Original: "Trafalgar and Boone," Chapter Fourteen
Warning! This chapter involves... non-traditional rape. It's not a graphic non-consensual sex situation, but the situation IS a violation and it is definitely non-consensual. So keep that in mind as you read.
Chapter Fourteen
Olive oil, sea breezes, salty air. Comfortably warm, like a favorite sweater. Dorothy felt as if she was waking from a dream, or as if the dream was wrapping itself slowly around her. As the ship around her came into clearer focus everything else faded away. She knew she had been thinking about something important just a few seconds earlier but it was fading into her subconscious with every lazy sway of the deck under her feet. Her grandmother had just died and, as per her wishes, Dorothy was set to take over. That meant traveling the world, seeing those far-flung civilizations that seemed like something out of H.G. Wells’ stories.
Before she got to work, her grandmother urged her to take a “fun” journey. No exploring, no mysteries to unearth, just a pleasure trip to spread her wings. She’d chosen the Mediterranean, the cradle of life. Her plan was to bounce from one port to the next and explore culture through food. She was eager to reach Greece, uncertain about what awaited her in Egypt or Istanbul. At the moment she was having a hard time with even the food she was sure about. The ship’s dinner menu had settled poorly, and she found herself on the deck bent over the railing to release some of the meal back into the sea.
“Oh, dear. That doesn’t sound good at all.”
Dorothy saw the handkerchief first, and she took it to dab at her lips as she looked at the new arrival. The woman smiled kindly and introduced herself as Charlotte Blake. She was a widow, a former actress, and currently a globetrotter. Dorothy felt young and childish in Charlotte’s presence, the elegant woman with her dark hair streaked with gray at the temples. Charlotte quickly put her to ease, however, asking questions about her family and her life as they strolled along the deck.
When they reached Dorothy’s cabin, she thanked Charlotte for making sure she got there safely. “I don’t know what I’m doing out here. Grandma Eula spent a lot of time getting me ready for this, but I always thought she would be there to hold my hand. To show me what to do. Now I’m on my own and it doesn’t seem right. I don’t know if I’m going to be good enough.”
Charlotte said, “One reason I’m taking time away from the stage is to figure out who I am outside of my characters. I wanted to stop reciting from scripts and say my own words for a change. I was terrified when I set out, but I knew one thing for sure. I didn’t want to miss out on the opportunity just because I was scared.”
She had touched Dorothy’s hand. Dorothy stared at Charlotte’s fingers for a very long moment, doing a mental run-up before she jumped off the cliff. Twenty years old and she had never been kissed. Two decades of her life without a lover simply because the only ones who intrigued her were forbidden. From the moment she was old enough to want companionship she had cursed her inability to find boys who lit her up the way other girls did. Now, on a boat in the darkness with an exotic stranger, the solution seemed so ridiculously easy.
“Can I kiss you?” Dorothy was surprised to hear the words come out of her mouth, even in a hurried whisper.
Charlotte seemed surprised by the question. Before she could answer, Dorothy realized she had just thrown up. She didn’t want her first kiss to be sullied by that, so she put her fingers over her lips and took a step back.
“No. I’m sorry,” Dorothy said. “Goodness. I have no idea what’s come over me. Lightheaded, or maybe still just out of sorts.”
“Dorothy,” Charlotte said, “let’s go into your room to talk some more.”
Dorothy stared at her. Finally she nodded, and she almost immediately poured herself a drink and rinsed her mouth out. She dampened a brush and applied tooth powder, scrubbing furiously before spitting the frothy mixture out into a basin. She touched her wrist to her lips as she joined Charlotte in the main room once more, and they sat next to each other as casually as old acquaintances. Charlotte brushed a stray hair behind Dorothy’s ear and smiled at her.
“Are you certain you want to do this?”
Dorothy swallowed, her mouth tasting clean and slightly numb. “For the past two weeks, I haven’t been certain of anything. I know I’ll be kicking myself the whole way home if I don’t.” She touched Charlotte’s chin. “I really would like to kiss you, Miss Blake.”
“I’ve never done this before, you know,” Charlotte whispered as she leaned in. “Never with another woman.”
“I’ve never done this at all.”
Charlotte smiled. “Then perhaps we will both learn something tonight.”
