Season of Starlight

Second Month

The Goldmoore Regional Sky Port

The City of Onoco, The Cronia Region

2327

Lynn Goldmoore stood in front of the airship terminal in downtown Onoco, holding a pen and a notebook. She clutched the objects with force until her knuckles turned white.

She had to be ready. Fortune favoured the prepared.

Lynn stood in a gathering crowd of other journalists and awaited her target. Chatter engulfed the air, a low mutter of voices that drew the attention of civilian strangers who passed. Their eyes appeared to question what or who could attract such attention initially, but they knew.  

It was no secret.

A murderer had arrived in the city.

Or at least, that is what the rumours declared. Lynn cared little if they were true or false, but it was an attractive story. If done right, her life could change in an instant.

"The poor man is going to walk into a battlefield," said a raspy voice.

Lynn turned and looked at the hunched figure of Esmond Noel, her cameraman. He steadied a tripod on the uneven ground, a large camera positioned on top. Esmond tampered with it constantly, like a child with his favourite toy.

He tightened the lightbulb into its port and took a photo.

Click.

A flash of white light erupted, and several people mumbled complaints as they blinked their blinded eyes.

Lynn smiled. "Everything ready? We have to be quick. The papers will only publish the article with the best pictures. They could care less about the quality of the writing."

"Don't worry, it works," Esmond said.

"Are you sure?"

Click.

Esmond took a second photo. Another flash flickered and attracted grunts from the crowd.

"Quite certain," he said with a smile. "Must you doubt me?"

"Sorry," Lynn said with a grin, "but this is the first chance we have in months to make an impact. The Moonlight Angle does not contract amateurs often. We have to prove ourselves to be better than the competition."

"Luckily, we are not amateurs," said Esmond.

"We cannot have a do-over of what happened in Kaleno," said Lynn. She shook her head and massaged her temples. "That whole Vagabond press tour was a catastrophe."

"Do not punish yourself, Lynn. We tried, but we failed to spark interest in our work. Let's move on," said Esmond.

"Quite right."

"Are you sure this is the story you want for redemption? Everyone will be covering it."

"From only one perspective," Lynn said, smiling. "To them, alongside the rest of the city, James Abbott murdered the man who presumably killed his father."

Esmond frowned as he cleaned the camera lens with a white cloth. A dark strand of curled hair hung over his forehead. "And you don't agree?" he asked.

Lynn crossed her arms. "Does it matter? Personal opinions are a luxury for novelists. The papers will oversaturate one point of view. To be memorable, we need to offer a different angle!"

Esmond sighed. "To be memorable, we need to be our authentic selves and say what we believe, not what will get us ratings and praise."

"So, you think he is guilty?" asked Lynn.

"I don't think he is completely innocent."

"Don't be vague, Esmond."

"I just think it is a mistake to do something you don't believe in," Esmond said.

Lynn snickered. "Fine. I agree the situation is not black and white, but I will still pursue his innocence."

"It is a big risk. We will be a criminal's allies," Esmond said sternly, "throwing us into the war with him."

Lynn smiled and squinted her eyes. They glowed a bright amber. "Good, then let the battle begin."

***

James Abbott expected to find trouble in Onoco, but not like this.

Upon arrival, two rows of journalists charged at him like a troop of soldiers once he exited the terminal. Cameras began to flash, burning his pupils to the core.

Abbott was utterly blindsided, his vision a blur. He didn't notice the unfamiliar arms latch around him until it was too late.

Someone pulled him away from the horde, an act of grace. However, when his sight returned, Abbott found himself in the company of bureau officers: a constable and a woman who wore a long blue trench coat.

"What are you doing? Let me go!" Abbott said in protest.

"James Abbott, I am arresting you on suspicion of the murder of Sebastian Hahn. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention something you later rely on in court. So anything you say may be given in evidence," the woman said.

She walked with vast strides, her hair a pink bob cut with two-inch bangs that bounced with each step.

James investigated the badge on her left lapel. "Who are you?" he asked.

"I am Detective Vien Dorraine. This is Constable Merit."

Abbott looked at the young man, but Merit avoided eye contact. Instead, he dragged Abbott through the crowd of journalists, a flashing mass of cameras and silhouetted faces blocking his surroundings.

"Get out of the way!" Merit shouted.

