by V. J. Timlin
“I don’t know yet,” Nat replied after a few moments. “Also, I noticed the Communicator was missing.”
“Is that a good or bad sign?”
“It remains to be seen.”
“What are the chances Rose and the girls are already dead?”
Nat turned his attention to the traffic on the road, avoiding Anouk’s eyes. “Anything is possible, but I don’t think they are. Being a bounty hunter’s widow, Rose is far more useful to Stalo alive. At least for now.”
Anouk shivered. Rose was a dedicated mother. Stalo, that psychopathic asshole, knew what strings to pull. Why did she bother to be surprised anymore? One by one he turned their allies against them. “I suppose rightly motivated, anyone can turn her back on her friends,” she muttered. Who would be next?
Chapter 18
The balm burned when Vari applied it on the wound in Anouk’s side. Anouk gritted her teeth so hard her jaw hurt. Sweat beads formed on her forehead when she suppressed the cry that tried to escape her lips. Whatever the white balm contained, it was bound to be something antiseptic. Nat’s recent cuts were almost healed. If only the stuff didn’t hurt so bloody much.
Vari wrapped a fresh bandage around Anouk’s torso. “Alright, it’s clean and treated. I’ll add more tomorrow evening, but the wound shouldn’t take long to heal.”
Anouk grimaced at the promise of more of that noxious stuff. She sent a silent command to her body to heal faster. Out loud she said, “Thanks, Vari. Yeah, it’s just a little scratch. I’m sure it’ll heal by itself now. No need to waste your valuable medicine on my minor injury.”
“You sound like Nat.” Vari chuckled and packed her medical kit away. “Tomorrow evening I’ll check your wound. But now, get some sleep.”
Anouk stifled a groan and carefully climbed into her bed.
Nat entered the caravan when Vari went out. At the doorway, Vari muttered something in his ear and he nodded, his expression solemn. Anouk frowned wondering what the secret exchange was about?
He walked to the cabinet and took his bedding out.
“I could sleep on the floor for a change, and you could get the bed,” Anouk said.
Nat responded with a crooked smile.
“I wouldn’t mind.”
“I’m sure you wouldn’t but maybe some other time.” Nat pulled his shirt off.
Anouk stole a glance at Nat’s back before she dove under her duvet. Damn, he looked nice. Those broad shoulders… She cleared her throat. “You were right about that white balm—it’s vile.”
“Aye, but it works.”
“Yeah, it’s so horrendous, your body triples its healing efforts to avoid more exposure to Vari’s so-called medicine,” she grumbled.
Nat burst out laughing.
“Quite.” Anouk paused for a few seconds. “What did Vari say to you at the door?”
“That you need a revolver.”
Anouk shot him an alarmed look. “A revolver? No. I hate guns.”
“I agree with Vari. Your swords skills are good, but when you have someone against you with a gun, you’re an underdog.”
The thought of carrying and using a gun simply didn’t sit well with her. She had hurt and she had killed since arriving in Anglea; a gun symbolised even more death. It was silly really, since carrying a gun would better equip her to take care of herself and act as a responsible partner, and the death toll would still be more or less the same. Only her likelihood of being one of the dead would decrease an iota. And yet…
The memory of Dad’s revolver rolling under her feet flashed in her mind. It had been a Colt. He had kept it in his car behind the driver’s seat. Every time he lost his temper, his hand went back and fumbled for it on the floor, cursing and pushing her feet out of the way. She used to be so afraid he would shoot someone.
“You don’t have to decide now.” Nat turned off the kerosene lamp. “We’ll talk about it more in the morning.”
“Sure, we’ll talk in the morning,” Anouk muttered. A heavy stone settled in her gut. She didn’t want a gun, but did she really have an option?
* * *
A cool morning turned into a warm midday. Neither Nat, Vari nor Fitzwil brought up the topic of getting a gun before she and Nat set off to the Royal Anglean Constabulary.
