Alkimiya - A Fantasy Mystery Series

Prologue Part 3 - An Offer Best Not Refused

winger = co-captain, whirl = alcoholic drink (think bourbon), roamer = car, caption = photograph

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Bells tolled the arrival of the city tram, a free but crammed public transportation vessel developed by Noire Transport. Painted to resemble dark purple trumpet lilies, they blended into the cool mists of dawn and dusk and were often mistaken for a mirage. Noire Mansion was too far to walk to, so James elbowed his way onto the back of the public vehicle and hung half in and half out as it crept through the city.

An hour later, James hopped off in front of an almost empty Eastwood Park. Ahead of him wound Noire Lane, a private residential street that dead-ended up a hill. Noire Mansion had been built there as a vast estate. James could see the enormous building in the distance, with its peaked roofline and massive stone walls the color of white lace sitting solid and regal at the top.

Regal and rich, like the Noires.

A slight burning sensation formed at the corners of his eyes, and it was not from lack of sleep or alcohol withdrawal. He'd stood in the same spot, staring up at Noire Mansion many times before. Rosemary liked to visit and daydream about the place. 

Zenetra hadn't visited in a year. The Hive was quick to remind the nation of that fact. Fight training, the constabulary force called it. And now an election. 

Perhaps it was the perfect time for a heist.

An idea had begun to percolate. He and Zenetra Noire were near in age. Bypassing the estate's security would be tricky but if he played it right with her, he wouldn't have to get inside to get the money. He could get the money brought out to him.

Hearing a distant bell tolling the arrival of another tram, James caught a ride back into the main part of the capital with renewed hope. He got off near Guild Square, where five-story high rectangular manors squeezed together to form one solid block of bricks. They had all been whitewashed since the revolution, with only the doors painted different colors to signify them as separate structures.

As he walked through the elite neighborhood, James heard music blasting from behind a pea-green door. The singer's voice sounded so much like his mother's that he nearly tripped over his own feet. A curtain brushed aside, and then the face of an aristocratic woman with high cheekbones and a pointed nose peered out. 

He glanced away, his shoulders tense. The newspaper bit into his armpit. The woman didn't have red hair. It wasn't her. It wasn't Ginger. 

He picked up his pace and passed each door with mounting unease. People like James Clay did not belong in Guild Square, not even to walk through it, and anyone who bothered to look out their window would be able to tell.

When James spotted a roamer of gilded opulence parked outside a manor house with a black door, he knew immediately to whom it belonged. He tried not to stare, as he had seen the vehicle printed often enough in the papers, yet could not stop himself from slowing his pace to admire it. The beautiful black and gold vessel reflected his scraggly image. The hope that had blossomed on the way to Guild Square was gone in an instant. He stopped, raised a hand to his face, and tried to smooth down his beard.

Zenetra Noire had caused quite a stir when she moved to Guild Square. James remembered it was all anyone talked about, including Rosemary. The Hive had alluded to there being a rift between Orton Abelard and his daughter, but the story fizzled out when it was announced that the "Heart of the Nation" had moved into the old manor house with the black door so that she would be closer to the Headquarters of the Constabulary Force.