Original: "Trafalgar & Boone," Chapter Seven

[geonncannon]

::drops a new chapter as if it was a microphone and I'd just made a really clever statement::

Chapter Seven

There was much about the plan Trafalgar disliked, not the least of which was the idea of working alongside Dorothy Boone. But Ivy Sever proved herself to be a valuable source of information and Trafalgar would never have been able to find her without Lady Boone’s presence. Now there was the small matter of finding a man who seemed to not exist. Now that they had an inkling of what had caused the day’s mayhem she knew she had more to motivate her than mere vengeance, but on the ride back to Lady Boone’s townhouse she found her thoughts drifting back to Adeline.

The girl had never known peace, but she’d accepted her ability as a gift instead of a curse. She came to the conclusion that seeing more than everyone else was a treasure. But accepting something was far different from actually being at peace with it. There were nights Adeline couldn’t sleep for all the turmoil in her head. There were days she locked herself in her room and piled pillows on top of her head in a futile attempt to silence them. The worst part, she’d once admitted, was sometimes she didn’t know if her feelings were her own or just castoff from someone nearby.

“I thought I was in love,” she once revealed. She and Trafalgar were in an airship over the English Channel, and looking out over the water had helped lower some walls between them. “All the signs were there. I was short of breath, anxious, I was always nervous and babbling whenever a certain person was nearby. I convinced myself the feelings were mine, and they were for him. Then I discovered I was simply siphoning his feelings. Feelings he had for my friend. They married, but that didn’t make me feel as if something had been lost.”

“I cannot imagine going through life with such a commotion.”

“I cannot imagine life without it.” She had looked out over the water then and smiled. “In the air, it’s easier to pretend. There are fewer people up here, fewer signals to cross with my own.”

“Would you like me to leave?”

Adeline had put her hand on top of Trafalgar’s. “No. You’re quiet. I like being near you.”

Trafalgar closed her eyes and turned toward the window so the other passengers of the car wouldn’t see the tears on her lashes. Earlier she had been angry but now... now she was livid. Adeline’s death was meaningless. She was merely a pawn in some bored rich man’s private game. She died as an end to his means, a prop with which he hoped to eliminate Trafalgar from his path. The girl deserved so much better. If there was one bright spot, one small consolation, it had been the look on Adeline’s face just before the bullet hit. For a few seconds the girl only had the present with no future overlapping. For a shining moment the world was silent and clear to her.

“The future has finally gone quiet.”

Lady Boone... or Dorothy, she supposed she should get used to calling her, looked at her. “Did you say something?”

“I didn’t realize I had spoken aloud.”

Dorothy seemed to accept that as a reluctance to follow through. “Ivy has revealed we’re almost to the fortress Felix Quintel calls home. I thought you might like to take note, and you seemed distracted.”

“Thank you.”

They had been traveling close to half an hour, and now she could see they were near Kew Gardens. Here the trains ran aboveground, and the homes were considerably less rich than the neighborhood they had just left. There were hints of wealth, however, and it was on one of these posher streets that Ivy directed them. Dorothy instructed her driver to stay well enough away that they wouldn’t attract attention from the homeowner. She leaned forward between the two front seats, and Trafalgar removed a pair of eyepieces from her inner pocket. The glasses had a pair of open frames with various lenses extending out to the side like small glass moons orbiting near her head. She flicked a metallic tongue with her fingernail and a pair of magnifying lenses dropped into place.

“Fancy toy,” Dorothy said.

“Threnody the Crafter.”

Dorothy said, “Aha. She does excellent work.”

With the aid of her lenses, Trafalgar was able to get a very detailed view of the home. It was less ornate and less cluttered than most homes, which she found refreshing. She didn’t like all the fancy patterns and ornaments that denoted the Victorian style. The house was two-story, brick, and was a perfect mirror of itself. Two large windows on the ground floor, and two more above on either side of a patio with a high balustrade. The front garden was protected by a gated wall, and to the right she could see a plaque which bore the FQ logo Ivy had shown them.

