Chapter 4

The Beginning

"You're different," the man said, watching with little concern as his Bisharp wrenched itself out of the crater its impact had driven into the wall.

"I told you I'm not a Performer, right?" Alex said, feeling more than a little irritated.

He shook his head. "You can't fool me. The way you stand, the way you talk, it's obvious. You might be a little different to the others, but it's plain to see you've spent your life on stage, prancing around with your Pokémon without a care in the world."

Alex sighed. Listening was not this guy's strong suit. "And if I am . . . what then?"

"Then you're coming with me! Bisharp, Metal Claw!" At its Trainer's words, the immobile Bisharp sprang into action; large, scythe-like blades slid out of grooves on its armguards with a crisp schick, and it leapt for Azumarill with a roar, slashing with deadly accuracy once, twice, three times. Azumarill evaded as best it could, diving to one side and pushing off the wall. The narrow width of the corridor had its benefits, but it also constricted the movements of both Pokémon. Unable to put enough distance between itself and Bisharp, Azumarill took a glancing blow and tumbled to the floor.

Alex winced as he watched his Pokémon stagger back to its feet. The damage didn't look too serious, but they couldn't keep this up too long. "Aqua Jet!" he ordered. Azumarill trilled and threw itself into a headlong charge, enveloping its spinning body in a jet of water that slammed into Bisharp at great speed, driving it backwards once more. Even as it made to disengage, however, Bisharp plunged its gauntleted hands into the torrent of water and grabbed Azumarill's bulbous tail, hauling it out of its arc and slamming it into the floor.

"That's it!" Bisharp's Trainer roared, punching the air in wild glee. "Poison Jab, now!" Pinning Azumarill to the ground with one steel fist at its throat, Bisharp drew back its other arm to strike, a sickly purple aura enveloping its bladed hand.

Alex bit his lip. Only one way out of this. "Azumarill, use Play Rough!"

Bisharp's hand swept down like a guillotine, but it met only concrete as Azumarill seemed to vanish instantly. Using its opponent's weight as a counterbalance, Azumarill swung itself out from under Bisharp. Grasping the rigid helmet on the Dark-type's head, it continued its swing until the two Pokémon had reversed positions. Drawing on its supernatural strength, Azumarill slammed Bisharp face-first into the concrete floor before yanking it back upright again and hurling it into first one wall, then the other. Stone dust and chips of rock flew everywhere, causing Alex to cover his face with one arm.

When silence fell, he cracked open his eyes to see what resembled no less than a warzone. Triumphant and proud, Azumarill stood in the midst of a destroyed passageway with its chest puffed out. At its feet lay Bisharp, unresponsive to its Trainer's disbelieving howls.

"This isn't possible! What the hell are you?" he snarled, glaring at Alex and Azumarill.

"I told you, didn't I?" Alex said with a wry smile. "You came here looking for Performers who don't battle, right? Thought they'd be easy targets for . . . whatever it is you're doing?"

The man didn't reply in words, but the grimace on his face told Alex all he needed to know. "Where I come from, we don't have people like that. I'm a Coordinator, which means I can throw down with the best. Now tell me . . . who are you supposed to be?"

The man spat on the floor as he returned Bisharp to its Poké Ball, drawing a second one from his pocket. "Guess I fucked up. No big deal. You won't always be around to play white knight."

"Hey!" Alex made to step forward, but the man hurled his second Poké Ball.

"I haven't got time for this. Garbodor! Poison Gas, now!" he spat.

Alex caught a brief glimpse of a Pokémon that resembled nothing more than a heaping pile of rotten, decomposing trash with eyes before it belched a foul cloud of black smog into the air, stinging Alex's eyes and throat. He doubled over, coughing involuntarily, and backed up. By the time he was able to shake the slowly dissipating vapour off, the destroyed hallway was empty but for himself, Azumarill, and the unmoving Montblanc. Nothing remained of the intruder except a foul smell.

"Alex! Are you okay?" Veronique reappeared at the end of the hallway, approaching at a jog. She had discarded her high heels to go barefoot, and her hair had fallen out of its elaborate arrangement.

"We're fine," Alex said, rubbing his still-smarting eyes. "That guy bolted, though. Didn't I tell you to stay away?"

"You don't get to tell me what to do!" Veronique snapped. "I shouldn't have left you alone in the first place. I'm just - I'm glad nothing happened to you."

