by Geonn Cannon
“Once I convinced him to speak to me, yes. According to him, Virago is a parasite. She steals rather than doing her own research. As you theorized, she is absolutely only interested in money. Mr. Strode believes she’s channeling the funds back to the IRA to assist with their War of Independence.”
Dorothy said, “It makes sense. Wars are expensive affairs. My fear is that she’ll find something more valuable than gold or silver. If there are indeed creatures under the earth, the Mediterranean seems to be honeycombed with ways to access them. Creatures who haven’t seen sunlight in millennia have been drawn back to the surface due to how much magic was expended during the War. What if Virago is able to harness one of those beasts to do her bidding? Would she stop at Irish independence or would she have grander designs?”
Trafalgar said, “Having met her only briefly, I’m still certain she would take as much power as she was able.”
Beatrice came out to retrieve them for dinner and Dorothy led Trafalgar through the house. “Virago is a perfect example of why I think an alliance of explorers can only be a good thing. If we are a united front we can stop people like her from gaining footholds in our profession. This used to be a revered occupation. A few more bad apples like the Weeks or Virago and we’ll be thought of as little more than treasure hunters.”
“On that subject, I spoke to Mr. Strode about joining your club.”
“Mr. Strode?” Dorothy said. “Really?”
“I believe he could be valuable.”
“Perhaps you’re right. He’s a bit splenetic, but a good man overall. He wouldn’t be my first choice, but he would be a good ally against Virago and her ilk. I’ll support your decision to invite him to the group, should we ever get it off the ground.”
Dorothy introduced Trafalgar and Cora as Beatrice brought out their dinner. Trafalgar sat across from Cora, and Beatrice had set a place for herself at the opposite end of the table from Dorothy.
Once Beatrice had taken a seat, Dorothy picked up her glass and held it out in a toast. “For now, I believe we’ve spent far too much time this evening on Virago. Let us spend the rest on friends and food.”
Cora said, “Hear, hear.”
Trafalgar, Beatrice, and Cora responded to her raised glass by hoisting their own. There would be time enough for plotting and research in the days to come. A casual dinner among friends was a rare occurrence and should be treasured whenever it was possible.
Chapter Eleven
After dinner, Cora and Trafalgar insisted upon doing the dishes. Beatrice dismissed herself for a bath and reading in bed. Eventually Cora went to bed and Trafalgar departed to spend the night in her own bed. Dorothy, left to her own devices, changed into her pajamas and a robe before she retired to the study with a mug of herbal tea. She turned on the sonic amplifier Desmond had gotten her, though she still wasn’t quite sure she trusted the machine. An orchestra could be recorded playing their music, and the sound was recorded onto a thin metal disc. The disc was then placed into the machine, which used some complicated array of pins and armatures to read what was on it. Still, if it could fill a room with music, she was willing to accept its presence in her home.
Gustav Holst’s The Planets began playing as she took a seat behind her desk. The suite began with Mars, a brutal and warlike piece that fit her mood perfectly. She didn’t want to be soothed, although that was coming soon, with the serene arrangement of Venus. She wanted to feel as if she was preparing for war. She wanted her blood to churn with the promise of a fight.
Four of her grandmother’s journals were stacked in front of her. Dorothy took a moment to run her hand over the weathered face of the book on top, sliding her fingers down along the spines. She remembered the all-too-brief time they had occupied the house together. Two generations of Boones under one roof. Her grandmother, Eula, would leave for days or weeks at a time, although she always made sure Dorothy was looked after and well taken care of. She received a multitude of letters from all over the globe, some of which she still had in a special box upstairs.
Her favorite days were when Eula would return, face burned by the sun or bandaged from some misadventure. She would always take the time to get reacquainted with her young charge. Dorothy had basically been evicted from her family’s home, although they would likely have labeled it as running away, but Eula welcomed her willful granddaughter into her home. Dorothy would list what she had learned from the tutor, and then Eula would regale her with surely-exaggerated accounts of her adventures.
