A deep yawn filled Erika’s lungs as she blinked heavy eyes. It was sometime in the morning; she wasn’t sure but felt like she could have slept a while longer if the bright sun filling the room hadn’t woken her. Sitting up in bed, she put her bare feet on an unfamiliar wooden floor. It took her a moment to recall where she was and all the bizarre events that led to her sleeping there. Across from her, Betty was sitting on another twin bed, already dressed, pulling on a pair of boots.

  “Did I oversleep?” Erika asked.

  Betty shook her head. “I don’t think we’re on schedule, honey.”

  Erika yawned again as she looked around the room. It was the finished attic of Guff, the walls were slanted roof of the building. There were two more beds at the other end of the room, and a staircase leading up in the center. A round window on the nearby wall looked out beyond the cliff edge to the ocean, with bright light pouring through. She stared out at it, recalling her planned destination and the fact that she would travel over that ocean today. This would be the first time she’d left this country since arriving at age six.

  The creaking of floorboards drew her attention to the other end of the room. Up the stairs walked Meera. She was dressed in dark, tight pants, a fitted black leather jacket with a high collar, and high-laced boots. She looked stylish, almost like a model, but still had an air of intimidation and danger, even as she held a steaming mug. “There’s coffee downstairs,” she said in her accented voice as she walked over to the women. She seemed calm and collected, as if yesterday’s violence, murder, and mayhem weren’t unusual to her.

  “Thanks,” Erika said. She glanced down at herself. She was wearing a nightgown, something she would typically be far more modest about when in front of a relative stranger, but those concerns seemed entirely trivial after what they had been through.

  “I didn’t make it. Go thank Margaret. She’s making breakfast too.” Meera said as she walked to the dresser at the foot of her bed where her unloaded handgun was laid out, along with the holster and her boot knife.

  “Hmm,” sounded Betty, pleasantly surprised. “I thought I smelled something.”

  Erika looked at her roommate and the clothing she was wearing. It was the outfit provided by Azza, the mysterious Lady. The clothing was warmer and built for outdoor activity, not like the casual wear they’d worn yesterday. An insulated winter coat lay beside her.

  Erika wasn’t sure what her friend’s plans were. Would she keep trying to talk her out of going to Greenland? Erika expected her to return to New Haven and hoped their friendship would survive. She had considered that Betty’s medical expertise could, unfortunately, be very useful in the journey to come. Before she could muster the confidence to broach the topic with her, Betty got up and walked away, boots clomping down the staircase.

  Waiting until she was out of earshot, Meera came over and sat across from Erika on Betty’s bed. “What’re her plans? Is she coming with us?”

  Erika shook her head. “No. She’s trying to talk me out of it.”

  Meera took a sip of her coffee. “That’s regrettable. We’ll need someone who can do a medical assessment of Ravi and your brother.”

  “You can’t do any of that?” Erika asked, harshly reminded of the possibilities of her brother’s current state.

  Meera shook her head. “I can tie on a bandage or dig out a bullet. That’s about it. I’d rather not do either.” She stood up and headed back downstairs.

  Anxiety filled Erika. The lingering harmony from a restful sleep had been kicked away by Meera’s brutal remarks. Were they headed back into that kind of violence again? The Lady seemed assured they would be safe; how she gained that confidence was questionable.

  Sitting quietly, absent any company since leaving New Haven, Erika let the silence take her. She took a series of deep breaths. Calm returned, and she let herself linger in silence. Being around others kept the young woman on alert for their needs or wants. Maybe it resulted from her upbringing and caregiving of her sick mother. She didn’t like anyone to be uncomfortable. Being alone was the only time she could sincerely put herself at ease.

  After a few minutes to herself, Erika noticed the pile of folded clothing atop a short dresser at the foot of her bed. It was outerwear, including a heavy leather jacket, gloves and boots. She finally got out of bed, stretching her arms and letting out another yawn before dressing herself.

