The Stage is Set

The Partyn Museum

Outside

THE DOOR to the carriage swung open before the horses had fully stopped. Zosia yelled a quick thanks to the driver as she leapt into the street, rain pummeling her hair and uniform. Her boots splashed long streaks through the puddles, but any concerns about soggy clothes were pushed away as she hurried up the path to the museum.

The courtyard should have been dark and quiet at this time of night. Instead, it was an explosive exhibit of commotion. Circles of light prowled through the gloom, shooting out in beacons from cylinders of hammered metal. Within each contraption was a large, golden crystal as bright as the sun.

Police officers manned the searchlights, guiding the light circles up and down the many-windowed walls of the museum. Zosia averted her eyes from the blinding beams as she hurried through the courtyard.

Several officers crouched or walked across the grounds, unwinding spools of bright orange rope to close off the scene from curious pedestrians. Zosia wondered if there was anyone in Partyn nosy enough to brave the midnight deluge to come snooping. The late summer air currently lacked a real bite, but with the alternative being a warm and cozy bed, it didn’t seem like a difficult choice to make.

Unfortunately, she didn’t get a say in the matter. She had a job to do.

Zosia stepped over a tendril of rope, eliciting an outraged look from the policewoman pushing the spool. A quick lift of the lapel of Zosia’s jacket to flash her badge silenced the complaint as recognition dawned on the other woman’s face.

“Oh, Detective!” the policewoman called, leaning back on her heels to blink up at Zosia through the downpour. She dropped the length of rope in her hands. It splashed into a puddle. “I remember you from this afternoon. Novak, right? Tough first day, eh?”

“It’s certainly an exciting one.” Zosia replied, squinting against the rain. She didn’t recognize the woman, but that wasn’t a surprise. Her introductory speech at the office had been quick and one-sided, as per the instructions she had been given. “Sorry, do you know where Chief Ainsley is?”

“Ah, of course.” The policewoman nodded to the museum steps. “Over there. Best hurry.”

Zosia nodded her thanks and hurried forward.

The museum courtyard was paved with thin sandstone slates chipped off the cliffs at the southern shore of the continent. They were usually a cheery golden yellow, meant to welcome visitors while they waited in the long lines that the Partyn Museum was infamous for, but tonight the stone was dyed dark from the rain. The thin specks of mica reflected the flashing searchlights.

Zosia strode up the sloping path to reach the stairs at the museum’s grand entrance. A woman in a thick jacket stood there, just beneath the overhang protecting the front doors. She barked orders, one of her heavy boots propped up on an overturned spool, its orange rope long gone. Officers scuttled around her, buzzing to her commands like bees to their queen.

“Detective Novak,” Chief Ainsley grunted, eyeing Zosia’s approach. Her eyes, as gray as her hair, squinted out into the wet night. Her decorated chief’s cap was noticeably absent. Zosia imagined it was still on display on the hook by the office door where it had been that afternoon.

The chief roughly swept an arm towards herself. “Get over here.”

Zosia wasted no time climbing the stairs. A particularly heavy raindrop splashed on Zosia’s nose right before she stepped into the safety of the overhang.

“Glad you could make it on such short notice,” the chief said, eyeing Zosia like one would a racehorse before placing a bet.

Zosia flattened her hand and brought it swiftly to her forehead in a salute. She began to reply but was cut off by the chief’s bellow.

“Officers!” The chief squinted at a group crowded around one of the searchlights. “Where in the void are you shining that thing!? We need light on the upper level—higher!”

“On it, Chief!”

The chief grumbled as she ran a hand through the thin strands plastered to her skull. “Kids these days are too desk-happy. It shows during a mission.” She leveled a heavy look at Zosia. “But I don’t have to lecture you , Novak. Do I?”

“No, Chief,” Zosia replied promptly. “In fact, I’d like to get right to it. May I request a status report?”

The chief chuckled, the sound rough like gravel. She jerked her head and started walking. Zosia followed close behind.

“There was an unlocked door in the East Wing—the handicapped entrance in the opera history exhibit, I think. The museum employee who found it panicked and pulled the alarm. Useless.” The chief spat. The blob plopped to the ground below and was quickly consumed by the rain. “No signs of a break-in, at least not yet. Just stupid museum employees.”

“I see.” Zosia stopped a few steps behind the chief. She eyed the closed double doors in front of them. “And the jewels?”

The chief’s hawk-like eyes swooped back to Zosia. “I’ve got my best up there. They didn’t budge when the alarm went off. Can’t say the same for the museum personnel.” She sighed. “I told the museum manager and the mayor that it was a stupid idea, that we could handle it ourselves, but why would they listen to me? I’m only their damn police chief.” She huffed an unamused laugh as she directed a brisk sweep of her hand at the two officers standing near the doors. They scattered out of the way.