She was conflicted, unable to make up her mind. Logic dictated getting a firearm. The thugs had guns, thus she could defend herself and Nat better if she had one too. Her katana was good in close range combat, but more than once she and Nat had been shot at from a distance. Yes, it was sensible to get a gun and learn to use it. But then…
There was nothing fair or elegant about the weapon. She winced at the thought. As if the katana was any better—guns and swords both were designed to kill people. That fairness and elegance she had cherished when practising katas with her sword was an illusion. The reality was this manhunt. Stalo hunted Anouk and Nat as much as they hunted him. Or rather, he hired others to do his dirty work. Typical noble—hiding behind the backs of his henchmen.
Anouk sighed and peered through the carriage window. The haze hung in the sky above Rondon thicker than the day before, like the heavy feeling over Anouk’s mind. She and Nat had met with Chief Constable Loka, given briefings of their progress and were given information on the Royal Enforcers progress; according to the chief constable, it had been close to nil.
Someone had been busy though. The bodies of three more bounty hunters had been found between Flower Estate and The Pits. The chief constable said there was no evidence to suggest who had killed the men. Regardless of his enforcer’s ‘efforts’, no one had seen or heard anything. But who else could it have been but Stalo and his men? That meant every bounty hunter was hard at it chasing Stalo, trying to claim the reward.
“The body count in those two districts has risen alarmingly within just a few days,” the chief constable added. His expression had grown sour when he spoke about the pressures his seniors loaded on his shoulders with their demands of sending more patrols.
“We need more resources. But do the politicians listen? No. When it comes to questions of getting funding for the operations, suddenly there is none.” He threw his hands up. “And then we get blamed when criminals go free.”
For the first time, Anouk felt genuine sympathy towards the chief constable. He clearly cared for Rondon and the officers, but then he also had to deal with bureaucrats who had different ideas about financial priorities.
The carriage swayed when it hit a hole in the road, bringing Anouk back to the present. She became aware that Nat had said something and was looking at her. “Sorry, I was miles away. What did you say?”
He gave her a brief smile. “I asked if you have come to any decision about the revolver. We could get you one now while at Amanda’s Emporium.”
Anouk grimaced. She had hoped the whole thing would be forgotten, or at least she’d be given more time to consider it. To allow more time for that little girl in the backseat of Dad’s car to get used to the idea. She sighed. She was an adult now. Having a gun and using it responsibly would be proof she was stronger than her father. Plus, Nat would feel more at ease if she carried one, and Vari, since she suggested it. There was no reason to postpone the acquisition. She was a bounty hunter, albeit on a fixed term contract, and this world seemed to run on guns. Why couldn’t Nat be from a world that used only swords as weapons?
“Alright.” Anouk sighed again. “Let’s get me a gun.”
“Good,” Nat said, satisfied.
“You have to teach me how to use it.”
“Of course. I’ll show you all the tricks. Amanda has a shooting range in her basement, so we can start right away.”
“She has?”
“Naturally. How else could you test a new revolver?”
Anouk shrugged, bewildered. “I honestly don’t know.” She paused and shook her head. “You wouldn’t guess she’s an arms dealer by the look of her.”
Nat chuckled. “No.”
The carriage h
alted with a jump. After paying the driver, they stepped into Amanda’s Emporium. The bell clanked when the door closed. Amanda stood behind the counter, serving a woman who was holding two different hats in her hands. Another woman browsed kettles, stacked on a shelf.
“I’ll be with you soon,” Amanda chirped to Nat and Anouk.
“Thank you, madam.” Nat bowed his head, touching his hand on the rim of his top hat while Anouk gave her a quick nod.
The two women, both in their fifties and better off than most of the people Anouk had seen around the area, judging by their clean and patch-free dresses, glanced at them with suspicion and disdain. Anouk nodded with a smile to them, but they sniffed and turned their heads.
“Charming ladies,” Anouk whispered to Nat.
They moved around the shop, browsing the goods as if searching for something special among the knick-knacks occupying the shelves and tables. Most were familiar to Anouk —pots, mugs, chandeliers, brass boxes. Yes, it would be hard to make a living selling only ornaments.
The doorbell clattered again. The women had left with their purchases. Anouk and Nat walked to Amanda, who was standing behind the counter, a wide smile on her face.