  Downstairs in the kitchen, Betty was taking her first sip of coffee when Meera came back down and headed through into the main room of the club. Margaret, dressed in jeans, a tight T-shirt and apron, was working the large griddle, cooking bacon, sausage and home fries. A bowl of uncracked eggs waiting nearby. Betty moved closer as she watched, impressed and somewhat surprised by the muscular woman’s comfort in the kitchen. She leaned against a large wooden cutting table behind Margaret and said, “Thanks for making breakfast.”

  Margaret looked back at her, gaze lingering. “My pleasure. That sweater flatters you.” She said with a twinkle in her eye.

  “Thanks,” Betty knew a flirtation when she heard one, especially when the sweater in question hugged her figure so well. “You’re cute in that apron. Especially after that buttoned-up three-piece last night.”

  “Cute, eh?” Margaret blushed. “This is a bit more my element. I like working with my hands. The suit makes an impression. But it’s a bit stifling.” She continued to tend to the griddle.

  “You fill it out nicely though. I’ve never met a woman so… fit.”

  “I had a brother who kicked me into shape.”

  Betty noted the past tense. “I’m not bad with my hands either, you know. I’m going to be a surgeon.”

  “No shit? Where you going to school?”

  “Yale.” Betty said with no small amount of pride.

  “Junior college?” she asked. “Friend of mine went to one of those to become a mechanic.”

  “Ah…” Betty didn’t quite know how to respond.

  “I’m kidding,” Margaret chuckled. “But isn’t it all boys? And white?”

  “Grad school is co-ed and I’m one of the first black women, thank you. We’re sort of a secret. Keep our heads down, and mostly off campus.”

  “Off campus? That’s bullshit. What’re you paying to be there for?” Margaret tempered her anger. “But congratulations. I hope you’re making plenty of assholes very uncomfortable over there.”

  Betty laughed. “Thank you. I’m on a full-ride scholarship though, so I guess I can’t complain too much.”

  “I say give ‘em hell. Don’t lay down for anyone. My dad said you gotta pick your battles, but that’s easy when you’re a white man.”

  “And easier for you to say as a white woman. One that could beat the stuffing out of most men, for that matter.”

  “I’ll give you that. But don’t get me started on white women. They complain more than anyone, Christ. I worked some odd jobs and a white woman will complain to you about the color of the sky and expect you to do something about it.”

  “What about The Lady? She complain?” Betty asked.

  Margaret shook her head. “First of all, she’s not white. She’s transparent. And no, she does not complain.”

  “What’s her deal, huh? Where’d all this come from? She old money? Widow?”

  “She is unusual, I’ll give you that,” Margaret said as she moved the bacon, sausages and home fries off to the side of the griddle to keep them warm. “How do you want your eggs?”

  “Scrambled is fine. I’m not sure what Meera or Erika prefer.”

  “Well, they didn’t call me cute, so it’s scrambled.”

  Betty let out a little laugh. “But what do you know about her?”

  Margaret turned around, her long, muscular arms stretched out as she put her hands on the edge of the table between them. “Bits and pieces. She’s generous like no one I’ve ever known.” Margaret pursed her lips, thinking, “You should talk to her. She’ll give you any answers you need.”

  “I don’t expect I’ll see her again.”

  Margaret could hear in Betty’s voice a conflict within her. An indecision that was troubling her.

  “You know her name at least?” Betty asked.

  Margaret nodded but offered no hints.

  “Alright…” Betty shook her head. “This trip to Greenland. It’s silly though, right?”

  “I wouldn’t say so,” Margaret said. “The Lady has good connections. She wouldn’t be sending us if she wasn’t sure.”

  “You’re really doing it then? Flying out there, attempting a rescue on your own?”

  “That’s right. But don’t worry about us. We’ve got three tough women who can handle themselves. There’s room for more.”

  Betty shook her head, “No way. I’m in the middle of a PhD. You couldn’t ask at a worse time.”

