Blackbird: A Warrior of the No-When Page 5

  Reaching the basement proper, we found another door, and based upon the instructions we had been given, went through it and down another stair. At the bottom, we came into a long corridor that smelled of dust, mold and neglect.

  We were in Seattle’s Underground now; a place that had once been at street level, but had been built over after the great fire of 1879 to become a home for the rats, and those like ourselves who were there to conduct business that could not bear the scrutiny of daylight. Women of more delicate constitutions might have turned around long before this point, and I must confess that a part of me was tempted to do that very thing, but Elizabeth’s presence and the faith that the Professor had placed in us, along with the horror of disappointing him, was what drove me to press on. Even so, my heart was pounding in my chest, and I was glad for my light and the weapon that I had in my bag.

  A little further on, the soft glow of a lantern revealed that the passage ahead was wider, creating a chamber of sorts. As we approached this area, I heard the vague little sounds that a human makes when they are waiting for something; the slight scuff of a shoe on the bricks, the rustle of fabric as its owner shifts position, and then the noise of a match being lit, followed by a soft cough. The smell of tobacco reached my nostrils next and then a man stepped into view and blocked our path.

  He was a rough-looking fellow, with a gaunt unshaven face and over-long hair, topped off with a worn bowler hat. Although he smiled at me with discolored teeth, I detected a slyness about him that only the rats who called this netherworld their home would have been comfortable with.

  “Blimey! Did da Doc send ya?” he asked. “I didn’t expect such a pair ov pret'y little birds such as yerself ter come in 'is place.”

  “He did,” I answered. “Unfortunately, he is indisposed and could not come himself. Do you have what he asked for?”

  “I may, an' I may not,” he replied, his smile transforming into a leer. “An I might be willin' ter laaahr me price fer a taste ov what you’ve got up under that fine little skirt ov yers. Know what I mean?”

  He took a step towards me, and a chill went up my spine. Then I heard a noise, and glancing back, I saw that another man who was just as coarse looking, had stepped in behind Elizabeth, trapping us between them. Without hesitation, my hand went into my handbag and my pistol.

  “Gawdon Bennet! I’ll even give yew da stuff fer free if yer friendly enough,” the first rogue added, coming even closer. “Or maybe, since we’re all alone, me an' me partner'll just take what we want. Okay?”

  This was all that my nerves could tolerate, and I pulled out the derringer. Although my hand was trembling, I still managed to level the weapon at him.

  “Stay back, sir!” I ordered. “Or I will shoot you where you stand.” Elizabeth I noted, had done the same, and was pointing her pistol at the other fellow with a resolute expression.

  Instead of being cowed by this, the scoundrels only laughed. “Lawd above! I don’t think anythin' as pret'y as yew 'as got i' in you,” my man said, his grin widening. ”Now give that 'ere afore ye hurts yerself, an' let’s 'ave a toss.”

  He took another step, his hand outstretched to receive the weapon as if he were absolutely certain that I would surrender it to him like some terrified child. Or a weak, compliant woman.

  I did not consciously pull the trigger. Rather, my finger spasmed of its own accord, as if my body knew better than I the sort of danger that we were in. The thing went off with a roar that far exceeded its size, causing me to jump back in startlement. At the same time, my assailant let out a scream and clutched at his chest, and to my horror, I saw blood welling up from between his fingers.

  “Ya cunt!” he rasped. “Thee shot me!” His features had twisted into a hideous admixture of astonishment, pain and anger.

  “Back away, sir!” I exclaimed. “If I must, I will shoot you again.” I risked another glance and saw that Elizabeth’s assailant had chosen the wiser course, and was backing away from her with his hands raised in surrender.

  “Gawdon Bennet! Ere now, luv,” he was saying to her. “No need ter get rough. Me an' Ned 'ere was just kidding. Okay?”

  Ned however, was not in as reasonable a mood, especially with the hole that I had just put in him. With an animal-like growl, he seized upon my distraction and lunged at me.