“What can I do for you?”
“We need some more of those excellent knockout gas balls.” Nat then waved his hand towards Anouk. “Also, Anouk needs a gun.”
Amanda’s eyes lit up. “Follow me.” She strode toward the curtains leading to the backroom. She looked over her shoulder. “So the knockout balls worked?”
“Perfectly.”
“Excellent. I’ll pass the news to the manufacturer. They were a new, improved model.”
“Improved model?” Anouk’s voice squeaked.
“Yes, sturdier glass,” Amanda replied with a grin and pushed the curtain aside. Humming, she vanished into the back of the room.
“Sturdier glass? An improved model?” Anouk gaped at Nat.
“Absolutely.”
“But…” Anouk started but Amanda returned, carrying a box. She laid it on the table and opened the lid. The box was full of brown paper-wrapped balls. “How many?”
“Four, please,” Nat replied.
Amanda laid the balls on the table. Nat checked every single one of them and nodded approvingly. “Good. Then we need bullets and a handgun for Anouk.”
“Of course, what kind of gun?” Amanda beamed with pleasure. She hadn’t looked as enthusiastic when selling hats and kettles to the ladies.
Nat took his revolver from the holster and showed it to Amanda. “This kind of Phines if you have any in stock.”
“Unfortunately, I don’t. Sorry, Nat. But I do have a few of the new model.”
“Ah, that’s even better.”
“Excellent,” Amanda said with a singing voice as she spun on her heels and vanished yet again behind the shelves. Her singing distanced and faded all together.
“You started to say something,” Nat said to Anouk.
“Never mind, it wasn’t anything important. May I?” Anouk lifted her hand towards the gun Nat was holding.
“Sure.” He placed it in Anouk’s hand.
Her hand gave in under the weight. She gasped. “It’s heavy.”
“It’s an older model. Newer Phines’ are lighter.”
Anouk examined the weapon. Long barrel, wooden grip and a cylinder for six bullets. Simple, with no decoration. It reminded her of the revolvers she had seen in Western movies… and her dad’s gun. A nervous twist ran through her body.
After a brief hesitation, she lifted her arm in front of her and closed her left eye. Her hand started to quiver.
“Weight-wise it’s about the same as my katana, but then I hold that with both hands. How much lighter is a new model?” She handed the revolver back.
Nat slipped it in the holster. “A few ounces.”
Amanda came back, singing a different tune this time. She gave the revolver to Anouk. “Here you go. A Phines of the new DF-100 series.”
“Thank you, Amanda.” Anouk tried to smile. Her hand shook when she took the gun. The revolver looked very much the same as Nat’s, only there were feather carvings on the frame and it was much lighter.
“It’s a new model,” Amanda said. “The only difference to Nat’s is that it has a swing-out cylinder.”
“A swing-out cylinder?”
“Yes. Let me show you.” Anouk gave the revolver back to her. “You open this cylinder latch here on the frame and push the cylinder aside. Like this.” Amanda pulled the latch with her thumb and tilted the gun so that the cylinder opened to the side. She continued, “You load the cartridges in, and then you push the cylinder back. You secure it in place by closing the latch, and then you are ready to shoot.” She smiled and returned the gun to Anouk.
With sweaty and shaking hands, Anouk repeated the steps Amanda had just shown. “Ha, that wasn’t too difficult.” Anouk was surprised when she got it with the first try and wasn’t even close to dropping the weapon.
“And with practice you’ll get quicker.”
Anouk blushed and felt a little deflated; she had been all thumbs.
Amanda opened her mouth to say something when the bell clanked. She turned her head towards the shop and called, “I’m coming.” Then she turned back, her face creased in a concerned frown. “You may use my basement for practising. Nat, make sure to clean up the casings. When you have finished, I have some information that might be relevant to your investigations.” She spun on her heels and hurried back to the shop before Nat or Anouk could ask what it was about.
“How may I help you?” Amanda’s cheerful voice came soon from behind the curtain.
