The Archaeological Adventures of Dusky Titanium: Chapter One

The hard diamond sunlight of the Mexidelphian desert reflected the image of the giant glistening diamondback in Dusky Titanium's blue right eye. It hissed at him, wavering ominously in the heat.

"Need some help?"

A long thin shadow had appeared in the sand alongisde the enormous spitting snake. Dusky jumped and the snake struck. He had a split-second glimpse of Doctor Andrew Manpoet calmly squeezing the trigger of an outstretched revolver and bang- the decapitated snake fell to the sand, the law of inertia moving it forward still.

"Jesus, Andrew!" Dusky kicked at the snake's corpse and ran a hand through his hair. Andrew swept a dark bloody droplet off the cuff of his pressed black pantleg with a slight curl of his lip.

"What? So I cut it a little close. I still made it."

"Snakes. Fucking snakes." Dusky shook his head and snatched up his fedora from the sand.

"Anyway--"

"Anyway?"

"Anyway, there's much to tell you--"

Thwok! The sand at Dusky's feet exploded and he leapt away in a fury. Only one person he knew would have the pure audacity to come at him with an ancient Minervan crossbow, and he knew before he looked up that Isobel Beau-soleil would be close at hand.

"Why, Isobel?"

"Why what, Dusky, darlin’?"

"Why are you always trying to kill me?"

She was inspecting the sightline of her weapon through a squinted eye and took her time before looking up.  Dusky leered a bit at the contrast of Isobel's dark hair on her ivory skin.

"Because, most of the time, I don’t actually want to kill you.  Most of the time.”  She worked out her shoulder, and the joint whined electronically.

"Isobel, ever since you got that replacement arm, you act like you're some sort of robot."

"Cyborg, Dusky. The preferred term of my people is 'cyborg'. And there would have been no reason for me to get a replacement arm if you'd not snagged that grappling hook around my wrist."

"That was a cybernetic arm, too. And my grappling hook saved your life— if you’d stayed in the car, you would have died a fiery death at the bottom of the gorge.”

Isobel made a move towards the still thrumming arrow, but Dusky stepped archly in her way.

“Lies.  Make’em’ups.”

“Besides, losing your first, real right arm was your fault."

"Completely worth it. First century pure jade ben-wah balls are hard to find. Not to mention, these were made custom for a Hawaiian Empress."

"I guess you're lucky you're right-handed... So was that razor-toothed Tiki idol trap."

"Shut up. Give me my arrow back."

Dusky yanked the arrow from its hole and handed it back to Isobel, but not before whipped her soundly on the left thigh with it. Like clockwork, her cybernetic right fist connected with his chest, hard enough to let him know she was actively restraining herself. He caught her jaw in one hand and smelled her. She growled and slapped his hand off her face.

"You, stop. We'll discuss this later, in private. Right now, Andrew's got an itinerary for us." She gave a last menacing flick of the arrow before sheathing it in a quiver off her shoulder.

Dusky's eyes were fixed on a droplet of sweat drooling into Isobel's cleavage as he spoke. "Itinerary?"

Andrew patiently cleaned the face of his watch.

"Oh, I'm sorry, were you talking to me? I couldn't tell between all the blatant displays of sexual readiness."

Dusky glanced down and found that, indeed, the display was blatant. "Itinerary. Cut to the chase, Manpoet." He adjusted himself, discreetly.

"Bangkok Spelunking is holding a costly dinner affair this evening," Andrew continued, frowning.  "In honor of his... her? The newest addition to her collection of ancient and unusual sexual gadgetry: Messalina's Mandible."

"Messalina's Mandible? You mean the only surviving death-mask cast of the Roman empress Valeria Messalina?"

Isobel nodded, pleased. "Indeed. She was infamous for her promiscuity and sexual prowess, and beloved by the Roman people--"

"Yes, yes, Isobel, I do remember your dissertation in grad school," Dusky was poised to swat a fly buzzing around Isobel's right hip.  "I seem to recall the Mexidelphia University Board of Graduate Studies was less than pleased with your rather... thorough re-enactment of her bet with the famous prostitute... Rome had its priorities in order. Famous prostitutes..." Dusky made a half-hearted lunge at her, grazing her rump with the fedora's feather.

Isobel cocked an eyebrow, bemused.  "Anyway, this death-mask cast was made by her embalmer, who also happened to be in love with her. The mask is unique in that the mouth of the mask is also a cast of Messalina's mouth. He had it inlaid with emerald and flecks of gold, in honor of the pleasure she bestowed with her jaw and, indeed, her entire mouth. The circumstances surrounding Messalina's death were highly publicized, as she'd fallen out of favor with the Roman people in a matter of weeks after her plan to kill her husband and install a new emperor were revealed."

Dusky chewed his fingernail: Was that droplet of sweat going to dangle from the upper curve of Isobel's cleavage or slide, parabola-like, into the lush curve hidden below?

"Dusky?"

"Yes, Messalina's Mandible, inlaid with precious liquids, murderous fuckhead Roman emperor, I heard you."

"Emeralds, not liquids, thank you."

"History lesson's over, Manpoet. Why do we care?

"Normally, we wouldn't. Bangkok Spelunking is a harmless socialite and eccentric, for the most part. However, this time I fear he— she's taking her special interests a step too far. She's planning to invoke the powerful magic said to lay inside the Good Empress's Mandible."

"And how do we know this?"

"He--" Isobel put a warning hand on Andrew's shoulder.

"She, Andrew, Bangkok Spelunking is a she."

"Okay, but she wasn't always, and it's confusing to those of us who are keeping track."

"You're keeping track of a transsexual socalites?"

"The ones that use ancient Roman sex toys for evil, yes, as a matter of fact, I do. She has sent scouts to not only Rome, but Lower Sumeria, Upper Rondonkama, the ports of Caper Town and Reclaimed Harlem, not to mention the Great Exasperated Barrier of Tibet and the most remote corners of Angkor and Rancor Wats. She's searching for the most powerful shamans, sorcerors and black magicians to help invoke the purported Roman Tonguelock, said to enchant a man completely and permanently."

A somewhat stunned and, in Isobel's case, envious silence fell over the increasingly fragrant trio.

The droplet of sweat had swung, predictably, down the crease of Isobel's right breast, and was currently making a dark wet spot on her thin white tank top. Enough. Dusky tipped his fedora to shade his eyes.

"So, okay. Why do we care again?"

"Bangkok Spelunking has been kind enough to invite Prime Minister of Mexidelphia to the unveiling ceremony."

The Prime Minister's sexual penchants made the Mexidelphia front pages at least once a week. His attendance at Bangkok Spelunking's Roman sex toy exhibition raised more than one eyebrow.

"I've managed to get myself an invitation," Isobel fanned herself with one hand, held her hair up off her neck with the other. "As well as a seating chart from one of Spelunking's more mouthy personal assistants. I'm sitting next to the Prime Minister, and directly beside him is a representative from the Monastic Order of Scott."

There was a collective groan. The Monks of Scott were a taxing group, at best. At worst, they were terrifically righteous misogynists and overtly closeted homosexuals with access to a significant cache of nasty eugenic weapons. They were doubtlessly giving Bangkok Spelunking support of a most unseemly sort.

"So we've got an in. Great. Let's get the hell out of this sun and discuss this over something wet and alcoholic. You can come too, Manpoet."

"Without me, Dusky, you'd be getting neither wet not alcoholic anytime soon. Hold on to my belt."

"Actually, good Doctor, I find my current handhold to be more than satisfactory." Dusky gave Isobel's haunch a squeeze and her response was lost to a confetti of time-warping ether.