Trafalgar and Boone and the Books of Breathing

by Geonn Cannon

  Trafalgar cupped Dorothy’s face. There was something on her cheeks - good lord, she had a beard - and forced her to remain still.

  “We believe your body was abducted by a spirit which resided in the ka statue. Desmond volunteered himself--”

  “Des...?”

  “--to provide you the opportunity to help us retrieve it. But first you must calm down. Can you do that for us, Dorothy?”

  She blinked, holding her eyes shut for a moment. “I don’t know. I’m... this... this is all very peculiar. I feel as if I’m s-seeing and feeling everything through a veil. My mind is...” She furrowed her brow. “This is Desmond’s voice. Everything I think is coming out in Desmond’s voice. I can’t...”

  Beatrice said, “Perhaps this was a poor plan.”

  “No. No, I... I-I think it was a fine plan. I just need a few minutes.” She shook her head. Beatrice guided her to the chair and helped her sit down. “Oh, Des. You foolhardy... fool... Is he...?”

  “In the ka statue,” Trafalgar said. “He felt guilty for everything you’ve done for him in the past.”

  Dorothy scoffed. “I would say this more than balances the scale.” She reached up and touched her beard. “Dear God, how does he stand this thing? Okay. God, this voice. Tell me what happened.”

  Cora explained the sequence of events, culminating in the fight that ended when Amenemhat fled into the storm wearing Dorothy’s body. When Cora got to the part about Beatrice being knocked unconscious, Dorothy reached out to take her hand. She held it between both of hers - well, between both of Desmond’s. His hands were so much larger than she was used to, and they made Beatrice’s seem miniature by comparison. Her mind threatened to reel again but she forced herself to focus.

  “We would have pursued,” Cora said, “but Cecil was injured, and the rest of us were more concerned about Beatrice’s well-being.”

  “You absolutely made the right decision,” Dorothy said. “I’m not sure Desmond did, but time will tell.” She reached up to her collar and frowned as she loosened the tie and tugged at the top button. “Lord, how does he... ah, much better.” She cleared her throat again, even though she knew it would do nothing to help the “problem” her voice had. “What is our first plan of action?”

  Abraham said, “Well, her... ah, his? What is the etiquette here?”

  “Him,” Dorothy said. “Just for the sake of clarity.”

  Trafalgar said, “Very well. When we were debating which of us would serve as your host, Beatrice came to the conclusion that his first objective will be to flee the city. If he truly is a High Priest from ancient Egypt, London will be utterly alien to him. He’ll seek familiar territory before attempting anything else. Does he have access to your mind? Your memories?”

  Dorothy said, “How would I know?”

  Cora said, “Do you have access to Desmond’s?”

  “Oh. Right. Um...” She closed her eyes and tried to think of something she didn’t already know about the man. She pictured his classroom, which she had seen dozens of times, and his home, which she had also visited. She thought of the Thames, viewing London from an airship, driving in the country... any number of images that could have been culled from her own mind. She remembered a man Desmond brought to a dinner party at the end of Spring. He was young and attractive, just young enough to be one of Desmond’s students. She remembered how they had excused themselves at the end of the evening. She remembered his hand sliding into Desmond’s trousers and--

  “Ah!” She opened her eyes. “Yes. It seems I am capable of accessing Desmond’s memory. But it was a targeted search. I had to focus on a specific memory and then follow it to unknown territory. There’s a chance Amenemhat won’t be able to do that.”

  Cora said, “Unless he simply thinks ‘flee and your mind fills in the blanks for him. It’s a simple enough prompt that could lead him to a boat or an airship.”

  “Could it lead him to Minty?”

  “Possibly,” Trafalgar said. “We should contact her, warn her to avoid ‘you’ at all costs.”

  Dorothy said, “No. If our priest attempts to engage the Skylarker, she should restrain him. If she turns him away, he might find other means of getting where he wants to go. At least then we’ll know where he is and where he intends to travel.”

  Beatrice said, “He may also know where we live. If he can access your armory...”

  “Crumbs. You’re right. We must get there at once.”

