The smell of James Clay led Zenetra toward massive arched windows where the three lifts that shuttled constables up and down were housed. A wall of decorative iron bars prevented people from falling down the shaft. Surprisingly, the lift carrying Captain Inglehart and his wingman was still there. Festooned with the same floral design as the gate and painted gold and red, the lifts were the most ornate decoration inside the Headquarters of the Constabulary Forces.
"Just airing the box out," said the operator.
Mr. Gober, a husky man of forty with short brown hair, wore his cardinal red uniform and matching cap with pride. He slid the lift door aside, causing the decorative gate to fold out of the way in vertical panels.
Deciding not to comment on the stench that lingered, Zenetra entered with a friendly, "Good morning, Mr. Gober. Third floor, please."
Mr. Gober re-closed both metal doors and unlocked the lever. There was a small lurch that used to make Zenetra stumble, and then the operator spun a wheel to number three. The lift cranked down, passing each level with grinding metal wheels until it reached the third-floor landing.
"As you were, Cadet."
The entire third floor housed hopeful cadets. An influx of trainees over the past five years forced them to share desks. Lack of privacy was often an issue, especially with a partner like Clemence Pocket.
"Look alive, Noire!"
Zenetra ducked. A paper airship soared overhead and smashed into the ear of a second-year cadet who had been diligently reading. The cadet, a curly-haired young woman of sixteen, rubbed her ear and continued to read as if nothing had happened.
From a desk packed with four other cadets beckoned Oliver Derry. He had the wavy silver-white hair commonly found in people from Black Lagoon, a one-time hotspot for former Guild Nation spies.
Another paper airship took form in Oliver's deft fingers. "Assigned a case already?"
Zenetra held the file up for all four cadets to view. "First meeting is today."
"How about that," said Ottillia Wolfe. Flaxen-haired and with delicate features that made her look unassuming, she held up her own folder. "Me as well."
Watt Booth, an active and muscular man of eighteen, reclined in his chair. "Something's off with the CF. Loads of Field Cadets have been assigned teams today. Everybody's talking."
"It's the election," offered Wende Valdis. A stack of books was piled on her corner of the desk. Thick glasses fell to the end of her brown nose. She pushed them back up the bridge with an omniscient, "Cadets are being drafted into the city clean up. All eyes and ears will be on the capital for the next few months."
Ottillia's chin fell into her hand. She frowned at the file before her. "What a waste of training."
"Cheer up," said Oliver. He sent the paper airship flying to her side of the desk. A note scribbled on the wings read MAYDAY.
Zenetra wished for the umpteenth time to have been paired with one of the four cadets before her. They didn't care about her Noire heritage and they certainly never asked her invasive questions like her own desk partner did. The four cadets were a fortress. Nothing she said to them ever reached the Hive.
An obnoxious laugh filled the room. The cachinnation of Clemence Pocket made Zenetra internally groan. Today was the first day back to headquarters after spending the past year away. Fight training was no light topic. Many cadets failed to pass and move on to the field. The next set of cadets were to leave for the countryside in a few days and because they were nervous, they sought out those who had just returned for advice. Why they sought Clemence, Zenetra would never know.
Watt looked to have eaten a lemon. He heard the laughter as well. "Mother almighty. How do you put up with that?"
Zenetra held back a grimace. "Clemence is delighted to be back in the city."
"The city isn't delighted to have her back," came Oliver's lightning-fast reply. He bent over another piece of paper, his silver-white hair temporarily blocking his features. "How did she manage to pass fight training without her lipstick?"
Clemence's uproarious laughter carried across the room. Oliver's fingers paused over the paper airship mid-crease. He looked up at Zenetra with pity and muttered, "Maybe I'll make you a rose instead. You deserve one today."
"I'm not very fond of flowers." Zenetra waved her file in the air. Though she had no desire to be nearer to Clemence, she had work to do. "I better take a look at this."
"Me too," said Ottillia. "We'll plan a dinner for later this week."
Wende rolled her eyes behind her wired glasses. "You mean I'll plan a dinner."
"Yeah!" A paper rose was already taking shape in Oliver's hands. "Dinner and a show! There's a foreign play from the Gryphon Isles that has great reviews."