  “That’s fair. You’ve worked your ass off. We’ll get a taxi for you, take to the station so you don’t get back too late,” Margaret turned back to the griddle and started cracking the eggs into a separate bowl, added some cream, salt and pepper and whisked. “And don’t worry about the clothes, they’re yours to keep. The Lady had your outfit cleaned. It’s in a bag by the door.”

  Betty scoffed, “So this is a five-star hotel as well?”

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  “Like I said, she takes care of people.” Margaret worked the eggs on the hot griddle.

  “Doesn’t all this strike you as… suspicious?”

  “No. Unusual, yes. But that doesn’t mean it’s wrong. More people could do this, helping each other.” Margaret finished cooking the eggs and piled them back into the bowl. She plated the bacon, sausage, and home fries separately. “Help me with this? We’ll head out to the main room.”

  Betty took two plates, and the women walked out to a round table with four seats, plates and utensils already set. A fire had been lit some time ago, the room warm. Meera was sitting nearby it, sipping her cup of coffee and looking over a folder of papers.

  Erika entered the room dressed in tight cargo pants, laced-up boots and an orange sweater. The messenger bag hung from one shoulder.

  The women gathered at the table and promptly ate their breakfast. There was idle, polite chatter among the three before Meera finished her meal and got to the business at hand. “I’ve been reviewing the report—”

  “I’m sorry, the report?” Erika interrupted.

  “Yes. We have a document on the site we’re headed to,” Margaret answered. “It gives background on the area, its history, things like that.”

  “The report says,” Meera continued, irritated, “there’s a village close to the docks. It’s been abandoned since the mine shut down six years ago. No information since. Current condition is unknown, and we shouldn’t count on any local supplies or even secure shelter. The mine is not far north of the village, with a Dorset stone building above it.”

  “A Dorset?” Betty asked.

  “Ancient indigenous people,” Margaret said.

  “The mine is of interest. Ravi is a geologist and if they found something like they did in Tunisia, then that would explain why they wanted him,” Meera said.

  “But we don’t know why they have my brother.”

  “He could have been caught up when they took Ravi,” Margaret said. “Or maybe something else. He was in Tunisia as well.”

  “Do we have any idea what’s in the mine?” Erika asked.

  “Not really,” Margaret said. “We’ll be meeting up with a man named Qillaq. He’s a local to the area and may have more answers for us.”

  Betty had been listening but kept quiet. She was conflicted. Her life’s work seemed at stake if she didn’t return home, but this was a matter of life and death. And there was something else about it. Maybe it was curiosity, or restlessness from years of single-minded focus on study, but something within her was urging her onward. It felt like going home was retreating, moving backwards, and this journey before her was forward. Like a calling.

  She wasn’t sure what to do. She had scolded Erika about going, and now somehow, she was talking herself into taking the same outrageous trip. Betty didn’t know which choice she would regret more, and it was infuriating. Decisiveness was something she prided herself on. And it’s a quality a doctor, especially a surgeon, needed.

  The women finished their meals and cleaned up. Betty walked over to the fireplace and stared into the flames, considering her dilemma. After a moment, her gaze lifted to the painting above the mantel. She saw a shape and recognized it as an octahedron–eight sides, each a perfect, matching triangle; overall it looked like two pyramids with their bases stuck together. It lay on one side, sitting on a plain of mossy, wet earth. The light was dim, the sky gray, the unseen sun offering faint light. In the far distance were mountains, perhaps hundreds of miles away. This place felt remote in a way that made it seem almost otherworldly, that no one had ever been there. The base of the structure, demonstrating its massive scale, was a figure, a person perhaps, but there was something strange about them. She looked closer. Their appearance was unresolvable. But they were waiting. Somehow she knew they were waiting.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?” a voice came from behind her.

  Betty turned. It was the Lady, dressed in a gray, long-sleeved gown, her hair pulled back into a ponytail. She appeared far less formal than she had yesterday. More delicate and approachable.