Dorothy wet her lips just before Charlotte kissed them, and she rested her hands on the older woman’s hips as she leaned in. Her fears and confusion evaporated until the only thought crowding the edges of her mind was a low, insistent “Yessss.” She moved her hands to the small of Charlotte’s back and scooted closer on the divan, moaning when she thought Charlotte was trying to push her away. A moment later she realized she was being pushed down onto the cushions. Dorothy opened her eyes and looked at Charlotte, then let her eyelids drift closed to allow whatever was going to happen without overthinking it.
She pressed her thighs together as the weight lifted from her, as her hands drifted to the sturdy arms of a chair. The familiar scents of her first lover - the sea, olive oil, jasmine shampoo - faded to be replaced with the harsh chemical scents of an airship. Dorothy was aroused even after she realized she had been unconscious, fighting the tingle of desire brewing in her lower body as she struggled to organize her thoughts.
She was no longer lying back on a divan, she was strapped to a chair. Her head ached, her stomach twisted with nausea, and her shoulder throbbed from where the Sandman had stabbed her. She knew there were at least three other people in the room; she could hear them moving quietly about the space and breathing. The ship creaked and groaned, and she knew they were in the air. Her mouth was dry. She pushed her tongue between her lips and tried to work up some moisture as she opened her eyes and took in her surroundings. There was a light shining down on her, the rest of the room cloaked in darkness, but she could see silhouettes in the shadows.
“Welcome back to the land of the living.”
She kept her head steady and moved her eyes toward the voice. The room seemed to swim and she grunted helplessly as a tall man stepped into the light. He was gorgeous, a face of hard lines carved from stone to create a titanic jaw, dimpled at the chin, and sparkling green eyes that were partially magnified by his eyeglasses. His blonde hair was parted in the middle and long enough to frame his face on either side, luxurious without being feminine. He smiled and clasped his hands behind his back.
“The infamous Lady Boone. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. My name is Orville Weeks. My brother Dan and I have been fans of yours for a very long time.”
“I assume it was your fan mail that nearly killed me two days ago.”
He smiled. “Yes, that was us. However you must understand that what we did was a necessary evil. We did not want to kill you. We simply wanted you out of the way. Your death was...”
“A convenience,” Dorothy said.
“Perhaps, to put it bluntly.”
“You tried to murder me. I’m fine with blunt.”
He sighed. “Very well. But we failed, and that is a reason for us all to celebrate. Your survival will benefit us greatly in the days ahead. Our society is on the precipice of a very important discovery. With your help, we could usher this world into a new age.”
“The age of Felix Quintel.”
Orville smiled. “Ah, yes. The future King of England. It’s high time for a revolution, don’t you think? Think about it. We have a new world at our fingertips. Magic is at our fingertips. We glide through the air in these remarkable dirigibles. We race through our streets in motorized carriages. Humanity is poised to take a great leap forward and we deserve a leader who is prepared for the troubles such an age can bring. Quintel will take England as his rightful stronghold, and then he shall advance. Europe, Asia, America, Africa. A world united under a god.”
“Fallen angel, more accurately,” Dorothy said.
“Devils and demons.” He sighed and shook his head. “Sunday school does its indoctrination well, doesn’t it? God is good, Devil is evil. So simplistic and childish. God did not cast Lucifer into the pit as a ruler. Why would he? Why would he give his enemy an entire realm to punish mortals who were only guilty of the same sin the Light-Bringer had committed? God and the Devil are partners running the longest con ever devised. Benevolence versus malevolence. God has his army of angels and the Devil rules his demon soldiers. I’m simply reassigning one of Hell’s generals to clean up here in the mortal realm a little.”
Dorothy shook her head. “You’re delusional.”
Orville ignored her. “With the stone you will help us find, we will call forth one of Hell’s most powerful demons. We will provide for it a host, and that host will become Felix Quintel. That host will rule this world, and the Watershed Society shall stand at his side like the trusted lieutenants we are. You could stand up there with us, Lady Boone. You could be a lieutenant of the strongest leader this world has ever known.”
“What would possibly persuade me to help you?”
“We expected you would need some convincing. That’s why we took your hands.”
Dorothy furrowed her brow and looked down. Both of her arms ended at the wrist with bloody stumps, the pain only just registering as Dorothy saw the wounds. Her chest clenched so she couldn’t cry out, but her lips twisted in horror and disbelief. Her forearms were bound tightly to the chair with rope, and her muscles tensed as she tried desperately to break free. The wounds were jagged, hideous, and she knew even if her hands had been salvaged they would never be reattached without scarring, and she doubted they would ever work the same way again.
