The Elementalist

30. A Night Out with the Captain

A Night Out with the CaptainIt was agreed—or rather it was decided by Captain Neverri—that he would drive Voi to dinner himself. This surprised Voi, as she automatically assumed that someone of his wealth would have a chauffeur do the driving for him.

“Drivers are for stuffy snobs with no sense of adventure,” he explained over the telephone.

Voi snickered, thinking of Milia. However, being self-conscious about the insufficiency of her wardrobe, Voi tried to learn more about the secret location of their dinner venue.

“I told you, Voi,” he said, “it’s a surprise! However, it will be a black-tie affair. I’ll tell you that much.”

She hadn’t shopped for new clothes in Du Mon yet, and searching for an evening gown amongst the city’s high society, female elitenne population was the last thing she felt like doing. While flattered by the captain’s offer, she apologized for any inconvenience on her part then asked if he wouldn’t mind booking at someplace less formal. “A café, perhaps?” she suggested.

“Well, I don’t see the harm in that. After all, there’s nothing wrong with an evening at a local café.” He said this as if to soothe away any feelings of inadequacy Voi might have.

Instead, this only made her more self-conscious. Why wouldn’t a café be a suitable place to spend an evening with the captain? They were only socializing, for heaven’s sake—professional acquaintances hoping to get to know each other better.

At least, that’s what Voi kept telling herself.

When it came time to dress, she grew frustrated when she realized that the only suitable items she had to wear were a blouse, a calf-length skirt, stockings, and a modest pair of pumps: the same basic outfit she’d worn so many times while working for the museum in Chandra City.

Voi was in the middle of nitpicking at a semi-elegant bun on her head when she heard an automobile pull up outside. Surprised, she snatched up her wool coat and tugged it on, followed by a scarf and gloves, then scrambled out to the curb. However, she stopped short when she saw the silver roadster that the captain had arrived in—admiring its sleek curves and convertible top, which was currently closed in the autumn air.

There was nothing on the roads quite like it yet—not that she’d seen, anyway.

Captain Neverri emerged, sporting a thick, robust overcoat that accentuated his broad shoulders. He opened the passenger door with a smile. “Having second thoughts?” he asked when she didn’t get in.

Voi vigorously shook her head then entered the vehicle, avoiding unnecessary eye contact with the captain out of sheer nervousness for the duration of the drive.

* * *

The restaurant was only fifteen minutes away, though Voi felt the ride lasted much longer than this. I’m amazed he hasn’t driven us into a curb, as many glances he’s stolen my way. Approaching their destination, she noticed a roadside sign that said ‘Café Rieusid.’ Named for the restaurant’s location beside the Sal Rieú, or ‘Salt River,’ she presumed.

Once the captain found a parking spot, Voi promptly let herself out. Breathing in the fresh air, she gazed towards the river, rich with violets and oranges from the sunset. A ferry carried a large wedding party downstream, and she watched as a large paddle wheel propelled the boat onward, the churning of cascading water amidst laughter capturing her imagination.

Captain Neverri offered his arm, and she took it apprehensively. He stared at her with an indiscernible expression before guiding her to the entrance.

The restaurant itself was located in an old cobblestone structure—much like a Trysteese cottage, Voi noted, only much larger and with a veranda attached for dining next to the river. When they entered the establishment, her eyes were drawn to the rustic plaster walls in earth tones, the knotty plank flooring, and the vaulted beam ceiling over the main dining area. The smell of melting wax, cooked meats, and spices saturated the air. Flickering candles on iron chandeliers and votives on the tables set the mood with an understated glow.

“Are you cold?”

Voi looked up, startled by the captain’s voice as she realized she’d been clutching his arm, her body pressed to his side. Immediately, she loosened her grip then pulled away. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“That’s quite alright, Vwah,” he replied in Borellian, maintaining a grip on her hand as if to discourage her from leaving. He nodded towards the river. “I thought you might enjoy sitting outside at first, seeing as how they have fireplaces, though it would probably be better to remain inside out of the wind. What do you think?”

