The Elementalist

7. The Diplomat Who Was Much More

The Diplomat Who Was Much MoreWhen Voi awoke the following morning, she nearly mistook the surreal quality of her surroundings—the bold colors, the pulsing shapes, the augmented ticking coming from the clock in the bathroom—for another level of her dreaming state. Then she realized she’d forgotten to take her medication the previous night.

Moaning from wooziness, Voi stumbled out of bed in her flannel nightgown and ambled towards the medicine cabinet. She was about to do the daily deed when she changed her mind, recalling Mr. Callahan’s warning about taking urche before meeting with Ms. Furlan. Instead, Voi dressed in her usual casual garb: a b*a and panties; a wool sweater; breeches, stuffed beneath tautly drawn knee-high boots; a belt; and a silk scarf to protect her neck from chafing against the collar of her leather trench coat.

Afterwards, she hurried downstairs then skidded around the corner, stopping at the console table. She lifted the telephone handset before spinning in the number that Mr. Callahan had given her; without realizing it, she’d committed it to memory.

A woman from the Windi consulate of Chandra City answered.

“Hello!” said Voi, pulling a loose strand of hair from her mouth. “My name is Voi Román. I would like to speak with Milia Furlan, please.”

“One moment.”

Voi twirled the phone cord around her finger as she waited, staring at the ceiling.

“Yes?” came a blunt, posh voice.

Voi nearly forgot why she’d called. “Oh! Um… hello! Hi. Yes. This is Voi, Voi Román. I was actually referred to you by—”

“Yes-yes-yes. How busy are you right now?”

Voi blinked a few times. “Oh, well not especially, I suppose…” She gave a rueful sigh; she hadn’t managed to book any tours for today.

“Good,” said the diplomat. “If you look outside, a black sedan should be waiting a short distance up the street from your townhome; I suggest you take it.”

“But I’m perfectly capable of driving myself. You see, I own a motorcycle.”

There was a lengthy pause.

“Ms. Furlan? Hello?”

“You own a motorcycle.” It wasn’t a question, and she certainly wasn’t impressed.

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Don’t waste my time, Miss Román. You either take the cab or I take my leave.” She paused. “And I sincerely hope you haven’t taken your medication today.”

“Thankfully, no. I was just about to when—”

There was an abrupt click, followed by the dial tone.

Voi placed the handset back on the cradle with a sigh, then went over to the window and looked out. There was a black sedan waiting up the street, just as Ms. Furlan had said there would be. “Well, that’s convenient.” She gathered her coat, identification papers and licenses, some money, and a few other personal items before leaving the house. As she crossed the street and drew near the vehicle, a middle-aged man with a trimmed salt-and-pepper beard and mustache got out, opening the back door for her.

“In you go!” he said with a swift hand motion. His accent was of Windsor. Posh, like Ms. Furlan’s.

Voi stared at him for a moment, contemplating his lack of introduction before slipping inside.

The man promptly shut the door behind her then returned to his rightful place as driver—setting off without explanation for heavens knew where. Well, thought Voi, this should be interesting.

He kept looking into his rearview mirror—not quite at Voi but seemingly beyond her—causing her to wonder whether he was concerned about being followed. “Excuse me, but are you a psychic? I’d prefer to dispense with any vagaries sooner rather than later.”

His wide-eyed gaze locked onto Voi’s in the mirror. “Hmph!” he said, assuming an affronted posture before returning his attention to driving without further comment, which summed up the totality of their interactions for the next half hour or so.

* * *

Voi didn’t bother asking exactly where the driver was taking her. Besides, with all the furtive glances he kept casting through the mirror—somehow managing to altogether ignore her in the process—he didn’t exactly seem inclined to answer her question even if she had ventured to ask. Instead, Voi took an interest in the roads and how they gradually transitioned from pavement to pounded dust. Urban brick structures gave way to two-storied homes with wood sidings and shingled roofs, from developed suburban neighborhoods to scattered farmhouses and rolling countryside. Many a farmer and their herds of livestock passed before Voi’s enchanted eyes.

After about a forty-minute drive west from Chandra City, in the direction of the foothills beneath the gloomy Lanchain Mountains, they arrived at what appeared to be an abandoned barn. Its exterior was battered and neglected, its lawn overgrown. Her driver parked off to the side. “This is quite a way to be taking me from the city,” said Voi. “Frankly, sir, it makes me very nervous and especially disinclined to trust you and your employer.”

