"Drive!" shouted Inspector Hatwig.
Tires squealed as the roamer peeled away from the lone reporter. More flashes followed them until they were speeding down the street to Core Clinic with only the lights from the lampposts shining in. After weeks of not having to worry about the Hive, Zenetra's racing heart and clenched muscles took an unusually long time to calm.
It was a short drive. Core Clinic was more of a compound than a singular building. There was the old wing, built well over seven hundred years before using a yellow stone from a now defunct local quarry. Windows weeped with dark stains from years of rain. Two centuries later, the north wing was added to support the clinic during a severe outbreak of the poxypluck. The windows of that addition were narrow and uninviting. Core Clinic was updated again just before Guild Nation was overthrown with a large, rectangular building and after the war, a final addition had been made. Called the Loop, the newest portion ran along the outskirts of the clinic, forming a sort of barrier wall with arches and blue glass windows that reminded Zenetra of Renavolena's ring of raging water.
They avoided walking past the gaggle of reporters waiting outside the clinic by driving under the main archway of the Loop and parking at the entrance. Flashes and shouts from reporters filled the night air. From within, healers watched them enter with interest.
A thin man who wore the white coat of a healer approached. "Zenetra Noire? I'm Healer Clotthall. We're going to put you in the same room as Scarlett Burn. Inspector Hatwig," he said, giving the bruise on the alchemist's face a concerned appraisal before pointing down a hallway. "They're waiting for you in observation room three."
"My head is fine."
Healer Clotthall pretended like he hadn't heard the comment. "If all goes well, you'll be moved up to floor five with the others." To Zenetra, he motioned to the lifts. "This way, Ms. Noire. Healer Pilluck informed us about your injuries. We're all set up for you."
Inspector Hatwig walked away, her one eye darting back now and then to watch Zenetra, until a healer-in-training guided her out of sight.
Healer Clotthall led Zenetra to the fifth floor via a lift, where they heard Onnan shouting from a room.
"You have to what? Break my already broken leg? No, I will not calm down! You bag of—Get away from me with that needle! This is a conspiracy! You're all in this together!"
"He sounds pleasant," whispered Healer Clotthall. "In here, please."
Scarlett and Zenetra had indeed been roomed together, although a tasteful curtain separated them for privacy. Healer Clotthall examined her wounds, declared the scabbed strip up her leg on the mend, and after some prodding of the burns, those were found to be healing well too.
"Those creams of Healer Pilluck's are incredible," said Healer Clotthall. "I wonder if she'd be willing to give me the recipe."
"You'll have to stop that shouting man," Zenetra told him. "He wants her license revoked."
Healer Clotthall's eyebrows raised as he re-dressed Zenetra's hands. "Does he? We'll see about that. There. I'm all done. You're free to leave whenever you please." He handed her a brown glass bottle of pills. "Take one at a time for pain and come back and see me if it gets worse."
When the healer left, Zenetra pulled back the curtain separating the beds and found Scarlett sitting cross-legged on the bed.
"All done?"
"They want to test my blood." Scarlett chewed her finger. "I think because I am foreign. They do not have my health records."
"How long will that take?"
Scarlett shrugged. "I am not so sure."
Zenetra sat with Scarlett for a while, her insides tumbling as she considered saying goodbye. She had gone through so much in finding the missing explorer, but only by working together had they made it back alive. "Where will you go after the healers are done with you?"
"I will find some place to sleep and develop my captions. Do not worry about me. I have luck with such things."
Zenetra's back tightened, ready for rejection. "You are more than welcome to stay with me. I live in Guild Square. It's not far from here."
Scarlett smiled merrily. "See? Such luck. I would love to stay with you."
"Wonderful! I just need to contact my butler and we can—"
The door opened. Zenetra's heart swelled. "Mr. Tedman!"
She was so excited to see Mr. Tedman that she jumped off the bed and enveloped the Noire family butler in a hug. They both disregarded his musings about it not being proper etiquette, and he hugged her back just as strongly. In his hand was a small duffle bag.
