Ruth nearly collided with her friend as Jennifer suddenly changed direction with surprising agility, heading further into the complex that made up Saint Lothar’s interior. Several times Ruth almost lost the wizard. All she could do was try to keep up.
Eventually a box of light could be made out ahead that slowly grew larger as they approached until Ruth was wincing against the bright sunlight. Emerging out the back of the station, they found themselves on a street buzzing with summer activity. Motorcars, busses and bikes of sickly yellow hues rushed along the tarmac road against the backdrop of concrete and glass skyscrapers that overlooked the bustling thoroughfare like austere gods. On the wind Ruth caught the echoes of protest and counter protest; voices yelling against each other in some nearby square amplified by the close-knit hive of buildings.
It was always like that these days. Ruth wondered if the world was getting worse or people were simply growing more aware of the injustice that already existed. Either way, Whitechurch was an angry city in an angry world.
Concrete was the word of the day. Concrete schools, concrete shops, concrete hospitals and homes. They passed all of these pockmarked grey buildings as Ruth circled around St Lothar’s to where she had parked her car. It was a welcome sight by comparison. The vehicle was painted in a simple yet rich swathe of blue and teal that stood out from the garish modernity closing in around it. This was an older model and as comforting to Ruth as her nostalgia.
“Follow the river up to Chelshurst, then turn left into Browning’s Market,” the wizard instructed, distracted by her writhing thoughts, “it’s around that area. Ow - this is scorching.”
Jennifer recoiled backwards, rubbing her hand from where it had touched the car door. It seemed the sun’s heat had been building up inside. Ruth gritted her teeth before sliding herself into the vehicle, feeling the heat almost burn her skin. That was one thing she did not like about older models: a lack of air conditioning.
“Don’t be such a wuss,” she said sharply once the pain had dulled, “why don’t you drive us to your… business, if you know the way?”
Following the human’s lead Jennifer gingerly perched herself on the front passenger seat, already shaking her head.
“I can’t drive.”
There was not even a hint of embarrassment in the wizard’s voice, something that took Ruth by surprise. Almost every adult she knew could drive - it was one of those unspoken necessities to proper living. She turned the key in the ignition prompting a gutteral thump from the engine, stalling it.
“You’ve been studying parlour tricks for three decades and you couldn’t find time to learn how to drive?”
Second time lucky. With another turning of the key Ruth’s car lurched into gear and began moving out into the urban chaos.
Jennifer gave a noncommittal shrug. “Driving lessons are expensive. Besides, I prefer the bus. It’s safer.”
Finally getting the chance to think as they drove through the city’s turbid streets, it seemed to Ruth that she was being dragged into whatever errand Jennifer needed to run. Well, so be it. As long as they were at the family household by lunchtime it wouldn’t matter. Besides, she was curious to see the wizard at work.
A seemingly disconnected stream of images flashed past them - broken neon blues merging with cold steel grey. Ruth held up a hand, shielding her eyes from the piercing sunlight that bathed Whitechurch city in a painful glow. Still, once they had escaped St Lothar’s and made their way atop the Gallows Hill their surroundings calmed a little. The sprawling metropolis reclined out beneath them, coiling around a snaking river that wove its way across the landscape. It was all so enormous, so loud, so flat. Ruth could not remember the last time she had seen the city like this. At the heart of Whitechurch the buildings rose up and intermingled into a mass of skyscrapers linked by glistening bridges that defied gravity. Ancient dwellings had been torn down in the wake of four highways that served as the city’s bleeding arteries, around one of which Ruth could make out the Chelshurst district and Browning’s Market; a vibrant sprawl of shopping centres and tourist traps.
“Open a window, would you?” Ruth asked, not taking her eyes off the city, “It’s still boiling in here.”
Jennifer rolled down one of the windows with a horrible plastic screech as the clumsy mechanism turned, letting in a blast of exhaust-ridden air that was not much cooler than that already inside the car. Nevertheless, she poked her elven, awkwardly hatted head out of the window and took in the relatively fresh air. The sight was so ridiculous Ruth had to summon all her respectability to not burst into aching laughter.
People were always shouting in Whitechurch. Or at least that’s how it seemed to Ruth; perhaps this was normal those foreign and exotic places she had read about. Still, the noise only grew louder as they rolled down the hill until Ruth nearly failed to make out the sound of a siren whining behind them. She glanced in the mirror to see a uniformed officer of the law tailing them on a growling motorbike, lights flashing yellow and blue. Drat. For a moment she assumed the officer must be signalling to somebody else but the bike was quite clearly rumbling along besides them. Swearing once more, this time internally, Ruth pulled her car up to the curve. Jennifer only seemed to notice once they had come to a stop.
“What’s happening?” she said, nearly losing her hat as she ducked back into the car. Ruth simply watched and waited, not sure herself.
Now she had a better look at the officer Ruth made them out to be of a tall, almost lanky fellow, likely not far into their second decade. They wore a force standard blue and yellow striped vest along with a pair of obsidian black sunglasses. For the life of her Ruth could not make out the officer’s gender, if they had one, nor their facial expression. The anonymity was unnerving.
“What seems to be the problem, officer?” Jennifer asked with a surprisingly assured voice. The officer remained inscrutable until they spoke.
“A routine search. Can’t be too careful these days.”
A search? Ruth had only heard of such things happening to… well, shifty folk. Perhaps this was a peddler disguised as an officer, or some kind of mistake? She simply sat there for a second until Jennifer gave her a nudge.
“Of course - of course,” Ruth half-stuttered, getting out of the driver’s seat and opening up the back of the car with a smile. At the sight of her the officer seemed to relax just a little.
Of course the boot was empty. Empty except for the usual debris; crumpled receipts and forsaken shopping bags. With the officer satisfied Ruth closed the trunk with a relieved sigh.
“Would you like to see the passenger seats?”
“Oh? No, no that will not be necessary.” A hint of humanity sounded to creep into the officer’s voice, “Thank you for your cooperation.”
With that the officer nodded farewell, mounted their bike and rode off back into the thoroughfare. Jennifer watched her friend’s bewildered expression with something like amusement.
“First time?”
“Of course,” Ruth retorted hurriedly, getting back into the car, “did you know anything about that?”
The wizard let out a breath. “Nope. But I do know it was a good job you were with me. That could have taken a lot longer otherwise.”
“Well, I am quite the negotiator,” Ruth returned, a hint of smugness creeping into her voice.
“What? Of course not,” Jennifer frowned, “police simply distrust elves, that’s all. This is why I take the bus.”
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