Season of Starlight

Second Month

The Onoco Security Bureau

The City of Onoco, The Cronia Region

2327

"Dead! What do you mean Constable Merit is dead?"

Elza gripped the edges of the reception desk with force, staring into the secretary's alert eyes with shock. The young man gulped and rolled back in his reclining chair as Miss Parks leaned over him.

"His motorcarriage was involved in a fatal accident this morning," said the secretary. "Struck in an intersection along Hahn Avenue."

Henri stepped out from behind Miss Parks and rested his forearms on the desk's surface. He scanned for the young man's nameplate and found it written on a silver plaque next to a black and white photograph of an older merchant captain standing in front of an airship appropriately titled Oakwood.

"Taris Oakwood?"

"Yes?"

Henri extended a greeting hand. "Detective Inspector Henri Fraser of the Trylla Detective Bureau. A pleasure to meet you. This is my associate, Miss Elza Parks. Sorry for the ambush. I expected Merit to be alive and well."

Taris relaxed and shook Fraser's hand. "Nice to meet you, sir. Sorry to disappoint you. We were all shocked by the news."

Elza prepared to push the young man, but Henri tapped her arm in subtle protest. He instead glanced at the photograph.

"Grandfather?"

Taris followed his gaze and then smiled. "Father."

"What does he do?"

"He flew trade and charter expeditions through The Cloud Sea, the shrouded mist that connects the skies of Cronia to the airspace of The Ruttian Empire. The photograph was taken before his last flight. He never came back."

"Sorry to hear that," said Henri.

Taris sighed and lost himself in the memory. "I was supposed to go with him that day but fell ill the morning of departure."

Henri glanced at Elza, then nodded, allowing her to proceed.

Elza cleared her throat and rolled back her shoulders, stretching her white sleeveless blouse by overlapping her arms into a relaxed position.

"Taris," she said calmly. "Do you know if Merit's death was a targeted attack?"

"No, but we never found a perpetrator," he replied.

"Was there anyone else with him?" Henri asked.

"Detective Vien Dorraine and..."

Taris trailed off, looking around the room.

Henri arched a brow. "And?"

"James Abbott," he whispered.

Elza gasped.

Thump. Thump.

Henri's heart drummed against his chest, and his face suddenly bleached of colour.

"Well?" said Elza.

Taris frowned. "Well, what?"

Henri slammed his hand on the desk, attracting attention. "Are they alive?"

Elza grasped his arm and placed a comforting hand on his back.

Taris shook his head, recollecting himself. "Dorraine was killed. James Abbott survived."

Henri sighed, nearly losing his balance. Fortunately, Elza secured him with her arm and held him upright.

"We need to access Merit's locker," Elza informed.

Taris stiffened. "You will need special authorization for that. Unfortunately, Commissioner Bute is unavailable indefinitely."

Henri smirked. "What does that mean?"

"He's gone missing," said Taris. "Three days ago. The entire bureau is in chaos. Management is trying to rally the constabulary and avoid spiralling out of control. We have no leadership, and in addition to rogue detectives making arrests without concrete evidence, there is a rapid influx of tourists arriving for the start of the Grand Prix who we cannot protect!"

"Constable Merit's death is of great interest to the Trylla Detective Bureau," said Henri, his tone firm and words spoken with authority. "What he possesses determines a young man's fate, whether he walks free or swings from a noose. Do you want that on your conscience, Oakwood?"

Taris combed his fingers intently through his black hair, then opened a drawer, pulled out a copper key and slid it across the desk.

"This will grant you access to Merit's locker."

Henri smiled and took the key.

"Thank you for your cooperation."

He left the conflicted secretary arm in arm with Miss Parks.

The Onoco Security Bureau used to be an old train station during the reign of the Thornbridge Dyntasy, the Cronia Region's last living monarchy. The building was the most visited transit depot in the world, with the high season starting at the inaugural race of the Cronia Grand Prix.

The motorsport had its kickoff in Onoco every year, a tradition spanning almost eighty years since its conception. Many visitors across the seas sought to explore Cronia's shores because it was home to the Grand Prix's most gifted drivers, Albon Turner, Ricciardo Vidal, and Luis Abbott.

The bureau had refurbished the building's old brick walls, the narrow hallway attached to the reception check-in leading into a large atrium, the ceiling covered in a large glass dome that swallowed sunlight and illuminated a large Onacon Oak Tree in the center of the circular room. Its large branches of golden leaves hung low to the ground, almost creating a wilting flower.

The floors were black tile, a traditional choice for train stations during their silver age. Even several of the old copper piping once used to announce incoming and outgoing locomotives crawled up the walls, lifeless and now merely a relic of the past.

