The Elementalist

18. How Voi Became Employed By a Very Wealthy Inventor

How Voi Became Employed By a Very Wealthy InventorAs Voi’s training continued, she stopped counting the days that went by. They blended together, each as flavorless as the last. Ronny grudgingly resumed her extracurricular self-defense lessons—even teaching her how to quickly disarm a gunman—on the condition that she ‘behave’ herself. However, she soon began to ponder the point of it all.

Clearly, he didn’t trust her.

There came a day when there were no lessons at all—no secret messages scribbled on the innards of newspapers, which were usually left by Troy at a designated dead drop to inform Voi of her next pick-up location and time. Puzzled, she couldn’t decide how to spend the rest of her days. She often wandered aimlessly about the townhouse.

Four days had come and gone without a summoning for her presence. On the fifth day, however, Voi finally received a message written in different handwriting.

‘Coffee?’

No location or time was specified.

Voi frowned when she recognized the writing: it was the same as that on Ronny’s business card.

She sighed, wondering what joys he had in store for her today.

* * *

Voi rode the trolley to Main and Sixth Street, getting off to reach the café on Lime by foot. She took a comfortable booth away from windows though gained a few stares from the patrons. Most went back to their business easily enough, though some snickered and exchanged whispered words in their native tongues.

She ignored them.

The café’s owner raised his head from the table he was serving, acknowledging Voi’s presence with a resigned look. When he approached her booth, Voi folded her hands neatly on the table, attempting to look well-behaved.

The waiter gave her a firm look. “You be makin’ trouble with more men today?”

“Look,” she reached out, resting her hand on his arm, “I really am sorry about the ruckus I caused. If I’ve somehow discouraged your patrons from returning to your café, I’d be happy to offer you compensation for all the trouble I’ve—” She noticed an incongruent quality in his demeanor and retracted her hand. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

He grinned, a conspiratorial glint in his eyes. “Two men argue with the same woman, one more jealous than the other…” He shrugged, spreading his hands. “Perhaps there be a war for the lady’s heart, hmm?”

“What?” Voi laughed then shook her head. “No, I’m afraid you’re mistaken, sir. I’m not interested in either of those men.”

“But the journalist be interested in you, hmm?”

She grew still. “What are you suggesting?”

“He comes here but usually sits alone. Never with a woman.”

Voi frowned. “I don’t see the significance.”

“Oh!” The Maelt feigned shock, leaning back. “But Mr. Callahan has good looks, no? Surely you like that.”

Taken aback by this, she, too, leaned away. “I don’t see why I should; I hardly know the man! Why, we were merely corresponding on… well, on business terms.”

“Terms of love, hmm?” he teased, nudging her with his elbow.

Voi slapped it away.

The waiter leaned in and arched an eyebrow. “You argue the way lovers do.”

“He is not my lover,” Voi hissed through clenched teeth.

The man pouted then gestured as if offering an alternative. “An admirer, perhaps?”

Voi smiled politely. “Why don’t we discuss something else like what’s on today’s menu? That is your job, isn’t it?” She snapped her copy open. “Serving what’s on the menu?”

His grin returned, but he bowed his head in acquiescence. “If that be what the lady desires…” Moving on, he recited the day’s specials and beverages, also making recommendations that might suit Voi’s “zesty, flavorful!” Borellian palate—a superficial assumption based purely on her ethnic appearance, a blunder she allowed to pass this once.

Voi screwed her mouth to the side as she considered her options. She wasn’t hungry, nor did she intend to spend very long at the café. “What does black coffee taste like?” It was a relatively new drink in the West, due to Darmoil’s very young open borders policy—something exotic to distract her. If this man’s rather unwelcome prying into the exploits of her nonexistent love life were any indication at all to the talk around town, then word had already spread about the resident disgraced aviatrix and a certain mysterious ‘journalist’ being an item.

Untrue as this was.

The waiter simply shrugged before answering. “Rich, bitter, nutty. How ‘bout I pour you a cup? Then you see.”

“Alright.” Voi returned the menu to the waiter then watched him buzz away, shaking her head. It boggled her mind to consider why Ronny kept such unfavorable company.

She sank deeper into the booth, tugging her trench coat closed to keep warm; the snow melting through her clothes didn’t help any. She rubbed her arms then closed her eyes, taking a moment to clear her thoughts. She only opened her eyes again when the waiter returned with her coffee.

“Our beans are the finest in the world,” he boasted, pouring the black liquid into a mug and tipping it off with unnecessarily high level of flair, in Voi’s opinion.

She gave him a look then took a sip.

“Shipped from the jungles of the motherland, from the island province of J’ju.”

Voi choked, though not entirely because of the overpowering bitterness of the beverage. Before the war, the lush island of J’ju had been a peaceful paradise. A farmer’s delight. However, all of that changed the day that League forces learned there were Haran pirates berthed on the island’s eastern-most shores. J’ju was soon after bombed without warning—a controversial move instigated by the Borellians.

Such knowledge only further embittered Voi’s drinking experience. She suppressed a cringe, masking it with a smile before pushing the mug away as kindly as she could.