She was babbling, she realized, moaning, “No, no, no,” in a rapid-fire murmur as tears streaked down her face. Her strong front had been shattered in one instant as she saw how she had been mutilated.
“I believe that is enough,” Orville said softly. “Lady Boone, look at yourself.”
She couldn’t bear to. Orville stepped forward and rapped her knuckles with his, and the pain shot up into Dorothy’s arm. She stared in shock at the back of her hand, complete and intact, attached seamlessly to her arm with nary a sign of cutting. She spread her fingers and chuffed softly as she curled her fingers into fists. She dug her nails into the palm hard enough to hurt, and fresh tears rolled down her face as she realized what her cruel captor had done.
“I would like to introduce you to Milena Petric,” Orville said as a woman stepped forward from the shadows. She wore a brown leather coat like the rest of Watershed’s members, but her head was completely shaven. Her eyes were obscured behind tinted sunglasses even in the barely-lit room. Orville smiled at her and said, “Milena is the one responsible for the little illusion about your hands. It seemed real, didn’t it? The pain, the shock. If I’d allowed the deception to go on a little longer, your body would have started reacting to the trauma. It would have actually thought you were losing blood. Scary, isn’t it?”
Dorothy glared at him. She knew her skin was ashen and her face was still wet with tears, but she refused to let the bastard hold the upper hand.
“Milena is also responsible for the little dream you had while we were waiting for our ride. It was a good dream, wasn’t it? She can put you back in it.”
She felt Charlotte’s breath on her ear, heard the nasty things that had been said on that long-ago night. She closed her eyes and brought her knees together, half-expecting to feel Charlotte between them. Dorothy squirmed in the chair and, almost against her will, let out a quiet moan of pleasure. She arched her back and pushed herself down against the wooden seat to prevent her hips from thrusting upward in an obscene caricature. Then, as quickly as it had started, the phantom released her.
“So much easier than actually causing the damage. No mess to clean up. I can cut off all your fingers, move on to your toes, and then I can start all over again. It doesn’t matter if you know it’s all an illusion. Your body won’t.”
Dorothy cried out in agony as her right hand withered, desiccated and died.
“And I can give you your pleasant memories...”
Once again she was on the ship, guiding Charlotte’s hand between her legs. She looked up and recoiled when she saw that Charlotte’s flushed features had been replaced by Orville’s.
“...and I can destroy them from within.”
“Stop,” Dorothy gasped.
He put his hands on her shoulders and leaned down so they were eye-to-eye. “Then help me. When we land, you will help me find the stone. You will not stand against us when we depart, and you will allow the Society to create Felix Quintel without interference.”
“Fine.”
Another flash of her night with Charlotte, once again with her lover replaced by Orville. She sobbed as he whispered, “Say the words Dorothy...”
“I’ll help you. I’ll help you find the stone and I won’t raise arms against you. Now get out of my fucking head.”
The cabin faded and was replaced by her cell. Orville leaned back and tugged at the cuffs of his coat. “I do apologize for the violation. Before we found Milena we were forced to take physical measures. Did you know it’s more sensible to cut off a person’s index finger than any other? Some think it’s the pinkie, but no. Once the forefinger is gone, the secondary finger adapts to take its place. The things you learn by trial and error.” He laughed softly and shook his head. “We should be landing in Heraklion within the hour. You should get washed up. And dressed.”
Dorothy looked down and saw she was nude. Her face flushed and she squeezed her eyes shut. She could feel the cotton on her skin, knew without a doubt she was fully-clothed and had been the entire time, but her brain was stupid and slow to process the physical information. When she opened her eyes, Orville and the other men in the room were gone. Milena moved to stand guard in front of Dorothy, blank lenses of her glasses locked on Dorothy’s face.
“You toyed with something precious,” Dorothy said. “You used it as a thumbscrew. I will not forget this.”
Milena said nothing and made no outward acknowledgement of what had been said, but Dorothy suddenly felt the seat drop out from underneath her. She was falling, tumbling end over end, plummeting through the bowels of the ship and out into clear air. She bit her tongue and squeezed her eyes shut, her head swimming with the sensation of weightlessness. Her body braced for the inevitable impact. Her heart raced.
“You bitch,” she growled. “You bitch whore, I will make you pay for this...”
She began falling faster. Against her will, Dorothy began to scream.