Confused by his lingering hold on her, Voi just nodded.

When the receptionist finally addressed them, the captain requested a seat by a window so they could still see the river, all the while acknowledging Voi with his eyes; she smiled to confirm her approval. Meanwhile, he let go of her as they took off their coats to be held in the cloakroom, though Voi retained her clutch.

Captain Neverri revealed a tailored sports jacket and matching trousers beneath his overcoat. Noticing Voi’s attire for the first time, he looked stunned at first, then laughed. “I wasn’t aware I was taking a librarian out to dinner!”

Uncertain whether the dossier prepared in advance by Sector One had mentioned her museum job back in Chandra City, Voi couldn’t gauge whether this was a direct slight on her character. The captain’s demeanor seemed innocent enough, though this was always his way. Voi mumbled, “Sorry to disappoint…”

“No need to be snippy,” said Neverri. “It was a jest.” Belatedly, he added in an unusually serious tone with a matching erudite bearing, “I think you look rather smart, actually.”

Voi gave him a skeptical look.

“And… pretty?” He arched an eyebrow.

They burst into laughter, simultaneously relieved from the absurdity of the situation.

“This way, please,” the receptionist interrupted and led them past a fireplace near an expanse of panoramic windows. The other diners seemed unduly curious—perhaps more so in the captain, Voi suspected. Doubly self-aware, Voi turned her attention to the river as they lowered themselves into upholstered chairs. She sighed when she realized that the wedding ferry had disappeared.

The captain reached across the table, resting a warm hand on Voi’s arm.

She jumped.

“Are you alright?” His eyes flickered with the subtle candlelight.

“I’m fine, captain. Just… reflecting on the city, that’s all.”

Gently, he squeezed her arm. “You can refer to me by my first name, you know.”

Voi looked down, briefly eyeing his hand. Referring to men by surname or title was an old habit—a defense mechanism for dissuading would-be suitors by implying a desire to remain formal with them. For so long, she’d feared rejection once they learned the truth about her condition that Captain Neverri’s interest in her came as a subconscious invitation to disappointment, if not heartbreak.

Concerned that his advances might escalate, Voi smiled politely then retrieved her arm, redirecting her gaze to the menu. “It seems they have quite the selection to choose from,” she said, attempting to sound overwhelmed with a huff. “Any suggestions?” Though she could feel his gaze linger, she decided to keep her own eyes on the menu.

“I think the herb-rubbed lamb would make a fine choice for the main course. As for the others, I suppose I could recommend a few options.”

Voi barely paid attention as he ordered from the waiter and their glasses were filled with seasonal wine. Instead, she became preoccupied with a rising swell of claustrophobia. You shouldn’t have come here with him. Milia and Ronny won’t approve. In an attempt to compose herself, Voi moderated her breathing, smiling and nodding occasionally as the captain attempted to make small talk. Mistaking her concentrated effort to maintain eye contact for engrossed interest, the man was soon carried away by his own talking points.

Voi didn’t contribute much to the conversation at first. Instead, she listened to the captain’s stories about serving in the Z’Gaurdeaer: the thrill of apprehending wartime pirates, of commandeering their airships, and the lamentable inferior quality and scarcity of pirates thereafter. Having been responsible for the highest number of pirates seized during his career as the ‘Pirate Huntsman,’ life after the war became a tremendous bore, he admitted.

In a way, Voi could relate to these sentiments. Why, she’d felt much the same after giving up an outrageous career in barnstorming and stunt flying—comparably dangerous endeavors in their own right. Feeling calm enough to attempt conversation now, Voi inquired, “What did you do before the war, Andre?”

Hearing his first name, he stopped sipping his asparagus soup to look up, then politely wiped his mouth with a cloth napkin. “Well, Voi, I was still a young man and very much a boy at heart. I did what all boys do at that age.” He grinned. “I got into trouble.”