  This time, when I pulled the trigger, I did so with deliberate intent. The fellow screamed, and staggered backwards as if he were inebriated, then struck the side of the passage where he collapsed with a moan. Meanwhile, his unnamed partner had had quite enough, and ran from us for all he was worth, darting down a side passage that we had not noticed on our way in.

  We did not stay to watch Ned expire, but turned on our heels, and left the scene as quickly as we could, half-certain that his companion, or some other rapscallion, would attempt to intercept us. And we did not stop until we were back upstairs and out on the street once again. Even though it was quite impossible, I was certain that my gunfire had roused the entire neighborhood, and I fully expected to see a Bookman or a city policeman come around the corner at any moment. The area around us remained silent however, and the streets were empty.

  We departed as quickly as we could without running, and only when we were several blocks away, did we hail another carriage and begin our return journey. I was in an awful state; my hands refused to remain steady, and my thoughts were only about our failure and the violence that I had been compelled to commit.

  Elizabeth, always the calmer and more level-headed, consoled me, and soothed my nerves with a flask that she had brought with her for the occasion--undoubtedly to celebrate the victory that we had just been denied. The spirits within it were quite powerful, but given how things had turned out, I did not mind at all, and availed myself of enough of it to finally achieve a renewed sense of well-being. Or as much as the situation would allow. Now, it seemed highly likely that our project was completely doomed.

  ***

  When we returned to the Professor’s residence, he was quite unhappy with the affair, and extremely apologetic.

  “I was afraid that this might happen!” he said. “And now I feel absolutely mortified for having involved you. Thank heavens that you were able to escape unharmed. I do not think that I could have ever lived with myself if either of you had been molested. Please, forgive me for placing you in such grave danger.”

  “It is nothing,” Elizabeth assured him. “As you can see, the rascals failed, and we are here, whole and intact. What is more important is our mission. How are we to complete the project now?”

  Merriweather produced his pipe, lit it, and considered the question. Finally, he said, “There may be another source. A religionist, a Jew, who sometimes deals in forbidden goods. But it would involve another journey, this time to his shop in Tacoma--and dash it all, I simply cannot ask that of you after tonight’s debacle.”

  “What other choice do we have?” Elizabeth countered. “You are certainly in no condition to travel, and we simply must secure the components.”

  As shaken as I was by our experience in the Underground, I had to admire her fortitude, and agree with her. “Yes, she is quite right. We must needs press forwards. Our work is far too important to delay.”

  “I am not sure--“the Professor replied tentatively. “The man is by no means a scoundrel like those others were, but still, the risk…”

  “Professor, you know that this is the only course of action for us to take,” Elizabeth insisted, “And I think that after this evening we have proven ourselves capable. Besides which, the Academy is letting out, and it would not seem unusual for us to be traveling.”

  Of course, she was completely correct. Maddenhill was observing the coming of summer with its usual two week break, and many of the students, ourselves included, often used this hiatus to travel, or visit distant relatives. A day trip to Tacoma by train was well within reason and nothing that would be considered unseemly, or strange, even for two unescorted young women. And on the slim chan
ce that this did raise some eyebrows, we knew that it would simply be assumed that we would be guarding one another’s virtue, given our breeding and social class.

  In all, it was the perfect disguise, and Merriweather knew it full well. He took one long, speculative puff on his pipe, and nodded.

  “Yes, it wouldn’t be unusual at that. Very well ladies, I concede.”

  CHAPTER 2: The Sign of Six

  In which Elizabeth and I embark on an important mission to Tacoma. Then, the monoplane matches, and an appalling tragedy.

  It took the Professor several days to make contact with his man in Tacoma and arrange for the transaction, and then a few more for us to send for the tickets, and pack our belongings.

  When we were ready, I had our coachman take us to the station at Kings Street, and he saw to it that our baggage was given over to a stevedore and put aboard. Then it was time for us to depart, and I must admit that we were both quite eager to make the trip, not only to see our aims accomplished, but also for another reason which was not quite as altruistic.