#
The screams echoed through the airship, rising in volume before being choked off. Trafalgar kept her eyes straight ahead, focusing on the ceiling above her rather than speculating on what was being done to Dorothy elsewhere on the vessel. She had a feeling her dose of the Sandman had been less than what Dorothy received; the coat had provided a thicker barrier to penetrate and she had pulled it out almost immediately. But she had still lost consciousness and, when she woke, her arms and legs were bound to a table in what appeared to be a medical examination room. Her jacket and clothing had been taken from her, leaving her only in a thin undershirt and underwear. She was gagged by some sort of hard plastic that she couldn’t get her tongue around to dislodge, though she spent most of her time after regaining consciousness trying to.
The door swung open and admitted a verminous-looking man in an unbuttoned leather coat. It swung open to reveal the manticore design on the inside pocket. His cheeks were sunken and his eyes pronounced, his graying his cut short to give him a large forehead. His ears stuck out on either side like small horns, and when he smiled his lips crept across his face like a crack opening in an arid landscape.
“Good morning. My name is Daniel Weeks. And you... well, we all know who you are. There has been much speculation about you over the years, miss. Enoch Solomon’s men spoke of a young girl called Trafalgar who killed their master, urging him to commit suicide in front of them. Then she stole his jacket and took command of the vessel. And then...” He waved his spindly fingers in front of his face. “Just vanished into the world. Some of us thought you were just a myth. But you’re not. Are you?”
A beautiful bald woman in glasses stepped into the room behind him and closed the door. He looked at her and then began to circle Trafalgar’s bed.
“I apologize that we had to undress you so completely. A bit crude, I know, but once we discovered those nasty blades you had hidden up your sleeve we had to be certain there was nothing else concealed in the folds of your clothes. Never fear, we have several female acolytes who did the deed. You have nothing to worry about in terms of being violated in that manner.”
Trafalgar clenched her fists and tightened the muscles of her arms, testing the restraints she’d already confirmed couldn’t be broken. Daniel patted her shoulder.
“Save your strength, Miss Trafalgar. I suspect you’ll need it once we land.” He stepped around the table and extended an arm to the bald woman. “I’d like to introduce you to Mircea Petric. She and her sister have a unique gift. I like to call it archaeology of the mind. A bit like time travel. They can reach into your mind and dig out a moment, a day, or just a feeling, and bring it to the surface. Every sensation is exactly as you remember it. Only better. The human mind filters the world down to its most important elements so we can keep it. Colors dim, details fade. Mircea and Milena can bring the memory back so vividly that it’s as if you have physically traveled back to that moment.”
Trafalgar could think of a few moments it would be torture to revisit, but she had a feeling she knew what the Watershed Society would be most interested in.
“Solomon put the stone in your mouth and began the ritual. The forces were at work, they just weren’t allowed to complete their job.” He leaned over her and rested his hand on her forehead. His palm was cold and clammy, and she tried to shrink away from it. “Something was started that night, Trafalgar, and a seed was planted. A small piece of darkness in your mind, like a lighthouse on the shore calling to our friend in the other realm. When we find the second stone, Mircea will expand that piece of darkness to fill your entire mind and call forth the creature that will soon rule this world. You will be its welcoming beacon.”
Sounds as if I will be more like bait, Trafalgar thought.
“For the time being, however, we need to ensure you won’t attempt to escape before we arrive at our destination. Like I said, we need you to keep your strength up. So Mircea will stay with you, and she’ll make sure that your mind remains occupied while we’re in transit. I would say pleasant dreams, but that’s really up to Mircea, isn’t it?” He grinned and nodded at Mircea on his way out of the room.
Trafalgar looked at the woman who seemed to loom over her bed. Her mind was racing, as if her memories were nothing more than cards that this stranger had picked up and started to shuffle. She imagined the words DON’T DO THIS writ large in her mind, but the words scattered as soon as she constructed them. As Mircea dug deeper into her mind, the screams elsewhere on the ship started again.
#
It was late afternoon before the Kestrel took off from Rome. It turned on a south-southeastern trajectory that would take it across the boot of Italy to Athens. They would refuel there and continue south to the city of Heraklion, on the island of Crete. The trip would take twelve hours, plus however long they were delayed at the Athens airdock. The skies ahead of them were clear, and the skies behind them were full of the bustling Roman air traffic.
There were so many other airships aloft, so many gondolas reflecting the setting sun, that no one would have paid much attention when one of them altered course as if in pursuit. The second airship gave the first a good head start, hanging back until the Kestrel was little more than a pumpkin-seed shaped object on the horizon.