Ivy spoke up. “He’s got guards all around the place, and no one gets through that gate without an escort.”

Dorothy pondered that. “He never leaves?”

“Not that I ever saw. He has a maid and she brings in groceries.”

“Then how does he hire killers? How does he arrange this whole bloody day down to the damned minute if he’s sitting safely in his den? There has to be some way for him to get out and arrange his schemes. The lot behind him... what does it lead to?”

“There’s a ten foot stone wall, and then a two-storey shop. Believe me, I kept my eye on it. No sign of Quintel going in or out that way. The grass is overgrown, there’s weeds and critter nests. He’s not going that way with any kind of regularity.”

Dorothy twisted her lips at the quick dismissal. “There must be some explanation. No man can pull off something of this magnitude solely using outside contractors. If we uncover how he’s getting in and out with no one seeing him, we’ll be one step closer to stopping him.”

Trafalgar said, “There’s something else we must consider. He’s not only leaving home without being seen, he’s doing it when he’s unaware of being observed. Even if he suspected Miss Sever was observing the house, he couldn’t be certain when she was watching and when she wasn’t. And yet she never saw a hint of his comings or goings. That in itself should be impossible. The law of averages states that she should have at least seen something, depending on how long she watched.”

“Three days. And she’s right. If he knew I was out here, yeah, he could arrange his schedule so I’d never see him. But given my unique abilities...”

“He’d never know when it was safe and when it wasn’t.” Dorothy stroked her thumb over her bottom lip. “There must be something we’re missing. But we’re not going to make much headway sitting here announcing our presence. Trix, take us back to the Tube station. We’ll ponder the situation from there.” She settled back in her seat and checked her pocket watch. “We should also see if we can find a telephone. Desmond will most likely be wondering where we’ve gotten to by now.”

“Hold that thought,” Trafalgar said.

Beatrice looked over her shoulder at Dorothy. It was obvious she would be willing to ignore Trafalgar if that was what her employer wanted.

“Do you have an alternative plan?” Dorothy asked.

Trafalgar opened the car door and stepped out onto the street. She heard Dorothy mutter, “Crumbs” and clamber out behind her. Trafalgar’s longer stride meant Dorothy had to hurry to catch up with her, and then she was nearly trotting just to keep up.

“You certainly don’t intend to walk directly up to his front gate and knock, do you?”

“This man perpetrated several attempted murders today. Who knows how many were successful? We can waste our time by withdrawing to conjure up some scheme or we can act.”

The front gate opened as they approached, and two men exited. They wore heavy leather coats buttoned to the collar that were close enough in appearance to give the impression of being a uniform. They each held long-barreled flintlock pistols by their sides. The one closest to them held up a hand, but Trafalgar continued walking until she was close enough for a civil conversation.

“Turn around and go back to where you came from,” the man said.

“We would like to speak to Felix Quintel.”

The man narrowed his eyes. “Maybe you didn’t hear me, madam. I said--”

“I am Trafalgar of Abyssinia. This is Lady Dorothy Boone. Your employer arranged to have us killed this morning. We would like the opportunity to convince him that further attempts would be most unwise. While we could use you as messengers, I believe it would have more weight coming from us directly. So if you would please step aside.”

“We’re prepared to use force.”

Trafalgar smiled. “You shall have to.” She flicked her wrist and the emei piercers dropped into her palm.

Dorothy rolled her eyes and withdrew her own gun. As she aimed it at the second guard she leaned toward Trafalgar and spoke sotto voce. “There was no need to create a physical confrontation.”

“I shall not cower in the shadows while my friend’s body lies cold in my parlor. Felix Quintel is responsible for her death and shall be held accountable.”

The men brought up their guns. Trafalgar heard the car doors open and close behind her, then the running footsteps as Leola and presumably Beatrice ran to prevent the other perimeter guards from providing backup. Trafalgar saw one of the men moving to thumb back the firing mechanism.