Now the actual records were lying in front of her. She’d read them before, of course, and every time it felt like a violation. It was ludicrous, of course. Eula had always been willing to let Dorothy read whatever she wanted. And when Eula died, the journals were left to her along with everything else. But they were her grandmother’s. They contained her private thoughts and feelings. Dorothy always needed a bit of ceremony before she could bring herself to crack the pages.
She finally picked one of the books in the center of the stack. She doubted Eula’s first journey to the Mediterranean had been insightful enough to merit examination, and she wanted to begin after she’d had a chance to build some theories. Beatrice had marked the relevant sections in each book and Dorothy wondered just how long she’d spent on the project. She would have to remember to thank her properly for the effort she’d taken. She took a sip of her tea and finally began reading.
June 17, 1903
Arrived at Barcelona none the worse for wear, save for a few days’ bout with seasickness coming through the Bay of Biscay. Traveling overland through Spain was worth the discomfort. I’ll have to come again one day when I have a chance to appreciate it fully. This time it was simply a means to an end. Tomorrow Mateu will arrange for our passage to the islands. My convalescence has given me time to think. In fact, I was rarely well enough to do anything but think.
On my previous trip to Athens, I was told of an ancient end-of-the-world myth. The people who shared the story with me couldn’t even date it. The tales were passed by word of mouth until someone finally wrote it down. It has of course now been diluted through centuries of translators and assumptions and embellishments, but I do believe there is a kernel of truth that remains. I intend to speak with as many local people as I can to see if they’ve heard similar tales. My hope is to combine these oral histories and mythology to see where they connect and overlap with one another. In those connections I will find the truth.
So many ancient texts have stories about massive worldwide floods. From their perspective, ‘worldwide’ would mean the area in and around the MedSea. Mankind may have started on a large landmass which became split in two by a great flood and we simply ignore the evidence because it’s so obvious. Could the sea be a remnant of Noah’s flood? Could the truth about civilization be buried beneath its deceptively pristine surface? We may never know.
Mateu and I departed--
After skimming ahead to determine Eula never returned to the topic, Dorothy put the journal aside and chose another. It was dated 1909, and she flipped through to Beatrice’s marker. The suite had moved on to a more pastoral movement. Combined with her tea, it was starting to make her drowsy. She didn’t want to get up and change the music to something more energetic so she simply focused on her grandmother’s neat and tidy handwriting.
“Where did you go this time?” Dorothy asked, following barefoot through the halls as Eula moved toward the study. Eula, in her knee-high boots with her hair gathered up under a fedora.
“This time it was Tierra del Fuego. Do you know where that is?”
Dorothy shook her head enthusiastically, not caring about her ignorance but excited to learn. Eula pushed open the door to her study and went to the globe. She turned it upside down and pressed her finger to a spot practically on the very bottom of the planet. It seemed so distant, so impossibly far, that Dorothy reached out and traced her finger along the line of South America.
She was aware that her eyes were wet. Exhaustion an
d nostalgia could be a brutal combination. She had only lived with her grandmother for a few months, and the older woman’s health faded quickly after Dorothy’s arrival. Still, from time to time she thought that time spanned her entire childhood. She learned lessons in those weeks that she never would have gotten at home or in school. Eula Boone had made her the woman she was, and she didn’t know if she had ever properly thanked her grandmother for that gift.
She steadied her breathing and focused on the 1909 journal.
February 8, 1911
It’s down there. I know it is. Evidence of what came before, evidence that could prove there were civilizations even before what we consider pre-history. ‘There were giants on the earth in those days.’ (so says Genesis something-or-other) ‘Mighty men of old, men of renown. God saw the wickedness of man was great and the thoughts of his heart were evil continually.’ Who were these giants? These men of renown? Ozymandias. Look on my works, ye mighty and despair! Oh, how Dorothy laughed when I recited that poem to her. But what if the subject of the poem was one of these Evil Men that God saw fit to destroy?
