Zenetra Noire sat stewing in Commissioner Fokle's office. Having been swarmed by reporters from the Hive who wanted a few words on how she felt going into her last year of constabulary training, the time alone only served to fuel her growing irritation. It was no one's business but her own how she felt, and if one more reporter told her to, "Just give 'em a smile!" she might start breaking flashers.
Certain expectations came attached to her name. It was not lost on her that she was the last remaining member of a prominent family. The Noire reputation rested solely on her shoulders. Any attack on the Hive would be the downfall of that legacy and though confronted daily with those who seemed to lack any, Zenetra strove to keep her dignity intact.
Even dignified Noires became impatient, however, and as it happened, Zenetra had been sitting in Commissioner Fokle's office for nearly half an hour. Either he was testing her patience by making her wait or he had forgotten all about their scheduled meeting.
Adelric Fokle had been the commissioner of the United Democratic Federation since Zenetra was five years old, yet she had known him since the age of three. Back then, he had been a constable assigned to investigate her mother's murder in the shipyard. He re-entered her life only a few years later when her elder sister vanished without a trace. Though promising to never let the investigation into Xuxa's disappearance end, after eight years and no leads, he labeled the case cold.
That was why Zenetra joined the CF. If she planned to pick up the trail the constables left behind, she needed to learn how they operated. She needed contacts. She needed resources. Only then would she find out what happened to her sister. If that meant sacrificing her privacy and four years of her life for training in order to use the CF and all its connections, then so be it. All her sacrifices would be worth it if it brought closure.
While she waited, Zenetra regarded Commissioner Fokle's office candidly. There was a plain oak desk in the center of the room. Though bare of items save for a single pen and a stack of square, cream-colored paper, the desk expressed Adelric Fokle's personality quite well. Plenty of windows made the office seem airy and bright, despite tall metal filing cabinets filling one wall. A potted plant occupied a single sill. With waxy green leaves and one white blossom that stretched toward the window to bask in the light, the plant was the only thing that gave the room a sense of life.
Zenetra smiled fondly at the peace plant. She had given it to Commissioner Fokle years before as a thank you for his devotion to finding her sister. That had been Mr. Tedman's idea. The Noire family butler was emphatic about staying on good terms with people.
Tension from that morning dissipated as she thought of Mr. Tedman. He was the closest she had to a grandparent. The Hive's reporters had given her a fright that morning but the plant and the stillness of the room turned out to be quite calming.
The door to the office swung open on soft hinges. Commissioner Fokle strode inside and pushed the door closed with the back of his heel. Clutched in his hand was a stack of hemp folders. With short hair and a face clear of stubble, Commissioner Fokle was a highly organized man of fifty-eight who "ran a tight ship," as he liked to tell new recruits. Monotone and with a face lacking in emotion, people often mistook him for distant, but he was a champion of the law no matter how some perceived him and was respected immeasurably for it.
Zenetra rose to her feet and gave a polite nod in greeting. Her stiff cobalt uniform straightened on its own. "Commissioner Fokle," she said. "You wanted to see me?"
Commissioner Fokle replied with no inflection. "I did. Apologies for being late. The morning briefing lasted longer than expected."
"The election has you stretched thin, hasn't it?"
"I've been through an election before, Cadet Noire. Admittedly, it has been fifteen years since the last one." Commissioner Fokle inclined his head to the bland maroon chair Zenetra had just vacated. "Have a seat."
"Yes, sir."
Sitting on his own padded leather armchair, Commissioner Fokle placed the files in a methodical row across his desk. "Are you interested in becoming involved in the election?"
Though she knew cadets were oftentimes placed in teams that had nothing to do with their focus of training, policing the streets for the upcoming election would not be an assignment that offered any experience in her preferred field. "Not particularly, sir. What's your opinion of the candidates?"
"My opinion is irrelevant, as every commissioner's opinion is." Commissioner Fokle's hands folded together over the desk and he amused Zenetra with an answer anyway. "Gustav Ewald has been the governor of the capital for fifteen years. He has the necessary experience, as does the Honorable Rimilde Proinsias. Her career is broad. She would be a bold choice for Prime Minister."
"And Governor Ewald?"