"Constable Abbott!" a reporter yelled, reaching towards him. "Does this prove your guilt?"

Abbott ignored the obnoxious question.

"Did you kill Sebastian Hahn?" another bellowed.

"Can you prove your innocence?" came a third.

Abbott lifted his head and focused on the last voice. He looked over his shoulder as a young woman with wavy honey-blonde hair approached him, wearing a red ruffled long-sleeve blouse, black trousers and thigh-high leather boots. Her pale skin was almost ghostly in the wake of the camera flashes, but her amber eyes were soft and welcoming.

Detective Dorraine and Constable Merit quickened their pace.

The young woman weaved through the crowd until she ran alongside them, parallel to Abbott, who watched her in awe.

Her face hardened with determination.

"I can help you!" she said.

Detective Dorraine scowled. "Stay back!"

Abbott was overwhelmed. What was going on?

The sharp outline of a black Gladiator motorcarriage crept closer, parked along the street curb in front of the terminal. Constable Merit flung open the back door and pushed Abbott inside, slamming the door.

Thud!

Abbott lunged for the handle, jiggling it aimlessly to no avail. He was locked in.

He banged on the window.

"Let me out! I have done nothing wrong!"

Dorraine and Merit entered the Gladiator without another word and accelerated down the street, leaving the army of journalists in a cloud of smoke.

James leaned against the chainlink barrier behind the front seats and curled his fingers around the wires.

"Listen, this is all a big misunderstanding. I couldn't have killed Sebastian Hahn. I have been in Trylla for the last five years!"

"That still doesn't banish the suspicious allegations," Detective Dorraine said, leaning back in her seat as Constable Merit turned onto Hahn Avenue and raced past a row of commercial buildings.

Colourful canopies hung over their storefront displays that offered shade for someone escaping the severity of the afternoon sun.

With the windows rolled down, the intense heat of the tropical climate transformed the Gladiator into a furnace. The longer the drive, the more unbearable it became.

The street was assembled with large rectangular tiles of cobblestone, the grooves and cuts on the surface causing the motorcarriage to rattle and hop.

Abbott wiped a layer of sweat from his forehead.

"Contact the Trylla Detective Bureau and speak to Inspector Henri Fraser. He can confirm that this is entirely uncharacteristic on my behalf!" he said. "I am a constable, for goodness sake!"

"Your rank is not an immunity card, James," Dorraine said with a snarl. She pierced him with a malicious gaze and pressed her lips together.

Abbott sighed. "What motive do I have? You have no evidence to accuse me of anything."

Dorraine looked out the window. "You are a person of interest in the ongoing investigation. If this were a real arrest, you would be wearing cuffs."

That change in protocol had confused Abbott. He was captured and caged like a prisoner. There were no logical reasons for his incarceration, which made him believe the Onoco Bureau wasn't behind his explosive homecoming.

The bureau operated with dignity, a quality lacking in his current situation.

"Who are you working for?" he asked.

Dorraine ignored him.

"Regardless, you've done your damage," said Abbott. "Thanks to your demonstration, everyone thinks I am a cold-blooded killer."

Dorraine turned around to face him. "Why would you say that? Have you little faith in your people, or are you hiding a dark secret behind those charming eyes?"

Abbott stayed silent.

"I think you are. Someone sabotaged Hahn's motorcarriage. New evidence reveals that the fuel tank was tampered with."

Dorraine smiled, which revealed two small dimples on her cheeks.

"That is a striking similarity to the damage you inflicted on his vehicle five years ago before you mysteriously vanished. Back then, he managed to crawl out of the inferno with minimal scars."

Abbott clenched his jaw. "You have no proof of that. I left to pursue my career."

"Did you decide to finish the job?" Dorraine asked, continuing the interrogation.

"I am not going to stand for this," said Abbott.

"He died just like your father."

"A coincidence."

Dorraine leaned against the chainlink barrier. The wires imprinted a diamond pattern on her skin. "Is it a coincidence or enemy action?"

Abbott frowned. As he conjured up a response, Constable Merit drove into an intersection.

Honk! Honk!

Abbott looked out the window and caught the last glimpse of an oncoming motorcarriage before it struck them.

Clash!

The windows shattered, and the vehicle spiralled into the air, barrel-rolling into the patio of a small café.