you’re on duty. But I do so enjoy hearing you say my name.”

  Beatrice smiled. “Dorothy.”

  “Ah. There it is.” She bent down and caught Beatrice’s bottom lip between hers. Beatrice lifted her head off the pillow slightly to prolong their contact, then dropped back down. Dorothy chuckled and stroked Beatrice’s hair. “You’ve been worrying me, Trix. These errands you wouldn’t tell me anything about, the outfits, your dour moods. I have no doubt you can handle yourself no matter what you’re up against. But I feel helpless to think you’re facing it alone. So I’ll tell you what: if you need anything from me. Money, research, weapons, anything at all, simply ask and you’ll have it. You don’t need to explain what it’s for. You can keep your secrets.”

  Beatrice said, “Thank you, Dorothy. That means the world to me. Should I need anything, you’ll be the first to know.”

  “Very good. And as it should be.” She winked and patted Beatrice’s cheek. “I’ll go see if I can scrounge up something to eat. Do you feel like fruits or meats?”

  “Bread. Something with bread or crackers.”

  “I’ll see what I can whip together.” She kissed Beatrice again and left the bedroom. Before going downstairs, she stopped in her bedroom to retrieve her robe. Trafalgar or Desmond might decide to drop by while she was making dinner, and she wasn’t keen on providing them voyeuristic thrills. When she reached the ground floor, she went to the front of the house and peered out at the street. The storm had turned the city blue-gray. Bankers held briefcases or newspapers over their heads to provide what scanty protection they could get from the downpour as they hurried past her building.

  She imagined what would happen if the rain never stopped. If the swirling streams in the gutter were allowed to swell, would they eventually swallow the entire street? Would they cap the buildings until no evidence of the great metropolis was left? She doubted anything as huge as London was lost beneath the waters of the Mediterranean, but the thought of settlements and civilizations that had been washed away in a great flood was too intriguing to ignore. She let the curtain fall back into place and went to ponder the possibilities as she prepared dinner.

  Chapter Four

  Trafalgar elected to take the tram rather than walk back to Bankside. Since Adeline’s death, she took no pleasure in driving. Her car remained untouched and hidden beneath a tarp in a garage space she spent far too much for. She arrived at her home and office just before the rains began, and she stood for a moment in the doorway to watch as the first hedge washed across the dry grid of granite setts that made up the road. She relished the cool breeze that came with the storm and tilted her head back, eyes closed, to fully appreciate it.

  When she finally went inside, she spent a few minutes turning on lamps and lighting candles. She lived in the downtrodden district for the same reason so many others in her profession also hid in the slums. They stored countless historic treasures in their homes, and a modest exterior was the best deterrent to thieves. Dorothy Boone, of course, was one of the many who did nothing to disguise her wealth, but she at least took the precaution of living on one of the most secure streets in all of London. Her townhouse, along with the two on either side she had turned into a vault and library, were surrounded by banks. The whole of England’s wealth was at risk on that street, and Dorothy was tucked snug in the midst of every protective measure the government could throw at it.

  The truth was Trafalgar had lived in the same place since arriving in London just after the turn of the century. Stolen from her homeland, abandoned in Cairo, she quickly discovered that London was the heart of the world. Getting there was time-consuming and expensive, but she found ways. She earned passage by working in the kitchens of airships and steamers. She worked as a commis waiter and dishwasher and, through those jobs, improved her English by listening to the staff and clients she served. She ate whatever she could sneak off the plates and saved her paltry salary so she could afford housing when she finally arrived at her destination.

  London seemed like a fairy tale. She’d never even seen pictures, only heard it described. Streets of gold. Eternal fog. Magic so thick in the air you could practically taste it. She refused to believe the most fantastical aspects of what people said; even at that age, she understood people tended to romanticize their homeland. Still, even if only a fraction of it was accurate, then it was definitely the place she needed to be. She could also count on the fact that every ship she sought passage on - land, sea, or air - all had multiple departures to the capital of the world.

  When she arrived she continued looking for work. There was no shortage of jobs to be done by someone who was strong and willing. Compared to the life she’d been taken from, struggling just to stay alive and keep her siblings
in one piece, there was no job she considered too menial or taxing. She saved everything she could and was eventually able to buy the tenement she currently called home. Others talked about moving up in the world. Trafalgar tried to find ways to improve the place she already had.