"It seems I was the lucky one," Alex said, moving to check on Montblanc. The stage manager was older than he had initially thought, he realised. Without his calm mask of poise and decorum, the lines and grooves on Montblanc's face looked much deeper. He was still conscious, but his breath was ragged.

"He should be fine," Veronique said, "but I've called an ambulance just in case. The police will be here soon, too."

"And the girls?" Alex asked. "With that guy still on the loose, I hope none of them are alone."

"They should all be in one of the dressing rooms," Veronique said absently as she crouched to examine one of Montblanc's pupils, holding his eye open with her fingers. "I told them to stay there until security and the police arrived to sort things out."

"They have security here? They're doing a bang-up job, aren't they?" Alex grumbled, patting Azumarill absently on the head as he stared down the corridor towards where the strangely antagonistic intruder had disappeared. There was clearly something untoward going on here. A strange suspicion began to gnaw at him, but he put it aside for the moment. He was here to see a show, not play detective.

An hour later, Alex stood with Veronique outside the Showcase Theatre's stage entrance, waiting for a pair of dour police officers to finish interviewing the theatre's occupants. After making sure that Montblanc and the girl who had been the intruder's intended victim were taken care of by paramedics, Alex had spent thirty minutes talking to the officers, though he grew more and more frustrated by their stone-faced reluctance to listen to even the most basic statements until they were repeated half a dozen times.

The sun was sinking rapidly towards the horizon as they stood in the carpark, throwing long shadows through the trees. Veronique sighed, clapping Alex on the shoulder in a sisterly fashion. "I think it's about time we head home, mon ami. Show's cancelled after all that."

"I suppose it would be," Alex grumbled. "I was finally starting to look forward to it, too."

"Don't worry," Veronique said, steering him gently back towards the car. "We'll have another chance while you're here, I'm sure. Hopefully without any rude interruptions."

"Excuse me, you two." A clipped, arresting voice caused them to freeze.

Alex turned around to see an older woman striding towards them. She wore a sharp black skirt suit and her iron-grey hair was curled into a tight bob. Violet earrings glinted, catching the light as she strode briskly towards them. Alex nodded politely. "Good evening. Can we help you with something else?"

"Oh, don't worry," the woman said, pausing as she saw the concerned look on his face. "I'm not with the police. My name is Étoile, and I am the organiser of today's Showcase. I'm told you two did us a great service today."

"It was nothing, really!" Veronique cut in hurriedly before Alex could say anything. "It's a pity the Showcase can't continue, but we really ought to be leaving now."

Alex felt Veronique tugging surreptitiously at his sleeve again, but he stood his ground as Étoile narrowed her silvery eyes at him. They were shrewd and piercing, and Alex wondered if she saw something more than he had been trying to show. "A pity indeed," she droned, though she didn't seem too concerned. "Nevertheless, our Performers are all safe thanks to you. That is what is most important, after all. I would normally say that the show must go on, but since our security has apparently been compromised twice now, we cannot in good conscience allow it to continue. I hope that this does not spell the end of Coumarine's Showcases, for I do so enjoy my visits to this city." Her eyes slid across to Veronique. "You would be the pâtissier's girl, I presume?"

Veronique swallowed before answering. "Yes. I don't believe we've met. M-my name is Veronique Vincent."

Alex frowned internally, though he was careful not to let it show on his face. Something had Veronique spooked. "I'm Alex Thoreau," he put in, smoothly redirecting Étoile's attention as he subtly stepped between the two women. "I've been competing in Pokémon Contests in the Hoenn region, but at the moment I'm here on holiday and working part-time at the pâtisserie. I understand we have you to thank for recommending us to Monsieur Montblanc?"

Étoile smiled, though it did not extend to her eyes, which remained sharp and even. "Indeed. I always visit when I am in town on business. Le Pâtisserie Vincent has never let me down, and I see tonight is no exception. Maybe I should hire my security from local cake shops in the future."

Alex smiled uneasily. Was that meant to be a joke? There was certainly no humour in her voice. Dialling up his politeness, Alex proffered a quick bow. "We're glad to be of service, of course. I'm just happy nobody got hurt. Unless there's anything else you need, however, I feel like we should let your staff and the police continue with their investigation." The meaning was implicit, and Alex felt Veronique's grateful hand grip his elbow.

