The Stage is Set

The Partyn Museum

Inside

THE DOOR closed behind Zosia with a resounding thud.

The rabble of the police force and the grinding twist of the searchlight mechanisms dwindled to a distant whine, muffled through the door. The rain was a distant patter against the copper plates of the roof far above. Inside, the museum sat in a preserved quiet.

One of the two officers posted next to the door gave her a quick nod of encouragement. Then they returned to their positions, backs to the heavy wood.

Being new to the Partyn force, Zosia wasn’t sure how many officers were currently on the team. Nor did she know how many had been summoned tonight. Still, it seemed like a poor use of their resources to post several officers and the chief themselves right at the main entrance. The museum was full of ways in, from windows to the various exits—any thief worth their title could easily find another route inside.

Noted, just in case.

Zosia straightened her jacket, not used to how low the sleeves on the new uniform fell over her wrists. She did a quick status check—aside from soaked shoes and a wet outer layer, she was in relatively good condition. Fighting condition, if it came to it. She brushed a hand over the holster on her thigh where her baton rested. That, at least, felt familiar.

The entrance hall lay ahead, a massive space with a ceiling that stretched so far above it felt like the sky. Pillars wide enough that it would take four grown people to link arms around stood guard at each corner of the grand room. The stained glass windows wrapped like a ribbon around the upper perimeter had no light to spare on this rainy night.

This left Zosia with nothing more than a few crystal lamps to see by. T heir glow was easy on her tired eyes, nowhere near as strong as the sun crystals outside. They were moon crystals, and probably ones brought up from the mines during a full moon, judging by their steady glow. The lamps dotted the walls, creating bubbles of shimmering light evenly spaced throughout the gloom.

With a final glance at the officers by the door, Zosia headed inside. Her low heels clicked against the marble floor, the stone polished but well-worn from years of foot traffic. Without the crowds and school groups that no doubt filled this place to the edges during the day, the place felt hauntingly empty. Aside from the officers at the door and the martial unit stationed at the Crown Jewel Exhibit, it didn’t appear that there were any other police officers around.

Are they following the chief’s orders to stay on the perimeter? No interference would be nice, but Zosia was hesitant to hope. It didn’t take 24 hours with the Partyn Police Department to see that they struggled when it came to organization.

Zosia passed the abandoned ticket booths, noting a half-consumed cup of juice resting on one of the counters. She could count on the police force to be unorganized, but the museum employees that Chief Ainsley had warned her about were a wild card. How many were here? And where were they? She would have to stay on her guard and be ready for anything.

The central staircase waited up ahead. Zosia weaved through a labyrinth of stanchions clustered around the ticketing area to reach it, the echo of her steps her only accompaniment.

The staircase rose from the entrance hall on the ground floor to the second level. Zosia ascended to find a map at the top of the stairs. She glanced at the museum layout, recording points of interest into her memory.

Pre-Empire Marzenian Artifacts – Room 1, Relics from the Lorelain Ruins – Room 2… Zosia scanned the exhibit names until her eyes caught on the list of locations on the fourth floor. Fall of the Empire – Room 19. Exclusive Crown Jewels Exhibit – Room 19C.

Taking a deep breath, Zosia continued up the next flight of stairs, ascending three more levels. She was only slightly out of breath by the time she stepped onto the fourth floor.

Across from her stretched a wall of windows, although at this time of night the panes of glass might as well have been dark canvases. There were two options to proceed: a hallway lined with portraits to the right, or a dark exhibit room marked Room 18 that sat quietly to the left.

Zosia turned right.

The eyes of rulers from distant lands and bygone eras watched her as she walked down the hallway. Every so often, Zosia passed a stone bust. Their carved faces seemed even emptier than the oil-etched eyes staring blankly from the trail of canvas, unseeing and frozen in time. While keeping her awareness focused on the path ahead, Zosia spared a few quick looks at the portraits.