Once its captain was confident they wouldn’t be observed, the Skylarker gave full thrust to its engines and set off in pursuit.
Chapter Fourteen
Olive oil, sea breezes, salty air. Comfortably warm, like a favorite sweater. Dorothy felt as if she was waking from a dream, or as if the dream was wrapping itself slowly around her. As the ship around her came into clearer focus everything else faded away. She knew she had been thinking about something important just a few seconds earlier but it was fading into her subconscious with every lazy sway of the deck under her feet. Her grandmother had just died and, as per her wishes, Dorothy was set to take over. That meant traveling the world, seeing those far-flung civilizations that seemed like something out of H.G. Wells’ stories.
Before she got to work, her grandmother urged her to take a “fun” journey. No exploring, no mysteries to unearth, just a pleasure trip to spread her wings. She’d chosen the Mediterranean, the cradle of life. Her plan was to bounce from one port to the next and explore culture through food. She was eager to reach Greece, uncertain about what awaited her in Egypt or Istanbul. At the moment she was having a hard time with even the food she was sure about. The ship’s dinner menu had settled poorly, and she found herself on the deck bent over the railing to release some of the meal back into the sea.
“Oh, dear. That doesn’t sound good at all.”
Dorothy saw the handkerchief first, and she took it to dab at her lips as she looked at the new arrival. The woman smiled kindly and introduced herself as Charlotte Blake. She was a widow, a former actress, and currently a globetrotter. Dorothy felt young and childish in Charlotte’s presence, the elegant woman with her dark hair streaked with gray at the temples. Charlotte quickly put her to ease, however, asking questions about her family and her life as they strolled along the deck.
When they reached Dorothy’s cabin, she thanked Charlotte for making sure she got there safely. “I don’t know what I’m doing out here. Grandma Eula spent a lot of time getting me ready for this, but I always thought she would be there to hold my hand. To show me what to do. Now I’m on my own and it doesn’t seem right. I don’t know if I’m going to be good enough.”
Charlotte said, “One reason I’m taking time away from the stage is to figure out who I am outside of my characters. I wanted to stop reciting from scripts and say my own words for a change. I was terrified when I set out, but I knew one thing for sure. I didn’t want to miss out on the opportunity just because I was scared.”
She had touched Dorothy’s hand. Dorothy stared at Charlotte’s fingers for a very long moment, doing a mental run-up before she jumped off the cliff. Twenty years old and she had never been kissed. Two decades of her life without a lover simply because the only ones who intrigued her were forbidden. From the moment she was old enough to want companionship she had cursed her inability to find boys who lit her up the way other girls did. Now, on a boat in the darkness with an exotic stranger, the solution seemed so ridiculously easy.
“Can I kiss you?” Dorothy was surprised to hear the words come out of her mouth, even in a hurried whisper.
Charlotte seemed surprised by the question. Before she could answer, Dorothy realized she had just thrown up. She didn’t want her first kiss to be sullied by that, so she put her fingers over her lips and took a step back.
“No. I’m sorry,” Dorothy said. “Goodness. I have no idea what’s come over me. Lightheaded, or maybe still just out of sorts.”
“Dorothy,” Charlotte said, “let’s go into your room to talk some more.”
Dorothy stared at her. Finally she nodded, and she almost immediately poured herself a drink and rinsed her mouth out. She dampened a brush and applied tooth powder, scrubbing furiously before spitting the frothy mixture out into a basin. She touched her wrist to her lips as she joined Charlotte in the main room once more, and they sat next to each other as casually as old acquaintances. Charlotte brushed a stray hair behind Dorothy’s ear and smiled at her.
“Are you certain you want to do this?”
Dorothy swallowed, her mouth tasting clean and slightly numb. “For the past two weeks, I haven’t been certain of anything. I know I’ll be kicking myself the whole way home if I don’t.” She touched Charlotte’s chin. “I really would like to kiss you, Miss Blake.”
“I’ve never done this before, you know,” Charlotte whispered as she leaned in. “Never with another woman.”
“I’ve never done this at all.”
Charlotte smiled. “Then perhaps we will both learn something tonight.”
Dorothy wet her lips just before Charlotte kissed them, and she rested her hands on the older woman’s hips as she leaned in. Her fears and confusion evaporated until the only thought crowding the edges of her mind was a low, insistent “Yessss.” She moved her hands to the small of Charlotte’s back and scooted closer on the divan, moaning when she thought Charlotte was trying to push her away. A moment later she realized she was being pushed down onto the cushions. Dorothy opened her eyes and looked at Charlotte, then let her eyelids drift closed to allow whatever was going to happen without overthinking it.