  It was the opportunity to spend some time alone together, and undoubtedly, this had factored into Elizabeth’s suggestion. I did not feel any remorse however; our cause was still quite noble, and the chance for privacy rare, and therefore, all the more precious.

  As soon as the train was under way, Elizabeth tipped the Negro porter a £5 note, and the man smiled and took it from her discretely. For the remainder of our journey, we were confident that he would make certain we would not be disturbed, which was exactly what we desired.

  While I pulled down the shades of our compartment, Elizabeth removed her hat and placed it carefully in its box on the shelf above her seat. I immediately followed suit and as we seated ourselves, and faced one another, she reached into her handbag, and withdrew a book of poetry.

  The verses within it were by many authors, some ancient, and others contemporary, and they played an important part in the little game that we always indulged in when we travelled in such a manner. I waited as she browsed its contents, and then a knowing smile came to her lips as she found a passage that pleased her.

  Then she began to read it aloud. It proved to be one of my favorites; a hymn by the great poetess Sappho, dedicated to one of her great loves, and filled with passion.

  “Come back to me, Gongyla, here tonight,” Elizabeth recited. “You, my rose, with your Lydian lyre. There hovers forever around you delight: A beauty desired.’

  “Even your garment plunders my eyes. I am enchanted: I who once Complained to the Cyprus-born goddess, whom I now beseech never to let this lose me grace, but rather bring you back to me: Amongst all mortal women, the one I most wish to see.”

  I listened, pleased at her cleverness for having picked this particular section to begin with. And when she was done, I played my part, pulling the pins from my hair and letting it tumble down to the small of my back and over my shoulders. The fires of desire were kindling in Elizabeth’s eyes as she passed me the book, and she made certain to lightly brush my hand as she did so. A delicious tingle coursed through me.

  Then I found something that I was certain would be a worthy reply to her offering. It was far more contemporary, but no less passionate for that, and came from the pen of Elsa Gidlow.

  “I have brought her, laughing,” I read, “To my quietly dreaming garden. For what will be done there I ask no man pardon.’

  “I brush the rouge from her cheeks, clean the black kohl from the rims of her eyes; loose her hair; uncover the glimmering, shy limbs. I break wild roses, scatter them over her.’

  “The thorns between us sting like love's pain. Her flesh, bitter and salt to my tongue, I taste with endless kisses and taste again.”

  As I finished, it was her turn to undo her hair, and she went further by also removing her gloves. The sight of her graceful pale hands and her long tresses made my breath catch in my throat.

  Where mine was fair and golden, her locks were jet-black, and they fell around her in great waves that caught the light and made them seem like the finest silk. I longed to reach out to her, then and there, and touch them, and her, but we still had our game to play. I controlled my desire (but only barely), and returned the book to her.

  Her smile broadened when she caught the slight tremor in my hand, and she selected another passage, this time, even more torrid than the first. It was another Gidlow poem, entitled “Chance”;

  “The faint touch of your long fingers on mine awakened me. I saw that your tumbled hair was bright with flame, that your eyes were sapphire souls with hungry stars in them, And your lips were too near not to be kissed.’

  “Life crouches at the knees of Chance, and takes what falls to her.’

  Oh how I longed to crouch at her knees just then! But rather than falling upon her, I kept to the rules of our game and delayed my passions fulfillment.

  Hot with desire, I removed my gloves, and then undid the buttons to my blouse and took it off. Then I turned so that she could undo my corset, and when her fingers had done their work, I faced her again.

  Elizabeth beheld my liberated breasts with undisguised longing, and then it was my turn to read. This time, I was pleased to see that her hands had become just as unsteady as mine.

  Nonetheless, I selected my passage with care. Again Gidlow was my choice.

  “Many have loved you with lips and fingers,” it went, “And lain with you till the moon went out; Many have brought you lover's gifts! And some have left their dreams on your doorstep.’