"A traditional one." Commissioner Fokle unclasped his hands and reached for a file. "I am well aware that this is your last year as a cadet. If you pass your field training, you will be promoted to a first-star constable."
Inhaling a deep breath, Zenetra released it with a determined, "I'm ready, sir. I can handle the fieldwork."
"I have no doubt in your abilities, Cadet." Commissioner Fokle grabbed an ink pen and began jotting down a message on a slip of square paper. "I've assigned you to a team. They are in need of an expert tracker. You are currently the top trainee of search and rescue, tracking, and problem-solving. The Hive will have a field day with this as soon as word gets out, which is why I decided to wait until the last minute to put you on the team. I do not want them getting wind of this until after you are already on your way. We have a leak in this building and it's spewing information like a geyser does water."
For a field trainee to be assigned a team on their first day was unusual. Zenetra was eager to do something, though. She despised sitting behind a desk and having to listen to her partner jabber on about nonsense. Working on a case was exactly what she needed. "I understand. What's the assignment?"
"Have you ever heard of Scarlett Burn?"
Zenetra blinked exactly three times. "Are you being facetious, sir?"
Commissioner Fokle set down his pen in the exact place it had been before. "Am I the type of person who jokes, Cadet Noire?"
Her head was shaking back and forth before Commissioner Fokle had finished his question. "Everyone's heard of Scarlett Burn, sir. She's a famous explorer from Naiaca."
"We received a radio distress call from her five days ago."
Sitting as far back in her chair as she could, Zenetra crossed her legs. Scarlett Burn—missing? Now that was worthy of front-page news. "Where was her distress signal sent from?"
"Middle of the Ghost Sea." Commissioner Fokle handed Zenetra one of the files on his desk along with the slip of paper. "From what we've gathered, Scarlett Burn was on her way here when her airship flew into a storm. She was able to give her last location before we lost all communication."
Zenetra took the file and piece of paper. Meeting Room Five and Team Yellowbird were scribbled down in black ink. In light of the leak, it seemed Commissioner Fokle was forced to resort to using codenames.
"Five days of no word over the Ghost Sea is not a good sign, sir."
"Neither is eight years."
Zenetra bit her tongue at the thinly veiled allusion to her sister's disappearance. "I didn't say the case was impossible."
There was silence for a time as Commissioner Fokle stared at the plant on the sill, and then quite unexpectedly, he asked, "How is your father these days?"
The question rang as odd and out of character. Neither her father nor the commissioner ever asked after one another. "Fight training ended less than a week ago, sir. I've only just returned to Guild Square and haven't had time to check in on Papa at the mansion. I'm sure he is well, though, and I will pass on your regards next time we meet."
"Please remind him that our force will be busy with the election. We won't be able to spare anyone for non-emergencies."
"Non-emergencies?" Zenetra uncrossed her legs. "Has Papa called for constables while I've been away?"
"Six times this past year, Cadet."
An alarming number for someone who distrusts constables as much as her father. Zenetra did not like the sound of it. "Whatever for?"
"It's the same report for all six. A man in a red mask prowling around the mansion grounds."
Zenetra's back went rigid. "Did you catch them?"
"Cadet," Commissioner Fokle drew out slowly. "No one else saw this man. Twice it was reported that Mr. Murkwood was in attendance when your father witnessed this masked man, yet he claims to have seen nothing amiss. Your private guards saw nothing. The constables who searched the grounds found nothing."
"You're saying Papa imagined this man?"
"I am saying that we cannot spare any constables for non-emergency situations until after the election." Commissioner Fokle assessed Zenetra and the folder in her hand. "Now, to the matter at hand. You are the most qualified cadet for this assignment. Perhaps more capable than some constables."
Zenetra set the folder on her lap. She knew why he wanted her for this case. "Of course you think I'm the best for this assignment. I own Noire Transport, and it's true. Everything there is to know about crossing the Ghost Sea has been drilled into my brain since birth, but Commissioner—I've never been on a ship! I've never so much as dipped my toes in the sea. All I have are facts given to me by private tutors. Not experience."