Though Zenetra knew her assignment started soon, she did not allude to it. Cadets were not allowed to discuss their files with one another, and she and her friends stuck to that rule like glue. She said her goodbyes with a, "That sounds nice," and begrudgingly left them. A group of gossiping peers crowded around Clemence. Zenetra nudged them aside and plopped down onto her uncomfortable chair to read her file.
Basking in the attention of the lower year cadets, Clemence Pocket grinned at the sight of the folder. Her hair was blush-blonde and styled into a new and fashionable bob. The upturned tip of her nose cemented her face in an, "I'm better than you," form. With a voice dripping with sugar and a smile that looked painted on her face, Clemence asked about the folder. "You received your first assignment, then?"
Zenetra responded without inflection. "Yes."
Oliver had unceremoniously dubbed her desk partner "Clemence the Menace" on day one. With the way the pug-nosed woman gossiped, it was a wonder why the CF kept her around at all.
When Zenetra did not offer more information, Clemence pressed a little harder. "Well? What is it?"
"I haven't opened it yet." Zenetra gave the horde of cadets gathered around Clemence a stern frown. "And we're not supposed to discuss assignments with other cadets, remember? Stop fishing."
Properly chastised, the cadets dispersed back to their own desks while Clemence sat pouting.
Zenetra felt a tad better. She had long suspected that Clemence became a cadet to spy on her. The Hive had people everywhere.
"You're such a bore, Zenetra." Clemence held up her own folder and winked. "I've just been given my first assignment as well. Want to know what it is?"
"Not particularly."
Clemence ignored the comment and leaned over the desk. Her large bosom skimmed the surface. "I'm to be a bodyguard for Governor Gustav Ewald! He's in the runnning for Prime Minister."
"Yes," Zenetra drawled. "I am aware of that. His picture is on every newspaper alongside Honorable Rimilde Proinssias."
"Second-page news, maybe! You always make the front." Clemence heaved a great sigh. "People prefer to see you than them, even though you never wear makeup or do up your hair. I mean honestly, Zenetra! Would it kill you to make an effort? Use a splash of rouge on your cheeks or a smidgen of lipstick for goodness sakes. And if you plucked those beasts you call eyebrows, you'd be much more fetching."
"As always, thank you for the advice." Zenetra folded her arms over her mission file. "Listen, Clemence, I need to have a look at this report. So, if you don't mind—"
"Oh! How uncouth of me. Carry on." Clemence slithered back across the desk and peered into her own file with false interest.
Zenetra counted the seconds. Clemence was known to grab things from her side of the desk without as much as a warning. The first time it had been a simple grocery list, but it taught Zenetra to be cautious around her desk partner after that.
When fifteen seconds had passed, Clemence sent a sly glance at Zenetra's folder from under goopy painted lashes.
Zenetra cocked one of her beastly eyebrows.
"You're exceptionally dull," snapped Clemence. Sniffing haughtily at being caught, she gave up trying to learn what was in Zenetra's unopened folder and appeared to become engrossed in her own file on Governor Ewald.
In case the urge to peek struck Clemence spontaneously, Zenetra placed an arm to block her file from view. Only then did she open the thin folder. A hand-sized, colored caption of the famous explorer from Naiaca was pinned to the inner side of the flap. Though she already knew what Scarlett Burn looked like, Zenetra scrutinized the image.
Scarlett had acorn brown skin and brown hair that curled at her ears. Her cheeks were riddled with old acne scars. Two overly large front teeth stuck out from behind heart-shaped lips while bright, seafoam-colored eyes radiated the explorer's inquisitiveness.
Zenetra had an instant connection to the caption. Scarlett Burn was not her friend but at that moment, she felt a deep responsibility to find the explorer.
Clipped together opposite the caption was a small stack of papers no more than five pages thick. Zenetra scanned the first page.
Name: Scarlett H. Burn
Age: 26
Eye Color: Green
Hair: Brown
Height: 5'2"
Weight: 115
Nationality: Naiacan
Hometown: Scholarium
Contact: Hub Publishing
Most of that information was common knowledge, so Zenetra flipped to the next page. There was a detailed, typed version of the radio distress, with time stamps and notes of indistinct words included. The mayday from the missing explorer made it clear she had been terrified.
0939: "Mayday – Mayday! This is [indistinct] 'ett Burn in Windrider Scalawag flying two-two east to UDF. Hit by storm. Looks like hur-[indistinct]. Need assis-[indistinct]."