Richter Irenblant, Etrina Marlen, Priscielle Yirma … Zosia couldn’t help but be impressed. Every single portrait in the hall was the work of a master painter, the likes of which were highly sought by collectors. As expected of the Partyn Museum . It might be worth coming back to explore the other exhibits sometime.

A thump echoed up ahead.

Zosia slid against the wall, squeezing her body into the shadow of a stone bust of a long-gone queen.

A moment passed. No other sounds echoed in the space—only the constant caress of the rain on the roof.

With her heart rate picking up, Zosia reached into her pocket to pull out her compact. The circular case opened silently on well-oiled hinges, revealing two matching mirrors inside. She tilted them until one mirror reflected down the hallway.

Something was lying in the middle of the floor. It looked like a bundle on the faded carpet; an oddity that hadn’t been there a moment before.

Zosia squinted into the mirror, but no matter how she angled it, she couldn’t make out any further details. All she could tell was that whatever it was, it wasn’t moving.

She snapped her compact closed and drew her baton. The hefty tool was carved from petrified Brineswood, as dark as midnight and stronger than steel. It felt right at home in her grip.

Zosia took a deep, grounding breath and slowly peered around the edge of her marble hiding spot. One of the searchlights passed over the windows, bathing the hallway in sunny yellow and illuminating the mysterious bundle on the floor. The momentary brightness revealed what the mirrors hadn’t—deep maroon fabric, with buttons as gold as the lions on the door handle back in the entrance hall.

It was a person; one of the museum workers.

A glance further down the hallway, as well as a preventative look back the way she came, revealed nothing. For all she could tell, Zosia and whoever was lying in the hallway were alone.

The searchlight moved on and darkness flooded back into the hallway. The dim moon crystals placed sparsely along the wall did little to illuminate the space. Zosia considered taking out her own personal moon crystal, only to think better of it. Something was going on here, and it would be in her best interests if no one saw her coming. The moon crystals on the walls would have to do.

Taking a deep breath, Zosia stepped out from behind the bust.

“Hello?” Zosia called to the worker on the floor, her voice just above a whisper.

The person didn’t move.

Zosia stepped closer. The person’s clothes were thoroughly wrinkled and crumpled. One hand was stretched forward, the other grasping into the carpet. It looked like they had dragged themselves, but there was no visible blood nor sign of injury. Their eyes were closed, but their sides were moving slightly. They were still breathing.

As she leaned down to try and determine the cause and potentially give them a wake-up shake, Zosia’s chest protested the action.

She sucked in a breath, then another. The air in the hallway was musty, but not in the way of old paint or tired stonework. It smelled of rotten leaves and decaying bark—more like the wooded trails in the mountains than the scents of a city museum. Zosia couldn't seem to get enough air into her lungs. Each breath she took felt like a chore as the edges of her vision began to darken.

The stairs weren’t that strenuous. Maybe it’s the adrenaline, or…?

Zosia’s eyes widened. Her hand shot into her bag, yanking the flap back so she could snatch something from within.

She pressed the mask to her face just as the tendrils of darkness began to overcome her already limited sight. It took a few moments of deep, careful breathing for her heart rate to come back to normal. The air flowed through the mask, freshened with salt and a very expensive type of star crystal known as a cleanser stone. Even with the crystal purifying the air, it took a few precious moments to clear the toxicity from her lungs.

Jenipir gas—made from a special type of berry from the Kavtes’an Mountains across the sea. It takes a while to be absorbed, but once you breathe too much you’re out for hours.

“Tricky,” Zosia mumbled into her mask. She was lucky she had remembered to pack it in her mission bag, or else she would likely be out cold on the floor next to the museum worker. She tied the strings around the back of her head, pulling once to make sure it was secure, and stood up slowly.

Stepping around the sleeping person, she felt assured that they would wake up and be fine, if not a little disorientated, in a few hours.

The fact that this gas was here signaled that something wasn’t going according to the chief’s plan. It was now more than likely that she was here.

Zosia clenched her fists, then relaxed them, as she looked down the hall.

Straight ahead, Room 19C waited.