She pressed her thighs together as the weight lifted from her, as her hands drifted to the sturdy arms of a chair. The familiar scents of her first lover - the sea, olive oil, jasmine shampoo - faded to be replaced with the harsh chemical scents of an airship. Dorothy was aroused even after she realized she had been unconscious, fighting the tingle of desire brewing in her lower body as she struggled to organize her thoughts.
She was no longer lying back on a divan, she was strapped to a chair. Her head ached, her stomach twisted with nausea, and her shoulder throbbed from where the Sandman had stabbed her. She knew there were at least three other people in the room; she could hear them moving quietly about the space and breathing. The ship creaked and groaned, and she knew they were in the air. Her mouth was dry. She pushed her tongue between her lips and tried to work up some moisture as she opened her eyes and took in her surroundings. There was a light shining down on her, the rest of the room cloaked in darkness, but she could see silhouettes in the shadows.
“Welcome back to the land of the living.”
She kept her head steady and moved her eyes toward the voice. The room seemed to swim and she grunted helplessly as a tall man stepped into the light. He was gorgeous, a face of hard lines carved from stone to create a titanic jaw, dimpled at the chin, and sparkling green eyes that were partially magnified by his eyeglasses. His blonde hair was parted in the middle and long enough to frame his face on either side, luxurious without being feminine. He smiled and clasped his hands behind his back.
“The infamous Lady Boone. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. My name is Orville Weeks. My brother Dan and I have been fans of yours for a very long time.”
“I assume it was your fan mail that nearly killed me two days ago.”
He smiled. “Yes, that was us. However you must understand that what we did was a necessary evil. We did not want to kill you. We simply wanted you out of the way. Your death was...”
“A convenience,” Dorothy said.
“Perhaps, to put it bluntly.”
“You tried to murder me. I’m fine with blunt.”
He sighed. “Very well. But we failed, and that is a reason for us all to celebrate. Your survival will benefit us greatly in the days ahead. Our society is on the precipice of a very important discovery. With your help, we could usher this world into a new age.”
“The age of Felix Quintel.”
Orville smiled. “Ah, yes. The future King of England. It’s high time for a revolution, don’t you think? Think about it. We have a new world at our fingertips. Magic is at our fingertips. We glide through the air in these remarkable dirigibles. We race through our streets in motorized carriages. Humanity is poised to take a great leap forward and we deserve a leader who is prepared for the troubles such an age can bring. Quintel will take England as his rightful stronghold, and then he shall advance. Europe, Asia, America, Africa. A world united under a god.”
“Fallen angel, more accurately,” Dorothy said.
“Devils and demons.” He sighed and shook his head. “Sunday school does its indoctrination well, doesn’t it? God is good, Devil is evil. So simplistic and childish. God did not cast Lucifer into the pit as a ruler. Why would he? Why would he give his enemy an entire realm to punish mortals who were only guilty of the same sin the Light-Bringer had committed? God and the Devil are partners running the longest con ever devised. Benevolence versus malevolence. God has his army of angels and the Devil rules his demon soldiers. I’m simply reassigning one of Hell’s generals to clean up here in the mortal realm a little.”
Dorothy shook her head. “You’re delusional.”
Orville ignored her. “With the stone you will help us find, we will call forth one of Hell’s most powerful demons. We will provide for it a host, and that host will become Felix Quintel. That host will rule this world, and the Watershed Society shall stand at his side like the trusted lieutenants we are. You could stand up there with us, Lady Boone. You could be a lieutenant of the strongest leader this world has ever known.”
“What would possibly persuade me to help you?”
“We expected you would need some convincing. That’s why we took your hands.”
Dorothy furrowed her brow and looked down. Both of her arms ended at the wrist with bloody stumps, the pain only just registering as Dorothy saw the wounds. Her chest clenched so she couldn’t cry out, but her lips twisted in horror and disbelief. Her forearms were bound tightly to the chair with rope, and her muscles tensed as she tried desperately to break free. The wounds were jagged, hideous, and she knew even if her hands had been salvaged they would never be reattached without scarring, and she doubted they would ever work the same way again.
She was babbling, she realized, moaning, “No, no, no,” in a rapid-fire murmur as tears streaked down her face. Her strong front had been shattered in one instant as she saw how she had been mutilated.