0941: "Scalawag this is UDF radio tower. Please confirm mayday."
0942: "Mayday – Mayday! Wind no-[indistinct] bound. Bearing one-four-[indistinct] east.[indistinct]- point 15–20–34; 001–19–60.
0943: "Radio link locked. Okay, Scalawag, what's your bearing?"
0945: "Scalawag do you copy?"
0947: "Scalawag, confirm."
0952: "This is [indistinct]-wag. Bearing one-four-five.
0954: "Okay, Scalawag. You're bearing one-four-five east? Maintain course to UDF."
0959: "Scalawag, this is UDF radio tower. Confirm bearing."
1003: "UDF radio tower to Scalawag. Do you copy?"
1010: "Scalawag, this is UDF radio tower. We have Reapers en route. I repeat: Reapers are on their way."
1013: "Scalawag do you copy?"
1020: "This is Scalawag. Banged [indistinct] head on [indistinct]. Lost bearings. Set Windrider to UDF. Wind northbound. Bearing...ah...bearing one-four-five."
1021: "Scalawag, repeat bearing? One-four-five? Confirm."
1023: "This is Scalawag. Bearing is still one-four-five. [indistinct] get out [indistinct]-orm.
1025: "Okay, Scalawag. Maintain bearings. Reapers are on their way.
1027: "UDF radio tower to Scalawag. Do you copy?"
1030: "Scalawag to UD-[indistinct]. Going [indistinct]."
1031: "UDF to Scalawag, repeat."
1031: "I'm [indistinct] mag-[indistinct]-own."
1032: "This is UDF radio tower. Scalawag, confirm."
1034: "UDF radio tower to Scalawag. Are you there?"
1040: "Come in Scalawag. Do you copy?"
1045: [radio link lost]
Without looking at her team member's notes in the accompanying pages, Zenetra grabbed a metal-tipped ink pen off her desk and began filling in the missing words of the radio transmission. Putting herself in the explorer's position, she let her imagination run free.
Scarlett was in a small Windrider, strapped into the captain's seat with an empty chair beside her. The second chair was for a nonexistent wingperson and likely made the airship noticeably emptier as the storm swallowed Scalawag. Zenetra sat herself in that empty seat and imagined Scarlett fighting her way through the storm.
The airship's energy went haywire. It was dark, then light, then dark again. The wind howled, tearing into metal, jostling the airship violently. Scarlett was frightened but she had enough sense to connect to the nearest radio tower.
Windriders were designed for agility and maintaining altitude. They were second only to Reapers in cutting through storms. That was why Scarlett chose a Windrider for explorations, Zenetra guessed. That was why Scarlett felt safe flying across the Ghost Sea alone.
This storm...This storm was different.
"Mayday—Mayday," Zenetra imagined Scarlett saying. "This is Scarlett Burn in Windrider Scalawag flying two-two east to UDF. Hit by storm. Looks like hurricane. Need assistance."
The radio tower doesn't respond right away. Scarlett waits a moment and is about to repeat her mayday when a voice comes through the radio. It's choppy. They ask her to confirm the silly mayday as if they are discussing the local news.
The distress signal is confirmed.
"Wind northbound," Zenetra knows Scarlett said. "Bearing one-four-five east." Scarlett tells them the numbers on her readerboard for her location. They lock radio connection so she can only talk to UDF Radio Tower. It makes the signal stronger, but there was a problem with the connection. UDF Radio Tower did not hear her bearings.
Four minutes go by before Scarlett repeats it for them. Four minutes of—ah, energy problems, Zenetra considers. The airship was being tossed around after all.
UDF Radio Tower says they are sending out the Reapers. Nearly thirty minutes pass before Scarlett transmits another message.
What happened in those thirty minutes? Scarlett had lost altitude and banged her head on the...what exactly did she bang her head on? The readerboard? The chair? Either way, Scarlett lost her bearings and set her course back to UDF. The wind is northbound and she is still heading east. Scalawag's bearing remains the same. How did that happen?
Radio tower is confused as well. They ask Scarlett to repeat her bearings. Scarlett tells them it's the same because...because she can't get out of the storm! Another few minutes of silence go by. Something is wrong with Scarlett's Windrider.