She took a quick step forward. “To the sky!”

The combination of her sudden movement and shouted phrase confused him enough that his eyes flicked upward. His gaze was only off her for a split second, perhaps shorter than a blink, but she closed her hand around his gun with her right hand while slicing his forearm with her piercers. The man howled and clutched at his arm. Trafalgar turned to deal with the second guard, but Dorothy was already engaged. She smacked his gun hand with her club, stepped into his reach, and smacked her hand flat against the center of his chest. He fell back, winded, and Dorothy relieved him of his weapon as he tripped over his own feet. Trafalgar turned her attention back to the man she’d cut. He was trying to stop the bleeding, so he had only one hand free to fight back. He seemed unwilling to try it, however.

“I imagine you rarely get to this point. The majority of people who show up at this gate are likely intimidated by the mere threat of violence, so you’ve never had a chance to hone your skills against a true attacker. In a way, we’ve done Mr. Quintel a favor today.”

Dorothy said, “I believe we shall accept our gratitude in person.”

Trafalgar looked toward the corner of the wall. “Should we perhaps check in with Leola and your girl? They may require assistance.”

“Does your Leola generally require backup?”

“No.”

“Then she will be fine with Beatrice.” She stowed the guard’s gun in her coat pocket and pushed the gate open. “Shall we?”

Trafalgar looked at the guards. “By my estimation, you have only two options. You can pursue us and tell your boss that you allowed us entrance, at which point you will likely be out of a job anyway. Or you can leave now, tend to your wounds, and never return here. Either way you will be seeking new employment tomorrow. If you leave now you can meet your new managers without appearing bloodied and bruised.”

The men backed away, but Trafalgar kept an eye on them until they were out of sight around a bend in the road.

“Impressive,” Dorothy said.

“Anyone can defeat an enemy in a brawl. To convince one to give up without fighting requires a bit more finesse.”

“This from the woman who storms the gates of her enemy’s home without a plan.”

“Plans make you predictable,” Trafalgar said as they entered Quintel’s property. To either side they saw thick grass and overgrown flowerbeds in the null space between the wall and the bricks of the home. Once through the gate they were buffered from street sounds so much that it seemed as if they had crossed over into a completely different world. Dorothy approached the steps but paused to let Trafalgar take the lead to the front door.

“Shall we ring?”

Dorothy shrugged. “We’ve already come this far. Why not a bit further?”

Trafalgar tested the knob and found it unlocked.

“Assault and battery, breaking and entering...”

“Both crimes trumped handily by assassination and multiple counts of attempted murder.”

Dorothy raised an eyebrow. “You raise a fair point.”

They stepped into Quintel’s atrium and took a moment to get their bearings. A staircase directly in front of them led up to the second floor landing, which wrapped around the walls with a series of closed doors. Dorothy and Trafalgar stepped apart to look beyond the staircase into the back of the house. Trafalgar said, “Kitchen.”

“A larder,” Dorothy said. They both spoke at a low whisper, and they slid their feet across the tile to prevent their steps from echoing. She moved into the dark doorway next to her, and Trafalgar did the same. She found herself in an unfurnished sitting room, the heavy window dressings preventing the afternoon light from casting more than a sickly beige pallor over the walls. Dorothy reappeared in the entryway.

“Library, but completely barren. Not a book on the shelves.”

Trafalgar said, “Your transparent friend lied to us.”

“Then who were those apes on the front step? They wouldn’t defend an empty building. And the maid who brings in the groceries...”

Dorothy gestured at the cobwebs between rails on the stairway banister. “You truly believe a maid has seen this place?”

“This place... the grounds are protected by armed guards, who patrol around a locked gate. Two lines of defense. Who is to say there’s not a third? If someone outwits the guards and gets through the gate, once they see an abandoned house they’ll turn around and leave. It’s just another layer to discourage people from digging deeper.”

