Alkimiya - A Fantasy Mystery Series

TWO - Clemence the Menace

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.