"Scalawag to UDF," Zenetra imagines Scarlett frantically saying. "Going—"
Down? Off course? Back? They ask Scarlett to repeat, but she tells UDF radio tower she is in a magic—
Zenetra mentally scoffed. That didn't make any sense. Scarlett was not trying to say "magic."
In her mind's eye, Zenetra could see the petite explorer, terrified and squinting through the window as the storm raged outside. She could imagine Scarlett biting her bottom lip with those large front teeth of hers as she fought to maintain control of her aircraft. What stalled Zenetra's imagination was why Scalawag's bearing remained one-four-five even after thirty minutes of wild flying.
The wind is blowing north. Scarlett is flying east to UDF.
Unless....
A hurricane spins. In a northern hemisphere such as theirs, the direction is counterclockwise. Scarlett lost her bearings for thirty minutes because she hit her head on something. She didn't have time to think about the readerboard. She just made sure the wind direction was the same. There would have been no reason for Scarlett to think she had gone off course, as her readerboard continued to read one-four-five east.
Scarlett's readerboard malfunctioned. That was a reasonable explanation, but the only way that could happen would be from magnetic interference. Scarlett must have come to the same conclusion and tried to tell UDF radio tower that she was caught in a magnetic zone.
For fifteen minutes, Scarlett fought to get back on course, but the hurricane deposited her elsewhere. Possibly further west than they all thought. For forty minutes she traveled northwest at speeds unknown. Where would that put her in the Ghost Sea at her last transmission?
Zenetra pulled herself back to the real world and assessed the information. She filled in the last words above the indistinct brackets so she would not forget what Scarlett was trying to tell them and then set down her ink pen. Flipping the radio correspondence over, she began to read the next page of information.
There was a short report from Alchemic Inspector Jadriga Hatwig. Zenetra read it quickly and learned that the Reapers had indeed been dispatched, but two days into their trip over the Ghost Sea, they turned back.
Two days there. Two days back to the UDF. Storm passes over the city. If a Reaper avoided a storm, it proved just how powerful of a storm it was.
Zenetra remembered that tempest well. She had awoken from the wailing wind the previous night. Mr. Tedman made tea and together they had watched the storm batter the trees of the small park in Guild Square. The rain melted most of the snow and coated the roads in ice.
There had been five days of no contact, Commissioner Fokle had said. The storm likely brought Scalawag down. Sure, the kukoos and firestones would provide a constant gas to keep the Windrider in the air but without energy, Scarlett would not be able to adjust her wings and steer where she wished.
The next pages lacked substantial information. Some of the material that had been gathered had yet to be confirmed. It seemed they were still waiting to hear from Hub Publishing about where Scarlett set off from, where she had been headed to, and whom she had been planning to meet. They had learned, however, that the company that made Scarlett's Windrider was from the Gryphon Isles. That was reassuring news. Quality, Zenetra knew, could make all the difference in a transportation vessel. The airships that came from the Gryphon Isles were inarguably the best in the world.
It was apparent her team wasn't going to be leaving today. Captain Inglehart would need time to prepare for the journey.
Putting the pages and caption back in order, Zenetra closed the file. Unsatisfied with the information gathered, she crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair.
"You scowl when you think," said Clemence from across the table. She grinned as if she had a simply scandalous secret to tell. "Good mission, Zee Zee?"
"Please don't call me that."
The smile Clemence sported became one of pure mirth. "Are you sure you don't want to know more about my assignment?"
"Positive."
If possible, Clemence's face brightened further. "Your loss. My assignment starts tonight."
The clock, an iron bronze mammoth anchored into the brick wall with thick hooks, banged dully as it announced the time. One o'clock had arrived. Team Yellowbird would be gathering in meeting room five. Zenetra grabbed her file, stood, and pushed in her chair. "Good luck, Cadet Pocket. If you'll excuse me, I'll be meeting with my team now."
"But you missed lunch!"
Zenetra came very near to rolling her eyes. "Consequences of the job."
"Whatever you say, Zee Zee," said Clemence as she picked nonexistent dirt from under her nails.
............................
Preview for next chapter:
Zenetra meets a very peculiar person from her team. Talk turns to the Ghost Sea and the strange, dangerous phenomenon that lies in wait for ships.
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