“I don’t know. We’ll figure it out when we get there. Plan to meet back at the B-and-B tonight around six, okay?”
He nodded and retreated down the hall toward the stairs. When he was gone, Taziri stood up and shuffled through the police officers until she was standing by the open doorway to the detective’s room and she stared at the woman on the bed. All she saw were brown arms on white sheets. It wasn’t a person, not to Taziri, not yet. She couldn’t find the energy to care about this detective. She was full. Full of fires and knives and blood, full of worried families and frightened strangers, full of fear and anxiety for too many people already. There was no room in her for another victim. Not yet.
“How do you know the detective?”
Taziri was about to turn away when she realized the question was directed at her. She looked into the weary face of a young man in a gray coat sitting just beside the open door. He was staring quite sternly at her.
“I don’t. Sorry. I don’t know her at all.”
“Then…why?”
“Why am I here?” Taziri absorbed the question for a moment. “I wanted to ask her what happened. What she saw. Who was there.”
“You’re, what, in the Air Corps?” The officer leaned forward to peer around the corner into the room as though hoping the detective would open her eyes at just that moment. “So why do you want to know what happened? What’s it to you?”
“The people who did this may be the same people who burned the airfield in Tingis and killed a lot of people up north. People I know. Knew.” She swallowed. “I’m helping the marshals with the investigation and they left me here.” She stopped talking. It felt rude somehow. But suddenly she was aware that the eyes and ears of every officer in the hall were fixed on her. She tried to not look at them, but she could feel them staring, waiting, hungry for answers about their comrade lying in the next room. The silence was unnerving. “But if any of you know what the detective was doing at that building last night, it might help the investigation.”
“Actually, that’s what we all want to know,” the young man said. “Last night was pretty crazy. Massi came into the station saying that there were professional assassins in the streets. A lot of officers went out to sweep the district, but Massi never came back.”
“Did she say anything about the killers? Who were they?”
“She didn’t say.” The officer crossed his arms tightly across his chest, as though to keep himself warm. “A short while later, we got a report about a fight in the street outside a bakery. The officers who got there first bumped into Massi as she was leaving. She was out of uniform. The officers found a dead detective in the street and a body in the basement, butchered with a knife. The knife was still at the scene and it looked like Massi’s knife. A big folding one.”
“You think Massi killed those people?”
“Not a chance. Massi’s a hardliner. Old school. She’s been on the force for twenty-five years and never broken a single regulation. It’s a setup. We all know it. Some bastards from the second district came down here a few hours ago to put irons on Massi. We told them what they could do with their irons.” The small crowd of officers shook their heads and muttered under their breath.
“So after the fight at the bakery,” the man continued, “we heard about the fire. The fire brigade got Massi straight here. The doctors say she was cut up real bad. Arms, stomach, chest. And a stiletto in her shoulder. Good money says that the person who sliced up the detective also sliced up Usem and the girl at the bakery.”
Taziri turned the story over in her mind, wondering what any of it had to do with Tingis, Chaou, or her battery. The only connection she could see was Medina, and it was a connection so thin it vanished if she thought about it too hard. “Does the name Medina mean anything to you? A doctor called Medina?”
“The Espani? Sure.” The officer nodded. “She runs the shop that burned down. We send accident victims there all the time. I’ve never met her, but everyone always says she’s wonderful. She helps anyone who comes in, even if they can’t pay. It’s all thanks to Lady Sade, she’s paying the bills. But it’s a damn shame that folks around here have to go to a foreigner for help. The companies should take care of the men who get hurt, and if not them, then the queen should do something about it. But I guess Medina is better than nothing. Why do you ask? Was she hurt in the fire?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so. Any idea where I can find her?”
The man shrugged. “Nope. Maybe later we can go by the station and I can look up her address for you.”
Taziri nodded. “Okay. Thanks. Thank you.”
The other police officers still hovered around her, still watched her closely, but they said nothing and allowed Taziri to saunter back down the hall to her bench. She sat down and tried to imagine why anyone would ever want to put a battery inside a human being.
Why would that even cross someone’s mind, except in a nightmare? And what are the odds that an Espani doctor invented a battery like mine all on her own?
She shook her head.
There are coincidences and then there are ridiculous coincidences. No one cares about batteries. Medina had to read about my battery and then do a lot of work to build her own. She wanted to do these things. And what does that make her? A scientist or a psychopath?
Medina had read a paper about metal plates and acid baths and electrochemical properties. She had learned how to store an electrical charge in a box and read the suggested applications: running trolleys throughout the night, providing light in homes so people could read in the evenings, and enhancing the efficiency of large engines, steam engines, trains, airships…
Medina had read all that, pieced together all of those thoughts and ideas, and dreamed up an electrocution device buried in the arm of a killer. And she read about medical coatings and put armor plates in another killer’s chest. God only knows what else she read about in the journals and decided to put inside someone. Taziri felt her skin crawling and a faint taste of bile wafted up into the back of her throat.
They are insane. All of them. How else could they not just imagine such things, but talk about them, agree that they are clever and sound notions, and then cut open their own bodies to make these things real? How could any sane person do this?
A fresh rage boiled up in her chest. These people, whoever they were, had taken her dream and pissed all over it, wrapped it in blood and fire, and spewed out a new form of death. These monstrous people existed in the same world as her beautiful little girl Menna. They had taken Isoke, taken the airships, taken the major, taken her battery. And they would go on taking everything she knew, everything she loved. Taziri stood up.
She went back to the young man by the open door. “Excuse me, but if you don’t mind, I’d like to get that address now…”
“Detective!”
Everyone turned to stare through the open door at the woman sitting up in bed, her face ashen and exhausted. She blinked slowly and croaked, “What the hell is going on?”
The officers flooded into the room, carrying Taziri with them, but before they could do more than cheer and babble and congratulate each other, the nurses and doctors were demanding quiet so they could inspect their patient. Everyone stood in nervous, impatient silence while the detective was poked and tapped and stared at, and notes were taken on clipboards. Finally the doctors left and the joyful chaos resumed.
Taziri faded back to the far wall and let them have their moment, knowing it would take time, but that was all right. These officers deserved their moment. They had their friend back. Thank God for that.
“…pilot? Hey, pilot? Sorry, I didn’t get your name. Come over here.” The young man was standing beside the bed waving her over and the others made a hole for her to approach the detective. The officer told Massi, “She’s working with the marshals on a case and she needs to talk to you.”