Dorothy considered the theory for a long moment. Finally she sighed and started upstairs, motioning for Trafalgar to follow her.

“This could all very well be what it seems. Ivy said the back was just as overgrown as we just saw the front to be. Perhaps the reason she never saw anyone enter or exit is because the house has been vacant this entire time. The guards gave up easily. Perhaps too easily. Whoever put them there may have been gambling on the fact no one would challenge two goons with loaded weapons. This entire fortress could be a red herring to distract people from finding his true stronghold. We’re wasting our time.”

“Perhaps.”

Dorothy reached the top of the stairs and went right, so Trafalgar took the left wing. She took the time to search each room thoroughly, opening closet doors and kicking aside what little furniture there was to be found, but there wasn’t a shred of evidence the rooms had ever been lived in. In one bedroom she pushed back the thick curtain and looked down into the backyard. Beatrice and Leola had moved three unconscious men onto the small concrete deck. Neither woman seemed worse for wear, so Trafalgar was confident they had made it through their confrontations without incurring any major damage.

From the other side of the house she heard Dorothy call to her and she hurried to see what had been found. Her boots sounded hollow as she jogged around the perimeter of the landing, their thuds echoing throughout the house and making it sound emptier than ever.

She found Dorothy in the bedroom attached to the balcony they had seen from the street. Unlike the rest of the house, this room had been furnished. A plush armchair stood next to the balcony entrance and angled to look outside rather than to catch the light. There was a bedroll in the corner, a dirty blanket and pillow piled on top of it. Dorothy was crouching next to the bed with a book in her hands. She looked up when Trafalgar came into the room.

“I believe I’ve actually found a clue. A mark on the inside cover declares it property of one F. Quintel. Our mystery man may at last have a face.” She stood up and thumbed through the pages. “He wrote it in some sort of code, so we’re not overly fortunate. But at least now we may have an idea of who we’re looking for. The frontispiece.”

Trafalgar took the book and flipped to the title page. The portrait showed a tall, broad-shouldered bald man with a pair of tinted glasses covering his eyes. His smile was wide but uncomforting; she remembered reading somewhere that some creatures considered showing their teeth an act of aggression. This man was revealing his teeth as weapons, something with which he could bite, rend, chew, tear. He wore a light-colored suit, and over it was a very familiar brown leather jacket.

“This is not Felix Quintel,” she said quietly.

“How can you be so certain?”

Trafalgar swallowed the fear that had risen at the sight of the man she’d met so long ago. “This is the book of a man named Solomon. I met him twenty years ago aboard the vessel that took me from my home. He attempted to use me for a... a ritual. He put a stone in my mouth and summoned a creature from the depths of the sea. Or perhaps somewhere deeper. I foiled him by spitting the stone out before he was finished. It rolled off the deck and he jumped into the sea in pursuit of it.”

Dorothy took the journal back and frowned at the picture. “So whoever Quintel is, he is studying the work of a man who died trying to summon a creature from the netherworld. Perhaps he wishes to pick up where Solomon left off.”

“His ship took me to Cairo, where I spent a good while selling off the things I found in the pockets of his coat to fund my journey here. He had journals in his pocket. Journals like...” She nodded. “I found a list of contacts and found them all. I offered to sell them the remnants of Solomon’s possessions so I could set myself up in this town.”

“Sell...” Dorothy held up the book. “You sold this to Quintel?”

“No. The name Quintel was not on the list, of that I am certain. I am less certain about the providence of that journal. Solomon had five or six journals in the pockets of his coat and I sold them all. I cannot be certain that the journal you’re holding is one of them.”

“But the odds are better than fair that it is.”

Trafalgar closed her eyes and nodded. “If Quintel is continuing the work Solomon began, then it is I who provided him the means. This day would not have happened, and Adeline would be alive still, if I had simply burned that journal when I had the opportunity.”