“I believe that is enough,” Orville said softly. “Lady Boone, look at yourself.”
She couldn’t bear to. Orville stepped forward and rapped her knuckles with his, and the pain shot up into Dorothy’s arm. She stared in shock at the back of her hand, complete and intact, attached seamlessly to her arm with nary a sign of cutting. She spread her fingers and chuffed softly as she curled her fingers into fists. She dug her nails into the palm hard enough to hurt, and fresh tears rolled down her face as she realized what her cruel captor had done.
“I would like to introduce you to Milena Petric,” Orville said as a woman stepped forward from the shadows. She wore a brown leather coat like the rest of Watershed’s members, but her head was completely shaven. Her eyes were obscured behind tinted sunglasses even in the barely-lit room. Orville smiled at her and said, “Milena is the one responsible for the little illusion about your hands. It seemed real, didn’t it? The pain, the shock. If I’d allowed the deception to go on a little longer, your body would have started reacting to the trauma. It would have actually thought you were losing blood. Scary, isn’t it?”
Dorothy glared at him. She knew her skin was ashen and her face was still wet with tears, but she refused to let the bastard hold the upper hand.
“Milena is also responsible for the little dream you had while we were waiting for our ride. It was a good dream, wasn’t it? She can put you back in it.”
She felt Charlotte’s breath on her ear, heard the nasty things that had been said on that long-ago night. She closed her eyes and brought her knees together, half-expecting to feel Charlotte between them. Dorothy squirmed in the chair and, almost against her will, let out a quiet moan of pleasure. She arched her back and pushed herself down against the wooden seat to prevent her hips from thrusting upward in an obscene caricature. Then, as quickly as it had started, the phantom released her.
“So much easier than actually causing the damage. No mess to clean up. I can cut off all your fingers, move on to your toes, and then I can start all over again. It doesn’t matter if you know it’s all an illusion. Your body won’t.”
Dorothy cried out in agony as her right hand withered, desiccated and died.
“And I can give you your pleasant memories...”
Once again she was on the ship, guiding Charlotte’s hand between her legs. She looked up and recoiled when she saw that Charlotte’s flushed features had been replaced by Orville’s.
“...and I can destroy them from within.”
“Stop,” Dorothy gasped.
He put his hands on her shoulders and leaned down so they were eye-to-eye. “Then help me. When we land, you will help me find the stone. You will not stand against us when we depart, and you will allow the Society to create Felix Quintel without interference.”
“Fine.”
Another flash of her night with Charlotte, once again with her lover replaced by Orville. She sobbed as he whispered, “Say the words Dorothy...”
“I’ll help you. I’ll help you find the stone and I won’t raise arms against you. Now get out of my fucking head.”
The cabin faded and was replaced by her cell. Orville leaned back and tugged at the cuffs of his coat. “I do apologize for the violation. Before we found Milena we were forced to take physical measures. Did you know it’s more sensible to cut off a person’s index finger than any other? Some think it’s the pinkie, but no. Once the forefinger is gone, the secondary finger adapts to take its place. The things you learn by trial and error.” He laughed softly and shook his head. “We should be landing in Heraklion within the hour. You should get washed up. And dressed.”
Dorothy looked down and saw she was nude. Her face flushed and she squeezed her eyes shut. She could feel the cotton on her skin, knew without a doubt she was fully-clothed and had been the entire time, but her brain was stupid and slow to process the physical information. When she opened her eyes, Orville and the other men in the room were gone. Milena moved to stand guard in front of Dorothy, blank lenses of her glasses locked on Dorothy’s face.
“You toyed with something precious,” Dorothy said. “You used it as a thumbscrew. I will not forget this.”
Milena said nothing and made no outward acknowledgement of what had been said, but Dorothy suddenly felt the seat drop out from underneath her. She was falling, tumbling end over end, plummeting through the bowels of the ship and out into clear air. She bit her tongue and squeezed her eyes shut, her head swimming with the sensation of weightlessness. Her body braced for the inevitable impact. Her heart raced.
“You bitch,” she growled. “You bitch whore, I will make you pay for this...”
She began falling faster. Against her will, Dorothy began to scream.
