Chapter 11

DISGRACEFUL: NORA FEATHERSTONE EXPOSED AS CRIMINAL MASTERMIND
By Shaula Gorgon

The recipe for a scandal comes together like eggs and bacon as freelance Inventor Maka Albarn presses charges against her generous sponsor's spouse.

Following the events after the recovery of Wes Evans, one of Death City's most eulogized socialites was revealed to have more sinister plans than her outfits for tomorrow. The seemingly frivolous socialite was revealed to be the mastermind of the smuggling ring plaguing Death City for years, as seen by the dramatic scene on the police station's airfield yesterday. An inside source comments, "I don't put it past her. She's always manipulated her way to the top. This is just the first time she's been caught."

Featherstone declines to comment...

LOVE IS IN THE AIR
By Shaula Gorgon

Dream team Albarn and Evans are at it again, this time in the sky!

Witnesses report spotting the couple's rendezvous on top of their work-in-progress, the 'Pegasus' Steam Victor. One source says, "They are just the sweetest couple. I hope one day I can find a man to ride into the sunset with too."

After deadbeat inventor Spirit Albarn caught wind of the sighting, he reached out to the press for a comment. His statement has been edited to revised phrases suitable for cultured readers.

"I don't have anything to say about this alleged outing other than it being [untrue]. But if it weren't [untrue], that [Soul Evans] better keeps his hands above the belt and below the asteroids. Not that my sweet Maka would allow his [unwelcome] mitts to touch her pure, unstained skin in the first place, even if they are engage- which they are not."

Whether this new publicity stunt was for romance or a high impact product advertisement, buyers can't wait to pre-order...

BEREFT MILLIONAIRE TO BE SINGLE AGAIN

By Shaula Gorgon

Ladies, look out! Eccentric millionaire Neville Featherstone just filed for divorce after his wife was discovered to be a mafia ring leader. Quelle horreur!

According to Daily Death sources, Featherstone's lawyer claims the wealthy venture capitalist was 'bewitched' by a woman who only sought to use him for money. This revelation has left him despondent and unsure if he will ever love again.

Meanwhile, femalekind throughout Death City are now angling to make an advantageous match during this man's time of emotional need. Unsurprisingly, Miss Maka Albarn is among his rumored suitors…

STEAM VICTOR TAKES DEATH CITY BY STORM

By Shaula Gorgon

A day does not go by when Miss Maka Albarn's name doesn't appear in the papers. However, this might mark the first time she is discussed in the Business section of the Daily Death.

After many months of speculation and anticipation, Miss Albarn and her fiance, Lord Soul Evans, presented their 'Steam Victor' invention. A strange contraption that gives individuals the power of flight, the Steam Victor is expected to revolutionize travel in Death City.

It may be a year or so more of testing and tweaking before the product hits the market. But the Albarn-Evans partnership need not wait for funds; following the revelations of Nora Featherstone, the Evans estate was able to wrestle back ownership of its own company. Death Kidman, an attorney named after our very city, will take over the reins as CEO while the Evans brothers advise…

Soul stumbled into bed, too exhausted from the day to take off his dusty boots and too hungry to move any further. He spent the past week parading around his hometown, going to every meeting Kidman recommended and chasing every lead where Nora- Lenora was reported to have been sighted before her return to Death City's borders over the past year. His case continued to grow as they found more and more companies put into bankruptcy by Lenora's stained hand, stretching as far as the past decade. As they combined forces to reclaim their business, Soul was certain that Lenora wouldn't be able to escape her consequences.

He had decided to stick around the mainland to help repair the damage during her corrupt monopoly. It was just right to help in whatever ways he can, Soul believed. But he missed the city that floated through the skies, particularly one woman who he swore he'd never let go again.

Maka was supportive when Soul had approached her six months ago. As he explained the situation, how he and Wes could reclaim their family company, she appeared happy, but her disappointment soon became too strong for her to hold back.

"We haven't seen each other since we were children," Maka had muttered, looking down at her working shoes as she played with the tips of her toes. "I can't believe you're leaving again."

"I'll be back soon," Soul had promised. "Besides, I'm bad at letters, and I can't very well let my business partner handle all of the work alone."

"Is that a date then?"

"If that's what you want," he'd said, kissing her cheek goodbye.

Since then, Soul counted the seconds that they'd been apart. If he turned his head towards the window of his mansion, he could make out the silhouette of a skull as it floated in front of the moon. It was then that he wished for time to move faster.

But tonight, he looked to his bedside table where he kept a framed picture of himself, Maka, and their Steam Victor, posting for their first picture on its release day. They stood with the prototype 'Pegasus' in the center, but only the two knew that their hands had met behind it. Seeing it made his eyes water.

A bell rang in the hall, and Soul pushed himself from his bed to join his brother for another dinner, crestfallen.

"- And I found another old chest in the storage, this time belonging to our dearest mother! She kept a piece from every major fashion line since she was fourteen tucked away in a journal. It's a wonder how father was able to take her ideas and make it into a enterprise because let me tell you, Soul. Her chicken scratch looks as bad as yours."

"Mmhm." Soul moved his veal from side to side on his plate with a fork. "That sounds riveting."