  Once she was established enough to relax, she finally went out to see the sights of her new home. She only intended to visit a museum so she could educate herself on the beauty of the world after spending so much time in its cargo bays and washrooms. She quickly became lost and asked a man where she could find the National Gallery.

  “Just south, love,” he said, “on Trafalgar Square.”

  It was the first time she’d ever heard of the place, the first time she knew the origin of her name. It was given to her by a sailor who misheard the name “Tall Girl” because her tongue had been dry and numb at the time. Now she knew where the phrase had come from, and the museum was forgotten. She ran to the square, frightening off a kit of pigeons as she arrived. A massive tower she later identified as Nelson’s Column stretched into the sky. She stood at its base and looked up at the man it honored.

  By that point she was so attached to the name Trafalgar that she couldn’t imagine assuming a new one, but she was irked by the fact she shared it with such a well-known tribute. She turned in a slow circle and looked at the fountains and the majestic museum. Now she could see other statues, all of men. One was seated in a chair, the other standing in a relaxed pose. She snorted at the thought of being named after altars to these men. They were all most likely soldiers and colonists whose victories had been won with a sea of blood from native people. She swore to live her life so that, one day, her actions would be brought to mind when people said Trafalgar.

  She smiled now when she thought about that goal. She knew she would never achieve that level of fame, but it was no great loss. She was well-known to those who mattered. She was famous in certain circles. That was enough for her.

  Trafalgar went to the kitchen and cooked herself a small evening meal. As she prepared her food, she hummed a tune that complimented the rhythm of the rain beating on the windows. Outside she could hear the neighbors shouting to their children to come inside before they caught their death of cold. She smiled and moved to the window. Four children, all under the age of ten, filled the alleyway with their strange formations, like a flock of geese constantly moving toward and away from one another. These families were a big part of why she had never left Bankside. Dorothy chose to utilize existing protection of the financial world, but Trafalgar was forced to protect herself. In doing so, she helped to make the district safer for people like the children currently being dragged back inside by their mother.

  When her food was ready, Trafalgar took it into her modest library. It was nothing compared to Dorothy’s archive, but it served her purposes well. During her visit, Dorothy had mentioned her current undertaking with the Mediterranean Sea and what might lie beneath it. Trafalgar was skeptical but intrigued at the possibility. She skimmed the spines of her books until she found a collection of journal entries from ship captains and their crews.

  The author had collected accounts from across the globe of mysterious encounters at sea, monsters rising from the depths, whirlpools, unidentified creatures spotted on the shore, and the like. It had long been a subject of interest to her; she was desperate to know if anyone had ever encountered anything like what she saw in the Gulf of Aden. So far she hadn’t had any luck. But she remembered tales from the Mediterranean Sea and thought it may help Dorothy in her quest.

  She sat at a table with the book open to her left, her meal to the right, and she browsed through the pages while she ate. In her mind she held a map of the sea. The Minotaur was one pinned area. Cora Hyde’s frightening encounter, which Dorothy had relayed to her, was another. The Gulf of Aden was too far south to be part of the same phenomenon, but it could still be related somehow.

  There were a great number of reports from near the sea-port Jaffa, which was speculated to the point of departure for the Biblical character of Jonah. Most translations of the story say he was devoured by a whale, but the more accurate translation was “cetacean,” meaning any sea creature larger than a dolphin. Perhaps there was a creature haunting the port of Jaffa which was large enough to swallow a man whole without killing him. Pliny recounted a tale in which Perseus slayed a cetacean and brought its body back to Rome for display. The bones were forty feet long and “taller than an Indian elephant.” It was hard to imagine such a creature existing without being seen for thousands of years. Perhaps they had gone extinct. Or perhaps they had gotten better at hiding.