“I can add cream, if you prefer,” said the Maelt.

Voi shook her head emphatically, holding up a hand. “No, please, thank you.”

“As you wish.” He backed away. “Anything else for the beautiful lady?”

“No.” Her smile was strained. “Thank you, sir.”

With a bow of the head, he went away.

The door chimed.

Voi’s heart seized in her chest as the newcomer’s aetheric signature dawned on her. Refraining from turning for visual confirmation, she instead pretended to sip contently from her mug wide-eyed as she stared at the suddenly mesmerizing pattern of woodgrain in the table.

The newcomer sat directly across from her, though she didn’t look up.

“You forgot to specify a time,” she said.

The rustling of fabric suggested a shrug. “Must’ve gotten lucky, then.”

Doubtful. Voi kept her eyes on the pungent black brew, though its scent made her queasy. She kept her face buried anyway to avoid his gaze, only coming up to take a breath of fresh air before plunging back in again. “I hardly think it coincidence, you showing up here not long after my arrival.” She swallowed with forced effort, swishing the coffee around in her mug. “Somehow, you always seem to know my whereabouts—where I plan to be, and when.”

“Only if I’m already looking.”

Voi glanced up. What is it you aren’t telling me? Growing uncomfortable with the implications behind his answer, she shook her head then changed the subject. “Honestly, I don’t understand why you come here, Ronny. The waiter—” She nodded across the room. “The Maelt owner is thoroughly unsavory.”

“Who, Tutt?”

Together, they looked over at the owner, who tossed them a broad, corny smile as he waited on another table.

Ronny laughed. “Tutt isn’t so bad, once you get past the prying.”

“Well,” said Voi, shifting in the booth. “He’s hardly as innocent as he makes himself out to be.”

“Why? What did he say to you?”

“Nothing that bears repeating.”

The clairvoyant sniffed. “He means well. It’s a Maelt thing.”

She looked around. “What’s so special about this café, anyway?”

He gazed elsewhere, his thoughts carrying him afar. A moment later, he said, “Tutt’s an old friend. I trust him, that’s all.”

“I see.” Truth was Ronny’s association with the Maelt community was still a source of fascination to Voi, though not worth digging into and further risking his trust in her… yet. She had other concerns—like why he wanted to meet in the first place.

He met her gaze. “Look, I know things have been difficult for you lately.” He took his hat off and put it on the table. His dark hair was thick and several inches long on the top, she realized, arching neatly to one side. “You’re probably itching to get back into a flimsy about now,” he said.

Voi paused halfway between taking an imaginary sip. “Yes, that would be putting it mildly.” Up in the sky, there were fewer problems to deal with—less gossips and narrow-minded employers… less government agents manipulating her life.

“Well, your patience has paid off.” Ronny patted the table. “I think you’re ready.”

She lowered her mug. “What?”

“Borellia. You leave tomorrow.”

“Borellia!”

He shushed her. “Keep it down, will you?”

Voi eyes flitted about self-consciously, taking in disturbed glances from surrounding patrons. None were so close as to overhear their conversation, however, so long as they spoke quietly.

Leaning forward, Ronny explained, “Remember the test flying I was talking about? Well, your test subject is currently grounded on the outskirts of Du Mon. Closer to Kippoli, actually.”

“Kippoli? There’s nothing but desert there!”

“It’s also where the Borellians like to test new aerocraft for the military—y’know, just in case ‘world peace’ doesn’t work out.”

Voi twisted her mouth to the side wryly.

“Once testing is done, you’ll head out to Jeanru, our base of operations for this mission. The Apexian Air Corps wants to purchase this plane from a Borellian engineer—that is, Andre Neverri.”

She gawked at Ronny. “Neverri? As in the Neverri Aeronautíq Neverri?”

He nodded.

“But… I thought he only designed airships.”

“Normally. This one’s a pet project of his; he’s been working on it for the past two years. He also owns a line of dishware and textiles used on his aerial liners. He’s got hundreds of patents on technologies like engines and industrial parts, too, but… that’s neither here nor there.”

Insidious thoughts flooded Voi’s mind: What if I crash during a test flight? Then what will he think of a silly flimsy-flier like me? Then again, crashing would likely only render the captain’s opinion irrelevant, since she’d be dead.

Voi’s eyes grew large; she was petrified of meeting this man.

Ronny arched an eyebrow. “Is this going to be a problem for you?”

She remembered to close her mouth before shaking her head. “No, it’s just… I wasn’t expecting to work for someone so, so…”

He waited patiently for her to finish.

“Accomplished.”

“Look, Voi, there’s no need to get all hot and bothered about this guy.”

She scowled.

“You only have to work with him until the AAC buys his plane, so if the idea of flying for a loaded bachelor who makes sport of designing cutting-edge aerocraft for a living doesn’t appeal to you, then we can just drop this thing and pretend we never had this conver—”

“Oh, please.” Voi took a breath to compose herself. “After everything I’ve been through, I hardly think I’m going to bail out now.”