  “I’m not really into art,” Betty replied. “It’s… haunting.”

  “Some think it’s just nonsense. While others delve into it. What does it mean? The shape, the ground, the sky. Is it all symbolic or is it just an illustration?”

  “Wouldn’t the artist say that’s up to the viewer to decide?”

  “Isn’t that the easy answer though? And no answer at all?” The Lady said contemptuously. “I don’t like vagaries. Symbols don’t have meaning; they’re just manipulation. Instead of offering the truth, they give the illusion of something beyond our comprehension. A puzzle without a solution. That’s how religion works. Mysteries tied to symbols with multitude of interpretations and no explanation. People see what they want and convince themselves it’s the solution they need.”

  The brashness of her opinion struck Betty, and how freely she gave it. “As a child, every Sunday I went to church. I know all about it. Prayers for the sick. Faith healers. The rosary.” She fumed, old grievances roiling within her.

  “That drove you to medicine. To become a doctor.”

  Betty looked at her skeptically.

  “Max told me. That there’d never been a more devoted student than you.”

  “Oh,” Betty said. “Well, that’s just what Erika told him. I’m just…”

  “Extraordinary. That’s what you are.”

  Betty looked at her; her words felt honest in a way few compliments did. “Thank you.”

  “I deeply admire someone who pursues knowledge so fervently. That is all that makes humanity special—our knowledge shared through language. Our words, nuanced and expansive, are how you articulate a thought. Language expands the mind and its ability to perceive the world around you. You see more colors, feel more textures, taste more flavors. Your mind works in words. They form the questions that drive humanity forward.”

  Betty listened in silence; the tall woman’s eyes were full of wonder.

  “What are the limits?” she continued. “Questions that could be beyond human comprehension because they cannot be put into words. You look into the night sky and see the stars and wonder what’s out there. What if you couldn’t see the stars, and it was only darkness?”

  “Not knowing what you don’t know,” Betty said. “That’s frightening. Knowledge lost before we ever had a chance to learn it.”

  The Lady looked at her with tender eyes. “You’ll get your chance.” She paused and then extended her hand. “It’s been an honor to have you here, Betty Augustine. You are a rare woman of exceptional quality.” They shook, and then the woman walked away, toward the door to the lighthouse.

  “Wait,” Betty said. And the Lady stopped and looked at her. “I’ll go.”

  The Lady smiled and continued through the door.

  Taking a deep breath, Betty said to herself, “What the hell are you doing?” She looked over to the other three women, who had huddled into a group.

  Erika had angled herself so she could keep an eye on her roommate, curious about her conversation with Azza. When their discussion ended, she walked over to her friend.

  Putting up a hand to silence any questions ahead of time, Betty said, “Don’t ask me why, don’t talk me out of it, just shut up.” She took a breath. “I’m going with you.”

  Erika was shocked. She struggled to form a response, fumbling her words.

  “I said shut up,” Betty said and gave her a hug.

  Erika embraced Betty tightly.

  Margaret strode over to the pair; a bag hung from one shoulder. Meera lurked, anxious to get going.

  “Betty’s coming along!” Erika announced joyfully.

  Margaret smiled, as if she knew.

  Betty noticed and cocked an eyebrow at the toned woman. “Really?”

  “I had a feeling.”

  Betty looked her over admiringly and smirked.

  “I recommend bringing a book for the flight.” Margaret gestured to the bookshelf. “Take any one you like. And last call for the bathroom.”

  Betty turned, and her eyes grew as she considered which of so many options she should select. Time was limited, so she approached the nearest shelf, reducing her options and quickly scanned the titles. The choice was obvious. It was aged, but not worn, with a plain cover. Plato’s Theaetetus. She let out a little chuckle and wondered if the Lady had intended on this.