"I found another chest that you may be interested in, a particularly white one with a stamp inside. You may recognize it: it's worn down from use, but you can still see the pattern it inscribes. A heart with a capital 'S,' yeah?" Wes coyly added, "There were some fairly interesting and familiar papers tucked away inside too-"

"Oh my word, Wes. Have you no shame?! Did you read any of it?!" Soul jumped from his seat, turning redder than wine as Wes continued to tease. "Weeesssss!" he whined.

"'Dearest friend,'" Wes recited from memory, waving his knife like it were a wand. "'I write to bring you news of my relocation to Death City. As you know, my brother,' that's me, 'moved to your area years ago, and I understand that he meets you for tea from time to time. Unfortunately, his spare rooms are being used for storage at the moment.' Oh Soul. Is that how you got her to let you stay at her home? This is scandalous, brother. You know I would have offered you the powder room!"

"I never sent that letter," he blushed, picking at his veal once again. "I rewrote another."

"Well, go figure. No wonder I read it just moments ago. There was also an interesting bit at the end where you confessed your aging affections, your tortured emotions!"

"I'm going to strangle you."

"It was unfortunate that you never sealed and mailed it off, so I did it for you!"

Soul dropped his utensils. " What?"

"You've been just so miserable, and I thought it was because of your… frustrations. I know how I was at your age, so eager to be with my one true love, only to realize I enjoy the lack of commitment-"

"What you did was completely out of hand and out of place though, Wes-"

"So why don't you go back to Death City and retrieve it before Maka reads it, hmm?"

Soul blinked. "Go back? To Death City?"

"Sure. I mean, almost everything is wrapped up now isn't it? Our victim-mates are closing in on Lenora who's already suffering major media backlash. The house is almost restored back to its former glory, which you didn't help at all with. And I just sent that letter about your blossoming-"

"Fine, whatever! Yeah sure, I'll go. You're right. Stop," Soul said, picking up his plate and dashing to his room.

"Flight's been booked! You leave tomorrow morning!" Wes called to him, tapping Soul's letter on his thigh under the tablecloth.

The wind was waiting for Soul's return, reuniting him with its strong gusts and dust as Soul stepped off from the zeppelin. It was only this powerful at the edge of the city, he remembered, lowering his hat weighing on his head. It was a familiar sound that welcomed him. Passengers stepping off along side him cried in outburst, screaming at their mussled hair and their slipping pamphlets. Their voices blew away as Soul went on, walking towards the only person at the station who was unbothered by the mess.

She waited just to the side of the ship, peeking under her parasol as he came closer. Maka Albarn, born and raised in the harshness of Death City, had bigger things to worry about than skirts and petticoats, preferring to wear trousers that day under a guise. It was a strange sight, and Soul swears it was his stolen coat that she was wearing as he approached. This was not the elegant heiress that he remembered, but his lifelong friend who he loved since their childhood years.

The threat of sand couldn't stop him from smiling.

"You can always tell who returns," Maka said warmly, gesturing to Soul's iron boots and to the gears stitched around the hem of his clothing. She reached to take his luggage, but Soul twined their fingers together, pulling her into a hug.

"Ms. Albarn? You've received a letter."

Soul froze with his pencil in mid-stroke, pressing down into his sketch of Maka. They'd been lounging in the study, idly enjoying each other's company while Maka read the papers and while Soul drew her doing so. After two weeks, the letter finally made its way to Death City.

"I'll get it," Soul said, reaching for the butler who recoiled from him.

Maka raised her eyebrow. The only post that she received since she set up their company's new address at their new office was from unsolicited suitors. "Who's it from, Jecklin?"

The butler side-eye'd Soul. "Your fiance, it appears."

She turned to him. "Soul? You sent me a letter?"

"No," he said quickly. "I mean yes- I mean no, no I didn't. Wes did, but it was an old letter. There's nothing to be gained from reading it," he said.

He was nonchalant and unreadable to the butler, but not to Maka. "Then there is nothing to be gained from throwing it away it either." Maka held out her hand. "Jecklin, the letter please!"

Maka took her time to get to her box of letter openers, making a show of which one to use. She lifted at least four of them, testing out the sharpness of each one against her finger. Eventually, she settled on the one she'd used to open his previous letters, a yellow long handled knife with an insignia of 'The Heart of the City' etched on its blade.

"I wonder what I'll find in here," Maka pondered.

"I'll give you fifty pounds for it," Soul bargained.

"Money has always been my lowest priority," she reminded, cutting the envelope in one fluid motion. "You could be my aide for life, though?"

"You're a serpent, Albarn."

"Yet you're still in love, Evans- wait, what is this supposed to mean?"

She read the paper over and over again at her seat, ignoring Soul's failing attempts to explain its contents. When she finally through with it, she held it out for Soul. Inside of the folds read a single word written in fine, large calligraphy:

"Bamboozled."

"I'm fucking- I- Wes!"

The double doors of the study slammed open, and in entered such the man Soul called for. He carried a large platter of finger sandwiches in one hand, and held another sealed envelope in the other. "Well I missed you all, too! Sandwiches?"