  “But I who am youth among your lovers, come like an acolyte to worship. My thirsting blood restrained by reverence. My heart a wordless prayer.’

  “The candles of desire are lighted, I bow my head, afraid before you, a mendicant who craves your bounty, ashamed of what small gifts she brings.”

  Elizabeth drew in a great shuddering breath as I ended, and then mimicked me by unbuttoning her own blouse and allowing me to loosen her corset for her. Then, daring thing that she was, she went a step further, and stood, pulling down her skirt. Now only her petticoats stood between me and my deepest desires. My heart was pounding fiercely in my chest, and I longed to hold her, but you see, our game was always to kindle our passion carefully, and not ignite it directly.

  She read again. This time it was from Wu’Tsao, a Chinese woman, and the passage was a complete surprise. The author’s writings had only recently been introduced into the Empire thanks to the Crown’s adventures in that remote region, and I had yet to become acquainted with them in any detail. But as I learned, they were just as worthy as anything our European poets might have composed, and no less fitted to our purposes.

  “You glow like a perfumed lamp in the gathering shadows. We play wine games and recite each other's poems. Then you sing `Remembering South of the River' with its heart breaking verses.”

  “Then we paint each other's beautiful eyebrows. I want to possess you completely -your jade body and your promised heart.’

  “It is Spring. Vast mists cover the Five Lakes. My dear, let me buy a red painted boat and carry you away.’

  In tribute to this, I removed my own skirt so that I mirrored her state of undress. Then I received the book and searched it for something that complimented what I had just heard. It came from a man this time, Pierre Louys, and I knew as I spotted it that it would prove a worthy occidental reply to Elizabeth’s eastern offering.

  “The storm lasted all night. Selenis, with her lovely hair, came to spin with me. She stayed for fear of the mud, and we filled my little bed, clasped close to each other.’

  “When two girls go to bed together, sleep stays at the door. 'Bilitis, tell me, tell me, whom do you love?' To caress me softly she slipped her leg over mine. And over my mouth she said: 'Bilitis, I know whom you love. Shut your eyes. I am Lycas!'

  “I answered, touching her: 'Can I not see that you are a girl? Your pleasantry is out of place.' But she rejoined: 'I am really Lycas, if you shut your lids. Here are his arms, and here are
his hands … and in the silence she tenderly delighted my dreaming with a singular vision.’

  Elizabeth could not help but respond to this, and off went her petticoats. Only her panties remained, and I could have stripped them off her with my teeth for all my want. But she still had her turn to take, and I was forced to wait, and endure. Evil creature that she was, she took her time with her choice, and then countered my passage with another one from the same author.

  I knew it well. It was “The Breasts of Mnasidice”.

  “Carefully she opened her tunic with one hand and offered me her warm soft breasts as one offers a pair of living pigeons to the goddess.’

  “Love them well,' she said to me, 'I love them so much! They are dears, they are like little children. I amuse myself with them when I am alone.’

  “I play with them and give them pleasure. I sprinkle them with milk. I powder them with flowers. Their little tips love the fine hair with which I wipe them. I caress them with a shiver. I lay them to sleep in wool.’

  “Since I shall never have children and since they are so far from my mouth, kiss them for me.'

  I simply had to concede the victory to her, and gladly surrendered my panties. Now I was completely naked. But Elizabeth was gracious in her triumph and passed me our book for one final passage. I read it for both of us. Mercifully, it was a short passage (for I don’t think either of us could have withstood much more by this point), and authored by Edna Saint Vincent Millay.

  “Into the golden vessel of great song,” I read. “Let us pour all our passion; breast to breast. Let other lovers lie, in love and rest; Not we--articulate, so, but with the tongue.’

  “Of all the world: the churning blood, the long shuddering quiet, the desperate hot palms pressed sharply together upon the escaping guest…”

  With that, I set the book aside, and we came together. I was so feverish with my need for her, that I would have been the one to give all the pleasure, but she would have none of that.