Amity Clawthorne gazed into her reflection in the mirror, willing her face to not show the fear she felt throughout every fiber of her being. She brushed an errant strand of her brown hair out of her green eyes and breathed in and out rhythmically. Everything was going to be fine. She had absolutely nothing to worry about. The worst thing the board could do to her was laugh at her. They wouldn't fire her. Probably.
Amity had grown up with just her mother, Lilith Clawthorne. Her father had died of some illness when Amity was just two; Mom rarely, if ever, talked about him. From what Amity could gather, while he was not a bad man, Mom was not happy being married to him and would rather have married no one at all. That was not to say Mom didn't like being a mother. No, she adored Amity and loved her with all her heart.
Mom was a legend in the historical community. One of the first female archeologists and the first woman to ever be hired by the Smithsonian Institution. (Amity was the second.) She did everything her male colleagues could do and, in Amity's opinion, did it so much better than they did. Mom had always been Amity's hero and Amity had unhesitatingly followed in her footsteps. The historical community may have ridiculed Mom for her gender and obsession with Atlantis, but Mom never let it get to her. She was always perfectly composed and calm in the face of sometimes rampant, virulent misogyny.
But a year ago, Mom had been murdered. She had been killed in a burglary at her house, of all the ridiculous things. Just a random criminal, looking for jewelry. They never even found him. Now Amity was determined to follow in her mother's footsteps and finally do what even Lilith Clawthorne never could: find the lost city of Atlantis!
Everyone had always mocked Mom for believing in the lost city. It was a myth, they told her, a bastardization of the story of Thera eruption, and she was silly for believing in it. Amity had a hunch they wouldn't be nearly so dismissive if Mom had been a man, but Amity could not change that. What she could do was try to acquire the proof Mom had long been searching for. And right now, Amity was pretty sure she knew exactly how to acquire it. The only issue was whether or not the Board of Regents would agree with her.
"Okay, Amity," she whispered to herself. "You've got this. Showtime. You can do it. What's the worst thing that could happen? You've already got one person on your side…he believes in you. So you can believe in yourself!"
With those encouraging words, Amity stepped out of the bathroom and strode confidently towards the boardroom. She heard people whispering and snickering at her as she went, but she was used to that. People called her a crackpot and a lunatic and Amity didn't care. She knew she was sane and she knew she was right and that was all that truly mattered in the end.
"Gentlemen, thank you for giving me some of your time," Amity said, summoning all of her confidence and giving a confident smile. Her one ally on the board returned the smile, but everyone else looked at her with contempt, or, worse, amusement. This was funny to them. Well, whatever. She'd wipe the smirks off her faces. "The lost city of Atlantis was once a powerhouse the likes of which we can barely envision. They had electricity, advanced medicine, even the power of flight, ten thousand years ago."
Audible guffaws could be heard from some of the regents. They weren't even trying to hide it! It was enough to make Amity want to punch someone. But she wouldn't lose her temper. It was unfair to be a woman in a man's world, but life didn't become any more fair just because you wanted it to be. "It's widely believed the Atlanteans had access to a power source of some kind, more powerful than anything you can possibly envision. The United States could become as powerful as Atlantis if we ourselves could harness that source!" She directed this comment specifically at her ally, who nodded encouragingly.
Amity drew herself up proudly, heedless to the contemptuous, pitiless stares of the people she was supposed to be winning over. She may not walk out of the room with the funding she needed, but she'd be damned if she walked out of it with her pride diminished. It was really all she had left now that her mother was gone.
"An illuminated manuscript makes mention of a book called the Shepherd's Journal," Amity went on, her voice strong and confident. It was enough to make a few people falter, but not by very much. "Based on the translation of a Norse text, scholars have long believed the Journal to be in Ireland, but I have a different theory. I believe the text to be mistranslated. In fact, it is not in Ireland, but in Iceland the Journal can be found."
Amity posed theatrically, waiting for the applause. Aside from an appreciative nod of the head from her ally, the room was dead silent. Then one of the regents burst into laughter, which prompted the entire room, except for her ally, to join him. Amity's face turned so red she got lightheaded.
"This is the most preposterous story I've ever heard, Miss Clawthorne," a regent said. "It belongs in the realms of fiction."
"That's Dr. Clawthorne to you," Amity retorted coldly.
"Miss Clawthorne, to be blunt, this sounds like you've contracted a case of hysteria," another regent said in a faux sympathetic tone that didn't fool Amity for a single instant. "You should check yourself into an asylum."
More jeers and mockery flew through the room and Amity just wanted to dig herself into a hole and die. Then a sudden banging stopped the mockery in its tracks as Amity's one ally slammed the end of his cane on the floor. "Enough! This is not worthy behavior of regents of a noble and storied organization."
"You can't possibly believe Miss Clawthorne's fanciful tale, Mr. Vice President," one of the regents sneered.
"I believe Dr. Clawthorne is as sane as I am," the vice president of the United States said firmly. "Whether or not she is right would be something this board is to decide on…if you hadn't already made your decision."
He stood up. "Come, Amity. I will see you out of this nest of fools."
Amity was grateful, as always, for the patronage of the vice president. As a noted traditionalist, one who was especially famous for his legendarily anachronistic sense of style and overall manner, she had not expected him to ever take her side, much less be her most fervent ally. But Amity had come to learn that the vice president was a man of intense personal honor who took his job with the utmost in seriousness.
"Thank you for backing me up in there, sir," Amity said fervently.
"Unfortunately, that was the extent of the aid I could provide you," the vice president lamented. "My colleagues lack courage and honor. That is surely no way to speak to a lady, let alone one as talented as yourself."
"So you won't be funding my proposal, I assume?" Amity said, a note of hopelessness sinking into her voice. It wasn't fair! She'd seen proposals made by men that were even more ridiculous as hers not funded. Not that she had the slightest amount of doubt the vice president was doing everything he could to help out. It was thanks to him she still had a job at all, she knew. But it was still frustrating.
The vice president sighed deeply. "To be perfectly frank with you, doctor, I do not feel I would have backed your proposal even if it had come to a formal vote. You have shown me the evidence you accumulated already, and I do not find it sufficient to justify funding an expedition. I apologize profusely, but I know you value the cold truth over a pretty lie."
"Well, thank you for supporting me professionally if not monetarily, sir," Amity said with a neat curtsy she reserved for very few people. She had been taught the niceties by her mother, of course, but Amity found formality to be stifling most of the time.
"I believe you," he said firmly. "I believe the journal is real. I do not know if Atlantis exists, but if it does, you could succeed in finding it. Get me better proof, Amity. Please. I want to help you find Atlantis. I want it very, very much."
With another encouraging smile, the vice president walked away, his cane clacking rhythmically on the stone floors of the Smithsonian Castle as he did so. Amity trudged away from the building morosely. It was raining heavily, matching her mood, as she reached the house she'd inherited from Mom. The house where Mom had been murdered.
The house which, as she discovered she walked in, wasn't empty.
A woman was sitting in her armchair as if she owned the place. She had perfectly coiffed blond hair and icy blue eyes which belied any expression of anything more than perfect coldness that could have ever graced her face. Amity pulled a knife out of her purse and pointed it at the woman. "Who are you? How did you get in here?"
"The name's Odalia Blight," the woman said in a faux kind tone that sent shivers going down Amity's spine. "And as for how I got in here, well, let's just say it's not my first time in this building." She smirked, an expression that was over so quickly Amity almost missed it. "I hear you're interested in Atlantis. Well, as it happens my employer is interested in Atlantis too…and also interested in you."