The Elementalist

27. Suspicion

SuspicionCaptain Andre Neverri paused at the top of the staircase with a pistol in his hands, spotting Milia up the hall amidst confused civilians. The diplomat frowned as she caught his gaze then marched towards him, taking in his sparse attire with a critical yet thorough gaze.

Awakened by gunfire, Captain Neverri hadn’t thought to throw on a robe when he hurried into the hallway; he was wearing a sleeveless undershirt and elastic drawstring pajama pants now. He concealed his semi-automatic at the small of his back, realizing there was no longer a threat, then moved to meet Milia halfway.

They paused face to face, her eyes still scanning his muscular build. She folded her arms as if to negate this. “I thought you were staying someplace else.”

“I changed my mind.”

She squinted at him.

He looked down, noting the blood on her silk slip. “Seems like you ran into some trouble.” Seeing her bare feet, he raised an eyebrow.

She stared at him with a deadpan expression. “Everything’s under control.”

“Yes, well now the whole town is awake.”

“An exaggeration, I’m sure, though your point is taken, captain. In any case, you’ll get your answers just as soon as they do.” She shoved past him, heading for the stairs.

Neverri followed. “Where’s Voi? Is she alright?”

“She’s fine.”

“What happened?”

No answer.

Neverri grabbed her arm before she could descend. The woman growled in pain and stopped, glaring back at him. So, she does have feelings. He smirked. Despite feeling something wet, he squeezed her arm tighter.

Milia pried his fingers off her wound with clenched teeth. “You would do well to mind your manners, captain.”

He wiped his hand off on his leg, unperturbed. “Did you kill the assailants?”

“They approached me with drawn weapons; of course I killed them.”

“Then where are the bodies?”

She considered him with a haughty expression before glancing at a frazzled passerby. “This way.” She led the captain back up to her room then opened the door.

Neverri walked in, wincing at the scent of fresh blood. He looked around and saw the bodies of three brown-skinned men lined up in an orderly fashion—their backs to the wall and slouching forward. Flashes of past encounters with Haran sky pirates crossed his mind, vividly reflecting themselves in the unclosed eyes of the bodies before him.

“One is still downstairs in the hallway,” said Milia. “I had to drag the third one in here.”

Neverri narrowed his eyes at the bodies then turned, shooting Milia a puzzled look, though she was closing the door. He returned his attention to the bodies and crouched, carefully lifting one of the men’s blood-soaked shirt to examine his wounds. “What was your weapon?”

Milia went to her briefcase on the bed and procured a dagger. She handed it to Neverri and smiled. Wryly, proudly.

He frowned, observing the weapon before taking a closer look at the body. He checked the others; their wounds appeared to be similar—all located around the lungs. Some had been punctured more than once. “Were the multiple stabs necessary?”

“Suppose they were.”

He fell quiet, contemplating the situation. “Their wounds aren’t consistent with the entry pattern I’d expect from this dagger,” he said, testing the weapon’s heft before handing it back to Milia

She took it without explanation.

“No.” He shook his head. “These wounds are too precise. Surgical, almost.” He c****d his head, looking at the bodies from a new angle.

Milia folded her arms. “Well, captain, I obviously don’t carry any surgical tools around.”

“Precisely… and therein lies the mystery.” Slowly, he looked up at the tall woman though her face gave nothing away. In the distance, there was commotion on the lower level, commanding voices giving orders. Still, Neverri continued staring at Milia sternly, waiting for her to say something.

She put on an amicable face. “Come now, captain, what is it you suspect I’ve done wrong? Surely it’s not a crime to defend one’s self.”

He ground his teeth. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”

“The assailants are all neutralized. Isn’t that what matters?”

He smiled, but it wasn’t at all friendly. “You and I should be working together, Milia. I’m Sector One, just like you.”

The diplomat laughed and paced the room. “Now, that’s where you’re wrong, I’m afraid. Having knowledge of Sector One doesn’t make you one of us.”

He sniffed. “Then there is something you’re not telling me.”

She regarded him blandly. “I’m afraid there are things in this world, captain, that are above even your self-made pay grade.”

Neverri couldn’t help but smirk at this. Milia may not have liked him, but at least she respected his accomplishments. There was something else about her that intrigued him—the same way the idea of prodding a hungry wildcat did. Deciding the challenge wasn’t quite worth the risk, Captain Neverri spread his hands beseechingly and said, “At the very least, I hope you have some idea who these men were.”

She paused on her way to the door and looked back. “They were delivering fuel to the air base yesterday. Besides this, I can’t say I’ve run into them before.”

Captain Neverri stood straighter. “Fuel tanks? You’re certain of this?”

“I am.”

He glanced back at the bodies. Damn imminulle are more trouble than they’re worth. He never liked the fact that their deliveries were made by Kesh and Maelts, legal immigrants or not. “Why in the world would they come after you?” He thought of something she’d said to him before and raised his eyebrows. “Do you think they’re working for Soryul?”

“Couldn’t say, though I didn’t stop to ask. Saving my own hide was of primary concern, as I’m sure you can appreciate.” She threw him a curt smile.

“You didn’t at least try to figure out where they came from?”

“I searched their bodies and found no evidence which could point me in any particular direction. It’s a dead end, as far as it concerns you, and that’s all I have left to say on the matter.” She gestured glibly to the door. “Now, if you don’t mind, captain, I’d like to file a report with the local police. Besides,” she looked him up and down, “I’ll need an interpreter.”

Neverri scowled as she opened the door, inviting the sound of heavy footsteps into the room. “And what plausible explanation will you be providing these officers for these men’s deaths?” he asked.

“I’ll tell them the truth, captain, just as I told you: I used my dagger.”

He scoffed. “And how do you expect they’ll receive that?”