“Oh?” she said playfully. When he seemed unwilling to go any further, she leaned in and wrinkled her nose, whispering, “What sort of trouble?”

“Well, I wasn’t a criminal or anything, if that’s what you’re implying.” His laugh was weak.

Voi thought this an odd comment though refrained from drawing attention to it. “Alright, I suppose you’re off the hook this time.” She smiled then refolded her napkin over her lap.

Andre studied her with his dark eyes, wriggling the fingers on his idle hand. “What about you, Voi? What sort of life did you lead before becoming the ‘Flying Masked Wonder’?”

She laughed, covering her face. “Oh no, did they really put that in my dossier?”

The corner of his mouth curled.

“Well,” she said, leaning back in her chair, “there probably isn’t anything worth mentioning that you haven’t already been told, unless it’s childhood stories you’re after—which is unfair, considering you refused to share yours.”

It was Andre’s turn to laugh. “Fair enough.”

They fell quiet.

“Andre… why don’t you tell me more about your wife?”

“My wife?” Apparently, he was distracted by nonexistent crumbs on his shirt.

Voi tilted her head incredulously.

He looked up, arching his eyebrows. “Ah… I see. You’re concerned about her now, aren’t you? Now that I’ve shown an interest in you beyond work, that is.”

Voi shrugged, resting her chin on her hand. “Not really. I’m only curious.” Truth be told, she’d never been courted by a married man before, and she found the attention flattering in the most titillating way.

Courting—if that’s what this was; she wasn’t sure yet.

Andre leaned back, resting his hand on the table. “My wife’s name is Gemma.” He smiled. “I suppose you remind me of her, in some ways.”

“Oh?” Voi wasn’t sure how to feel about this. “How so?”

He gestured with his fork somewhere about her head. “You both have that dark, almost black hair, only Gemma’s is straighter, more lustrous.”

Voi remained perfectly still now that she was under the captain’s scrutiny.

Andre blinked a few times as if coming to a realization. “Other than that, and the fact you both share the same condition, you two are actually nothing alike.” For some reason, he found this amusing and chuckled, resuming the consumption of his soup. Just as Voi was about to respond, he took in air sharply, causing her to stop. “You know,” he said, “my father actually wanted me to become a surgeon when I was younger.”

“Really?” asked Voi. “Why a surgeon?”

“Because he was a surgeon. He wanted his legacy to follow in his footsteps, perhaps even become the first to cure some of the world’s diseases—like emelesia.” At Voi’s subtle cringe, he amended, “You must understand, my father disapproved of emelesiacs. He thought they were a weakness in the human genetic code, something that could be offset neurologically. I, on the other hand… well, let’s just say I’m more understanding.”

Feeling more at ease, Voi dropped her shoulders.

“Anyhow,” Andre continued, “being the rebellious son that I was, I did the brash thing and studied other subjects for a while then signed on with the Aerokorppa. A few years later, I met Gemma, just after I was transferred to the Z’Gaurdeaer and posted in a small town just southwest of Tryste. This was about three years into the war, when they began spotting the aeroplanes and foreign airships in southern Borellia. You see, I was hoping to become a part of the search mission for their base of operations, but apparently, high command thought I’d be more useful apprehending pirates on the home front.”

He grinned. “They were right.”

Andre paused then frowned, brooding on his thoughts. “Gemma was… different. Exotic to me, I suppose. Her character was sweet yet strange and troubled. She worked at a tavern in Morgetti and had a gift for intuiting her patrons’ needs. It was all she knew, that tavern, concocting unusual drinks. She told me she’d always wanted to see the world but was afraid to, what with the war going on. There was also her condition, which she felt ashamed of. It kept her from trying new things, though I didn’t know about it at the time.