“Chief,” Zosia said, straightening up as tall as she could. “I’d like to head to the exhibit, if I may.”

The chief raised a thin eyebrow. “Now why would you want to do that, Novak? You’re here to track the clues. Which, naturally, don’t turn up until after a crime.”

“You’re right ,” Zosia replied. “But familiarizing myself with the exhibit in its original state would make it easier to spot any changes or alterations, should they occur.”

“Hmmm,” the chief said. “I suppose that makes sense. And I guess that’s on me for not sending you by this afternoon.” She tapped a finger against her arm, then pointed it at Zosia. “It might be dangerous. That’s why I have the martial unit up there.”

Zosia held steady, not flinching away from the finger jabbed her way. “I understand. I’ll just walk around and keep an extra eye out. Besides,” she added confidently, “we had combat training at Minthol’s Academy. I won’t be a burden on the other officers if it comes to it.”

The chief sighed into the mist, her breath mixing with the crisp night air.

“Well, I won’t stop someone from working. Youngsters.” She slapped a scarred hand on the golden door handle. The carved lion appeared to be frozen in a yawn beneath her grasp. “I suppose since we’ve all been dragged out of bed on this spirits-forsaken night, we might as well play the part.” She leveled a look at Zosia. “I know we’re throwing you in deep here, but you came highly recommended. That fancy academy doesn’t put in a good word for just anyone. I trust you’ll do what needs to be done.”

Zosia nodded. “I’ll try my best, Chief.”

“Excellent.”

Shouts echoed around the courtyard. A moment later, a red-faced officer scrambled up the steps, nearly falling on the wet stone as he slid to a halt in front of the chief and Zosia.

“M-movement!” he yelled, “Upper level, North wing!” He sucked in a breath. “A-although…”

“Although what?” Chief Ainsley snapped. “Spit it out.”

“I-it might have been an animal,” he scratched at the wet tufts of hair peeking out from beneath his soggy cap. “We’re not sure.”

Zosia tensed. Her eyes flicked to the upper sections of the museum that curved around the courtyard. Circles of light raced across the tall windows, fixing the full force of the sun on a fourth-floor window. The beacon was so intense against the misty darkness that Zosia couldn’t tell if the light was playing tricks or if there really were shadows lurking through the glass far above.

Either way, she couldn’t do anything from down here.

“Unbelievable,” the chief growled at the officer. She turned to Zosia, looking older than she had moments before. “Well, better safe than robbed. I don’t want to deal with the damn mayor again anytime soon.” She gestured roughly towards Zosia. “I’ll give it a few minutes, and then we’ll send you in.”

The chief grumbled as she shuffled around in the deep pockets of her heavy-weight coat.

“Of course,” Zosia said, giving a pitying look at the officer. He was likely to get an earful from the chief no matter the outcome. “Just, Chief—one thing?”

The woman grunted, but didn’t look up as she continued to dig through her coat. Zosia took it as a sign to continue.

“If you remember from earlier—what I suggested about preserving clues at a crime scene? If something does happen tonight, it’s best to keep the regular officers stationed outside, ready for my call. The notes from the last mission said the trail was ruined due to a stampede. If that happens again, we’ll have nothing.”

“And we’re out of time for that kind of shit,” the chief agreed with a grimace. She yanked something out from one of her inner pockets. It was a small, curved object with a pointed tip, not unlike a drinking horn. “So yes. Whatever you say, Novak.”

The chief tapped the horn once with her finger. A low humming sound began to play from inside. She held the device up to her ear, with the thin part curving down towards her mouth. “Guard room stand by,” she said to the device.

No voices emerged. The horn hummed quietly and unhelpfully as the rain continued in a soft hiss against the stones of the courtyard.

“Guard room, do you hear me?” she called again into the horn. She held out the device, giving it an angry shake. “These stupid fucking things. Never work. Guard room? GUARD ROOM?”

“Perhaps I should…?” Zosia gestured to the door.

“Yeah, fuck it.” She tossed the horn roughly back into her pocket. “Get in there.”

Zosia nodded, already stepping forward.

“Open the doors!” the chief bellowed.

A loud click echoed from the other side, and one half of the massive wooden doors pushed outward. It was a monstrous single piece of wood decorated with carvings. Pushed by two police officers from the inside, it swung in an arc wide enough to admit large streams of crowds on busy days. Zosia quickly stepped aside to avoid it.

“Novak.”

Zosia paused with one foot on the threshold, looking back over her shoulder.

“If she is in there,” the chief growled, “drag her the fuck out. I don’t care if she comes screaming.”

Zosia locked eyes with Chief Ainsley and gave a final salute. She swiveled to face the doorway, stepping out of the waxing and waning glow of the searchlights and into the darkness of the museum. She straightened her spine, held up her shoulders and narrowed her gaze in determination.

Tonight, like every night on a mission, could make or break her career.