“Skeptically, but without much choice.”

Seconds later, two middle-aged officers in black uniforms came in, regarding Milia worriedly as they noticed blood on her clothes. When asked if she was well, she stared blankly at them, not understanding their language.

The captain sighed then answered on Milia’s behalf in Borellian before introducing himself.

“Neverri,” said one of the officers, “as in the great ‘Pirate Huntsman’ Neverri?”

“Yes… that would be me.”

Having admitted to being that famed war hero of yesteryear, Captain Neverri instantly earned the officers’ complete attention and admiration. His reputation, forever preceding him, was sometimes a point of vexation as it often gave his admirers a skewed perception of his character—one he was inevitably forced to commit ill-spent time recalibrating. Milia, standing behind the uniformed men by the door, rolled her eyes at the officers’ juvenile, awestruck behavior.

Afterwards, she presented her side of the story—admittedly the only side that mattered, Neverri regretted, given the circumstances. Still, he diligently, yet resentfully, translated the diplomat’s carefully chosen words, envying how easily she explained away her assailant’s deaths in such a rational way so as to be undeniable—a tale which the captain was obliged, by Borellian duty and honor, to translate as accurately as he could muster.

As it turned out, the policemen were quite satisfied with Milia’s take on the alleged assassination attempt upon her life. And judging by her haughty bearing, she seemed extremely pleased with herself and her ability to “handle the situation,” as she put it.

Regardless, the officers had numerous questions left to ask of Neverri: if the assassins were last seen at the air base, where the great Pirate Huntsman was said to conduct important contract work for the government now, then how were they able to evade the scrutiny of military security measures?

Surely he was not responsible.

Oh no, they agreed, for Captain Neverri would have never allowed for such a breach to happen under his watch. Were he still an active member of the Z’Gaurdeaer, that is. Though even now, he was much too keen a man to be blindsided by such deception, was he not?

Neverri brooded in silence. Of course, he had no answers for these two honorable men—a deeply personal embarrassment which infuriated him. In any case, the officers wished to question this other woman who’d been involved in the attack—Miss Román?

“Ah yes… Voi,” Milia mused, catching a familiar word. “Come,” she said, leading them through the hallway to the aviatrix’s room.

Slowly, she rapped on the door.

Voi eventually answered, tugging her robe closed. She didn’t lay eyes upon the captain for long—a fact which he took minor offense to, actually.

He found himself leaning back and frowning in response.

Voi spoke softly when she gave her account, ashamed to confess to her inability to stop the man who’d thrown her aside during his attempt to flee the scene. The officers were quick to express interest in her mention of some darts that her assailants had fired at her. However, with a subtle look at Milia, Voi was curiously swift to explain this away, suggesting that these darts had been coated, perhaps, with “an ineffective disabling substance of some sort.”

Still, said the officers, evidence was evidence, so Voi went into the hallway to collect what samples she could find. She returned and handed them over—with reservation, the captain noted. Milia, for whatever reasons, seemed notably displeased by the officers’ request, judging by her jutting jaw. Evidence she’d missed and meant to claim earlier? Neverri wondered.

Ridden with guilt, Voi admitted that it hadn’t been her intention to hurt the man. Rather, she thought it more useful to try and acquire answers about his intentions, if possible. This fascinated the officers—and Neverri, for that matter—who stared at her with a modest degree of wonder; after all, how many civilians cared more about gathering useful information from deadly assassins than the safety of their own lives? A noble thing, the officers agreed vocally, if not misguided.

Noble, yes, but also illogical, the captain concluded.

Naturally, this made him further question the reasons why Voi had been handpicked by the League as a pilot for the MR-6. Clearly, there was more to this experiment than he’d originally been led to believe—making him suspicious of the League’s intentions.

The police officers, apparently pleased with the ladies’ reports, kindly dismissed them as they prepared to bring in a cleanup crew to process the bodies. Neverri, however, was asked to return to precinct headquarters for further deliberation. It was there, no longer in the presence of the inn’s civilian population, that Captain Neverri was free to reveal his position beyond a peace-time engineer: that of an intelligence officer for the IMB—locally known as the Inteligene Milutante du Borellia, or Borellian Military Intelligence.

Coming as a shock to the two policemen, their demeanors towards the captain were appropriately readjusted from admiring to grave.

Neverri went on to explain how he’d recently been assigned to lookout for possible infiltrators of Darmoilen descent. He was already very distrustful of this segment of the population to begin with, having fought against such men during the Rapine War. However, it was only now—and much too late, in his opinion—that he’d acquired anything resembling an actual lead. After all, he’d only received this assignment mere days before learning that the special envoy and Miss Román would be arriving at the air base.

Combined with Milia’s tight-lipped policy on what she knew of the assailants… well, suddenly, the experiment of the MR-6 seemed to take on much direr implications than before.

Why the Intelligence Board had decided to leave Neverri in the dark was yet another cause for concern, though having such a high-profile agent of the League involved in a series of suspicious attacks by foreigners—including the Darmoilen train incident—likely had something to do with it. The signs were right there in front of me. The combination of Colonel Snipes and the special envoy was too much. He scoffed. Need-to-know basis, my a*s.

Neverri glowered, not realizing that his current inquisitors would notice his reaction.

“Captain?” one of the officers said nervously.

“Yes? Sorry.” He shook his head. “As you were saying.”

“Well,” said the second officer, “this matter should be investigated! Borellia can’t stand for any more infiltrators, not after the disgrace of Kyra Feruupa.” He pounded the table in a fervent display of patriotism. “By the flames of Piroch, our dignity must be preserved!”

“Indeed,” Captain Neverri agreed, narrowing his eyes on the wall beyond the officers. Oh, how thoroughly he agreed with their assessment.