The Elementalist

4. The Problem with Main Street

The Problem with Main StreetVoi was infinitely delighted to learn that not only had the art history professor been pleased with Voi’s tour but so were the students. Most of the class’ excitement, she reflected later, centered around one piece in particular: a restored War of Ages-era fresco entitled ‘The Fall of Tryste.’ With the right questions, Voi had the students discussing everything from possible theories on the legendary lost kingdom to first-century artists who’d adopted aliases to avoid detection by the tyrant Paalo Takla, as well as speculation on elemental beings and demigods—all the things Voi loved most about Borellian culture and its ancestors.

They even got into a debate about the saints of Orden: was Saint Helene, the legendary savior of the Trysteese survivors who sacrificed her life to defeat Paalo, actually one of these elemental beings? Was Paalo simply an ordinary man with extraordinary power, or did he himself possess occult abilities capable of burying entire kingdoms?

In short, it had been a very satisfying evening.

Now, if only Voi had the courage to overcome the more pertinent challenges in her life.

* * *

The electric trolley that Voi took to and from the museum ran through Main Street, the lifeline of Chandra City. The problem with Main Street was that it was also home to the Chandra Tribune Tower, where Mr. Callahan was presumably employed. Granted, she could either take the trolley home or stroll for twenty-or-so blocks in the cold, so she opted for the trolley.

As the passengers swayed in their seats along with the occasional bumps in the pavement, Voi watched the Tribune Tower pass by, her legs bouncing anxiously beneath her. The woman sitting to her left looked at her crossly at regular intervals.

Voi hadn’t taken her medication at the museum, thinking about what Mr. Callahan had said. It’ll drive me nuts if I don’t speak to him… Surely he was counting on it. She couldn’t bear drawing out her decision and taking this route twice a day for another twenty-four hours, let alone an entire week. Huffing, she glanced at her wristwatch—9:37—then gazed out the window, weighing her options. He probably won’t even be there. Still, it couldn’t hurt to try.

Plagued by the thought of AeroTaxi and its general lack of business, Voi made up her mind.

Just as she reached for the overhead wire, a bell went off and the trolley stopped; someone else had been faster. She watched a man briskly shove his way down the aisle, exiting onto the street. Well, here goes nothing… Voi got up though nearly lost her footing when the trolley started rolling again.

“Wait!” she shouted to the driver. “I need to get o—”

A shuddering halt catapulted Voi down the aisle. She stumbled to a stop as she caught the nearest handrail then glared at the driver, clenching her wool coat closed before leaving. The driver muttered something behind her before retracting the door and taking off again.

Voi straightened out her coat then looked up and down the street, dimmed shop windows perforating wainscoted buildings in either direction. The Tribune Tower sat about a block back from where she’d come from. After safely dodging oncoming vehicles, Voi fixed her gaze on her destination as it sparkled with red signal lights to warn airships of its presence.

The Tribune Tower was not the city’s tallest skyscraper, though perhaps it was the most recognizable. It had been there only five years, constructed just before the Tribune broke the sensational story about the betrayal of a Borellian double agent, Kyra Feruupa. According to Mr. Callahan’s story, Feruupa had stolen the confidential schematics of a prototype engine from Marvin Rhys, an Apexian engineer. Later, she attempted to deliver said schematics to an operative of a Haran terrorist element but was intercepted by the Apexians. In the end, Feruupa was tried and executed for treason.

Such incriminating news catered to the largely League-wary audience the Tribune catered to—a minority viewpoint in Apexia that Voi didn’t share yet still found fascinating.

Despite its popularity, Voi had never been inside the Tribune Tower before. Given her history with newspapermen, she considered it something of a den of wolves. The mere idea of entering the building caused her to freeze outside, gazing upward in awe. The tower itself was an artistic mixture of concrete latticework and structural components boasting tall, narrow windows. Sunbursts of illumination exploded from the latticework like beacons to lost outsiders in the night.

After taking a deep breath, Voi boldly climbed the stairs to a towering set of glass doors. She tugged on one of the long brass handles, then, at last, she entered the building.

Few people were in the lobby at this hour. Most were leaving. Voi went in anyway, noticing an abstract brass chandelier hanging over an empty reception desk. She looked down at the lobby’s two-tone marble floor. A triangular meander made of small tiles formed a border around a larger rectangular expanse of tone-on-tone triangles, defining the central lobby. The apexes of triangles to represent the crowning triumphs of Apexia. Clever. Voi quite admired the aesthetic qualities this building held, not realizing she’d stopped walking until someone bumped into her.

“Oh!”

A startled brunette stared back at Voi, clutching a pile of papers to her chest. Some had escaped her grasp.

A secretary burning the after-hours oil, perhaps?

“Oh, dear,” said Voi, coming to her senses. “I’m so sorry. Here, let me help.” She stooped to pick up what had fallen to the floor.

“It’s my fault,” said the woman, who looked several years older than Voi. “Too busy looking at notes before they close the building. I really ought to be watching where I’m going.”

“It’s alright.”

The woman smiled, though something in her demeanor shifted gradually as she saw Voi fully for the first time.

Voi cleared her throat then quickly pulled Mr. Callahan’s business card from her coat pocket, showing it to the woman. “Say, you wouldn’t happen to know if a Ron Callahan works here, would you?”

