Coyle and Fang: Curse of Shadows (Coyle and Fang Adventure Series Book 1) Robert III (first color ebook reader txt) 📖

What part does my age play in all this?

“Twenty-two, sir.”

“A bit old, yet still within the range of a good marriage if you change your mind.” He turned back to his audience.

“Two more positions available.” His voice dropped as he gazed at the field of men. “I don’t need to tell you how embarrassing it would be if she were to take a position from one of you fine gentlemen, do I?”

Quiet hostility had grown warmer than the sun. Coyle found herself staring at her boots.

“Let’s begin,” he said, and he rested his thin fingers on her shoulder. “Constable Coyle, let’s step inside the test arena, and I shall brief you on your scenario.”

She turned on her heels and followed, her palms damp, her logical mind questioning.

Do you enjoy being in the spotlight of humiliation? Because this may be your future.

With a vacant gaze, she stared ahead as they walked through the wide gates and into an area populated by building facades and play-actors waiting for their cue to begin the scenario. She looked around at the large, open-air, eight-sided structure. A grandstand full of judges sat on uncomfortable-looking benches. The men squinted at her, and she couldn’t decide if it was from the sun or out of spite. They would be responsible for deciding her future. She smiled at them, knowing it wouldn’t work. She wasn’t here to change the world for femininity; she needed to be a detective for her own reasons. But they didn’t have to know that. They couldn’t know that.

She put her mind to work and scanned the new surroundings.

On the east end, behind her, fifteen judges sat on raised benches. Eight wore beards, five wore mustaches, two were clean-shaven. Twelve were aged well past fifty, the rest were younger than thirty. A pair spoke to each other. She wasn’t close, but she could read lips.

An older gentleman said, “What on earth is she trying to do here? Show up our boys?”

The other answered, “James, sometimes a girl wants to try something out of her league. I mean, do you really think she’ll solve this case?”

The older gentleman replied, “Well, I’m sure she meant well.”

Coyle looked away and cursed under her breath.

To the north was a fake storefront: “James and Son’s Sundry.” Three men tried to look busy. One wore an expensive suit with worn, heavy boots. He was not an actor but a constable. Probably another judge.

To the west was an open space with a cluster of six male actors huddling, waiting, staring at her. To the south stood a fake hotel with an open window on the second story. A heavy man smoking an expensive cigar fingered the curtains—a constable supervisor, by the look of his jowls. She was being watched from all angles.

“As you know,” Meys said, “these scenarios are based on real events. With the assistance of Dawn Industries, we have procured gnomish technology, which reproduces the crime scene. I’d love to go into the mechanics with you, but I wouldn’t want to lose you with big words. Thanks to the generosity of the gnomish people, Dawn Industries created a special camera called a World Image Reconstruction Evaluator, or WIRE. The camera records a crime scene in every detail and allows investigators to enter the past as if it were the present. You will only enter what the camera recorded, which was taken within minutes of the crime. Using this technology, you will walk through the boundaries and be transported into the crime scene to investigate the given scenario. You will have a set time of half an hour while the judges and scorekeepers watch from their places. You may interact with the test as you would with a real crime scene. Any questions?”

“Yes, sir. Is this scenario based on a crime we, uh, the trainees would have knowledge about?” she asked, glancing at the short, brightly colored haired gnomes standing on ladders and platforms near tripods.

He stopped and turned. “Actually, it is based on an unsolvable crime that has stumped our best for the past six months.”

Her throat went dry.

“Here we are, Constable Coyle,” Meys said. “I will give you a brief synopsis of your scenario. I will explain what details you need to know, and I will not repeat myself, are we clear?”

“Yes, sir,” she said. She flexed her hands and listened as if her future depended on it. This was everything she wanted, the proverbial open door, and all she needed to do was follow through. Easier said than done, of course.

God, help me.

Meys looked down at his papers and checked his notes. His words tumbled out with quiet haste, his mouth barely opening. He stopped and looked at her with a smile.

She blinked.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t hear the scenario. You were mumbling. Could you—”

“I do not... repeat... myself. Good luck, Constable,” he said with a forced smile. “Scenario begins now! Turn on the WIRE projector.” He walked toward the viewing podium. Chuckling peppered the air. Coyle’s face went flush with heat, and she took a step after the dolt but stopped herself. Complaining was no use. She looked for help amongst the judges. Steely eyes from the men glared back at her. No help from the gallery, either. She was alone.

Just like always.

She turned to the bustle of activity behind her as the actors regrouped and prepared for the scenario. Gnomes on platforms pulled switches and activated the large cameras. Projectors hummed to life. Bright, silvery light transformed the plain wooden structure into a two-story pub. Colors were fuzzy, distorted. But after a few moments, the image was complete: a saloon named Maggie’s, located near the docks. She was familiar with the backwater pub and its crooked patrons from her patrols. The wood appeared old and worn. Shadow and light fell into their respective places.

She sighed and walked toward the pub. As soon as she stepped across into the shadow, the air