"I am ever so pleased to see you well and whole, Miss Zenetra. I have the roamer parked out front."
Zenetra wiped away the wetness forming at the corners of her eyes. "I'm glad to hear you say so. Is Papa here?"
"No. I believe he has been trapped inside the mansion since word reached us that you went missing. The Hive has been rather relentless. Commissioner Fokle shut down access to Noire Lane. A small grace for your grieving father. Mr. Abelard's heart has been weak these past two decades, as you well know, and he took to his bed a few days ago. I suggest I drive you straight to the mansion so that you may comfort one another."
Comfort was far from her mind. Inspector Hatwig had filled her head with too many questions. Zenetra had blueprints and dark theories about what happened to Xuxa buzzing in her brain. She could have answers this very night.
Zenetra glanced over to the room's other occupant. "I've offered Scarlett a suite at Guild Square."
"As expected." Mr. Tedman's white mustache wiggled. "The reporters know the roamer. They crowded around it as I parked. Might I suggest if you are well enough that you slip out the back way and make off to your father on a city tram whilst Miss Scarlett and I take a more leisurely trip to Guild Square? I dare say the healers will desire a full examination before releasing her. That could take hours."
"Hours the reporters won't mind waiting if they think they'll get a caption of me," Zenetra finished with a smile. Mr. Tedman never ceased to amuse her. He was a cunning old fox. "Scarlett? Would you mind—?"
"Ah," said Scarlett. "Go to your father. Something tells me Mr. Tedman has many stories to share."
"A splendid plan." Mr. Tedman lifted the small duffel bag he brought to the clinic. "You'll need these, Miss Zenetra."
Zenetra snuck off to a bathroom. Finding no one inside, she locked the door and set the bag on the countertop. Mr. Tedman had packed a pile of neatly folded clothes, a pair of tall boots, a wig, and a ghastly pink jacket. Sitting on top of it all was another small bag full of makeup.
Fearful someone would come demanding use of the toilets, Zenetra worked quickly. She applied the makeup as well as she could, including the mauve lipstick that matched the ugly jacket and made her want to retch. The heeled boots boosted her to James' height and though the clothes fit strangely, they altered her figure well enough for the reporters not to notice it was her leaving the clinic. After wrapping her hair into a tight bun reminiscent of Inspector Hatwig's seashell style, she completed her transformation by fitting the short blond wig Mr. Tedman thoughtfully provided over her head.
Zenetra stepped back to admire her work and grimaced. Standing in front of the mirror was a taller version of Clemence Pocket.
"Worst disguise ever, Mr. Tedman."
As Zenetra inspected her appearance, she noticed one dead giveaway. Her eyebrows were thick and dark, and too recognizable. They were the one defining feature passed down to her through the Abelard line. A feature Xuxa did not share.
There was a square of white powder within the plate of makeup. She rubbed her finger into it and smeared it over her brows. They were still thick, but when caked with powder, the black follicles lightened into a grayish-brown.
The Iron Rose daggers laid in the sink basin. With slight hesitation, she strapped them around her waist and buttoned up the hideous pink jacket to hide them.
Zenetra heard voices outside the door. A pair of healers chatted about the new arrivals as they meandered down the hallway. With lightning speed, she packed her old clothes and makeup kit into Mr. Tedman's bag, zipped it up, and unlocked the door to the bathroom just as the healer on the other side turned the handle.
"Oh!" said the healer in alarm. She had nearly pushed the door into Zenetra's face. "Pardon me!"
Zenetra altered her accent and dropped an octave. "It's no problem."
The healers stepped back. Zenetra passed them, internally cheering at the effect of her disguise. She should have known better. Mr. Tedman had cared for her great-grandfather, Áki, who himself had been a master of subterfuge. His choice of costume could fool anyone.