#
The screams echoed through the airship, rising in volume before being choked off. Trafalgar kept her eyes straight ahead, focusing on the ceiling above her rather than speculating on what was being done to Dorothy elsewhere on the vessel. She had a feeling her dose of the Sandman had been less than what Dorothy received; the coat had provided a thicker barrier to penetrate and she had pulled it out almost immediately. But she had still lost consciousness and, when she woke, her arms and legs were bound to a table in what appeared to be a medical examination room. Her jacket and clothing had been taken from her, leaving her only in a thin undershirt and underwear. She was gagged by some sort of hard plastic that she couldn’t get her tongue around to dislodge, though she spent most of her time after regaining consciousness trying to.
The door swung open and admitted a verminous-looking man in an unbuttoned leather coat. It swung open to reveal the manticore design on the inside pocket. His cheeks were sunken and his eyes pronounced, his graying his cut short to give him a large forehead. His ears stuck out on either side like small horns, and when he smiled his lips crept across his face like a crack opening in an arid landscape.
“Good morning. My name is Daniel Weeks. And you... well, we all know who you are. There has been much speculation about you over the years, miss. Enoch Solomon’s men spoke of a young girl called Trafalgar who killed their master, urging him to commit suicide in front of them. Then she stole his jacket and took command of the vessel. And then...” He waved his spindly fingers in front of his face. “Just vanished into the world. Some of us thought you were just a myth. But you’re not. Are you?”
A beautiful bald woman in glasses stepped into the room behind him and closed the door. He looked at her and then began to circle Trafalgar’s bed.
“I apologize that we had to undress you so completely. A bit crude, I know, but once we discovered those nasty blades you had hidden up your sleeve we had to be certain there was nothing else concealed in the folds of your clothes. Never fear, we have several female acolytes who did the deed. You have nothing to worry about in terms of being violated in that manner.”
Trafalgar clenched her fists and tightened the muscles of her arms, testing the restraints she’d already confirmed couldn’t be broken. Daniel patted her shoulder.
“Save your strength, Miss Trafalgar. I suspect you’ll need it once we land.” He stepped around the table and extended an arm to the bald woman. “I’d like to introduce you to Mircea Petric. She and her sister have a unique gift. I like to call it archaeology of the mind. A bit like time travel. They can reach into your mind and dig out a moment, a day, or just a feeling, and bring it to the surface. Every sensation is exactly as you remember it. Only better. The human mind filters the world down to its most important elements so we can keep it. Colors dim, details fade. Mircea and Milena can bring the memory back so vividly that it’s as if you have physically traveled back to that moment.”
Trafalgar could think of a few moments it would be torture to revisit, but she had a feeling she knew what the Watershed Society would be most interested in.
“Solomon put the stone in your mouth and began the ritual. The forces were at work, they just weren’t allowed to complete their job.” He leaned over her and rested his hand on her forehead. His palm was cold and clammy, and she tried to shrink away from it. “Something was started that night, Trafalgar, and a seed was planted. A small piece of darkness in your mind, like a lighthouse on the shore calling to our friend in the other realm. When we find the second stone, Mircea will expand that piece of darkness to fill your entire mind and call forth the creature that will soon rule this world. You will be its welcoming beacon.”
Sounds as if I will be more like bait, Trafalgar thought.
“For the time being, however, we need to ensure you won’t attempt to escape before we arrive at our destination. Like I said, we need you to keep your strength up. So Mircea will stay with you, and she’ll make sure that your mind remains occupied while we’re in transit. I would say pleasant dreams, but that’s really up to Mircea, isn’t it?” He grinned and nodded at Mircea on his way out of the room.
Trafalgar looked at the woman who seemed to loom over her bed. Her mind was racing, as if her memories were nothing more than cards that this stranger had picked up and started to shuffle. She imagined the words DON’T DO THIS writ large in her mind, but the words scattered as soon as she constructed them. As Mircea dug deeper into her mind, the screams elsewhere on the ship started again.
#
It was late afternoon before the Kestrel took off from Rome. It turned on a south-southeastern trajectory that would take it across the boot of Italy to Athens. They would refuel there and continue south to the city of Heraklion, on the island of Crete. The trip would take twelve hours, plus however long they were delayed at the Athens airdock. The skies ahead of them were clear, and the skies behind them were full of the bustling Roman air traffic.
There were so many other airships aloft, so many gondolas reflecting the setting sun, that no one would have paid much attention when one of them altered course as if in pursuit. The second airship gave the first a good head start, hanging back until the Kestrel was little more than a pumpkin-seed shaped object on the horizon.
Once its captain was confident they wouldn’t be observed, the Skylarker gave full thrust to its engines and set off in pursuit.