  In the book, there were excerpts from eyewitness accounts of giant squids wrapping their tentacles around ships and crushing them into kindling. She read about islands which sank below the surface only to reappear and split in half to reveal a horrendous mouth. Terrified men wrote of huge unseen objects creating a wake wider than a mile as something stalked them across the ocean. Thirteenth century Norwegian explorers warned of “sea-mist” and the kraken. Even as recently as seventy years ago, Melville and Verne had written of giant squids haunting the depths. It seemed that from the moment mankind set out onto the oceans, they’d spoken of monstrous creatures that lived beneath the waves waiting to lay claim to unsuspecting sailors. The waters of the world were over a kilometer deep, in some places far deeper, and they’d barely scratched the surface of what was hidden in those dark depths.

  Trafalgar leaned back and rubbed a hand across her face. She’d gone hopelessly off-topic, her intention to learn about a potential link between the Minotaur and Cora Hyde’s adversary had led her off into an unexpected direction. But it was fascinating! Who knew how many creatures lurked undiscovered under the surface of their world? How many of them might be monstrous at first glance? The Minotaur had turned out to be a reasonable sort, even if he was irritable and strong as an ox. Dorothy had found a way to reason with it, to earn its favor.

  Her meal was finished and she felt she could do no further research without sacrificing her mental faculties. She returned the book to the shelf and carried her dishes back to the kitchen. Sea monsters and underwater caverns, cities lost under the waters of the Mediterranean... there could be entire cultures that had been wiped out by floods just waiting to be uncovered. She’d always thought of archaeology as digging in the dirt, brushing away sand to find something buried ages ago. She never considered the possibility of excavating something submerged.

  Trafalgar smiled as she rinsed out her bowl. Dorothy Boone had promised their partnership wouldn’t be dull, and she was certainly delivering on that.

  #

  The rain continued through the night. Dorothy sat in her study, maps of the Mediterranean and its various shores spread on the table around her. Some of the maps were drawn by her own hand, others were purchased or pilfered from those who had no business owning them. In the center of the maps were her books, adrift on the charcoal-and-ink version of the sea. Pliny the Elder believed the Gibraltar Strait, then called the Columns of Hercules, had been split open by the god to allow the Atlantic Ocean entry. What if some nefarious civilization lived in the salt plains of the Mediterranean? What if someone had intervened? A cataclysmic event that forever changed the face of the planet just to wipe out one country or faction.

  In 1867, Karl Mayer-Eymar speculated that the time period for this event was somewhere in the neighborhood of five million years ago. Dorothy tapped her pen against her lip and narrowed her eyes as she mentally did the math. “Around the time the first hominids showed up. Or alternatively... what we think of as the first hominids were actually the survivors of this event. Something disastrous caused this flood and mankind was devastated. It was apocalyptic. The survivors were forced to rebuild from scratch. My God, this could have been the end of the world.”

  The door to her study opened and she heard Beatrice’s soft tread. “I’ll be back to bed in a moment, Trix.”

  “That would be your own bed, I would hope
.”

  “Why...” She looked up at the scent of tea and toast. Her confusion deepened when she saw Beatrice was bathed and dressed for work. She looked toward the window as if it had betrayed her.

  “It can’t possibly be morning.”

  Beatrice put the tray down on a side table where it wouldn’t affect Dorothy’s research materials. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news. It would seem you’ve lost the entire evening.”

  Dorothy sighed. “Well, at least it can’t be said the time was wasted. I’ll have my breakfast and then take a quick nap.” She put her hand over the books. “Touch nothing on this desk, Trix. Any attempt at organization would be catastrophic.”

  “Of course, ma’am. When shall I wake you?”

  Dorothy looked at the clock. “Three hours should be more than enough.” She stood up and stared down at her books again. “There is something beneath the Mediterranean, Trix. Pieces of it have been coming up for years, but now I fear the hidden things are becoming bolder. The last time they walked the Earth, humanity nearly destroyed itself trying to stop them. I hope we have better luck.”

  Chapter Five

  Just over a week later, Dorothy was forced to stop working for a night out with Desmond. He’d gotten them tickets to the theater and also invited along one of his students. Their guest was a bright young man named Carter Marsh. He was nervous and almost unbearably young, just shy of twenty-one and hesitant to say anything upon his arrival at the townhouse. Desmond was looking sharp in his best duds, and Dorothy accepted the compliments of both gentlemen on her own outfit. She’d invited Clara Levy, a young woman she’d met at the library to serve as Carter’s date and the foursome set off for dinner and light entertainment.