“Well, quite frankly, Miss Román, neither I nor my employer honestly gives a damn what you think.” His thin, cheeky smile crept into the rearview mirror.

Charming. “Well, might you at least consider telling me your name? After all, you do know mine.”

He didn’t seem to hear her at first. He got out the car, came to her side, then, surprisingly, opened the door for her. “It’s Troy.”

She stepped onto the grass. “Troy. Well, that’s pleasant.” Unlike you.

“Yes, well, do try not to overuse it, Miss Román. I can’t stand a whiny passenger. ‘Troy, could you make a couple of extra stops along the way? It seems I’ve forgotten that I must do this and that.’ Or, ‘Troy, dear, do you think it wise to drive so fast?’ Or, my personal favorite, ‘Troy, why is it that you never seem to notice when I call your name?’ Ha! Don’t think I haven’t gotten enough of that from Ms. Furlan. She uses my name as if it were a bell. Hmph!” With that, he got back into the car, burying himself from the cold in his thick wool coat.

Voi stared at him for a moment, wondering if all cab drivers to distinguished clients were this disgruntled. Putting this aside, she shook her head then adjusted her scarf around her neck, protecting herself from chillier winds at a higher altitude. She looked around. There were no other vehicles parked outside, providing no indication as to whether her contact had arrived. However, she did notice that one of the barn’s doors was cracked open.

She looked back at the driver, who merely gave her a ‘Well?’ look. All but rolling her eyes, she walked to the door, gave it a tug, then poked her head inside.

At the other end of the barn was a woman in a steel grey suit. She sat on a bale of hay with her legs crossed while smoking from a long, silver cigarette holder, leaving traces of a sweet-smelling smoke in the air. The woman, with her thin red lips and wavy blonde bob, seemed so glamorous to Voi. She held an air of aloof worldliness about her in contrast to Voi’s disheveled tomboyish pilot look. As such, the mundaneness of Voi’s attire caused her to unintentionally slow in her approach.

“My goodness,” said the diplomat, taken aback. “You look so Borellian. Couldn’t he have at least found someone who looked remotely Eastern?”

Voi frowned. “I beg your pardon?”

“Never mind. No sense in fussing about particulars now.” She was almost reclining on the bale of hay as if it were a lavish chaise lounge. “Well, are you going to come over, or must I get up and drag you?”

Voi suppressed an urge to laugh at the ridiculousness of the scene as she slowly moved forward. The air smelled of dust, old hay, and a general staleness, making her nostrils twitch. The diplomat finally stood up, towering over the aviatrix as she extinguished her cigarette by grinding it against the sole of her pump. She turned to Voi with an unnerving smile and extended a flawlessly manicured hand.

“Milia Furlan, as I’m sure you’ve surmised.”

There was a great aura of power about this woman, and it was all Voi could do not to gawk at her. Instead, she cleared her throat then shook the diplomat’s hand eagerly. “Voi Román. How do you do?”

The woman made a thoughtful yet perceptibly disappointed sound before pulling away.

Voi quickly dropped her hand, her smile with it.

Ms. Furlan sized up Voi with her ice blue eyes. “One of our agents seems to think you’re worthy of becoming an elementalist.”

Voi folded her arms. “Well, I’d like to know what it is, exactly, that an elementalist does before committing to anything.”

Something sinister swam beneath the superficial charm of Ms. Furlan’s chuckle. “Committing… What do you know about commitment?” Before Voi could defend herself, the woman gestured agitatedly, adding, “Just how much has he explained to you about this elementalist business, anyway?”

“Who? Mr. Callahan?”

Ms. Furlan stared at her.

Voi swished a bit of hay around with the tip of her boot, thinking about her reply. “Well, supposedly, elementalists possess keen senses and have incredible immune systems. Also, they can manipulate one of the seven Borellian elements.”

“Six.” Ms. Furlan’s eyes narrowed with this word. “Only six of the elements are known to be manipulable as of now; there hasn’t been an aether elementalist in ages, and we should hope, for everyone’s sake, that things stay that way. And the elements don’t limit themselves to Borellia, dear; they were primordial long before they were Borellian. The elements are a universal concept, a vital part of our reality.

“Honestly, dear, you really must abandon that stifling frame of mind. Too much formal schooling will do that to you, I’m afraid. No matter; you’ll grow out of it soon enough.” She squinted at Voi. “Strange, I didn’t think that would be an issue with you, given how little regard you seem to have for your education.” She sighed. “Oh well, society affects us all differently, I suppose.” Apparently having grown bored, she moved towards a boarded window, peering through its narrow cracks—checking for trespassers, perhaps?