On the other side of the atrium were three corridors, one leading to the jail cells, the other to the briefing room, and the final one zig-zagging into the Constable Quarters, the treasure of Henri's quest.

He nudged his shoulder into the swinging black door and entered, holding it open for Elza to follow.

The room smelt of sweat and sage, a mixture of the men and women weary from a long day's work and those who had recently left the community showers, refreshed and ready to start their shift.

Henri found a corridor leading to the locker room and slipped inside, immediately surrounded by young men and women in uniform, equipping themselves with their badges, guns, and helmets.

The orange fabric of the Onoco constable uniform was vibrant and elegant, a testament to the city's wealth and esteemed reputation.

"What is Merit's locker number?" Elza asked.

"491," said Henri.

They found it in the corner of the room cast in shadow, a grim visual reflecting Merit's tragic fate.

Henri pulled the key from his trench coat pocket and unlocked the locker.

Squeak!

He pulled open the door and found the compartment empty.

"This can't be right," said Elza.

She pushed past Henri and examined the desolate space with disbelief. "Where is everything?"

"What were you expecting to find?" Henri wondered.

Elza reached her hand into the dark space and felt around for anything out of the ordinary. "Merit was putting together a dossier of evidence to prove James was not responsible for Sebastian's murder. I held onto the information about the families while he repeatedly assured me that James would walk free after what he had obtained."

"More photographs?"

"Possibly," Elza replied, stopping her search as she quickly retracted her arm. She pulled a small piece of ripped paper into view.

Henri peeked over her shoulder. "What is that?"

Elza flipped the paper around. A phrase was crudely written in a fine-tipped pen, the red ink almost blood-like.

Beelzebul hunts you, Elza Parks.

"They knew I would come here," she said breathlessly.

Henri took the note and read it quietly.

"Who is Beelzebul?"

Elza stood paralyzed, her fingers shaking as she played with the tips of her hair. "The Prince of Demons."

***

The Trylla Prophology Institution was in a state of bliss.

Investors from all over the region were packed into the auditorium showroom like sardines, examining the artifacts displayed from the past years' numerous archeological excursions.

It was one of the year's most significant events, a chance to secure funding to further the institute's research into religious mysteries that would reveal pieces of the world's past, present, and future.

Dr. Betty Blanche crossed her legs behind a mahogany desk in her small office and pressed a yellow corded phone against her ear while touching the page of a Prophology textbook. Her lavender hair curled down her exposed back, and a coral-green dress embraced her body.

"Beelzebul, Prince of Demons, is another name for Tysceras, the dark lord who rules the domain of evil, which battles against El Olam and the heavenly realm," Betty said, blinking behind large round glasses. She sighed, sat up straight, and gripped the phone with force. "Together, the two kingdoms define Spiritual Warfare. An ongoing battle beyond our point of view."

"So then this investigation is tied to the Prophet Society, similar to the Court of Abaddon and The Vagabond?" Henri asked, his voice crackling through the speaker.

Betty shrugged, tapping her silver high heels on the wood-panelled floor. She pushed a stack of scrolls off her desk to make her workspace less claustrophobic, checked a silver clock nailed to the wall in front of her, then stood up from her chair and walked around the desk, extending the phone cord to its maximum length.

"Yes, according to history, Beelzebul leaves behind a signature insignia as a premonition for his arrival. When he was banished to the Underworld, El Olam prevented his return to the above world. He can only return if the Dark Disciples walk the earth together again, which is impossible."

"Heartwarming prophecy," Henri said.

Betty grinned. "The threat against Miss Parks is misleading. However, while it may not be spiritual, a danger remains. They may not be Beelzebul, but your culprit is not afraid to replicate his brutal methods."

"Sounds familiar."

"Be careful, Henri," Betty warned. "You, of all people, should know what these kinds of people are capable of."

"Thanks, Betty."

"Call if you need anything else."

"I will."

Betty hung up the phone and flipped the textbook around to get a better view of the artwork decorating the page on Beelzebul.

Dark creatures scattered around the text, their eyes red as blood, bodies and wings covered in fur, and their open mouths filled with sharp teeth, ready to kill.

Betty took a staggered breath, then closed the book.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Three knocks shuddered on the door.

"Dr. Blanche?"

Betty turned to find her assistant, Ollie Pender, standing in the doorway, wearing a black vest buttoned over a white blouse and brown trousers.

"They're ready for you in the showroom," he said.

"Thank you, Ollie," she said, approaching him. Betty put a hand on his shoulder and smiled. "Let's not keep them waiting."