On her way back to Mr. Tedman and Scarlett, she saw a horde of visitors stream into Carver's room. Many of them had his coloring, and several had near identical features, including three tall men in their mid-thirties who were undoubtedly his brothers. Women around their late twenties and early thirties were also there to visit the five-star constable. Two of them concealed their hair in brightly colored, patterned head wraps, while the third wore her head shaved like Carver. Bountiful good wishes boomed from the room. The Hailstroms were a large, lively bunch.
It was good to see Carver being comforted. After the loss of Mimi, his longtime partner, he had stoically remained tight-lipped and dry-eyed, but now with his family and relieved of the stress of survival, he could start to mourn. He had the bracelet and, after a bit of arguing with Zenetra, the moonstone amulet to remind him of Mimi.
Zenetra was two steps from her own room when she heard Inspector Hatwig within.
"Where is Cadet Noire?"
Mr. Tedman, ever the courteous butler, ushered Inspector Hatwig to a chair. "Miss Zenetra is freshening up. Please have a seat. You must be terribly exhausted. Shall I fetch some tea?"
Zenetra tightened her grip on her bag. Half a second of inner debate later, she turned on her heels and made for the lifts. Mr. Tedman and Scarlett knew where she was going. They would understand her lack of return and buy her some time to make it to the mansion without a full-scale search party ruining her ruse.
She had to speak to her father. She needed those blueprints.
So engrossed in thoughts of Xuxa and the missing blueprints, Zenetra barely had time to move out of the way of a group exiting the lifts. Her attention honed in on Governor Gustav Ewald, on his greased, slicked back hair, on the ring squeezed onto his fat finger, and on the way his words slurred just slightly to hint at a drink or two.
"Trust Fokle to create a mess of things," complained Governor Ewald. "Making me wait at the northern docks in the cold and for what? He will rue the day he tricked me!" To a square-shouldered man with a flasher, he added, "Make sure you get a caption of me comforting the Noire girl. Do you think she's been disfigured? I hope she cries. If she cries, get that too. The nation will eat it up. Front page news, it'll be, and me alongside her!"
Governor Ewald and his entourage walked by without a second glance. Zenetra jumped into the lift and rode it all the way to the ground level before shuddering. Never again would she doubt Mr. Tedman's choice of disguise.
No one stopped her on the way through the lobby, nor out the door or into the throng of shivering reporters. She watched them wipe their lenses free of mist, only to do it again moments later.
Her heels clicked as she passed the group. When she heard the sound of the bell announcing the departure of a city tram, Zenetra raced to catch it. There were three other people on board, including the driver, and though there was hardly a roamer on the road, the tram moved sedately through the city.
An abandoned newspaper lay on a nearby seat cushion. Her father's pallid face filled the front page. She picked it up and read.
Abelard Stands With Ewald!
As the nation yearns to know the whereabouts of the missing Noire sisters, Orton Abelard plays politics with his old friend Governor Gus—.
The words disappeared into shadow. Zenetra glanced out the window. They hadn't made it two blocks from the clinic. Because the lampposts were spread out and the tram so slow, it became too frustrating to try to read. She folded up the paper and stuffed it into her bag. Knowing this was going to be a long ride, she settled into the cushioned seat and fought to stay awake.
A full hour and a quarter passed before the city tram made it to the edge of Eastwood Park. Zenetra pulled the chain to stop and exited onto a misty road.
A lamppost on either side of Noire Lane bathed those under it in light, casting shadows over their faces and making the people in dark uniforms appear more intimidating than they were. Constables blocked the entrance to the road. From her position, she could see that they were cold, bored, and considering the time of morning, exceptionally tired. Knowing the CF and Commissioner Fokle, she anticipated them having a list of those who lived on the street and knew her inconspicuousness was about to come to an end.
********************
Preview for The Return, Part 4:
Zenetra finds a friend, an enemy, and a stunning discovery waiting for her at home.
One more to go, Folks!
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