  Erika felt lost as she gazed over hundreds, if not thousands, of books that filled the wall. Margaret put a hand on her arm. “Here, she said you might find this interesting.” She handed her a hardback titled A Treatise of Human Nature. “I’m not sure how exciting it is, but, well, maybe it’ll tickle your fancy.”

  The group headed toward the exit, walking outside, guided by the buff woman toward a shiny, well-kept beige four-door car. Betty and Erika got into the backseat, Meera into the front passenger. Margaret started up the engine and sped off, shunting the women back in their seats.

  “She’s got a kick, should have warned you,” the redhead said proudly.

  “You’ve got a heavy foot, darling,” Meera retorted.

  They drove back down the winding hill, through the old villages and forest edge, to the shoreline and eventually through a set of gates and into a marina outside of the city’s busy port. They passed several large vessels bobbing in the water. Some looked like fishing boats to Erika, others perhaps for pleasure, she guessed, though the idea of owning a boat for fun seemed odd to her.

  At the very end of the long series of docks, they pulled alongside a closed hangar, and Margaret parked the car.

  “What’s inside?” Erika asked as the women stepped out.

  “A boat. Some other stuff,” Margaret answered. “But we’re taking this.” She pointed to the water in front, at a floating plane with a thick body, two propellers on each wing.

  “We’re riding in a cargo plane?” Meera said incredulously.

  “Sorry, Pan Am isn’t an option. But it’s got plenty of legroom. We’ll pit stop in Labrador to refuel.”

  The muscular woman walked to the plane, stepping onto one of the large pontoons and opened the hatch, a small ladder unfolding. The other women followed, Meera first. Margaret helped each of them inside. The interior was an open hull with seating built into the walls. In the center were several chests and wooden crates strapped to the floor.

  Margaret stepped inside and pulled the hatch closed, locking it. “Erika and Betty, if I can get you seated and buckled in. Meera will be co-piloting.”

  “Meera, you know how to fly?” Betty asked in confusion, “So half the people here can fly a plane.” She looked at Erika, who shrugged and said, “I can ride a bike.”

  “I’ve some experience in a cockpit,” Meera answered, “but I’m not a full pilot.”

  “That sounds like an interesting story,” Erika said.

  “Maybe next time we have a drink.”

  The roommates took seats beside each other nearer the front of a row built into the sides of the plane, their selected books in hand. Erika put the satchel behind her feet, tucked between the metal beams of the hull. After some confusion and help from Margaret, the two women worked out the seatbelts and were secured in.

  “How long is this flight?” Erika asked.

  “Little less than five hours to Labrador,” Margaret replied and headed for the cockpit. “That’s where we’ll meet Qillaq, and he’ll fly with us for the rest of the journey.”

  After a nerve-wracking takeoff through rough waters, and some alarm about the pressure change and how it affected her ears, Erika eventually relaxed a bit, despite the noise. Before opening her book, she observed the exposed interior of the plane, how bare it was and built for such a specific function, which was not for passengers or their comfort.

  She’d never been on a plane before. Where would she go if she could ride in a commercial one and travel anywhere in the world? There was so much to see out there, so many things she’d only read about or seen glimpses of in magazines like Life. As she daydreamed, Erika reflected on what it would be like to revisit her home in Germany, though she assumed the building had been destroyed. She wondered what would be left. She remembered a park nearby, and a grocer she’d visit with her mother. There was a library as well a few blocks over. But all of it was probably gone. Would there be anything left to be remembered by her?

  Erika had been content, in a simple way, with her life. But this adventure, as scary as it had been, was introducing her to places and people beyond the scope of her imagination. Her mother had instilled a sense of seclusion, and even exclusion, from the greater world. Erika understood why, but that wasn’t something to endeavor for. It was a recoil, a sign of her mother’s suffering. All the sadder, she had to die to set her daughter free, but here Erika was, on a journey that wouldn’t have been possible even days ago. If Max had gone missing earlier, she wasn’t sure what would have happened in the end, but her part would have been at home, with their mother, waiting. What curious timing.