“Eventually, with my Sector One clearance, I figured it out, despite her best efforts. I told her it was fine, that I wanted to understand emelesia better—and her too, naturally.” Andre looked at Voi. “It was the one moment in my life when becoming a surgeon, or a medical scientist of some sort, seemed like a good idea.”

Voi pressed her lips together, her expression sad.

“I thought it could be cured, but…” Andre shrugged. “It was already decided that Gemma was meant for the asylum. There was nothing I could do.” Out of nowhere, a renewed vigor urged him to carry on, and he slapped the table.

“So!”

Voi jumped.

“What did I do? Well, I promised Gemma I would build her an airship when the war was over so we could travel the world in it. That’s how my airship business got started, you see. It was her idea. She told me, ‘You’re always complaining about the things you don’t like in military dirigibles and how dull the civilian ones are; why don’t you design your own airships? Who knows? It might make you rich and famous someday.’”

Voi tilted her head. “She sounds like a romantic.”

“Indeed,” said Andre. “I thought I could make a difference in Gemma’s life—before things could get worse for her, anyway. We didn’t have long until—”

The waiter arrived with their main courses. He set two plates of lamb and broccoletti carefully on the table then bowed his head. “Enjoy.”

Andre stared at his meal, lost in thought for a moment before digging in, dropping the topic of Gemma entirely.

Voi began pondering his reasons for asking her to dinner. After all, she was no longer in need of saving from the asylum, unlike poor Gemma. Even so, Voi had to consider whether she was truly ‘free’—that was, free to live an ordinary life or pursue a romantic relationship with whomever she desired. Was this even possible as an emelesiac?

Putting these thoughts aside, Voi recalled Milia’s skepticism about the captain. “Andre,” she said slowly, “what are your thoughts about the League?”

Halfway into bringing a portion of lamb to his mouth, he looked up and froze. “What about them?” He lowered his fork, his expression growing serious and his eyelashes fluttering.

“Well, specifically, their mission to preserve world peace and their policy towards,” Voi leveled her gaze with his and cleared her throat, “well, my kind.”

Andre ran his tongue across his teeth before continuing his meal. Chewing on lamb, he said flippantly, “Well, for starters, I think the other members of the League are too trusting of Darmoil, given their past—King Faustus and your Chancellor Woods especially.” He snorted. “At least our president seems to have his wits about him. After all, he’s the one who proposed limiting the power of the Darmoilen council members until they’ve proven themselves trustworthy. Unlikely as that is.”

Voi leaned back. “After all this time, you doubt they’ve changed?”

Andre sniffed. “Adapted, perhaps, though even mindless organisms do that. However, if by ‘changed’ you mean ‘erased thousands of years of inbred cultural hatred towards militarily superior races,’ then yes, Voi, I sincerely doubt they’ve ‘changed.’”

She thought back on history. “The Dar did manage to conquer Tryste, you know.”

“Through treacherous deceit and other dishonorable tactics instigated by a Trysteese citizen, nonetheless. If it weren’t for Paalo’s betrayal and the loyalty he commanded, the Dar would never have stood a chance.”

Voi stared at Andre, baffled by his intolerance. “And what of peace?”

“Peace is an illusion, as is security.” He didn’t flinch as he said this, simply continued chewing his lamb. “There’s always another threat to be stopped, always something or someone lurking around the corner. It’s just a matter of who, what, where, when, and how many.”

“The why is just as important, if not more so,” said Voi.

“Trying to understand why your enemy insists on inflicting pain and suffering upon others in the middle of a coup won’t solve the reality of being overwhelmingly surprised or outnumbered when it happens, let alone change the worst of their kind. Their twisted minds were lost to corruption long before the point of war. And peace treaties are just as likely to elicit false promises as they are to buy time for your opponents to bolster their forces and strategy. Either way, entertaining the notion of peace with an enemy that has proven itself to be untrustworthy and dangerous is not only pointless; it’s foolish.