Anouk wanted to go after Amanda, kick the customer out and make Amanda tell her the potentially relevant titbit. She glanced at Nat. Judging by the depth of the frown on his face, so did he.
He gave out a sigh. “The basement is this way.”
Amanda’s private shooting range was roughly four yards wide and twenty-two yards long. The walls and ceiling were covered with foam rubber and at the far end stood a board full of bullet holes.
Nat put a box of ammunition on a table propped against a wall. “Time to load your Phines.”
Anouk nodded and opened the cylinder. She wiped her clammy hands on her trousers and started to insert the cartridges. A question popped into her mind—a question she had meant to ask many times, ever since she had met Amanda. “Why is Amanda so eager to supply us and give such big discounts? It can’t just be because you two are friends.”
Nat didn’t reply right away, but kept his eyes on Anouk’s hand. When she had set the last bullet and secured the cylinder, he said, “Stalo robbed one of Amanda’s shipments and killed the driver.” Nat took out his gun. “The driver was her husband.”
Anouk’s heart sank with the knowledge. So she too was Stalo’s victim. That explained why she was so keen to arm them and give credit. “When did it happen?”
“About ten years ago.” Nat started to set cartridges into his Phines.
“He’s hurt a lot of people, hasn’t he?”
Nat paused, loading the gun. He nodded. “Yeah, a lot of people.” Before Anouk opened her mouth to ask another question he added, “I’ll tell you everything some other time. But now is about handling the gun and shooting.”
Back to business it was…
After an hour of loading the bullets, aiming and shooting the target, Anouk was a little more comfortable with the idea of owning a gun. Only a real situation would show if she was prepared to use it. Nevertheless, the weight of the revolver around her waist gave her a sense of greater control.
The rubber foam padding had muffled the echo, but shooting for an hour in a confined space hurt Anouk’s ears. She had asked for earmuffs, but Nat had raised his eyebrows and asked what they were. Otherwise, Nat had been a great and considerate teacher. He had put up with Anouk’s nervous giggles, shrieks and very many questions. He was patient and professional, and careful where to touch her when he corrected her
stance and aiming, and mindful not to stand too close. Why then was she vaguely depressed? After the kiss it was best they kept their distance. Still, the subtle uneasiness during the training bothered her. For the umpteenth time, she wished she hadn’t wrapped around Nat’s neck and kissed him. She ground her teeth. Well, it was too late now, the horse had already bolted and fucked off down the meadow.
“Ah, what did you think about the Phines?” Amanda asked when they came back to the shop. She was alone this time.
Anouk produced a smile. She wasn’t supposed to know about Amanda’s loss, and thus no showing her condolences or pity. “It’s fine. Nat’s a good teacher.”
“I’ve no doubt about it. He has an accurate aim.” Anouk itched to ask how she knew that, but Amanda continued, “I took the liberty of packing your purchases. Let me get them for you.” She vanished to the backroom.
Anouk’s gaze caught a full body mirror. She walked to it. Her reflection looked back at her. The pale, freckled face and hazel-green eyes were the same. The light-brown hair tucked under her cap was the same. The clothes were the same, but the revolver around her waist and the hilt of the katana peeking over her right shoulder gave her an air of ‘don’t-mess-with-me’—that was new. She glanced at Nat.
“Aye.” Nat smiled at her. “You look like a real bounty hunter.”
It was a sincere compliment, and it warmed her heart. “Well, the appearance is important, right?”
“You have proved you’re more than that. You’re a real bounty hunter.”
“Really? You think so?”
“Aye, I know so.”
Amanda came back, carrying a small package—their knockout gases. She handed it to Nat.
“Thank you, Amanda.” Nat tucked it under his arm. “You said you had some information.”
“Yes.” The smile faded from Amanda’s face. “One of my contacts told me this morning that a man, with a tattoo behind his ear, approached him and placed a large order for weapons and ammunition. I know De Meriweth soldiers used to have the family crest tattooed behind their ears, so the man must have been one of Stalo’s. I warned my contact about it. And then… there is this.” Amanda took a copy of the Rondon Gazette from under the shop counter. Spreading it open, she said, “The afternoon issue.”