onlookers were wearing some sort of prosthetic. She felt a sudden urge to be included or to show her solidarity with them so she took her left hand out of her pocket and rolled up her sleeve to reveal her new arm brace and glove.
She listened to the undercurrent of shock and dismay in their voices, occasionally punctuated by an angry curse, a loud promise to help the doctor rebuild her shop, or a vow to hunt down the people responsible. Taziri flashed back to the previous night and the dark rage of the wedding guests, and the words of the song they had shouted into the darkness. She quickly moved to the edge of the crowd.
The firefighters dragged smoldering furniture and boxes out of the ruin to dump buckets of water on them, and then kick them back toward the remains of the building. A few stubborn, skeletal beams still stood high above the wreckage. A lone window frame clung to one beam up in the air, an empty eye socket in empty space. Taziri winced at the scene, at the thought of an entire building burning, of people stumbling about inside, of evil men with knives prowling the inferno looking for women to stab in the face. She wondered if she was developing a fear of fire. Or at least, a more irrational one than the fear of fire she had cultivated while flying on the Halcyon.
Kenan returned from his brief talk with the fire chief. “What is that?” He pointed at her arm. “And when did you get it?”
“It’s from the fire in Tingis. I got burned a little worse than I thought,” Taziri said. “I came down here last night and one of the medical techs fixed me up with this.”
“You were here last night? Alone? Why didn’t you tell me? Did you see the doctor?”
“No, everyone was gone except the tech. So what’s the word from the chief?” Taziri stared into the smoking black rubble, but she couldn’t identify anything at all. All the walls and floors and doors and tables, all the things, were gone and only dirty lumps and vague black shapes remained.
Kenan frowned at her as though he had more to say about her arm. He said, “The fire started early this morning. Witnesses say they heard a bang, like a cannon or thunder, and the building collapsed before the fire started. They’ve got no idea how or why.” The marshal ran his thumb along his unshaven jaw. “Total loss. The building was over a hundred years old. Dry enough, fragile enough. Woof. Gone.”
“Everything was destroyed?” Taziri glanced up at him. “If Medina was building electrical batteries and doing medical experiments here, then there should have been a lot of machines. Metal parts, at least.”
“Oh, there were. In that back room where the fire started, they found piles of brass and aluminum rods and joints. This whole place was a prosthetics shop. Although, I guess you figured that out last night, didn’t you? They made peg-legs and glass eyes, things like that. But apparently nothing complicated. The only machines were drills and a sheet press.”
“Can we see?”
“No, they won’t let us inside. Not safe. Most of the building fell into the basement, and everything else is about to collapse on top of that. They need to pull down those beams up there by the end of the day and get a crane to start clearing out the foundation.” Kenan pointed up at the rickety window frame still hanging off the side of one of the beams. “Never seen anything like that before.”
“So that’s it? The same day we come to town to find this doctor, her shop burns down?” Taziri glared at the rubble. “You don’t honestly think this was an accident?”
“No, I don’t.” Kenan frowned. “There’s a witness. A police detective named Massi. They found her in the alley behind the shop, all cut up with a knife in her chest, right here.” Kenan tapped his chest just inside his left shoulder. “She’s at a hospital a few blocks from here. No word on whether she’s awake yet. Or if she died.”
“She was stabbed?” For a cold instant, Taziri couldn’t remember where Medur Hamuy was and she could only remember that the killer was no longer in their custody. Then she remembered Kenan calling the police to take Hamuy away. “You don’t think Hamuy got free and did this?”
Kenan blinked, eyebrows raised. “No. No, he couldn’t. He’d have to break out of jail and get past twenty officers, run halfway across town, and then still have the strength to fight the detective. No, it couldn’t be him. I don’t think. No.” The marshal swallowed and waved to Ghanima, who was chatting with a pair of reporters hovering near the scene. The young pilot waved and walked back over to them.
“They didn’t know much.” She shrugged. “The fire chief gave them some canned statement about getting their investigation started. They did get some quotes from a few kids who were here early this morning who said there was a fight in the street, but that was in another neighborhood. Nothing about the doctor. No one’s seen her yet.”
Taziri sniffed the dead air. “So, no idea whether anyone died in the fire?”
“Nope. Not yet anyway. The chief will put out an official report in a few days, but since there hasn’t been a hospital wagon to pick up any bodies, there probably aren’t any. Yet.” Ghanima chewed her lip. “I wish we’d brought Evander. He might know something about medical buildings and equipment.”
“He’s safer back at the inn.” Taziri leaned against a sawhorse, feeling the wet grit stuck to the wood. “And I doubt he knows more about fires than the fire chief.”
“So what now?”
Kenan scratched his head. “I say we find this detective Massi and see what she can tell us. Assuming she’s alive. Maybe she knows what happened to Medina. Maybe she was investigating Medina!” His eyes lit up. “What if she stumbled onto the same people we’re looking for! What if they tried to kill her because she learned what they were doing?”
Taziri couldn’t help but grin at the marshal’s enthusiasm. “Yeah, maybe.”
“Actually,” Ghanima half raised her hand. “Taziri, can I have a word?”
Kenan shrugged and paced away to watch the firefighters.
“What is it?” Taziri asked.
“Look, one of the reporters mentioned that the trains to Tingis are running again. There’s a nine o’clock leaving the North Station. I’m going to hoof it over there and head on home. Okay?”
“You’re leaving?” Taziri blinked, unsure of what to say. “You know, I could really use your help here. And not just with this Medina business. You’re leaving me to fly Halcyon alone. You’re a good pilot and I could really use you right now.”
“I know, and I’m sorry. But my sister needs me more. And with the Crake out of commission, it means I have an excuse to spend more time home with her.”
“I’m sure your sister can manage without you,” Taziri said, letting her frustration show in her face and voice.
“Actually, she can’t,” Ghanima said curtly. “She was in the White Jacana fire.”
Taziri felt a cold flutter in her belly. The White Jacana had just been one more steamer cruising up and down the coast with one cargo or another, a ship of no particular importance until it arrived in Tingis last month late at night during a storm, with five thousand barrels of Songhai oil on board. No one was sure how the fire started, but it spread through half the harbor, consuming tiny fishing boats and heavy trawlers, destroying piers and warehouses along Water Street. They’d pulled bodies from the sea for days and days. Burned bodies, drowned bodies, and bodies half eaten by the fish.
“She was a harbor pilot. She was in her bunk when it happened.” Ghanima swallowed. “She only has a few days left now, they think.”
“I’m sorry,” Taziri said hoarsely, suddenly desperate for the conversation to end before Ghanima explained her sister’s condition in any detail. “I didn’t know. I didn’t think. I’m sorry. Of course you should go home to her.”
Ghanima nodded, shoved her hands in her pockets, and walked away.
Kenan came back over. “Where’s she going?”
“Home.”
“What? Home? Now? Are you kidding me?”
“Let it go, Kenan. Just let her go.” Taziri locked eyes with the marshal for a moment. “Now let’s go see this detective of yours.”
One of the firefighters gave them directions to the hospital and they found the gleaming new medical facility just a few blocks from the remains of the prosthetics shop. The man at the front desk directed them to the second floor where they found a dozen police officers wearing gray coats and grim faces outside Detective Massi’s room. No one was speaking or even moving. Those in chairs stared at their hands while those standing up stared down the halls at nothing in particular. Every now and again, someone cleared their throat.