Étoile paused, regarding Alex much as if he were a particularly interesting specimen upon a dissection table. He barely suppressed a shiver as her eyes raked over him, giving the unshakable feeling that she had pierced his facade. "But of course," she said at length. "I simply felt the need to extend my thanks in person. Also, the complimentary tickets we provided you for tonight will not expire. Though it is small recompense, I hope you will join us for another show in the future. Perhaps next weekend in Lumiose, even. Good day to you both."

With that, she was gone as swiftly as she had arrived. Alex felt Veronique deflate slightly next to him, and turned to arch an eyebrow at her. "What's your problem?" he asked, half-teasing.

Veronique shook her head, tight-lipped. "That woman scares me," she muttered, her face a strange shade of grey.

"You did know her, then?"

"I doubt she'd remember, but yes. She used to come to the pâtisserie a lot when I was little. She always seemed so . . . so tall and cruel." She laughed hoarsely. "It sounds stupid, but that was the impression she left on me, somehow."

"Hmm." Alex watched silently for a moment as Étoile rejoined the main group, snapping orders to a couple of hapless stagehands. "I can see where you're coming from, but at the same time . . . That's just what this industry does to some people. I've seen it in Contest organisers back in Hoenn, too. They don't mean to be so brusque, they're just used to people doing exactly what they're told. A disaster of these proportions would really throw you off."

Veronique shivered perceptibly. "Hey, Alex?"

"What is it, V?"

"If I ever turn out like that, I want you to shoot me."

Alex snorted. "Deal."

Saturday morning dawned bright and clear, an already temperate breeze wafting through the shopping district. Alex stretched luxuriously as he exited Le Pâtisserie Vincent, stifling a yawn. At his side, Azumarill mirrored the gesture, stretching its stubby arms toward the sky and trilling exultantly.

"Feeling alright this morning, are we?" Alex said with a grin, ruffling its fuzzy head affectionately. A quick stop by the Pokémon Centre the previous evening had given Azumarill a clean bill of health after the battle with Bisharp, but worrying about his Pokémon had become habitual for Alex by now. Still, it seemed that Azumarill was feeling no ill effects whatsoever, and had in fact relished the chance to stretch its legs.

"You know, I did say you could sleep in today."

Alex turned to find Veronique standing at the door, looking faintly amused. She already had an apron cinched tightly around her waist, clearly preparing for a busy Saturday. "I know," Alex admitted, "but it doesn't feel right. That aside, are you sure it's okay for me to take the weekend off?"

Veronique waved a hand dismissively. "Mama has a couple of kids from the local high school coming in to help today and tomorrow. I'm starting to think she didn't really need me to come back after all, but . . . well, what can I do?" She smiled wanly.

Alex raised an eyebrow. "I think it's good we came, regardless. They've clearly been missing you. Since you've spent a lot of time in Hoenn these past few years, and all."

"And whose fault is that?" she grumbled. "Honestly. Sometimes I wonder why I bother with you."

Alex was silent for a moment. "Sometimes I wonder, too," he said eventually.

"Hey! You're not supposed to agree with me!" Veronique snapped, poking him in the chest with her index finger. "Now go on, have your day off. I kind of wanted to show you around, but you'll just have to make do without me for once."

"Sure." Alex nodded. "Just . . . about last night."

"I know," Veronique said, her tone suddenly becoming serious. "I have no idea what that was all about, but I have the strangest feeling we haven't seen the end of it yet."

"Should we take Ms. Étoile's invitation to see the Showcase in Lumiose next weekend, then? Or is it safer to take a pass?"

Veronique chewed her lip thoughtfully. "Part of me doesn't want to get involved, on the off-chance that something else does happen … but I really wanted you to experience the Showcases while you're here."

"Think about it, then," Alex said. "I don't mind either way."

"I will." Nodding, Veronique made to step back inside, but paused with her hand on the door. "Hey, look… I'm sorry this hasn't turned out to be much of a holiday. Tomorrow we can go and do something fun, okay?"

Before Alex could reply, she was gone. A slight bittersweet pang jabbed at his subconscious as he glanced down at Azumarill, which cocked its head curiously.

"I know," Alex agreed. "She's definitely got something on her mind."

He'd ask her tomorrow, he decided. Or at least, he'd see if she'd be willing to open up about it. Demanding straight answers from Veronique rarely ended up well.