God created Man in his image.
God was horrified by what Man became and wiped them off the face of the planet.
Humanity as we know it is the second attempt, the remnants who survived the cataclysm. The flood forced them to start over on a path that God found more acceptable. Looking back over history as we know it, I can only imagine how atrocious those first humans were.
I’ve been searching for the better part of a decade for evidence that these civilizations existed and I believe I may have finally found something. I’ve combined everything I’ve learned from local legends, I’ve sanded off the rough edges, and I am certain that I could find it. If only... yes, if only...
Because as fate would have it, of course, I don’t know when or if I’ll be able to follow my lead. I don’t know if I have another expedition in me. When I think of all the work I’ve done and all the work I’ve left undone, it breaks my heart. I need someone to finish what I started. A torch to carry into the next generation. I would have thought my son... but no, that is a ship that sailed far too long ago to correct its course now.
I need Dorothy. Sweet and brave and adventurous Dorothy. My little girl, my duplicate. I look into the girl’s wild eyes and I see what my parents tried to squash in me. She breaks my heart every time I see her, I love her so much. I want to show her the world. I want to keep her safe. I want to take her hand and lead her into the dangerous corners of the planet. I want to lock her away so nothing can ever touch her. She is more precious than anything I’ve ever found buried in the ground. More special than anyone I’ve ever known. Such a glorious child with such potential. Is it wrong I would squander that potential if it meant she never knew fear or pain?
I know wonderful and awesome secrets lay waiting to be found. Dorothy deserves to be the one who finds them. I know that if the wrong person finds them, it could change the world in horrible ways. In the wrong hands, it could turn humanity down a darker path. A path which finally causes God (or whomever) to bring about another flood to wipe us out and start anew.
I will leave my quest to Dorothy. One day, I am certain she will have reason to find these journals, to retrace my steps and she will find the work was started before she even knew her destiny. I only regret I cannot be there to show you the way, Dorothy. If you are half the woman I believe you will grow up to be, I doubt you will have any trouble whatsoever.
Her hands were shaking when she put down the journal. She pushed away from the desk and went to the cabinet where she’d stored so many of Eula’s things. There was a map in the safe-deposit box she opened after her grandmother’s death. There were many maps, actually, but she remembered the first one she’d looked at. It was sitting right on top, right where her hand would naturally fall when she saw everything stuffed into the box.
She found it now, rolled up and protected, and carried it to the desk. She put on a pair of gloves she kept for handling some of the older items Eula had left her and she unrolled it across the desktop. “MEDITE RANEO,” she muttered as she ran one gloved finger across the ancient writing. She pressed her lips together and scanned the inked lines.
“Okay, Grandmother,” she whispered. “It’s taken me over a decade, but here I am. I’m ready.”
She made another cup of tea. The Planets ended and she began it again, then a third time. It seemed curious as she seemed to recall it was nearly an hour long, so she didn’t understand how it could already have played in its entirety so many times. She went to the lavatory and splashed water on her face before going back to work.
As her grandmother’s journals neared the end of her life, they became more detailed. It was almost as if she was planning an expedition for herself without actually going through with any of the plans. It was obvious that the plans were meant for her, and her eyes stung with tears. She was finally going on an expedition with her grandmother. There was enough information for her to begin immediately.
She picked up her tea and grimaced at its emptiness. She put it back down and rested her hands on the desk on either side of the map, brow furrowed as she stared at it.
“Ma’am?”
Dorothy started at the sound of Beatrice’s voice. “You should have gone to bed hours ago, Trix. I can make my own tea. Go on, rest.”
Beatrice entered the room. “I did go to bed hours ago, Dorothy. And now I’m awake again.”
Dorothy looked at the window and saw light peeking through the curtains. “Crumbs.”
“How many days this week do you intend to ignore sleeping?”