  Beatrice stood and immediately lost her balance, bumping the table with her hip. Trafalgar steadied her.

  “You’re not going anywhere like this,” she said. “You’re staying right here and getting checked out by that doctor, if the bloody bastard ever bothers to show up.”

  Strode said, “I’m sure it’s just the weather delaying him.”

  Cecil said, “I want someone to look at my nose as well.”

  Strode snorted. “It gives you character.”

  “I’ll show you character, you ponce...”

  “Bloody seriously?” Dorothy bellowed, surprised at the depth of her own voice. “Now? You insist on continuing this petty bickering even in the current circumstances?”

  The fire went out of both men, and they looked at their feet rather than meet her eye. She stood up and smoothed down the front of her suit. She had no means by which to describe the feeling of being in another body. Even relaxed, it felt strangely rigid, as if he was tensing for a blow. She wondered if Desmond went through life with this constant edge. She tried to relax and adjusted her tie again. She touched her face, touched the bristles of Desmond’s beard, and suppressed the chill that threatened to run down her (his) spine.

  “All right. We’ll find Trix somewhere to rest and then the rest of us will head out to find this bastard. I’m going to get my damned body back.”

  Chapter Five

  The doctor examined Beatrice and determined she had a mild concussion. She would be fine with bedrest, which meant she would have to sit out any search for Dorothy’s errant body. When Beatrice attempted to protest, she lost her balance and had to be held up by Trafalgar. After that she gave up trying to convince anyone she would be useful in the upcoming fight. She relented to letting Cecil drive her home while Abraham and Cora went to the Rookery to see if their quarry showed up. They also called the Keepings and asked them to look through their library for any reference to Amenemhat. If they knew who he was and what he wanted, there was a greater chance of catching up with him.

  Dorothy and Trafalgar rode with Beatrice in the backseat of Cecil’s sedan. They had brought the ka statue with them, just in case the opportunity arose to return everyone to their rightful bodies. Beatrice leaned against Dorothy’s shoulder, awkwardly touching her hand and arm.

  When they got back to Threadneedle Street, Trafalgar asked them to remain in the car while she and Cecil checked to make sure Amenemhat wasn’t lurking. Dorothy wanted to help, but she didn’t trust her ability to control Desmond’s body well enough to engage in a fight. So she remained in the car, holding Beatrice. She looked down and saw Beatrice was staring up at her. She smiled self-consciously.

  “I can’t imagine this is easy for you. Being cradled by Desmond.”

  “On the contrary. When I was fighting... what’s his name?”

  “Amenemhat.”

  “Him. One look in his eyes and I knew it wasn’t you. Looking at you now, it doesn’t matter what face you’re wearing. I see you.”

  Dorothy smiled and touched Beatrice’s cheek. “I’m glad to hear that, Trix. I’m just sorry you got hurt so badly at my hand. Even if I wasn’t the one in control of it.”

  Beatrice grimaced. “That was my fault. Even though I was aware you weren’t in control, I still couldn’t bring myself to harm you.”

  Dorothy smiled. “I hope you don’t expect me to consider that a flaw.”

  “If I hadn’t been pulling my punches, I could have restrained him. Prevented all of this. We wouldn’t have required Desmond to take such an e
normous risk.” She sat up and looked at Dorothy. “Any injuries I might have inflicted would heal. It would be better than this.”

  “We’ll find him. We’ll undo all of this.”

  Beatrice said, “And if we don’t, you’ll simply be Desmond for the rest of your life?”

  “Of course not. That wouldn’t be fair to him.” Beatrice tilted her head, waiting for Dorothy to continue. “If we determine there is no chance of recovering my body, I shall simply recite the spell again and return to the statue. Desmond will have his body back.”

  “And you will effectively be dead.”

  “I won’t steal someone else’s life just to prolong mine.”

  Beatrice looked away from her. “Take my body.”

  “Trix...”

  “No, Dorothy. I would give my life to save yours in any circumstance, but especially this one.”

  “I won’t.”