"You're on the team, Cadet." Commissioner Fokle leaned forward. "Alchemic Inspector Jadriga Hatwig is leading the investigation and will be evaluating your performance, and Field Trainer Garryk Onnan will be there to train you, so take this opportunity to learn all you can."
The tension from that morning returned. Zenetra's shoulders and back tightened. Though all she wanted to do was go to her father, she dutifully replied, "Yes, sir."
"Captain Inglehart should be here any minute. He's flown over the Ghost Sea more times than anyone I know." Commissioner Fokle maintained a steady tone while he spoke, but his pointed glint told Zenetra to pay close attention, so she sat up straighter. "Listen, Cadet. Hatwig and Onnan may be your superiors here but when you're on Captain Inglehart's ship, you do as he commands. When in doubt, follow his lead."
"Yes, sir."
"Onnan can be a lot to stomach," Commissioner Fokle continued with the same monotonicity. "He'll try to break your spirit. Keep your head on and your wits sharp. If you have a problem with your team, keep it to yourself. Stay focused on the task at hand. Let everything else not pertinent to the job fall by the wayside."
"Yes, sir."
Commissioner Fokle pointed to the folder in her hand. "That's the file on Scarlett Burn. Familiarize yourself with the case before you meet with the rest of your team. They're expecting you after lunch, and I'll check on you and your team this afternoon before any decisions have been finalized."
"Yes, sir."
Zenetra knew a dismissal when she heard one. She left the armchair behind and made for the door. Mindful not to drop any pages from within the file, she turned the handle just as a person on the other side knocked.
A man in a brimmed hat let out an "Oh!" in apparent astonishment when the door opened. "My apologies!" The man brought his cane up and tapped the shins of a taller, younger man standing behind him. "Move aside, Jim. Let Ms. Noire pass."
Though she did not use that title, Zenetra simply said, "Many thanks, sir." She had taken only a few steps out the door before Commissioner Fokle called for her.
"Wait a moment, Cadet."
Zenetra poked her head back into the commissioner's office, mindful of the two strangers watching. "Sir?"
Commissioner Fokle joined them at the door, made sure there were no eavesdroppers and shook hands with the man with the brimmed hat. "Thank you for coming on such short notice, Captain Inglehart. Cadet Noire, this is the captain I was telling you about."
"Ah," Zenetra said quietly. She offered her hand to Captain Inglehart, who held it so gently it was as if he believed she was made of delicate crystal. "A pleasure, Captain. I look forward to working with you."
Where Commissioner Fokle's face remained blank, Captain Inglehart's brimmed with intensity.
"Pleasure's all mine," replied Captain Inglehart before turning to the younger man standing behind him. "This is James Clay. My winger."
Said winger was outfitted in a tattered jacket Zenetra was sure had once been a stunning black. He was about her height when she wore heels, appeared to be of similar age, and looked to have not eaten anything healthy in years. His hair was disheveled and greasy but so striking in color that it rivaled the deepest red of autumn pleasures. A beard, coarser and a shade darker, covered the lower half of his face. Constellations of barely-there freckles spread across his cheeks and over the bridge of his nose like flecks of dried red wine. The smell of tobacco and stale garbage clung to his clothes.
James Clay was not ugly, Zenetra observed. Merely neglected.
"Good to have you on board, Mr. Clay," Commissioner Fokle said, giving the smelly winger a firm handshake. "Cadet Noire, you'd best not miss your meeting. Captain Inglehart and I need to speak in private."
"Yes, sir." Zenetra inclined her head at her soon-to-be supervisor. "Captain." With a brusque nod and a crinkled nose, she added, "Mr. Clay."
James Clay tried to say something but only unintelligible sounds came forth. His face tinged a shade pinker than it had been earlier. Looking like he wanted to be anywhere else, he pursed his lips and scratched his beard with dirty fingers.
As she turned to leave, Zenetra held her breath. She hoped the rest of Captain Inglehart's crew and his ship were in better condition than this winger. The way James scratched gave her reason to believe he carried an infestation of fleas wherever he went.
***********
Preview for next chapter:
Zenetra finally gets the opportunity to use years of navigational studies, while her problematic desk partner seeks to find out more about Zenetra's special assignment.
Comment = Motivation
Star = Encouragement
Reading List = Respect
Shout out = Love
:)