The woman took the card and looked it over. She laughed. “Yes, but he doesn’t physically work here.” She handed back the card.

Voi blinked. “What?”

“I mean he usually telephones his stories to the newsroom; he’s a correspondent. In fact, I don’t even know what he looks like. His stories cross my desk from time to time. I’m an editor for the paper, you see.”

“Oh. Well, why do you suppose he gave me this card, then, and asked me to stop by?”

The editor shook her head. “Couldn’t say. Maybe he just likes playing games.”

It was clear that Voi wouldn’t get the answers she was seeking from this woman. “Maybe.” She attempted a smile. “Well, thanks anyway.” She turned to leave.

“Hey.”

Voi stopped.

“I think I’ve seen you before.”

“Oh?”

“There was a story about a flimsy flyer who crashed into the airliner a few years back; it made front page. Your face was all over the place with the court scandal that followed. It’s a shame what they did to you, that Apexian Press scumbag and his cohort. An ex-lover, was he?”

Voi squinted. “I think you’ve got the wrong girl.” She spun around, determined to reach the doors. Briefly, she glanced back out of paranoia.

The editor was watching her with a skeptical look, tilting her head to one side.

Reaching the doors, Voi breathed a sigh of relief as she quickly descended the steps then came to a halt, a paralyzing thought occurring to her.

Would she ever really be able to escape her past?

* * *

Voi gazed north up Main Street, heart pounding as she wondered what to do next. Realizing she had no other means of contacting Mr. Callahan, she found herself crying. How could I be so stupid? Upon hearing a pair of men approaching, absorbed in discussion, she quickly wiped the tears from her face then pretended to be looking for a cab. Once they’d gone by, she resigned herself to an occasional sniffle.

“Why so sad, little lady?”

Voi spun at the sudden voice.

A burly man leaned casually against a lamppost in front of the Tribune Tower. His hands were in his pockets, his trench coat pushed behind him, and he wore his fedora tipped forward. A cigarette bobbed between his lips, smoke streaming into the air.

Unsure how to respond, Voi flattened her hands at her sides and stood alert, giving a last sniffle. “I’m fine.”

He laughed. “Alright, if you say so…” The man kicked himself off the post then came at Voi in a sideways manner. “Say, were you lookin’ for someone?”

Voi circled around, watching him closely. “Yes, but he isn’t here…”

“Well, maybe I know the fellow.”

“Not likely.”

“Can’t know if you don’t ask.” He paused in front of her, pulling his cigarette out of his mouth.

Voi huffed as if she’d given the story a hundred times. “I’m looking for someone named Ron Callahan.”

“Hmm, Callahan, Callahan…” The man stuck the cigarette in his mouth again then went back to pacing.

Voi wasn’t sure she should trust this man, though when he didn’t say anything, she added, “Apparently, he doesn’t physically work here. He’s a correspondent for the newspaper.”

“Say, you aren’t talking about old Ronny Callahan, are you?”

Voi shrugged. “I don’t really know what other names the man goes by, sir. To be honest, I’m not even sure ‘Ron Callahan’ is his real name.”

“Ah… so he’s a slippery bastard, is he?”

“Well, I wouldn’t venture to assume he was a ‘bastard,’ though I was left with the impression that he was slippery when we first met, yes.”

The man laughed. “Sounds like Ronny alright.” He looked up the street then drew from his cigarette.

Standing there idly in the cold made Voi twitchy, though perhaps the lack of urche in her system was also contributing. She hugged herself for added warmth and stability then asked, “So you’re saying you know someone by that name?”

“Oh sure! The Ron I know likes to take it easy over at that café on Lime and Sixth Street. Beats going home alone at night.”

There was something Voi found curious about this man—a kind of congenial incongruity which intrigued Voi and encouraged her to ask more questions. “What do you mean?”

“Well, you see, our mutual friend had a huge fallout with his ex-flame a while back. He’s been a reeeeeal ball of sunshine ever since. Walks around all heavy these days like he’s got the whole world on his shoulders.”

Voi was fairly certain they were speaking about the same man. “Yes.” She nodded. “There was a certain heaviness about his presence.”

The man gave her an odd look. “What are you, some kind of aura reader or something?”

Voi frowned, though he didn’t seem to think anything more of her remark. Instead, he became preoccupied with smoking again. Normally, Voi would never consider it proper to pry into the personal life of a stranger, but this information about an ex-lover was all too titillating. “Say, do you think they’ll get back together again?”

The man looked up, startled. “Who, him and the girlfriend?”

Voi nodded, her eyes wide.

“Hell no; she’s dead.”

“Oh.” She blinked. When that seemed inadequate, she added, “Well, I just thought… That is, I didn’t mean to—”

“Look, lady, if you plan on catching your new heartthrob anytime soon, then you should probably get going. It’s pretty late. Besides, it’s too chilly to be standing around like this. You’ll catch yourself a cold.”

“He isn’t my—” Voi un-balled her fists, settling for, “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to keep you.”

The man muttered something as he walked up the street.

Lime and Sixth Street… I’d say that’s within walking distance. Seeing how far the stranger had already traveled, Voi came to her senses and shouted, “I didn’t catch your name, sir!”

“Alex Ryan!”

“Thank you, Mr. Ryan!”

Voi was so grateful for the man’s assistance that it never occurred to her to wonder why he’d been hovering there in the first place.