  “You can’t stop me. Even if you return your soul to the statue without telling me, I’d merely recite the spell myself. If my purpose in life is to save yours--”

  Dorothy put her finger across Beatrice’s lips. “Stop. We don’t have to worry about that now.”

  Beatrice turned her head to get it away from Dorothy’s extended finger. “Do you know I’ve never kissed a man?”

  “Is that so?”

  “I doubt this would count.”

  She moved her hand to the back of Dorothy’s head and leaned in. She pulled back a bit at the first touch of their lips, but committed to the kiss and curled her fingers in the awkwardly short hair at the back of her head. Beatrice put her hand on Dorothy’s chest but, feeling it flat and masculine rather than what she expected to find, moved up to her shoulder. She whispered, “I don’t like the beard.”

  “It is a pain, isn’t it?”

  Beatrice smiled and kissed her again as the back door opened.

  Trafalgar leaned in and flinched at what she saw. “Dear god, that looks obscene.”

  “It doesn’t feel much better,” Beatrice admitted. “No offense to Desmond.”

  Trafalgar said, “The house is secure. Cecil is preparing a fire.”

  They both helped Beatrice out of the car and into the house. Dorothy set up a small nest for her in the den, where Cecil had succeeded in starting a fire.

  “I’m not an invalid,” Beatrice groused. “I’ll be fine in a few hours. There’s no need for all this fuss.”

  “You are worthy of the fuss,” Dorothy said. “And while you may resent being left behind, I’m grateful to have you watching the house while I’m gone, as always. I would trust my home in the hands of no one else.”

  Cecil said, “So, what now?”

  “Now we gather a few things before we go in search of our enemy.” She stood up and took off Desmond’s jacket. “I would prefer to subdue my body thief with non-lethal weapons, but I don’t think I have anything that will do the trick in my armory. We’ll have to visit Threnody.”

  Trafalgar said, “Short notice, unannounced? She won’t like that.”

  “Needs must. For now, I must change clothes.”

  “To what?” Trafalgar said. “You have nothing in Desmond’s size. Even if you did, I doubt it would be any more comfortable than what you’re already wearing.”

  She looked down at herself and realized Trafalgar was right. “Damn. You’re right. Fine, I’ll go as-is. The airship is covered. Where else should we be looking, Trafalgar? Trains?”

  Trafalgar shook her head. “He wouldn’t take a train. If he’s anything like I was in his position, he’d be too frightened of them to even try jumping one. I think our best chance of finding him will be the docks. Odds are good that he’ll be much more comfortable on a boat.”

  “Then that is where we shall go once we’re armed. Cecil, go to the docks. See if anyone matching my description is attempting to book passage... well, anywhere, really.” She looked at Trafalgar. “I’ll need you to lead the way with Threnody. She doesn’t know Desmond and I fear she would attack first and accept ridiculously implausible explanations later.”

  “You are probably right.” She looked at Beatrice. “Get your rest, Miss Sek. I shall take care of Dorothy in your stead.”

  Beatrice said, “Trix. I’ve had enough of ‘Miss Sek’ from you. Call me Trix.”

  Trafalgar tried to disguise her emotion, but she only barely managed to suppress a smile. “As you wish, Trix.”

  Dorothy smiled as well, leading Trafalgar and Cecil out of her house and back out into the rain.

  #

  The clothing he wore was soaked and clung obscenely to his body, this female body which he was surprised to discover had remarkable strength and endurance. His borrowed mind was also starting to provide information about his surroundings. He was in London, it was the year nineteen hundred and twenty-one, whatever that signified, and his vessel was named was Dorothy Boone. She was an adventuress. She knew how to fight. His hands, although small, were strong and bore the callouses of hard work. He withdrew his previous complaints and thanked Amun for his good fortune. He had found a body capable of getting him home but unassuming enough not to draw suspicion.

  He would, however, have to do something about his clothes. They clung to his curves in a way that drew the eye of everyone he passed. They gawked openly at him, and it was all he could do not to attack each and every one of them. If they only knew his true identity. If they had but an inkling of the power he could wield in the right form. He suppressed his rage and looked for something to cover himself with.