“I’ve gone a full week in the past.”
Beatrice sighed. “In those instances, you didn’t have someone like Virago breathing down your neck. You need to be at your best, Lady Boone. Part of keeping you safe means ensuring you don’t put yourself at risk by ignoring your needs. Go upstairs, undress, bathe, and sleep at least until afternoon.”
Dorothy started to protest, but she caught Beatrice’s look and decided it was best to remain silent. Her shoulders sagged with defeat.
“Very well. But since you are rested, you must do something for me while I’m sleeping. I want you to make arrangements for an immediate departure. You, Miss Trafalgar, and myself. I doubt Cora will be up for the journey, but do make sure she knows I would want her there under different circumstances.” She forced herself to calm down and pointed at the map. “It was all here. My grandmother left it all here for me.”
Beatrice moved closer to the desk so she could see the maps and drawings. “What is it?”
“Grandmother found evidence she believes could have led her to a city from the dawn of time. If she was correct, it could change everything we know about the world. About pre-history. She gave me the means to get there myself. This is what I believe Virago is looking for. An ancient city richer and more dangerous than anything we’ve ever seen before. And Eula Boone left me the roadmap.”
Beatrice whistled through her teeth. “No wonder you forgot to sleep.”
Dorothy rubbed Beatrice’s arm. “Set up our travel arrangements, Trix. Try to make it as roundabout as possible. Obscuring our destination from Virago is more important than speed.”
She touched the map again.
“This city has waited eons for us to discover it. It can wait a few more weeks.”
Chapter Twelve
Dust, polish, wash the dishes, sweep, put out the garbage. Beatrice never saw herself doing this sort of “menial” workload. She never envisioned herself as a housekeeper or maid, even though plenty of those were spawned from the building where she grew up. She came to London and preferred to live on the streets rather than find work she considered beneath her. Becoming a thief led her to Dorothy Boone’s home and the horror of being frozen in stone by an artifact Dorothy had carelessly left out. Dorothy saved her life, not to mention her sanity, by freeing her from the statue she’d become.
She originally remained to clea
n and take care of household chores as a means to repay her debt and to make up for entering the house with criminal intentions. But she quickly learned to love the work. It was more rewarding than she would have expected. There was a serenity in washing the dishes, and she took pride in the way the morning light shone through spotless windows and reflected off the polished wood of the entry hall.
Beatrice now felt an odd sense of ownership for the house. There were times she was silently irritated with Dorothy for leaving clothes draped over the banister or when she tracked in mud or sand from all corners of the world. But she would dutifully clean it up and never say a word about it. The house belonged to Dorothy, after all. Beatrice was just in charge of keeping it standing.
To that end, she had to see to its security. After Dorothy finally went to bed, Beatrice made their travel arrangements and contacted Trafalgar so she would be ready to leave that night. Though earlier she had balked at being left behind to protect the building, there was no way she would leave it vulnerable now that she knew what they were up against. A person like Virago simply could not have access to anything inside its walls. But she wasn’t going to leave Dorothy and Trafalgar defenseless on their trip.
She went through the downstairs rooms and paused next to each point of entry. She touched two fingers to the corners and muttered a quiet incantation to draw magic to each spot. The energy used her as a conduit and entered the wall, the joints, the very structure of the house. She could feel it building from the arch of each foot and moving up her legs like a painless electric shock. Beatrice put both hands against the front door, since the main entry point of the house would require a stronger charge.
There was a process to protecting a residence. She had to keep her mind focused on those who could pass through without harm. Dorothy, of course, and herself. Desmond Tindall. And as odd as it seemed, she extended permissions to Trafalgar as well. Dorothy had invited the woman to enter without knocking or ringing the bell, so it stood to reason she could be allowed to pass through. For so long she had been a rival, the competition, but their partnership was thriving. And the woman was responsible for saving Dorothy’s life in the labyrinth, so she deserved the benefit of the doubt.