Voi stared at her crossly for a moment, tapping her foot. “I take it you must also have these elemental talents?”

“Yes…” Ms. Furlan drew the word out longer than was necessary.

Voi spread her hands, saying, “Then perhaps you would be so gracious as to demonstrate your wonders, special envoy.”

Ms. Furlan slowly turned her head. “Are you mocking me?”

Voi rested her hands on her hips as she tilted them, otherwise not responding.

The woman came to Voi and paused beside a haystack, where a metal briefcase lay on the ground. She picked up the case, opened it, then pulled out a dagger, brandishing it with a sly grin.

Voi instinctively leaned away.

Ms. Furlan ran her index finger along the weapon’s edge—just short of drawing blood, much to Voi’s relief. “Can you guess which element it is that I possess control over?” She said this with an inappropriate overlay of salaciousness, running her tongue along her teeth.

“I don’t suppose it could be metal,” said Voi, eyeing both the dagger and the woman warily.

“Now, what makes you say that?” Ms. Furlan smiled.

Voi figured this was a rhetorical question but decided to answer it anyway. She gestured to the briefcase. “Well, for starters, you carry a metal case instead of a bag or purse like most women do. Also, you seem inordinately fond of your dagger. And if that weren’t indication enough, then I suppose your cold, rather blunt character could perhaps provide some clue.” There were pseudoscientific and even religious theories on elemental personality types, linking certain kinds of traits to the elements of the ancients. Voi had dabbled in them all, to some extent, simply out of academic interest.

It gave her great pleasure to put her knowledge to use at this moment.

Ms. Furlan’s eyes squinted even smaller than before. “Even if Agent Callahan hadn’t already shared his thoughts as to what your element might be, I doubt my opinion would have differed on it being air.” She turned the dagger over in her hand, considering it. “Air is such a wayward, careless element. It can’t truly be contained or molded, so much as redirected. As such, it lacks discipline.” Her gaze washed over Voi’s attire. “It tends to go where the currents of life tell it to—far too changeable and easily swayed, if you ask me.”

Voi bit back an urge to lash out.

“It isn’t really sure of itself, lacking form, so it spreads itself thin in hopes of pleasing someone, somewhere, with its evanescent presence—which is very odd, given the life-sustaining role it plays in our lives. Without influences from other, more stable elements for balance, it’s prone to lose its way.”

Relaxing her clenched jaw, Voi replied, “If I wanted a psychological analysis, then I would have sought out a psychologist.”

“Oh, but you have! Unwittingly, mind you. Just as it is my duty to train you in the ways of elementalism, it is equally my responsibility to understand your character, Miss Román. Everyone has their strengths and weaknesses; my concern is whether your strengths outweigh your weaknesses.” After taking an overly self-aware strut towards Voi, Ms. Furlan stopped a nose’s breadth away. “In this line of work, you will either be a flimsy, inconsequential breeze or a powerful, unstoppable gale. Which do you prefer?”

“I prefer to adjust my conduct accordingly to the context of the situation at hand.”

Ms. Furlan peered at her. “Hmm, a hint of bite to the bark, I see. Not quite the answer I was looking for, but… it will do.” She walked away.

Voi exhaled, relieved.

Without warning, the blonde spun and threw the dagger in Voi’s direction.

Voi leaped out of the way, though the weapon had landed well to her right. Still, she eyed Ms. Furlan crossly.

“Pick it up.”

At first, Voi rebelled with momentary inaction, then she gave in with a huff, realizing she was only proving the woman’s theory about her ‘easily swayed’ nature. She bent down and freed the dagger from a tangle of hay; the weapon was heftier than she expected. She turned it over, observing its sleek silver hilt, when suddenly, it began to vibrate.

Voi shot Ms. Furlan an alarmed look.

“Don’t look at me. Look at the dagger!”

Voi frowned, looking down again.

The blade slowly began to break up into smaller forms—little beads that slipped through Voi’s fingers and fell to the ground. With an effortless hand gesture, Ms. Furlan caused the tiny beads to roll towards her, answering some silent call Voi couldn’t perceive. Eventually, they regrouped at Ms. Furlan’s feet, transforming back into their original form.

Shocked, Voi’s eyes grew large.

Ms. Furlan bent down and picked up the intact dagger. After placing it back into her briefcase, she dusted off her hands, declaring, “I think that was enough demonstration for one day.” She smiled. “Questions?”

Voi’s mouth hung open.