  His mind knew that the motorized carts were called vehicles, and within one he found a hooded cloak. He pulled it across his shoulders and flipped the hood up over his head. Boone’s hair had become a mass of tangled tendrils, thick and curled strands of seaweed that hung in his face and obscured his vision. This London was a swamp, a perpetually drowning city that no doubt served as a colony for the wretched and unwanted.

  He searched Boone’s mind for any potential escape routes. She would have elected for an air-ship, one of those ponderous bags anchored over the river. He watched them from an alleyway, their bellies lit from below by huge shining pits that glowed warmly but without the benefit of any flame he could see. Boone didn’t know precisely how far it was to Egypt, but she knew it was far. He wouldn’t be able to travel the distance without help.

  The word “Minty” appeared in his mind, and it took a moment to connect it with the name Araminta Crook. It was a dark-skinned woman in a brown coat and trousers, her hair braided and covered by a peaked cap with a shining black brim. She commanded one of the airships, so he immediately discounted her as a possibility. There was no chance he would risk his newly-returned life aboard one of those strange conveyances.

  That left the sea. He didn’t know what sort of advances had been made in maritime travel, but he highly doubted it would be a fast journey. Time was of the essence. His love had waited long enough for rescue and every minute he wasn’t with her was an ache in his chest. But how could he escape when he was working at such a disadvantage? Boone had stubborn friends who were apparently willing to fight for her. He had little doubt that they would rally themselves to rescue her. They would likely know the city and block any possible avenues of escape.

  “I will not fail you, Henuttaui,” he whispered under his breath, speaking in the light tones of his host. He was still unaccustomed to the melody of her accent, the way her throat and tongue moved to form words unfamiliar to him. The entire language was simply there, in his brain. He supposed it made a sort of sense. Boone’s ability to speak was so ingrained that it couldn’t be forgotten or erased. She knew language like she knew how to breathe or walk. He was grateful for that. He doubted anyone would be able to understand his native language in this bizarre era.

  Amenemhat tugged at the hood so it better concealed his face as he pushed away from the wall. He missed the heat of Egypt, the dryness of the air. The rain in London seemed like it would never end, but everyone he saw on the streets see
med resigned to its existence. With the rain came chill, a pervasive cold that seemed to have grown less bearable in the time he’d been conscious. Surely no one chose to live in a place like this. Madness.

  He was near enough to the river that he could see large ships being loaded with cargo. He wandered closer and listened to the sound of stevedores as they went about their duties, looking for any vessel marked to show Cairo as its destination. He had no way to book passage - Boone carried no money, which he knew he would need for the promise of a berth - but perhaps he could find a way to sneak aboard.

  He was so absorbed in examining the ships that he nearly didn’t notice the young man until they were moments away from a collision. Cecil, the man who had been kicked in the face during his escape from the pub, was dressed in a rainslicker and a wide-brimmed cap. His nose was swollen, colored red and black, with tape across the bridge. They both seemed startled to recognize one another and froze for a moment, each debating what to do next.

  “Lady B... I mean... you... whoever you--”

  Amenemhat grabbed the collar of Cecil’s coat with one hand and raised the other in a fist. He yanked the young man forward hard enough that he tripped over his own feet and fell face-first against Amenemhat’s knuckles. Gravity had done most of the work for him, and blood once again spurted from his nose as he fell to his knees. Amenemhat allowed Boone’s skills to take over. She kneed him in the face and then kicked him onto his back, leaving him sprawling in a medium-deep puddle with both hands clapped over his face.

  Amenemhat was startled by the sudden appearance of two brutes at either shoulder. They glared down at Cecil, who was whining about the injuries to his face. One of the stevedores put a hand on his shoulder and looked down at him.

  “This your fella, miss?”

  “I... I must get away from him. I haven’t any money. But I have family in Cairo...”

  The hand tightened on his shoulder and he was turned away from Cecil. The man holding Amenemhat’s shoulder guided him toward the ship while the other stevedore advanced on Cecil. Boone’s friend realized what was about to happen and began scooting backward on his buttocks begging for the goon to listen to reason.