“Take, for example, that moment seven hundred years ago when Darmoil first signed the Peace Treaty of Du Mon. Not a year later, they were attacking border villages along Eastern Borellia and planting assassins to eliminate key members of League society after building relationships with them. It took the members decades to recover from the deception. Now, why do you think Marvin Rhys was targeted? Darmoil must have seen him as a threat to their agenda—one the League would do well to scope out if they haven’t done so already.” He gave Voi a skeptical look as he said this.

She leaned back in her chair, as much offended by the implications of his look as she was uncertain about the things she was f*******n to discuss, as far as her mission was concerned. For now, she kept quiet.

“In any case,” Andre said reluctantly, “the problem of Darmoil amounts to one conclusion, in my mind: they, as a people, shouldn’t be trusted.”

“So, if someone can’t be made to do things a certain way, then the solution is to kill them?” Voi asked.

“Only if they threaten lives. Don’t try to make me out as some heartless monster. This is what armies have done since their inception, dammit: they protect their people.”

“Or conquer the world.” Voi began cutting into her lamb.

“Does this upset you, my views?”

She took a deep breath before answering. “They’re just different from mine, that’s all.”

“And how would you have the League handle security threats if you ran the world, oh Vwah? Ask the enemy to tea and sandwiches so you could all have a civilized chat about their honorable intentions?”

She ground her teeth. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re naive.”

Voi threw down her utensils with a startling clatter. A few other diners looked up abruptly though went back to their meals when neither Voi nor Andre seemed to notice.

“You know,” he said, “you really ought to be careful who you involve yourself with. One misplaced dalliance is enough to give yourself away.”

She froze, the muscles in her neck straining as she did her best not to betray any particular emotion.

There was something chilling about the way he laughed. “Don’t worry.” He leaned in and whispered across the table, “He won’t be a problem anymore.”

Voi couldn’t keep her eyes from widening.

“And don’t think I’ve been entirely ignorant about what you and the special envoy are up to,” he said, learning back in his chair.

Voi frowned. “What?”

“After those so-called assassins paid her a visit at the inn, I decided to do more digging. Really, Voi, I don’t understand why you Apexians and Windi are still so paranoid about cooperating with the Borellians—or is it just me that your government has a bone to pick with?”

She blinked. “What are you talking about?”

“Someone spotting one of my planes in unauthorized territory without my knowledge would certainly make me look bad, don’t you think?” When she didn’t respond, he added, “Perhaps this was meant to be a smear job of some kind, or perhaps the League really thought I’d be so stupid as not to notice. Regardless, I had a little chat with Milia the other day. Suffice it to say, I know all about your mission. You should know I’ve been intentionally making you uncomfortable, testing what you were and weren’t willing to reveal about yourself. It’s part of my job, as a fellow Sector One agent—and up to the moment you told the officers how you took the time to question one of the assassins, I thought you were doing a good job.”

Under the table where he wouldn’t notice, Voi pressed her hand to her stomach, as she was struggling to breathe. “Andre, I—”

He held up his palm. “You needn’t explain yourself. You were under orders. I respect that.” He moved as if to resume his meal then stopped, half-smiling. “I just wanted you to know.”

Did he… did he just try to interrogate me? So, this was why he’d wanted to take her out to dinner.

“Now, hopefully,” he said nonchalantly, scooping up a forkful of broccoletti, “this hasn’t ruined my chances at sharing another meal with you, Voi. I enjoy our verbal spars. Quite telling, actually.”

She continued staring at him, entirely dumbfounded. “Are you saying that, after all of this, you still want to take me out to dinner again?”

“Why yes, Voi. That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

Only somewhat relieved, she touched her brow. “Andre, I think you’re quite possibly the most baffling man I’ve ever met.”

“Why, thank you!” He beamed as he took a sip of wine.

It didn’t occur to Voi until after a brief silence that he’d conveniently circumvented the topic of the League’s policy towards elementalists. She shook her head and picked up her fork.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing…”

Perhaps some other time.