“Uh-huh.” Ronny reclined in the booth, propping an arm on top of the cushioning. “It’s very simple: just treat this as you would any other job, and you’ll do fine.”

“But I’m not even finished with my training yet! Milia says I still need to work on my funneling technique, and—” She slapped the table with both hands, cringing while whispering excitedly, “The photographs! How am I supposed to take photographs from the sky?”

“Relax, Voi. Your training will continue once you get to Du Mon. When you get settled, you’ll pick up where you left off. Easy.”

Still, it felt too soon. Regardless, Voi nodded. Mostly to convince herself.

“Look, I get it. This is a big transition for you, but your presence in Borellia needs to look as normal as possible. Visit some old friends or family members; keep up on the social aspect of your life. Now is not the time to be drawing unusual attention to yourself—which means no heroics when you get to the hangar.” He aimed a finger at her. “Neverri’s a military man. You follow orders while you’re there. Understood?”

She gave him a dubious, mischievous look.

“This isn’t stunt flying, Voi,” Ronny said sternly. “You’ve got defense and intelligence dignitaries invested in both yours and the aerocraft’s performance. We don’t need you killing yourself before the project has a chance to get off the ground.”

“Fine, I’ll behave.” She leaned back in the booth, deflated.

Ronny’s skeptical gaze lingered on her a while longer before he pulled a manila envelope from the inside of his coat then passed it across the table. As she tore it open, he went on, “I understand you’ve gone through a lot recently with your friends and work. Taking this offer hasn’t exactly done you much good in those arenas.”

“No thanks to you.” She said this distractedly, emptying the contents of the envelope onto the table: an updated passport, employment documentation, a color photograph of a row of townhouses, money—lots of money. Voi’s eyes flashed briefly. Oh my.

“Since you’ll be out in Borellia,” Ronny continued, “the agency wants you to rent a second townhouse.” When she gave him a shocked look, he added, “Don’t worry; we’ll cover the expenses of your place in Chandra City for now. Easier for you to pay for the new place with local currency instead of us having to deal with exchange fees. Anyway, your mother spotted a place for you in Du Mon already. You won’t need to bring any major furniture pieces with you, either, since she’s provided you with some basics. With your first payments, you should have enough to buy whatever else you’ll need. Unless you spent it already.”

She pried her eyes from the bundle of raw cash, looking at the agent with her mouth open.

He c****d his head. “You did get your first two checks in the mail, right?”

Voi nodded, her expression dazed. Being able to hold this much cash in her hands all at once was virtually unheard of.

Ronny went on. “Now, I know this gig with Neverri is just a contract job, but you’ll need a place to stay when you’re not in Kippoli anyway; you’ll be there close to four months. There are other reasons, but we’ll cross that bridge later.” He pointed to the photograph on the table. “This townhouse is pretty similar to what you have now—not too big, not too small.” The corner of his mouth quirked, his eye wincing just shy of a wink. “I think you’ll like it.”

Voi sat there quietly taking this all in, running her fingers over the picturesque home. She thought it an attractive abode with its bright, colorful paint and charmingly eccentric exterior. It was a narrow three-story unit nestled between two others, yet each was unique in its own way. Her unit had a whimsical fascia design and decorative wood trim with two narrow dormers on the roof. Rosebushes flanked the entrance.

She wondered how her mother could have guessed her tastes so well, for Voi was convinced that Bambi had never been in tune with her true desires. Voi looked up at Ronny thoughtfully. “Why go to all this trouble? Why can’t I just stay someplace more temporary?”

“We’re thinking of your career with us long-term, Voi.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Already making plans for my years of servitude?”

He ignored her quip. “Here.” He reached into his inner coat pocket, procuring something made of thick paper. “A one-way ticket to the City of Men. Twelve o’clock.” He laid the ticket on the table then patted it twice for show. “Don’t be late.”

Voi took it reverently as he scooted out of the booth. “Where are you going?” Surely he had more to share—sage advice, words of encouragement, pointers as to what she should expect… something.

“Work,” he said, amusement in his tone. He motioned to her mug. “Since when did you start drinking that stuff?”

“I… I don’t—drink coffee, that is.”

He gave her a questioning look then set off for the door.

“Hold on!” Flustered, Voi shoved everything back into the envelope. Then she dug in her pockets for her change purse to place a few coins on the table and hurried after Ronny. She caught up to him and asked in a flurry, “How will I know where to go or what to do when I get there?”

“The League is paying for your transportation fares, so Milia will be arranging that. Don’t worry; she’ll find you.”

Once they safely crossed the street, she tugged on his coat sleeve. He seized her hand as something primal flashed across his face, his eyes narrowing.

Voi gasped.

Seeing her fear, his eyes softened some before he let go of her.

She consoled her wrist, contemplating the dark look she’d received from him.

“What?” he said.

Doubting herself, Voi shook her head. “Nothing, I just…”

His questioning gaze lingered much longer than she cared for. When she didn’t respond, he pulled up his collar then stalked down the snowy sidewalk.

One of these days, thought Voi, peering at him, I’ll figure you out.

Part II: The Aviatrix